Muggle-Wizarding Electrical Interference
Harry never liked the rain.
Growing up, the rain brought bugs into his cupboard. The rain never stopped Petunia from making him tend to the garden.
Then, he got to Hogwarts. He had a proper bed, in a real living space, and was not waking up with a roach inches away from his face. He didn’t have a garden to tend to, and, at night, he found that the sound of raindrops against his dormitory window helped him sleep just a bit better.
In Draco’s Muggle flat, however, during this time of the year, the rain makes cold seep into the walls and floors constantly, and with the steadily declining temperatures of the outdoors, every rainfall has only fared worse for the flat.
And yesterday, the radiator broke, and maintenance said it needs replacing, which means that Draco and Harry are going to stay cold through the week, at minimum.
“They won’t be speedy with it, you know,” Draco grumbled, throwing on a second jumper. “The landlord doesn’t like me because he was forced to let me live here.”
“Forced? What do you mean?” Today, the rain was so intense that the world looked dingy and depressed. Inside Draco’s flat, even with the windows open, it felt like it was evening despite being half-past noon.
“This complex is one of a few that has been deemed by the Muggle government as rehabilitative housing in cooperation with our Ministry of Magic. And, just as any other landlord, this one doesn’t like to house criminals.”
Harry wrapped himself up tighter in his blanket, attempting to bury himself impossibly deeper into the corner of the sofa. The storm raged on outside. You aren’t a criminal Harry wanted to say. But he knew that legally speaking, Draco was, for all intents and purposes, a criminal who merely avoided prison sentence on some technicality. Despite how important those technicalities seemed to Harry.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Isn’t murder illegal? Besides, this goes up with the ministry. It’s not like they’ll do anything about it.”
“They will if you complain to the right people,” Harry countered. He dug his feet between the sofa’s cushions.
“Nobody at the ministry quite cares about a broken radiator in rehabilitative Muggle housing enough to stop what other important things they could be doing.
Harry shifted, slightly put off by the fact that Draco had a point. Part of him wanted to suggest an owl to Hermione since just about half of her work is on being some sort of humanitarian warrior, but he was sure that something else, like Werewolves' rights or Ministry pay disparities, was a much more pressing matter in her mind than Draco Malfoy and his faulty Muggle heating system. He huffed.
“And why can’t we use magic to warm up, again?”
Draco, who had just put the kettle on, turned to Harry with an incredulous look to him. “ Because of electrical interference? This is third-year knowledge, Potter.”
“Harry,” he corrected.
“Yes, Harry. It’s hard to refer to you by your first name when you don’t know the basics of Muggle-Wizarding electrical interference.”
“I know about it,” Harry retorted, “I just don’t think about it all that much. I don’t often get sent to work in the Muggle World. They keep me doing the bigger, in-world cases,” he explained.
“Oh, yes. I forgot. We mustn’t waste the value of having our saviour in the auror force.”
“I’d rather be overworked than shoved onto the most mundane cases. Some aurors get stuck responding to disturbance calls from old witches in quiet neighbourhoods.”
Draco pursed his lips, turning back to his tea cabinet, choosing which tea to steep.
“I suppose that is rather boring and demeaning,” he conceded. “I might actually agree with you. But,” he said, reaching for a canister further into the cabinet, “That doesn’t change the fact that, until a week from now, hopefully, we’re stuck dealing with the cold of an old, run-down Muggle flat. Tea?”
“Yes, please. Maybe it’ll warm me up better than this blanket.”
“It’ll certainly warm you better than ruining my sofa by digging your feet between the cushions.”
Harry wondered how it was that Draco knew he was doing that until he looked down and saw that the cushion on top of his feet was awkwardly sticking out from the rest of the sofa. He changed his sitting position so that he could have his feet under his butt instead, and smoothed the cushion back into its place.
“Sorry,” he responded.
“Sure.”
A crack of thunder sounded outside the flat, lightning flashing across the window. The storm seemed to only be getting worse.
"Why did the heat have to die now, of all times?" Harry complained, though mostly to himself. Wizarding flats didn't have these problems.
Draco rolled his eyes, stirring honey into his tea. "Well, winter is coming rather quickly. At least it didn't die when it's below freezing out."
"I know, but..." Harry trailed off. "Never mind."
Draco seemed that he was just fine leaving the topic behind. He put a sieve with looseleaf over each teacup. The kettle began to whistle, and he poured the hot water over it, covering the cups to let them steep.
"You know, Ron thinks me a heathen for using teabags in the office."
"Teabags? You are a heathen. Regardless. It's normal for Purebloods to brew looseleaf. That must be one of the few things the Weasleys kept with them. Most tea in the Wizarding world is sold looseleaf. I don't know of a single Wizard who goes for the garbage in bags. Except maybe you, now. Heathen."
Harry stuck his tongue out at Draco.
"I suppose you are the exception, though," Draco began, taking his tea sieve out and setting it in the sink, "since you grew up Muggle."
Harry made a face. "I never drank tea while I was there."
"You didn't?"
Harry paused, realizing that, regardless of the simplicity of the remark, it had just put him in territory he was not expecting, nor was he welcome to tread.
"No," he confessed, not sure if it was right for him to say more.
"Why?" Draco was genuinely confused. And he supposed that was warranted. Tea wasn't a habit exclusive to Wizardkind, and Draco probably knew that rather well. Draco uncovered the cups and brought them over to the couch, setting Harry's on the coffee table and sitting with his own on the other end of the small couch.
"I just didn't." Harry hoped that Draco would deem that a sufficient explanation.
"Tea is so ubiquitous that you'd think anyone who didn't drink it might have been locked away from society," Draco said with a chuckle. Harry did not laugh.
Draco turned to Harry, his expression unreadable. Harry did not know whether he should continue speaking or not. Slowly, very slowly, Draco spoke.
"Thankfully," he began. "That's not what happened to you." Draco's eyes were boring into Harry's and it was as though the wind had been taken from him. "Of course, nobody would have mistreated you. A hero."
The way Draco spoke, Harry could tell that he was half-asking if that might not be the case. Harry sat frozen, mind racing for how to respond.
"Right," was the word he finally decided upon. He felt the need to say something more.
"And, despite its ubiquity, there are still plenty of people in the UK who don't drink tea. Your family was, perhaps, quite untraditional."
"Quite," Harry responded. He swallowed down the voice that wanted to correct him and say that untraditional was perhaps the last word one could associate with the Dursleys. He reached over to grab his teacup before its contents could get cold.
Draco nodded, looking into the distance. He took a sip from his own cup.
"So," Harry began, deciding that he ought to break the silence. "The cold has reminded me; the holidays are coming."
Draco nodded, looking at Harry from over the rim of his teacup. Harry took a sip from his own. Harry waited for him to respond. He did not.
"Do you usually do anything? Are there decorations we should put up? Anything like that?"
"Do you mean all my life? Or over the past few years?"
"Both?"
"Well," Draco began, "Growing up, the House Elves did everything. The Manor was fully decorated on December 1st, they cooked all holiday feasts, and my parents would buy extravagant or generally expensive presents."
Harry, nodded, assuming as much from Draco's childhood.
"And... more recently?"
Draco sighed.
"Ever since complete severance from my family, a war, and a criminal trial... I haven't quite attempted to celebrate Christmas."
Draco's words struck Harry an odd way, as if the child within him wanted to cry out in understanding. Harry supposed he should have expected a response like this. Holidays since the war have been difficult. If it weren't for the Weasleys, he would to have celebrated since the war, either. And even then, celebrating with one less family member is difficult. No matter how many times you've done it before.
Harry imagines that celebrating alone would only feel pointless and depressing.
"Oh," Harry said. He took a sip of his tea. Draco did the same.
"Yeah."
"Would you be open to celebrating this year?"
"This year?" He asked between sips. "What makes this year different from the others? Besides, of course, being under witness protection and having a killer after me."
"Well, I don't know... I just wondered, I guess." I want to bake with you, perhaps even find a way to get you a Christmas present.
Harry would not say this out loud. He took another sip of tea.
"What would you be doing, this year?" Draco glanced at Harry, keeping the majority of his visual focus on his teacup.
"I'm sure the Weasleys will invite me over like they do each year... I need to shop for presents. But other than that, nothing. I don't take to festivities in my flat. I don't decorate, or anything like that."
"Seems a bit pointless, doesn't it? Decorating for a holiday about togetherness when you're alone."
"A bit, yeah," Harry admitted. The rain continued its torrent against the window. As if at all possible, the air seemed to get even colder.
"You know," Harry began. "Maybe we could do something, this year."
"Like what? Decorate?"
"We could decorate. And bake, maybe... I don't know. I figured since we'll probably still be stuck together by then."
Harry could swear he saw Draco hide a smile.
"That is a possibility."
The next two days were cold, grey, and dreary.
And cold.
During the second day of a cold flat, Harry and Draco spent a significant amount of time transfiguring blankets and charming them to be a bit warmer than they otherwise would. Harry pulled out his files and tried to see if there might be anything worth re-examining. He sent a note to Ron and Mordecai to start looking into any religious extremists that have been recorded in Wizarding history.
The day after, Draco baked sweets for the next church service, relishing in the warmth the oven let off. He invited Harry to stand in front of the oven with him while the biscuits were baked.
Harry would be a fool not to admit that he thought more than once about being closer to Draco as a means to get warm.
Only to get warm, of course.
Of course.
Hermione sent him an owl, too, saying that she wanted to see him soon. She was quite adamant about Harry not missing Christmas with the Weasleys., which, at the time of receiving the letter, was 24 days away.
Then it happened. Late at night, with thunderstorms continuing to rage on for the third day in a row, Harry was awoken by the soft blue light of a Patronus.