𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄

Chapter 8

After warming up in the rink-side cabin over hot cocoa and steamy beef stew, Harry and Draco turned in their skates and headed back out into the winter breeze. Harry cast a warming charm over them both as he led Draco underneath a barren willow tree, whose drooping branches fell around them like a threadbare curtain.

Harry pulled a pack from his pocket and enlarged it. The basket that he'd prepared contained blankets, cauldron, bottle of wine and goblets, spices, chocolate, and a book. Harry laid one of the blankets out for them and told Draco to sit while he fixed up the rest. He conjured some stones and a fire, charming it so that sparks of it wouldn't leap off. He levitated the cauldron over the fire and emptied the wine and spices into it, then crawled back over to sit under the blankets with Draco while it warmed. Draco leaned against him, laying his head on Harry's shoulder.

"Are you going to read to me?" he asked.

Harry blushed. "You might have noticed that there is one element of courtship which I have long avoided," he replied. "I don’t think you've ever heard the Sonnets from the Portuguese."

"Which ones?" Draco asked, brow adorably furrowed. Harry kissed it.

"They are not actually Portuguese sonnets," Harry explained. "It's Muggle poetry, written by an Englishwoman who wrote in the time of Queen Victoria. She wrote these sonnets for her husband, who called her his little Portuguese."

They spent the rest of the afternoon under that tree. Harry recited poetry for awhile, going over all forty-four sonnets for Draco's enjoyment. And Draco did like them, despite the fact that they were written by a Muggle. Harry felt proud of him for making such an admission, knowing how steadfastly traditionalist he was.

When Harry had finished his recitation of the sonnets, they settled down to talk. Sipping mulled wine and snacking on dark chocolate truffles, they traded stories and secrets, and simply reveled in one another's company. The sky darkened, and the breeze grew crisper. After some time, they packed up once more and headed back up to school in time for dinner.

They met up again at the Room of Requirement following dinner, to exchange gifts like they'd previously agreed. Draco urged Harry to open his present first, so Harry did, sitting the large box on his lap and tearing through the red paper. Thick folds of cerulean blue and slate gray silk heavily embroidered with silky silver threads in a woody motif sat in the box. Brushing his fingertips over it, Harry traced the design, realizing as he followed the curve of branch and leaf that the threads were Veela hair. Harry gently pulled the cloth from the box, holding it up to better examine it. They were a set of silk robes and an embroidered, flowing mantle. The fastenings on the robe were slate gray polished stone – the same stone found in the pool in the forest glade.

"Ceremonial Veela garb," Draco said quietly. "I had the design modified a bit…. Do you like it?"

"I love it," Harry said. "It's beautiful. I don't know what else to say besides thank you. I'm rather incoherent at the moment."

Smirking, Draco said, "Incoherence is good, never fear."

Setting his gift aside, Harry pulled out a small black box tied with a red bow and handed it over. "Happy Valentine's Day, Draco."

~

One night, Harry couldn't sleep, so he snuck out to the greenhouse to check on his Pixie Pot. It amazed him how Draco had nursed it back to health over the months. It was now vibrant and strong, the plant growing thicker and taller every week, and it gave off a light, sweet scent.

Harry laid back on the bench and set it on his chest, rubbing one waxy leaf. "Hello, Herbert," he said jovially. "Sorry if I'm waking you. I couldn't sleep and I wanted a bit of company. But I didn't think you'd mind. You like company, don't you? And you like hearing about my boy."