Title: Resolution (Or Lack Thereof)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I barely even own any sanity. I don't own any alcohol either, though, so I have no excuse for this thing I seem to have written here.

Pairings: Harry/Draco, background Scorpius/Rose. I am normally an ardent Albus Severus/Scorpius shipper (mainly because I find the abbreviation AS/S to be absolutely hilarious), but somehow, I like the idea of Draco being forced to be in-laws with Ron Weasley. Hehe.

Rating: M. Because every time I want to write a T story, I giggle and end up writing in a sex scene anyway. You can pretty much just scroll past it if you're not in the mood. Maybe.

Warnings: Swearing, vaguely-described sex, and me being absolutely bonkers in terms of Harry's characterisation. The usual, really.

Summary: Scorpius has a Weasley girlfriend, Draco has a Tantrum-That-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned, and Potter has absolutely no interest in conflict resolution.

Author's Note: So...right after I finished writing Angling (which, by the way, people, is a one-shot that I will likely never ever continue unless I write a separate sequel, and even then I wouldn't know what to write about in that universe), this idea occurred to me.

"But trollnexus!" protests an imaginary audience member. "It's nowhere near Christmas! Why are you writing a holiday fic?"

Because I am the almighty writer, and I can do whatever I want!

So basically, this is an idea that came to me in the shower, like all the best ideas. Here you have childish!Draco and manipulative!Scorpius, and they are at odds with each other. Rather like a continuation of the relationship you saw in Angling, I suppose, but in an alternate universe where Draco and Harry didn't already hook up.

This is also a fic where I kind of make fun of myself, because at some point I was thinking, "How am I supposed to get Harry to come have sex with Draco? If I make it happen, wouldn't it just seem random?" Then in the end I said, "Fuck it," and just made it happen, and trust me, Draco's very aware of this and is highly offended with every inch of his pureblood sensibilities, but not a single inch of his prick. So...I suppose you can consider this a crack!fic?

Meh, it's up to you. I'm just glad I wrote this. I haven't giggled so much in a long, long time.

Some days, Draco really regretted becoming a parent.

Today was Christmas Eve. He was sitting on a well-worn sofa by the fire, sipping on unfortunately non-alcoholic eggnog, and listening—against his will, of course—to the horrid warbling of Celestina Warbeck.

And where, pray tell, was his son?

Flirting with Miss Rose Weasley, of all people. Draco glared at them across the room, feeling the urge to smack his son for that ridiculously besotted look on his face. Then again, at least she looked equally besotted, so it wasn't as humiliating as it could have been.

They weren't touching. They were leaning into each other, each one holding his or her own cup of eggnog, but they seemed content to just exchange witty banter and discuss questions of life, like any other Ravenclaw couple, or potential couple, or whatever the bloody hell they were.

It would have looked absolutely boring, but there was a slight edge to the way they looked at each other, a sharp, competitive gleam in their eyes, and that was the only thing that was stopping Draco from rushing over to tear them apart. After all, he knew what it was like to be competitive, and if his father had interrupted his own competitions, he'd have died of embarrassment a million times over.

But then again, Draco had never itched to snog any of his competitors.

He sighed into his cup. Well, at least Ronald Weasley was hovering over the two of them, scowling and probably monitoring their distance from each other with his mental tape measure. Draco should have felt insulted, really, at the implication that Weasel didn't trust Scorpius to maintain a sense of decorum and not molest his love interest in front of her entire family, but honestly, Draco didn't trust his son much with anything at the moment. Weasel could do the watchdog act. As a seasoned Auror, he was probably better suited for it, anyway.

Draco wanted to be back in the Manor, drinking himself to death in the privacy of his own study. He hated Christmas enough as it was, but this year, his parents had decided to go celebrate a romantic Christmas alone in Amsterdam or something—Draco could not remember the exact location, because he had been too busy wailing at them for abandoning him on a family holiday.

"Cease your infernal bawling right this moment, Draco. It is most unbecoming of a man your age," Lucius had snarled. "Your mother and I just want to spend Christmas alone this year."

"But you can't! Scorpius is dragging me to a Weasley bash, of all things! You must stay here and dissuade him! He only listens to you!"

Lucius's smile had turned positively ugly at that moment. "Oh really, now? I find that…fascinating. And that is all the more reason for your mother and me to get out of the way. We wouldn't want to interrupt your jolly festivities, after all."

"How can you be so nonchalant about this? What if his foolish courtship notions actually succeed and we actually become in-laws with the Weasleys?"

Lucius firmly gripped his shoulder. "Draco, do you remember what happened when your mother and I tried to handpick your spouse?"

Draco nodded stiffly. As nice and lovely as Astoria was, they ended up parting ways in the end, due to "irreconcilable differences," whatever that meant.

"Perhaps it is time that we leave a Malfoy to make his own decisions about his life."

"You made your own decisions, and look how that went!"

"Draco." Lucius shook his head sombrely. "I highly doubt that Miss Weasley is the next Dark Lady."

After that, Draco had literally thrown his hands in the air and given up. His father was not going to be his ally in this. Damn Scorpius had had everyone wrapped around his little finger. He was just going to have to put up with the Weasleys this Christmas.

On their way to the Burrow, Draco had regained his hopes, thinking that perhaps the Weasleys wouldn't want him there. Being Gryffindors, they would not be adverse to making a scene and kicking him bodily away from their home and sanctuary, because what self-respecting Weasley would want to mix with a Malfoy, right? It was against everything they ever believed in.

Unfortunately, even those hopes had been dashed when the elder Mrs Weasley had opened the door.

"Scorpius! And Draco. How lovely it is of you two to join us! There's more than enough food for everyone; I made sure of that. Come in, come in!"

Thus they were forcibly ushered in, and the sound of the door shutting behind them had held such finality.

Once they were inside, Mrs Weasley hugged Scorpius and pinched his cheeks. Draco was so shocked at the gesture that he failed to dodge her hug for him, and he wound up suffocating in a Weasel embrace.

"Oh, Draco, I hope you don't mind being here this evening! It's just that Scorpius had mentioned you would be alone this year, and we can't have that, now can we? Your son has been such a good friend to our Albus and Rose, and"—she winked—"if things go well between him and Rose, he might very well become a legitimate member of our family one day! And if that happens, we don't want you to feel left out. Married or not, he will still be your child!"

"Thank you kindly, Mrs Weasley. I really appreciate the sentiment. Um…oh, look, Scorpius has forgotten to take off his coat, the silly boy! I really must go after him."

"Oh of course! Dinner will begin in half an hour, so do remember to help yourself, dear!"

Draco had rushed off after that, hyperventilating. Married? Married? Were his son's intentions towards the Weasley chit really that serious? He had thought this to be a mere flirtation, a chance for him to get into someone's knickers, but there was the Weasley matriarch, wedding bells in her ears already!

Dinner had been less awkward than he expected, though. Since there were so many Weasel guests, they opted to eat buffet style rather than sit around a table. One simply had to load up one's plate with the portion one desired and then find a seat somewhere. Draco did not enjoy eating on the floor in a corner like some sort of tableless barbarian, but it had been better than the alternative of actually sitting next to a Weasel and talking. He was okay with eating alone. After all, once he and Astoria divorced and she went gallivanting off to Merlin-knew-where, he had been very used to eating alone.

After that, though, his delicate arse grew tired of the floor, so he had grabbed some eggnog and found himself a decently soft sofa. It was still nothing compared to the sofa in his study, of course, but one must make do with what one has.

He sipped, his eyes darting around, taking in all the gaudy lights and tinsel and whatnot. There were Weasel relatives everywhere, and he was surprised to realise that they did not behave like a uniformly uncouth mass. Yes, some of them did run around, shouting like hooligans, but they were little children, so that was acceptable. The adults, however, ranged from boisterous shouting (Ronald and George, for example) to quiet contemplation (Percy and Bill).

Draco gradually relaxed his posture, sinking into the sofa. There was no point in sitting so rigidly when none of his relatives were here, other than his traitorous, selfish son, who had thrown him here to the wolves, of course. (Or, well, Weasel-wolf hybrids? He really needed to work on his metaphors.) Here, no one gave a damn if he slouched, and he needed to slouch so badly.

After a while, however, he did start to notice eyes darting over at where he was sitting, and a couple of the Weasels even seemed to swallow nervously. Draco raised an eyebrow at them, and they hastily turned their heads away, whispering to one another. Why were they so discomfited? Was it because he, a Malfoy, should never, in any universe, slouch? Well, bugger to them! He slouched even more. He was tired of meeting people's expectations, and the fact that his critics of etiquette were Weasleys was not to be borne.

A few moments later, however, a non-Weasley emerged from the crowd. Or, rather, an ex-Weasley. Ronald gaped at the emerging figure like the fool he was and reached out to grab his sleeve, but Harry Potter never stops for such frivolous things as gaping Weasels, does he?

Draco stared at the approaching Saviour, his own mouth threatening to do some gaping, too, but thankfully he had firm control over his facial muscles.

"Well, hello, Potter. What do you want—mmmppph!"

In one swift movement, Potter had plopped himself on Draco's lap and mushed his mouth against his.

Draco was flailing, both physically and mentally. Everything was awful, and he was so confused. It was bad enough that his son was pursuing a Weasel daughter. It was bad enough that his parents had abandoned him on Christmas to go off to another country and do unspeakable couple things to each other. It was bad enough that the elder Mrs Weasley had hugged him.

But now the Chosen One was kissing him, his lips all over Draco's, massaging and sucking and doing all sorts of things that surely were not appropriate in front of small children! A-And why was he on Draco's lap? There was plenty of room on the soft next to him, and oh God, he just couldn't stop thinking in italics, because what the goddamn fuck—

Suddenly Potter had gotten off of him, smiling sheepishly and pointing upwards. Draco stared at the sheepish face for a moment, ignoring the insistent finger, because it was honestly so surreal to see Potter here in the first place, much less looking sheepish about a kiss at his age.

Finally, Draco regained some composure, and he tilted his head up.

Mistletoe.

No wonder this sofa seat was relatively empty!

Draco slowly tilted his head back down to its regular angle, blinking at the shocked Weasley audience. Even Percy had his mouth open, and Draco grimaced at the sight. He did not come here to see Percy's tonsils, thank you very much.

He looked around for Scorpius, only to find him on the floor, his skin deathly pale. Or at least, paler than usual, which was saying something.

"Well," he said finally. "Just…well."

He stood up and carefully stepped over Scorpius's body, heading towards a fireplace before turning back and nodding towards his prone son. "If one of you could kindly take him home later on, that would be greatly appreciated." He grabbed a pinch of Floo powder.

"Wait!" shouted a feminine voice, and Draco was surprised to realise that it was Granger's. Or, well, Weasley's. "I organised a whole system for the gift unwrapping! If you go, you'll mess up the order!"

"I apologise, Mrs Weasley, but you will just have to deal with it. Malfoy Manor!"

He stepped into the flames before Granger's hex could hit him, and he vowed to grab himself a bottle of spirits the moment he reached his private bedroom stash.

The next day, Draco woke up with a massive hangover, which was not helped by the fact that he could see his son's face, hovering over him.

"Papa. You're awake now. Merry Christmas?"

Draco groaned, a long, heartfelt groan full of expletives and all sorts of ways to creatively express how much he regretted siring the ungrateful twerp.

"Oh, Papa. Don't be silly. You know you love me."

"I hate you," he moaned pathetically from his bed. "I raised you for seventeen years, ten of them all by myself, and this is the thanks I get."

Scorpius smirked and handed Draco a vial. "Accept this as my apology, then."

Draco eyed it warily and then groaned as the narrowing of his eyes made the pain even more prominent. "Is this…did you brew this yourself?"

"Mhm."

"Fuck no. I'd rather suffer than turn into a flobberworm."

"Papaaaa…"

"Fuck, you got your mother's shrillness."

"I think it's yours, actually. Mother had a pretty soothing voice, from what I recall."

Draco snatched the vial out of his hands. If he had to listen to what his son thought passed as witty banter, he might as well get rid of the headache first. He gulped the potion down and sighed in relief as the throbbing went away.

"How did you get home? I know you hate the Floo, and you're shite at Apparating."

"Mr Potter revived me and took me home. In fact, he slept in one of the guest bedrooms, since he wanted to be sure that you'd be okay."

"What?"

"Yeah, I really think the shrillness comes from you, Papa."

He shoved Scorpius aside, rushing over to his washroom and primping furiously.

"Scorpius," he snarled as he brushed his hair. "How could you let him in the Manor? How? After the horrifying thing he did to me at the party!"

"Papa, I think that was a kiss."

"No, it was not! It was a horrible act of humiliation performed at my expense in front of dozens of people who already have plenty of reason to dislike me! It was not acceptable at all! Even though there was mistletoe and I am very well aware of the traditions surrounding it, he could have just given me a peck, you know! A one-second peck would have sufficed!"

As he ranted, he combed his hair furiously over his eyes, ready to slick it back with gel. Scorpius hummed but did not otherwise make any noticeable contribution to the conversation. Draco sneered, continuing.

"What the hell was he doing there, anyway? Who in their right mind goes to their ex-wife's family's party? He could have just dumped his brats there and gone home! Honestly, it's as if Potter exists only to infuriate me, and he does a bloody good job of—"

Suddenly, Draco was aware of a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his waist, arms that did not feel like they belonged to Scorpius.

"Scorpius?"

"Nope. He's left the room already."

"Potter," Draco growled. "It's bad enough that you—that you—ugh, I can't even say it!"

"You were saying plenty just a few moments ago," he breathed into Draco's ear.

He turned around and shoved Potter away. "You are the last person on this planet that I want to see right now."

"Does that mean you still prefer me over alien life forms? Aww, how sweet!"

Draco wanted to just collapse onto the floor and throw a tantrum, just like he used to do when he was three years old. Well, okay, ten. Unfortunately, he was now the father to a seventeen-year-old son, which meant he was the father of an adult, which meant that he should be expecting to become a grandfather soon, probably a grandfather to a Weasel descendant—

It was no use. He sank to the floor, screaming hysterically.

After the Tantrum-That-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned, it was decreed that Scorpius was to spend the rest of the day with Potter's children and the Weaselette, because Draco just could not look at his face right now.

"It's not that I hate Miss Weasley," explained Draco over dinner at Potter's bachelor pad, waving his fork around in an erratic fashion that would have made Lucius curl up and die if he ever found out about it. "I have nothing against her. I am sure that she is a very intelligent woman with wit enough to stand the twisted emotional and mental manipulations of my son. I don't even hate her parents, either, contrary to popular belief. Weasel is a competent Auror who saves all our arses on a daily basis, and Granger has probably gotten a record number of bills passed, bills that have actually made a positive difference in our society."

"Then what's the problem?" asked Potter as Draco paused to shovel some pasta into his mouth. Potter, to his credit, didn't even bat an eyelash at Draco's uncharacteristically messy eating habits. He simply sat there, watching him with a patient, understanding smile.

"It's just. Potter. I've had a small family all my life. All I ever had was my parents and occasionally bat-shit crazy Aunt Bella. Aunt Andromeda and her family were out of the picture, so all I had were those three people. I got used to that. I learned how to live with them and their eccentricities, and when things got rough, I simply learned the tricks of appeasing them or avoiding them. Sure, we were dysfunctional as fuck, and Aunt Bella and my father nearly got us all killed and my mother just barely held us together, but it was my life. I dealt with it just fine.

"Then I got married, and I had to deal with Astoria, her sister Daphne, and their parents. Yet they were fine, too. After all, I knew Astoria and Daphne from Hogwarts, and their parents are pretty much your archetypal elderly purebloods, so there wasn't much to adjust to. And when we had Scorpius, well, he was someone I got to meet since the first day of his existence, and I got to track his development over time and discover almost every facet of his soul. I know him.

"But now he's gone and dragged me into this gigantic Weasley mess, and I don't know what to do. If it had simply been a question of dealing with a new daughter-in-law and her parents, that'd be fine, that'd be perfectly normal and expected. But no, those weasels are so closely-knit that if you meet one, you have to meet them all, and God, Potter, there are just so many of them."

Potter grinned at this point, slurping his own pasta. "Yeah, I know. When I married Ginny, I faced the same thing."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, you didn't. You already knew them all before you ever looked at her romantically. You had a head start in meeting them. It doesn't count. As for me, I spent my whole life being trained to hate the whole lot of them on principle, and now suddenly I'm supposed to hug Molly Weasley at the front door?"

Potter snickered, and Draco had to admit that it was pretty funny, albeit completely awful.

"See, Potter? It's ridiculous! And sitting there, in that party, surrounded by all that red hair and freckles, I was going insane. And then, you know what the cherry on top was? You. On top. Of me."

Potter burst out into a full-bodied laugh, and Draco slammed his head against the dinner table.

"Why did you do it, Potter? Why?"

He jumped as he felt a soft hand on the nape of his neck, gently caressing. When had Potter gotten out of his seat?

"Many reasons, Malfoy. First of all, there was mistletoe. Second of all, none of them wanted to kiss you, especially since most of them were already taken. Third of all, you looked like you could use a distraction. And lastly…"

"Lastly…?"

"Well, I'm not going to tell you the last reason until you actually look me in the eye."

"Ah. That's okay. I guess I can live without knowing."

Draco yelped as Potter suddenly grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. "OW! Potter, my hair is nowhere near as coarse and indestructible as yours—mmmpph!"

Yet again, Draco found himself being soundly kissed by a lapful of Potter.

He growled into the git's mouth, but that only seemed to encourage him more, as he ground down on him and deepened the kiss. Draco's arms flailed for a bit, but he finally settled for tangling his fingers in Potter's hair and yanking on it. As revenge, obviously.

Potter moaned, however, and Draco had to concede that the revenge wasn't working out so well.

God, he could smell him, and he smelled like some sort of odd mixture of minty soap, pasta, and shoe wax? Who the hell smelled like shoe wax? Had Potter been wearing newly waxed shoes at the party yesterday?

Finally, Potter pulled away, gasping for breath. Draco, who at least had been smart enough to breathe through his nose, did not need to gasp for breath, but he was gasping anyway, because damn, the prat could kiss well.

Potter leaned his forehead against Draco's, and that reminded Draco that he should probably say something.

"Potter…what was the last reason?"

"I just told you, silly."

"So basically…you kissed me because you wanted to suffocate yourself and end the torture of being with weasels? I can see the logic in that."

Potter threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Draco, you never cease to amuse me."

"Glad to be of service. Do you plan to get off my lap anytime soon?"

Potter reached down and palmed Draco's crotch, pressing against an erection he didn't even realise he had. "Mm…nope. I think I like it just fine here, thanks. I might be amenable to getting off on your lap, though."

Draco sucked in a breath and rocked against Potter's hand. "Are you seriously molesting me at this moment? Shouldn't you be buying me dinner first?"

"Draco." Potter jerked his chin towards the now-abandoned dinner table. "I made you dinner. I listened to you talk. We bonded and had a connection. We kissed. If that doesn't lead to sex, what does it lead to?"

"What bond and connection? That part where you talked about joining the Weasel family? That was barely relevant!"

Potter sighed and pressed his lips against Draco's again, and that was the end of the conversation.

Draco was hovering over Potter, sucking on his neck and thrusting into his body as Potter stared at the ceiling and moaned some incomprehensible things. At some point, Draco could have sworn Potter had said "golly wizzle," but it was hard to listen when one was thrusting and trying not to come too quickly.

This still made no sense. Draco felt like someone else was controlling his body and his actions. Yet God, it felt so good, so he couldn't be arsed to complain too much. He continued to thrust as if his life depended on it, wrapping his fingers around Potter's bony hips and moving faster.

Finally he remembered that Potter had a cock. Although he had heard of some men being able to come from prostate stimulation alone, he really doubted he was really hitting it very well, since it was his first time with a man. He let go of one of the hips and wrapped his fingers around Potter's erection, and Potter let out a scream, gripping Draco's shoulders.

Draco moaned as Potter tightened his arse in reaction to the cock-gripping, and he was coming.

"Damn it," he hissed, even as the most glorious orgasm took over and he emptied himself inside of Potter. Thankfully, his hand was still moving, and Potter came a few moments later.

He collapsed on top of Potter, exhausted. He really was getting old. Potter swatted at his shoulder with one limp hand, presumably telling him to get the fuck off, but Draco did not feel like complying.

"Draco…"

"No, Harry. I am never leaving your arse. I am staying here forever."

"That's just gross. Now come on, get off of me."

With a determined shove using both hands, Potter succeeded in making Draco roll off of him.

Then he flopped over and covered half of Draco's body with an arm and a leg.

"Merry Christmas, Draco."

"Merry Christmas, Potter, even though I did not seem to solve a damn problem today, and now I suddenly seem to have acquired the extra problem of a celebrity boyfriend who's also a sex-addicted wanker."

Potter chuckled, and Draco was annoyed to find himself relaxing at the mere sound of it. "It's Christmas. It's a day to put all conflicts on hold and just enjoy each other's company."

"But I don't enjoy your company! You're a git!"

"A git who just gave you a fantastic orgasm."

"Potter…sex isn't the answer to everything."

"Fine. Then get out of bed, go pick up Scorpius from Ginny's house, and have a nice, long father-son discussion about your feelings and why you had a tantr—"

Draco slapped a hand over Potter's mouth. "Don't say it. Don't you dare say the T-word. You promised."

Potter shoved his hand away. "So does that mean you're staying instead?"

Draco got up on one elbow and looked over at Potter, who was on his back, looking up at Draco with a self-satisfied smile on his face.

God, he looked beautiful.

"Fine. Just for today, I will spend time in bed with you, talking about whatever inane crap you want to talk about and maybe even sucking you off at some point. But the moment we wake up tomorrow, we are going to go resolve some of my problems, right?"

"Mm…well…tomorrow's Boxing Day, and I kind of wanted to go shopping—"

Draco grabbed a pillow and whacked him on the head. Repeatedly.

"Hey! Stop that! Okay, okay, we will do all the talking about feelings you could ever possibly want tomorrow, and then we will make you realise that being part of a bigger family isn't necessarily a bad thing, and then we will work on your daddy issues, too. Okay? Sound good?"

Draco collapsed back onto the bed. "Sounds good."

"Good. Now let's have a nap. I'm knackered."

And so Draco Malfoy closed his eyes and curled up next to Potter, discovering that although the meaning of Christmas and family were definitely not to be found in Potter's bed, Potter could be found in his bed, and that was compensation enough.

The end.