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Too tall.
Not tall enough.
Too bendy.
Not bright enough.
Too skinny.
Half-dead.
Harry suppressed a groan as he turned a full circle, mentally ruling out every tree around him. Apparently he’d not understood quite what a task it would be to pick out the perfect Christmas tree; for the umpteenth time he wished he’d waited until Ron or Hermione had been free to come with him. But it had felt important to do this himself anyway, to find his first tree on his own, to really feel like he’d finally made the step out into the world.
Still, the reminder that he’d chosen to do this alone didn’t help him feel any less out of place.
All around him happy families trundled through the paths between trees, kids squealing with delight and tugging their beleaguered parents in the direction of whichever tree had caught their eye. The people that weren’t there with their children were mostly milling around in loved up couples. A man and a woman, not far from Harry’s age from the look of them, strolled past him arm in arm, giggling together as they oohed and aahed over half of the trees Harry had written off just a moment before.
Harry had never picked out his own tree before. The Dursleys’ tree had always appeared from the loft on the first day of December each year, some expensive fake tree Petunia had picked out before Dudley was even born, and Petunia would let Dudley hang the ornaments wherever he wanted before going back to rearrange them neatly once he got bored and returned his attention to the television. It wasn’t something Harry had ever been a part of him; it hadn’t been something he’d even really realised he’d missed out on.
Now, many Weasley Christmases under his belt, Harry wanted his own tree to be perfect. He didn’t want the leftover droopy fir or the too tall tree he’d need to lop the top off of to fit it into the living room at Grimmauld. He wanted something he could be proud of, that he could decorate with the Prewett ornaments Molly had given to him, wrapped in tissue paper in an old shoe box; that he could put his godson’s presents underneath ready for his visit on Christmas morning before they all headed over to the Burrow.
Finally he spotted it. Tucked between a pair of trees that looked so wilted Harry was surprised they hadn’t fallen over, was The Tree. It was a warm green, with even branches and looked like it would fit neatly into the corner of the room where Harry had planned to set it up. Best of all, none of the people around him seemed to have noticed it, and Harry took off at a clip to nab it before anyone else did.
Just as he got hold of the branches, feeling triumphant, Harry felt the tree being tugged in the other direction. He dug his heels in, his grip firm as he pulled the tree towards him.
“What on earth? Leave off, this one’s mine!” called out a voice from the other side of the tree. The person sounded disgruntled, very posh, and alarmingly familiar. Harry kept hold of the tree with one hand and used the other to push back some of the branches, trying to get a look at who exactly was trying to steal his perfect tree from under his nose.
Of course, he really shouldn’t have been surprised to find grey eyes glaring at him when he finally made a gap big enough to see through.
“Potter,” Malfoy said, turning his gaze skyward and looking like he could barely contain his reaction to seeing Harry there in front of him.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Harry said, letting go of the branches in his surprise and thwacking himself on the arm.
“Good to see you’re just as charming as ever, Potter,” Malfoy drawled from beyond the tree, and Harry pushed through the gap between his lovely Christmas tree and the sad specimen next to it. “You’re also no better at stating the bloody obvious: what exactly do you think I’m doing here, surrounded by Christmas trees, in December?”
Harry bit back the urge to snap that had always sat so close to the surface when Malfoy was around. “I meant why are you here, obviously,” he said, gesturing at all of the muggles milling around them.
“Don’t get your wand in a knot, Potter, I’m not going to hurt anyone. Merlin, I’m just trying to get a sodding tree,” Malfoy said, almost rambling as he took hold of the tree again by the sturdy branches nearest him. Harry immediately grabbed onto it as well, narrowing his eyes at him.
“You’re not taking my tree,” he said firmly. Draco glared right back at him.
“I was here first! I was just about to pay for it when you tried to snatch it away from me,” he insisted, heaving the tree towards him. Harry dug in his heels, keeping a hold on it until Malfoy had to relent slightly, letting his arms go slack. Still, he didn’t let go.
“I saw it from all the way over there!” Harry insisted. A few people around them looked over and he realised he’d raised his voice. “Come on, Malfoy,” he said, voice back down to a hiss.
“Oh, of course,” Malfoy scoffed, shaking his head, “how dare I not just let the Saviour have whatever he wants? Who could deny the darling of the Wixen world? Who–”
“Oh, piss off,” Harry said, gritting his teeth. “Bit pot meets bloody kettle, coming from you. I don’t even know what you’re doing here; I would’ve thought you’d have a fifty foot tree already cut down and decorated by the elves in that humongous drawing room of yours.”
Malfoy’s face tightened, any colour left in his pale face draining away. There was a flicker of something like panic, pain in his eyes; he quickly let a mask of indifference settle back over his face, but not quite quickly enough to stop Harry feeling guilt bubble in his chest.
“We never let the elves do the decorating. That was always something my mother and I did,” Malfoy said, tilting his chin up haughtily. “When I was old enough to go off to Hogwarts, she’d always save the final touches to do together when I got back.”
“Oh,” Harry said, feeling uncomfortable. From the way Malfoy’s mouth quirked into a smirk, he figured that had been his intention.
The mention of Malfoy’s mother took him back five years, to the empty, echoing hallway outside the Wizengamot chambers. It had been winter, only a few weeks before that first awful Christmas after the war, and it had been freezing in the depths of the ministry, the half-hearted warming charms cast by the Aurors on duty already wearing off. He’d already sat through three hearings that morning and he was tired, the bone-tiredness that hadn’t left him for months after the battle, that had been so deep those few long days at the ministry that it had been all he’d been able to do to stumble back through the Floo to the Burrow and drop into Ginny’s bed, passing out until it was time to wake up the next day and go back to listen to yet another Death Eater’s crimes.
The Malfoys’ trials had been some of the most talked-about before they’d even happened, especially with the three of them scheduled back to back in one afternoon. Lucius’ had been first and the room had been so packed that there had been at least three rows of people standing at the back of the room, no doubt eager to see the trial of someone who had once been so influential in the very building he was being held in. Harry had had nothing to say in that first one, sandwiched between Hermione and Arthur as they waited to find out if any of Lucius’ power had lingered just enough to spare him the same verdict as those whose trials had already passed.
It hadn’t.
Lucius had been swept off to Azkaban, and when Harry had managed to extricate himself from the chambers and slip through a side door while the room erupted into loud conversation, he’d found himself not in the busy Ministry hallways but a too-quiet hallway where Draco and Narcissa had been waiting to be taken in for their respective trials. They’d both looked up as soon as the door opened; Draco dropped his gaze back to his lap as soon as he saw who it was, but Narcissa watched him carefully.
“Did they…” She trailed off, her voice hoarse and expression tired, and Harry realised no one had told them what had happened.
“Mr Potter, it would be best if you could use the main doors in the chambers,” said one of the Aurors standing guard over them. It hardly seemed necessary to have anyone with them: Draco looked as though he was trying to make himself as small as possible on the bench he was sitting on, keen to avoid any attention for once in his life, while Narcissa seemed so frail he doubted she could have managed anything.
“They’ve taken him to Azkaban,” Harry told her, ignoring the unimpressed looks he got from the Aurors. Draco didn’t visibly respond and Narcissa just nodded tightly, hands clasped in her lap.
“Yes. As we expected,” she said quietly. Draco glanced at her then, starting to extend one hand out towards her, but his arms were quickly drawn back against his own chest by the charmed handcuffs clasped around his wrists.
“Mother–”
“That’s enough now,” the other Auror said, glaring at Draco and then looking back over at Harry. “We’ll be starting again in a moment, Mr Potter.”
“I’ll speak for you,” Harry told Narcissa, once again ignoring the Aurors who were so keen to shoo him back into the chambers. Best not think about the fact that they were going to be his colleagues as soon as they sorted out the new Auror training programme. “I already told Kingsley I want to speak up for you, during yours.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr Potter,” Narcissa said graciously. Her voice was still small, mostly expressionless. Draco looked at Harry with huge eyes, his face more open than Harry thought he had ever seen it. Perhaps the closest he’d come to it was watching him falter on that fateful night on the Astronomy Tower.
“Potter,” he said, sounding wrecked as he looked between Harry and his mother. “I…I don’t…You…”
If Harry had thought Malfoy’s expression was unusual, seeing him rendered speechless was downright bizarre. Usually Malfoy could come back with a retort to just about anything; it was what made Harry always so tempted to thump him.
“You too,” Harry found himself saying, glancing back over at Narcissa and watching a ghost of a smile cross her face.
“Me?” Malfoy repeated weakly. He looked at Harry, blinking rapidly, then looked past him at his mother. Harry caught a glimpse of the looked shared between them, Narcissa soft and almost hopeful, Draco slack faced and disbelieving, and felt out of place, caught in the middle of something private.
“I’ll just…see you in there,” he said, immediately wishing he’d phrased himself better. He’d made it sound like they were waiting outside of some fun event, rather than waiting for their fate to be handed down from a room full of angry wix. Thankfully the two of them seemed far more focused on each other than Harry, and he managed to backtrack through the door without any further conversation.
Draco Malfoy was sentenced to five years of parole and three of community service, to be assigned at the Ministry’s discretion. Harry wasn’t sure how much his testimony mattered, but it couldn’t have hurt, and even though Draco didn’t say anything to him as he was led past Harry out of the room, he did meet Harry’s gaze for a moment. Harry thought it was as close to a thank you as he’d get, and he was glad for it.
Narcissa Malfoy was sentenced to five years in Azkaban, despite Harry’s re-telling of her role in turning the tide of the war at its most crucial moment. It was a lenient sentence compared to her husband’s, compared to the rest of the Death Eaters who’d been tried so far, but Harry was grateful not to be the one to pass the news onto Draco this time. He didn’t know if she tried to thank him; the day was over, and Harry couldn’t bear to face her. He kept his head down as he made his way to the private Floo in Kingsley’s office he’d been allowed to use to avoid the crowds waiting to catch a glimpse of him in the atrium, and tried not to imagine Draco Malfoy waiting alone for his mother who wasn’t going to return.
Four years later, Draco appeared on the sixth floor of the Ministry, the same one as the Auror offices. Harry spotted him through the doorway of the main office floor, passing by it in the corridor with a huge box of files held precariously to his chest. Half-convinced he was imagining things after a too late night spent at work, Harry had ignored it; he hadn’t seen Draco for the past three years despite the knowledge that he was doing Ministry-mandated community service, so he’d always assumed they’d kept him somewhere away from Wixen society. Then Harry had seen him again a week later, deep in conversation with Martha in the kitchens when Harry went in looking for the brownies Dawlish had baked at home and brought in that morning. Harry had been blind-sided – Martha worked in the Administration office next to the Auror department and was always determined to set Harry up with her grandson; that by itself was reason enough for Harry to feel wrong-footed as soon as he spotted her, let alone that she was chattering away to Draco Bloody Malfoy of all people as well. The combination had left Harry frozen where he’d come to a halt in the doorway; he hadn’t been able to escape before being spotted, and had to endure being introduced to Malfoy as if he were a stranger by an overly-cheery octogenarian. He’d only managed to take a modicum of comfort from the fact that Malfoy looked as uncomfortable as he felt.
Still, despite being thrust together when Draco first started in the office next door, Harry hadn’t had to see much of him over the last year. He’d spent more time than ever out on field work, and then Teddy had started school in September and given Harry a wake up call to spend more time with him, not wanting to miss any more of his childhood as it went by so quickly. He’d hardly had to spare Malfoy a second thought, except now here he was, when all Harry was trying to do was take home his very first Christmas tree of his own.
“I don’t know why you’re here looking for a tree, anyway,” Malfoy said, going to cross his arms defiantly over his chest but remembering a moment later that he wanted to keep hold of the tree and scrabbling to grab onto it again. Harry fought back a laugh as Malfoy glowered at him again.
“Why shouldn’t I have a tree? Don’t tell me there’s some stupid pureblood tradition about Christmas trees now,” he said.
“Don’t be so ridiculous,” Malfoy said dismissively. “I just wouldn’t have thought the Weasleys would have trusted you with such an important task. Actually, I would have been under the impression that Mother Weasley would have wanted to pick out the tree herself.” Harry didn’t respond and Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve finally moved out of the Weasley homestead? Is that why this is so important, then? Your first tree that’s just for you and darling Ginevra?”
“No,” Harry said, unable to help himself. “It’s just for me. And I saw it first, Malfoy, so you can just piss off and find another one!”
Malfoy seemed, bizarrely, startled by Harry’s snap into harsher animosity, and Harry felt the anger quickly slip away and melt into guilt and awkwardness.
He had to remind himself that this wasn’t sixteen-year-old Malfoy anymore, or even eighteen-year-old Malfoy. They were both grown adults, and from the glimpses Harry had seen of him over the years he could tell Malfoy was doing his best to move on, to make amends and get by. Was it really all that different to what Harry was trying to do?
Malfoy looked like a grown up now, too. He’d grown into his pointy face, his hair a fraction longer than he’d kept it at school, enough to frame his forehead but with no risk of letting him be confused with his father. Hell, even the fact that he was here, mingling with Muggles, in Muggle clothes, even as overdressed as he was, was proof in front of Harry that he’d changed.
Besides, Harry realised, it wasn’t like Draco was picking up a tree to decorate his packed home, full of friends and family. In fact–
“Malfoy!” he said as he put the pieces together, and Malfoy looked just as taken aback by Harry’s about turn into enthusiasm as he had been by him snapping moments before. “Has your mother been released?”
Harry had been so quick to ask the question that he hadn’t put much thought into what Malfoy’s response would be. The almost-manic excitement he’d seen from him back at school, perhaps, or more likely a more controlled, happy reaction. He hadn’t expected for him to deflate in front of his eyes, for him to finally let go of the tree and take a step back.
“Just take the tree, Potter,” he said, shaking his head.
“What? Did something happen?” Harry asked, confused.
“Just take it!” Malfoy said, sounding annoyed now.
“It’s been five years,” Harry said, feeling something uncomfortable prickle in his stomach. “She should have been released now. Isn’t she home with you?”
“Take your tree and go, Potter,” Malfoy said, steadfastly looking at a point over Harry’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. This tree’s probably too big for my pokey bloody kitchen, and she won’t…” He trailed off and seemed to realise where he was, who he was speaking to. He straightened his spine and looked at Harry again, grey eyes meeting his. “She won’t care about the tree,” he said.
Harry had a feeling that that wasn’t what he’d been about to say.
“Malfoy – Draco – I can…Do you want me to…?” Harry shut up and raised his hands apologetically at the way Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him. “Okay! I won’t. Look, why don’t you take the tree at least,” he said. It felt like the least important thing in the world right now.
“Oh, so the great and generous Savior is taking pity on me now, is that right?” Malfoy drawled. “Have your tree, Potter.” He took a step back, ready to leave. “I suppose I’ll see you around at work – if you get unlucky enough to fail at avoiding me as you usually do.”
“Malfoy,” Harry started, but Malfoy had already turned away, striding over towards the car park where he’d no doubt be able to find a hidden spot to apparate from. “Shit,” Harry sighed to himself, looking at the tree in front of him.
Maybe it was time to stop pretending that his and Malfoy’s paths would ever stop crossing. He was better now, after all - sure, he’d always be Malfoy, with all his Malfoy-isms, but still. It didn’t mean Harry couldn’t make a bit of an effort to extend an olive branch, even if he wasn’t sure it would even be accepted.
Already formulating a plan in his brain, Harry called over one of the farm workers and, with a sigh, paid for the tree - as well as its wilting neighbour.
*
6th December 2003
Mione,
Who do we (ok, you!) know who has any authority over the Azkaban inmates? Maybe someone involved in parole hearings? Do we even do parole?
Yes, I know I should know more about all of this stuff. Yes, I promise to let you lecture tell me all about it when you come over later if you agree to help me out!
Love, Harry
P.S. Please can you ask Ron to bring some more of those treacle brownies he made the other day when you come? I swear, Ron learning to bake is the best Christmas present anyone could have given me this year.
P.P.S. Why doesn’t Enervate work properly on a droopy tree? Actually, scratch that. I’ll ask Nev.
*
6th December 2003
Malfoy Draco,
I’m sure you’re swearing your head off about the tree, but please don’t try to send it back. Kreacher insisted on taking it through to your flat by himself (I think he was hoping for a glimpse of his beloved Master Malfoy while he was there), and he’s been staggering about clutching his back ever since. If you send it back and he has to try to redeliver it I think it might do him in.
I hope your mum likes the tree. I don’t know how much you managed to take with you from the Manor, but Andi’s sent over some of her old Black family ornaments in case you need some things to decorate with.
She’s also asked me to pass along an invitation to both of you to come over on Boxing Day. It’ll probably be a bit feral - Ted’s already hopped up on Christmas excitement and no doubt he’ll still be a bit manic, but it should be a nice time. I think Andi quite likes the idea of getting more of her family back together, if you’re willing.
Let me know, ok? Send back a letter
Meet me in the kitchen if
I’ll come find you in this office on Monday.
Yours
Harry
HP
*
7th December 2003
Harry,
I’ve written down all the names I told you about last night - let’s talk to Kingsley on Monday. We’ve been on at him about prison reform for the last year, but maybe this will help it get pushed up the list. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be able to get Narcissa Malfoy released this month, since you feel so strongly about it.
Love, Hermione
P.S. The tree looked great! Just make sure you refresh the charms at least once every twenty-four hours to make sure it doesn’t droop all the way over and knock over the table again.
*
21st December 2003
Potter HP,
HP?? I’m surprised I didn’t get the full initials - what would it be? HJP, OoMFC - or would it be OoM1st or OoM I?
I’m only responding to this in the wild hope that it will stop you stalking me around the Ministry. I’m starting to become concerned that you’ve set up some alarm charms in the kitchen - that or you’re a terrible skive and barmy old Robards hasn’t noticed that you spend your whole time lurking in there waiting for the next batch of baked goods to appear.
You’re rather impossible, Potter, are you aware of that? You probably are, which makes it all the more infuriating.
Yes, I’ll come to your blastedly wholesome family Boxing Day gathering. Yes, the tree definitely looks better in my sitting room than it would do in yours. Is that enough to get you off my case now?
I’ll see you next week, you insufferable git.
Yours,
DLM
P.S. Mother asked me to pass along her thanks for the ornaments. She approves of the tree.