You Make It Feel Like Christmas / drarry

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Dec 20, 2010

Dearest Draco,

What wonderful news of you staying! I have already set aside your ticket for the Witches' Yule Show. Although I must admit I am quite surprised by this change of plans—it is very unlike you. Might there be a boy involved? I won't pry, sweetheart, I just want you to be happy.

Your loving mother,

Narcissa

***

3 days until Christmas.

Wednesday is Draco's last day at work before retiring for a break that lasts until the new year. In fact, all departments are closing for the holidays apart from customer service and Access Services, making it an especially lazy day among the staff. Draco can't even bother commenting when Millicent arranges the same stack of papers for the fifth time. He's essentially just waiting to leave himself.

To celebrate the start of the holidays, large snowflakes have started to float through the air since the morning. It's just below freezing and the dry ground doesn't cause them to disappear, so by lunchtime a veil of white has formed on the courtyard of the library.

And it doesn't show signs of stopping.

Draco has managed to send his final notes on the logbook to Robards in record time, and the book is now locked up and waiting for his full attention come the new year. Now Draco's left Millie to rearrange something else in the lab and has withdrawn to his office to tidy up when there's a knock on the door.

He spins around, thoroughly hoping the Head of the DMLE hasn't returned to give him a warning squeeze on his shoulder and more Auror mandated work to keep him busy through the holidays. "Yes?"

But through the door enters only Potter—well, not only Potter, judging by the stutter Draco's heart gives—who lets himself in, melted snow sticking to his curls and absorbing into his wool coat. He's carrying a gift bottle bag which he sets on Draco's desk as he pecks his cheek, scents of coffee and vanilla circling Draco.

It's so familiar and easy that it makes Draco's insides turn with butterflies. As if his stomach were being used as bread dough and kneaded around his torso.

Potter looks fantastic as always—cheeks nipped red from the cold, flushed lips like cherries, a groomed stubble, and his eyes bright as he hops to sit on Draco's desk like three weeks ago he wasn't here asking for Draco's help, sitting stiff as a board in front of said desk.

"What's this?" Draco inquires with a slight frown, his hand already pulling the gift bag towards him. Potter really does spoil him rotten, it's awful.

The man smiles coyly, his eyes darting to the gift bag and then back to Draco. "For your hard work on translating the pages, Robards is positive the Wizengamot will rule in favour of the museum." He seems to hesitate before adding, "And because I won't see you in ages."

"A questionable ending, yet I thank you," Draco mutters, his cheeks aflame because Potter is going to miss him. "But also, five days is hardly ages."

"It's ages." Potter's tone is charmingly petulant as he reaches for Draco's hand and tugs him to stand between his legs. The man's eyes are like gentle sapphires in the low setting sun as they flick softly from Draco's eyes to his mouth before mumbling, "A forever, dare I say."

Draco's hands have already found their place in Potter's neck hair before he catches himself. "I didn't get you anything," he complains, mouth inches from Harry's.

"You didn't have to," Potter smiles breathlessly, his eyes hardly focusing, and it's reassuring that Draco's not the only one struggling with coherence. "Trust me, it's nothing special."