The warm, flannel, Gryffindor-crimson and gold scarf wrapped around Draco’s neck smelled like Harry—vanilla and cinnamon, the clean mint smell of his shampoo, and a hint of nutmeg due to the holiday season. Draco thought that he probably looked like a berk, but at that moment, he didn’t really care. He held up the Muggle fellytone to his ear and cast a quick warming charm, dragging the plaid blanket behind him.
“Hey, are you there?” Harry’s quiet voice asked over the device.
“Of course, Harry.” Draco responded, a bit shorter than he had intended. “I’m only now getting set up, and it’s a bit colder than I expected.” He softened his voice, letting some of his affection for the man on the other end of the cellyfone seep through. He laid out the blanket with a flick of his wand, transfigured a small rock into a fluffy pillow, and carefully lay down. He reached for his steaming cup of cocoa that was resting on the small garden table and took a small sip. “Ah,” he exhaled quietly. “It’s just perfect.”
“I taught Kreacher how to make it just the way you like it,” Harry explained. “I hope it’s up to your high standards.”
“I guess it will suffice until you get back.”
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there tonight.”
“It’s fine, Harry. I understand that this was a rare opportunity to study the creatures in the Amazon jungle. We can survive this one Christmas apart.” Draco stuck his nose into the warm folds of the scarf, breathing in the smell of Harry.
“Tell me what you see.”
“You know what I see. It’s the same thing every year that we do this.”
“I know, but I want to hear you describe it,” Potter whined softly. “Besides, I’m not there with you, so it’s different.”
“Fine,” Draco huffed, not really that put out. “If you insist, you git.”
“Do you want to hear or not?”
“Well, like any other time that we’ve done this, there are loads of stars. We’re looking at lots of light that no longer exists, because even though light travels fast, many of the stars themselves no longer do. It’s beautiful, and a bit sad, but because it’s a special occasion, we’re going to focus on the beautiful part.”
Draco could hear Harry’s soft laugh on the other end. It was warm, and full of affection for Draco’s stories, especially the ones about Muggle science that Draco didn’t really understand all that well.
“Do you know what my favourite constellation is?”
“If you say Draco…”
“I’m not the one who said it.”
“You’re such a sap.”
“Yeah, well, I’m your sap.”
And despite everything, it was true. The stars had somehow aligned for Harry and Draco, their own lights bright as they discovered what it meant to grow together, rather than in spite of, each other.
Draco couldn’t wait to spend many more Christmases gazing at the stars. Maybe he was Harry’s sap, too.