Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG 13
Notes: One of my favourite fics that I have written.
"Hey Harry? You doing Secret Santa?" Seamus asked cheerfully as Harry settled in his seat for breakfast.
"Am I doing what?" Harry's brow furrowed in confusion as he reached for some toast.
"Secret Santa?" Ron echoed from beside him, just as curiously.
"Santa's a Muggle tradition at Christmas," Hermione began importantly.
"I know what Santa is!" Ron interrupted her speech with an indignant hiss.
"Santa never visited me," Harry looked down. "You should have seen everything he left for Dudley. I don't think he even knows I exist."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione cooed, looking sympathetic. "Don't worry, you're not missing out on much."
"Yes he is!" Ron grinned stupidly. "Santa always manages to get me something I'd really wanted, I love that guy. Err, except he hasn't visited me since second year, I think he might have forgotten where I live at Christmas."
Harry looked sadly at Hermione, who made eyes at Ron to stop talking. The red headed Gryffindor went on talking about how much he loved Christmas, regardless of the dangerous looks he was getting from the opposite side of the table.
"Seamus, do tell us about the Secret Santa?" Hermione finished with a kick under the table, aimed at Ron.
"Dumbledore's decided we're all going to be someone's Santa," Seamus continued his earlier conversation, waving his half-eaten bagel in the air. "We get owled with our person this morning, according to Professor McGonagall. We're supposed to take part in it, but if you have a really good excuse you don't have to."
"What do we have to do?" Harry looked up, his arms folded over each other on the table. His breakfast lay forgotten and uneaten.
"We have to do a good deed for our person each day," Seamus explained, taking a bite out of his food and continuing with a mouth full of bread. "Then we have to send them a gift, something they'd like, at Christmas."
"It sounds like its going to be interesting," Hermione looked sceptical. "How are they organising it?"
"You could get anyone from any house, Dumbledore's got a Santa hat that spits names out," Seamus grinned. "Silly really."
"Wicked," Ron beamed. "Oh! Post's here!"
There was an unusually noisy stir when the owls flew in to deliver the post. Everyone was eager to discover the name of the person that they would be Santa to, and the air was buzzing with excitement.
Hedwig landed in front of Harry's breakfast, holding her leg out to him as she picked at his forgotten breakfast.
Harry untied the note and petted the white owl. He bit his lip in anticipation, wondering if he would even know the person he would get. He opened the paper.
He blinked and looked at the paper harder, as if expecting it to change its appearance. It exploded into flames and turned to ashes, before he could check again. His stomach dropped slightly, he sighed and looked to Ron, who looked pleased with himself.
"Who'd you get, Harry?" Ron asked eagerly.
"We're not allowed to tell," Hermione said firmly. "If you do, then you're out of the chance to win the Secret Santa challenge. The best Secret Santa wins something."
"Something," Ron repeated. "Just something? How I look forward to winning now."
"Twenty four days of being lovely to this person," Harry said to himself as his head hit the table. "You can do it, Harry."
"Let's go," Ron elbowed Harry and stood up.
Harry sat on his bed, head in his hands, thinking hard about the whole Secret Santa thing. He had no idea how he would do something good for his rival each day, let alone what he would be willing to spend money on at Christmas for the sneering blond.
He flopped back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling of his four poster bed, as if willing it to produce an answer to his questions.
Harry spent the first two weeks of December owling Christmas truffles and chocolate frogs to Draco Malfoy. He figured he was doing him a good deed, and saving Draco the grief of having to look at his scar, which he so often complained about.
He regretted that Malfoy had no idea in the world that Harry was his Santa, as it seemed he was being even more of an insufferable git to the Gryffindors then usual.
On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, he sat with his elbows on the Great Hall table. His face was scrunched in fascination as he watched Malfoy elegantly devour a chocolate from the last box Harry had sent.
Unfortunately, he also had to watch Crabbe and Goyle stuff a handful of the expensive confectionary into their mouths and Draco sneer indignantly at his now empty chocolate tray.
Perhaps chocolate truffles weren't such a good idea for Draco Malfoy. They seemed to be ending up in the wrong hands and causing Draco a deal of grief in the process. Harry sighed and stood, heading alongside Fred and George to the Quidditch Pitch for practice.
"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" Harry dropped his Firebolt to the grass and faced Draco, who was sauntering across the pitch, ignoring the shouts from the Gryffindor team.
"Come to watch Potter fly his stick," Draco grinned, Harry seethed.
Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. "You want the pitch?"
"What?" Draco's eyebrows rose in bafflement.
"You can have the pitch," Harry said flatly, retrieved his Firebolt and headed back to the change rooms with a wave to his team to come down.
Draco turned and looked at Blaise accusingly. "What'd you do to Potter? I was going to have some fun."
"Stop pouting, it's not my fault," Blaise frowned and watched the Gryffindor team retreating.
"I told you to bloody brush your hair flatter," Draco continued to pout. "I was going to insult him, too."
Harry had only twelve days of service left to the blond Slytherin and he couldn't wish Christmas upon them any closer. He was running out of ideas, and he'd barely been creative with them anyway.
He decided to pay Dobby a visit in the kitchens.
Draco undid the ribbon on the small metallic green box and yawned in boredom as he took the lid off. His eyes lit up with interest when the light met the bottom of the box to reveal a pile of writhing, crawling cookies.
He reached a pale hand in and pulled out a golden coloured cookie. He held it up and examined it, looking quite amazed. The golden snitch cookie flapped its delicate wings, dusting Draco's hand with icing sugar.
Draco put down the cookie and brushed the frosting off his hand before icicles began to form. He picked up another biscuit, looking at it as if it might grow legs and do the hula in his breakfast.
It was a silver coloured snake shaped cookie; it flickered a liquorice tongue out at him and blinked its Bertie Bott eyes. The blond shrugged and took a bite from the living food. He licked his lips and moaned at the taste, sucking the melted sugar off of his fingertips.
Harry was staring at him across the Great Hall, reading the reaction to the cookies with satisfaction. Crabbe and Goyle were staring at Draco with alarmed looks on their faces, though a desperate hunger was obvious, as the two larger Slytherin's licked their lips eagerly.
Draco promptly swatted their great hands away from his prize and scooped the snitch cookie back into the safety of its box. He took it under his arm and left the Great Hall.
"Let's go to Hogsmeade, Harry," Ron interrupted his silent study of Malfoy. "There's nothing better to do today."
"Good idea," Harry agreed and stood, grinning stupidly as Ron unbalanced himself while trying to get away from the table and nearly fell over. "I need to do some shopping."
"Hermione's being all secret about something," Ron complained, looking around as if she might appear. "She won't tell me what."
"She hasn't told me," Harry assured him, noting her absence. "Where is she, anyway?"
"Meeting us at Hogsmeade," Ron smiled. "I managed to score some money from my Secret Santa today, I'm going to buy something for Herms."
They walked to Hogsmeade through the falling snowflakes. Small droplets of delicate ice floated down around them and dusted the wintry scenery, leaving the castle looking more apposing then usual in it's dim afternoon light.
Harry smiled as Hermione came skipping towards them, she greeted Harry and then threw her arms around Ron. "I have to go and get some things," Harry told them, then headed off towards the shops.
"Shopping for your little chosen one, Potter?" Draco drawled as he appeared beside Harry, looking at the shelf in disgust. "I think Santa needs a helper."
"I don't need anyone's help, Malfoy," Harry frowned. "Especially yours."
"You're looking in the wrong section," Draco informed him matter-of-factly. "What are we going for, Gryffindor, Slytherin? If you're wasting money on a Hufflepuff, try the discount bin."
Harry glared at Draco. "Unfortunately, it's Slytherin."
"Oh," Draco's eyes sparkled. "Well then, something evil."
"I guessed that far," Harry said plainly. "Anyway, what are you doing here, Malfoy? I didn't think *you'd* be interested in something like this."
"No one said I couldn't do *evil* deeds to my selected person everyday," Draco smirked. "Personally I like the idea of VoldeSanta, you know, the evil bearded man with Death eater's driving his sleigh."
"Oh, Potter," Draco snorted. "Don't look so offended. I wasn't serious, well I was, but just to annoy you."
"You already were annoying me," Harry busied himself looking at the shelf in front of him, picking up random objects and studying them.
"Oh good," Draco looked impressed with himself. "I wasn't even trying before that."
Harry didn't reply, he'd found a silver Firebolt pendant that appealed to him. He jumped in surprise when Draco tugged his sleeve, looking up startled at Draco.
"Isn't that silver dragon something, Potter?" Draco was pointing at a rather large dragon statue. It held a feather in one hand, a crystal ball in the other. It was crouched over a piece of parchment, Harry noticed it was scrawling something down.
"It's alright, I guess," Harry shrugged, looking at his arm in alarm, as if Draco had burned a hole through his shirt.
"Alright?" Draco spat. "It's better then alright. It's very expensive, so naturally it has my name written on it. Though father won't buy it for me."
Harry looked at Draco, his bottom lip was sticking out in a childish pout. "Maybe if you behaved, Santa might get it for you."
Draco glared at Harry with narrowed eyes. "I *do* behave thank you very much, Potter."
"That's news to me, Malfoy," Harry smiled airily at him. "I never noticed, it must have been too good to be true."
"You really are rather boring, Potter," Draco folded his arms. "You know that don't you? You have no decent come backs, you have a fan club, which is, might I remind you, smaller than mine—"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped, moving away to a different aisle.
"You walk away when someone gorgeous is offering themselves to you—"
"What?!" Harry turned, one eyebrow raised higher than the other.
"You take things like *that* seriously, mind you, I don't blame you," Draco smirked. "As I was saying, you really need to do something about your hair, before I loose the control I have had for many years now –and I see that coming on very soon."
"Why are you bugging me?" Harry sighed.
"Because you're easy to bug, oh and you desperately need some decent clothes," Draco shook his head. "You do worse then Muggles in the fashion department, I didn't think that was possible."
"Look, Malfoy," Harry seethed. "If I'm so boring, then why are you still standing here, with me?"
"I failed to mention that you're not so boring when you're all angry," Draco nodded with a satisfied smirk. "This is far better then listening to Vincent and Greg having a belching contest, quite disgusting really."
"I'm not angry," Harry frowned. "Just leave me alone, would you?"
"You're very angry Potter," Draco informed him with a criticising stare. "I think you have anger issues, maybe you need to hex some Mudbloods."
Harry had had enough. He stormed out of the shop, hands twisting in frustration. He decided to take a quicker route back to Hogwarts, and slipped into Honeydukes. By the time he reached the Gryffindor tower, he was regretting ever agreeing to the Secret Santa game.
"Drat my Secret Santa," Draco declared loudly in Potions, eyeing the body of students in the dungeons classroom. "They stopped sending those cookies. I *liked* those cookies."
Harry regarded him quietly, looking up from cutting his holly stems. He couldn't help but smile just a little, a small notation of satisfaction that his cookies had gone down well. Maybe he wouldn't fail at this Secret Santa thing, after all.
Snape paired them up moments later, to prepare an anti-sickness potion to remedy over eating on Christmas day. He just happened to direct Harry towards Draco Malfoy's desk to work.
"I don't like my Secret Santa," Draco drummed his fingers on his arm, looking bored. "How about yours, Potter?"
"Why are you interested in my Secret Santa?" Harry asked, then frowned. "Oh, what's wrong with your Santa?"
"Whoever it is, is a lazy pillock," Draco explained, his attention resting on something over Harry's shoulder. "They obviously don't know how to please a Malfoy. Oh, but the cookies they sent me were good."
Harry thought for a moment. Suddenly he realised he hadn't seen one cookie arrive for him, not one thing that had made him smile or showed any indication of being a Christmas deed. "My Secret Santa hasn't done anything for me. Maybe you should stop complaining."
Draco looked at him with narrowed silver eyes. "What a shame, the Boy Who Lived isn't getting treated to the Christmas festivities like he should."
Draco groaned and rolled over, blinking his eyes open. He scratched at his neck and sat up, his eyes narrowing suddenly.
"Potter," He drawled sleepily, trying to compose his Malfoy self, despite the reluctance of the early morning light that glared at him sharply. He wondered why Harry Potter was in his dormitory, let alone why he was sitting in a chair watching him sleep.
Harry's breath hitched at the vision of a half-dressed Draco Malfoy. He wriggled in the chair he sat in, hoping he wouldn't be hexed into next week.
Draco regarded him with a bemused look, until he was distracted. The morning light had caught the edge of something silver and it glinted seductively, attracting Draco's attention.
Clearly, Draco wasn't sure what to do. A large silver dragon sat at Harry's side, paws neatly placed before it. It tilted its head when Draco stared at it, making a small noise of acknowledgment.
"You bastard Potter!" Draco breathed. "You're my Secret Santa? You were watching me *sleep*? YOU GOT ME THE DRAGON!"
Harry nodded slowly, eyes widening in fear as Draco swiftly leapt off the bed and launched himself at the Gryffindor. Draco straddled Harry's legs, his bare chest heaving with excitement and his eyes dancing with wonder.
"I...I thought you might..." Harry began timidly, holding a white envelope up to Draco. The Slytherin grabbed it and tossed it aside, "Shut up, Potter."
Draco kissed Harry eagerly, a mutual thankyou for the gift that replaced words. He after all, was a Malfoy. *He* wouldn't thank anyone.
Harry pulled back after a moment, eyes wide and staring. He couldn't stop his eyes from wandering from the absolutely delighted look on the blond's face.
"Merry Christmas, Potter," Draco's husky morning voice danced. "I'm your evil Secret Santa."