Harry Potter: Ugly Christmas Sweater
Title: Ugly Christmas Sweater
Author: Reyn
Rating: T
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Universe: EWE canon
Word Count: unknown
Warnings: angsty Malfoy
A/N: Written for @bewarethetrolleywitch as part of the @drarryexchange over on tumblr. They asked for “Something seasonal probably” and this is what I chose to deliver.
Cold.
He was always cold. Even in his sleep.
He used to drag his thickest blankets over by the fireplace in the late hours of the night, when the Manor’s feeble heating charms began to fail, only to be gripped by feverish nightmares of Fiendfyre chasing him and skin melting under the heat.
He often woke from those finding his face inches away from the burning logs and spent the next few hours wondering if he had been that desperate for the fire’s warmth or if his subconscious was trying to kill him.
Rather than face off such an introspective examination of his psyche, he chose to suffer. He shivered through many a wretched night, waking up in various states of aches and exhaustion.
Today he woke to a loud crash against his window.
For a moment he remained frozen in bed, convinced it was something bad trying to get in. Some leftover evil that had come to punish him for his wavering conviction every step of the way during the War.
A second crash sounded, this time followed by the beating of feathers against the glass, and he relaxed, realizing it was just an owl.
It was with a third crash that his window burst open, allowing both the winter breeze and the Ministry owl in that Draco Malfoy finally forced himself from his bed.
It took far too long to shoo the damn bird back out, and by then the early morning temperature had crept up his extremities, making it feel like Jack Frost himself was trying to devour him by his very limbs. He glared at the package it left behind.
It had the Ministry of Magic’s stamp all over it, and Draco was tempted to kick it into the fireplace and leave it there to burn.
He was sick of dealing with the ministry. Of trying to jump through their hoops and refilling out their paperwork three times over because he missed a section. Of being unable to find a job because the places that would hire him weren’t on the List of Approval by the ministry and the ones that were would disqualify him from receiving Assisted Living despite not paying him enough to actually survive without it.
It was a messed-up situation all around. One that left Draco torn between trying to do better to prove to everyone Malfoys would always come out on top and turning to the most unsavory of avenues to prove that Malfoys should never be trifled with.
Right now he was floating in the miserable middle ground of neutrality. His emotions at the end of the war had numbed out to an empty sort of despair, leaving him with little ambition to choose any path that would lead him out of where he was.
Dropping to his knees on the rug where the package rested, Draco undid the string that held the box shut, hoping it wasn’t another enormous stack of forms that needed to be filled out.
It wasn’t.
Mr. Draco Malfoy,
In being a recipient of Assisted Living under the Ministry of Magic, you have qualified for various charitable donations. While your status of ex-criminal eliminates you from receiving most charities, there are several which have chosen not to exempt former Death Eaters. The Ministry’s First Annual Yuletide Clothing Drive is one of them.
The terms set forth my Ms. Hermione Granger for this charity have made it possible for ones such as yourself to receive gently used winter wear this season.
Congratulations.
Madame Bernadette Beauford
Draco looked down at the piles of lumpy fabric with apprehension. What was left of his pride told him this was an insult. His practical side told him he had outgrown many of his jumpers and his warmer coats were a tight fit around the shoulders.
Shivering at the chill in the room, he swallowed down his pride and dug through the box.
In it were some scratchy socks, a robe that was middle class fashion when his parents were young, a pair of trousers, a simple black cloak, and the softest jumper Draco had ever laid his hands on.
Correction.
The most hideous jumper he had ever laid his eyes on.
It looked like it used to have color, but that had been forced out to gray, leaving it to look like a flap of elephant skin. It was certainly wide enough to fit an elephant…
Weak against how soft and thick it felt between his fingers, Draco forced it over his head and immediately fell in love.
+
Two weeks later had Draco sitting in his father’s study, comfortably drowning in his elephant sweater as he went through his mail.
Most of it was bad news. A Howler, bills, various letters denying him jobs, favors, and a Christmas ham. And then there was an invitation to an…Ugly Christmas Sweater Party.
Draco had never heard of such a thing, but considering he now had the perfect ugly jumper, he saw no reason to not attend.
Unfortunately, he didn’t realize this party was literally an ugly Christmas sweater party, an oversight that slapped him in the face as he stepped into the garishly decorated banquet and noticed just how colorful everyone was.
“Draco!” The hand at his elbow startled him, but he immediately relaxed upon seeing Blaise’s dark features at his side. “Did you just wander in off the streets? What on earth happened to you?”
Looking down at his beloved elephant sweater that he had managed to make fashionable by borrowing a pair of his mother’s thick black stockings to wear under his tallest dragonhide boots (thus hiding the fact that he was wearing women’s undergarments at all), he felt ridiculously underdressed. And that was with all the styling he had put into his hair.
“For your information, this is the ugliest sweater I own,” Draco defensively shot back, ignoring the heat that was flooding his face.
The face Blaise pulled as he examined him was less than praise-worthy. “Did you steal it from some homeless squib? It’s filthy.”
“It’s clean!” Draco crossed his arms to hide the dark gray splotches that Blaise was eyeing. “It’s supposed to look like that!”
Voice lowered, Blaise dragged him off to a corner, unmindful of who they bumped into before he practically shoved Draco behind a Christmas tree.
“Is this all you’re able to afford now thanks to the Convict Law?”
Pride stopped Draco from admitting yes.
“It’s not what you think!” he hissed, yanking his arm free. “I thought this was simply an ugly sweater party!”
“Who throws ugly sweater parties??” Blaise argued.
“Who’s heard of a fucking ugly Christmas sweater party?!” Draco shot back, losing his temper. A quick glance around informed him everyone had apparently heard of it, which did little to help with his humiliation.
Ripping a bit of tinsel from the tree beside him, he tucked it into his collar.
“There. Satisfied?” he didn’t even wait for an answer before turning on his heel to march off to the bar. For Zambini’s sake, it had better have been an open bar or Blaise was going to find himself with quite the tab by the end of the night.
Unfortunately, Blaise was too good of a friend to let it go.
Draco was barely into his second drink when people started to approach him, hooking and charming various decorations onto his sweater with a “Cheers!” before tittering as they downed their gigglewaters.
Annoyed, Draco tried pulling off the ornaments at first, but soon gave up as the sticking charms grew stronger. The last thing he wanted to do was put a hole in his warmest jumper and let in a draft.
In no time at all, his out of place outfit fit right in with its awful holiday cheer.
The sentiment failed to extend to Draco’s mood, which remained just as foul, no matter how much others were now enjoying hunting him down to engage in this new party game.
He was in the middle of debating the merits of leaving the party early when none other than Harry bleeding Potter appeared in front of him with two pinecones covered in red glitter dangling from strings on his fingers.
Draco nearly slammed his firewhiskey down on the bar.
“Not you, too,” he groaned.
“The prize is too good to pass up,” Potter offered in apology, even though he didn’t look nearly sorry enough.
Sending Potter a dark glare that was missed as the bespectacled moron eyed his jumper, Draco stubbornly remained hunched over the bar. He had no intention of making this easy for anyone, and Potter was no exception.
“Hang on…Malfoy, could you straighten up for a moment?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “If I said no, will you go away?”
“No.”
“Pity,” Draco murmured into his glass, seconds away from taking another sip when his shoulder was roughly grabbed and he was forced to turn around.
“What the shit-” Draco immediately cut off his tirade when he saw Potter’s wand was out and pointed at his heart.
Panic shot through him. The ministry still hadn’t issued him the approval to get a new wand leaving him defenseless when in public.
But rather than hex him, Potter simply removed all the decorations from his jumper.
“Hey!” Draco’s gaze shot down to all the ornaments now hovering in the air around him. “What are you-are you cheating??”
Potter didn’t seem to be listening. “That’s my jumper.”
“What?”
“You’re wearing my old jumper.”
Potter’s shock seemed to mirror Draco’s as his hands came up to possessively clutch at the soft material.
“I am not! This is mine!” The ornaments around Draco came crashing to the floor. “It was given to me through completely legal means!”
Potter’s jaw remained hanging open as he shook his head. “Yeah, no. I-I mean, I know. I…donated it to the clothing drive.” He looked up. “I just didn’t realize…”
Draco’s defenses were immediately up. “Didn’t realize what? That proceeds might go to former war criminals who are being oppressed under so many restrictions and regulations that we qualify for this kind of charity?”
“No, that’s not-” Potter’s momentary frustration smoothed out as he visibly decided to change tactics. “It looks good on you.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. The jumper was hideous and deserved to die a thousand deaths. Just what was Potter trying to pull?
“I mean you managed to pull the look off well.” Potter’s eyes raked over Draco from head to toe. “Really well.” He blushed. “Much better than I ever did, anyways.”
"You’re drunk.”
Potter seemed discomfited by Draco’s conclusion. “I’m not!”
“Yeah, right,” Draco snorted. “Next you’ll be telling me to meet you under the mistletoe in ten minutes.”
Head turned towards the archway in question, the auror seemed to be seriously considering it.
“Potter!” the scandal in Draco’s voice had the man wincing.
“Okay, so maybe I had a few drinks, but not enough to - never mind. Just. Here.”
Taking the two pinecones in his hands, Potter held them out and quickly stuck them to Draco’s jumper without thought.
They both realized what a horrible idea that was moments later as Draco found himself staring down at his, for lack of a better description, sparkly pinecone tits.
“Oh, Merlin…” Potter muttered, face nearly as red as the pinecones. “I-uhm, here-” His hands went out as if to grab the pinecones to reposition them, only to stop, as if realizing how inappropriate it would be for him to grab Draco in such a manner. “Uh…” He stepped back. “Happy Christmas.”
Draco could only watch in shock as Potter hurried away, head ducked in embarrassment. Looking back down at the festive pinecones, Draco gave one a furtive tug. Next person to approach, he was going to ask them to stick a sign on him.
‘Harry Potter was here’ complete with two arrows.
With the first smile of the evening tugging at his lips, Draco turned to grab his drink, finally feeling ready to mingle with the crowd.
THE END.
Author: Reyn
Rating: T
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Universe: EWE canon
Word Count: unknown
Warnings: angsty Malfoy
A/N: Written for @bewarethetrolleywitch as part of the @drarryexchange over on tumblr. They asked for “Something seasonal probably” and this is what I chose to deliver.
Cold.
He was always cold. Even in his sleep.
He used to drag his thickest blankets over by the fireplace in the late hours of the night, when the Manor’s feeble heating charms began to fail, only to be gripped by feverish nightmares of Fiendfyre chasing him and skin melting under the heat.
He often woke from those finding his face inches away from the burning logs and spent the next few hours wondering if he had been that desperate for the fire’s warmth or if his subconscious was trying to kill him.
Rather than face off such an introspective examination of his psyche, he chose to suffer. He shivered through many a wretched night, waking up in various states of aches and exhaustion.
Today he woke to a loud crash against his window.
For a moment he remained frozen in bed, convinced it was something bad trying to get in. Some leftover evil that had come to punish him for his wavering conviction every step of the way during the War.
A second crash sounded, this time followed by the beating of feathers against the glass, and he relaxed, realizing it was just an owl.
It was with a third crash that his window burst open, allowing both the winter breeze and the Ministry owl in that Draco Malfoy finally forced himself from his bed.
It took far too long to shoo the damn bird back out, and by then the early morning temperature had crept up his extremities, making it feel like Jack Frost himself was trying to devour him by his very limbs. He glared at the package it left behind.
It had the Ministry of Magic’s stamp all over it, and Draco was tempted to kick it into the fireplace and leave it there to burn.
He was sick of dealing with the ministry. Of trying to jump through their hoops and refilling out their paperwork three times over because he missed a section. Of being unable to find a job because the places that would hire him weren’t on the List of Approval by the ministry and the ones that were would disqualify him from receiving Assisted Living despite not paying him enough to actually survive without it.
It was a messed-up situation all around. One that left Draco torn between trying to do better to prove to everyone Malfoys would always come out on top and turning to the most unsavory of avenues to prove that Malfoys should never be trifled with.
Right now he was floating in the miserable middle ground of neutrality. His emotions at the end of the war had numbed out to an empty sort of despair, leaving him with little ambition to choose any path that would lead him out of where he was.
Dropping to his knees on the rug where the package rested, Draco undid the string that held the box shut, hoping it wasn’t another enormous stack of forms that needed to be filled out.
It wasn’t.
Mr. Draco Malfoy,
In being a recipient of Assisted Living under the Ministry of Magic, you have qualified for various charitable donations. While your status of ex-criminal eliminates you from receiving most charities, there are several which have chosen not to exempt former Death Eaters. The Ministry’s First Annual Yuletide Clothing Drive is one of them.
The terms set forth my Ms. Hermione Granger for this charity have made it possible for ones such as yourself to receive gently used winter wear this season.
Congratulations.
Madame Bernadette Beauford
Draco looked down at the piles of lumpy fabric with apprehension. What was left of his pride told him this was an insult. His practical side told him he had outgrown many of his jumpers and his warmer coats were a tight fit around the shoulders.
Shivering at the chill in the room, he swallowed down his pride and dug through the box.
In it were some scratchy socks, a robe that was middle class fashion when his parents were young, a pair of trousers, a simple black cloak, and the softest jumper Draco had ever laid his hands on.
Correction.
The most hideous jumper he had ever laid his eyes on.
It looked like it used to have color, but that had been forced out to gray, leaving it to look like a flap of elephant skin. It was certainly wide enough to fit an elephant…
Weak against how soft and thick it felt between his fingers, Draco forced it over his head and immediately fell in love.
+
Two weeks later had Draco sitting in his father’s study, comfortably drowning in his elephant sweater as he went through his mail.
Most of it was bad news. A Howler, bills, various letters denying him jobs, favors, and a Christmas ham. And then there was an invitation to an…Ugly Christmas Sweater Party.
Draco had never heard of such a thing, but considering he now had the perfect ugly jumper, he saw no reason to not attend.
Unfortunately, he didn’t realize this party was literally an ugly Christmas sweater party, an oversight that slapped him in the face as he stepped into the garishly decorated banquet and noticed just how colorful everyone was.
“Draco!” The hand at his elbow startled him, but he immediately relaxed upon seeing Blaise’s dark features at his side. “Did you just wander in off the streets? What on earth happened to you?”
Looking down at his beloved elephant sweater that he had managed to make fashionable by borrowing a pair of his mother’s thick black stockings to wear under his tallest dragonhide boots (thus hiding the fact that he was wearing women’s undergarments at all), he felt ridiculously underdressed. And that was with all the styling he had put into his hair.
“For your information, this is the ugliest sweater I own,” Draco defensively shot back, ignoring the heat that was flooding his face.
The face Blaise pulled as he examined him was less than praise-worthy. “Did you steal it from some homeless squib? It’s filthy.”
“It’s clean!” Draco crossed his arms to hide the dark gray splotches that Blaise was eyeing. “It’s supposed to look like that!”
Voice lowered, Blaise dragged him off to a corner, unmindful of who they bumped into before he practically shoved Draco behind a Christmas tree.
“Is this all you’re able to afford now thanks to the Convict Law?”
Pride stopped Draco from admitting yes.
“It’s not what you think!” he hissed, yanking his arm free. “I thought this was simply an ugly sweater party!”
“Who throws ugly sweater parties??” Blaise argued.
“Who’s heard of a fucking ugly Christmas sweater party?!” Draco shot back, losing his temper. A quick glance around informed him everyone had apparently heard of it, which did little to help with his humiliation.
Ripping a bit of tinsel from the tree beside him, he tucked it into his collar.
“There. Satisfied?” he didn’t even wait for an answer before turning on his heel to march off to the bar. For Zambini’s sake, it had better have been an open bar or Blaise was going to find himself with quite the tab by the end of the night.
Unfortunately, Blaise was too good of a friend to let it go.
Draco was barely into his second drink when people started to approach him, hooking and charming various decorations onto his sweater with a “Cheers!” before tittering as they downed their gigglewaters.
Annoyed, Draco tried pulling off the ornaments at first, but soon gave up as the sticking charms grew stronger. The last thing he wanted to do was put a hole in his warmest jumper and let in a draft.
In no time at all, his out of place outfit fit right in with its awful holiday cheer.
The sentiment failed to extend to Draco’s mood, which remained just as foul, no matter how much others were now enjoying hunting him down to engage in this new party game.
He was in the middle of debating the merits of leaving the party early when none other than Harry bleeding Potter appeared in front of him with two pinecones covered in red glitter dangling from strings on his fingers.
Draco nearly slammed his firewhiskey down on the bar.
“Not you, too,” he groaned.
“The prize is too good to pass up,” Potter offered in apology, even though he didn’t look nearly sorry enough.
Sending Potter a dark glare that was missed as the bespectacled moron eyed his jumper, Draco stubbornly remained hunched over the bar. He had no intention of making this easy for anyone, and Potter was no exception.
“Hang on…Malfoy, could you straighten up for a moment?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “If I said no, will you go away?”
“No.”
“Pity,” Draco murmured into his glass, seconds away from taking another sip when his shoulder was roughly grabbed and he was forced to turn around.
“What the shit-” Draco immediately cut off his tirade when he saw Potter’s wand was out and pointed at his heart.
Panic shot through him. The ministry still hadn’t issued him the approval to get a new wand leaving him defenseless when in public.
But rather than hex him, Potter simply removed all the decorations from his jumper.
“Hey!” Draco’s gaze shot down to all the ornaments now hovering in the air around him. “What are you-are you cheating??”
Potter didn’t seem to be listening. “That’s my jumper.”
“What?”
“You’re wearing my old jumper.”
Potter’s shock seemed to mirror Draco’s as his hands came up to possessively clutch at the soft material.
“I am not! This is mine!” The ornaments around Draco came crashing to the floor. “It was given to me through completely legal means!”
Potter’s jaw remained hanging open as he shook his head. “Yeah, no. I-I mean, I know. I…donated it to the clothing drive.” He looked up. “I just didn’t realize…”
Draco’s defenses were immediately up. “Didn’t realize what? That proceeds might go to former war criminals who are being oppressed under so many restrictions and regulations that we qualify for this kind of charity?”
“No, that’s not-” Potter’s momentary frustration smoothed out as he visibly decided to change tactics. “It looks good on you.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. The jumper was hideous and deserved to die a thousand deaths. Just what was Potter trying to pull?
“I mean you managed to pull the look off well.” Potter’s eyes raked over Draco from head to toe. “Really well.” He blushed. “Much better than I ever did, anyways.”
"You’re drunk.”
Potter seemed discomfited by Draco’s conclusion. “I’m not!”
“Yeah, right,” Draco snorted. “Next you’ll be telling me to meet you under the mistletoe in ten minutes.”
Head turned towards the archway in question, the auror seemed to be seriously considering it.
“Potter!” the scandal in Draco’s voice had the man wincing.
“Okay, so maybe I had a few drinks, but not enough to - never mind. Just. Here.”
Taking the two pinecones in his hands, Potter held them out and quickly stuck them to Draco’s jumper without thought.
They both realized what a horrible idea that was moments later as Draco found himself staring down at his, for lack of a better description, sparkly pinecone tits.
“Oh, Merlin…” Potter muttered, face nearly as red as the pinecones. “I-uhm, here-” His hands went out as if to grab the pinecones to reposition them, only to stop, as if realizing how inappropriate it would be for him to grab Draco in such a manner. “Uh…” He stepped back. “Happy Christmas.”
Draco could only watch in shock as Potter hurried away, head ducked in embarrassment. Looking back down at the festive pinecones, Draco gave one a furtive tug. Next person to approach, he was going to ask them to stick a sign on him.
‘Harry Potter was here’ complete with two arrows.
With the first smile of the evening tugging at his lips, Draco turned to grab his drink, finally feeling ready to mingle with the crowd.
THE END.