Chapter Text
The night before vacation began Draco was allowed to use the floo to visit his mother in St. Mungo’s. Madam Pomfrey had arranged that for ‘health reasons’. He suspected it was because Pansy had told her about what had happened on the train ride last time. The risk of getting egged or cursed probably counted as health reasons, but it still felt a bit like cheating.
He tried not to think about that as he travelled to the hospital. Which wasn’t really all that challenging, because he had not seen his mother in many months. Despite his depression he was genuinely excited to see her. Soon enough he was spat out of a hearth directly onto the floor of the Janus Thickey ward. Not that his mother’s illness really fitted there, but there was no special department for her kind of magical damage, and it wasn’t like his mother didn’t have enough trauma’s to deal with. At least amidst the really crazy she could feel a bit sane herself.
When he entered her room she was still asleep, so he climbed in bed with her under the threatening glare of her nurse. She had a private suite, though Draco would have still joined her if half the world was watching. He had not fully realised how much he’d missed his mum until he saw her again. There was so much familiarity, safety and calmth in the simple act of touching her, of being in her arms. He fully relaxed for what felt like the first time in years, and mere seconds later he was asleep, not even realising that he’d woken his mother up anyway.
That was the first night he slept without nightmares or fear in two and a half years.
“Good morning darling.” Someone was caressing his hair, but he tried to ignore that. He’d had such a nice dream. It had been almost like a memory. A moment in time twelve years ago when a storm had darkened the sky and Lucius had been far away from home. As soon as lightning began to strike his mum had taken him up to one of the guest bedrooms and they had spent the night there, together. It had been their own cosy little secret, hidden from his father with his strict unbending rules. My son, the only heir of the Malfoy family, will not be an unbehaved wuss, and definitely not a nancy.
“Hmph.” Draco mumbled as he fought to stay in the dream world. Everything had been so much nicer and easier in it.
“There is tea.” Five short clipped nails trailed a path over his skull, making him shiver. It was the only gentle trick that worked to wake him up. It was only then that Draco realized part of his dream was true; His mother really was there.
“Tea?”
His mother let out a light chuckle. “Tea always did do wonders to get you up. I’m afraid it’s just hospital tea though.”
“It’s your tea. Tea with you. That can’t be bad.” Draco dragged himself up a bit until he could rest his head on his mother’s shoulder. “I slept well. I never sleep well. How did you sleep?”
“Light but good. I have missed seeing you.” His mother sat up and Draco reluctantly followed her example after letting out a long whining noise. Narcissa smiled at that and brushed the hair out of his face, looking at him properly for the first time in months. “Why do you not sleep well?”
“I have nightmares. And roommates. Gryffindor roommates.” They exchanged a smile at that, but Draco knew he owed his mother more than that. “They are all very rash. Though Neville is only like that when it comes to plants. And Thomas is quiet almost all the time, he just sketches a lot. Weasley and Finnigan usually exhaust themselves so much they collapse right into bed when the time comes.” He paused for a moment. On one hand he didn’t want to say anything about Harry lest his mother would discover how he felt, but on the other hand he had never been able to keep secrets from her. This wouldn’t really be a secret though, just a short version of the truth. “I suppose maybe my roommates don’t have that much to do with my sleep schedule after all.”
“That is not surprising. You have always been prone to nightmares.” His mother looked at him, and he got the sense her eyes could see right through him. As if maybe she could see his recent discovery; that he was gay. He really hoped she didn’t. He didn’t want to be yet another thing his mother had to adjust to in these rough times. “I’ll walk through some sleep meditation routines with you while you are here. They helped me more than I expected.”
Draco sighed in relief. No mentions of Harry. He would be okay if there were no mentions of Harry. Because if the Gryffindor was mentioned, Draco was quite sure his mother would be able to read his blush right away.
Lucky for Draco his mother slept a lot, and Theo’s extensive therapy programme didn’t leave him much free time, so there weren’t many chances of Harry getting mentioned. Draco mostly spent his time reading. Christmas carols by Charles Dickens, and many cheesy novels Pansy had stuffed in his trunk. She’d wanted to come with him at first, but Draco had forbidden it. Millicent needed her more than he did, and it wasn’t like a hospital was a very unsafe place.
Apart from reading, Draco also spend a lot of time thinking. That was usually never a good thing, as it often sent him into a downwards spiral leading to heavy depressive episodes and even nastier nightmares. Now though, things weren’t so bad, because when he was alone he had Harry to think about. It was nothing too deep, just his face, that crease in his forehead on the rare occasion he really focussed on something, and his green eyes. It was a lot more fun than analysing all the wrong choices he’d made, and coming up with implausible reasons why that didn’t make him a bad person.
The actual Christmas days themselves were quite fun. Neville stopped by on both days sans grandmother, who was under the weather due to the cold wet winter. Apparently the Gryffindor had a habit of reading Christmas stories to his parents, and after a bit of encouragement Draco, Theo and even Narcissa had been allowed to listen as well.
“You have a beautiful story telling voice.” His mother told Neville at the end of the night. She was suppressing a yawn as she did. Despite her long hours of sleep she was still always tired. “It’s enchanting to listen to.”
“Thank you ma’am.” Neville blushed, as if he could not quite believe he was worthy of a compliment, and closed his book. His father took it from his lap and started leafing through the pages. Neville carefully waited until he’d selected another story, and then began to read again. As he did, Draco suddenly got the urge to find a pencil and paper and sketch the moment. He hadn’t done anything of the sorts in ages, but maybe if he could produce something decent he’d have something to give the other guy for Christmas. He hadn’t done any Christmas shopping, too afraid for hateful curses getting thrown his way if he showed his face anywhere, and too embarrassed to ask Pansy for money to buy anything anyway.
Drawing he could do though, once he’d summoned the material from somewhere. It took a couple tries, but the final result didn’t even look half bad. Just as Neville finished up his last story, he scribbled a note under it.
Thank you for such a simple Christmas celebration. I had forgotten that happy moments don’t always have to be complicated.
Merry Christmas, Draco
He handed it over without looking, but he hadn’t counted on the fact that he still had to escort his mother back to her room. That made it pretty much impossible to flee before his small gift was opened. Neville’s response wasn’t at all as terrible as he’d imagined though. He simply put a hand over his wrist to make him look up, and said a simple, “thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And Merry Christmas.” You already said that you idiot . he cursed himself. But Neville just smiled, looked down at the sketch, and smiled again.
“You know I think Harry would appreciate something like this. He’s always been a sucker for personalized gifts.”
Draco froze and cast a quick glance in the direction of his mother. She didn’t look like she’d heard anything, but he couldn’t be sure. He focussed back on Neville again, determined to quickly change the subject. “As someone who used to have the same level of wealth I understand that. It’s too easy to throw money at some expensive broom and be done with it. It’s why I think it’s cute Thomas is always sketching Finnigan. At least he actually looks at people.”
Neville, always a sucker for talking about romance, smiled and nodded. “Yeah, they’re pretty sweet. Though I can assure you some of Dean’s sketches are very close to porn, as I’ve recently discovered.” The Gryffindor chuckled when he saw Draco’s mild disgust, which he recognized as being prudishness instead of homophobia. Draco would never be able to talk so freely about sex as most people around him seemed to do. “I think you see people too Draco, and I don’t mean in an objective way. This drawing says enough. You’ve really changed.” Neville shot him another warm grin and squeezed his arm for a bit, which happened to be his left underarm. “Merry Christmas Draco. And in case I won’t see you before then, a very happy new year.”
Now, despite his nerves, Draco was smiling a bit too. If Neville Longbottom wished him such a sincere Happy new year, then maybe next year really would be better than the past months. “Happy new year to you too, Neville.”
The drawing for Harry ended up being made in the middle of the night, after much nerve wrecking doubt. It was actually more a Christmas card, really, with a hand-sketched front. The picture was rather simple, showing Harry wrapped in thick winter clothing near the Great Lake, laughing about something another figure had said. At first that figure had been Draco himself, but he'd chickened out last minute and changed them into Luna Lovegood.
The first of many warm winters.
That was his chosen caption. On the inside he wrote Harry, I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year. With the way things have changed over the past months it is now clear to me that wishing such a thing is no longer foolish hope but instead a destination that can be reached when the journey is given the right amount of time and energy. Knowing you now I would even say it was wrong of me to think my hope was foolish. You never do things halfway. You have always done the right thing and because of that I can sit here and write this. And when I'm done I can send it, spend several hours questioning most of my life decisions and after the holidays I can insult you again because that is the only way I have to let my nervous energy out. Being grateful is a very odd feeling, and I would like to limit it's time to shine to Christmas eve if you don't mind. And if you do mind then bully for you, this card is all you are getting until next Christmas.
See you in January,
Draco Malfoy
Harry’s reply came two days later, on boxing day. As expected nerves had been eating Draco’s insides ever since he’d send the Christmas card, something his mother had noticed despite all his many efforts to hide it. The conflict between his upbringing and family duty versus his sexual orientation and the need to be honest with his mother tore him apart those days. He did not know which side would win. Didn’t know which side he wanted to win. He just knew it hurt to not be able to be honest with his mother, but the idea of losing her over his unfulfillable desires was even worse.
The relief was therefore not great when Harry’s card arrived. It didn’t solve his problem after all. He still had a choice to make between two options, and neither seemed to be a good one. This was a road he’d walked before in a more extreme fashion and he had chosen wrong that time. Had chosen family over morals and that had bit him in the arse so hard he’d almost died. Did that mean he had to pick different this time? Risk losing his mother? Risk getting hate for being queer on top of being a death eater? None of his options were safe. They were both less dangerous than before but the situation felt all too familiar.
Still, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t read Harry’s letter. Anything to take his mind off things. He’d already had three silent panic attacks since he’d come to terms with his options. He could use something to make him smile.
Dear Draco,
I am sorry my reply is so late, Christmas at the Weasleys is quite hectic, especially with both Fred, George and Charlie present here. It took more time than I wanted before I could find a quiet place to write. Now that I can write though, I would like to thank you for your card. I did not know you could sketch like that. You really ought to show me how that process works sometimes. Dean only ever let’s Seamus near his sketchbook when he’s still working on something.
As for the rest of your card, after letting Hermione translate your posh talk I can say I’m happy I could help make certainty out of hope, as you so elegantly put it. It wasn’t all me though, and I’d hate it if anyone fully credits me. I had a literal army to help me. But yes, it is nice to finally have a safe Christmas.
Talking about armies by the way, do you know how many Weasley’s there are? Because I certainly didn’t. I knew Ron’s brothers and Ginny of course, but they also have twenty five cousins. Not all of them are actually called Weasley but most of them have ginger hair and to celebrate the first peaceful Christmas Mrs. Weasley had invited all of their extended family. A Chudley Cannons fan shop is less orange that the party tent in the Burrow’s back garden on Christmas day. And the Great Hall during a feast makes less noise, I actually feared going deaf. Sometimes I almost envied your peace and quiet in the hospital, though of course I do not know if it is actually peaceful and quiet there as you didn’t say. I hope it is, you looked like you could use some good nights of sleep last time I saw you. I dare say will look exactly like that when we meet again, because with this many guests here there seems to be no room for mundane things such as sleep.
In some ways that is nice, because it means I am never alone. I think you understand me when I say I don’t want to be alone with my own thoughts. Ron and Hermione don’t understand, they insist on taking quiet walks and having serious conversations about war stuff to cope with everything. That might work for them but for me it still feels too fresh. Do you feel the same way sometimes? Or is that just me?
Anyhow, to end on a less depressing note, I too wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year (sssssssht about the technical detail that it is no longer Christmas now. Just imagine it is). See you in february because I feel like I need several weeks of comatose sleep before I can function again. You can sit at my bedside though (-;
Harry
Draco was torn again after finishing the letter, now between smiling like a loon or allowing his anxiety to focus on the bad parts. He had wrongly only credited Harry when talking about the war, and he had been painfully reminded of his fainting episode. On the other hand, Harry had trusted him enough to talk about his mental health issues, and the letter had sounded as if written to a friend, especially the last bit. That, together with his favourite Christmas song coming onto the radio tipped the dial in favour of a smile. A small, but for him very significant smile.
His problems may not have been solved yet, but maybe he could forget about them long enough to really have a happy new year’s eve now.
“I can see you’re happy about something.” Draco’s smile fled from his face as soon as he heard his mother’s words. He still didn’t trust himself to talk about Harry without giving away the deeper feelings he had for the Gryffindor. The stupid, useless deeper feelings that would never come true but which he felt anyway because he was an idiot.
“Not about anything particular.” He shrugged, turning his face away from his mother to cover the lie. “Just thinking about how this is our first peaceful Christmas.”
“I was thinking the same thing. This is the first Christmas without my parents or Lucius. The first time I don’t have to play hostess for an endless stream of visitors, half of whom I’ve never even liked.” His mother joined him on the sofa in her room and squeezed his hand, a chuckle in her voice. “That’s not what you were thinking about though. I can see. Not that you have to tell me about it. Just as long as it makes you happy.”
He could do nothing but keep his eyes firmly stuck on his knees and hope. Hope that his mother knew at least in part what was making him happy, and that she was really okay with it. That wasn’t how his life worked though, so the hope was a lot fainter that he wanted it to be.
“I want to make a tradition of this.” His mum put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Celebrating Christmas with just us. Just loved family instead of having prestigious gala’s.”
“That sounds nice.” His smile slowly crept back onto his face. The nerves were still there, but they were more manageable. It was easier to imagine his mother approving of his sexuality if she so readily kicked out an ancient pureblood tradition. Not that she had much of a choice, they didn’t have the resources to throw a gala. His mum seemed genuinely happy about being relieved from those parties though. Maybe there was more to his mother than he knew about. Parts long kept hidden by stupid stuffy pureblood traditions.
He was quite excited to find out.
Maybe the next year really would be a happy one.