The Gift

The Gift

Part 1: Draco's story

As Draco rounded the corner of Harry's street, he slowed his pace. It was a ritual he had established over the four years of their friendship. For that short stretch of road, he always adopted an air of relaxed confidence and a leisurely pace. That way he could convince himself that he wasn't simply paying a visit on a friend. He could pretend that he was really returning home. Home to his boyfriend.

Draco was well aware that this little façade would only cause him more pain. He knew that for his own sake, he should try to suppress this hopeless infatuation. However, it had become a sort of addiction, and was now as necessary to Draco's life as eating or sleeping.

He ascended the three steps that led to the front door of Harry's house, and rang the bell. He hurriedly tidied his hair, and shifted the wrapped gift he was carrying to his other arm. His pulse quickened, as it always did when he knew he was about to see his friend.

The door opened to reveal Harry, wearing khakis and a black t-shirt, a slight frown on his face. When he saw Draco, however, he broke into a grin. "Draco! It's great to see you. For a minute, I thought it was Bernard from work. He keeps trying to get me to swap with him next week because he doesn't want to work nights. Come in!"

Draco stepped into the hallway after his friend. Sometimes he felt it would be easier if Harry wasn't always so glad to see him. It made it so much more difficult for Draco to stop loving him.

He could scarcely believe how things had changed since their time together at Hogwarts. He could still remember those days of utter misery after he'd failed to kill Dumbledore. Those days of destitution, running from the very powers he'd been brought up to believe would elevate him to glory. And then, finally, being found by members of the Order of the Phoenix. He had been brought to Order headquarters for questioning, but they had been lenient due to his age and the fact that he obviously hadn't been aware of what he'd got himself into. Finally, he had been allowed to take refuge in the very place where Harry himself was hiding out. Draco had been sick and acutely depressed; all his arrogant convictions, all his systems of belief, were completely shattered. He had been treated with wariness and contempt by many of the Order members, but he hadn't minded. He was happy to be left alone. After a couple of weeks, however, Harry had come to talk to him. Draco no longer had the energy to sneer at the other boy, and he had silently tolerated Harry's visits. He had listened to what the boy had to say about the war, about good and evil, about wizards and Muggles. To Draco's surprise, Harry hadn't been smug or pious, hadn't crowed over Draco for his fall from grace. Gradually, Draco had stopped merely tolerating Harry's presence and had begun to actively enjoy it. With Harry's encouragement, he had started to help the Order, providing them with information he had learnt from his time amongst the Death Eaters. He had helped Harry and his friends find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes. He had joined Harry on a raid against the Ministry. He had comforted Harry when the other boy despaired of ever being able to defeat Voldemort.

He had fallen in love with him.

Of course, he could never have told his friend how he felt. For one thing, Harry clearly relied on Draco to provide him with straightforward, safe friendship - a source of solace in his already-complicated life. For another, Harry had been madly in love with Ginny Weasley. Draco had watched the other boy, observing his goodness and courage, his loving heart, and he had realised that it was hopeless to attempt to overcome his passion. He was fated to adore someone who would never reciprocate his love. He had thought perhaps it was a form of divine punishment for his former misdeeds. After the war, the two boys had remained good friends. Draco supposed he must have a previously undiscovered masochistic streak, because he simply couldn't distance himself from Harry.

"Come through," Harry said over his shoulder. "You know, you don't have to walk here all the time. You're free to Apparate straight in - the wards are always down for you."

"I know," Draco replied softly. "I enjoy the walk." How would you react if you knew I sometimes walk past your house, just to be near you? What if I told you of that one time when I saw you going in with a girl? How it made me wish I was dead, because I knew that I should stop loving you, but couldn't?

The two young men went into the living room, and Harry gestured Draco towards the sofa. "Sit down; I'll go and make us some coffee. Won't be long."

"Sounds good," Draco replied, sitting down slowly. What would you do if I told you I dreamt about you last night. Every night this week, in fact. What would you say if I told you that I love you so much I would die for you?

Harry left, and Draco breathed a small sigh. He looked around the cosy room, drinking in the pleasure-pain of being in Harry's house, surrounded by Harry's things. Draco smiled fondly when he saw the half-empty packet of chocolate biscuits on the floor next to him. He had a pretty strong suspicion that Harry had been eating them for breakfast. The boy really did need someone around to make sure that he ate properly.

Draco could hear the crackle-pop of the espresso machine from the kitchen, and the sound of Harry putting out cups. He allowed himself to sit back, still trying to convince himself that he was allowed to be here, in Harry's world.

He remembered sitting on this sofa with Harry night after night a couple of years previously, during the time which had truly cemented their friendship. Ginny had broken up with Harry, and he had been devastated. Unable to talk to Ron about the other boy's little sister, Harry had turned to Draco for comfort, and Draco had been only too happy to oblige. It had been a strange time - Draco still felt slightly guilty for the overwhelming relief he'd experienced upon hearing news of the split, when he remembered how miserable Harry had been. He had practically moved in with the Gryffindor, cooking him meals and watching films with him, trying to distract him from thoughts of Ginny. During this time, the two had become very close. Harry had admitted, with that slightly embarrassed smile of his, that he had told Draco things which he had never told anyone else. They would stay up all night sometimes, just talking. Draco would listen, storing up all the information he learned about Harry, with a thrill of pleasure at this new intimacy. It was a form of consolation to know that even though Harry would never give Draco the kind of love he yearned for, a part of the Gryffindor would always be his alone.

Draco could remember sitting on this sofa with Harry, watching some silly movie. Harry had fallen asleep, and his head had dropped onto Draco's shoulder. Draco had hardly dared to breathe. Slowly, very slowly, he had turned his own head to plant a soft kiss on Harry's mess of black hair. It had been the most beautiful moment of his life. He had felt that that was what it would be like if he was really Harry's lover. In the end, he had sat there for hours, not wanting to move in case Harry woke up and the fantasy was broken.

On the day that Harry had told him that he was feeling much better, apologising to Draco for being such a pain and telling him that he was free to go home, Draco had smiled and taken it lightly. He had forced himself to ignore the stab of pain he had felt at not being able to see Harry every day. Sometimes Draco wanted to scream with frustration. Couldn't Harry see how good they were together? How they understood each other completely? Couldn't Harry see how happy they could be?

Harry came back into the room, carrying two small espresso cups. "Sorry that took so long; hope you haven't been bored. There're biscuits next to you if you want one."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I saw. You really should try and eat a more nutritious breakfast, you know."

Harry laughed. "Yes, Dad. I hate how well you know me sometimes."

Draco nursed his coffee, breathing in the bitter aroma. He always relished the moments when Harry made something for him, however small. "So," he said casually, "how was your date last night?"

He stared resolutely at the coffee table in front of him as he asked this question, and waited in horrible anticipation for the reply. He dreaded the day when Harry would smile shyly, like he used to when he was with Ginny, and say that his date had gone really well and that he thought it might be the start of something.

Fortunately for Draco, that day was not today. "All right, I suppose," Harry sighed. "I don't know. I mean, she was nice enough, but I could just tell that all she could think was 'Oh my God, I'm on a date with Harry Potter, who has a scar and killed Voldemort.' Maybe I'm just expecting too much. I just... I want someone I can really talk to. You know when you're with someone and the conversation just flows really naturally, and it's like you've known each other forever?"

"Yeah, I know." Like it is with the two of us, Draco thought. "I'm sorry it didn't work out." He hoped that Harry couldn't hear the relief in his voice. He thought he might die if the Gryffindor ever knew that Draco had been up half the night, pacing the floor with a horrible feeling of sick foreboding twisting his insides, imagining what Harry and his date might be doing.

Harry could never know. He had never given Draco any reason to hope for any romance between them, and Draco knew that Harry's sense of honour and compassion would leave him feeling devastated if he knew how he'd unintentionally caused Draco so much suffering. Besides, it would drive a huge wedge into their friendship. Harry would lose that sense of natural ease he'd developed around Draco. He wouldn't be able to talk so freely, or casually place his hand on Draco's arm. Draco needed that friendship. God knows, he needed something. He shuddered at the thought of Harry discovering how he really felt.

He had a horrible feeling that Hermione knew. He'd caught the girl watching him shrewdly whenever they were all together. He wasn't surprised; there wasn't much Hermione didn't pick up on. Draco was well aware that he lit up whenever Harry entered the room and that he blushed whenever Harry spoke to him. He hated that this must be blatantly obvious to Hermione. He found himself unspeakably grateful to the girl that she hadn't brought the subject up with him. He certainly wouldn't dream of mentioning it himself. He thought it was very decent of her, allowing him to pretend that everything was normal.

Harry gingerly sipped his coffee, and grimaced. Draco smiled. He had his suspicions that Harry didn't really like espresso and only drank it to impress Draco. Harry glanced up at him and grinned. "So, how's your own love life going? Have you seen any more of that bloke from the Department of Mysteries?"

Draco smiled softly. "Ah, no. Couldn't really see much of a future there."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You cad."

Draco didn't bother to contradict the other boy. It helped if Harry could create an image of him as a player, as someone who wasn't interested in a relationship. Draco had forced himself to go on various dates over the past few years as part of his façade that he wasn't desperately in love with Harry. Contrary to the impression he cultivated, nothing much had happened with these men, and he made no effort to pursue any kind of physical intimacy with them. Hopeless as he knew it was, he didn't want anyone to touch him but Harry.

Draco finished his drink and put the empty cup somewhat nervously on the coffee table. He picked up the parcel he'd brought with him, enjoying the weight of it in his hands. Now the moment had come, he suddenly felt nervous about giving Harry the gift he'd spent months putting together. It wasn't that he thought Harry might not like the present. Strangely, it was more because he knew that he would.

He gave his friend a brief smile and handed the package over awkwardly. "Here. Happy Birthday. I'm sorry it's a bit late."

Harry smiled at him, almost with surprise, though he must have seen Draco come in with the gift. Draco felt that Harry never expected presents. "Thanks, Draco! Woah, it's heavy."

Draco smiled. "Well, I couldn't exactly get you a gift-voucher for your twenty-first, could I?" He could feel himself blushing and was only able to watch Harry undoing the paper out of the corner of his eye.

Inside was a small wooden box. Draco's heart was hammering against his ribcage as Harry opened the lid. He bit his lip.

"Oh my God," Harry said softly. "Draco..." He lifted out a silver signet ring from the box, etched with a Celtic design.

"I remember you showed me a photo of your dad wearing a ring just like that once. I had that one made. I know it's not the same one, but... I thought you might appreciate it all the same."

Harry looked at him in wonder.

"There's more," Draco said, feeling very self-conscious.

Next to come out of the box was a small newspaper clipping.

"I... I remember how during the war you found those letters your mum wrote at Grimmauld Place. There was that one where she mentioned winning a children's poetry competition as a kid. I thought that there must have been something written about it at the time, so I went back through the archives of the local newspapers and I found that. See, it... it has a photo. I know it's silly, but I thought you might like it."

"Like it?" Harry said, his voice full of emotion.

Embarrassed, Draco gestured towards the box. Harry pulled out a small book. "That's a first-edition copy of Keats. You... you mentioned once that Remus Lupin read one of his poems at your parents' wedding." Draco could feel his heart thudding dully in his chest, and forced himself to keep talking to distract from the fact that he was blushing. "I did get you something else as well," he said hurriedly, "but it wouldn't fit in the box. See, I know how much you miss having a proper family, so I've commissioned your family tree to be made up, like the one for the House of Black at Grimmauld Place. It's... it's got both your wizard and Muggle family on it. The guy I got to do it wasn't very happy about having to look up a load of Muggle genealogies, but I knew that's what you'd want. It should be ready in a week or so."

"Draco," Harry whispered, his eyes very bright. "I... I can't believe you did all this, it's... too much! This is the most wonderful gift I've ever had. However did you remember all that stuff I'd told you? God, it must have taken you ages."

"It was nothing," Draco said, praying that he could keep his own emotions under control. "I... I wanted to make you happy. And I always remember everything you tell me. I wanted to... to give you something you'd remember. That way, I'd always know that I was able to do something to make you really happy, and... and you'd always remember me because of it."

"Oh, Draco," Harry said again, and Draco could detect a shift in his voice, a deeper level of understanding.

Draco got up quickly and walked over to the window. Over the years of thinking constantly about Harry, he'd developed the ability to read the other boy perfectly. He could tell what Harry was thinking without needing to be told, and now he knew, beyond all doubt, that Harry had finally seen through his mask. Draco wrapped his arms around himself, struggling to control his breathing.

"Draco," Harry said softly behind him.

"Don't," he whispered. He didn't think he could bear Harry's pity. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't."

"Draco." Harry was right behind him, and he placed a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco allowed himself to be turned around, powerless to resist.

"Oh, Draco," Harry said, his voice breaking slightly. "How come you never told me I was in love with you?"

Draco's eyes flew open. Had he heard Harry right?

Harry was looking at him with tentative wonder. He lifted his hand to lightly touch Draco's cheek.

Draco shuddered and turned to press his lips against the other boy's palm. With a small sob, Harry pulled Draco towards him, and Draco was finally able to wrap his arms around the man he loved. "I didn't want to ruin the surprise," he whispered, as the tears ran down his cheeks.

Part 2: Harry's story

When he heard the doorbell ring, Harry was tempted not to answer it. He had already received three fire-calls from Bernard, and he wouldn't put it past the git to show up at Harry's house in his bid to trade shifts. Would it be too much to ask for him to have a quiet day at home once in a while?

Then again, ignoring Bernard would only make him more persistent, and he'd never get any peace. Heaving a sigh, Harry got up from the sofa, dusting the biscuit crumbs off his trousers. He should probably have made a bit more of an effort with breakfast. Preparing himself for yet another confrontation with his colleague, he padded to the front door.

A moment later, all of Harry's foreboding melted away. The door opened to reveal a young man with very light blonde hair and a distinctly nervous expression. Draco. Harry felt himself break into a grin. He hadn't seen his friend in over a week and, he suddenly realised, he had missed him. "Draco! It's great to see you!" It was strange - even after all this time, Draco still looked so nervous whenever he visited Harry, as if he were afraid that Harry would turn him away. Nothing could be further from the truth - it was certainly odd, given their history, but Harry didn't think that he would ever not want to see Draco. He realised that he must have looked pretty surly when he came to the door, and sought to reassure his friend, explaining the situation with Bernard as he ushered Draco into the hallway.

Harry had to laugh at himself when he thought about how excited he always got when Draco came over, how strangely eager for his approval. It was especially strange when he recalled how much he had hated Draco back at school. Back then, the prospect of being thrilled to see Malfoy turn up on his doorstep would have been absurd at best. Draco had been a mean, narrow-minded, spoilt little git, and Harry had longed for the day when he would never have to spend time with the other boy again.

But then Harry had seen something completely different, that fatal night on the tower. He had seen a desperation to Draco, a horrible realisation that he was in over his head. He had seen the potential for goodness in the other boy. He had seen that Draco's capacity for evil was severely limited. He had been the victim, just as Harry himself was, of the machinations of others. Draco had been spoilt. He had taken it for granted that nothing truly bad could ever happen to him, that he was invulnerable, because Daddy would always be there to make things better. From his earliest years, he had been taught that blood purity had bought his family their prosperity, and that anything else was distinctly inferior. He had been told fairy tales about Voldemort - how one day he would return and bring the Malfoys to even greater glory. He would never turn against them - how could he when they had been so loyal? Draco had blindly taken up Voldemort's little mission, not thinking through the real implications of evil, of taking a life. It had all been a game. But that night on the tower, Harry could see the horrible realisation that Draco had undergone. Killing someone - actually pointing his wand at them and extinguishing their life essence before his very eyes - was not something he was capable of. And Voldemort would show no mercy towards him. And his father was in prison - he wasn't omnipotent, and couldn't save his son this time. Draco Malfoy had finally grown up.

Harry had often thought of Draco, after he had fled the castle with Snape. He had found himself feeling strangely anxious about the other boy. He had earnestly hoped that Voldemort hadn't killed him for failing his mission, for allowing someone else to take the responsibility from him. He had wondered what Draco must be thinking now.

And then Draco had been brought to the Order headquarters, exhausted, filthy and silent. He had been captured and questioned earlier that day, but was not thought to be any threat. He had been found in hiding, having been told by Snape to run and pray that Voldemort never caught up with him. The Order had seen it best to attempt to rehabilitate the boy, carrying out Dumbledore's last promise of keeping Draco safe.

Draco had made no attempt to communicate with anyone. Indeed, he barely left the small room which had been allocated to him. Harry had found himself thinking about the other boy more and more - Draco's proximity only adding to his curiosity. Finally, he had paid him a visit. He had expected Draco to tell him to get lost. Instead, Draco had just sat there with that strange look on his face. He had looked like a wild animal caught in a trap, not knowing how to get out. At that point Harry hadn't known whether it would have any effect, but he had started to talk to the other boy. He had told Draco all he had learnt about Voldemort, about so-called blood purity, about friendship. He thought it was what Dumbledore would have wanted. Gradually, Draco had started to respond. He would tell Harry about the horrible things he had seen during his short period as a Death Eater. He spoke of his fear, his confusion, his anger. They had talked for hours.

As time went by, Harry had come to regard Draco as one of his closest friends. He had persuaded the other boy to help the Order and, while the other members had initially been extremely mistrustful of him, Draco had quickly become invaluable to them. Even Ron and Hermione had come to accept him.

After Voldemort's death, Harry had experienced a strange sense of loss. He realised that, while he was now free to live his life without fear, get a job and make a proper commitment to Ginny, he would miss working so closely with Draco. He was half afraid that now the horrible experience of war was over, Draco would want to cut himself off from Harry again. But then Harry had arrived for his first day of Auror training and had seen Draco standing there with the other hopefuls, looking just as nervous as Harry had felt. "You didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?" he had said. Harry had grinned and pulled the other boy into a hug, unable to express how Draco's presence fortified him.

"Come through," he called over his shoulder. He hated how nervous Draco always seemed about visiting Harry. He wanted the other boy to feel that he could come here whenever he wanted, and was struck with a sudden paranoia that he hadn't been welcoming enough, hadn't made sure that Draco knew how highly Harry regarded him. He turned to inform the other boy once again that he could always Apparate or Floo directly in, that he would never be unwelcome at Harry's. Draco had just smiled that sad smile of his, and said that he enjoyed the walk.

Harry watched Draco sit down slowly, looking around him as if he had never been to Harry's house before, as if this was all new. Draco was sad. Harry had often noticed it before, and it pained him. It pained him not only because he didn't want his friend to suffer, but also because he felt that it was something he could never ask Draco about. It was something unspoken, unacknowledged, like a wall between them. He hated that this boy, to whom Harry felt so close and to whom he could talk to about anything else, was hiding something from him. Harry had been at the point of asking Draco about it a thousand times, but he sensed his friend's wariness, and had always backed off.

Harry went into the kitchen to make coffee. These little rituals, which he always performed unthinkingly for his other friends, seemed to take on an added significance when they were done for Draco. He took extra care when getting out the small white mugs, and found himself wishing that he had bought some amoretto biscuits. He switched on the espresso machine, reserved especially for Draco's visits.

Harry looked round the kitchen, and found himself irresistibly reminded of when Draco had come to stay, two years ago, just after Harry had split with Ginny. Harry had been so miserable, and hadn't felt as if he could talk openly with any of his other friends, seeing as they were all either related to, or very good friends with, his ex. Draco had been wonderful. He had sat with Harry, listening uncomplainingly to his various rants and lamentations. He had gone to the local video store and picked out films for them to watch, careful to make sure that they didn't have any romance in them. He had forced Harry to get out of bed and go to work, probably saving him his job. Harry could remember standing right here in the kitchen, watching Draco as he prepared one of his delicious meals for them both. Draco had kept up a running narrative throughout so that Harry would be able to cook the meal himself in future, but he never felt like it was worth the effort when he was here alone.

He had come to feel that he could talk to Draco about anything, that Draco would always understand what Harry meant, even if he couldn't express it properly. He remembered looking over at Draco one night as they sat watching television together, and thinking that the other boy was all of his missing pieces. It was as if Draco was the negative to Harry's photo. They just got each other - it was as simple as that.

Harry had hated having to tell Draco that he was free to go home. He had wished that the other boy would offer to stay with him permanently, but he knew that that was selfish. Draco must have had to sacrifice so much of his own personal life to spend that time with Harry. And it wasn't like Harry could put it off - he could hardly deny that he was feeling better when he was laughing, engaging in lively conversation, talking optimistically about the future. He had half hoped that Draco would protest that Harry still needed him, insisting that he stay longer; but the other boy had accepted the news calmly with a half-smile, saying that he was glad that Harry was feeling better and that he'd get out of his hair.

After Draco had gone, Harry had wandered through his house, acutely aware of the emptiness of its rooms. He had been consumed by a strange, restless misery. It wasn't the sharp pain he had felt when he thought of Ginny. This was a deeper ache, and had everything to do with the fact that Draco was no longer there.

Harry poured out the coffee, and went back into the living room. Draco looked up and smiled as he came in. "Sorry that took so long," Harry said, even though he knew he couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes. He noticed the packet of chocolate digestives lying on the floor next to Draco. He had been eating them for breakfast because he'd realised that morning that he didn't have any milk in the house and couldn't be bothered to go to the corner shop. He offered one to Draco, feeling embarrassed that he didn't have anything better.

Of course Draco knew that Harry had been eating them that morning. "You really should try to eat a more nutritious breakfast," he said, his voice full of dry amusement. Harry felt rueful that Draco had seen through him so effortlessly. And yet, in many ways, he would have been disappointed if he hadn't.

Harry handed Draco his coffee and they sat silently together for a few moments. Then Draco turned to him, almost with an air of resignation, and asked him about his date the previous evening. Harry had forgotten it. Yet another nice-yet-unremarkable woman in a long list of nice-yet-unremarkable women whom Harry had taken out over the past couple of years in a bid to find someone he could actually share his life with. The trouble was that each of these girls somehow expected him to be something that he wasn't. They expected him to be a hero, and weren't prepared for the fact that he was fallible and human. He wanted someone who would understand this and love him anyway. He explained this to Draco, and of course, Draco understood. "I want someone I can really talk to," he said. "You know when you're with someone and the conversation just flows really naturally, and it's like you've known each other forever?" Like it is with the two of us, he almost added.

"Yeah, I know," Draco replied.

Having waffled on about his romantic woes, Harry realised that it would be polite to ask Draco about his own love life. It was weird - he always felt slightly awkward doing this. He didn't know why, because he'd never had a problem talking about that kind of thing with Ron, or any of his other male friends. However, Harry had a feeling that with Draco that kind of thing should be kept separate. He felt possessive of Draco and didn't like the possibility that he was sharing him with anyone else. Nevertheless, he didn't want his friend to think he didn't care. He remembered that Draco had been out with someone from the Ministry a week or so ago, and asked if he'd seen him again.

"Ah, no," Draco replied with an awkward smile. "Couldn't really see much of a future there."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You cad." He found it slightly surprising that Draco, whom Harry considered to be one of the most intelligent, not to mention attractive, people he had ever met, hadn't found anyone to have a relationship with yet. But then, he reasoned, if you looked like that, you could afford to play the field. Harry was still slightly overwhelmed by how beautiful Draco had become. As a child, his angles and contours had made him sharp and awkward. Now that he had grown into them, he was chiselled perfection. Even Hermione, never prone to flights of romance, had said once that Draco looked like an angel. He would never admit this, but sometimes Harry would stare at photos of his friend, looking at the way his silvery hair fell around his face, looking at the beautiful curve of his jaw, and marvelling at how anyone so exquisite could actually be his friend.

Draco turned to him in such a way that Harry could tell that he was nervous, and held out the package he'd been carrying. "Here. Happy Birthday. I'm sorry it's a bit late."

Harry felt himself blushing with pleasure as he accepted the gift. He didn't think that he would ever become complacent about receiving presents. He always felt slightly surprised that people actually remembered him and had given thought to what he might like. It seemed particularly wonderful that Draco had done this. He got a strange thrill from the thought of Draco spending time finding something for Harry. He felt the weight of the gift in his hand, wanting to enjoy the moment. The symbolic value of the thing was just as important to Harry as what might be inside.

Aware of Draco's eyes on him, Harry carefully undid the package, not wanting to tear the paper. Inside was an attractive wooden box, nothing elaborate but pleasantly varnished. Harry could feel his heart beating as he lifted the lid.

The first thing he saw was a silver ring engraved with a Celtic design. It sent a jolt of recognition through him. "Oh my God... Draco..." he lifted the ring out and held it in the palm of his hand. Draco was telling him what he already knew - that it was an exact replica of the ring his dad used to wear. What amazed him was that Draco remembered.

Harry turned his attention back to the box and lifted out a cutting from a Muggle newspaper. It was a short article about a children's poetry contest, and there was a photo next to it of a seven-year-old girl with long red hair. It couldn't be... He listened in wonder as Draco explained the lengths he had gone to to get this little piece of Harry's past. Harry wanted to tell Draco what it meant to him, but he just couldn't find the words. He desperately tried to think of something he could do to make Draco as happy as he had made Harry.

Draco embarrassedly pointed out that there was something still to come from the box, and Harry lifted out a book, so fragile he was afraid it might fall apart in his hands. He read the name embossed on the faded cover: John Keats. "You mentioned once that Remus Lupin read one of his poems at your parents' wedding," Draco was telling him. Harry was completely overwhelmed. He felt astounded that Draco had remembered all these little facts about Harry's life, facts which most people would have forgotten in minutes. He thought that his heart might burst, and desperately tried not to cry.

"I did get you something else," Draco said nervously, as if he actually thought that all he had done already wasn't enough. He proceeded to explain that he had arranged to have Harry's family tree made up. He was breathless with suppressed emotion, and Harry could see the blush tingeing his cheeks with pink.

Harry stuttered a few painfully inadequate words of gratitude. "It was nothing," Draco replied, his blush deepening. Harry was surprised to note the other boy's emotion, almost as intense as Harry's own. He was explaining his reasons for doing something so wonderful, for wanting to make Harry happy.

As Draco spoke, Harry could feel the fireworks going off in his head. It was as if he had been living in the dark his whole life, and someone had just turned on the light. He supposed that he would have realised much sooner, had Draco been a woman. But what the hell did that matter? All he wanted was to meet someone warm, intelligent and loving, whom Harry could talk to about anything, whom Harry could feel would always understand him - and that person had been right in front of him the whole time. He mentally kicked himself for being so blind. "Oh, Draco," he said.

Harry saw a flash of panic cross Draco's face. His blush deepened, and he bit his lip nervously, looking as if he might cry. Harry watched as the other boy got up quickly and went to stand by the window. He could see that Draco was shaking. A further wave of realisation washed over him. Could it be possible that Draco loved him too? How long had he known? What had he gone through, if he really had wanted Harry in that way all this time? Harry felt deeply ashamed of the ways in which he must have caused his friend pain. Was it possible that Harry was the cause of, and the possible solution to, Draco's mysterious sadness?

He got up and went to stand behind Draco, his heart fluttering in his chest. "Draco," he said softly.

"Don't," Draco whispered, his voice threaded with pain. "Don't."

"Draco," Harry repeated, placing his hand on the other boy's shoulder. He had expected Draco to offer some resistance, but he turned towards Harry freely. Draco's eyes were closed and his beautiful mouth was turned down at the corners with misery. Harry felt a throb of tenderness as he looked at the other boy, and longed to kiss his unhappiness away. "Oh, Draco," he said, "how come you never told me I was in love with you?"

Draco's eyes snapped open, and he looked at Harry as if he could hardly dare to hope. Harry desperately hoped that his presumption about Draco's feelings was right. Tentatively, he raised his hand and lightly touched Draco's cheek. Draco shuddered and turned his head to kiss Harry's palm, and Harry felt a thrill of joy go through to his very core. With a sob of happiness, he pulled Draco towards him and wrapped his arms around this wonderful man who knew him perfectly, who had done so much for him, who loved him.

He felt Draco returning the embrace, burying his face in Harry's neck. "I didn't want to ruin the surprise."