Knockturn Alley was as dim and grim as ever. Hermione and Ginny exchanged a wary look as Harry squinted at the shingle which hung above the morbid little shop that Hermione had had the audacity to suggest.
"Tragik's Necromancery," he read aloud. "Looks inviting."
"Come on, my darling deer," Ginny swung her arm and collided with his invisible elbow, yanking him in close and preventing any possibility of retreat.
Hermione twisted the doorknob and they pressed into the darkened interior one after another. They found themselves in a spacious parlor, before a crackling fireplace that did nothing to warm the room. Harry opened his mouth to ask where the proprietor was when a curtain dividing the front from the back whizzed open, revealing a gaunt, bent man with stringy black hair and the waxy pallor of an embalmed corpse.
"Good day," he said in a ghoulish voice. "I am Lester Tragik. How may I help you?"
"We need to speak with someone who passed away," Hermione said. "Can you help?
"Specifically we need to know what spell he cast last." Ginny added.
"Why don't you try Prior Incanto?" the man clasped his hands together and smiled without mirth. "Far be it for me to turn away business but that would seem logical."
Hermione and Ginny stared at each other in dismay and then whirled to stare into the emptiness behind them.
"Ron and I already thought of that," Harry said. "He fell on his wand and snapped it in three. Prior Incanto doesn't work on busted wands."
"We have a guest?" Tragik's eyebrows raised.
"I want some reassurance of anonymity," Harry said. "Confidentiality."
"Certainly," the man smiled again. "It's the Necromancer's Code."
"Another code, how handy," Harry muttered. He reached up and removed the invisibility cloak, this time managing to pull it down without tangling.
"Oh my," Tragik's eyes flicked to the tips of the antlers. "Ten points. How virile."
"I need to know what was cast to make this happen," Harry said. "Can you contact the deceased or not?"
"I can," the man swept through the curtain and waved a spindly hand for them to follow.
The back room was cramped and clad all in black. Tragik stepped onto a raised platform at the center and sat lotus style with his eyes closed. Harry, Hermione and Ginny stood awkwardly around him, and Harry was worried that any sudden movements in the tiny space would send him crashing through another wall.
"What is the name of the deceased?" The Necromancer intoned.
"Stanley Steubens," Harry spat the man's name, as though that could somehow reverse his fate.
"Stanley Steubens, I summon thee," Tragik's voice dropped a register.
"Oh please," Ginny snorted. Hermione jabbed her in the ribs.
The air shifted in the room, and a wind from nowhere gusted in a cyclone around the raised platform. Harry seized Hermione and Ginny by the elbows in a protective gesture and stepped back. His antlers struck the wall, preventing any further retreat.
"He is with me," the Necromancer announced. "I have asked him to reveal his last spell."
"What did he say," Hermione shook Harry's hand off of her arm and stepped forward. "Harry cast a Patronus, if that helps."
"He is showing me a mirror," Tragik's eyes fluttered and his head dropped back. "Mirror mirror, on the wall."
"Give me a break," Ginny hissed.
"Is that all?" Hermione asked. "Just a mirror? How does that help?"
"The dead cannot always speak," Tragik sighed. "Death is such a difficult fate."
"Mirror," Hermione turned to Harry. "Does that mean anything to you?"
"He is showing me a deer in the mirror," Tragik added.
"Well that's easy," Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's got deer antlers. Not quite the impressive feat of divination, is it?"
"He is departing," the Necromancer said, then his shoulders slumped forward. "He is gone."
"That's it?" Ginny balled up her fist aggressively. "And how much are you charging for that?"
"One hundred," Tragik's eyes opened. "The message may not mean much now, but the meaning may reveal itself with time."
"Right," Ginny turned and strode out of the room. "Let's get out of here."
"If I may," Tragik stood in one fluid motion and produced a small phial from a pouch on his belt. "This is a cure-all. It should allow your body to shed anything that is not part of your core essence. If you are unable to find the counterspell, you could try this."
Harry glanced down at the tiny cobalt blue tube. It was filled with a viscous black fluid, barely a mouthful. He thanked the man and pocketed it, not yet desperate enough to drink mystery potions.
He had to lift the curtain high above his head to clear the doorway without getting tangled up. He told himself to hold steady, to stay optimistic. At some point they would figure this out and his life would go back to normal. But as soon as he was covered with the invisibility cloak and they were out on the sidewalk, panic flashed through him like sheet lightning.
"Thanks, Hermione. Thanks Ginny," he struggled to keep his voice controlled. "I'll see you back at the flat."
"Where are you going?" Hermione grasped at empty air.
"Back to Malfoy's," Harry said. "Hopefully he can do something with this information."
0oOo0
Three raps, a rattle, a clatter, and warm golden light pushed back the cold December air. Harry sidled past Draco into the house and flopped onto the sofa without removing his cloak.
"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," Draco said mildly. "What happened?"
"I saw a Necromancer."
"And?"
"It was a total waste of time," Harry groaned. He flopped back onto the cushion and knocked a vase off of the console table behind him.
"Reparo," Draco swished and stowed his wand back up inside of his sleeve. "Why do you say that?" He tried to step around Harry but tripped on his invisible feet and tumbled gracelessly to the floor. His hair flopped across his face and his Healer's jacket caught on the arm of a chair.
Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. It wasn't that he wanted to laugh at Draco, it was that any pratfall went straight to his funny bone. Draco glared at him from the floor.
"Sorry," Harry swallowed his laughter. "Don't be cross. No matter how you fall I'll always be a bigger laughingstock." He flipped the invisibility cloak off of his head and pointed at his rack. "See? I win every time."
"Typical," Draco climbed to his feet. "Saint Potter even has to win at losing."
"You have to admit I'm losing big time here," Harry went back to moping as he folded up his cloak. "The Necromancer couldn't tell me much. He said the spirit kept showing him a mirror. A deer in a mirror."
"Mirror?" Draco frowned. "I need to think about that."
"It's hopeless, utterly hopeless," Harry dropped his face into his hands and teetered forward off balance. "Forget Christmas, I'm going to be alone with bloody horns for the rest of my life!"
"Antlers."
"Whatever!"
"Listen," Draco glanced at the clock over the mantle. "I have a patient arriving in ten minutes. You're welcome to wait upstairs until I'm finished and then we can look into this mirror symbol."
Harry looked up at Draco and saw a flash of sincere concern on his face, which was gone in a heartbeat as he smoothed his expression over.
"Thank you," he said, the words fighting their way out of his throat, as a deep down resentful remnant protested the idea of thanking the former Hogwarts bully.
"Make yourself at home," Draco retreated to the examination room. "Go now before they get here."
Harry walked sideways up the stairs to avoid knocking the photo frames down this time, and he arranged the sofa with pillows and cushions stacked up so he could take a nap sitting up. He was so tired and his neck was so achy from not being able to lie down properly.
He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until a light feathering touch in his hair startled him awake. He jerked his head up with a snort and wiped the corner of his mouth. The room was wrong. It wasn't the shabby flat with a bare minimum of possessions of his and Ron's place, it wasn't the cozy feminine studio of Hermione and Ginny's place. It was deep and comfortable and dark with wood and leather and cashmere.
He sat up quickly as he realized he had fallen asleep in Draco Malfoy's lounge. He whirled around, nearly catching Draco's sleeve on one of his points. His former school rival had shed his white coat and was watching him warily, dressed in a dark purple v-neck sweater over a collared shirt and tie. His hands were in his pockets and his gray eyes were attentive as Harry slowly came to his senses.
"Sorry," Harry swiped at his mouth again, self-consciously aware that he might have been drooling.
"Is that how you've been sleeping?" Draco asked.
"Yes," Harry tilted his head to either side to crack his neck. "I can't lie down anymore."
"Maybe I can help," Draco nodded for Harry to follow him.
Harry pushed himself to his feet, limbs stiff and achy from his nap. He was startled to notice that it was dark outside of the bay window, and a light flurry of snow was fluttering past the glass like a snowglobe. He checked the clock on the mantle.
"Seven o'clock?" his jaw dropped. "How did I sleep that long?"
"You must be exhausted," Draco called from the stairs to the third floor.
Harry hurried to follow him, then paused on the bottom step. Had Draco touched his head? He could have sworn that was what had woken him up. He could barely recall the sense of it, gentle and slow. Or maybe he had dreamed it.
"I once stayed for two weeks in Japan," Draco called over his shoulder. "I picked something up that might help."
Harry climbed the stairs and followed Draco into a room directly above the lounge. It was the master bedroom, richly decorated like the floor below. Leather club chairs, a mahogany four poster bed, built-in bookcases with framed photos and small keepsakes. Harry lifted a photograph from the nearest shelf and noticed immediately that it didn't move. Muggle film. The photo showed Draco grinning and squinting into the sun with the Taj Mahal behind him, his arms flung around the shoulders of a pair of dark-skinned men on either side. The men were also grinning and one was pointing behind them at the monument. Draco's pale complexion and nearly-white hair was a sharp contrast to the other two.
"Sanjay and Raj," Draco plucked the frame from Harry's hand and placed it back onto the shelf. "Tour guides. Sanjay had a daughter who was born without ears, the openings and the earlobes never formed. They couldn't afford surgery to repair it, not even cosmetically. But she was the happiest little girl I've ever met."
Harry nodded but didn't know what to say. Draco was holding a small wooden frame in his hand, flat on the bottom and curved on top with a layer of padding and satin covering it.
"It's called a takamakura," he said. "it's what geishas sleep on so they won't mess up their hair."
"You're suggesting I sleep on that?" Harry asked. "I'm not sure how I would keep my balance."
"It's just a thought," Draco turned away. "You certainly aren't obligated to try it."
"No wait," Harry caught his sleeve. He felt badly about rejecting his idea. He was legitimately trying to help. "I could give it a shot."
Draco glanced down at Harry's hand on his sweater and turned back. He handed the padded frame over and watched him silently.
Harry turned the frame in his hands and frowned. "Was this used by a real geisha?"
"It's for tourist trade," Draco smiled tolerantly. "I never spent much time with the geishas while I was there. Not much allure for me."
"Right," Harry nodded.
"It's coming down hard," Draco went to the window and peered out at the big, wet snowflakes that were starting to pile up on the sill. "I need to run out and get a few things before the shops close. I started your potion but I'm low on shale oil and I need it for the final step tomorrow morning."
"I'll get out of your way, then," Harry said. He pointed to his head, "Unless you need someone to pull your sleigh."
Draco ducked his head to cover up a smile. "I might need some help carrying everything back."
"Do you think anyone would notice if you were assisted by an invisible porter?"
"There are other ways to get around your," Draco pressed his lips together and searched for the right word, "predicament."
And that was how Draco and Harry ended up hitting the town dressed as Santa and his reindeer. Or rather, just the hat parts. Draco had split a brown woolen cap and Reparoed it around Harry's antlers, and then he had donned a long red stocking cap with white fur trim and a white puffball at the tip, which jingled merrily above his shoulder thanks to a bell embedded inside. For all intents and purposes, Harry simply appeared to be wearing a very realistic tribute to the holiday season.
It was marvelous to finally get outside after being cooped up for weeks. The snowflakes were falling in heavy clusters, not wet or too icy. Hogsmeade was decked out in its finest Christmas decorations, with holly swagged from streetlamp to streetlamp and every tree done up in lights. Shops were still open, making the best of the high shopping season, and the golden glow of the lights inside spilled out onto the freshly fallen snow in checkerboard squares.
Harry loved Christmas. Given his childhood he had no earthly reason to, but the Weasleys had taught him what the season was supposed to be about. And the older he grew, the more he romanticized the holiday. He wished he could scoop up Draco's hand in his and stroll between the lighted trees, not because it was Draco, but because the Christmas wonderland that was the Hogsmeade town square was made for holding hands. Any hands. Even two former enemies' hands.
They passed fellow shoppers, eliciting friendly chuckles from adults and squeals of delight from children, but as far as Harry could tell no one suspected his antlers were real. A man with a camera asked them to pose for a photo in front of the biggest tree at the center of the town square, and only after they complied did Harry wonder if the picture would end up in the paper.
Secret Santa: Horny Harry's Bold New Beau?
He hadn't come out to the public yet. He wasn't sure he was ready for a headline like that. Then again Draco didn't seem concerned so perhaps he was overthinking it.
They continued on to the potion supply shop for shale oil and a few other staples, then Draco wanted to stop at a wine shop to pick up a gift for his parents. Harry stood near the door with his hands in his pockets and his head very still, worried that any sudden movements would topple a rack of very expensive wine bottles.
"They're doing a tasting in the back," Draco called from the counter. "Come on."
Harry shuffled carefully between large stacks of oak barrels and followed him into the back room, where a half dozen snooty older men and women were sipping from tiny cups.
Draco handed Harry a cup and took a sip from his own, before asking the proprietor about the vintage. Harry had no idea what to do with himself, not being much interested in wine vintages or tasting parties. That said, it was rather tasty and he appreciated the opportunity to relax with a drink.
A few minutes later the proprietor brought out another bottle and poured several small cups, one of which was passed back to him straight away. Another nice flavor, drier than the last but still lovely. Draco smiled politely at the other tasters and had a few questions about this bottle, too.
Another vintage was presented and everyone had another small cup. Harry was starting to enjoy himself. As long as no one tried to bore him with talk of bouquets and aeration and tannins he was happy to continue sipping.
Several bottle openings later he realized he was pissed. He leaned against the wall and thunked his left antler heavily against the paneling. His face was buzzing and warm. Draco turned to hand him another small cup but halted midway, cocked his head, and deposited it back onto the tray. He thanked the proprietor, purchased two bottles at a price Harry felt was more suitable for an automobile, and then he pushed Harry by the shoulder through the front of the store and out onto the sidewalk.
"You're pissed," Draco said, although his eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed, too, giving away his own mild inebriation.
"You gave me like fifty drinks," Harry slurred as they walked back towards the square. "What do you 'spect?"
"Did you swallow?" Draco asked. "There were buckets around the room to spit the wine into. Did you swallow or spit?"
"I swallowed," Harry giggled and stumbled into Draco's arm. "I always swallow. I love to swallow."
Draco tripped over his own feet and clutched his expensive wine bottles to his chest.
"B'sides, you spat and you're pissed, too," Harry was triumphant as he voiced Draco's hypocrisy.
"I'm tipsy," Draco admitted. "Your mouth absorbs a bit of the alcohol during a tasting. But you're lucky to still be standing."
"You should try swallowing," Harry waggled his eyebrows at Draco.
"Charming."
"Look at the square!" Harry threw his arms out wide and almost clocked Draco across the head. "It's Christmas, Draco Malfoy. Even a bastard like you must like Christmas. I love Christmas."
"I do indeed like Christmas," Draco said mildly.
"Hey," Harry's brain sloshed inside his skull as he whirled around. He grasped his antlers and pulled hard, grunting and trying to break them off by sheer muscle strength. He gave up and let go with a snort. "What if we ended up underneath a mistletoe? Would you kiss a guy with horns?"
"Antlers."
"Whatever. Or are they too ugly?" Harry's heart dropped. He would never find anyone who would kiss a man with antlers, he was more sure of that than anything else in his life.
"They're not ugly, Potter," Draco said with a tolerant smirk. "They're a bit daft. But they don't change how your face or your body looks."
"But they're awful." The sadness that descended on Harry's sodden brain was as thick as the layer of snow along the eaves. His eyes welled up with tears and he knew he was powerless to stop them. "I'm never going to find someone who will kiss me under the mistletoe now."
"You need to get some sleep," Draco hooked his arm through Harry's elbow and steered him between the lighted trees towards home.
Harry moped but allowed himself to be towed back to Draco's place. The holly strung between the gaslights didn't look merry anymore, it looked sad. Sad for poor Harry Potter, who was cursed with rubbish eyesight and no family and no boyfriend and a pair of bloody antlers. Christmas? What was the point?
Draco led him up the front steps, then helped him up two flights of stairs to the top floor, where he steered Harry into a guest bedroom and flopped him across the bed with his head dangling off of the side. He disappeared for a moment and then reappeared with the geisha headrest.
"I don't even," Harry said, not sure how to end his sentence.
"I know," Draco quickly and efficiently removed his shoes, then unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders.
"You're always trying to get my clothes off," Harry laughed, thinking of the examination room. "Will you touch me again?"
"Potter, you're pissed," Draco grunted as he heaved Harry over onto his side and yanked the shirt free. He rotated Harry on the mattress until he was pointing the right direction, then rolled him back onto his side and propped his head up on the padded headrest.
"Hey," Harry hooked his arm around Draco's neck and pulled him in close. "How do my face and body look?"
"What?" Draco tried to free himself, but pissed Harry had the strength of ten sober Harrys.
"You said the antlers don't change how my face and body look," Harry said, staring intensely into Draco's pale gray eyes. "How do my face and body look?"
Draco swallowed hard and stared back. "Like you," he said softly. "Like an owl-eyed git."
"Is that good or bad?"
Draco took a sharp breath and blinked a few times. "You know it's good." he said. "You don't need me to tell you that."
"You're good, too," Harry said, then closed his eyes and released his grip on Draco's neck. The other man backed away and watched him for a moment, then left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
"Good night, Draco," Harry mumbled.
After a pause a voice came from the other side of the door. "Good night, Harry."