Title: Treasure: to regard as something precious; to cherish.
Category: Harry Potter
Genera: angst/friendship
Rating: T
Words: 861
Characters: Harry, Ron, and various other members of the Gryffindor Common Room.
0o0
It was a rather inconspicuous to look at. Just another present under the tree. And it certainly didn't draw attention to itself: rectangular, book-shaped, and wrapped in unassuming red-printed-with-holly paper and a green tie. No sparkling stars, moving reindeer, glittering silver bows—nothing that would make it stand out from its fellow presents. And there were a lot of those, too, piled higher and higher, all competing for most eye-catching (whether with spectacular colors or deliberate lack-there-of).
No, this present utterly failed to draw any attention to the fact that it was the most dangerous one under the tree. The forbidden present. The one no one even thought to look for…because the giver wasn't ridiculous, or shocking, or even unfathomable: he simply weren't even contemplated in the first place.
The large wrapped book (it was a book) sat meekly at the tree-side of the pile; close to the trunk, only visible after most of the other presents were removed and torn open. And torn open they were! Paper and ribbon littered the floor of Gryffindor Common Room; strings of tinsel covered everything; glitter exploded out like confetti from those packages that had the honor of being from Luna Lovegood; and Hermione's cat Crookshanks slunk and rolled through the chaos, making an even larger disaster than previously mentioned. Gifts were assembled into various piles—some people's orderly, most not. But who cared? It was Christmas! Sweets were consumed in unhealthy, delightful quantities, gifts were compared and tossed about, someone (Hermione, it was suspected) had charmed Christmas music to play, and there was a strong suspicion that Seamus had spiked the eggnog. It was a thoroughly joyous atmosphere.
Through it all, a sixth year student held himself apart from the raging chaos. Sitting by the window, his few—but highly appreciated—presents arranged almost too-neatly before him, he looked out at the enormous snowflakes falling gently from the sky. His beloved Weasley sweater (which he was wearing, of course) was black this year, with a small, white Grimm (the white sheep of the Black family). Ron had said it looked to solemn, but it was without question Harry's favorite to date.
"Oi, Mate!" his best-friend-turned-present sorter called from the tree, drawing his silent scrutiny, "Here, you missed one! Merlin-awful heavy…got someone aside from 'Mione sending you books?" Ron groaned as he 'lugged' it across the room and handed it to Harry. His attention having been momentarily distracted, Dean and Seamus took advantage of the situation to send charmed snowballs at Ron's head. With a shout of outrage, he wheeled around and took them down in a flying tackle. In the chaos that followed, everyone forgot about the unopened present and its receiver.
With great care, Harry picked up the present and turned it over in his hands. It was heavy, tastefully—but boringly—wrapped, with only a small tag of "Harry" to indicate the intended recipient. Gently, Harry undid the bow and slit the tape on the wrapping paper, unfolding it neatly and in perfect condition.
It was a book. A very large, great book, in fact. Could rival any one of Hermione's given the chance, and that was saying something. Harry turned it slowly over to look at the front cover.
The Riverside Shakespeare it read. Harry felt his breath hitch. Very, very few people knew of his love for the playwright's works—wizards hadn't heard of him—and of all those people who knew…well, 'Mione had already gotten him a book. And besides, this wasn't her style of wrapping, nor her handwriting, for that matter. Which left…
With shaking hands, Harry opened the front cover. The title page stood out in arcane writing, bold letters and calligraphy intertwined. And on the left—on the blank hard inside cover—yes! It was from…!
Harry drew a shaking breath, pulling his knees up closer to his chest even as he traced the inscription with work-worn fingers. He cradled the book as close as he could while still being able to read the dedication. He'd never expected—especially something so…—and sure he'd sent a gift of his own, but—well, he was the impulsive, emotional Gryffindor!—to get something in return…!—And something so…so…perfect and touching and, and, AND!
Meaningful. Something so meaningful. Closing the cover and clutching the book to his chest, Harry sank back into the shadows, out of the limelight. The world didn't need him today. And it was probably best if no one noticed him until he had his emotions under control; and with the inscription charmed for-his-eyes-only (and the fact that the extremely paranoid sender hadn't done so meant…meant…!).
He held the book close, as if it could make him closer to the giver, curled up next to that forbidden dream. The world would force them farther and farther apart, and no one would condone this…friendship? Relationship? Mentorship?
But for tonight, it was enough for Harry to know that he wasn't the only one of the two of them who cared.
"HJP:
'But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.'
And
'We are such stuff as dreams are made on,'
Merry Christmas,
TMR."
0o0
A/N: The glitter from presents and the tinsel comes from Silver Wolf's Luna Lovegood (in her two renditions of "Twelve Days of Christmas")
Note that this story was not written with slash in mind. It can certainly be read that way, but from my point of view, this is just really deep friendship, possible mentor-ship.
As for some sort of background to this scene…no idea whatsoever. Make it up.