263Chapter 8: Hogsmeade
Chapter 8
Hogsmeade
On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid good-bye to Ron and Hermione, who were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, then turned up the marble staircase alone, and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower. Snow had started to fall outside the windows, and the castle was very still and quiet.
"Psst—Harry!"
He turned, halfway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George peering out at him from behind a statue of a humpbacked one-eyed witch.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked curiously. "How come you're not going to Hogsmeade?"
"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," Fred said with a mysterious wink. "Come in here. …"
He nodded toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue. Harry followed Fred and George inside, noting to himself how used he was becoming to meeting people in empty classrooms. George closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming to look at Harry.
"Early Christmas present for you, Harry," he said.
"Yup, to our new favorite gay boy in the House," Fred said as he pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry, suspecting one of Fred and George's jokes, stared at it.
"What's that supposed to be?"
"This, Harry, is the secret to our success," George said, patting the parchment fondly.
"It's a wrench, giving it to you," Fred said, "but we decided last night, your need's greater than ours."
"And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?" Harry said.
"A bit of old parchment!" Fred said, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. "Explain, George."
"Well… when we were in our first year, Harry—young, carefree, and innocent—"
Harry snorted. He doubted whether Fred and George had ever been innocent.
"—well, more innocent than we are now—we got into a spot of bother with Filch."
"We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason—"
"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual—"
"—detention—"
"—disembowelment—"
"—and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."
"Don't tell me—" Harry said, starting to grin.
"Well, what would you've done?" Fred said. "George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed—this."
"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," George said. "We don't rekon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."
"And you know how it works?"
"Oh yes," Fred said, smirking. "This little beauty's taught us more than all the teachers in this school."
George smirked and took out his wand. He touched the parchment lightly, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point that George's wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment' then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP
It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Harry's eyes traveled up and down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else.
This map showed a set of passages he had never entered. And many of them seemed to lead—
"Right into Hogsmeade," Fred said, tracing one of them with his finger. "There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four"—he pointed them out—"but we're sure we're the only ones who know about these. Don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it's caved in—completely blocked. And we don't reckon anyone's ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow's planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We've used it loads of times. And as you might've noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that statue."
"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," George sighed. "We owe them so much. If only we can shake their hands."
"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of law-breakers," Fred said solemnly.
"Right," George said briskly. "Don't forget to wipe it after you've used it—"
"—or anyone can read it," Fred said warningly.
"Just put your wand on the map, and say 'Mischief Managed!' And it'll go black."
"So, young, twink Harry," Fred said, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, "mind you behave yourself."
"See you in Honeydukes," George said, winking.
They left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way. Fred looked at George and said, "We're raising him right George."
"I agree Fred," George smirked. "Nice idea deciding to give it to him."
"Thank you brother, but you deserve credit for convincing me," Fred said. They both laughed and started talking about what they wanted to buy at Hogsmeade. When they turned a corner, they saw a boy standing there, as if waiting for them. "George," he said, looking angry.
"What do you want?" Fred asked, glaring at the boy in Slytherin robes.
"None of your business Weasley, I want to talk to my boyfriend," the Slytherin said.
"I am not your boyfriend," George said. "We broke up two days ago."
"No, we did not," the Slytherin brute said, taking a step towards the Weasley twins. Fred glared at the boy as he seemed to step into the firelight, revealing his features. He was tall and relatively muscular, his shifty grey eyes glaring at the older Weasley twin as he automatically took a step in front of his brother. His normally large teeth was fixed, thanks to a charm George cast on their fifth date. "He is my boyfriend, for as long as I say he is," he said.
"Sod off Flint!" Fred said. "If George says you're through, then you're through."
Marcus Flint looked between Fred and George and scowled. "You'll see George. You belong to me."
"We said sod off!" George yelled. Flint just smirked before turning around and leaving. Fred turned around to Fred and said, "I can't believe that guy! Why don't you just tell McGonagall or Dumbledore?"
"Because he technically hasn't done anything yet," George said. He shook his head and looked up at Fred. "I cannot believe that bastard. I've told him again and again that we're done but the troll keeps coming back."
"Why did you date him in the first place?" Fred asked. They doubled back and walked down the corridor they just went through. George looked at his twin brother and said, "Because he was the only gay guy I knew at the time?"
"That's a good point…" Fred said. He looked at George and said, "There's Harry now."
"Too weird, it'll be incesty," George said. "Besides, he's Ron's mate."
"Yeah," Fred nodded. "And the way he looks at Malfoy, seems like he's taken."
"Already?" George gasped. "Wow…"
"Yeah… know what? You figure out a way to keep Flint from ruining our fun, and I'll find a guy for you!" Fred smirked.
"You'll do that?" George asked, having a similar smirk.
"Of course, it'll be fun! Now come on, I want to load up in Honeydukes before heading towards Zonko's!"
The twins hastened their steps as they went towards the grand staircase, joining the crowd at the entrance hall as they made their way towards Hogsmeade.
After a long hour of walking, Harry came to the foot of some worn stone steps, which rose out of sight above him. Careful not to make any noise, Harry began to climb. A hundred steps, two hundred steps, he lost count as he climbed, watching his feet. …Then, without warning, his head hit something hard.
It seemed to be a trapdoor. Harry stood there, massaging the top of his head, listening. He couldn't hear any sounds above him. Very slowly, he pushed the trapdoor open and peered over the edge. He was in a cellar, which was full of wooden crates and boxes. Harry climbed out of the trapdoor and replaced it—it blended so perfectly with the dusty floor that it was impossible to tell it was there. Harry crept towards the wooden staircase and started to climb them. He could definitely heard voices now, not to mention the tinkle of a bell and opening and shutting of a door.
He opened the door at the top of the wooden staircase, and found himself behind the counter of Honeydukes—he ducked crept sideways, and then straightened up.
Honeydukes was so crowded with Hogwarts students that no one looked twice at Harry. He edged among them, looking around, smiling when an idea came to him as he knew exactly what to buy Draco.
There were shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat, honey-colored toffees; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Every Flavor Beans, and another of Fizzing Whizbees, the levitating sherbet balls that Ron had mentioned; along yet another wall were "Special Effects" sweets: Droobles Best Blowing Gum, the strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringments, tiny black Pepper Imps, Ice Mice, peppermint creams shaped like toads, fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons.
Harry squeezed himself through a crowd of sixth years and saw a sign hanging in the farthest corner of the shop. Ron and Hermione were standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops. Harry sneaked up to them.
"Ugh, no, Harry won't want one of thoses, they're for vampires, I expect," Hermione was saying.
"How about these?" Ron said, shoving a jar of Cockroach Clusters under Hermione's nose.
"Definitely, not," Harry said.
Ron nearly dropped the jar.
"Harry!" Hermione squealed."What are you doing here? How—how did you—?"
"Wow!" Ron said, looking very impressed, "you've learned to Apparate!"
"'Course I haven't," Harry said. "I'm only thirteen!" He dropped his voice so that none of the sixth years could hear him and told them all about the Marauder's Map.
"How come Fred and George never gave it to me!" Ron said outraged. "I'm their brother!"
"But Harry isn't going to keep it!" Hermione said, as though the idea was ludicrous. "he's going to give it to Professor McGonagall, aren't you Harry?"
"As if," Harry snorted.
"Are you mad?" Ron said, goggling at Hermione. "Hand in something that good?"
"If I hand it in, I'll have to say where I got it! Filch would know Fred and George nicked it!"
But—but—" Hermione said, trying to think of an argument. Harry shook his head, "We can argue about this later, but for now I need your help."
"What?" Ron asked.
"I need your help picking some sweets," Harry said. "I'm thinking of sending some to dad."
"Oh… alright," Hermione said. Harry gave her a quick smile. Technically, he wasn't lying. He does intend to give some of the sweets to his dad for Christmas, but mostly he wanted a chance to stop the argument.
The trio went around the tightly packed shop, and Ron and Hermione pointed out some of their favorite sweets. "These floss your teeth as you eat them," Hermione said as she pulled out a Toothflossing Stringmint, "I'm getting some for my parents. I'm sure your dad'll like it."
Harry just nodded and held on to it. "Dad loves Cauldron Cakes," he said as he reached over to grab five small wrapped cakes. He tried to remember what Draco had brought him, wishing that he had asked the Ice Prince what his favorite candies were. He decided to go safe, picking chocolate bar after chocolate bar. He stopped at a small tray and pointed it at it, "Crystallized pineapple," he said. "Dad hates those, he said a professor of his always ate them during class."
"Really?" Hermione asked, "Who was it?"
Harry tried to remember but shook his head, "I don't remember, sorry. Pretty sure he was a Potions professor. Dad says mum loved him."
"A good potions professor?" Ron said, unbelieving. "The world's gone mad then."
Harry and Hermione laughed as they went to the counter. Harry paid for the candy, and held onto the bag. As they left the store, Harry noticed a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop door.
—By Order Of—
THE MINISTER OF MAGIC
Customers are reminded that until further notice, dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the finishing of this trial. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall.
Merry Christmas!
"Ron," Hermione said once they were out of the shop. "Look, Harry still shouldn't be coming into Hogsmeade He hasn't got a signed form! If anyone finds out, he'll be in so much trouble!"
"People'll have a job spotting Harry in this," Ron said, nodding through the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow. "Come on Hermione, it's Christmas. Harry deserves a break."
Hermione bit her lip, looking extremely worried. "Fine," she said after a while. "But I still think Harry should show the map to Professor McGonagall."
The three of them left Honeydukes for the blizzard outside. Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.
Harry shivered; unlike the other two, he didn't have his cloak. They headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione shouting through their scarves.
"That's the post office—"
"Zonko's is up there—"
"We could go up to the Shrieking Shack—"
"Tell you what," Ron said, his teeth clattering, "shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?"
Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing, so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn. It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.
"That's Madam Rosmerta," Ron said. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, going slightly red.
Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.
"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.
Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him inside. "Look out," Ron said, looking off somewhere. "Malfoy's here, the git."
Harry and Hermione turned to see that Ron was right. Draco Malfoy was sitting in a booth at the opposite side of the tavern, along with his usual lackeys of Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting on the outside of the booth. Harry saw that Blaise was there, sitting across from Draco. "What are they doing here?" Ron growled.
"Don't worry about them," Harry said turning in his seat, hoping that the Slytherins didn't see them.
"You better keep your head down, Harry," Hermione said. "No saying what Malfoy would do if he knows you're here."
"Would probably go running to Snape, the—"
"Ron!"
"Well, he would!" Ron said. Hermione gave him a sharp look, but shook her head. "Just lay low until he's gone, Harry," she said instead.
Harry nodded, concluding that his first visit to Hogsmeade is not the best place to tell Ron and Hermione about his new friendship with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. "Who's the other guy, I wonder?" Ron said, glancing back at the four Slytherins. "Not Crabbe and Goyle, the one talking to Malfoy."
"Blaise Zabini," Harry said almost immediately. The two looked at him, and he shrugged. "I remember Flitwick calling his name," he lied. They took the answer and nodded, looking at Blaise and Draco.
"Never saw anyone else speaking to Malfoy," Hermione said. "Wonder what he's doing."
"Who cares," Ron shrugged. "Probably some slimy Slytherin stuff."
Harry didn't want to comment. Instead he asked, "What's the Shrieking Shack?"
Ron and Hermione looked back at Harry. "It's said to be the most haunted building in Britain. People here reported hearing screams coming from inside."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Ron said, nodding. "But when the people here go to see, it's empty."
Harry frowned at that, and took another drink of his butterbeer. They spent most of the afternoon in the Three Broomsticks, Ron nor Hermione not wanting to go out and show Harry more of Hogsmeade in this weather. Near the end of the afternoon, the three was walking in the blizzard, when Harry felt something strange. He looked around and saw Draco, standing in the snow smirking. Their eyes connected, and Harry felt… weird. He didn't know what happened, but he felt as if Draco had stared directly at his soul, and it affected him. It was as if he was walking in a daze. Harry didn't have a clear idea of how he had managed to get back into the Honeydukes cellar, through the tunnel, and into the castle once more. All he knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that he hardly noticed what he was doing.
He tried his best to act innocent during the dinner, and afterwards quickly returned to the Gryffindor Tower. He did not want to deal with Fred and George, who had set off half a dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits. He sneaked quietly up to the empty dormitory and headed straight for his bed.
He closed the bed curtains and just laid in his bed. He didn't know why he felt so weird, Draco just looked at him, as he has done multiple times. But this time… it felt weird, as if Draco could see him clearly, more clearly than anyone has seen him. He felt something stirring and looked down. His pants started to feel tight and uncomfortable. He shrugged off his robes and kicked off his shoes, laying down in only pants, button-downed shirt, and his tie. His pants started to feel tighter, so he quickly took them off, revealing his underwear, which was tented.
Curious, Harry took off the rest of his clothes until only he was in his underwear. He looked down and blushed as he took a look at his body. Somehow, it felt different—looked different. He was lean, his skin pale with hints of sun. There was no hints or showings of muscles, but he still looked obviously healthy. His nipples were plump and pink, the nubs erect from the cold drafty air. There was not a hint of hair on his body, and Harry couldn't help but drag his hands down from his chest and towards his underwear, shivering and loving the feeling of heat against his skin.
It felt… good, and Harry's hands hooked on the edge of his tight underwear, the tent now provident as he slowly pulled it down, revealing his dick. Hard, it looked about five inches, the head of the cock brightly pink and shiny looking from a weird liquid that was coming out. Harry wiped a finger over the top of his dick and gave a gasp. His dick reacted by twitching and more of the clearish liquid came out. He brought it to his lips and stick his tongue out, licking his finger. It tasted… good. Whatever it was, Harry loved the taste. Something inside him started to stir, he wanted more, he needed more. A primal urge rose in Harry, and Harry let it take control of him.
His hand went down and grabbed his dick at the base. The same twitch happened and Harry's mouth opened as a moan escaped his lips. His hand started to move up the length of his dick, squeezing as he did so. He moaned and bit his lip as he stroke his dick. His other hand, acting on the primal instinct, moved towards his plump nipples and started playing with them, squeezing and pulling them. He loved the feeling of having his body touched, pulled, played with. He felt like he just needed more. More touching, more pulling, more playing. The harder he pinched and pulled his nipples, the faster he stroke his dick, now fully leaking with the clear liquid. His mouth hung open, small moans and gasps coming out before he enunciated, "Da-Dray—Draco! Ahhh!"
Then, as if without warning, he felt like he was about to burst with pee. He tried to stop it, but it was too late, the feeling was overwhelming and he screamed as the sensation took over his body, his dick pulsing and pushing. But it wasn't the clearish yellow liquid waste he was expecting, but instead thick ropes of a sticky hot white substance squirted from his dick, covering the head easily and arcing to splash onto his chest and stomach. Rope after rope came out until finally, his dick started to soften, and the ropes just started to dribble out of his penis. Sweat-slicken and red faced, Harry reached for the sticky substance and swiped it with his finger.
Again, like he did with the clearish liquid, he brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. This was it! This was what he needed! This pleasurable substance that he just instantly loved. It was salty, yet, and musky but it tasted like heaven! Pure, dirty heaven! Still going off from the animalistic urges, he scooped up as much of the substance he could get and licked his fingers clean. He did this again and again until his body was clean, with not a drop of the stickiness in sight.
With the deed done, the primal urges slowly swept away from Harry, his brain starting to feel heavier, as did his eyes, as exhaustion took hold of him. He was barely able to take his glasses off and place them on the bedside table before he succumbed to the tiredness, naked and on top of his bed.
Harry had awoken to find the dormitory deserted, dressed, and gone down the spiral staircase to a common room that was completely empty except for Ron, who was eating a Peppermint Toad, and massaging his stomach, and Hermione, who had spread her homework over three tables.
"Where is everyone?" Harry said.
"Gone! It's the first day of the holidays, remember?" Ron said, watching Harry closely. "It's nearly lunchtime; I was going to come and wake you up in a minute."
Harry slumped into a chair next to the fire. Snow was still falling outside the windows. Crookshanks was spread out in front of the fire like a large, ginger rug.
"Let's go down to Hagrid's," Ron said. "We haven't visited him for ages!"
"Yeah, let's go," Harry said, sitting up. They got their cloaks from their dormitories and set off through the portrait hole, down through the empty castle and out through the oak front doors. They made their way slowly down the lawn, making a shallow trench in the glittering powdery snow, their socks and the hems of their cloaks soaked and freezing. The Forbidden Forest looked as though it had been enchanted, each tree smattered with silver, and Hagrid's cabin looked like an iced cake.
Ron knocked, but there was no answer.
"He's not out, is he?" Hermione asked, who was shivering under her cloak. Ron had his ear to the door.
"There's a weird noise," he said. "Listen—is that Fang?"
Harry and Hermione put their ears to the door too. From inside the cabin came a series of low, throbbing moans.
"Think we'd better go and get someone?" Ron said, nervously.
"Hagrid!" Harry called, thumping the door. "Hagrid, are you in there?"
There was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.
"Yeh've heard?" he bellowed, and he flung himself on to Harry's neck.
Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this was no laughing matter. Harry, about to collapse under Hagrid's weight, was rescued by Ron and Hermione, who each seized Hagrid under an arm and heaved him back into the cabin. Hagrid allowed himself to be steered into a chair and slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that dripped down into his tangled beard.
"Hagrid, what is it?" Hermione said, aghast.
Harry spotted an official-looking letter lying open on the table. "What's this Hagrid?"
Hagrid's sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Harry, who picked it up and read aloud:
Dear, Mr. Hagrid,
Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurance of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.
However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee's offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.
Yours in fellowship …
There followed a list of the school governors.
"Oh," Ron said. "But you said Buckbeak isn't a bad hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he'll get off—"
"Yeh don' know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o' Dangerous Creatures!" Hagrid choked, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "They've got it in fer interestin' creatures!"
A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid's cabin made harry, Ron, and Hermione whip around. Buckbeak was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.
"I couldn' leave him tied up out there in the snow!" Hagrid choked. "All on his own! At Christmas!"
"You'll have to put up a good defense, Hagrid," Hermione said, sitting down and laying a hand on Hagrid's massive forearm. "I'm sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe."
"Won't make no diff'rence!" Hagrid sobbed. "Them Disposal devils, they're all in Lucius Malfoy's pocket! Scared o' him! An' if I lose the case, Buckbeak—"
"Listen Hagrid, you can't give up," Harry said. "Hermione's right, you just need a good defense. You can call us as witnesses—"
"I'm sure I've read about a case of hippogriff-baiting," Hermione said thoughtfully, "where the hippogriff got off. I'll look it up for you, Hagrid, and see exactly what happened."
Hagrid howled still more loudly. Harry and Hermione Looked at Ron to help them.
"Er—shall I make a cup of tea?" Ron said. Harry stared at him. "It's what my mum does whenever someone's upset," Ron muttered, shrugging.
Harry's thought turned to Draco, it was his fault Hagrid is in this mess. If they are going to be… whatever they are, then he needs to make Draco do—something, anything to help the innocent hippogriff.
At last, after many more assurances of help, with a steaming mug of tea in front of him, Hagrid blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and said, "Yer right. I can' afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together. …"
James Potter woke up exhausted on Christmas morning. He had spent some time last night with co-workers from the Ministry, who were mostly single young wizards who had no significant others to spend the holiday with, and not wanting to go visit their families yet. They were nice, James remembered that he had personally trained most of the Aurors in the group, but either due to his age or just general tiredness, he could not have kept up with them. While the young aurors have tried stories over eggnog and firewhiskey, James have kept to butterbeer, and just nodded when the men's conversation turned to more lewd topics, as all drunken men's conversations tend to do. It was at this point that he decided to leave his co-workers where they are, and returned to his office where he continued on his case for removing the dementors from Harry. It was nearly midnight when he returned home, and nearly nine when he woke up.
"What I need," he said to no one in particular, "is a full day of sleeping. Just one day. That is if the Ministry would give me that."
He walked out of his bedroom and down the stairs into the kitchen. "Mornin' Snuffles," he yawned when he walked past his cat, who was waiting by his food bowl. James started making coffee and turned to fill Snuffles's bowl. "Eat up there," he said. When his coffee was ready, he filled a cup, and went into the living room, where a small Christmas Tree stood in a corner, amateurishly decorated. Snuffles followed him and meowed. "I know," James chuckled. "This was more of Lily's thing. And Harry's, lord knows both are way better at Christmas decorating than I am."
Under the tree stood a few presents, and James was surprised, and smiled when he saw that one of the few presents was from Harry. He immediately picked up the small parcel and noticed a note was written on it.
Dad,
Sorry I'm not there to spend the holidays with you. There's something I actually want to talk to you about, but I'll do it during the next break. Anyway, Happy Christmas.
Love,
Harry.
Excited, confused, and concerned, James unwrapped the parcel and pulled out its contents. Candy. It was a box of candy from Honeydukes, James made sure to be very familiar with Honeydukes while he was at Hogwarts. He opened the box and smirked. There were Cauldron Cakes, his favorite, some bars of Honeydukes Best Chocolate, Nougat chunks, and, much to James's ire and laughter, a small box of crystallized pineapples. He looked at the box and smirked. There was no way Harry would have asked his friends to buy any of these for him. "That little cheeky weasel," he smirked, feeling very proud. "I knew it. I knew he would find a way. Ha!"
He took a bite out of a Cauldron Cake and moaned, "Still as delicious as ever," he said.
"I see you're stuffing yourself as ever," Fleamont Potter said as he walked into his portrait.
"Gift from Harry," James said after he swallowed. "Remember how I didn't sign his permission form for Hogsmeade?"
"Yes, you said it was for his own protection," Fleamont said. "A fact that I both agree and disagree with. I mean, there are dementors there now after all."
James nodded and couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah, I did it for his own protection, but I had another reason."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," James smirked. "After all, he does steal the Invisibility Cloak from me every year term starts. So, I just knew that he would find his way to Hogsmeade."
"Really?" Fleamont asked as he started chuckling. "What's that muggle expression again…? Like father like son?"
"Like father, like son," James nodded. "And you thought he was going to be a goody-two shoes!"
"I would never use that language! Too juvenile!" Fleamont said.
That caused James to laugh out loud. "Juvenile!? You said that after I told you Harry left for Hogwarts first year!"
"I did not," Fleamont denied. James just shook his head again and said, "Well, he's my son. That much is proven now. Now, if you excuse me dad, I have some things to do before I visit Molly and Arthur."
"And what is so important that you cannot visit Potter Manor?" Fleamont asked.
"Many things, such as the dementor problem," James said. He looked at the rest of the presents and checked who sent them, "Ha, Molly sent me a sweater…told her not to," before looking at the portrait again. "Sorry dad, I'll visit some other time. Right now… I have a lot on my plate."
"All right, all right, fine," Fleamont said. "You better bring your mother's portrait here though, it's getting annoying being the only one who can come here."
"I know, I know," James said. "I already have a guy who's going to paint it. He's coming here the thirteenth of January."
"Good," Fleamont nodded. "Well… Happy Christmas son."
"Happy Christmas, dad," James said. He waited until his father was gone from his portrait before exhaling. Lately, old feelings were haunting James. Feelings that he thought he buried a long time ago.
On Christmas morning, Harry was woken by Ron throwing his pillow at him.
"Oy! Presents!"
Harry reached for his glasses and put them on, squinting through the semi-darkness to the foot of his bed, where a small heap of parcels had appeared. Ron was already ripping the paper off his own presents.
"Another sweater from Mum …maroon again …see if you've got one."
Harry had, Mrs. Weasley had sent him a scarlet sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front, also a dozen home-baked mice pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle. His dad had got him a book of famous Quidditch plays, as well as a small book filled with potions with interesting and joking results. There was also a small, neatly wrapped package with a card from Draco. Harry hid the card and present from Ron's view as he read the card.
Harry,
I hope you're having a wonderful Christmas. Do you remember when you told me that you feel like you are lying both with hanging out with me and Blaise, and your sexuality? Well, I've found a book that I hope will help you. It's a diary. Found it in Father's library long ago hidden away. It seems like it had a previous owner, but he never wrote on it. I'm sorry I couldn't get you anything better. I just thought that this is what you need best.
Yours,
Draco
Harry couldn't help but smile as he read the letter. He didn't mind that the book, which still laid wrapped on his lap, was old, the thought and feeling mattered more to Harry. This truly shows that Draco was listening… was caring about him. The smile remained as he placed the card on his lap and picked up the pristinely wrapped gift. Carefully, as if ripping would ruin everything, Harry unwrapped the gift and brought out the book.
The diary was a small black leathered book with worn out pages. The diary was beaten, looking as if it stood the test of time for at least half a century. Harry opened the diary and flipped through the pages. As Draco said, there was nothing written on any of the pages. He guessed that the original owner just brought it, but didn't decide to write in it at the end of the day. He wondered how Draco's father got the diary, but put it in the back of his mind as he remembered he needed to talk to Draco about Buckbeak.
He placed the card and diary on his bed and moved back to the pile. He saw a long, thin package lying underneath at the bottom of the pile.
"What's that?" Ron asked, looking over, a freshly unwrapped pair of maroon socks in his hand. …
"Dunno…"
Harry ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread. Ron dropped his socks and jumped off his bed for a closer look.
"I don't believe it," he said hoarsely.
It was a Firebolt. Its handle glittered as he picked it up. He could feel it vibrating and let go; it hung in midair, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. His eyes moved from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.
"Did your dad sent that?" Ron said in a hushed voice.
"I don't think so… he would have mentioned… look and see if there's a card," Harry said.
Ron ripped apart the Firebolt's wrappings. "Nothing! Blimey, who'd spend that much on you?"
"I do not know…" Harry said, still amazed at the gift.
"I bet it was Dumbledore," Ron said, now walking around and around the Firebolt, taking in every glorious inch.
"He wouldn't spend hundreds of Galleons on me," Harry said. "He can't go giving students stuff like this—"
"That's why he wouldn't say it was from him!" Ron said. "In case some git like Malfoy said it was favoritism. Hey Harry, Malfoy! Wait till he sees you on this! He'll be sick as a pig! This is an international standard broom, this is!"
"I can't believe this," Harry muttered, running a hand along the Firebolt, while Ron sank onto Harry's bed, laughing his head off at the thought of Draco.
Harry ignored the laughter as he stared at the Firebolt. His own Firebolt! Harry couldn't believe that he owned one. Though, he couldn't help but wonder who sent him this. There was no way it was his dad… or Draco… and Blaise gave him chocolates… the possible subjects spun through his head as both he and Ron just gazed and inspected the broomstick.
A/N: This story is rated M for a reason guys. And, not a spoiler, but there will be more sex scenes! Of more than one pairing! Thank you all for reading!
OUATLover02: Hello! Hope you love this one as well!
Kigen Dawn: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE! Well, the broom is here. But is it from the kitty cat, or James? And I hope I answered your questions!
Flye Autumne: Yeah… hopefully the boys will all get through it together.
Sasuhinas fan: Nooo don't die! The story's not near completion! And yes, Blaise is starting to make his claim on Ron. How will the red-head react?
DarkBloodWolf13: Too innocent? Well, everyone is different, some are as filthy minded as you at 13, and then there are people like Hermione and Harry. To be fair, I actually didn't know gay people existed till I was 15!
Kamui5: That's one vote for a threesome relationship!
Littlesprout: Yes, he is.
Jokul Frosti: The chocolate thing was me being a chocoholic… not anything dirty! As for James and Lucius… NO. Spoiler alert: That is NOT going to happen! Also, not a spoiler: Lupin actually LIVES in this one! You'll see why!
Zatsune D. LawLuFan: Here ya go.
MagnificentFern: Threesome relationship vote 2! And don't drool on your tablet!
Hyper-Blossom Z: I'm glad you liked everything! Hopefully you liked everything here as well!
Super MKatR: Yes, I need more hot guys' attention. Especially if they have huge chests! … I've a weakness for muscles.
Ern: Thanks! You're super awesome!