Chapter Text
In the first week of December, Harry found one of Draco's gloves in his own coat pocket. He didn't remember putting it there. Nor did he remember buying the tea that now occupied a considerable portion of the kitchen cupboard, but he knew how it had arrived. Draco had turned up one Thursday with three boxes and an opinion about the available space. The suitcases had gone back to Mayfair in October. Other things remained in Fulham. Harry took the glove out of his pocket and left it on the table beside a red envelope that had arrived that morning.
When Draco came in twenty minutes later, it was the first thing he saw.
"I've been looking for that."
"In my coat?"
Draco picked up the glove.
"I hadn't realised you were collecting them."
Harry kissed him before he could take off his scarf. The glove fell back onto the table.
"It's cold," Draco said when Harry drew away.
"Come in, then."
"I'm already in."
Harry smiled and closed the door. In the kitchen, Draco took off his coat and put it over the back of a chair. He looked at the envelope.
"Festive correspondence?"
"From Molly."
"Ron's mother?"
Harry nodded, stirring something in a pan. Draco opened the card after Harry gestured permission. There was a drawing of a tree on the front. Inside, slanting handwriting filled almost all the space. Draco read in silence. Then read one line again.
"She's telling you to bring a serving dish?"
"She's telling me to return a serving dish."
"How long have you had it?"
Harry thought.
"I don't know."
Draco looked up.
"Potter."
"I'm going to give it back."
"Is this a lending network? Hélène returns your bowls, you retain the Weasleys' serving dishes..."
Harry turned off the hob.
"You've had one of my books for six weeks."
"I'm reading it."
"It's a hundred and eighty pages long."
Draco put the card on the table.
"You shouldn't rush literature."
Harry laughed and took out two plates. Draco stayed by the table, looking at the tree on the front.
"What about you?" he asked. "What do you do for Christmas?"
"I usually go to theirs. Ron and Hermione arrive on Christmas Eve. She wants to leave work early this year, but he says he'll believe it when he sees it."
"Sensible."
Harry served the food.
"And you?"
Draco pulled out a chair.
"I go to my parents'."
"On the day?"
"Before. My mother likes me to be there for dinner on the twenty-fourth."
"And you stay?"
"Until the twenty-sixth."
Harry sat down opposite him.
"Sounds very organised."
"It is very organised. My mother sends a timetable."
Harry looked up from his plate. Draco met his eyes.
"I'm not joking."
"A timetable?"
"Times, guests, what's being served. Some years, notes on clothing."
Harry began to smile.
"You get instructions on what to wear?"
"So does Ron. The difference is that my mother puts hers in writing."
Harry laughed. Draco tasted the food and reached for the salt. Harry watched him.
"Do you like going?"
Draco paused with the salt cellar in his hand.
"To my parents'?"
Harry nodded. He put it down on the table.
"I like seeing my mother. She insists on opening presents after breakfast, and it takes two hours because she wants to see everyone open every single one."
"That sounds nice."
"It is. My father pretends to think it's excessive, but he sits there until the end."
Harry smiled. Draco went back to eating.
"Then people who've known me since childhood turn up and ask things they could have asked over the telephone."
"What things?"
"Whether I'm working too hard. Whether I'm working enough. Whether I intend to take on more responsibility. Whether I intend to take a holiday."
"You could say yes to all of them."
Draco looked at him.
"Perhaps I will."
Harry passed the bread. Draco took a piece.
"And do you like going to the Weasleys'?" he asked.
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation. Harry looked at the card.
"Molly always keeps a place for me. Even when I don't know yet whether I'll make it in time."
Draco followed his gaze.
"She seems to like you."
"She says I eat without complaining."
Draco lowered his eyes to his plate. Harry began to laugh before he could reply.
✦ ✦ ✦
Hélène arrived in Mayfair on Saturday with a box too large to have been carried without complaint. Draco opened the door and immediately tried to take it.
"Careful," she said.
He stopped.
"Is there glass in it?"
"No."
"Then?"
"I wrapped it."
Draco looked at the uneven folds in the paper.
"That's evident."
Hélène handed him the box, took off her gloves and came in.
"You're particularly unpleasant today."
"You're particularly early."
"I have things to do."
He took the box into the sitting room. Hélène followed and dropped her bag into an armchair. Her hair was caught under her coat collar; when she freed it, several strands stood on end. Draco looked. She ran a hand over her head.
"No."
"I haven't said anything."
"You breathed like that."
He put the box on the table. The label, in firm handwriting, read:
For Draco. Open with me.
The tradition had begun at school, after he discovered Hélène would be spending the holidays in France and gave her her present two days before she left, with instructions not to open it in the car. She had opened it in the car. The following year, he had insisted on witnessing it. Ever since, they had exchanged presents before each went off to their own Christmas. Draco examined the wrapping.
"It's only the eighth."
"I know."
"When are you leaving?"
"The twenty-second."
He looked up.
"Wasn't it the nineteenth?"
Hélène began taking off her coat.
"I changed it."
Draco held out his hand for it. She handed it over. He hung it up and came back slowly.
"For any particular reason?"
Hélène sat down.
"There was a flight."
"I imagine there was also one on the nineteenth, given that you had a ticket."
She crossed her legs. Draco waited. Hélène looked at the box.
"Aren't you going to open it?"
"Is Neville working until the twenty-first?"
She lifted her head.
"You're very well informed."
"You're very predictable."
Hélène tried to keep a stern expression, but smiled. Draco sat down opposite her.
"I'm having dinner with him before I go," she said. "His grandmother will be there too."
"Ah."
"Don't do that 'ah'."
"It was a polite 'ah'."
Hélène picked up a cushion.
"You have three kinds of 'ah'. I know all of them."
Draco leaned back.
"And how is Trevor?"
She closed her eyes.
"He's bought a hat."
Draco went still.
"For the frog?"
Hélène nodded. He began to laugh.
"A Christmas hat," she added bitterly.
Draco tried to speak and couldn't. Hélène threw the cushion. He caught it against his chest.
"Sorry."
"You're not forgiven."
"Where does one buy a hat for a ceramic frog?"
"I didn't ask. I was afraid of the answer."
Draco laughed again. Hélène waited, watching him with an expression of very limited tolerance. When he finally recovered, he picked up the box.
"May I?"
"You should."
Inside was something in dark grey wool, folded more carefully than the paper suggested. Draco lifted it out. A jumper. He ran his fingers over the fabric.
"You liked that one," Hélène said.
He remembered. They had seen it in a shop window a few weeks earlier. Draco had commented on the cut and kept walking because they were late.
"I did."
Hélène rested her chin on her hand. Draco looked up at her.
"Thank you."
"You can try it on."
"Now?"
"I carried a box across London. Give me something."
He smiled and got up. When he returned, Hélène gestured for him to turn. Draco complied with conspicuous resignation.
"It looks good," she said.
"You sound surprised."
"I'm appreciating my excellent taste."
He went to fetch her present from a drawer. Hélène sat up in the armchair. The box was small. She slipped off the ribbon without undoing the bow and lifted the lid. For a moment, she said nothing. Inside lay an antique brooch in the shape of a branch, with small pearls among the leaves.
"It's..."
"It isn't your grandmother's," Draco said. "But I thought it looked similar."
Hélène touched one of the leaves. At school, she had spent a few weeks wearing a brooch borrowed from her grandmother. She had lost it on a trip and spent an entire afternoon searching suitcases, pockets and his room, although Draco hadn't been on the trip.
"You remember that?"
"You made me look under a bed."
She laughed, still looking at the box. Then she got up and hugged him. Draco put his arms round her. Hélène stayed a little longer than she did when greeting him. When she drew away, she ran a hand over the shoulder of the jumper, smoothing the wool.
"It really does look good."
Draco looked at the brooch.
"You can wear it to dinner."
She looked up.
"With Neville."
"I know who the dinner is with, Hélène."
She smiled. Draco took the empty box from her hands and put it on the table.
"You like him."
Hélène rested her hip on the arm of the chair.
"I do."
He nodded. She watched his face.
"A lot," she added.
Draco was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled.
"Despite the frog."
Hélène laughed and lowered her head.
"Despite the frog."
✦ ✦ ✦
Harry rang on Sunday evening. Draco was reading the hundred-and-eighty-page book.
"Have you got Hélène's number there?" Harry asked.
Draco took off his reading glasses.
"Yes."
"Can you give it to me?"
"Has something happened?"
"No. I want to ask her something."
Draco waited. So did Harry.
"About what?"
A small laugh came from the other end.
"A present."
Draco leaned back.
"For her?"
"For you."
He looked at the book.
"You're asking me to help?"
"Just the number."
Draco dictated it. Harry repeated it to check.
"Thank you."
"She'll make absurd suggestions."
"I'll bear that in mind."
"And tell you things that have nothing to do with the question."
"I'll bear that in mind too."
Draco closed the book.
"Harry."
"Yeah?"
He ran his fingers over the spine.
"You don't have to buy me anything."
There was a brief pause.
"I know," Harry said. "I want to."
Draco looked towards the window. The lights in the building opposite were on.
"All right."
"All right."
Neither of them hung up. Then Harry said:
"I've been thinking about Christmas."
Draco sat up a little.
"Yes?"
"Would you like to spend some of it with me?"
Draco stared at the closed book.
"Which part?"
"Whatever we can manage."
"You're going to the Weasleys'."
"Yes. You could come too."
"Harry..."
"Molly's already asked whether I'm bringing someone."
Draco raised his eyebrows.
"She asked?"
"Ron must have said something."
"A bold hypothesis."
Harry laughed. Draco heard the clink of crockery.
"Are you in the kitchen?"
"Yes."
"Cooking?"
"Washing up."
"You shouldn't use the telephone near water."
"I'm a respectful distance from the sink."
Draco got up with the phone in his hand. He went to the window.
"My mother will want me there on Christmas Eve."
"Right."
"And on Christmas morning."
"Right."
"The Weasleys' house is..."
He stopped. Harry waited. Draco rested his hand on the windowsill.
"I could leave after lunch."
"You could."
"We'd have to arrange the times."
"We can do that."
"And I need to talk to my mother."
"Yes."
Draco fell silent. At the other end, Harry put something down.
"Do you want to?"
He lowered his eyes.
"Yes."
Harry smiled. Draco could hear it in his voice when he answered.
"Then we'll work it out."
✦ ✦ ✦
Working it out took three days. On Tuesday, Narcissa sent the timetable. On Wednesday, Molly asked Harry to find out whether Draco had any dietary requirements. Harry replied that he ate everything, but had comments. Molly rang.
"Comments about what?"
"Depends on the day."
She was silent for a moment.
"Does he like potatoes?"
"Yes."
"Then he'll be fine."
On Thursday, Draco arrived in Fulham with a folded sheet of paper in his coat pocket. Harry was sitting on the sofa, sorting cards. Draco sat down beside him and unfolded the sheet.
"I can get there at four."
Harry looked at it. There were two addresses, times and a note about traffic.
"You've written it all down?"
"It was easier."
Harry took the paper.
"You've put my name."
"It's your house, Potter."
Beside the twenty-sixth, it read:
Fulham.
Harry ran his thumb over the word.
"Are you staying?"
Draco looked at the cards on the sofa.
"If you want me to."
Harry left the sheet on the table.
"I do."
Draco nodded. Harry moved closer and kissed him. When he drew away, Draco still had a hand on his knee.
"And you?" he asked.
"What about me?"
"Would you like to come to my parents'?"
Harry blinked. Draco watched him carefully.
"Not on Christmas Eve, if you've already arranged something else. We could go before. Or after."
Harry thought for a few seconds.
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes."
The answer came more quickly than Draco expected. Harry smiled.
"Then I'll come."
Draco looked at the sheet on the table.
"I'll have to redo this."
"I think you'll cope."
Harry picked up one of the cards and put it on top of the paper. It was Molly's. At the end of the message, beneath the request for her serving dish, she had added two more lines. Draco read them.
Harry, dear, tell Draco he'll be very welcome. Ron says he's polite and that you've been very happy.
Draco looked at the handwriting for a few moments.
"Weasley talks too much."
"He does."
Harry rested his shoulder against Draco's. Draco put his arm along the back of the sofa.
"Do you really want to spend all that time with me?" he asked.
Harry turned his head.
"Yes."
"Even with the timetable?"
"We can bring it."
Draco smiled. Harry watched him.
"Where do you want to be?" Draco asked.
Harry rested his hand over Draco's.
"With you. We'll work out the rest."
Draco looked down at their interlaced fingers. Then picked up the sheet from the table. Harry began to laugh.
"What?"
"Are you going to write that down?"
Draco found the pen in his inside coat pocket.
"I'm correcting the times."
Harry settled beside him and watched him work. When Draco finished, he folded the sheet carefully. Harry took his hand again. The paper stayed on the table.