Winter had well and truly settled over Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, it meant that the Christmas hols were quickly approaching, and he had always enjoyed Christmas. On the other hand, it was cold, especially in the dungeons, and he wasn't going home for the break anyway.

His mother had asked him to, but the last thing Draco wanted to do was return to the Manor. He didn't even see how his mother could stand to live there after all that had happened. No, he was better off staying at Hogwarts. All of his friends were going to their respective homes, so he was likely going be fairly alone for the hols. That suited Draco fine. He often chose to be alone anyway.

His train of thought was broken as someone plopped down into the chair across from him. He was in the library, working on one of the last big assignments of the term, and he didn't even have to look up to know who had joined him.

"You're late," Draco drawled, eyes never leaving his book. "We said seven."

Potter groaned and rolled his eyes, unpacking his bag. "You said seven," he corrected. "You also said you could care less if I showed up or not. Besides it's only," here he checked his watch. "Twelve after."

"Still late," Draco returned, raising his eyebrow as if daring the Gryffindor to argue.

Potter just chuckled and unrolled his parchment. "Fine, whatever. It won't happen again, Draco."

The git had been doing that a lot as of late, calling him by his given name. They weren't exactly friends yet, but ever since early November when he and Potter had come to their agreement at the top of the Astronomy Tower, the hostility had vanished. Potter was always inviting him to do something or other, and even though Draco refused nearly every time, he could feel his resistance wavering. He didn't know why Potter was so determined to make nice with him, but Draco was becoming used to it and to Potter.

Blaise and Pansy thought that he was having some sort of after the war crisis and warned him that being friends with a Gryffindor was only a little less shameful than being one. Theo thought that it was fine if Draco wanted to be friends with Potter, but then, he'd never really had a problem with the other Houses. Greg had just grunted and told Draco to let him know if he needed Potter removed.

Draco didn't know what Potter's friends thought about the whole thing, but sometimes he caught Weasley staring at him with a petulant expression. Granger usually scolded him for it before offering Draco a weak smile.

Finally looking up from the book, and chewing on the end of his quill, Draco took in the boy sitting across from him. Potter certainly didn't looklike a war hero. His hair was the same unruly mess that it had been probably since he was born. It was a bit longer now, curling over Potter's collar, and hiding the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He was short and still fairly skinny, although he had added some lean muscle to his frame.

As Draco watched, Potter chewed on his lip and began to scribble on the parchment in front of him. His handwriting was a messy scrawl, and he paused after every few lines to mutter to himself and scan the textbook in front of him.

Without warning green eyes lifted and met Draco's. "What?" Potter asked.

Draco scowled and went back to writing his own essay. "Nothing," he snapped. "Stop talking to yourself. It's distracting."

"Oh. Sorry. I'll try to stop."

Draco shoved an errant lock of hair behind his ear and forced himself to focus. He was not going to let Potter get to him.

An hour passed quickly, the quiet of their corner of the library only broken by the scratching of their quills. Draco put his quill down and stretched, shaking out his fingers, and blowing his fringe out of his eyes.

Potter looked up then, dropping his own quill and leaning back in his chair. "Draco?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" Draco answered a bit warily.

"Are you going home for Christmas?"

The blond hesitated, considering telling Potter to shove off and mind his own business. Instead he sighed and answered. "No, I don't think I am." He was fully prepared for Potter to ask why and offer some sort of pity speech, but he just nodded.

"Oh, okay. Only, I'm staying here too, and I wondered if you wanted to do something."

Draco frowned. "Why are youstaying?" he wanted to know. "Isn't there a hoard of Weasleys for you to go home to?"

Potter shrugged. "I guess. I just...kind of don't want to deal with it right now. They'll want to know what happened with me and Ginny and...I dunno. It'll be kind of smothering."

"What did happen with you and girl Weasley?" Draco asked before he could stop himself. He hadn't heard anything about them breaking up officially, but it was obvious that they had. The two of them seemed friendly, but the female Weasley was much friendlier with Longbottom these days.

The Gryffindor gave him a flat look and pushed up his glasses to rub at his face. "We...she...it just didn't feel right anymore, okay? I don't want the same things I wanted before the war, and I guess Ginny was one of those things that I had to let go of."

"Oh. Couldn't you just tell the Weasleys that?"

"I guess, but I'm trying to make my own decisions and stand by them, and I know they would try to change my mind. So I'm staying here."

"And you want to do something with me since all of your friends are leaving?" Draco asked dryly.

Potter grinned. "Not all of my friends, Draco," he said, giving the blond a pointed look.

"We aren't friends, Potter. I don't know how to get that through to your tiny brain."

Potter just snorted, rolling his eyes and going back to his essay.

December flew by in a rush of quizzes, essays, and the occasional snowball fight. Before anyone was quite prepared, Christmas break was upon them, and Draco sat on his bed watching Blaise and Greg pack frantically.

Theo sat on his own bed, shaking his head at his dorm mates. "I still don't understand why you two didn't do that earlier," he said.

Greg shrugged, looking at a pile of school books that were stacked on his bedside table. He considered them for a moment and then shrugged again, slamming the lid of his trunk shut. "I didn't feel like it earlier," he answered.

"And I was busy," Blaise chimed in, using his wand to quickly fold a few jumpers.

"Yes, busy in Pansy's knickers," Draco murmured with an arched eyebrow.

"We had to say goodbye," Blaise protested. "And besides, I'm comforting her since you broke her heart."

Theo snorted and Draco scowled. "Pansy hasn't been interested in me since fifth year, Blaise," he snapped. "You can't continue to use that as an excuse."

"But it works so well. Anyway, I think it was youwho lost interest in her, remember? When you discovered you liked blokes?"

Draco rolled his eyes and waved the comment away. "Just be careful, Zabini. If you get dear Pans pregnant with all your 'comforting' Mother Parkinson will make you marry her."

"It's true, you know," Theo agreed. "I think you'd look nice with a wife and child, Blaise."

"Both of you can fuck right off," Blaise retorted.

"What are you doing in here?"

Draco turned his head to see Pansy standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. "Good morning, Pans," he said.

She just arched an eyebrow at him and turned back to Blaise. "Why aren't you finished with that? The train is leaving in less than half an hour."

"I'm working on it," Blaise said, adding books to his trunk.

"Work faster." Pansy huffed and then looked at Draco. "Are you sure you want to stay here, Draco?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I've told you that."

"But no one is staying here over Christmas hols. It'll just be you and probably a few Hufflepuffs."

Draco chuckled. "And Potter."

"He hardly counts." The girl gave him a worried look. "You willbe alright, won't you?"

"Yes, Pansy. I'll be fine. Go home. Fuck Blaise. Have a happy Christmas, and stop worrying about me."

"Ah Draco, the ever so proper heir to the Malfoy name," Blaise drawled, closing his trunk finally, and lightening it with a quick charm. "Alright, let's go."

Draco went with his friends to watch them board the train, waving as the Hogwarts Express pulled off. He shoved his hands into his pockets and moved to head back up to the school. In front of him was a cluster of Hufflepuffs and a few Ravenclaws who had elected to stay behind as well, and a little further to his left was Potter.

Of course.

The Gryffindor wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, walking with his head down. Draco smirked and decided to take advantage of the moment. He leaned down and scooped up a handful of snow, forming it into a perfect ball before letting it fly at the side of Potter's head.

His aim was excellent, and the snowball collided with Potter's head, exploding and showering him with snow. He turned to glare, but his expression cleared when he saw Draco smirking at him.

"You're a git," Potter said as he walked over to him.

Draco shrugged. "You already knew that. Still want to be my friend?"

"Yep. Your lot gone then?"

"There is only one train, Potter, and they all got on it."

Potter gave him a flat look. "It's hard for you to just answer a question without sarcasm, isn't it?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Draco asked with faux innocence. He glowered when Potter punched him in the arm. "Behave, you brute."

"You behave," Potter returned with a smirk. "Doing anything after dinner tonight?"

Draco wasn't, but he also wasn't quite ready to start spending all of his time with Potter either. "I have some things I need to get done, yes," he said. "But I imagine I'll see you sometime before the break is over."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Sure thing, Draco," he said.

Draco wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to avoid Potter, but he managed to make it three whole days without seeing him. To keep from feeling too pathetic, he made himself busy. He employed his owl and a few of the school's to send his Christmas gifts to his mother and his friends, he organized his belongings and got ahead on some reading for classes, and he even managed to catch up on the sleep that he had been missing out on during the term.

Still, by the time Christmas Eve rolled around, he was out of things to do, and a little starved for human interaction. Malfoys didn't succumb to these things, though, so Draco just put himself to bed early that night, deciding that he would talk to Potter at the Christmas meal the next day.

His subconscious, however, was not so accommodating.

Draco dreamed of the the Christmas prior to this one. It had been spent at the Manor, under the tyranny of Lord Voldemort. He tossed and turned in his bed, dreaming of the bastard's cruel laugh.

Ah, it's Christmas, my loyal friends. This occasion calls for gifts, don't you think? Gifts for me, of course.

And what had the great fuck wanted? To Crucio each and every one of them for thirty seconds while everyone watched.

He could remember the pain burning through him like the worst kind of fire. He couldn't move, couldn't fight back. He could only scream. And then, while he was panting and trying to recover himself, it had been his mother's turn, and he'd felt every second of her torture like it was his own.

Draco awoke, jaw clenched tightly so he wouldn't scream. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. Sweat was pouring off of him, and his heart was beating rapidly. He dragged in a ragged breath, pushing damp hair from him face and looking around the dorm, assuring himself that he was safe.

He fished his wand out from under his pillow to cast a time charm. It was only a little after midnight, and therefore officially Christmas. There was no way he was going back to sleep, so he slid out from under his blankets and got dressed, putting on trousers, a thick jumper, and a heavy cloak before wrapping his scarf around his neck. He needed some air.

The way to the Astronomy Tower was well worn in his mind, and Draco thought that he would have been able to find his way there with his eyes closed. What he wasn't used to seeing was Potter leaning in the spot that he usually occupied.

But there he was, wrapped in a thick cloak of his own and staring out over the snow covered grounds. Draco considered leaving, but then decided that Potter's company was preferable to going back to face his memories alone.

"You may as well come on over, Draco," Potter said, his voice cutting through the silence.

Draco walked over to lean on the low wall next to the Gryffindor. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, leaning closer when he realized that Potter had had the forethought to cast a Warming Charm.

A small smile tugged at Potter's lips. "I've learned to be able to tell when someone's behind me," he replied. "And you're the only other person who ever comes up here." He paused for a moment, and then turned his head to look at Draco. "Why do you come up here?"

Well wasn't thata loaded question? To be honest, Draco didn't even really know. He was just drawn to the place ever since he'd come back that year. Potter seemed to be able to read this from his facial expression because he did smile then.

"Yeah, I guess it's the same for me," he said. "I was up here that night, you know. I saw what happened."

Somehow that didn't surprise Draco. Potter was always there to witness his worst moments. "Can we not talk about that?" he asked. The last thing he wanted to was to revisit that memory right then.

"Sure," Potter agreed. "Are you alright?" He winced and then rushed on. "Only it's...you look kind of...I dunno. Frazzled."

Draco snorted. "Ever the wordsmith." He sighed and ran cold fingers through his hair. "I'm upset. I think Christmas has been ruined for me."

"Oh. I'm guessing last year's wasn't very merry?"

"Thatwould be an understatement."

"I get that. Mine wasn't all that great either. Bloody terrifying actually. Well I guess technically it was Christmas Eve, but it sort of buggered up the whole holiday."

"Wars have a habit of doing that," Draco murmured.

"Yeah."

The two of them stood in silence for a while after that. Each lost in their own thoughts as time passed. Finally Potter let out a long sigh and looked at Draco again. "I have an idea," he said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "A Gryffindor idea, or a good idea?"

"What's the difference?"

"Gryffindor ideas usually involve danger and the possibility of losing a limb."

Potter snorted. "Not always, you twat. But I promise you won't lose any limbs. I've got a bottle of Firewhiskey, and if neither of us are sleeping..." he trailed off.

"You want to get drunk?"

"What's wrong, Malfoy? Can't hold your liquor?"

Draco glared at him. Potter's strategy was obvious, and even more irritating, it was working. Also he found that his surname sounded...wrong somehow coming from Potter. What was the world coming to?

"Fine. But we're doing it in the dungeons."

They did not, in fact, go to the dungeons.

Potter reasoned that it was likely to be 'bloody freezing' down in the bowels of the castle, and whinged about it until Draco had given in and agreed to go to Gryffindor Tower with him. Potter had led him into the common room and then dashed up the stairs to retrieve the alcohol.

Draco had sneered upon his return, looking around the room with distaste. "Is there really a call for all this red?"

"Is there really a call for all that snobbery?" Potter had fired back, plopping down in front of the fire and conjuring two glasses. "Are you just going to stand there being a prat all night?"

Draco replied with a rude hand gesture, but folded himself gracefully in front of the fire, taking off his cloak and scarf and putting them on the couch.

"Why do you even have this?" he wanted to know.

"The Firewhiskey? Early Christmas gift from Seamus. He thought it would keep me entertained and...how did he put it? Oh, and help me 'entertain any ladies that might want to make my Christmas bright.'"

Draco snorted. "Was he aware that the only girls left are all in fifth year or under?"

Potter shrugged. "Probably not." He opened the bottle and poured two generous measures of the whiskey into each glass. He handed one to Draco and raised his own. "To a happy Christmas."

"Or at the very least, a better one that the last," Draco added, touching his glass to Potter's. He downed most of the alcohol in two quick gulps, barely wincing as the liquid burned its way down his throat. "I must admit that I never thought I would be spending a Christmas like this."

Potter smiled, draining his own glass. "But it's not so bad, right?"

"It could be worse, I suppose."

"I'll take that."

Potter poured more alcohol, and they drank in comfortable silence for a bit. The Firewhiskey was definitely loosening Draco up, chasing away the lingering tension from his dream and warming his insides.

He looked over at Potter, watching the way the Gryffindor tapped his fingers against the side of his glass as he stared into the flames. He wasn't so bad, Potter, Draco thought. He was loyal and had even been known to be funny from time to time. Not hard on the eyes either.

Draco blinked, and knew that that thought was fueled by the alcohol. Still true, though, his brain put in, and Draco frowned.

"Draco?" Potter asked suddenly. "Let me ask you a question."

"Fine."

"Why don't you want to be my friend?"

Draco tipped his head back and let out a long breath. "Why does it matter?"

"Because...well...sometimes it seems like we're friends already, but you always say we're not. And you still call me Potter."

"What else would I call you?"

"I have a name, you know!"

"Yes. It's Potter."

"You're such a fucking git," Potter grumbled. "And stop avoiding the question."

"Let me ask you a question, Potter," Draco countered. "If I'm such a fucking git, whydo you want to be my friend?"

Potter went quiet for a moment, clearly searching for the right words. Finally, he just shrugged. "That's just you," he answered. "And you're not always. Plus...you get it, you know?"

"Misery loves company," Draco said, lifting his glass.

"No. No, that's not what I meant," Potter argued. "I meant that...fuck, I'm not good at this. I meant that I don't feel like I have to pretend to be okay around you. Because you know how it feels to not be okay."

Draco could understand that. Often he felt like he couldn't talk to his friends because they didn't understand how he felt. Of course they offered their advice and tried to be there for him, but it didn't really help. With Potter, Draco didn't even have to explain how he felt. Potter just got it.

"Your other friends don't like me," he said softly.

Potter frowned. "They don't not like you. They just don't know you as anything other than the prat you've been to them. And anyway, I'm not asking you to be their friend."

"So I can just be your friend without having to fraternize with your merry band?"

The Gryffindor chuckled, refilling his glass and offering the bottle to Draco. "Yes, Draco. I'm sure your friends don't like me much either."

"You're right. Well, actually, I think Theo and Greg are pretty indifferent to you."

"I can work with that," Potter said with a smile. "After all, you used to hate me. Now look at us." He indicated their proximity.

"Don't let it go to your head."

A clock somewhere stuck three in the morning, and Potter and Draco were still in front of the fire. There was considerably less alcohol in the bottle, and they were both feeling the effects. Potter had moved so he was leaning against the couch, his hair an even bigger mess than usual because he couldn't seem to keep his hands out of it.

Draco was feeling warm and relaxed. He blew his fringe out of his face and, quite without thinking, rolled the sleeves of his jumper up.

The movement caught Potter's eye, and he turned to look at Draco's exposed forearms. Well, at one of them anyway.

Draco followed Potter's eyes, and his blood went cold. He never showed the Mark if he could help it. No one wanted to see it, and he didn't want to be associated with it anymore. Unfortunately, the bloody thing was permanent.

He went to roll his sleeve back down, but Potter reached out and put a hand on his arm, eyes intent. "What are you doing?" Draco asked, voice hushed.

"Just..." Potter trailed off, scooting closer to Draco and chewing on his lip. He slid his fingers down the pale skin and traced the Mark gently.

Draco held his breath, not sure what to do. His instincts were telling him to jerk his arm back and go back to the dungeons where he belonged, but he couldn't quite move. His heart was racing again, and Potter's fingers were lighting trails of electricity over his skin.

Potter raised his eyes, and Draco found himself caught in that emerald stare. "You never show it," the Gryffindor whispered.

Draco tore his eyes away, but left his arm where it was. "You know perfectly well why that is."

"Yeah."

Suddenly it was all too much. The alcohol, the fire, his nightmare, Potter's hand on him. He didn't know what he was feeling, but it suddenly didn't matter. He gripped Potter's wrist and yanked him forward, pressing their lips together.

Potter froze for just a second, his body stiff against Draco's. Then a little whimper broke from him, and he pressed closer, gripping Draco's wrist in turn and kissing him back. Draco let his free hand slip into Potter's hair, the small part of his brain not focused on kissing taking note that Potter's hair was much softer than it looked.

Potter tasted like Firewhiskey, and he kissed like he did everything else. It was a little clumsy, but not lacking in determination. Their lips moved together, staying closed for the time being, but that was enough.

Draco lost track of how long the kiss lasted, but soon he needed to break for air. He sat back, still holding Potter—oh fuck it, he might as well be Harry now—Harry's wrist, chest heaving as he swallowed hard. "I'm...I'm not sure why I did that," he whispered.

"Are you going to do it again?" Harry asked, breathlessly.

"Do you...do you want me to?"

"I think I do."

Draco met his eyes and saw confusion and hesitation, but also something like want, and it made him blush lightly. "I'll consider it then," he said flippantly.

Harry grinned and yawned.

"It's late," Draco said, yawning himself.

"I think we've passed late and crossed right on over to early," Harry said back.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, either way, I should go." He released Harry's wrist and tried to pull his own back, but Harry held on tight.

"You'll be okay?"

"Yes, Potter," the blond responded. "I will be fine. I'll see you tomorrow— Merlin, later today, I suppose— at the feast." He gathered his things and headed back down to the dungeons, head spinning.

When Draco awoke, it was after noon, and his head was surprisingly clear. He'd not drunk enough to be hung over, and he had an unhindered memory of the night before.

He let out a shaky breath and touched his fingers to his lips, thinking of the kiss he'd shared with Harry. It was chaste compared to some of the kisses Draco had had before, but it stayed with him. He could even remember the way Harry's fingers had felt, running over the skin of his forearm. There hadn't been any revulsion in those green eyes, just curiosity and acceptance.

Of course, all of that could have been caused by the Firewhiskey, but somehow Draco didn't think that was the case.

He shook his head, not ready to think about that just yet. Instead, he turned his attention to the pile of gifts at the foot of his bed.

The first was a thick, book-shaped package from his mother. He opened it to find a journal, bound in dark leather. When he touched it, there was a spark of magic, and Draco furrowed his brow. There was an inscription inside, written in his mother's elegant script.

Draco,

This journal is spelled to open only to your magical signature and to appear blank to anyone you don't want to see what you've written. Even me, if such is the case.

Never feel that your words, your thoughts, your dreams aren't safe.

Mother

Draco had to swallow the lump that rose in his throat then. His did miss his mother. He traced his fingers over the words and then closed the journal, placing it on the bedside table.

The other packages were from Blaise, Pansy, Theo, Greg, and to his surprise, his Aunt Andromeda. They contained chocolates, a black wool scarf, a light blue cashmere jumper with a note from Pansy about how it would 'make his eyes pop', a book on catalysts in Potions, and a rather good bottle of Elvish wine.

Not a bad haul, and certainly better than the year before.

He whiled away the hours before Christmas dinner eating chocolate and reading his new book. This solitude wasn't as oppressive as the solitude he'd experienced before his drunken night/morning with Potter.

He was deliberately not thinking about what Potter might be thinking up in his tower because that train of thought led nowhere good. Luckily, the chocolate was excellent and the book was interesting, so he was content.

Soon enough though, it was time to get dressed for dinner. Draco put on the new jumper and dark trousers, forgoing his robes. He brushed his hair and noted that yes, the jumper did make his eyes stand out. He would have to remember to thank Pansy.

Taking a deep breath, and telling himself that he could handle whatever happened with Potter, he joined the younger Slytherins as they headed down to the Great Hall.

McGonagall was at the head of the table, with various students and professors spread out along the sides. Harry was already there, talking to a Ravenclaw that Draco didn't recognize, wearing what appeared to be a hand knitted jumper in a very bright scarlet. A Weasley gift, no doubt.

The spot next to Harry was open, and Draco dithered for a second over whether or not to take it. He berated himself internally then. He could sit next to Harry if he wanted to. It didn't have to meananything.

He slid into the spot, returning the cordial nod that the headmistress sent his way, and bit his lip, waiting for Harry to acknowledge him.

It didn't take long.

Harry turned to him with a cautious smile, eyes widening a bit. "Hi," he said. "That's a nice jumper."

"Christmas gift," Draco replied. "I'd compliment yours, but..." he trailed off, leaving Harry to fill in the blank.

The Gryffindor kicked him under the table. "Shut up," he returned, trying to look scolding, but failing to hide the smile that twitched at his lips. "Did you...er...get to sleep alright? When you left?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. I think I was too tipsy to have any more bad dreams."

"Good. Draco, are we going to-" Harry was cut off by McGonagall clapping her hands and starting the meal officially.

Draco accepted a dish of roasted potatoes that was passed his way and added some to his plate before handing it to Harry. Dishes made their way around the table, effectively ensuring that there was going to be no conversation for a while. As he ladled gravy onto his roast, Draco thought that perhaps that was a good thing.

Suddenly something warm and solid pressed against his thigh, startling him. He looked at Harry, but the other young man was staring down at his plate, pushing peas into a puddle of gravy. Draco continued to stare, until he was rewarded by a small smile curling Harry's lips and the warmth pressing closer.

Draco paused, thinking that now would be the time to end all of this foolishness if he were going to. But somehow...that was the less appealing option. With his face set in a calm, uninterested mask, he speared a potato on his fork, and pressed his thigh back against Harry's. When Harry turned to look at him, Draco gave him an almost shy smile, biting into the potato and hooking his ankle around the Gryffindor's.

Decision made.