Christmas in the Key of Secrecy

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry or his friends or the idea of a Secret Santa. Trust me, if I owned Harry and Draco, this would be a much higher rated story. Enjoy. Review! PLEASE! I am SO desperate!

Christmas in the Key of Secrecy

The words still rang in Harry's ears. Secret Santa. Oh, he knew enough what it was. He just didn't know if he could handle it. It would be all right, he supposed, if his wand waving got him Ron, or Hermione, or one of his Quidditch mates, or even Percy Weasley. But what would he do if he, by some cruel twist of fate, chose Cho Chang?

He sighed and lifted his wand with the rest of the Great Hall. Even Dumbledore himself chose to participate. He was joined heartily by Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, and Snape looked exceedingly out of Christmas cheer as he reluctantly raised his own wand. Harry joined the mass of students and professors in a slight flick and a murmured incantation. A green ribbon spluttered from the tip of his wand and cut through the air to spell a name. Prof. Severus Snape, it read.

Harry blanched and looked around frantically to see if anyone else's names were visible. No. Each student seemed fixated on his or her own patch of air, some with satisfied smirks or excited, planning smiles. Still others, such as Ginny Weasley, had buried their heads in their breakfast with despair.

For some unexplained reason, Harry's eyes flitted to Draco Malfoy for just a second. The pale Slytherin showed no signs of his usual cocky self, and was staring at the assumed ribbon before him with quiet dignity and acceptance. Harry scoffed. Probably got one of his lackeys, Harry assumed, or perhaps his girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson.

"Well, come on now, spill, who'd you get?"

Ron was elbowing Harry and grinning, the tops of his ears blushing. Hermione gave him a stern look.

"Ron, it's called secret for a reason. I'm sure Harry doesn't want to ruin the spirit by spilling his-"

"I got Snape," Harry interrupted, cutting off the inevitable lecture. Hermione gave them a glare that rivaled McGonagall, who, incidentally, was mimicking Ginny's posture, and Ron's eyes went wide.

"Blimey! What are you gonna do about that?" he marveled. He shook his head and poked at his eggs, looking slightly nauseous.

"I dunno. Who'd you end up with?"

Ron's eyes rolled and he grimaced.

"Justin Finch-Fletchly. I don't know what to do. I'm as bad off as you." He sighed. Hermione looked haughty and waited for one of the young wizards to ask her what her ribbon had spelled so she could refuse to tell, but the question didn't come. She slouched bitterly and stabbed at her oatmeal.

"Thank Merlin we need only buy one gift, eh, Ron?" Harry perked a bit. "Just one for Christmas morning. It's not like the ones I'm used to, where you'd have to do something like one a week."

Ron's eyes went wide with panic at the very thought and nodded profusely.

"Yeah, one good trip to Hogsmeade should do it."

"I don't know, Ron." Harry sighed, suddenly morose again. "I don't think Snape is one for the finer things from Honeyduke's."

Ron chuckled and nodded. He turned back to his breakfast for a moment and Harry went back to brooding about his predicament. He finally decided to forget about it until the weekend. He had plenty of time; Christmas was nearly two weeks away.

Harry trudged up the stairs toward the Gryffindor common room that evening very weakly. Oliver Wood had had the Gryffindor House team on the field for near two extra hours, and Harry's right arm was definitely feeling it. It was still sore now and then, ever since he had the need to regrow all thirty-two bones in it his second year at Hogwarts.

"Bunglemuck," he yawned to the Fat Lady.

"Yes, dear, go on ahead. My, you're up late."

"Uhn," Harry replied, nodding at her notation. He dragged his broom through the portrait hole and stumbled over a loose shoelace.

"Poor dear, get some sleep," the Fat Lady cooed before clicking shut.

"Yeah-huh," Harry yawned, rubbing his eyes, hoping to stay awake long enough to get to his bed. The couch was looking mighty comfortable as of late. Too bad Ginny was crying on it. Wait a minute. "Ginny?" Harry asked quietly. "What's wrong?"

Ginny let out no more than a frustrated sniffle and perhaps two tears all together.

"I haven't the faintest as to what to get my Secret Santa," she sighed, turning over a piece of parchment on which she had scribbled the name so that she might remember it.

"Oh." Harry blinked tiredly. Secret Santa? What was she...oh, yeah. "Oh, who'd you end up with?"

Ginny handed him the parchment. Harry blinked hard in order to see and yawned once before comprehending.

"Cho Chang," he muttered, grateful he hadn't gotten the name. He thought as quickly as he could, despite his groggy mind, to come up with a simple, inexpensive gift Ginny might try. "Maybe a nice broom care kit. They've got some decent ones in Hogsmeade for no more than a few Sickles. Eh, no offense."

"None taken," Ginny smiled. "I know I'm broke. It's a good idea, really. Thanks. You poor thing, get some sleep." She patted his arm and shooed him up to his dormitory. Harry nodded and started up the stairs. "Stay to your left!" she called, and Harry stopped in mid-pace and turned around to try the other direction.

"Thank you!" he returned. That was the last time he stayed up until all hours playing Quidditch. His arm was aching with just the turn of the doorknob. Luckily, it was so late that none of the other boys were in a light enough sleep to be disturbed by Harry's groan of discomfort.

He tossed his Firebolt to the floor and flung open his bed curtains in the hopes that he might toss himself to bed. Or at least fall without knocking the velvet down.

Before Harry could tumble into those soft, decadent sheets, however, he would have to move that quill. That could hurt. Harry scrunched his tired eyes. Hadn't he put his only quill away?

He lifted the quill and turned it over in his hands. It didn't look much like his. It was a deep jade green and a bit longer than his present feather. Brand new, too, it seemed; the tip was unsoiled. Maybe it was Neville's; his grandmother tended to send his new supplies now and then. Harry lay the feather down again, vowing to return it to Neville in the morning before breakfast. He'd best put the parchment scrap with it, as well. The paper fluttered over as Harry's sleeve brushed by it. Flipped over, Harry could now see his name clearly scrawled in an unfamiliar hand. Frowning, but no longer tired, he unfolded the note.

I noticed your quill seemed a bit ragged. Happy Christmas.

Harry flipped the parchment over, though he knew the other side to be barren. Odd, that. He thought Secret Santas were supposed to wait until Christmas. Wasn't that expressly what Dumbledore had said? And who would purchase such an expensive quill? True, his quill was missing a good sized piece of the feather, but it functioned well enough. Well, yes, it blotted here and there, but what good quill didn't? And it was bent near the top. All right, it was a mess. But still, who would go to such lengths? Harry mused the scene, going over the clues. Very neat handwriting, but that didn't mean anything; these things could be enchanted for such secrecy. McGonagall had purchased a Nimbus 2000 for him in his first year, so the funds were there. She was indeed a possibility. Hagrid? No, he would never have seen Harry's quill; they took no notes in Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione, perhaps? Perhaps. She was one to give gifts of the scholarly nature.

Harry suddenly yawned widely. Eh, he'd think about it in the morning. He glanced at his bedside clock. All right, so it was morning. He'd think about it later. Yeah, later. Now...now he needed sleep.

The Great Hall was decorated already, with still nearly eleven days until Christmas. Harry's eyes wandered aver the glittering ornaments as his mind drifted to the quill he had received a few days prior. Finally, he decided to admit the receipt to his friends. He wasn't quite sure why, but he had wanted a bit with it alone, before telling anyone. Sort of a private feeling, maybe.

"Harry, what's with you? What are you thinking about?"

Harry grinned to himself. He could always count on Ron to poke him awake and bring up just the right subject.

"My Secret Santa. I found a gift on my bed the other-eh, recently." Harry stopped himself from saying 'the other night,' in fear that Hermione would try to lecture him for not reporting such an event immediately.

"Really?" Ron seemed to panic a bit. "It's not required to get more than one, is it?" Hermione shook her head, but before she could make any comments, Ron continued. "So, show it, then! What did you get?"

Harry reluctantly pulled out the feather, compulsively wiping the tip as he had every time he unveiled it. He handed it to Ron for inspection and watched his eyes go wide as the redhead turned it over a bit and ran a finger over the soft feather before weighing it in his hand as though to scribble on the snow white tablecloth.

"Wow, Harry, this is beautiful."

"It looks really expensive." At Hermione's comment, Ron swiftly dropped the quill into Harry's hands, for fear he might damage it. Hermione snatched it up and inspected it. "It looks like maybe eagle feather. It's been dyed a really rare colour, though." Her eyes flicked to Harry's for a second. "This may sound odd, Harry, but this feather is the exact colour of your eyes."

Harry grabbed at the quill a little more roughly than he would have normally and slipped it carefully but quickly into his bag. He closed it with a swift zip and returned to his eggs, one thought flying through his mind. Who would be able to match his eye colour so perfectly?

"Come on," he muttered suddenly. "We'll be late for Transfiguration."

The cap was most definitely stuck. No matter how hard Harry turned, the cap was most definitely stuck. He scrunched his eyes in force and tried desperately to twist the plastic top. With one good pop, he'd thought he'd had it. He looked down with pride that dissipated into disappointment. He had, indeed, taken the top off. Along with much of the neck of the bottle. His already dark robes were shiny with spilt ink. Harry sighed and reached for his blackened wand. One discreet wave and the mess was cleared, but he was still out of ink.

"Ron. Psst, Ron!"

Ron turned, saw the empty bottle sitting on Harry's botched parchment, and slid his own bottle across the desk so that Harry might partake in his rare wealth. He also pulled a sheet of parchment out for Harry to use.

"Thanks, mate," he nodded, dipping his new quill in the low level of ink. He vowed to take sparse notes so that Ron's supply wouldn't be quite so deprived. He also noticed that McGonagall was watching him rather closely as he had cleared his mess and rectified the situation. This assessment only added to Harry's suspicion. He sat in thought for the rest of class and took no new notes, to Ron's pleasure; he need not buy any more ink. He packed his things and waited for Harry as he shoved his papers into his bag.

"Ron, I've an idea or two about my Secret Santa."

"Really?" the redhead asked, perking up a bit. "Well, go on, then."

"I'm thinking it might be McGonagall." Harry watched Hermione dash up beside him. She frowned and Ron rolled his eyes despairingly.

"I don't know, Harry. What makes you think that? A Professor like McGonagall wouldn't spend her sparse free time on figuring out what you need for Christmas. There is a slim chance that it's a teacher."

"What about Hagrid?" Ron attempted hopefully, grinning on their way to Herbology. Hermione and Harry immediately shook their heads.

"Never would have seen his quill," she noted. "Care of Magical Creatures is an outdoor class, Ron; we don't take notes."

Ron's face fell and he nodded sheepishly.

"Right. Obviously."

"Have you gotten anything for Snape yet?" Hermione asked, directing herself at Harry now rather than Ron. Ron pouted and walked on. Harry sighed and shook his head; he had been so wrapped up in his gift that he hadn't put much thought into his own duties as Secret Santa. "Harry, you've only a week or so. You'd best be moving."

"You're right. But I haven't the faintest what to get. Oh, blast it," he sighed. "I've forgotten my text for Divination. I'll be right back. Have fun in Arithmancy, Hermione."

Hermione waved at him as he dashed off, and Ron ran after him.

"All right, Harry, now that Hermione's gone, who do you really think left you the quill?" he asked excitedly. Harry shook his head.

"I really don't know." He paused as the continued to the tower. "I'll just be a minute." The Fat Lady nodded at his entrance and he nearly flew up the stairs. After rummaging around in his trunk, he saw it.

A fresh bottle of ink sat on his bed, with a decorative cork for easy uncapping.

Harry turned it over and found another parchment note tied to the neck. He paused before reading it, however, to admire the cap. Made of what looked like glass but must be crystal to shine so, a minuscule dragon sat atop the bottle. It was curled about so that its nose was touching the tip of its tail and it was most definitely asleep. His gaze so close now, Harry realized the ink was not black, but the same emerald green as the quill had been. He decided to put the thought out of his head as he returned to the note in his left hand.

Frowning in confusion, Harry cocked his head at the sound of what seemed like a gasp. He turned, expecting to see Ron, jealous at his gift, but he found no one. He felt a sudden draft, as though someone was brushing by him, and he could swear that he heard the door creak open a bit further. His eyes narrowed and he turned to the note.

Saw that you ran out of ink. Perhaps this will be easier for you to manage. Those twist-on caps can be brutal little buggers. Happy Christmas.

"Harry! Let's go; we've got to climb the north tower!"

Harry shoved the bottle into his bag and the note into his pocket, and ran down the stairs. This gift he would tell quickly.

"Ron!" he called as he descended to the common room.

"Oy, Harry, did you leave a window open? I just got a draft. Oh well, no matter. Come on; we'll be late." Ron pulled at Harry's robe and Harry tugged away.

"Ron, I found another gift." He thrust the letter under Ron's freckled nose and went back to studying the bottle. It was a bit larger than the standard bottle, and seemed, somehow, to be stronger as well. The deep green ink seemed to mock Harry as he stared into its murkiness. He also noted that the longer he stared at the dragon snoozing on the cap, it almost appeared to move; a flick of the tail or a blink of the eye.

"All right, then. Whoever it is was in Transfiguration this morning."

Harry nodded distractedly at Ron's deduction.

"I still think it's McGonagall."

It was a few days later and Harry was no closer to deciphering his Secret Santa or to completing his own tasks as a temporary Father Christmas. Seven days. He had an even week, according to Hermione. Ron was no more successful, either, and the fact gave Harry a bit of consolation. However, Harry had no time to think just now; he had several hours of Quidditch practice each night. He and the team were preparing for the big game that was coming up. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Harry was sore all the time now, and Hagrid, clapping him on the back every time Harry reminded him of the secrecy of the Secret Santas, wasn't helping.

Soon enough, the big night came. Oliver's great long speech about the importance of the game went entirely over Harry's head and he vaguely wondered if he would get the chance to use the Wronski Feint against Draco.

Draco. The very name brought a new fierceness to Harry, and his face set in a determined glare.

"That's my boy, Harry!" Oliver cried. "We'll beat them yet!"

Harry nodded uselessly and mounted his broom as the doors opened for them. A sharp kickoff, and he soared far above the teams, keeping watch and taking note of positions. Essentially, he tried to act like he had a vague idea as to what everyone else on the field was doing.

He looked up and locked eyes with Draco. Each boy's eyes narrowed and their hands gripped their broom handles tighter. They stayed that way for a few moments. The bludgers were up; the quaffle and lastly: the golden snitch. The seekers tore their fierce gaze from each other only long enough to spot the snitch and follow it for a second. They shot each other one last glare and followed it, Draco sending a smile at Harry before speeding off.

Harry saw it immediately; it was just out of Draco's reach, and the blonde boy was trying his hardest. Harry cut in front of Draco and distracted him; the snitch fluttered off the other way. A goal was scored; ten to nothing, Slytherin lead. Draco cocked an eyebrow and Harry looked about frantically. Suddenly, he took a nosedive. Frantically, Draco followed him. Harry was not faking; the snitch was hovering a few inches above the grass. He crossed handles with Draco and pushed him to the side while reaching out to grab at the small orb. He tumbled; Draco pulled out. Harry stood and thrust his fist up; the snitch was his. Victory was to the Gryffindor team after a mere forty-seven seconds of play.

Draco shot Harry an oddly placid look before touching down at the Slytherin goal. Shouldering his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, he trod the moist grass towards Harry. The setting sun blared brilliantly from behind him, and Harry lifted a hand to shield his eyes, never once looking away from him. He squinted, but he wasn't sure if it was from the bright light or the strange feeling that the light made Draco look surprisingly angelic. Harry turned quickly, feeling the need for a sudden shift of posture, and he shouldered his broom as well. Draco reached the shorter seeker and paused, his face a blank mask. Suddenly, his face broke into a faint grin and he stuck out his free hand.

"Good game, Potter," he nodded solemnly, as though perhaps his sense of morals had suddenly kicked in and he should definitely say something. Oddly, Harry found his hand meeting Draco's and clasping around it without much conscious thought.

"Thanks. Same to you."

Draco eventually dropped Harry's hand and, as though the event had never occurred, walked away, broom over one shoulder and a shadow of a bruise on his cheekbone. Harry watched him trek off the field and abruptly realized how the light injury had come about.

"Wait, Draco!"

Draco turned sharply, eyes wide at the use of his first name and the fact that he was being called back to the Gryffindor seeker rather than chased away. Instead of becoming cold and distant, however, the Slytherin kept his aghast face and surprised nature. He opened his mouth to form some sort of retort or response, but no words came out.

"Are you-eh, is that going to be all right?" Harry gestured haphazardly at the mark on the pale boy's face. Draco's fingers flew to his cheek and alighted on the purpling point that was beginning to swell a bit. He winced at the light pressure and nodded quickly. "You're sure?" Harry continued. "I'm sorry. I-I thought you'd pull out sooner."

Harry couldn't quite tell why he was arbitrarily apologizing to Draco, much less actually feeling guilty, but he did admit he felt better when Draco nodded again, forgiving him.

He was jolted from his confusing thoughts when jumped on from behind by his two friends. He forced a laugh and turned to them, plastering a grin on his face. Hermione threw her arms around his neck and Harry swung her around. As she was settled once more on the ground, Ron nearly sent Harry down with her by clapping him heartily on the back.

"I know we beat them nearly every time, but it's still so exciting!" Hermione gasped, clapping her hands together. Harry nodded halfheartedly and let the other compliments and raving fly over her head as he looked over his shoulder at the retreating green robes.

Harry rolled over the next morning and was woken abruptly by a sharp knife of light slashing through his curtains. He squinted in his sleep-he was still dreaming of that Gryffindor victory-and tried vainly to swipe it away; it reminded him too much of the cherubic glow he had been exposed to the night before. He decided to finally sit up and reach for his glasses. Slipping them onto his nose, he wondered why on earth his bed curtains were open. Had he left them open the night before?

The abnormally sunny room came into focus and Harry yawned. In stretching, he noticed his arm was sore again. Shaking his head, Harry made a mental note to favor his right side that day. Once the slight pain had subsided, Harry went back to pondering his mysteriously opened velvet. He looked around the room and found nothing. Noting the time, he thought perhaps he could get a few more minutes of sleep. He slipped his feet back under the blankets and snuggled deeper into the dwindling warmth. His foot hit something that felt oddly like a box that had been set on the foot of the bed. Sighing mentally, Harry reluctantly sat up. He blinked at the parcel, which, indeed, was a box. He muttered indistinctly a few words that sounded a bit like 'six days.'

Hefting the box, Harry was a bit surprised at the weight. This, unlike the other packages, was wrapped in simple paper of inconsequential green. He laid the gift in his lap and decided he rather liked the fact that it was slightly heavy to his senses. He ran his fingers over the smooth paper and allowed himself a minute or two to wonder what the package could be. He considered waking Ron.

"Harry? What are you doing?"

The groggy voice from the next bed made Harry's decision and he stroked the wrapping a bit more until Ron came to stand next to Harry's bed. He peered over Harry's shoulder and sniffled a bit, giving the impression that perhaps he was catching a cold.

"What have we got today, mate?" Ron sounded almost disappointed at the prospect of yet another gift for Harry.

"I haven't gotten around to unwrapping it," Harry murmured. Ron scoffed and laid a hand on his left shoulder.

"Haven't gotten around to it? Harry, typically gifts are torn apart upon sight. Get going!"

Harry nodded and slowly worked the seams at the side of the thin box. His tongue poked out of his mouth as he loosened the tape, for some reason not wanting to tear the paper. It held some odd importance to him. Ron reached down and slit the smooth face with one finger.

"Go on, then, really!" he grinned, urging Harry on.

"Ron, what was that? Maybe I wanted to save that paper!"

Ron raised a disbelieving eyebrow and laughed. He shook his head and ruffled Harry's hair.

"As though the Boy-Who-Lived can't afford paper," he teased, sounding only the least bit resentful. Harry dropped the subject and turned back to the bright colours peeking out from under the parting of wrapping. He frowned with confusion and pulled the box from the paper, which held its shape for a moment before crumpling in on itself until it was no more.

The box was a familiar one; it contained a broom-care kit Harry had been eyeing in Quality Quidditch Supplies but couldn't rationalize the purchase of. Bernie Bramm's Broom Buffer was blazoned across the front, and the plastic window showed broomtail trimmers, handle wax, a buffer cloth and broomtail ties. Harry's mouth fell open.

"Blimey, Harry, someone spent a good amount of Galleons on you." Ron ran a finger over the golden writing and gave a low whistle. "Harry, I think someone's got an admirer!"

Harry could not respond in any way other than closing his mouth and frowning in confusion. Ron shook his head and left the green eyed wizard to his bed, closing the velvet, but leaving a crack of sunlight to pour through. Harry let the kit settle in his lap. He pored over it for a bit, getting the entire feel of it before finding the inevitable scrap of parchment that had come with the box. It was sadly torn up the right hand side and it separated two words. Harry fumed silently at Ron and opened the parchment, which, as always, had his name scrawled on it.

I saw that your Firebolt could do with a bit of a perk up. Happy Christmas.

Harry folded the parchment and slipped it under the others, tucked neatly on his bedside table. He slid his broom care kit, after a quick, loving swipe with his hand, under his bed. He clambered out of bed to get dressed and run after Ron. He had another set of ideas to deal with now.

"...So I think I'll just get him that," Ron was saying. Harry was staring into his toast as though he could change it into fresh fruit. Such transfiguration was advanced, as Hermione would tell him, yet on he stared. "Harry? Harry, what do you think?"

"Hmm?" Harry's head lifted and he poked his toast with his fork. "Sounds good, Ron."

Hermione pursed her lips and glared at Harry.

"You've not heard a word he's said. You've just agreed to let Ron purchase a pet snake for Justin Finch-Fletchly. You don't really think it wise, do you?"

Harry shook his head distractedly and Hermione sighed. She reached across the table and laid a hand on his arm.

"Harry. What did you get this time?"

"Broom care kit," Ron raved around a mouthful of preserves. "Big, fancy one, too. I think someone's trying to really get his attention."

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione snapped. "Harry, what have the notes said? Anything that might give us a clue?" Harry shook his head and Hermione began to list the clues they already had. "Must be someone who would know your quill was bad...had to have been in Transfiguration and at the Quidditch match...unless one of the others on the team saw that your broom was amiss...but they're all at least a year above you or below you; they wouldn't have been in Transfiguration...it's either McGonagall or a Slytherin."

"Or you," Ron pointed. Hermione glared and he stuck his tongue out, covered as it was in grape jelly.

"Ron. Really, Harry's a little distressed about this. I'd have told him by now if I had chosen him. That's not to say you can rule me out," she added hastily, not wanting to give anything away. "But I would have at least hinted."

"A Slytherin, eh, Harry?" Ron chuckled quickly. "Imagine if it was Pansy Parkinson?"

"Or Millicent Bulstrode," Hermione added with a slight shiver.

"Why wouldn't it be a Gryffindor?" Harry asked, eager to change the subject from the listing of his possible admirers. Hermione blinked and flushed a bit.

"You make a good point, Harry."

"I mean, after all, who else could get into the common room? They'd need a password."

Ron shook his head in disbelief. He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder for the second time that day and sighed.

"Harry, it very well could have been a Banishing charm."

"Or an invisibility cloak," Harry murmured, eyes lighting as he formed a logical plan. "I was looking at the ink bottle," he explained to two confused faces, "and I heard someone. A gasp, or something. And then, I felt them leave. It very well could be a Slytherin." Harry took to staring at his toast again and Hermione coloured.

"Or a Gryffindor who either doesn't want to be caught or shouldn't be in the boys' dormitory to begin with."

Care of Magical Creatures was a dull as a class with dangerous, sharp, often armoured beasts could be. Hagrid was more jovial than usual, as he was now filled with the Christmas spirit. He pulled Harry up to be the first to feed the Flobberworms (they had a new batch for the new year), and to groom the Diricawl Hagrid had recently acquired. The whole of the class was subdued, surprisingly absorbed in his or her task, and Harry risked a few glances at Draco, expecting to see his hanging back with a disapproving face. Harry saw him participating quietly with a disapproving face, and he held back a chuckle. Instead, he lifted his hands to his lips to warm them. He thought, for a second, he had seen Draco watching him, but he narrowed his eyes in a bit of a glare and he looked away.

Towards the end of class, with most menial tasks done and everyone feeling as though they had finished a rather difficult Herbology class rather than a simple period, Hagrid brought Fang out to stretch out a bit and give the students a bit of a break. Fang, shy around the other children, went straight to Harry and Ron. Ron pet his head briefly and backed up for fear of drool.

"This is my newest robe!" he protested.

Harry, on the other hand, knelt immediately and hugged Fang around the neck before allowing him to lick him all over. A student here or there, those who weren't too tired, would come over to pet Fang as he shied away and Harry buried his frigid hands in his thick fur. Soon enough, Harry was shocked to see Draco approach the large dog, though not without trepidation, and slowly drop a hand to pet him. In minutes, Draco was on his knees before the hound, scratching his ears and throat. As it turned out, Draco was the only student to get Fang's back leg twitching with pleasure.

"You like that, eh, you big hound? Feels good, eh? Yeah, you can't reach that with your foot, big as it is."

Harry watched on with a mixture of surprise, pride for Draco and a sudden urge for sweet tears. All three emotions shocked him and he knelt beside Fang and stroked his side.

Fang, in all the attention, eventually dropped to his side and rolled to his back, begging one of the boys to stroke his belly. Harry and Draco each reached out a hand and were regaled with a swiftly wagging tail and a kicking foot. They went on, not quite noticing the other until Draco's hand slipped a bit and bumped Harry's. Harry let it pass, but Draco stopped and stood. He made no excuses, just backed up seconds before the bell rang, an almost cold look on his face. Harry watched him leave class quietly, and stayed so long that Fang had time enough to stand and nuzzle Harry's cold hand.

Harry was dreading Potions even more than usual. His icy hands were already raw and chapped and a morning in the dungeons didn't sound all that pleasant. Hermione was flipping through a library book to search for a charm that might help while Harry and Ron discussed the latest Quidditch match. Hermione's edition of the Daily Prophet had just come in, and the boys were poring over the sports page. Ron was about to make an attempt at a grand sweeping gesture that would have to do for the Starfish with Stick, but Harry stopped him, reasoning that he had to run up to the dorm to get his things, which he had left on his trunk. Ron groaned with stopped excitement and hollered at Harry as he climbed the stairs.

Harry should have known he would find the next parcel. It had been a few days since the broom care kit, and judging the pattern, he was due for a new gift. He felt fleeting worry at the fact that he had only four days to find something for Snape. Fred and George had suggested a few things, but Harry decided to opt for something less...explosive.

Leaving his bag on the worn leather trunk, Harry flung himself onto the bed and turned the package over, setting the telltale parchment aside. This, too, was covered in simple green paper, but it was as lacking in structure as the last had been rigid. Harry slipped a finger under the tape on one seam and split the edge, in hopes of preserving the paper. This wrapping, as the last, turned in on itself and disappeared with a faint pop. Harry was left with his fourth gift.

"Ingenious," he muttered. The gloves he held were partially fingered, with flaps on the top that could turn down and cover the ends, converting the hand warmers into mittens. These flaps were held back with velcro, and Harry turned them over in his hands before sliding them on for a try. They fit his hands perfectly, as though he had been measured for them. Made of the softest fleece, the mittens warmed Harry's hands immediately upon contact. He supposed vaguely that they had been charmed to do so. He also noticed, almost sharply, that the mittens were the same shade of green the ink and quill had been. Curious, Harry picked up the parchment in his newly gloved hands to search for clues.

Your hands have dried out. For shame; where are your gloves? Perhaps these can compensate. Happy Christmas.

For a second, Harry was utterly touched. Whoever his Secret Santa was, they not only noticed a great deal about him, they were also rather concerned. Harry tucked the note inside one of the flaps to his new mittens and returned to the common room, where Ron was just bursting with pent up energy.

"So, anyway, Harry, the key is in how you grip the broom with your foot-" He was cut off pointedly by Hermione, who took immediate notice of the dark green fleece adorning Harry's hands.

"Oh, Harry, how nice! Were they a gift?" Harry nodded and showed her the note. She read it, and, upon Harry's mention of the author's observance, her eyes went wide, and she glanced quickly at Ron. "I think perhaps you do have an admirer, Harry. They do, indeed, seem attentive and very concerned."

Harry blushed and snatched at the note, shaking his head. He protested as they left for Potions, but, nevertheless, he tucked the note in his pants pocket for safekeeping, secretly relishing the idea of an admirer. He was feeling quietly happy until Hermione asked him a question.

"So, what have you gotten Snape?"

The last of his toadstool caps fell into the violently bubbling cauldron with a rather loud plop and the mixture turned a sickly bluish green. Harry frowned and capped the empty bottle, clanging it on the cold desk and flexing his fingers out of habit. There was no longer a need for this action, as his hands were toasty warm from his deep green mittens, which were presently folded back so that Harry could chop various ingredients. He snuck a quick glance at Draco. He had been acting oddly sullen lately, and Harry was worried about his silence, or more accurately, his indifference. It wasn't the same without Draco's scathing remarks and simpering smugness. Harry was beginning to miss Draco's voice and even his fake smile. He was concerned about Draco's well being by now.

As Harry's eyes landed on Draco, he noticed that the Slytherin was staring blankly at his empty bottle. The pale wizard turned away and Harry went back to his potion, which was boiling viciously. His face took on a panicky expression. His potion needed more toadstool caps and right quick. He tried to wait for a convenient time to ask Seamus for a loan, but Snape was on the prowl. He stopped next to Harry and glared down at him. For the first time, Harry was actually panicky before Snape.

"Mr. Potter. I see we have yet to master the delicate art of counting."

The class watched on in horror. Would Snape make Harry test his own potion? It was levitation potion; the slightest modification would make it utterly fatal. Snape looked down his nose at the mixture.

"Had we paid even the slightest bit of attention in class this week, we would have known that the directions called for two teaspoons of ground toadstool caps, not one. Ten points from Gryffindor. And correct your monstrosity before I return, or it will be twenty."

Snape stalked off and harassed Neville. ("Pink? Any idiot would know that levitation potion must be blue, Mr. Longbottom. Ten points. And stay out of this, Miss Granger.") Harry, meanwhile, nearly had a tantrum trying to find out how to correct his mistakes. There was no way he could start another batch; there was no time and he didn't have sufficient supplies. He turned to look forlornly at his empty bottle. But there, in place of it, stood a full bottle. Harry frowned and picked it up. There was a piece of parchment around the neck, naturally, and Harry's name was splashed hastily over the front. Harry popped the cork and shook the appropriate amount into his cauldron. He watched with relief as the bubbling calmed to a simmer and he decided to quickly read the letter before Snape came back. After a brief struggle with the flaps to his gloves, Harry was able to unfold the paper.

Add a teaspoon and you'll be all set. Best of luck and try to stay prepared. You never know what you'll need. I hear next class we're starting shrinking solutions; check your bromchig levels. Happy Christmas.

Harry shoved the note in his pocket, but he was not quick enough. Snape silently held out an angry hand for the note. Harry reluctantly handed it over, deciding it wasn't worth the fight. Snape's cold eyes drifted over the hasty writing and he sneered.

"Getting help from your friends, eh, Mr. Potter? Twenty points from Gryffindor for cheating. Let's indeed hope your bromchig levels are sufficient, lest we endure today's fate once more. Homework," he turned to the class, "half a meter of parchment on the uses of whigweed. Class dismissed."

Hermione pounced on Harry on his way out of class. She tugged at the parchment and unfolded it. Her eyes raced over the messy scrawling and glinted with vicarious joy.

"Harry, this is the sweetest! Oh, I'm so excited for you! Just think, four more days and we'll find out for sure who it is!"

"Oh, no, only four days!" Ron moaned with frustration. Harry hung his head and sighed, wondering for the thirteen hundredth time that day what he could possibly get for the cruel potion master.

"I think it might be a Slytherin," Hermione insisted. "It all makes sense now. How would a Gryffindor know about Snape's lesson plan? My only question is how a Slytherin could get into the Gryffindor common room. They'd need a password."

"Neville!" Harry gasped suddenly. Ron sent him a quizzical look while Hermione's eyes widened with comprehension. "He's done it before, Ron. Remember how he let Snuffles in? Sir Cadogan was torn to shreds. I'm not saying it was intentional," he rushed, catching Hermione's reproving eye, "but he has lost the password before."

"Good point, Harry," Hermione nodded. "Come on, now; we'll be late for dinner. I hear the feasts are getting larger each night in preparation for Christmas."

Ron's eyes grew round with excitement and he dashed off towards the Gryffindor tower to drop off his books in the hopes that he might be the first in the Great Hall. Harry and Hermione shook their heads in amusement.

Harry rolled over restlessly beneath the warm comforter, trying desperately to quell the anxiety in his stomach. He was down to three days and still had no good base of ideas as to what to get for his Secret Santa. He also had a few unnerving suggestions of his own gift giver, who also seemed to be quite an admirer. Sitting up in bed, he sighed deeply and pulled on a pair of mismatched socks, courtesy of Dobby a year before. His hair, already askew, was mussed further by a warm sweater that Harry tugged on before bending to tie his shoes. Slipping his wand in his pocket and grabbing his invisibility cloak, Harry snuck out the door to his dormitory, pausing only once as the loose folds of fabric snagged on the latch. He tugged quickly and ran on, to the Fat Lady's disapproval.

"You should be in bed, young man; I should report you to the first prefect I see! Oh, this means points!"

"Just going for a bit of a walk," Harry insisted. He nodded to her and explained, "I've got to think about a few things. I'll be back in a minute or two." The Fat Lady huffed and Harry turned before she could protest further.

He fled through the halls until he felt he was of sufficient distance to slow down. This particular passage was rather dark, and Harry pulled out his wand.

"Lumos," he muttered, hushing himself. His wand lit up brilliantly and he smiled, knowing his light could not be seen. He walked on, trying desperately to clear his thoughts. He tread quietly, hoping Mrs. Norris would be nowhere near, mewing about one thing or the next. Finally, Harry paused and sighed deeply. "I wonder," he mused aloud, "if I should owl Snuffles. It's rather pathetic, though, to owl him now. Especially for such a stupid reason. Besides, it's time taken away from my shopping for Snape. Blast it, what can I possibly get him? Maybe I'll owl Snuffles after all. I miss him an awful lot. Maybe I should just tell him that and wish him a Happy Christmas." Harry sighed again and shook his head, feeling only slightly more organized. He crept towards Gryffindor tower and muttered, "knox" to put out his wand light. He slipped through the portrait hole to a sneer from the Fat Lady and he rolled his eyes. Letting his cloak drop to the floor as he yawned, Harry could swear he heard another person in the room, breathing hard. The sound disappeared as he focused on it, however, and Harry accounted it to over tiredness. He shook his head and climbed the stairs, barely missing the sight of a pale face watching him.

A very bright beam of sunlight woke Harry the next day, and he vaguely wondered how it was that his curtains were open in the morning when he specifically recalled closing them the night before. He assumed the house elves had left them open in their nightly errands and shrugged, sitting up. A glance at his clock confirmed Harry's thoughts: he had awoken early. His foot hit something through the covers and he let out a mental sigh. Not another gift. This would be his sixth, and he had yet to fulfill his own duties. He picked up the box, which was, unsurprisingly, wrapped in green paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Untying the ribbon and tearing off the paper, Harry watched the adornments disappear into themselves. He picked up the box top and was greeted by a roll of what looked like scotch tape. He frowned with confusion and lifted the parchment from the bottom of the box.

Sorry this gift isn't as elegant. Your invisibility cloak has a tear in it; your wand light is flashing everywhere. Use a bit of this to patch it up until you can fix it more permanently.

Harry turned the cloak over in his hands. There was, indeed, a small hole, about an inch or so long, that would make a light easily seen. Harry read the rest of the note quickly.

Also, I've an idea for your gift. Snape has been pining for a new Quick-Quotes Quill with three Truth Settings for quite awhile. It would be quite the surprise if one was to find its way under his tree. Of course, you didn't hear that from me. Happy Christmas. Two days!

Laying the note atop the other five on his bedside table, Harry spread his cloak over his lap, placing the hole over one knee. He pulled some tape off the reel and tore it with his teeth, fastening the hole shut firmly. He repeated this action five more times; twice more on the outside and three more on the inner lining. He folded the end of the tape over to keep the end from getting lost on the roll and placed the tape on the parchment bits to stabilize them. The cloak billowed over his wand tip and he murmured a quiet "Lumos" to test his work. It was successful; the light was unseen. Harry grinned and slipped it over his shoulders. He had an errand to run.

After following a first year Gryffindor out of the common room, Harry took a sharp left, away from the Great Hall, as she turned right, towards breakfast. Pulling a ragged, worn bit of paper from his pocket, Harry muttered,

"I do solemnly swear I am up to no good." A series of lines snaked from the center as he tapped it with his wand. The short wizard followed his miniature across the passages until he reached a statue of a hunched over witch. He knocked his wand against its hump and called out "Dissendium" to open the secret door. A third spell of "Lumos" lit his wand end and he crept through the dark, dank tunnel until he approached a hinged door just slightly above his head. He tugged hard on the heavy, rusted handle he found until the door jerked open, missing the top of his head by no more than a centimeter or more. "Whoops," he chuckled, wiping his hand of orange rust. "Close one." He hoisted himself up through the portal and slithered on his stomach over the dusty floor of Honeyduke's storeroom.

He coughed and pulled his cloak around him a little tighter, wiping the dust from the velvet so no one would see what looked like a cloud of dust floating inches off the floor. Satisfied with his work, Harry slipped out the open door as a stock boy came in looking for a crate of Acid Pops. He managed to sneak through the store without the slightest mishap, pausing only once, to peruse the new selection of chocolate covered whatnots. He wrinkled his nose at a particularly rotten looking section of Cockroach Clusters and walked on, slipping out the door as a familiar sixth year Ravenclaw made her way in. He chuckled at her disheveled robes and wondered if perhaps she had run through the streets to get there.

A brisk walk turned Harry up at Zonko's Joke Shop, where he threw off his invisibility cloak and slung it over his arm. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, blinking in shock at the surprising hush of the store. He made his way to the back and goggled at the wall of Quick-Quotes Quills before him. He found a row of them with three Truth Settings and sifted through the pigeonholes before finding one made of the deepest, darkest, midnight black. He took it to the counter and placed it face down so that he could dig through his pockets for a handful of Galleons.

"Lucky you, son," the older wizard grinned, showing a few broken teeth. "Half off, this is. Christmas blowout. Goes for seven Galleons."

Vaguely wondering if the man could form more than one complete sentence, Harry fished out a handful of gold coins and counted out seven. The older wizard gaped at the incredible amount of gold in Harry's hand, and Harry flushed.

"Thank you," he muttered, hustling out before the man could see his faint scar. He wasted no time in swooping his cloak over his head and dashing back down the street and into Honeyduke's. He hesitated by a batch of particularly tempting Chocolate Frogs, Ron's favorite, but continued on, hoping beyond hope to be back to school by lunch. Harry was utterly grateful for the next few days off from classes; it gave him time to finish his tasks. He sighed with relief; he was finally done and the next day was Christmas Eve. He felt his way along the wet walls back to Hogwarts, and, thankfully, he had about ten minutes before lunch. Harry made his way to his dormitory.

"HARRY! GET UP, HARRY!"

He was jolted out of bed by a boisterous Ron yelling his name about three centimeters from his ear. He opened one eye groggily and saw a hyper Seamus dancing behind Ron. The sandy haired wizard jumped once and rushed out of the dormitory to slide down the stairs. Ron laughed and Harry slowly sat up.

"Blimey, what is it, Ron?" he yawned, rubbing his eyes and squinting at the clock. Was it really eight o'clock already? He swung his legs over the side of his bed. Why was he seeing eight o'clock in the morning on holiday?

"It's CHRISTMAS, Harry! Happy Christmas, Harry! Now come; I want to see who your Secret Santa is!"

Harry smiled at Ron's childish excitement and dragged himself out of bed to appease his friend. Nodding slowly, he allowed himself to be tugged along to the common room and thrown into a chair. Seamus, still high on life as usual, took on the role of Father Christmas and handed out gifts, allotting them according to the tags.

"Oy, Fred, this one's for you," he muttered, holding it out. "Come get it, because I know I'll end up giving it to George without intention." Fred stood and accepted the gift to tired laughter

Harry looked on silently as the group got their gifts. He got a lapful of gifts as well, but was more focused on his friends. Dean Thomas's head was rolling on his shoulders as his eyes dropped shut, snapping open only when Seamus tossed him another gift. Hermione sat regally under the tree, patiently saving her gifts until the last had been given, shooting disapproving looks at Ron, who was eagerly tearing his apart. Alicia Spinnett, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor chasers, sat in a cluster by the fire, chattering sleepily about one thing or the next. Harry smiled at his many friends and was eternally grateful for every last one of them as he felt a warmth spread through him.

"Oy, thanks, Harry," Ron breathed excitedly, opening his gift. He held up a tiny model Quidditch field to put his Krum figurine in. The packaging was quickly kicked aside and Hermione thanked Harry politely for the new quill and ink set she had received. The room buzzed with excitement for a while until all the gifts had been opened. Suddenly, all eyes were on Harry and his unopened gifts. Harry cradled the mug of cocoa that had been given to him when he had sat down and silently blushed at the pile of presents.

"Well, go on, then," Seamus bounced. "Let's see it!"

Harry reluctantly set his mug down and extended a hand over his pile.

"Mine first, Harry!" was the chorus that greeted him. He allowed his hand to alight on a shoddily wrapped package that turned out to contain a large pile of treacle fudge from Hagrid. Harry passed the tray around and started in on another gift, this one wrapped much too primly. It revealed refills for almost every potion bottle he owned, plus some he didn't, courtesy of Hermione. Ron sheepishly handed Harry a small package that opened to a set of notebooks and a new quill.

"I suppose you don't really need the quill now, but-"

"It's just what I needed, Ron, thanks," Harry cut off Ron's embarrassed ramblings. He shot him a wide smile and opened a book on the Quidditch greats from Seamus and the second installment of the series from Dean. The twins had given him a pack of dungbombs and Harry was left with his last gift. The tag was blank, and inside was a large box of Bernie Botts.

"I think Ginny was a little low on funds, Harry," Ron explained, "but she assures me you will not find one bogie or vomit flavored bean."

Harry nodded with satisfaction and cracked the box open.

"So who was everybody's Secret Santa?" Angelina called suddenly. The answers were spilt in a jumble of words. Ron admitted to his name, Fred and George had somehow managed to get each other, Seamus got Dean, Dean got Neville, and Neville got Seamus. Hermione remained quiet until Harry asked politely,

"Well, spill it!"

She blushed and smiled a bit, brightening her eyes.

"I got Professor Dumbledore," she whispered. Everyone stared, wondering what on earth you could get for the Headmaster. "I got him socks," she murmured. The room nodded sagely.

"So who was yours, Harry?" Seamus asked loudly. Harry looked down in his lap and found no unidentified gifts, save the candy from the Weasley witch. He blinked and shrugged.

"I suppose I won't find out until later."

"You'll go mad, Harry!" Ron warned. Harry nodded and reached out to accept the tray of Hagrid's fudge, which had gone around the circle untouched.

Students filed into the Great Hall for breakfast with excitement, the few unenlightened people eager to know of their Secret Santa. Harry took a seat at the Gryffindor table and silently chewed a doughnut as he waited for Dumbledore's speech.

"Happy Christmas, all! I'm surprised at the number of students that have remained here on holiday, but, no matter; the more, the merrier! I know we're anxious, so let me first thank my Secret Santa for the lovely socks I found under my tree this morning." Dumbledore winked at Hermione. "They proved to be quite comfortable and just exactly what I wanted. Let me now announce that if you have not informed your gift recipient, I ask that you do so now, and enjoy the feast. Happy Christmas!"

And with that, Dumbledore sat down once more. Harry ate nervously, anxiety building up behind his stomach at the delay in his Secret Santa's unveiling. He watched carefully and saw no one approach him but to thank him for gifts. He froze as Snape walked briskly up the aisle and stopped sharply to his left. There was a short pause and then,

"Thank you, Harry. Happy Christmas."

Harry could only nod as Snape started crisply off. He smiled at the Christmas miracle and returned to his food, only to be tapped on his right shoulder. He turned, almost tired of the attention and wishing for a moment it wasn't holiday. Upon rotation, Harry's eyes landed on the pale Slytherin boy that had been acting oddly all week. Harry opened his mouth to inquire as to Draco's health, but was cut off. Draco held out a box, wrapped hurriedly and tied tightly with a silver ribbon. Harry hesitated, and accepted the box, half expecting Draco to turn and run away from any imminent danger from the gift. However, Draco remained, and Harry looked from the box to his grey eyes, which were filled with disquiet. Harry must have looked more confused than he felt, for Draco said,

"Happy Christmas, Harry. I hope you've gotten use of your previous gifts."

Harry nodded slowly, untying the ribbon, which this time did not curl in on itself and disappear. Draco lifted it and fingered it nervously as Harry pulled off the top of the box, setting it on the table. Hermione and Ron watched on with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Harry smiled at the sight of the gift and lifted it into his palm.

"I've heard you talking about a big, black dog named Snuffles," Draco flushed faintly, curling the ribbon on his finger. "You've mentioned that you miss him a great deal. I thought perhaps this could remind you of him."

In Harry's hand was a miniature figurine of a large black lab, and it was currently licking the strawberry jam off Harry's thumb. Harry fought against tears as the tiny dog curled up next to his thumb and settled into sleep.

"So," Harry murmured, placing the figurine into the box once more. "You were my Secret Santa; I take it." Draco's eyes went wide and he blanched before blushing wildly, playing frantically with the shining ribbon in his hands. He nodded and a faint smile played on his lips. "Then I want to thank you for everything," Harry whispered honestly. Draco's smile flared into an embarrassed grin and Harry noticed for the first time the incredible color in Draco's cheeks. His smile turned his eyes a milky blue, and Harry couldn't help but grin.

"It was nothing. I just noticed you needed a few things...I hope they were of help," the blonde boy rambled breathlessly. He blushed and glanced nervously from his jittery feet to the tabletop where the tiny figure sat curled in a corner of the discarded box.

"They were. Very much so, in fact," Harry assured. Instinctively, he laid a hand on Draco's forearm. "Quit fidgeting," he ordered gently. The younger wizard's restless legs stopped and Draco kept his head down.

"Well, I just wanted to say Happy Christmas, then," he murmured. "And...maybe, I'm sorry...for the past few years. I can't tell you how guilty I've felt." His hand raised to scratch at the back of his head with embarrassed fault. There was a quiet pause in which Harry and Draco let the white noise of Christmas morning filter through their hearing. "That said," he whispered hoarsely. He nodded and turned, blinking hard and feeling entirely unexcused.

Harry watched the taller boy walk for a moment, and as Draco lifted a hand to swipe at his eyes, a sudden revelation came over the green eyed wizard. He realized why the setting sun framing the pale boy's face after the recent Quidditch game had made such an impression, and why, when Draco's hand had paused on his as they pet Fang, his fingers had no longer felt frozen.

Hermione lifted a hand to tug Ron back into his seat as he jumped up to run angrily after Harry as he, in turn, felt a desperate need to chase after Draco. Ron slumped onto the bench with a huff and poked very violently at his toast.

Draco had just slid into his rightful seat at the Slytherin table and sniffed loudly. He sighed deeply and picked up his fork before seeing Harry standing to his right. An open palm was presented and Draco accepted slowly, a little startled. To his surprise, Harry hoisted him up off the bench and tugged him a few meters away from the table.

"I didn't thank you properly for all my gifts," Harry flushed. "You went to all the trouble and I brushed you off."

"You hardly brushed me off, Harry," Draco sighed, giving up on calling him by 'Potter.' "You've already given me more recognition than deserved."

Harry wouldn't hear it. He mustered his courage and encompassed the thin Slytherin boy in his arms, sweeping him into a warm hug. Draco responded by tentatively snaking his arms around the dark haired wizard's neck, pulling him a little closer and silently reveling in the steady beat of Harry's heart. Harry took a chance and craned his neck to place a kiss on Draco's cheek. He missed, however; Draco intentionally turned his head to meet Harry's lips with his own. Harry pulled back, frazzled but confusingly satisfied. He goggled at Draco for a moment as the boy flushed again. He pointed sheepishly upward to a floating piece of mistletoe that had been planted to Apparate and Disapparate by Professor Dumbledore as a final touch to the feast. Harry grinned and lifted his head again, kissing Draco a little more pointedly this time.

"Happy Christmas, Draco."

"And many more to come; I hope," the blond replied. "Together, I mean." His statement became a question, fueled as it was on little breath. His eyes looked desperately lonely and hopeful, and Harry's heart broke at the sad disappointment therein. A hand came up to cup Draco's cheek, and Harry murmured an assurance that there would, indeed, be many more to come, before once more pressing his lips to Draco's.

"Many, many more."