Work Text:
Make the Yuletide Gay Fest
The murmur of voices coming from the living room is comforting as Harry wanders in from the kitchen, leaning up against the door jamb to watch the group of people occupying his space as they laugh and chat.
The lights from his Christmas decorations twinkle merrily in time with the music coming from the record player which is playing Celestina Warbeck’s “Greatest Yule Hits” softly in the background.
The table, which had previously been covered in finger food only a couple hours ago, has been picked nearly clean which makes him smile. As he watches, Ron reaches out to the table, hand searching the empty plates blindly for more snacks only to bump fingers with Blaise as he does the same. Amused, Harry casts his eyes on the rest of his guests; Hermione and Ginny laughing about something by the fireplace, Ginny spinning her wedding ring around her finger as she glances at Blaise, who catches her eye and gives her a roguish wink.
Neville is in the large window seat talking with Draco, both with gently steaming glasses of Firewhisky in hand, probably going on about plants as they always do. Neville, being the Herbology professor at Hogwarts, grows specific and sometimes rare plants for Draco and his apothecary business. Their partnership had been a bit of a surprise; Neville had, through the grapevine a few years back, heard that Draco had been searching for a particular plant and had hand-delivered a cutting from his own collection for him to cultivate and from there, their friendship had grown.
Harry’s eyes catch on the way Draco gestures with his free hand, lights catching on the signet ring on his right ring finger, then his eyes track up along his arm to the way his silk shirt clings to his shoulders, up to where his blond hair brushes against his cheekbone as he leans forward. His heart clenches in his chest and he swallows down on the longing he feels, has felt for over a year now. Inhaling sharply, he turns back into the kitchen to check on the main course, which is all bubbling along nicely without his help, then begins to set the dining room table in an attempt to clear his mind. Usually, he’s pretty good at not acknowledging the feelings that have grown inside him for Draco, the feelings that he can’t have for a friend who most definitely does not feel the same way, the feelings that would ruin the friendship, the ties of family this group has worked for since the war.
Pushing the thoughts away, he charms the candles to flicker gently and appraises the table set-up. Everything looks good there, and just in time, too, as the timer for the food goes off and a hearty cheer goes up from Ron and Blaise in the living room. Rolling his eyes to himself, Harry levitates the hot dishes over to rest on the trivets and pulls the champagne from the charmed refrigerator before heading back to the living room to corral his guests.
“Alright, you layabouts,” he calls out teasingly, “dinner is ready, if anyone other than Ron and Blaise are hungry!” Ron and Blaise are the first ones to the table, followed by Draco and Neville, still entrenched in their conversation – about plants, he was right, as Neville says something about a Whispering Vine – to sit down next to each other. Harry gets a whiff of something citrusy from Draco, cool and soothing and he closes his eyes only to open them to see Hermione watching him with concern on her features.
“Everything alright, Harry? You seem…distracted?” Harry blinks rapidly, licking his lips as he darts a glance towards the table and shakes his head.
“I’m fine, ‘Mione, really. It’s nothing, promise.” There’s a sharpness in her gaze as she narrows her eyes and looks at the table, looks at Draco, and he knows that she knows. She really is too clever sometimes, he thinks, when she looks back at him with something different in her eyes and a small smile on her lips.
“I think you have nothing to worry about there, Harry,” she says softly before she slips past and takes a seat next to Ron.
Flabbergasted, Harry turns and catches Draco looking over at him and beyond that, Hermione whispering to Ginny, who grins widely at him as he takes his seat across from Draco, the only open chair at the table.
Let’s just get through dinner, he thinks, as everyone begins serving themselves and he pours himself a glass of champagne before dishing up some of the roast potatoes on to his plate, throwing himself in with Ron and Blaise’s conversation on the upcoming Quidditch match between the Holyhead Harpies and the Kenmare Kestrels.
After dinner, they retire back to the living room while Harry dishes up dessert, levitating small bowls of warm apple crumble out to his guests along with more Firewhisky and champagne.
The rest of the evening passes pleasantly, though Harry refrains from drinking too much more than he has already, even as Ron and Blaise get stinkingly drunk, falling all over each other. By the time the clock strikes midnight, Harry is comfortably ensconced in his favorite armchair, gazing out at his found family that have gathered here with him tonight, the fire crackling merrily.
Clearing his throat, he stands up and raises his glass, tapping his wand against it to get everyone’s attention.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” he says softly, and laughs as his friends surround him, cursing genially as someone’s drink tips over his shoulder, soaking is shirt in champagne. He presses a kiss to Hermione’s head and glances up to see Draco watching him, an unfamiliar look on his face, grey eyes dark in the growing dim of the living room.
Feeling uncharacteristically soppy, he pats Blaise on the shoulder as the tall man stumbles into his side, knocking everyone else about and breaking up the circle, which seems a good enough time to call it a night.
Hermione gets a very drunk Ron bundled up into his coat and escorts him to the fireplace, reaching up for the dish of Floo powder on the mantle. She gives Harry an encouraging smile as she hauls Ron into the flames and calls out their address, disappearing into a swirl of green.
Blaise and Ginny follow quickly, whatever Blaise had been saying lost in the roar of the fire.
Neville leaves by the front door, bundled up against the cold, hat tucked down over his ears and mitten clad hands tucked into his pockets as he calls out a goodbye and heads for the nearest Apparation point just down the street to return to Hogwarts.
Finally, the only one left is Draco, and a nervous rumble starts up in his belly and to distract himself, he begins cleaning up, waving the glasses off to the kitchen, and stacking the plates and bowls into neat piles. He’s just reaching for a stray bowl on a side table when Draco curls his fingers around his wrist, stilling him and making him look up.
“Is everything alright, Harry?” Draco asks, eyes sharp and focused. Harry thinks he only had the one drink, and while he himself has only had two, he feels decidedly unsteady on his feet suddenly.
“Everything is fine, Draco,” he replies, though he winces when his voice definitely comes out wobbly and the look on Draco’s face says he doesn’t believe him. “It’s really nothing, just tired, I swear.” He dislodges his hand from Draco’s grip and turns back to the dirty dishes, raising his wand to begin levitating everything back to the kitchen.
He gets no further than that before Draco is yanking him bodily towards him, one hand on his jaw as he crushes their mouths together, his other hand resting on his lower back. Harry relaxes into the feeling, groaning into the kiss for a brief moment before reality comes crashing down on him and he pulls himself out of Draco’s embrace, eyes wide.
“Draco,” he whispers brokenly, “we can’t, I can’t. What if, this could, if we. I have no idea, what…” he trails off, dragging both hands through his hair and taking a big breath. “We’re friends, Draco, and family, and if we do this, what if we do this and it ends badly and we can’t be friends anymore and everyone has to pick sides and then no one is happy?” Harry turns wide eyes onto Draco and to his bafflement, the bastard is smiling, laughing at him, eyes crinkled. “Why are you laughing at me?” He’s not pouting, he’s not, but it doesn’t matter because Draco is leaning in and kissing him softly, pulling him back in, hands gentle on his hips.
“Harry. This will work because we’re friends, it is working. There will probably be arguments, true, but no one will have to pick sides. Family doesn’t do that. And we are all family, Harry.”
Harry takes a breath and then another, finally getting his hands on Draco, his silk shirt soft under his fingertips and tips his head back slightly, catching Draco’s bottom lip gently with his teeth before kissing him fully.
“Merry Christmas, Draco,” he whispers, smiling into the kiss as the lights twinkle and Celestina croons softly in the background.