christmas with draco
The Slytherin dormitory was freezing that morning, the December chill settling into the stone walls like an unwanted guest. Harry, already resigned to spending Christmas alone at Hogwarts, barely looked up as Draco adjusted his tie in the mirror.
Then, with the flair of someone delivering the most *important* news of the century, Draco turned to Harry and announced, “I have *graciously* decided to spend Christmas at Hogwarts.”
Harry blinked. “What?”
Draco smirked, clearly waiting for a bigger reaction. “I told my father that returning home would be *dreadfully uninspiring* to my magical education and that my talents would be wasted if I wasn’t surrounded by *academic rigor* during the holidays.” He flicked his hair back dramatically. “Naturally, he agreed.”
Harry’s brain barely caught up before he practically tackled Draco into a hug, knocking the air out of him.
“Potter—*Potter!*—I do not do *sudden physical affection!*” Draco squawked, flailing in protest. “Unhand me at *once!*”
Harry, however, refused to let go. “You’re really staying?” His voice was muffled against Draco’s expensive robes, but the warmth in it was undeniable.
Draco sighed heavily, as if this was a massive inconvenience to his *high society sensibilities.* “Yes, yes, you *clingy little orphan,* I am *sacrificing* a luxurious Malfoy Christmas for this *cold* castle and its *questionable* holiday decorations.” He dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “*A true tragedy.*”
Harry finally pulled back, grinning. “You really convinced your father?”
Draco flipped his hair again, as if this had been *the* diplomatic event of the year. “Well, I *may* have mentioned that Snape would be here, which seemed to comfort him. And I *definitely* emphasized that I was staying for *educational purposes.*” He scoffed. “I had to throw in some nonsense about ‘leadership’ and ‘character-building,’ but the *point is,* I am here.”
Harry’s grin widened, warmth blooming in his chest. *Draco stayed.* For *him.*
Draco huffed. “Anyway, we *must* make this Christmas one for the ages. I am *not* staying here just to be miserable.” He snapped his fingers dramatically. “I have *plans.*”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Plans?”
Draco smirked, stepping closer, voice dropping to an excited whisper. “A Slytherin Christmas, Potter. *Exclusively* for those with taste. Imagine it—firewhiskey smuggled in by the older students, enchanted decorations *far superior* to whatever the school puts up, and—” he gestured grandly “—*the best holiday party Hogwarts has ever seen.*”
Harry snorted. “You realize we’re *twelve,* right?”
Draco waved a hand dismissively. “Details, Potter. *Details.*” He gave Harry a sly look. “Unless, of course, you’d rather spend Christmas *alone* in the Great Hall while the Weasel stares longingly at the desserts he can’t finish?”
Harry laughed, shaking his head. “No, your plan sounds *way* better.”
Draco flipped his hair one last time. “Obviously.”
For the first time, Christmas didn’t seem so lonely anymore.
Snow blanketed the Hogwarts grounds, and the castle halls glowed with warm candlelight. It was Christmas break, and for the first time in his life, Harry wasn’t spending it alone. Draco had declared—**dramatically, of course**—that if he was staying behind, he *would* be entertained.
“Potter,” Draco said one evening, perched on the Slytherin common room couch like a *king on his throne,* “we *must* pull off a prank before Christmas.”
Harry, who had been half-asleep, blinked. “What?”
“Not just any prank.” Draco leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “The **best** prank. One that will be remembered for *years.*”
Nico, lounging in a chair nearby, raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re saying we should *terrorize* the school?”
Draco placed a hand on his chest. “Not *terrorize,* dear Nico—**educate.**”
Harry groaned. “This is going to get us killed, isn’t it?”
---
The first prank was simple: *enchanted snowballs.*
Using a combination of charms (and possibly *illegal* spell modifications from the library), the trio managed to create snowballs that **chased people.** They had excellent aim, which meant that by lunchtime, multiple Gryffindors had been *pelted in the back of the head* by *mystery snowballs.*
It was *hilarious.*
Ron was the first to figure out who was behind it. “MALFOY!” he shouted in the Great Hall, red-faced and **soaked** from melting snow.
Draco, sitting primly at the Slytherin table, merely raised his goblet. “Weasley,” he greeted smoothly, as if he had done nothing at all.
That night, however, the Gryffindors **retaliated.**
The next morning, Harry woke up with **scarlet and gold hair.**
Draco’s **scream** when he saw himself in the mirror was *legendary.*
“WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO ME?!” he shrieked, clutching his hair like he’d been *mortally wounded.* “THIS IS A CRIME AGAINST FASHION, AGAINST DECENCY—AGAINST HUMANITY!”
Nico, who *somehow* hadn’t been affected, was doubled over laughing. “Draco, you look amazing. You should keep it.”
“I WILL **NOT!**” Draco stormed out of the dorms, likely in search of revenge.
Which, of course, meant war.
The next few days were **chaos.**
- The Slytherins turned the Gryffindor table’s **pumpkin juice into syrup.**
- The Gryffindors **enchanted the suits of armor** to insult anyone in green.
- Nico—who had remained *neutral*—was caught in the crossfire and retaliated by **summoning actual skeletons** in the common room.
By Christmas Eve, **even Snape looked exhausted.**
And that’s when the **final prank** happened.
Draco, being the *dramatic genius* he was, *convinced Peeves to help.*
So, at exactly **midnight** on Christmas Eve, every Gryffindor woke up to **floating, glowing letters spelling out: "Slytherins Rule, Gryffindors Drool."**
And, just for *extra flair,* their robes **all turned green.**
McGonagall nearly had a heart attack.
Draco *pretended* he had nothing to do with it. Harry wasn’t sure if *anyone* believed him, but the war **officially** ended when Dumbledore gave them all a knowing smile at Christmas dinner and said:
“Well, well, I do love *festive school spirit.*”
Harry had never laughed harder in his life.
And that, Draco insisted later, was **a Slytherin Christmas well spent.**
Christmas morning dawned **cold and quiet** at Hogwarts, but inside the castle, warmth and laughter filled the halls. Snow swirled outside the enchanted windows, and Harry, still buzzing from the *chaotic prank war*, woke up to find a **pile of presents** at the foot of his bed.
He blinked. Presents?
Draco, already sitting cross-legged on his bed in **elegant green silk pajamas**, smirked at him. “Surprised, Potter?”
Harry sat up. “I—I’ve never had Christmas presents before.”
Draco **dropped his book.** “WHAT?”
Nico, half-asleep in his own bed, muttered, “You’re making me regret staying here for the break.”
Draco, however, was *outraged.* “Potter, *how is that possible?* No one’s ever given you a Christmas present? Not even a single *gold-plated quill* or *custom broom kit*?”
Harry shook his head.
Draco looked absolutely **offended** on his behalf. “That’s it. Next year, I’m personally arranging your presents. Expect *nothing but the best.*”
Harry chuckled and reached for the first gift—a hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley, along with a tin of homemade fudge. He grinned. Maybe Christmas at Hogwarts was going to be **amazing** after all.
That night, **after an evening of snowball fights and an absolutely ridiculous feast**, Harry was still wide awake. His thoughts were swirling, and there was something about the **quiet of the castle at night** that called to him.
So, slipping out of bed, he wrapped himself in his new Weasley sweater and **crept out of the dormitory.**
To his surprise, when he reached the common room, he found **Draco and Nico already awake.**
Draco raised an eyebrow. “*And where do you think you’re going, Potter?*”
Harry hesitated. “Just… exploring.”
Draco smirked. “Well, if you’re going to get caught by Filch, I might as well be there to **mock you.**”
Nico sighed. “I hate both of you. Let’s go.”
The three boys wandered the **dark, silent corridors**, avoiding Peeves and Filch as they went.
Then, completely **by accident**, they stumbled into **a strange, empty room.**
At the center of the room stood **a massive, ornate mirror.**
Draco frowned. “This is the least interesting hidden treasure I’ve ever seen.”
Harry, however, stepped closer. There was something about the mirror that **called to him.**
As he looked into the glass—**he froze.**
His heart **pounded.**
There, staring back at him, was his **family.**
Lily Potter, with her bright green eyes. James Potter, with his messy black hair. They were smiling at him, standing **right behind him** in the reflection.
Harry’s breath caught. He turned around—**but there was no one there.**
Draco’s smirk faded. “What do you see?”
“My parents.”
Draco blinked. His voice, for once, was **soft**. “Oh.”
Nico narrowed his eyes and turned to the mirror. He gazed at it for a long moment before suddenly **stepping back.**
Draco noticed. “What did *you* see?”
Nico’s face was unreadable. “Nothing.”
Harry frowned. “Nothing?”
Nico shrugged. “It’s just a mirror.” But his hands were clenched into fists.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, let me see.” He **dramatically stepped forward** and looked into the mirror.
And then he **went completely silent.**
Harry and Nico exchanged a glance. “Draco?”
Draco suddenly turned away from the mirror **violently.** “This thing is cursed.”
Harry blinked. “What did you—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Draco snapped.
Nico looked at him for a long moment before nodding.
Harry turned back to the mirror. His parents were still there, **watching him.**
And for the first time in his life, Harry didn’t feel so alone.
When they returned to the dormitory, none of them spoke about the mirror.
Draco, who normally **never shut up**, was *eerily quiet.*
That morning, the three of them made their way through the snow-covered grounds to **Hagrid’s hut**, where the half-giant had promised them a proper holiday feast.
Draco, wrapped in **an absurdly expensive Slytherin-green scarf**, sniffed. “I still don’t understand why we’re doing this. My family has house-elves for this exact reason.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s Christmas, Malfoy. Try being *nice* for once.”
“I *am* being nice. I could be at a gala right now.”
Nico, walking beside them, muttered, “I should’ve stayed in bed.”
They reached Hagrid’s hut, where the door was already open, the smell of roasting meat and spiced cider wafting out.
“**Merry Christmas!**” Hagrid beamed as he pulled them inside.
The inside of the hut was **warm and cozy**, decorated with **mismatched Christmas ornaments** and a slightly lopsided tree in the corner. Fang, Hagrid’s massive boarhound, immediately launched himself at Harry, nearly knocking him over.
Draco *looked* at the dog like it was a particularly offensive bit of dirt on his robes. “Must he do that?”
Hagrid chuckled. “Fang likes yeh, Malfoy. Take it as a compliment.”
Draco sniffed. “I’d rather not.”
They settled around Hagrid’s oversized wooden table, where an enormous Christmas feast was waiting—**roast chicken, sausages, mince pies, and a massive Christmas pudding.**
Harry, digging into his plate, grinned. “This is *brilliant*, Hagrid.”
Draco examined his plate. “I suppose it’s… *adequate.*”
Nico smirked. “You’re eating it, though.”
Draco scowled and took another bite. “Obviously.”
As they ate, Hagrid poured them all **steaming mugs of butterbeer**, the warmth seeping into their frozen fingers. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he pulled out a **small stack of presents.**
“Got yeh somethin’,” Hagrid said, handing each of them a package.
Harry’s heart warmed. He wasn’t used to *getting* presents, let alone from someone who actually cared. He unwrapped his and found a **wooden carving of an owl**, carefully detailed and clearly handmade.
Harry swallowed hard. “Thanks, Hagrid.”
Draco unwrapped his next. It was **a book on rare magical creatures**—and judging by the way his eyes **lit up**, Harry knew **he loved it.** But, of course, Draco just sniffed and said, “Well. *I suppose* this will be useful.”
Nico, last, found **a warm black scarf** in his package. He blinked, fingers running over the material. “Oh. Uh—thanks.” He coughed, clearly unused to receiving gifts.
Hagrid just beamed. “Happy Christmas, yeh lot.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon **laughing, eating, and listening to Hagrid’s stories**—even Draco, despite his usual dramatics, seemed to be having fun.
And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt truly at home.