A Christmas Story

A Christmas Story

Gasping and shaking from pain and the cold, a damp cold that insinuated itself into his bones, the man furtively looked about him. His sudden appearance was neither noiseless nor subtle; the fact he remained undetected was only because no sane person was out willingly on a fierce night such as this.

Satisfied that he'd not been followed, he peered at the house numbers. He knew he was close to his destination; he'd been here numerous times as a young child. He was counting on the home's recognition of his bloodline, combined with certain inescapable characteristics of its current owner.

He looked at the homes lining the street. The cozy holiday decorations and warm lights twinkling from many of their windows only heightened his awareness of the blustering wind and the inadequacy of his cloak against it.

He began walking, searching for the numbers which bracketed his goal.

It had been years since he'd spent Christmas at Grimmauld Place. He remembered the huge house as unfriendly and ugly, filled with numerous dark and scary alcoves. He had been pleased when his mother began insisting on hosting the family gatherings at the Manor.

Number 8, 10 and then Number 14. Even though he knew Number 12 should be there, he wouldn't be able to see it unless given the address by its Secret Keeper. That was fine – he figured he'd rely on the Christmas spirit of the home's current inhabitant. He made a slicing motion on his left palm. When a small trickle of blood appeared, he smeared it on his wand, covering as much of it as he could.

He positioned himself in an attempt to be as close as possible to where the door of the house would be when it revealed itself for him. Right... there. If he squinted, he could make out the irregularities in the patterns of brick between the two homes. Concentrating on the between-ness, he raised his wand and spoke.

"Expecto sanctuarium!"

Panting from the effort of the magical exertion, he waited. Three beats. Ten. He wasn't sure how much strength he had left after the Apparition and then this magic that drew from deep within him. He had started to sag against the wall, chin dropping almost to his chest, when a hand appeared from nowhere, grabbed his arm and pulled. His eyes closed and all went black.

***

"Malfoy? Can you hear me?"

He knew that voice. Draco grimaced as he shifted toward the source of the question. He lay on something soft. Opening his eyes, he squinted against the light and looked at the figure seated opposite him.

"Potter? Is...? Am I...?"

"What the hell are you doing here? I'm not surprised you know where to look, but what was that... that... summons? And what's the matter with you? You fainted dead away when I grabbed you. The only reason I haven't called the Aurors is because you seem too weak to stand... that and I've got your wand."

"Curse. Cruciatis. Something else, dunno... You've potions? Anything? Can... can help me?"

It was an effort to speak louder than a whisper, and he wanted to use that effort in remaining conscious long enough to hear an answer. Normally, he'd be mortified at asking anyone for assistance. But incongruous as it seemed, Potter was one of the very few to whom he would turn at his weakest.

He focused on Potter's face, where emotions – clearly visible, as always – warred for control.

"Things must be bad if you're coming to me for help," Harry said, then heaved a sigh and shook his head. But decision was now evident in the set of his features.

"Thank you. Potter... Harry, you're..." Draco's relief allowed him to let go again, and he shut his eyes, letting oblivion take him.

***

He woke and must have made some sound for Potter roused and straightened in his chair. He reached for something on the bureau and offered it to Draco.

"Here, Malfoy, don't go fainting again before you drink this. It's Pepper-Up. I don't have a lot of potions, but this is left from a bunch of stuff we got from Madam Pomfrey a while back. In the morning, after you've eaten a little, I'll give you some Strengthening Solution."

Draco gratefully took the phial. His fingers lightly brushed against Harry's in the transfer. If he hadn't still been so exhausted, he would have made more of that touch. As it was, even the steam issuing from his ears couldn't keep him awake as his eyes drifted shut again.

***

Draco woke again, feeling a long way toward normal. He looked around the room, seeing Quidditch posters on the walls, a pile of dirty clothes in one corner, and a framed photo of Harry laughing with Granger and the Weasel from sometime in their fourth year at Hogwarts. He realized with a shock he was in Harry's room, Harry's bed.

He stretched his legs and arms, sampling the feel of the Chosen One's sheets. They were likely overdue for a cleaning, but he didn't care. He turned his head into the pillow and inhaled Potter's scent, thinking of the two scarce occasions he was close enough to get a good whiff of Potter's natural aroma. Of course those two instances were so sexually charged that considering the raging pheromones, probably anything would have smelled good to him. Finding more comfort than arousal in the smell, Draco wrapped his arms around the pillow, buried his face in it, and inhaled deeply.

"You two want to be left alone?" Potter sounded rather smug.

Shite! "It's called stretching and deep breathing, Potter, gets one's limbs and lungs ready for the day." He didn't really care how ridiculous that sounded. He sat up in the bed and looked at Harry, whose brow was raised slightly in disbelief.

"Right. Well, when you and my pillow are through, you have some questions to answer."

"Erm." Draco shifted uncomfortably, breaking Harry's gaze. "We shouldn't really be talking. And I'm leaving as soon..."

"Leaving? You're not going anywhere without your wand."

"My... Listen Potter, you know I can't tell you anything. Now just..."

Harry interrupted again.

"Wait. For one thing, you're the one who forced this little tête-a-tête. You're not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you. I mean, there's all sorts of stuff I used to say was wrong with you, but... you know. I mean what happened to you? You couldn't even stand up last night. That's not from just a Cruciatus, not unless you had a prolonged bout of it, to practically suck all the magic out of you. And what could you possibly have been thinking by coming here? Not to mention that – whatever-it-was that called me to come get you. And what is it you want from me?"

Harry's questions came fast and loud.

Draco screwed his eyes shut and held up his hands.

"Merlin's balls, Potter! One at a time. If I tell you why I'm here, will you give me my wand back?"

"You'll have to answer a lot more than that to get your wand. You're a wanted man, Malfoy. Your face is pasted on posters all over. You think I wouldn't turn you in? Why did you come here, of all places in the world?"

Draco looked back at Harry, deciding something.

"Here it is, Potter: I knew you're too much of a Gryffindor to refuse me, and I was banking on our... uh... history that you wouldn't call the Aurors without at least hearing me out first." They stared at each other, neither saying a word, but both obviously thinking about that 'history.'

"Um." Now it was Harry's turn to squirm. He made a go at looking serious and determined, crossing his arms as he leaned against the bureau. "Well, I haven't called the Aurors yet, that's true... but I haven't decided not to, mind. I'll be seeing two of them tomorrow for Christmas at the Burrow, for heaven's sake. Right. Next question: What in Circe's name was that thing you did? It felt like a summons or something, like I had to go get something, do something, but had no idea what it was."

"How much do you know about magical history, Potter? And not that rubbish Binns shovels out year after year; I mean old pure-blood ways, ancient magic."

"You mean Dark..."

"No, not Dark, just old. And not used that much in a world that isn't filled with feudal fiefdoms. I pled Sanctuary from the home of my ancestors, a home to which I have a blood claim, and that holds blood protection for me. This particular house might not be from feudal times, but the Blacks always prided themselves on following the old ways."

"I... I guess that makes sense. Merlin knows there's more magical residue in this place than seems good for anyone – gives me the creeps sometimes. So moving on, what happened to you to get you so weak you fainted twice on me."

Draco laughed mirthlessly.

"You might say you're the cause of my condition, oh Boy Who Won't Give Up. Let's just say the Dark Lord has been very displeased with me for my inability to do anything up to his standards, and he is displeased with you because, well, you're you, and you're proving ridiculously hard to kill. And since he can't inflict his displeasure on you, he'll do so on me.

"He's changed the Cruciatus Curse somehow. Or combined it with something, I'm not sure. But it lasts longer, and seems to leave you a lot weaker. You have that thrown at you several days in a row and see how long your magical energy lasts..." Draco trailed off, lost in thought for a few minutes before he continued.

"He was done with me and went off somewhere on a new rampage, so I left as soon as I could. No one there seemed all too eager to help me out, and if You Know Who would've decided to give me a few more goes, it probably would have killed me. Hell of a Christmas present, eh?"

Harry tried to replace the stricken expression on his face to one of forced neutrality, with minimal success.

"Draco..." Harry finally sat down, resting on one side of the bed. He started over.

"Draco, why... what made you ever think it was worth going with that maniac? Was it just because of your parents?"

"Gods, Potter, there is no 'just because' of my parents. I'm a Malfoy. Family is everything. I had no choice in following the Dark Lord, just as you had no choice but to follow Dumbledore."

Both of them flinched slightly at the mention of the wizard whose death did not come at the end of Draco's wand, but might as well have.

"If I had not obeyed what I was commanded, to find a way to get the Death Eaters into the castle, and to kill the Headmaster, it would have meant my death. But only after my mother and father were killed in front of me first. There was no other choice, Potter. That's what I wanted to tell you last year, but how could I?" Draco slumped back down in the bed.

Harry thought of what Lupin and Moody had said, that Draco had been given an impossible task, doomed for failure from the start, that was likely meant as punishment for his father's failure at the Department of Mysteries. He wanted to ask what the point of even trying was. But then he thought of the love he felt for his own parents and imagined he'd try to do the impossible, if it meant he'd be able to be with them. He realized Draco was waiting for him to respond.

"And so... what now? What do you want from me?"

"It's Christmas Eve, Potter."

"Harry."

"Harry. It's Christmas Eve. And while I realize I'm no hope for the world, isn't it a bit of a tradition to give a person a safe place to spend the night on Christmas?"

Harry searched Draco's eyes for any hint of duplicity, and found none.

"Yeah, Draco. I guess you could say it is. Here, budge over."

Draco looked at Harry questioningly.

"Oh, calm down, fragile flower, I'm not going to take advantage of your delicate condition," Harry sniggered. Draco rolled his eyes and then budged over.

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"You can't go back to Him, you know. Not... not now that you've come here. And not if you're just going to get yourself killed." Harry wanted more than anything to get this next bit just right. "Draco, I want you to be safe. And I know you want your parents to be safe... Maybe there's a way to do both. Let me talk with the Order..." Draco flinched "...or at least just Professor McGonagall to see how we can work this out."

They stayed that way for a while, just lying in the bed together, touching along the length of their bodies, but neither making a move toward more intimacy as they stared at the ceiling.

"Remember our very first meeting, Harry?"

"Honestly, Draco, how could I forget? I thought you were such a stuck up little shit."

Draco snorted. "Well, I was. And why shouldn't I have been? I thought you were a right arse for refusing to shake my hand when we got to Hogwarts. There've been so many times since then I've thought..."

Harry turned on his side and propped up his head on his arm.

"Yeah, I know. Different choices and all," he said gently.

Draco cleared his throat and turned onto his side facing Harry. He touched Harry's free hand with his.

"Just one little handshake, and we'd have been side by side in all this..."

Harry sighed. He curled his hand around Draco's for a moment, then moved his hand up Draco's arm, stroking gently, as if he were calming a nervous Thestral. When he reached Draco's shoulder, he reversed directions. Up and down he drew his hand again, then continued to trace the line of Draco's throat. He felt Draco swallow, and moved his hand to cup Draco's cheek, his thumb gently stroking the curve of his ear.

The two men silently regarded each other. Draco moved his hand to balance lightly on Harry's waist as he slowly leaned toward him. He closed his eyes, and kissed Harry firmly on the lips for a moment, then drew back.

In the distance, a clock bell began to chime the midnight hour.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Happy Christmas, Draco."