Harry Potter 1. First Snow

**Title: **Christmas is a Santa-Mental Time

**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter characters and anything recognizable are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco

**Rating:** Teen (Strictly for the last drabble that will be posted)

**Warnings:** Slash pairing; Sexual Innuendo

**Summary:** A collection of drabbles focusing on Harry and Draco celebrating their son, Jamie's, 'first' Christmas. Based on prompts given to me from my betas, readers and friends.

**Prompt(s):** Winter, baby's first experience with snow

* * *

**First Snow**

Harry looked up into the night sky, a content smile gracing his face as he watched fat, fluffy flakes drift lazily to the ground, his heart thrumming with joy. It had been a cold wet, winter thus far, and he had all but given up on the hope that the temperature would chill enough for anything but a wet, green Christmas. Granted, that was the norm for where they lived, but remembering the deep, white drifts surrounding Hogwarts when he was younger, he couldn't help holding onto the childish desire that the weather would cooperate for Jamie's first real Christmas. He remembered all too well the endless fun and couldn't wait to introduce Draco's and his son to it.

Tipping his head to the right when he heard a happy little gurgle, followed by a deeper chuckle, Harry grinned unabashedly at his family and watched as his black-haired son fruitlessly tried to catch snowflakes in his chubby hand, his silver-blue eyes wide with wonder. And then he laughed outright when Jamie opened his palm expectantly, pouting when he discovered his hand was empty of its prize. But it didn't stop him from attempting the same thing again and again.

Their boy had definitely inherited Harry's stubbornness.

Looking past Jamie's thick mass of wild curls, he was met with the warm grey eyes, laughing internally at their son's antics and felt love and happiness collide into a messy ball in his chest, and then fuse and melt into that feeling he called 'home.' And there was no place he'd rather be. After years of struggling to find his way, of fighting mad men, and struggling between life and death, he finally found where he belonged in the arms of a man he once called nemesis and now called husband.

Closing the few feet separating him from Draco, Harry wrapped his arm around the taller man's waist and tipped his head to a slight angle, accepting the sweet, tender kiss that Draco dropped on his upturned mouth. Closing his eyes, he revelled in the taste of chocolate and peppermint and snow and Draco, and knew that he wouldn't have wanted his life to turn out any other way.

Opening his eyes when another delighted squeal rent the air, he and Draco shared a long look that said everything that needed to be said and then turned in unison to the giggling boy in Draco's arms, laughing as the toddler pumped and flailed his chubby arms, trying to get his wayward fathers' attentions. And Harry's heart nearly burst when he found himself on the wet, sloppy end of a baby kiss and couldn't help thinking to himself –

This was shaping up to be his best Christmas yet.


	2. It's a Holly, Jolly Christmas?

**Prompt(s):** Holly, Christmas decorations, accidental magic, _Holly Jolly Christmas_, "Of course, dear."

* * *

**It's a Holly, Jolly Christmas?**

Harry hummed to himself, slightly annoyed that the Christmas tune he'd heard only briefly on the Wireless, had cemented itself into and taken up permanent residence in his head no matter how hard he tried to knock it out. He truly despised Christmas music. After spending so many of his formative years locked in a closet, tormented by the cheerful tunes that only served as reminder of everything he'd been denied, as well as that of the neglect and careless words tossed his way by his aunt and uncle, it had most definitely had _not_ been the most wonderful time of the year. And may his _loving_ family roast in the hell they so richly deserved for that gift. But the tune had stuck and he had finally given up on all pretence to being unaffected by the chipper notes and gave into humming along.

If you can't beat them...

Glancing around the living room, he stared for a long moment at the huge pile of boxes, wondering just how he and Draco managed to accumulate so many Christmas decorations in the short time they had been living at Godric's Hallow. He didn't recall having this many when they were living in their London flat, prior to moving for the sake of the baby. Draco had been adamant that their children would not be raised in a city highrise, but would know the benefits of running outdoors in the countryside, and Harry had wholeheartedly agreed. But he swore that he had only four, maybe five, boxes of decorations last year, not this monstrous mound that seemed to multiply at will.

He had his suspicions that the growth began and ended with a certain well meaning, but often meddling, mother-in-law. He loved Narcissa to pieces, but she could be a tad overbearing. Much like Molly come to think of it; although, he knew better than to mention that - both women would splutter and deny the comparison and then take their ire out on him. So he wisely kept his council. There was no need to encourage their oh-so-helpfulness anymore than necessary.

Shaking his head, he opened the nearest box and started pulling out ornaments and sprigs of holly and boughs of pine and fir, charmed to remain fresh throughout the years, and began making a small pile on the table. Emptying the box of all its treasures, he shrunk it and set it to the side, and then began the dreaded task of decorating, all the while_ still_ humming that irritating song.

Dreaded because he was home alone, as Draco had been called away on some work emergency, and left Harry with a fussy, sticky-fingered, one-year-old, who was definitely more hindrance than help. If the work summons hadn't sounded so dire, he could very cheerfully kill his husband right now.

And speaking of Jamie...

Harry cast a harassed look around the room, seeking out that distinct thatch of wild hair that he had inadvertently cursed his son with, which was bound to stick out amongst the green, gold, silver and red, and groaned when he spied him. Heedlessly dropping the garland he'd been hanging, Harry rushed across the room in two steps, to where his beautiful handful was happily chomping on a sprig of fir, which was, apparently, quite tasty to his young, underdeveloped palate. Then again, Jamie would happily eat dirt if they allowed him to, so he didn't think that his darling son was much of a judge on what was edible.

"Jamie, no! Don't put that in your mouth," Harry chided with no small amount of exasperation as he tugged the now drool-coated sprig from his precocious child's mouth. Grimacing as a bit of drool dripped from the end, Harry held the bough between his fingers and vanished it, not even bothering to _Scourgify_ it when they were overrun with Christmas decorations as it was. "That's not for little boys' mouths. Here, luv, have a biscuit. Much better for you than that nasty twig."

Harry huffed as Jamie squealed and snagged the proffered sweet from his father's fingers and began to happily gnaw on it. Honestly, he'd thought they'd had gotten beyond this stage.

Sighing, Harry left his son with the biscuit and attempted to keep one eye on the tyke, and the other on his decorating. But he was soon distracted by the dauntless task before him and lost himself in a maze of Christmas _cheer_. He knew the reason they had put off the decorating until today, despite their annual Christmas party being tomorrow, was because Draco was free and it would have gotten done faster with two sets of hands, as well as two sets of eyes to watch a far-too curious toddler.

There was _definitely_ Marauder blood there.

But he hadn't expected Draco to get called in just moments after they had pulled all the decorations from the attic, leaving him with the task and Jamie to boot.

Grumbling when he pulled out a string of fairy lights from the box, he barely bit back an oath (no need for little magpies to hear _those_ words and repeat them; Draco would surely kill him) when it came out in one large lump. Every year he told Draco to wind them up in a neat bundle before he placing them into the box and every year, it never failed that he found them in a haphazard, tangled heap. Grousing at his predicament, he tossed the bundle onto the table with an irritated flick of his hand, and swore that Draco was going to untangle, hang and bloody well learn how to store them properly this year or he was going to get reacquainted with their couch.

Harry simply refused to deal with them again, especially with a very mobile, curious toddler in the house. He had enough trouble chasing down their very obviously Gryffindor son to be worrying about some blasted lights. And with that thought, Harry noticed that it had gotten quiet...much too quiet for his frazzled nerves; and with a very vocal baby on the loose, that spelled nothing but trouble.

Looking up from his second ball of lights, he glanced over to the corner he had deposited his son and cried out in alarm when instead of finding him sitting and eating his biscuit, Jamie was near the stairs, balancing precariously as he tried to climb the bottom step. Heart in his throat, Harry watched as the curious tyke teetered unsteadily, his grasping, curious fingers reaching out for a beguiling piece of holly on the banister.

"Jamie!" Harry cried, his heart very nearly stopping altogether when the sound startled his son, making him tip headlong towards the sharp edge of the step. Harry bounded over to the staircase and thanked the Fates for his Seeker skills as he plucked the falling child from midair.

Harry pulled his son against his chest, his heart still thrumming wildly, and held him close, letting out a shaky breath when Jamie couched onto his father and fussed a bit, but seemed otherwise fine. True, it likely wouldn't have been too bad of an injury, given that Jamie had only been on the first step, but that wasn't something he wanted to test. Pulling the toddler away from his shoulder, Harry watched as Jamie blinked owlishly, obviously surprised at his new position, and then his face screwed up just before his eyes began to film and his bottom lip quivered.

"Look, Jamie," Harry exclaimed cheerfully, an emotion he certainly wasn't feeling at the moment, but he was desperate to distract the pouting baby from the wail he knew was bubbling in his throat. Harry quickly plugged in the fairy lights in and gave an inaudible sigh of relief when Jaime giggled and clapped his hands; and then, demonstrating his Seeker heritage, reached for the lights with a swiftness that almost boggled the mind.

Thankfully, Harry had been the youngest Seeker in a century and had quite a few good reflexes (honed by said toddler) and had a few moves of his own.

Grumbling once again, Harry deftly intercepted the baby's grasping hands and pulled them up to his mouth, playfully smattering kisses all over them and Jamie's up-turned, giggling face. He was thankful that at this age, Jamie was easily distracted. Settling the child down, Harry once again lamented that he didn't have a playpen for the bold tyke, having given into the well-meaning meddling of his favourite witches, who insisted that a child should be free to roam and explore.

And while he had agreed at first, he had to wonder what in Merlin's name he had been thinking. It was all good and well for Narcissa given the fact that _she_ had a houseful of elves to watch a wandering child every hour of the day; and all Molly had to do was glare at her children and they instantly quailed. But Harry refused to have an elf in his house after what happened with Kreacher, (the traitorous little bastard), and his son didn't find his glare all that intimidating.

Obviously his compliance had been the work of a compulsion charm.

It had to be.

"Malfoy babies don't have playpens my..." Harry groused under his breath, viciously biting off the last word as he noticed his bright-eyed son listening to his every word.

Rubbing a hand over his face wearily, Harry once again silently cursed a certain blond that left him in this predicament; anyone would have known that the current Christmas landmine that was his home would be nothing but a treasure trove to little hands. At the very least, Draco could have levitated the boxes onto a table or warded them before he left. But no, he just blithely ran out the door and left Harry with the little menace. He had to wonder if this was payback for leaving Draco with their hyperactive son last week, when Harry had been forced to meet with his publisher after Jamie had managed to find Draco's chocolate stash.

Likely. He wouldn't put it past the blond.

Smirking in remembrance of Draco's harried expression when he came home that day, Harry tucked his now squealing and giggling son under his arm, dangling him as he pretended to fly Jamie over to his corner, laughing softly as the baby flailed his arms and kicked his legs as he swooped through the air. Harry plopped Jamie onto his blanket, cheering loudly as Jamie clapped his hands, "And Malfoy-Potter has the snitch! Gryffindor wins!"

Jamie giggled and clapped his hands again, squealing in delight at his father's playful manner and then again as Harry handed him Duck (Jaime had just learned the word and the name had stuck), his stuffed hippogriff (a gift from Ron that annoyed Draco to no end). Watching his son fondly for a moment, Harry couldn't help the little bubble of joy that burst through his heart and washed over him like a warm blanket as Jamie babbled to his toy. For all his aggravation that day, he couldn't help this overwhelming happiness and love that filled him each time he looked at his son.

Ruffling those black curls, Harry put up a ward around the area and then turned back to the living room with a groan, recommencing his decorating, emptying box after box after box, (really, where the hell had all these blasted decorations come from?). Time flashed by and he was feeling quite accomplished as he had gotten the room half way done without Jamie falling into another catastrophe; which turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to think as just seconds later the room was filled with loud pop, followed by a resounding crash.

"Jamie!"

… … …

Draco walked into his house, humming a tune he didn't really know, but it was likely something he had picked up from the Wireless this morning, or perhaps even something he picked up at the shop he'd just frequented. He didn't quite know, but it was a rather catching, if irritating, tune that he couldn't help by hum and sing along with when he could remember the words.

"Have a holly, jolly Christmas..." Draco crooned softly as he kicked off his shoes, (Harry would kill him if he tracked mud and snow over his clean floors), and hung up his coat and scarf, then closed the door to prevent anymore cold air from getting in. "It's the best time of the year."

And for that matter, what exactly was a 'holly, jolly Christmas'? Jolly he understood. It made sense as it was natural to wish someone a Happy Christmas and hope that they would be full of cheer, but holly? It seemed a bit odd in it's placement even if it was catchy. Although, in ancient times, holly was a symbol of the need to persist and allowing life to triumph, since the tree was one of few that continued to be fruitful even through the depths of winter, not to mention was a symbol of protection, growth and fertility. But he certainly hoped the song wasn't encouraging others to be fruitful themselves, cup of cheer or not.

Muggles held the oddest notions sometimes.

Regardless, the song was annoyingly memorable, given the way it stuck in his head this afternoon as he was finishing his Christmas 'shopping.' Draco felt minutely bad for leaving Harry to do the decorating alone, especially given the fact that Jamie was underfoot, but he needed this time for the final consultation. Harry's gift was going to take at least another two weeks to complete, so he had to go now, otherwise it would never have been done in time.

Magic could only do so much.

So, he made a plan with his personal assistant yesterday, to have her message him thirty minutes prior to his appointment and feign some work-related emergency (the only thing Harry would allow) to get him out of the house. Plus, he couldn't help feeling a bit vindictive after Harry had left him with a toddler on a sugar high last week. It really hadn't been his husband's fault. Draco should have hidden his sweet stash a bit better. But he still couldn't help getting a little of his own when Harry returned three hours later than he said he would be.

Dusting his pants off, Draco turned towards the living room, intending to announce his arrival, when the unnatural stillness of the house hit him. After fourteen months of crying, laughing and babbling, he'd grown unaccustomed to silence. There was no such thing with a baby in the house unless said baby was asleep or out of the house. Draco glanced at the clock in the entry way, and saw that it was creeping up on one in the afternoon, so either was a possibility.

Creeping through the hall silently, on the off chance that Harry had put Jamie down for a nap, Draco was torn between horror, amusement and tenderness at the scene that greeted him. The living room was in complete and utter disrepair, half of it decorated and the other half not. A tangle of fairy lights sat on the coffee table in a ball (something that made him cringe as he could already hear Harry's strident rant on the proper storage of said lights), and a garland of holly, complete with berries hung forlornly down the wall, where it had obviously been abandoned. Several piles of bow, beads, boughs and baubles littered the floor, carelessly strewn by what he was certain was tiny, grasping hands. A box was tipped on end, with it's contents spilled on the floor beside it and tinsel and glitter covered nearly every surface possible, almost as if it had exploded.

And in the center of it all was a sleeping Jamie, on his stomach, with a thumb in his mouth and his bum stuck straight up in the air – a habit he'd gotten from Harry. Sans the thumb, of course. Not that he'd ever fill his husband in on that particular observation. He had far too much self-preservation.

Harry laid next to Jamie, on his back, his hair an even bigger mess than usual, with his cheeks flushed and one arm flung across his eyes. For one moment, Draco thought Harry was sleeping as well, but that was quickly belied by a slit of green peeking from beneath Harry's arm, glowering at him malevolently as Harry bit out between clenched teeth.

"Tomorrow, we are getting a playpen."

"Malfoy babies don't use..." Draco began without thinking, and then snapped his mouth shut and swallowed harshly when Harry bared his teeth at the comment.

"I don't _care_ what Malfoy babies _do_ or _do not_ do," Harry spat, his ire apparent in every word. "_This_," his irritated husband continued, stabbing a finger in their darling son's direction, "is a Malfoy-_Potter_ baby, and I say he _does_. Do I make myself clear?"

Draco studied his harassed husband for a long moment, holding his naturally snippy tongue in check, and noticed the very visible tension rippling through his body, as well as the strain around his eyes, and knew there was no viable way he could win this argument without a very uncomfortable night on the couch. So he wisely nodded his head and uttered the words that many a man has learned over the centuries in order to keep peace within their household.

"Of course, dear."

Harry growled low in his throat at being placated, making Draco send him a nervous little smile. He was definitely going to have to make this up to his husband. Although, he had a feeling that once he saw his present, he would completely melt. Harry merely continued to glower at him, but having won the day, didn't comment; instead he rolled to his knees and carefully picked up a slumbering Jamie. Tucking their still snoozing son into his arms, he murmured a few nonsensical sounds and words to soothe the baby when he whimpered for a moment before tucking his face into Harry's neck. Once he was certain Jamie was settled, Harry strode over to Draco.

"I'm going to put Jamie down and then take a nice, long, hot bath," he announced, the look on his face brooking no arguments. Not that Draco planned to protest. He knew he was skating on thin ice for abandoning his husband to a task he disliked intensely. "You can take care of_ that_ mess and finish the decorating since you're back."

Draco nodded and brushed a light kiss against Harry's cheek, although he doubted Harry even noticed as he blew past him and headed down the hall to the nursery to relinquish his precious bundle, echoing as he left. "A playpen. Tomorrow, Draco. Or you can reacquaint yourself with the couch until you do."

With that warning ringing in his ears, Draco winced and then set about cleaning up the destruction their son had left in his wake, putting everything in its proper place and then began to decorate, vowing to buy Harry the best playpen available first thing in the morning.


	3. War of the Wreaths

**Prompt(s):** Wreath, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, hippogriff, sticking charm

* * *

**War of the Wreaths**

Harry sat at the table, smiling when Draco entered with a damp, babbling Jamie, who immediately squealed with delight when he saw Harry and bounced in Draco's arms, holding out his arms to Harry and wiggled his fingers to be held. Draco scowled at the sight before huffing and depositing Jamie into Harry's waiting arms, allowing _him_ to place Jamie in his highchair, and then strolled over to the counter to collect his breakfast, which Harry had left sitting under a warming charm. Smirking when the blond joined him at the table, Harry chuckled quietly as Draco rolled his eyes at his cooing son, eagerly babbling to his daddy as if he hadn't seen him weeks instead just minutes before, and focused on his eggs with determination.

"Daddy's boy," Draco muttered under his breath as he slathered butter and jam on his toast.

Harry just grinned unrepentantly, because it was unequivocally the truth. Jamie was a Daddy's boy, and while he might adore his Papa, he was all about Harry whenever he was anywhere near. But what did one expect? Given that he worked at home, Harry was Jamie's main caretaker and that was a bond that was hard to compete with; not that it was a competition by any means, really. Sort of.

Okay, it wasn't a competition in his eyes, but Draco tended to be a bit...well, competitive for lack of a better word.

Reaching for a piece of toast, Harry cut it into soldiers and handed one to his chirping son, giving him something to gnaw on in between bites of pureed fruit and rice cereal. Homemade by Molly, of course. Store bought baby food was not good enough for any of her babies and Harry didn't complain as he was much happier knowing exactly what was going into his son's stomach. He'd made the mistake of looking at a jar once and was horrified when he couldn't even pronounce some of the words let alone know what they were.

Making little airplane noises to keep Jamie's interest, he quickly shovelled a spoon of porridge in his mouth, blatantly ignoring Draco as he, once again, rolled his eyes at their antics. Being his main caretaker, he knew all too well what happened if he tried to force his stubborn son to eat. Something the regal blond hadn't quite grasped. Although, perhaps he should allow Draco to feed Jamie the way a 'proper' Malfoy is fed just once and see how far it got him. Draco would be rather fetching with orange and yellow splattered in his silky, blond hair.

Smirking at that thought, Harry waved off the suspicious moue that settled on Draco's face, who always, and uncannily, sensed when he was the butt of some private joke, and continued alternatively feeding Jamie and eating his own breakfast. It was a precise dance that he had perfected over the months since Jamie had been weaned and one Draco couldn't seem to pick up quite as effortlessly, often leaving Harry to the task. But he didn't mind as Draco made up for it with the bathing duties.

It was during this perfectly timed choreography (it took skill to time his bites between feeding a hungry, demanding Malfoy) that the flapping of wings caught his ear. Glancing up, he frowned and grew pensive when Errol, and Narcissa's personal owl, Callisto, flew in the window, each carrying a substantial package.

Molly had sent the last batch of baby food just three days ago, and with the holiday coming, he hadn't expected to see another delivery for at least another week, if not two. And Narcissa hadn't mentioned that she was planning to send anything when he saw her in Diagon Alley yesterday afternoon. Of course, knowing just how spoiled Draco had been as a child, he wouldn't be surprised if this was only the first in a parade of presents.

Draco reached up and relinquished the birds of their individual burdens, feeding them each a couple of treats before sending them on their way. Passing the package from Molly towards Harry, he turned to Narcissa's and carefully began to unwrap it. Shaking his head at his husband's methodical, measured movements, Harry turned to his own package and ripped the paper off without care, eliciting a hiss of dismay from Draco. Harry just rolled his eyes and continued, smiling in delight at the contents.

Within the folds of white tissue paper was nestled one of molly's hand-crafted wreaths that she made for all of the children. When the shrinking charm was cancelled, the wreath was twenty-four inches of bright green Grand Fir peppered with berried Juniper, frosted white, canella berries and holly, the berries vibrant red and the leaves gilded in gold. Gold and red ribbon weaved throughout the branches before ending in a fluffy bow at the bottom center and a card with Molly's hurried, cramped writing that said, "Bright Yule Tidings to the Malfoy-Potter Family."

Smiling softly, a warm glow spread across Harry's heart at the words and he glanced across the table at Draco asking curiously, "So what did your mum send you?"

"The traditional Malfoy Wreath," Draco shrugged, flipping back soft folds of silver fabric to reveal an elegant Grand Fir wreath with frosted silver tips, frosted pine-cones, frosted juniper berries...frosted _everything_... and green ribbon woven throughout. Something that would be typical of a Slytherin household. "It's hung on Malfoy doors for generations. How lovely of Mother to send one for our door. What did Molly...oh."

"The same," Harry grinned sheepishly, displaying the wreath for Draco's perusal. "She makes one for each child as they move away and have families of their own."

"Well, that's...nice of her," Draco replied, forcing a pained smile as he stared at the brightly colored wreath. "It's a shame that we have no place to put it."

"Pardon me?" Harry asked, his tone taking on a suspicious edge as he watched his husband with a pinched brow, and a tiny frown formed at the corner of his mouth as Draco blithely continued his thoughts.

"Well, it's just, we're obviously hanging Mother's wreath," Draco replied as if it were obvious to anyone with a functioning brain, making Harry's frown deepen at the unvoiced implication that Molly's wreath could easily be dismissed as it wan't a _Malfoy_ tradition. "It's what Malfoys have done for centuries."

"Yes, well," Harry contradicted, his voice chilling at the slight sneer on the other man's face. He _liked_ Molly's wreath, which was bright and warm and welcoming opposed to the arctic colors of the so-called _Malfoy Wreath_. "Molly makes these for every family and it's something she picked up from her mother, who picked it up from her mother, and so on and so forth. One could argue it is just as much of a tradition."

"You can't be serious," Draco sneered, visibly aghast at the thought, and it instantly got Harry's back up no matter how Draco tried to mask the derision in his voice.

"And just what exactly is wrong with it?" Harry demanded, compressing his lips into a thin line as Draco stared at him as if he were mental.

"It's so..._Gryffindorish_," Draco said, his disdain leaking through the last word.

"_And_?" Harry asked tersely, his body unconsciously tensing in preparation for a full on row with his husband. Draco had changed greatly from the sneering prat he'd been in school; they both had to in order for any relationship to work between them. But every now and then, his husband's utter disdain for all things Gryffindor raised its ugly head and set Harry's teeth on edge. "Need I remind you that you _married a Gryffindor_?"

"_Like I could ever forget that_," Draco muttered under his breath, obviously not intending to be heard, but Harry picked up on the caustic words nonetheless.

"What was that?" Harry asked in a saccharine sweet voice; one that only subtly hid the dangerous edge underlying the question, and he couldn't help wondering if Draco would be brave enough to repeat his snide statement.

"Nothing, darling," Draco replied, his voice equally honeyed, but Harry wasn't fooled in the slightest. Nor was he one to let an insult to his house and family slide. Even if he did love the snotty, little git.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with Gryffindor colors," Harry heatedly insisted, unconsciously gathering the wreath to his chest in a protective gesture as he sent a steely glare his husband's way.

"Of course not," Draco stated, his tone placating and insincere as he stared at the offending wreath balefully, his next words only irritating Harry further. "It's perfectly acceptable..._if you're blind or have serious head trauma_..."

"I think it will look lovely on our door," Harry staunchly defended, his tone taking on that imperious edge that always annoyed him when Draco did it. He figured two could play this game and that it would annoy Draco that he was using one of his ploys. Which it did judging by the way his husband clenched his teeth.

"You would," Draco sniffed gratingly, his expression stating all too well what he thought of Harry's taste. "It's too bad that we only have _one_ door."

"And just what do you mean about that?" Harry demanded, not liking where the conversation was going.

"Well obviously we can only hang _one_, so we'll just have to put that...," Draco paused to sneer at the wreath, and muttered in an almost inaudible tone, "..._travesty of bad taste_...," before continuing his argument in a normal one, "...somewhere else as it is _tradition_ to hang _this_ wreath on _Malfoy_ doors."

"_We'll just see about that_," Harry promised darkly as he gathered up his wreath and stalked out of the room, silently plotting on how to get his way as he left Draco to deal with the mess Jamie had made of his breakfast while they'd been busy sniping at each other.

It only served the git right.

... ... ...

Draco sighed heavily, walking up the snow-lined path to his front door, thankful to finally be home after a long, trying day at the office. It never failed to amaze him how many truly incompetent imbeciles there were in the world, and that they all seemed to gravitate to his office. Honestly, how anyone could postulate that adding hellbore to a pepper up potion would give it more pep was just beyond moronic. And unfortunately, as the head healer in Magical Injuries and Accidents, he was the one that usually had to put these idiots back together.

Thank Merlin he had the next few days off, otherwise he just might hex the next brainless eejit who decided to experiment with a perfectly acceptable, and already potent, potion, blowing up his hand in the process. "Bloody daft prats."

Rubbing his hand wearily over his face, he continued on his way, just wanting to get into the house where it was likely warm and his husband and son would be waiting for him with a warm smile and a cup of something hot to drink. Smiling at the thought of Harry and Jamie, he plowed on around the corner and then froze, pausing at the foot of the porch steps as he stared at the front door in blatant disbelief.

Oh, no, he didn't.

Compressing his lips into a thin line, a fire flickered to life in his breast as he stared at the obnoxiously bright, cheerful... _Gryffindorish_ wreath that spitefully hung on his door, glinting at him with an almost mocking light in the fading sun. Huffing his irritation, he stood there, staring at the offending object for several long moments as the conversation he and Harry'd had this morning regarding both wreaths flit through his mind.

_Draco came down the stairs, his mind a million miles away as he mentally went over his schedule for the day, and pressed an absentminded kiss on Harry's cheek as he handed him a muffin and his tea, packed and ready to go, even as Harry attempted to feed their squirming son. He envied the multitasking skills that Harry had honed and refined after the birth of their son; a vast difference to his single-mindedness as a child._

_"Don't forget to hang Mother's wreath today," he murmured, stooping to kiss Jamie on the top of the head, and then straightened to see a smiling Harry standing before him, a strange glint in his eye. Draco stared for a moment, but then shrugged if off as unimportant when Harry kissed him sweetly on the mouth, completely distracting him from his thoughts and the whisper of unease in the back of his head._

_"Not to worry, darling," Harry replied sweetly, brushing his lips across Draco's one more time, making him wish he really didn't have to rush off to work to face the moronic masses. "I'll take care of it. Now go before you're late."_

In hindsight, given their argument when they'd received the wreaths from their respective mothers, or mother figure in Harry's case, not to mention the squabbling in the days that followed, Draco should have really expected _this_. Harry had been far too sweet and compliant in his agreement to hang the Malfoy Wreath, and as he'd learned from the age of eleven on, Harry Potter was far from docile.

And Harry _Malfoy_-Potter was ten times worse; he'd just learned to play the game better.

And sneakier. Prat.

Glowering at his front door, Draco stalked into what he presumed would be an empty house, (and rightly so; that was another charming little habit that Harry had picked up from Draco - strategic retreat), and studied the contents with a calculating glare. Now if he were Harry, where would have put it? Tapping the tip of finger against his lips, he turned in a full circle, his mind going to and disregarding potential hiding places before his eyes lit on the suspiciously closed guest bathroom door.

They never closed that door.

Narrowing his gaze, Draco stalked over to the door and threw it open, his lips thinning and turning white as he saw his mother's beloved wreath hanging across from the toilet, sagging forlornly against the wall. Of all the insulting...growling under his breath, Draco grabbed the wreath off the wall and tucked it against his chest as he stormed out of the bathroom. He could only imagine his mother's apoplectic reaction at seeing the Malfoy Wreath desecrated so and it wasn't a sight he wanted to experience any time soon.

"Sneaky, would-be-Slytherin-git that disguises himself as an innocuous Gryffindor," he muttered under his breath as he went to deal with the travesty that graced his front door.

This meant war.

... ... ...

And it was over the next three days; full out war that is, with each of them upping the ante as they went, and finding more and more insulting places to hide their respective wreaths including, but not limited to - the garage, the potions room (Harry claimed the room was as useless as the wreath that graced it), the tool shed, the back garden, and almost the trash one night before Harry'd walked in on Draco and gave him a look that promised a world of pain if he dared.

Frankly, it had gotten to the point that they'd completely forgotten what the original grievance had been and now were just arguing for the sake of arguing. Which was typical of them; but it quickly came to a head as finally one of them decided that acting with less maturity than their one-year-old son was just a bit ridiculous.

... ... ...

Harry groaned as he came up the walk, his arms aching as he'd spent the last hour carting around a whining Jamie, who was tired and had wanted to be anywhere but finishing up some last minute Christmas shopping. Rubbing at his face wearily as he stared at the Malfoy Wreath sitting on his door, placed there by his husband as he fled the battlefield to work no doubt, and ground his teeth, grousing under his breath. "Jamie, Daddy is going to hurt your Papa."

"Papa?" Jamie asked, his bright silver-blue eyes staring up at Harry curiously, patting him lightly on the cheek in what seemed like apparent sympathy.

He was thankful that their son was far too young to understand what had been going on the past few days as he and Draco had been less than stellar examples of maturity as their argument blossomed to epic proportions. Granted, he probably shouldn't have hung Narcissa's perfectly lovely wreath in the guest bathroom as his opening salvo, but he had been more than a bit irritated that rather than discussing it with him, Draco had simply demanded (in his typical arrogant, I-own-the-world, Malfoy way) that they hang the Malfoy Wreath on the door, completely disregarding his own feelings.

It wasn't the best move, and he'd never have left it there for Narcissa to discover as he genuinely adored Draco's mother despite her meddling ways, but he knew it would irk Draco to no end and that had been the point. He'd honestly never expected that it would get so blown out of proportion; although he really should have. He'd known Draco Malfoy from the the time he'd been eleven and knew that his husband had never backed down from an outright challenge on Harry's part.

It was what made their life so interesting.

"Yes, Papa," Harry sighed, his eyes flicking over the wreath tiredly, wondering how he could end this argument once and for all; their bed had been awfully cold and lonely despite Draco lying right next to him given that they barely spoke when they went to bed. Frowning, a glimmer of an idea teased his mind, which then germinated to a full-fledged solution and he smiled, giving a single decisive nod as he spoke to Jamie. "Right, that does it then. You and I are going to end this nonsense here and now. The Black sticking charm of all things...as if I hadn't asked Andromeda how to counteract that thing years ago..."

"Da!" Jamie exclaimed in agreement, clapping his hands as Harry entered the house with one last baleful glance at the wreath gracing the door, muttering under his breath as he did.

"Let's see him deal with this one..."

… … …

Draco trudged up the walk, already dreading what he knew was coming; it had been the same thing every time he came home from work - Molly's wreath hanging defiantly on the door, placed there by his incensed husband. Truthfully, he was getting a bit tired of it all and could fully admit that he had been in the wrong to shunt aside Harry's feelings in the matter. And his husband had made him pay in more ways than he could count.

He'd even briefly considered calling a halt to the whole thing, but that meant admitting he was wrong and giving in, and reformed or not, he was still a Malfoy. Learning to bend had not been one of his stronger suits and was a constant source of contention between Harry and himself.

Sighing, he made his way to the door, wondering what ingenious place his husband would hide the wreath this time. He still couldn't believe that he'd hung it in the tool shed last time, next to a particularly ghastly elf head that they'd stuffed in there for removal and had since forgotten about. And wasn't that immediately rectified once Draco had rescued his poor wreath? And then he froze; much like he had the first day, staring at their door with curiosity and more than a touch of bewilderment.

Hanging on the door was a wreath, but it was entirely different from the ones they'd been fighting over all week. This one was obviously homemade, lopsided, with one corner thicker than the other. Pine-cones and holly berries were woven through the fir branches and there was a bright green and gold bow at the bottom. But the strangest thing of all was a tiny stuffed hippogriff, one ear chewed off, listing sideways as if it were trying to bale off the side.

It was bizarre to say the least, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. Which is why he was still standing there, staring at it several minutes later when Harry opened the door, Jamie perched on one hip, and a smug smile spreading across his lips as he took in Draco's utterly confused expression.

"Like it?" Harry asked with a smirk.

"It's...unique, I'll give you that," Draco replied, still studying the wreath, and then he silently arched a brow at his husband.

"Jamie and I made it," Harry said, answering his implied question as he leaned against the door frame, and turned his head to the wreath in question. "Combining elements from both wreaths, we decided to end this nonsense with something uniquely Malfoy-Potter."

"I see," Draco nodded solemnly, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. "And the hippogriff?"

"Ah, well...that was Jamie's idea," Harry explained knowingly, his own lips twitching in amusement. "He wanted Duck to be part of the wreath. I tried to dissuade him, saying Papa wasn't fond of hippogriffs, but he was quite insistent."

"Yes" Draco deadpanned, shooting his husband an exasperated glance before turning back to the door. "I'm sure you tried ever so hard."

Harry shrugged and grinned unrepentantly as he switched Jamie to the other hip.

"That's not really Duck is it?" Draco asked with a hit of trepidation.

"No, I made a copy of him out of a pine-cone," Harry reassured.

Draco just nodded, beyond relieved that they wouldn't have a fussy baby crying for his favorite night time toy at bedtime and then shook his head at Harry's solution. He could demand that Harry give in, and they could continue this argument through Christmas and beyond, but it really had gotten tiresome and this provided to be a great way to give in, if not totally gracefully then, grudgingly at the very least. And while the wreath was unusual at best, and tacky at worst, in the end, Draco absolutely loved it as it was made by his husband and beautiful baby boy.

"It's perfect," he whispered.

Wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders, he pressed a kiss to his temple as they walked into the house, feeling perfectly content for the first time in days. And smiling as Jamie continued to babble at him, Draco grabbed the Malfoy Wreath, absently swinging it in his hand, and thought he might just hang it back up in the guest bathroom just to see his father's face at their annual Christmas Eve dinner.

So long as he clued his mother into the prank beforehand. He was feeling rash, not suicidal.


	4. O' Christmas Tree

**Prompt(s):** Christmas tree, A Charlie Brown Christmas

* * *

**O' Christmas Tree**

Harry sighed, tightening his grip on a squirming Jamie as they trudged down yet another aisle of potted Christmas trees, in search for whatever it was that Draco deemed the perfect tree. Frankly, Harry had been done with the venture about ten trees ago, but each and every time, Draco managed to find some minute flaw that he couldn't see, which he then claimed ruined the entire thing. He was beginning to regret making this a family venture and not just letting Draco and Narcissa go off together. At least then he'd be warm, his feet wouldn't ache, and he wouldn't have a cranky one-year-old grabbing at everything within reach.

In fact, he was ready to give up on the venture and tell Draco he was going home when Jamie squealed in delight, garnering both his and Draco's attention.

"Tree," Jamie squealed, clapping his hands happily as his eyes lit onto the saddest looking tree Harry had ever had the privilege of seeing. In fact it reminded him very much of...

"Come on, Jamie," Draco said, interrupting Harry's thoughts as he stared at the twig-like tree with disdain. "That one is looking a bit...sparse. Let's look at the one over there..."

And really he could see Draco's point; it looked more like a branch stuck into a pot of soil, but Jamie just shook his head vehemently and pointed to the waif-like fir standing forlornly off to the side by itself and demanded. "Tree!"

"But baby," Draco cajoled, clearly recognizing the mulish expression on their son's face. Harry fought back a smile as Draco stood helpless under that gaze and asked pleadingly. "Wouldn't you prefer the nice, pretty full tree over there?"

"No!" Jamie refuted, his little face scrunched into a stubborn frown, making Harry snort under his breath; which in turn caused his husband to glare at him balefully as if it were his fault that Jamie made his demand anew. "Tree!"

"You heard him, Papa," Harry chuckled, unable to help himself even in the wake of Draco's scathing glare."Looks like we've found our tree."

"But, Harry, it's so..." Draco paused then, aghast and searching for the right words; and Harry could almost hear the litany of insults just threatening to slide off his tongue, but Draco just barely held back due to tiny ears that picked up on far more than they should. Frowning, his husband huffed instead. "I don't even have the appropriate words to describe what it is."

But Jamie was undeterred and unmoved by his Papa's plight and continued to coo at and pet the tree in question, and Harry knew this was a lost cause. "Tree!"

Huffing once more, Draco stared at the offensive twig, as if he were weighing the of worth listening to their son scream all the way home if they didn't give in, against finding that perfect tree, and then his shoulders slumped. Sighing heavily, he turned to Harry and sent him an imploring look, begging him to reason with their precious toddler. Harry just shrugged. He wasn't a miracle worker despite what the Prophet professed; and he'd learned long ago that some battles just weren't worth fighting.

"Fine," Draco conceded petulantly, looking well put out over the matter; especially as he turned to Harry and hissed. "But I blame you for this, Potter."

"Malfoy-Potter," Harry replied mildly, knowing again when to pick his battles. He knew Draco was spoiling for a fight and he wasn't going to give it to him.

"You and your stupid American Muggle movies," Draco ranted as he swiped up the tree with a quick flick of his wand, holding it as far away from his body as possible without knocking it into anyone else, and then sneered. "You just had to show him that infernal cartoon."

"Every child should watch A Charlie Brown Christmas," Harry defended quietly, barely quelling the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, it was just a stupid tree and it wasn't like they couldn't afford to get a second one later. Bloody drama queen.

"That is besides the point," Draco heatedly insisted, his gaze narrowing as if he'd read the silent insult in Harry's mind. And he likely did. "The point is, now we have to deal with this...this...travesty..."

"It's hardly a travesty, Draco," Harry replied tiredly, shaking his head at his husbands antics. He just wanted to get out of here, go back home, have some hot chocolate and then put Jamie down for a nap, so he could get a headache potion.

"It is so," Draco stated imperiously, standing the tree by the register with a moue of utter contempt, and then crossed his arms over his chest. Harry just ignored him and pulled a few galleons out of his pouch, and set them on the counter in front of the harassed cashier without a word. "Just how are we going to explain this to our friends..." At that Draco paused, his eyes widening in dismay as another thought crossed his mind. "Never mind that, how am I going to explain this to mother?"

"Oh, quit griping. Honestly," Harry huffed, getting tired of it all. Turning Jamie around, he handed him off to Draco's waiting arms and then picked up Jamie's tree and walked away, internally shaking his head. "We'll put this one in Jamie's room and I'll go out and get a '_proper_' tree for the living room after we've put him down for a nap."

"You'd better, Potter; or so help me Merlin..." Draco muttered under his breath. Harry merely looked to the heavens as if praying for strength and continued on his way without a word. Jamie, of course, was oblivious to it all. He clapped his hands again and squealed.

"Tree!"


	5. Counting Marshmallows

**Prompt(s):** hot chocolate; visit the in-laws, Egypt, teddy bear

* * *

**Counting Marshmallows**

Harry shuddered, a biting wind swirling around him and sliding down his spine through the small gap in his jacket, and wished that he'd just waited to go get another tree. But the pout on Draco's lips every time he looked the tree Jamie had chosen, while adorable, had sent Harry out into the light snowfall, weighted down with a long list of specifics, to find another tree before the thin rein on Draco's temper snapped completely.

After all, everyone knew that a cranky Draco meant everyone around him would share in his misery until whatever had set him off was rectified.

Leaning the newly bought tree (one he had finally asked [grovelled, begged, pleaded] Narcissa to select after discarding the first one hundred or so choices) against the side of the house, Harry stomped his feet to get rid of any excess snow (and bring back feeling to them) and opened the door, breathing a sigh of relief as a wave of warm air enveloped him. Thank Merlin that was over. He never wanted to see another Christmas park as long as he lived - or at very least, not for another year.

Perhaps he could feign illness next time around? Likely not.

He was beginning to think that Pansy had the right idea when she fled all things cold and Christmasy when she decided to holiday in Egypt with Ginny and Luna.

And wasn't that pairing? trio? a surprise to them all?

Closing the door firmly behind him, Harry sighed wearily and leant back against it for a moment, allowing the heat to slowly seep into his frozen bones before he shoved off and shrugged out of his scarf, jacket and gloves, hanging them on the coat rack to dry. Then, turning on his heel, he walked down the hall towards the living room, smiling as bright, baby laughter spilled out the open door. That was a welcome sound; and one that he and Draco feared they wouldn't be hearing this time of year due to a curse that Luna had taken while visiting Diagon Alley.

The curse itself had been harmless, and something thrown by some rambunctious boys horsing around, but it had the unfortunate consequence of slamming into Luna's stomach when she couldn't move out of the way fast enough and brought on premature labor. If anything had happened to her or Jamie as a result...well, he wasn't sure what he might have done.

Shaking off his morbid thoughts, he turned the corner into the room and the halted, frowning at the sight before his eyes. When he had left (hours before; really, Malfoys and their bloody perfect trees), Jamie had been slightly cranky at first, but soundly sleeping once Harry had placed him in his cot. Now, his son was running full pelt through the room, in circles, with an unfamiliar teddy bear tucked under his his arm, and was babbling non-stop.

If he didn't know any better, he would swear that the boy had found Draco's stash...

Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, Harry honed in on an '_innocent_' Draco, sitting on the settee with a benign smile and a mug in his hand. That in and of itself was enough to raise an alarm in the back of Harry's head, as Draco and innocent were not words he would associate with each other. Draco didn't do innocent by any means. Combine that with his son's rambunctious, hyper behavior, and Harry was definitely not buying whatever his husband was selling.

Upon further inspection, Harry noted something that made his frown deepen (he hadn't finished Auror training without picking up a few skills, after all) - a light brown smudge at the corner of Jamie's mouth.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy-Potter!" Harry bellowed, causing his husband turn around and blink guilelessly. Like Harry was going to fall for that. "You did _not_ give our already hyperactive child hot chocolate just before his bedtime!"

Draco, on his part, didn't even flinch; he just continued to flash that bland smile that all but screamed his guilt to the world. Harry groaned under his breath, fixing an exasperated gaze onto Jamie, who was still running in mindless circles, and was dreading the coming fight of getting him ready and putting him to bed when an evil idea germinated. Turning back to his husband, Harry flashed him a shark-like grin, an atypical expression that caused a flash of alarm to cross Draco's placid features, and then he tapped a finger to his lips, and gave a decisive nod.

"You know what?" Harry smirked evilly, and then nonchalantly turned on his heel. "You made this mess; you get to clean it up."

With that, Harry walked away, blatantly ignoring his husband's panicked calls up the hall as he walked into their room and closed the door. It was Draco's problem now.

... ... ...

Harry snuffled, jolting violently awake as something sunk onto the bed next to him. Shoving his hair out of his face, he squinted in the low light, his eyes darting around until they landed on the weary figure sitting on the edge of the bed with a face planted wearily in his hands. Breathing easier as he recognized head full of platinum locks, Harry grabbed his wand and cast a silent _Tempus_ charm, smirking when it intoned that it was well after one in the morning.

"So?" Harry prodded, attempting to hide his smile as Draco turned and fixed him with a weak glare.

"He's finally asleep," Draco muttered, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as slid between the blankets with a weary groan.

"And?" Harry prompted, wanting to make sure his point had been made.

"I'm _never_ doing that again," Draco replied vehemently as he flopped against the pillows.

"Good," Harry nodded before snuggling back down into their blankets; but he couldn't help needling further when Draco snuggled up to his back. "Now you better get some sleep. We have to be up early for breakfast at your mum's tomorrow; and _you_ get the joy of waking our son in the morning."

Draco whimpered quietly at the comment, bringing the smirk back full force, but his husband remained otherwise silent as he slid into an exhausted sleep. Harry just chuckled at that, the smirk broadening another degree, and then he too drifted off, perversely counting marshmallows until he fell asleep.


End file.
