Hello, everyone! I should probably be working on writing "If Only I Could Turn Back Time", but I was de-cluttering my computer files and I discovered this fic! I wrote it for a friend (love you forever, AL!) two years ago when I was merely 14-years-old, and coincidentally, it's Christmas-themed, so I decided I might as well post it. This is a three-shot, with the first and last chapters being told from Draco's point of view and the second chapter told from Harry's. It's really not that good or brilliant or anything, plus I didn't have time to really read it through, but hey...it's Christmas! The second chapter will probably be uploaded on the 23rd and the last chapter will be uploaded on Christmas day (or one day after if I go out of town). Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: EWE. Eight-year. First-person POV. This fic is centered around homosexual love and the next chapters might contain more fluff than is really necessary. The last chapter will most likely contain an explicit scene of smut if I deem the writing abilities displayed by my 14-year-old self not too embarrassing to share. Also, there are mentions of Blaise/Hermione, though merely implied and not actually seen graphically, as well as insignificant mentions of a past Harry/Ginny that will play no important role in this fic.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but those rights would be the perfect Christmas gift! And this story is written in the spirit of Christmas...and not for monetary gain.

All mistake are my own. If you find any grammar mistakes or what not, please feel free to let me know. It's a big help. Thank you!

Chapter 1

Draco's POV

"This is ridiculous!" I yelled as I shoved my way through the crowd of eager students rushing to dinner after dutifully attending an entire day of nerve-wracking lessons and study sessions. Hours of wand-waving, incantation-reciting and note-taking really could work up an appetite. "I never thought it'd happen, but Hogwarts has officially lost it!"

At my side, also fighting against the sea of pupils, my best friend Blaise laughed at my obvious disgruntlement. "Come on, it's not that bad," he chided me in his mock-scolding tone, one he used very often around me as he constantly accused me of being a nuisance. I assure you I was anything but a nuisance – merely peeved at the dramatic turn of events.

"Speak for yourself," I said, shooting him a glare. "I refuse to take part in this…this time-waster of an affair!"

My declaration was met by an exasperated stare from Blaise as we started to descend one of the many grand staircases, away from our Eighth Year Potions classes which were taken in a separate room from all the other standard years. "Salazar, it's not like the world is ending," he exclaimed, his dark brown eyes rolling in annoyance. "It's just a little school program to promote a bit of house unity. If there's one lesson we've learned from the War, it's that we have to stand together. Besides, it's that time of year for giving, anyway."

I couldn't stop myself from raising an eyebrow. Blaise had become particularly philosophical since the beginning of our so-called Eighth Year. Not only was he dating that Mud…Muggleborn, Granger, but he had also turned into someone a little too mentally mature for my liking. "It's only Christmas," I snorted. "Heck, I'd rather go back to the Manor than spend Christmas here if that's the kind of thing we'll being doing for the holiday." I turned my head away from him to make sure he understood my defiance, which only resulted in my not noticing that the step on the stairs in front of me had vanished. I let out an embarrassing yelp as I slipped through it. Just when I was sure I'd either get caught in it or fall into a completely different stairwell below it, I felt someone grab my arm and pull me back to safety. Originally, I assumed it was Blaise, but my best friend had been walking on my right, and I had been saved from the left, so who…?

"You should know better than that by now, Malfoy," a cheerful voice greeted me.

I recognized that voice in an instant and hesitated a moment before glancing up at my rescuer. Even though I had mentally prepared and physically braced myself for the impact of looking into those eyes, nothing could ever fully ready me for the sensations that came next – the sudden skip in my heartbeat, the tingle of my skin where he held me, the feeling that I was getting lost in those beautiful, emerald eyes…

"Potter," I replied, quickly straightening myself out and hurriedly putting as much distance between his body and mine. "Still haven't gotten over your dumb urge to save the everyone in the world, I see."

He offered me a brief but sincere smile that sent my pulse racing to a dangerous speed. "Yes, you're welcome, Malfoy, it's nice to see you too," he laughed. "Blaise," he added by means of acknowledgement. Before I could reply, he had turned and continued down the stairs, leaving Blaise and I behind in the crowd.

Blaise was chuckling beside me, and even the glare I shot him failed to quiet him. "You're pathetic," he chided me good-naturedly. "Why don't you just say something already?"

"Shut up," I mumbled shamefacedly. Yes, you can all close your gaping jaws now, I have been gay since the day I first saw Harry (yes, I call him that in my brain, get over it) in Madame Malkin's. Despite trying to get with girls for several years, desperate to prove to myself and my disappointed family that I was not a budding homosexual who would be unable to produce an heir to the Malfoy legacy, the fact remained that I was just not attracted to women. Pansy had been nothing but an immense turn-off for me (though I could just put that down to her unattractive features), and even the beautiful Astoria Greengrass (who I was originally supposed to marry after we both graduated, but has now turned into one of my dearest confidants and most treasured friends) did nothing to my heart rate. There was no doubting it – I was terribly gay.

"Seriously, man, you've only got half a year left before we graduate," Blaise was advising me when I finally shook myself out of my frozen daze. "You haven't much to lose."

"Aside from my reputation and whatever respect my family has left for me," I responded, flustered as tried to remove whatever blush was left on my face with deep, calming breaths. "Plus, he doesn't play for my team – he's with that Weasellete."

My best friend shrugged as if the fact barely concerned him. "Yeah, but last I heard, he broke up with her with a single sentence that sent her running and crying to the girls' bathroom."

"No kidding?" I asked, trying not to look too interested, but failing miserably despite my efforts. "He got her bawling with one bloody sentence? Must have been 'you're fat'," I snickered.

"Be nice," he reprimanded me, smacking my shoulder. "These are only rumours, but they've definitely called it quits. Hermione tells me that Harry and Ron haven't been on speaking terms for a while either."

It really disturbed me how easily Blaise called Harry by his first name so effortlessly while I struggled to conceal the fact that I thought of him as Harry too. And the way Harry called Blaise by his first name made me feel very insecure, invisible, and…dare I say jealous? But that was unreasonable of me, wasn't it? Blaise was Granger's boyfriend; it was only natural that he became friends with her friends. It was the mature thing to do to be understanding about this situation.

Then again, since when did I ever care about being unreasonable? Or immature?

"Anyway, as I was saying, I will not be a part of this dumb Christmas tradition!" I said, hastily changing the subject, going back to my original rant.

Again, Blaise laughed, knowing full well I was only trying to get out of the situation, but thankfully he let it slide and didn't comment. "Well, I'm all for it," he responded instead. "In fact, I think it's brilliant of McGonagall."

I stared at him incredulously. "Granger has officially gotten to your head."

He groaned at my tactless, but nevertheless true, accusation. "It's just a Secret Santa program, Draco. Not a declaration from Merlin that all Wizards are required to be abstinent."

I snorted at his comment just as a familiar voice piped up beside me and the pretty, two-year-younger Astoria appeared out of practically nowhere. "Draco's going to be abstinent? That'll be the day," she grinned, flashing her perfect pearly white teeth at us. Not in the mood for an actual conversation, I huffed in a disgruntled manner and turned my face away in the most childish way you can possibly imagine. "What's up?" she asked, ignoring my decision to shun her.

"Not much," Blaise replied with an equally wide smile. "Please forgive Draco, he's just had a run in with Harry."

Astoria giggled, causing several heads to turn her way. There was no denying her beauty – she was perfect by any man's standards – a slim, fit figure, long gorgeous locks of deep mahogany hair flowing past her shoulders and fluttering tantalizingly down her back before fading into wisps at her waistline, clear, glowing, fair skin, and the most mesmerizing, twinkling hazel eyes. If only I could see her that way and lust after her the way half the school did instead of ogling Harry Potter's ass.

"Why don't you just ask him out already, Drake?" she cooed, causing me to go red again. "It's so obvious already anyway, I bet he already knows."

"Shut up!" I said for the second time. "I'm not stupid, and I'm not mad because of Potter. I wouldn't waste my precious time on a half-blood like him."

"Of course you're not mad because of him, you're mad about him," she went on with another one of those too-cute-to-be-real laughs. "I'll admit there is a big difference."

"Would you keep it down?" I hissed, aware of the many eyes averted in our direction, mostly because of Astoria's presence.

"He claims to be peeved about the Secret Santa get-up," Blaise interjected, saving me from further humiliation.

"Sure he is," Astoria said with a characteristic roll of her eyes. "He detests all things that even mildly support the concept of unity." Then, she snapped suddenly back into a bubbly attitude. "I love it, though! I've already found out whose Secret Santa I am. I can't wait!"

I shook my head indulgently at her excitement. We were all supposed to draw a name from a large replica of the Sorting Hat in the Great Hall before tonight, and from there we would find out who we had to give a gift to. "Who'd you get?"

"I can't tell you, then it won't be a secret anymore," she pouted. "But I'll spill the beans if you promise not to tell."

"My lips are sealed," I smirked, and Blaise nodded beside me.

"I got Luna Lovegood!" she exclaimed proudly. "It's going to be really fun; I'll get her something kooky she's sure to like."

I tried to refrain from showing my disgust, knowing that would only upset her. Astoria was almost too happy at times, overly optimistic, everything I wasn't and probably could never be, and for that, I admired her.

"I'll admit, she'd be easier to shop for than Potter," Blaise teased me, earning a well-placed elbow in the ribs. "Hmm…maybe you should go after girls instead."

I leered at him angrily. Fantastic, really, having a so-called best friend who would betray you at any given time, when you least expect it. I half-turned to Astoria to ask for help, but she was snickering, too. "I hate you both," I declared in frustration.

"Oh, very mature," Astoria sneered, giving me a look that reminded me why this talented young witch was a Slytherin. "Anyway, I'm starving! Muggle Studies today was so boring, I was thinking about dinner the whole time." She smiled a beam that would put the sun to shame as she led the way down the stairs, tugging at my hand when I originally refused to move. Not that I wanted to stay stranded amongst a crowd of famished students, it just boggled me how any self-respecting member of the Wizarding society could take Muggle studies…what a waste of potential and talent, to take up something like that for your N.E.W.T.S.

"Well, we're late for dinner," Blaise informed me. "Might as well go after her. We can draw names from the hat there."

I nodded, not willing to argue, and followed him down the stairs. My thoughts strayed immediately to Harry, but I pushed him out of my mind, knowing that no matter what I did, I would never get my hands on him. Let this be put as the first thing that a Malfoy wanted, but simply couldn't have.

As expected, the whole bloody school was abuzz with conversation as we swept into the Great Hall. The night had gotten so cold that even the great grounds of Hogwarts could not keep the blizzard's icy stupor out; it was as if winter had seized the entire school in its jaws to remind us of the damned Secret Santa program.

Not that I had anything specifically against it, or unity, as Astoria suggested earlier. It was just a waste of time and money, plus it was a reminder that I couldn't go home for Christmas to escape it. The Manor was no longer home to me, anyway. Father had been hauled off to Azkaban and Mother was in hiding, only sending me owls once a month to assure me that she was alright, a fact she assumed would comfort me. It didn't.

I wouldn't and couldn't go back to the Manor ever again. It was empty and cold, and worst of all, there was no closure for me. Which is why it's a big thing when I say I'd rather be back at the Manor than here at Hogwarts avoiding enchanted Mistletoe.

Besides, I positively loathed Christmas, or at least had an odd love-hate relationship with the tinsel-covered holiday. I loved it as a child because it had been the one time in the entire year when Father and Mother would hold hands and the Manor would be filled with relatives and family friends. And for once, my Father wouldn't look at me with guilt and doubt clouding his eyes that so resembled mine, and would hold himself upright for the public. And Mother would actually smile so wide that I could barely see through the illusion of happiness in her expression.

But I also hated it because it was fake. So pathetically fake. It was nothing more than a façade, a masquerade where we would do nothing more than put masks over our faces, convince everyone that we were joyful, when truthfully, we would give anything to be in different company, away from Death Eaters and poisonous acquaintances. Christmas in itself is a dumb tradition – all gifts and false smiles and pretending you love each other when you really want to hex everyone and everything in sight into oblivion. A farce.

"Draco? Draco!"

I snapped out of it and realized I had completely tuned out Astoria and Blaise for about ten minutes. "Huh?" I blinked, confused and puzzled, with the dumbest expression on my sharp features, a look worthy of any Hufflepuff.

"Were you even listening to me?" Astoria asked crossly, giving me her best pout.

"Sorry, darling, what was it?" I asked politely, always willing to indulge her. So perhaps I wasn't the nicest man who walked the earth, but I had been brought up by a family of stiff and filthy rich purebloods, and manners had always been a priority in growing up. Basically, if I really wanted to, I knew how to be a gentleman.

"Sucking up to me isn't going to help," she replied stubbornly, crossing her arms across her chest.

"She was asking if you were going to try and find a way out of picking a name," Blaise informed me and I gave him a grateful look carefully disguised as a sneer.

"It's not worth getting into trouble for," I told her with my trademark sly smirk.

"Really?" she asked, brown eyes flashing with determination, and I knew I had gotten myself into trouble. "Then prove it. Draw a name now."

"What?" I exclaimed, trying not to furrow my brow at her demands. "But…"

"What's the matter, Drakey?" she dared me, grinning mischievously. "Too anxious to find out who it is?"

I felt my resolve weakening. Like I said, I couldn't help but indulge her, and she had just challenged my once puffed-up, already partially wounded ego, and a Malfoy must always defend that. "Fine," I spat, marching up to where the hat stood at the entrance of the Great Hall. Taking a deep breath, I plunged my hand into the hat and pulled out a single slip of paper, pushing it far into the pocket of my cloak without even glancing at it, then stormed back to where Blaise and Astoria stood waiting for me.

"Well?" Blaise asked curiously, wanting to know who I'd drawn.

"I'm not even going to bother to look," I said coldly. "I'll just end up disappointing whoever it is with the worst present they've ever received. I'll pick something random up at Hogsmeade this and hand it to the unlucky winner."

Astoria heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Well if you're going to be a wet blanket and not read it, I'm going to have some real fun with people who aren't party poopers," she declared, striding off to join some girls from her year at the other end of the hall. "Ta!" she called over her shoulder before being swallowed up by the crowd.

Blaise laughed weakly at her antics. "Sorry man, but I gotta go. Hermione's waiting for me and I know you hate the Gryffindor table. Ciao!" He gave me an apologetic grimace before taking off in that direction.

Trying not to get too annoyed at being abandoned by my only true companions, I made my way towards the Slytherin table and slid onto the empty spot in the far corner. As pitiful as it sounded, I had little to no friends aside from the two aforementioned – Goyle and I had been just awkward since Crabbe's death and Pansy hated my guts for ditching her. So, yes, this Malfoy swallowed his pride and sat alone at dinner almost every single day. It burned a hole in me to realize that I was no longer the acclaimed, popular Slytherin prince everyone wanted to be acquainted with.

Realizing I had lost my appetite, I sighed softly and reached into my pocket, wrenching the piece of paper from its folds, resisting the urge to roll my eyes as I smoothed it out, removing the crinkles and crumples. Whoever's name I had drawn would probably have the worst Christmas of their life, and strangely, that brought me some comfort.

Then I saw the name written in a too-familiar, untidy scrawl across the ruffled parchment, and my eyes flew wide open as my heart started hammering unhealthily in my chest.

"Harry Potter."

Blaise's eyebrows had never been quite so close as to disappearing behind his hair as they had now, and never had he looked so pained and conflicted, trying to decide whether letting out the laugh he was barely holding back would cause me to hex him into the next century or not.

"Fuck you," I swore at him, and he finally couldn't take it anymore and burst into peals of laughter that hurt my ears.

"Re-ally-you-got-Ha-Ha-Harry…?" he choked out between gasps and snorts, so loudly half the common room probably overheard.

"Shut up!" I snapped frantically, waving my hands in front of him to display exactly how much I resented the way he was taking the news. "I told you this so you could help me out, not make fun of me."

Quickly, Blaise assumed a serious expression, trying to appear as if the choking laughs were over, but failed miserably and cracked up again, this time bent double in his hilarity.

Astoria, who was luckily not quite as amused by my statement as Blaise, whacked him on the shoulder before turning to me and speaking. "Well, what are you getting him, then?"

"I don't know; that's what I need your help for!" I cried, trying not to let the chuckles issuing from my male best friend's mouth get to me and focus instead on her.

"I-th-th-thought you were go-gonna get someth-something r-r-r-random?" Blaise asked, still shaking with the most unrefined gurgles of laugher.

"Shut up," I repeated, this time giving him my best I'm-going-to-make-you-shit-your-pants stare. It didn't really work, but he seemed to finally get a grip and compose himself long enough to give me a sophisticated response.

"Well, I could ask Hermione for you, but we both know she'll tell me to tell you to ask her yourself," Blaise stated. "But she probably won't make it easy for you unless you tell her exactly why you want to impress him so much. And she won't tell you anything until you apologize properly for being so uncivil to her for the past eight years." He seemed to find these facts funny, however, as he burst into another laughing fit over it until Astoria gave him a death glare, which shut him up almost immediately. He amended, "But that's your best bet."

"Yeah, and that'll work," I replied with a snort. "Hey, Granger, sorry for calling you a Mudblood for nearly a decade. Oh, and I happen to have a serious crush on Potter, even though I've made his life miserable for eight years. Now that you know, kindly disregard my previous behavior and tell me what he wants for Christmas." I laughed humourlessly. "No fucking way, Blaise."

"Hey, language!" Astoria snapped at me.

"Yes, mother," I mumbled and she shot me the same look, instantly scaring the shit out of me and making me hold my tongue.

"I think it's worth a shot," she noted, fiddling with her hair as she thought it through. "I mean, what have you got to lose? If worse comes to worst, she'll just say 'no' and you won't be any worse off."

"Or she might tell Potter, and I'll be in a scrape of sorts," I muttered, causing Blaise to instantly leap to her defense.

"Hermione isn't that kind of person," he assured me. "Actually, I agree with Astoria. It's your best bet at getting him something he actually wants." He paused, as if considering something, and then said, "Hey, tell you what. I was supposed to meet her tonight but she insisted on studying alone in the library – you can meet her there. She should be there as we speak."

My eyes went what must have been comically wide at this revelation, because Astoria snickered before regaining composure. I wondered at both of their sanities. "Are you suggesting that I march over there right now?" I gaped. At his nod, I groaned. "That'll be a pleasant confrontation. I'll be lucky if I escape with half my arse still in place."

"That'd be shame, how would Potter ogle it then?" Blaise smirked.

"Shut up." It seemed to be a fairly overused phrase on my part. "I'm serious. She'll probably hex my balls off the second I appear in her immediate vicinity."

"Now, Draco," Blaise reprimanded, and I groaned inwardly at the preaching note he assumed easily. "If there's anything we've learned from last year's events, it's that we must never –"

"Zabini," I snapped. "Save the heroics for the masses, yeah?"

Astoria clicked her tongue somewhat impatiently. "Draco, do you want to get this guy or not?" she demanded, leaning in a little closer to get my attention.

"What do you think?" I shot back, not wanting to admit it out loud just yet.

"Well, there you have it," she said, sounding lightly satisfied. "Go and get him then."

I wondered if she had somehow lost her mind in that Muggle Studies class. "It's not that simple," I protested, but she seemed completely relaxed and wasn't really paying attention.

"He's not going to wait around forever," she laughed in a sing-song voice. "I'll bet he's already groveling, wondering how to get Ginevra back. Or maybe he's set his eyes on a new beau?"

Well, she always did know how to convince me. The sheer thought of Harry getting into a committed relationship and being unavailable again was enough to cause a wave of possessive urgency and raging jealousy to pulse through my veins. Harry was mine, and I'd be damned if anyone else got to him first. "Damn it, Astoria," I snapped, leaping out of my seat. I had to hand it to her, she knew exactly how to manipulate me – she wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. She would've made Salazar proud. In an instant, I was on my feet and dashing to the entrance of the common room.

"Good luck!" Astoria called, and I inwardly cursed myself for allowing someone to get to know me that well.

The library was quiet, as was to be expected – very few possessed the psychotic need to study at such an ungodly hour. Of course, Granger was one of that few, and I could see her instantly, frowning as she mulled over some atrociously large book or other.

I approached her, but even the sound of my footsteps didn't alert her of my presence, so I was forced to announce it with a rather unnatural clearing of my throat.

Her reaction was instantaneous – her eyes left the book, rested on me, widened and then formed into a glare reminiscent of the time she punched me in third year. I saw her hand fly down to grasp her wand in her pocket, instantly wary of any tricks I might have, which I found very, very unfair – wasn't it obvious that I, like so many others, had changed after the war?

"Granger," I said, trying to sound gentle but probably sounding cold instead.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Granger asked, her voice bordering on tense even as she fought to keep a calm posture.

I gestured to the chair across her. "May I?" She didn't respond, so I went over and sat down anyway. "I'm not going to say that I don't have some ulterior motive for this, because I do, but it's best to get this out of the way first – I apologize for how I've been treating you for the past few years."

One of her eyebrows raised. "Did Blaise put you up to this?" she questioned icily, not letting her guard down just yet.

I rolled my eyes. "No, Granger, he didn't."

"Then what's with the pleasantries?" she snapped, and I winced at the harshness of her tone – how did Blaise stand this creature?

"I require your assistance," I replied, deciding to get straight to the point.

"On what account?" she asked, closing her book and leaning away from me, as though repelled by the very thought of helping me at all. Salazar, I would never understand Blaise's taste in women. Or why he even liked women, for that fact – males weren't nearly as complicated.

"I'm sure you're familiar with the Secret Santa programme," I said quietly, glancing at her to gauge her reaction. She didn't react at all, unfortunately, and remained still as stone. "I've become Potter's Secret Santa and I would appreciate it if you told me what he might like for Christmas."

Granger immediately relaxed, and a smile quirked her lips as she left her wand in her pocket and reopened her book. "Fantastic," she said, in an almost-laugh.

Now, I don't admit to ever understanding girls, but Granger's response to my request had me even more baffled than usual. "How is that fantastic?" I demanded, wondering why she wasn't threatening to hex my balls off if I sent him something potentially harmful. Was this some sort of joke? Had Blaise somehow gotten to her before I had and warned her?

She chose not to answer my question, instead deciding to lean in closer to me and whisper as if sharing a secret. "Trying to grab his attention as usual, huh?" she grinned, tilting her head to the side and giving me a questioning stare.

"I have no idea what you're going on about," I snapped, instantly forgetting to be nice to her upon hearing such an accusation. I mean, yes, it was true, but Granger didn't need to know that.

Granger laughed, quietly because of the venue we were in. "Why do you care what you get Harry?" she asked, shrugging. "I mean, you could always get him something from a prank shop or give him a sweet that will turn him purple for a day." I frowned, trying to make sense of what she was saying, but before I could ask she went on, "Even if you were trying to be nice, you could just get him some pretty little card or some chocolates."

"I don't see where you're going with this, Granger," I admitted, a warning in my tone.

She chuckled. "Let's face it, Malfoy – you've got it bad for Harry."

My jaw dropped at her words. My hearts started to do that unhealthy racing thing again, and I fought very hard against my pale complexion to refrain from flushing. That darned Blaise…had he told her my secret? I'd have to have a talk with him later – a talk that would have him screaming like a girl as he fell to the floor in pieces. "What?" I finally managed to croak out after several minutes of speechlessness. "No, I most certainly do not have any feelings for that…for that Scarhead!" I protested.

Her expression was mildly amused as she rolled her eyes with a satisfied half-smile. "I'm afraid I can't help you if you don't help yourself," she informed me, standing up slowly. She pushed her chair into the table and picked up her book, then turned towards the shelves. "Good night, Malfoy."

I stared after her, completely at a loss, as she disappeared behind one of the shelves to keep the book. Was she expecting me to admit it out loud? Wasn't she going to tell me what Harry wanted?

"Damn it," I swore under my breath, then got up to follow her. I found her tiptoeing to reach an upper shelf in one of the back racks. She gave me a small, semi-triumphant grin as she finally forced the book back into place.

"Is there something you wanted, Malfoy?" she asked coolly.

"Why can't I want to be nice to Potter for a change?" I snapped. "Maybe I just want to thank him for saving my arse during the war. I don't have to actually like the prick."

Granger shouldered her bag more securely as she turned to me. "If that was true, you would have told me that when you first asked for my help."

I shot her the iciest glare I could manage. "Fine," I said, settling for a half-truth. "I do want to gain his friendship, because I'm still sore at how he rejected my hand in front of everyone in First Year."

To my utter dismay, the frizzy-haired Gryffindor shook her head. "I'm not blind, you know," she said simply. "Have a good night." She turned and slowly started to walk off.

Fuck it! This was my only chance, and she was playing me as well as any Slytherin would, like Astoria – or was it just natural girl cunning? "Granger!" I called.

She smiled sweetly as she turned to face me. "Yes?" she asked, her voice almost sing-song. When I spluttered and tried to phrase out a sentence, it took too long and she spun around and started walking off again.

"Wait, wait," I sighed, in defeat, and she stopped again, this time fully wheeled around and watched me hurrying to collect myself. "So what if I have a mild interest for Potter?" I whispered.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," she replied innocently.

I gritted my teeth. "Who gives a fuck if I have feelings for Potter?" I snapped, still keeping my voice low, especially seeing as there was a small group of Ravenclaw third years buried in books nearby.

"I really can't hear you Malfoy," Granger snorted. "You have to speak up."

"So what if I bloody well like Potter?" I yelled, and instantly pinched the bridge of my nose as the studying students a few feet away glanced up and giggled.

"That's better," Granger laughed. "See, now that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

I felt the heat rising to my face as the Ravenclaws continued to laugh, murmuring among themselves. This would be all over the school by dawn's first light, so yes, it was pretty hard, but I grunted noncommittally in response.

"We both know he likes Quidditch, and sweets," she began, but my impatience had gotten the better of me. How dare she play games with me? Hadn't my apologies been enough – hadn't I already embarrassed myself and what was left of my reputation that night, apologizing to a Mud- Muggleborn when I wasn't really sorry and then asking for her assistance, chasing after said Muggleborn, and then practically coming out of the closet in front of a gaggle of chatterboxes?

"Well I can't bloody well get him a sugar-coated Snitch can I?" I snarled, and she flinched. "Sorry," I muttered angrily. "Continue."

"As I was about to say before you rudely interrupted me," she resumed, sounding a little firmer now, "I'm sure you would like to give him something slightly more original, and if you mean to ask me what he told me he wants for Christmas, the answer to that is nothing." I was on the verge of cutting in when she held up a hand and went on, "Yes, Harry refuses to trouble us with gift requests, you know how he is. But if you mean to ask me what I think he would like you to buy him, I think you should get him something that looks like it has some thought behind it."

What was this, a cryptic message guessing game? "What the fuck does that mean?" I snapped.

"It means, you git," she replied, sounding even more stern now, "that it has to be something meaningful. Not a bunch of chocolate frogs, or a Quidditch book, or even an expensive new broomstick. Something creative that will touch him."

I stared at her in bemusement. Trust Harry to be one of those bloody complicated ones – you couldn't just get him a fucking quill, it had to be extraordinarily unique. "But what exactly..."

"Hermione, are you here?"

I stopped in midsentence at the resoundingly familiar sound of Harry's voice. Fuck. I backed away, but it was too late and he stepped around one of the shelves and spotted Granger.

"Ah, there you are, I think you have my quill..." He stopped short as he caught sight of me, and I hurriedly tried to look inconspicuous as a flush rose to my cheeks. I grabbed a book of the nearest shelf and started leafing through it, instantly regretting it because the book was bloody heavy and titled A Hundred and One Love Potions.

"Don't be a twat, Malfoy," Granger said suddenly, and I had to restrain myself from bashing my head against said book at her readiness to admit that she had been speaking to me. "I don't have your quill, Harry, by the way, it's with Ron. Sorry for the delay, I was just talking to Malfoy."

"Were you now?" Harry asked, glancing up curiously. I groaned inwardly at the searching gaze he had fixed on me. Even though we were on better terms, it wasn't as if I could just expect him to trust me, but it hurt more than it should have that he was suspicious. And that his green eyes were every bit as captivating as ever.

"We were going on about Christmas, actually," the Muggleborn said conversationally, completely ignoring my frantic glances. "Quite a pleasant topic."

"Christmas? That's in, what, a week?" he said. "Gosh, I'd nearly forgotten."

"Harry!" Granger exclaimed reproachfully, and I found myself wondering if they'd notice if I snuck off while neither were paying attention. "You mustn't be so careless – what about the Secret Santa program?"

My breath caught in my throat and I coughed loudly to cover up my gasp. Surely she wouldn't tell him?

"Yeah, sorry," Harry replied, nodding absently. He spared me one last look, and it was so full of questions and suspicions that I instantly felt my heart sink – I'd never win this man over, even if he had to save me from one thousand vanishing staircases. "Look, we should get going, Ron's waiting up." With that, he wrapped a protective arm around her waist, a movement that looked practised from usage on millions of other girls.

Granger smiled, nodding, but turned to me first. "By the way, Malfoy, the eight years are organizing a small party on the day of the Secret Santa giveaway. It'll be held in the Gryffindor common room at seven o'clock."

"Fantastic for you," I replied coolly, trying not to notice the way Harry seemed to bristle at the implication behind her words.

"I'm inviting you, you prat," Granger chided good-naturedly. "Everyone will be there – though only about a hundred students because everyone else has gone home for Christmas – so it's simply fair that you come, too. Pass the message along to the other Slytherins, yeah?"

"Sure," I stated, trying not to roll my eyes at her lame attempts at encouraging house unity. Perhaps the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would be able to stomach spending the night in the Gryffindor towers, but I doubted the eagerness of my housemates when it came to participating in such tiresome and probably pointless events. Not that I would tell her that.

"Great!" Granger grinned, tossing her bushy hair that had clearly known neither conditioner nor hairspray back over her shoulder. "I'll see you there, then. Goodnight, Malfoy!" She wheeled around and marched straight over to the door, looking quite like the cat that ate the canary.

I wasn't sure how this whole thing had somehow turned out in her favour, but the damned Muggleborn should have probably been a Ravenclaw.

Harry spared me one last glance. "Night," he said simply, before spinning on his heel and taking off after her retreating form.

"Yeah," I muttered, looking away, my spirits sinking. There was no way I could ever even hope for a mere friendship with Harry. This whole Secret Santa thing, as much as I loathed it, would probably be the only chance I'd ever have to get into his good books.

The only question was, how?

A/N: Reviews are love! :) xoxo