A Tiny Little Drarry Christmas Drabble
This is just a silly thing that came to me today, and since I’m barely writing at all right now, it felt good to get something down on paper! This also goes out as a thank you to some of the Drarry writers that I’ve followed and loved for so long now. (I hope it’s okay to dedicate a Christmas-themed drabble to you all!). @femmequixotic @noeeon @bixgirl1 @firethesound @lqtraintracks @dictacontrion Thank you so much for the hour and hours of enjoyment your work has given me!!
Draco makes his way through the crowd in Diagon Alley. It’s packed, which is only to be expected this close to Christmas. It’s the 24th, mid-afternoon, and Draco has finished his shopping, but restlessness has sent him from his cozy flat a few blocks away to brave the madness that is wizarding London on Christmas Eve. He wanders down the cobblestone street. It’s snowing lightly, and the lamp posts lining the street are draped with evergreen garland and red and gold bows. Fifteen years later, he thinks, and we’re still decorating in Gryffindor colors.
He runs over his gift list in his mind, thinking of the variety of things he’s picked out for the random assortment of characters who’ve found their way into his life. Like everything else about it, nothing is like what he thought it would be, and he gives thanks for that daily.
He notes the mood of the crowd, mostly festive with an undercurrent of stress, mainly heard in the voices of the mothers as they shepherd their children past the tempting window displays.
“For the last time, Alex,” one exasperated witch says firmly to her son, who cannot be more than five, “I am not buying that organic crup food.” Her voice fades into the crowd as Draco hears, “We don’t even have a crup,” over the wails of her devastated offspring.
He smiles, and decides to head into Flourish and Blotts, as they can always use some last-minute stocking stuffers. He’s looking over his choices in color-changing ink gel pens, and contemplating whether the hassle of glitter getting everywhere (absolutely everywhere, he remembers with a grimace) is worth the joy that he knows a certain child will feel at having the latest iteration of these monstrosities, when it happens.
He glances up to see a familiar tousled head of a man standing a few steps away, looking at the decorative mug display, and as if drawn by a magnet, green eyes meet his own, and narrow.
“Malfoy.” Potter’s voice is flat, even. “Last minute Christmas shopping?”
Draco narrows his eyes in return. What the hell? What has he done now?
“Actually, my shopping’s been done for ages. Everything’s even wrapped.”
Potter frowns. “What are you doing here, then?”
Draco sighs, “Always so suspicious, Potter. I’m soaking up the festive atmosphere, of course.”
Potter looks around at the crowd, and they both wince as a toddler, somewhere in the depths of the store, winds up for what sounds to be a truly righteous strop. He glances back at Draco and lifts one eyebrow. “Really?”
“Well,” Draco concedes, “I might be thinking of a couple of last minute additions. You?”
Potter shrugs. “Same.” He seems to come to a decision, grabs a couple of mugs off of the display, and as he brushes past Draco to head to the counter to pay, he says, “See you.”
Draco sits curled up against the plump cushions that line the window seat that looks out onto the lane. It’s dark and outside the snow is still falling gently, shimmering in the glow of the street lamps. The fire is burning, the sparkling lights of the tree behind him are reflected in the glass of the window, he’s got a glass of wine and the latest paperback from his favorite author, and almost everything is right in the world. There’s only one other thing he needs.
He hears the sound of footsteps in the hall, and the door to the flat opens, and a voice calls out, “Draco? Where are you, love?”
“In the living room,” Draco calls back, feeling the missing piece slot into place as Harry drops several bags by the front door and makes his way into the room.
He smiles up at his partner of ten years now, and wiggles closer to the window to make room for Harry to slide onto the seat next to him. Harry wraps his arms around Draco and buries his nose in Draco’s neck.
“Fuck’s sake, Harry, you’re freezing.”
“It’s cold out,” Harry says, unrepentant, “And you might not have noticed, but it’s snowing.”
“I could hardly not notice,” Draco grumbles, “Since you’re rubbing snow all over me.”
Harry pulls back to give an exaggerated leer. “That’s not all I could rub all over you, if you were up for it.”
“Harry,” Draco says, exasperated, “You know there’s no time. We’re due at the Burrow in thirty minutes. I’ve finished all the wrapping, so all you have to do is shower and change. But you need to go now, you know what happens if we’re late.”
Harry tightens his hold on Draco for one more moment, and then sighs. “Fine. I’ll go get ready.”
He stands and as he makes his way down the hall, he calls over his shoulder, “I do think you’re severely underestimating us both though.”
“Well, I’ll have to live with that tragedy. Anyway, ” Draco says, knowing Harry’s penchant for long, moody showers, particularly around the holidays, which can be hard for both them, though ten years of new memories have helped to ease the pain of all they’ve lost, “You need to move it along. If we’re late, you’re wearing the hat.”
Somehow, over the years, a tradition has been born that the last person to arrive for the annual Christmas Eve family celebration has to wear the Santa Hat, complete with reindeer horns which moo for some inexplicable reason, and Draco’s had to wear it for the last three years, and he’ll be damned if he’s wearing it again this year. It’s itchy.
“Fine, I’ll wear it if we’re late,” Harry says as he heads down the hallway to their bedroom. “Can you help me figure out which jumper to wear?”
That’s the other Christmas tradition, everyone finds the ugliest Christmas jumper they can, which are then ceremonially switched out for the annual Molly handknit gift during the present exchange portion of the evening.
“I got you a new one,” Draco calls and he hears a delighted cry from the bedroom.
“Oh, that’s hideous. Thanks, love.”
Draco grins to himself as he stands and follows Harry into their bedroom. The jumper is spread out on the bed, as garish a thing as Draco has ever see. It’s a rainbow pattern, and there is a festive, bare-chested Father Christmas riding a narwhalicorn, who leaves trail of sparkles from its horn. Draco snickers and smooths his hands over his own jumper, which has a naked elf, bits strategically covered by ornaments, dancing around and occasionally shouting out “Got balls?” It’s horrendous and he loves it.
He wanders into the bathroom, where the air is thick with steam and redolent with Harry’s pine-scented shower gel.
“I got those glitter pens for Rose, since we were one gift short for her,” he says.
“Ahh, is that what you were doing?” Harry replies, gurgling a bit under the force of the shower.
“Yes, I meant to ask you,” Draco says, “What was all that ‘Malfoy’ stuff about? I mean, you know I don’t mind a spot of roleplay here and there, but it seemed a bit out of the blue.”
The water turns off, and Draco grabs a towel, casts a quick warming charm and hands it to Harry as he steps out onto the bathmat.
“That,” Harry says in a tone of immense satisfaction, “Is dinner on Ron next week when we go out for New Year’s Eve.”
“What?” Baffled, Draco stares at him and then it hits him. “Oh good lord, you’ve been betting again, haven’t you?”
Harry towels off and grins. “Yeah. He bet me that if I called you Malfoy in public, you wouldn’t go along with it. I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity. He thought you’d get confused and ask me what the hell I was doing.”
“You’re idiots, the both of you,” Draco opines as he heads back into the bedroom. “How did you know I wouldn’t, then, anyway?”
Harry follows him back into the room, towel slung low around his hips, and Draco takes a moment to admire the broad chest and toned arms. Even after ten years together, there are still these moments that make his heart race.
Harry shrugs, and pulls on his pants, and then a pair of well-tailored woolen trousers. He grabs a t-shirt out of his drawer and yanks it over his head, then picks up the jumper from the bed.
“I know you. You’ve never backed down from a challenge in your life, have you? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it.”
“Fine,” Draco sighs. “I do wish you’d leave me out of these ridiculous bets, though. One of these days you’ll get it wrong.”
Harry moves over and yanks Draco into a quick kiss. “No, I won’t. Not when I’m betting on you.”
