Harry was feeling a bit better by the time they went inside. But in his relief in talking with Hermione and delight in teaching Teddy to fly, he had rather forgotten to account for the presence of everyone else in the house.

Outside of the Burrow, he could chat pleasantly with Hermione while Teddy flew around in the fresh falling snow. Inside of the Burrow, it was pandemonium. The uneasy truce that had built up between George and Malfoy over the past few days seemed to have reached its breaking point over the course of Christmas afternoon. The first thing they heard when they entered the house was George shouting at Malfoy, drunk and slurring his words.

"I still don't understand why he's here! None of you see the problem with a Death Eater drinking eggnog in our living room on Christmas Day?

"George, that's enough," came Mr. Weasley's voice. "Let's all just sit down—"

"Oh no," Hermione muttered, exchanging a look with Harry. Harry squeezed her shoulder and pushed past Teddy to go into the other room. It was as bad as he expected. George was standing in the center of the room with a glass of eggnog tipped precariously in one hand, and the other pointing at Malfoy. Half the Weasleys were crammed into the room, looking uneasily from one to the other. Charlie caught Harry's eye and shook his head unhappily as if to say What did anyone expect?

Harry glanced at Malfoy; his cheeks were red and his eyes were fixed on George. He was gripping his glass so tightly that Harry thought it might shatter into a thousand pieces.

Harry didn't know whether he felt more sorry for Malfoy or for George.

"People died fighting this scum!" George shouted. " Our people!"

"He's right," Malfoy said abruptly. "I—I should go."

"No," Harry said suddenly, aware that all heads had turned to him in surprise. He was surprised at himself, for that matter. Wasn't Malfoy leaving exactly what he'd wanted just a day or two ago? But he moved to stand between the two of them anyway. "Malfoy's not responsible for the whole of the war, George. He's not...he's not Voldemort. "

Saying the name was a mistake; half the room flinched, and Malfoy's lip curled into an unpleasant, angry sneer. Harry swallowed hard.

"Come off it, Harry," George said, pushing around him. "What, you're mates with this ferret now?"

"No," said Harry awkwardly, not looking at Malfoy. "But it doesn't matter. It's just...it's Christmas. He's Teddy's cousin. We can...we can be nice."

"He's also Lucius' son, and Bellatrix's nephew," George retorted. "And a git in his own right, and that's why he shouldn't be here. His own family fucking hates him—"

"George, please," Mrs. Weasley said faintly, but everyone ignored her.

"My family hates me too!" Harry said hotly. "And you invite me here every year—"

"You don't have a Dark Mark on your arm, Harry! Don't compare yourself to slime like him!"

"He's not—" Harry began, feeling more confused than ever.

"I don't need your help, Potter," Malfoy interrupted, his trademark sneer now firmly etched across his face. Harry faltered; Malfoy looked nothing like the man who'd read books to Teddy and Victoire the day before, nothing like the man who'd snogged Harry up against the door yesterday. He looked more like himself than he had all weekend, and Harry hated the sight of it.

"He's free to hate me if he wants," Malfoy spat. "I'm leaving. This has gone on long enough."

"Leaving?" Teddy was standing in the doorway, looking at them, Hermione behind him. "But it's Christmas, Draco!"

"Sorry, Ted," Draco said, his face softening slightly at the sight of the little boy. "It'll be better this way."

"No, don't put yourself out on my account," George interrupted sarcastically. "I'll go round to Angelina's family. She'll be pleased and there won't be any Death Eaters there."

And with a pop , he was gone. Mrs. Weasley promptly burst into tears, and Mr. Weasley patted her back gently.

"I'll still go," Malfoy said again. He glanced at Harry for the first time since his outburst, and Harry looked away. "Really, this has gone on too long. I shouldn't have come."

"No, please stay," Molly said through her tears. "We can't—we can't go on fighting the war forever, can we? I thought that if you came, we could move past it—for Teddy, for Andromeda—"

Malfoy clenched his jaw; if he had any response to this, he didn't say it. His eyes scanned the crowd. Hermione nodded mutely, but most of the rest of them looked away. Harry could feel Malfoy's eyes on him, but he didn't meet them. Did he, Harry, want Malfoy to stay?

The answer, he knew, was yes . But the real situation was far more complicated.

Teddy quietly took Malfoy's hand in his own. "Please stay, Draco" he echoed. Malfoy looked down at him, blinking rapidly. "I want you to stay."

And to Harry's surprise, Malfoy did stay. After a rather subdued dinner and dessert, the family settled into the warm, homey living room. Molly's eyes were red-rimmed and her face pale, but she seemed determined to have the same Christmas they'd always had, rolling out the drinks cart and playing Celestina Warbeck's newest album in the background.

Harry watched Malfoy refill his fire whiskey twice and his punch once. For the most part, he talked quietly with Andromeda in the corner, gesturing to the door, to the Weasleys, and once, even, to Harry. Andromeda put a sympathetic hand on Malfoy's arm, listening. Eventually, she took Teddy by the hand and brought him upstairs to bed, leaving Malfoy standing alone in the corner.

Harry hesitated for a moment. Maybe Malfoy really did still hate him; maybe he regretted everything that had happened between the two of them that weekend. Maybe they'd go their separate ways after this Christmas, and none of it would ever happen again. But Harry had to know. He walked over to the drink cart.

"Malfoy," he said quietly, taking a glass of punch for himself.

"Potter," said Malfoy. "Look if you've come here to—to gloat—" If he wasn't completely drunk yet, he was close to it; Harry could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"To gloat?" Harry asked incredulously. "About what?" I came to ask if you're all right. I came to ask why you kissed me yesterday, and why on earth you've stayed here when everyone hates you. "God, you're a prat."

"Cheers," Malfoy said with a sigh, and they both drank deeply from their glasses. Malfoy swayed a little on the spot. Harry stopped himself from reaching out to steady Malfoy; if he touched him, he wasn't sure if he'd kiss him or punch him. Or both.

"So why are you here, anyway, Potter?" Malfoy asked at last. "I wasn't expecting you to be here any more than you were expecting me." It took Harry a moment to realize that Malfoy meant here, at the Burrow rather than here, having drinks.

Harry took another sip of his punch. "If you'd known I was going to be here, would you not have come?"

Malfoy didn't answer. Harry sighed. "The Weasleys are my family. I told you, I come here every year for Christmas. I thought you knew that."

"Why would I know that?" Malfoy asked. "You didn't mention it—"

"Mention it when ?" Harry whispered, annoyed. "All those times that your cock was in my mouth, or all the times when you were shoving me out the door in the morning?"

Malfoy's cheeks turned pink. Harry's words hung in the air; their usual crass banter felt out of place here, but Harry still felt a familiar sort of self-satisfaction at having rustled him up. "Okay, fine ," Malfoy said. "But I—You're broken up with the girl Weasley, so why are you here? You have your own family, don't you?"

Harry snorted. "The Dursleys?"

"I don't know, Potter. The Muggles who raised you."

"Yeah, well, we don't exactly get on," said Harry. "We don't speak. We didn't even speak when I lived with them, as a matter of fact."

"Oh," said Malfoy, swallowing hard. Harry looked curiously at him.

"I thought you knew," he said quietly. "It was in the papers. You commented on it, when we were at school."

"I didn't know it was true," Malfoy said. "Or, rather, I didn't know how much of it was true."

"I guess we have that in common now," Harry said. "Crappy families." He cringed after he said it and waited for Malfoy to protest, to be offended, or at the very least, to laugh derisively at the idea that he and Harry could have anything in common, but Malfoy only nodded and reached to refill his Christmas punch.

Harry cleared his throat."Malfoy," he said with some hesitation. "I, er, don't think you should drink that." They looked at each other, the rest of what Harry wanted to say hanging in the air between them. You've had enough, and it won't help anyway.

Malfoy opened his mouth as though about to leave a cutting retort, but thought better of it. "You know what," he said, setting down the glass. "You're probably right." They looked at each other uneasily.

"Look, I'm glad you came," Harry offered. Malfoy snorted.

"No, really," said Harry, shrugging. "I, er—I just, I am."

"Eloquent as ever, Potter," Malfoy said with a sigh. They fell into an oddly companionable silence, and Harry looked around the room. Mrs. Weasley was laughing while Mr. Weasley sang along to Celestina, and around the room, he could hear various snippets of conversation. Ginny held court in one corner, waving her arms in a elaborate demonstration of a new Quidditch play. On the other end of the room, Hermione, Bill, Percy, and Audrey were deep in conversation about the new Ministry policy on goblin relations. And yet there was still a tension in the air; Molly's laughter was rather too shrill to be genuine, and here and there, he could hear George's name mentioned in a hushed voice.

Harry turned back to Malfoy. "Listen, do you want to go upstairs?" he asked. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Not like that," Harry said quickly. "Just, you know, make a pot of tea and get out of here for a bit?"

Malfoy glanced around the room and nodded. "All right," he agreed. "That sounds good."

Harry pretended that he didn't notice Charlie's eyes following him out of the room, and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. By the time he had levitated it up the stairs, Malfoy was there, lounging on his twin bed. Harry levitated the tea tray to Malfoy's beside table and hesitantly sat down beside him, his heart beating maddeningly loudly in his chest. Malfoy cleared his throat.

"Thanks for stopping me from having more to drink," he said quietly. "I, er, I've probably been having too much lately." Harry didn't say anything, and Malfoy chewed on his lip in that un-Malfoy-like way that he'd been doing lately. "The alcohol just makes me feel worse. I should know better."

"Oh," said Harry, unsure how to respond. He was surprised at this admission from Malfoy, surprised they'd found themselves in this sort of conversation at all. But the alcohol seemed to have loosened Malfoy's inhibitions, making him willing, even eager, to talk.

"How do you do it?" Malfoy pressed. "Spend all this time with someone else's family? It's maddening."

Harry considered this. "Maybe it's easier for me," he said finally. "Since I don't have a family to miss. Someone else's family is all I've ever had."

"Maybe," said Malfoy, and they lapsed into silence, sipping their tea. Malfoy closed his eyes and leaned against the wall behind him. Harry found himself captivated by Malfoy's long, delicate lashes resting on his pale skin. He was gratified to notice that here, in their room, Malfoy seemed comfortable for the first time all day.

"All right," Malfoy said after a moment. He opened his eyes and looked right at Harry. "It's your turn. Tell me something."

Harry chewed his lip thoughtfully, unnerved by Malfoy's intent gaze. He cast about for something to say that wasn't about Weasleys or their miserable families. "I hate the Aurors," he said finally, surprising even himself with the intensity of the statement. "I don't want to do it anymore."

Malfoy looked at him in surprise. "Are you going to quit?"

"I can't quit," Harry said, annoyed. "I'm Harry bloody Potter. Besides, what else would I do?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Dunno. Something you like. You're a good flyer—you're good with kids—"

"That's what Hermione said," Harry said, feeling a bit thrown that Malfoy had noticed the same thing. "Not that I told her about the Aurors. I haven't told anyone about that." He frowned at Malfoy. "Let's talk about something else."

"All right," said Malfoy. "How about you and Charlie?"

Harry groaned and flopped back against Malfoy's pillow, closing his eyes. When he opened them, Malfoy was looking down at him, a curious expression on his face. Harry closed his eyes again.

"You were right about Charlie," he said at last.

"I knew it," Malfoy crowed. Harry felt his ears turn red, and Malfoy laughed. "Spill, Potter. How many of the Weasleys have you fucked? Wait—Merlin, I have so many questions—have all of your sexual experiences been in this room ?"

"Keep your voice down!" Harry muttered, casting a Muffliato. "And no, they have not, as you bloody well know," he added. Malfoy laughed again, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down Harry's spine. He suddenly wanted to tell Malfoy everything .

"The thing with Charlie—it's past tense," he said, glancing quickly at Malfoy. He couldn't tell if Malfoy looked relieved or not at that statement, but as Harry said it, he felt sure that no matter what else happened, he wouldn't be hooking up with Charlie again. "It was after I first broke up with Ginny," he continued. "She was traveling with the Harpies, so I came here for Christmas. I wasn't going to, but Molly insisted—"

"What a surprise," Malfoy said drily. Harry gave a half laugh.

"Molly means well. It's like, she wants everyone to be happy, and doesn't care how many people have to be miserable for that to happen."

Malfoy snorted at that, and Harry closed his eyes, remembering how things had been after splitting up with Ginny. He'd felt so lost, so confused. It wasn't all that different than how he felt now, he realized grimly.

He sighed. "Anyhow, that first night, everyone had gone to bed except for Charlie and I—"

"Merlin," said Malfoy, shaking his head. "Didn't waste any time, did you?"

Harry shrugged. "I had too much to drink—sort of like tonight—and I was feeling guilty about Ginny... I was so tired from Auror training...anyway, we got to talking about the breakup, and I'm not sure why, but I told Charlie that I was bi."

"Bi?" Malfoy said in surprise.

"Is that a problem?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling uneasy. He hadn't planned for this part of the conversation, he realized. It had just come out.

"No," Malfoy said quickly, shaking his head. "I just didn't know. I guess I thought you broke up with Ginny because you realized you liked blokes instead, or something—I didn't mean—"

"It's all right," Harry said. "We never talked about it, did we?"

"No," Malfoy said, and he offered Harry a tentative smile that made his stomach flip over. "I guess we didn't. So what happened with Charlie?"

Harry grimaced. "We talked for a while, finished a bottle of wine, and when we got back upstairs to our room—this room—he kissed me. We were drunk and it was stupid, but we've been, ah, hooking up, I guess, ever since then, whenever we're both home. Molly kept rooming us together—the poor lonely single blokes, you know."

"Whenever you're both home," echoed Malfoy.

Harry shrugged in the darkness. "It's the only home I've got, and, it's why I can't tell anyone about Charlie. Nobody knows." He chewed his lip, wondering how much to disclose. "I don't think anyone in the family even knows that Charlie's gay. Keeps to himself in Romania and doesn't come home much. I like being part of the family, but it's a lot for him, being here. The nosiness, the gossip, you know."

"I can imagine," Malfoy said, shaking his head. Harry wondered how much Malfoy's family knew about his life. He couldn't imagine Narcissa and Lucius knew about the Muggle bar or the men—like Harry—that their son brought back to his flat.

"So Charlie came home to see you, and now you're in here with me?" Malfoy asked after a moment, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry grimaced. "Something like that."

"Should I leave?" Malfoy asked suddenly. "I could go, if you wanted to be with him."

"No," said Harry, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. He'd rather be exchanging barbed comments and secrets with Malfoy than getting drunk and making out with Charlie.

They lapsed into silence again, Harry still lounging sleepily on Malfoy's pillow. Just when Harry thought the conversation was over, Malfoy spoke again.

"I'm sorry I came to your flat on Wednesday," he said quietly. "I know it's not the thing...it's not what we usually do."

"It was fine," Harry said quickly, surprised. "I didn't protest much, if you recall."

Malfoy smiled wryly. "No, I suppose you didn't. It's just—I'd received an Owl from my mother that day." Harry remembered the carefully folded parchment, and how unnerved Malfoy had looked when he slid it into his pocket. "She, ah, told me not to come home anymore. Not to come home for Christmas." He looked down at Harry, who didn't say anything. "Andromeda told you?"

He shook his head apologetically. "Molly."

"Of course she did." Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he didn't seem mad. "How is it that you manage to keep so many secrets in this family?"

"Dunno," Harry said with a shrug. "A lot of close calls. So why did your mother—"

"Ah, right." Malfoy picked up Harry's legs and draped them across his own, leaning against the wall behind him. "I had told her that I don't want to see my father again. She visits him in Azkaban, you know, and I hate—I hate visiting him there." Harry didn't know what to say, but it didn't seem to matter; Malfoy, for whatever reason, wanted to talk. "She got upset," he continued. "Talked about how much Father had done for the family, how he was wrongfully imprisoned —" Harry bristled slightly at this but Malfoy, if he noticed, didn't react. "And I lost it. I told Mother that he deserves to be there, that we all deserve to be there—"

"You don't," Harry said quickly. "You were a kid—and your mother—"

Malfoy shook his head. "You're too forgiving for your own good, Potter," he said reprovingly, but some of the intensity had gone from his voice. "Mother didn't appreciate my comments, told me I needed to be loyal to the family or I could get out."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

Malfoy sighed. "It was a long time coming, if I'm being honest. But I was upset when she reacted that way. I guess I thought she'd at least understand, even if she didn't agree with me. But she's loyal to him and to the old ways after all."

"And all this just happened on Wednesday?"

Malfoy nodded. "I didn't know what to do with myself. It's not—it's not the sort of thing I can talk about with Blaise or Pansy—so I don't know, I came to you."

"We didn't talk about it at all," Harry said regretfully. "I should've—"

Malfoy snorted. "Talking wasn't exactly a thing we did then."

But they were talking now, Harry thought, and it was nice. He shifted slightly, and Malfoy looked down at him, resting his hands on Harry's legs.

"Besides, the distraction was nice," Malfoy continued, and he actually squeezed Harry's thigh, just above his knee, as he said it. A shiver went down Harry's spine. "Anyway, when I left your place in the morning, I went to see Andromeda, and that's when she invited me here to ruin your Christmas."

"It hasn't been all bad," Harry said, his stomach still doing somersaults from Malfoy having squeezed his thigh. Get a grip. He'd managed to have an entire conversation without snogging Malfoy so far; he wasn't about to ruin it now. "But I'm sorry about George."

Malfoy sighed again. "That's the thing—he's not wrong, is he? I did a lot of horrible things—no, don't look at me like that, I did do horrible things, regardless of why—and frankly, I'm surprised any of you have forgiven me. I told Andromeda it was a mistake for me to come here, and I expected it to be much worse. The only good thing is that I finally apologized to some of them. Granger, in particular. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley—I think that's why they were so firm about not throwing me out."

"You did?" Harry said in surprise. So it wasn't just Neville. Malfoy really did want to make amends.

"Yeah," said Malfoy, shrugging. "It's not a big deal."

"It is, though," said Harry softly. Malfoy was chewing his lip again, looking down at Harry with those grey eyes and flushed cheeks. It was easy for Harry to forget that he'd ever hated Malfoy at all.

"Listen," Malfoy said in a rush. "I ought to have done this long ago, but with the way things started up between us—"

"At Hogwarts, or at the bar?"

"Both, I suppose." Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. "Just—let me finish, would you?" Malfoy took a deep breath. Harry waited, a nervous prickle in his stomach. "Potter, I'm sorry," Malfoy continued. "I did a lot of terrible things when we were at school—in addition to what I did during the war—and I'm sorry for all of it."

Harry looked up at him. He'd known the apologize was coming, but hearing it out loud disarmed him completely. He wondered what Malfoy would do if he took his face in his hands and kissed him—but now wasn't the time for that.

"I'm sorry too." Harry pushed himself up to sit cross-legged on the bed so that he was eye level with Malfoy. "I almost killed you in the bathroom that time. You still have the scars on your chest. I've seen them."

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. "You didn't know what the spell did—and anyway, I was going to cast a fucking Unforgivable on you, what were you supposed to do?"

Harry shrugged and, without thinking it through, stuck out his hand for Malfoy to shake. Malfoy looked down at it in surprise. "Let's leave it in the past, okay?" Harry said.

"You forgive me?" Malfoy asked. He turned so he was facing Harry, his grey eyes flashing with intensity in the dim light. "I—I have to hear you say it."

"Yes," Harry said. "I do."

In the growing darkness, Malfoy took Harry's hand and shook it. "This was probably a long time coming," Malfoy said quietly, his palm soft and smooth against Harry's own. Harry didn't say anything, but he gave Malfoy's hand a squeeze and didn't let go for a long moment.

It wasn't what he'd expected, Harry thought, but it was a perfect ending to an otherwise imperfect Christmas Day.