The Greater Good [Harry/Draco - PG - 3674]
Originally posted by mini_fest_mod at The Greater Good [Harry/Draco - PG - 3674]
Title: The Greater Good
Author/Artist: hastendown
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, a little bit of Hermione/Ron
Prompt: The magical Mistletoe is supposed to find the right partner for you, but it must be defective because there is no way ____ is right for him!
Word Count: 3.674
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This was beta’d by my awesome little brother, Roleof
Summary: Draco gets trapped under the spell of a Magical Mistletoe. He’s forced to wait for his Perfect Match to kiss him so he can walk around freely again. Who on earth could it be, though?
Draco hates Christmas. He doesn’t usually have any reason to, eleven out of twelve months of the year, Christmas is irrelevant. It doesn’t bother him as long as it isn’t talked about or gushed over. On the 1st of December, Christmas breaks out at Hogwarts castle like a plague, like a nefarious plot being put into action, and in the blink of an eye everything is covered in lights and tinsel and sparkly shite, and it makes his head ache. Blaise laughs at him for his ridiculous hatred of the relatively unoffending holiday, and continuously plagues him with Christmas carols and candy canes and other such nonsense. For the duration of December, Draco likes to pretend he’s already at the Manor, where Christmas is quiet and understated and relaxing in a way that isn’t in Hogwarts’ dictionary, apparently.
The worst of it is probably his education getting infected with festivities and frivolities such as Giftwrapping Charms and Decorating Spells and Magical Cooking. It’s about as far from academically useful as you can get and it bores Draco half to death.
“Magical Mistletoes,” Professor Sprout is saying, “are amongst the most intelligent of Magical plants. They have the ability, much like the Sorting Hat, to read the minds of those in their proximity, and they have an uncanny knack for creating romantic matches.”
The old woman is grinning while she tells them this, as though there are few things as exciting as romantic matches. The greenhouses are chilly, and Draco wants to get out of there badly enough that he’s considering trying to Apparate, and damn the consequences.
“There will, as always, be Magical Mistletoe present at the Yule Ball, so be warned. No good has ever come of ignoring the Mistletoe’s insights. It always spots romantic love, but only in cases where the couple are actually well-suited for one another.” She moves on to the next plant, and Draco looks at the students murmuring excitedly around him. Pansy, the daft tart, is talking in an animated voice about some Ravenclaw bloke she fancies, and how she’s sure the Mistletoe will see that they are meant to be. Across from Draco, the Gryffindors are nudging each other and whispering, but he can’t make out any words. Granger is giving the Weasel a pining look that’s bordering on too pathetic, even for her. The only one who seems as disinterested as Draco is the Great Potter, and this makes Draco laugh wryly. Of course, the Chosen Plonker already knows he’ll be spending however little future he has left with the Weaslette. Nothing for him to worry about but killing the Dark Lord or getting killed. At this point, Draco isn’t sure which he would prefer.
On the one hand, having the Dark Lord defeated would certainly destroy Father, or at the very least destroy the self-possessed calculating man he once was. Trouble is, Draco isn’t sure he likes that version of his father. Mother would surely survive, she isn’t as prejudiced as her heritage suggests. As a matter of fact, she’s simply a witch who fell in love with a wizard with some pretty unusual opinions. Surely she can’t be faulted for falling in love, Draco thinks.
The walk back to the Castle is blissfully quiet, and Draco walks another circle or two around the lake before reemerging himself in the terrible cacophony of the Great Hall. When he does enter, he’s grateful he’s taken a while, because everyone seems to be shouting something, all pushing at each other to get closer to the Gryffindor table where, Sweet Salazar, Granger and Weasley are snogging like it’s their last day on earth. Draco looks away quickly, not wanting to spoil his appetite, but not quickly enough to miss the Magical Mistletoe floating above the two of them. It was about damned time those two figured it out.
Potter is sitting next to Weasley, and awkward but happy smile on his face, occasionally rolling his eyes to amuse the bystanders. He doesn’t seem to mind that he’s been eternally demoted to third wheel. The Weaslette, to Draco’s great surprise, is ignoring both Potter and the snogging duo in favour of Seamus Finnigan. She talking to him animatedly on the other side of Gryffindor table, flipping her hair about like an utter twat. The Magical Mistletoe is leaving both her and Potter alone. Curious.
The bright combination of tinsel and Christmas decorations and a gazillion candles is making his head hurt, so Draco excuses himself and goes to bed. He’s had it with Christmas already.
**************************************
For the next few days, life at Hogwarts is blissfully Christmas-free. Draco goes out of his way to let everyone know that no, he will not be participating in any Secret Santa shenanigans and no, he will not attend the ball that will be held on the evening of their departures. He is, mercifully, left alone. There’s still Magical Mistletoe floating around the Castle but at least the stuff’s been banned from classrooms. It’s not like Draco does anything but go to class, so there is no place for the Mistletoe to ambush him. Furthermore, there is no one he fancies, so he doesn’t see what all the fuss is about.
On the night before he’ll be boarding the Hogwarts Express, Draco does what he always does. He goes down to his dormitory right after dinner to pack his trunk. It’s not like he doesn’t have clothes or books at home. It’s just there’s one little thing that he’d prefer his roommates didn’t know. Draco loves studying. He packs early and when he’s sure he’ll be left alone because for every holiday, he’ll take all of his books home with him. In fact, the whole suitcase will be full of books. He doesn’t want anyone to know, because there are few people in the world less tolerant and understanding than Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Zabini. And it just so happens that these are the boys Draco’s been condemned to live with for seven years.
He’s packing the books in alphabetical order, spines facing upwards for easy access, when he finds to his utter discontent that one is missing. It’s Ancient Runes And Runaways, and yeah, that isn’t exactly part of any school assignment. It is, however, Draco’s favourite book and he must have it in his possession at all times. Ancient Runes And Runaways is the swashbuckling tale of a young Pureblood wizard who runs away from home to become a Muggle Archeologist. Occasionally, he happens upon findings of magical origins, and he quickly becomes well-known in his field. As an archeology-prodigy, Humboldt, for that is his name, starts studying in Rome. There, he meets a charming Italian man and the pair fall in love. There is only one problem: how will Humboldt tell his family about his relationship with Ludovico, a destitute Muggle?
It’s Draco’s favourite book for many reasons. Firstly, the setting of Rome, the ancient yet modern city, the delicious ice cream and sweltering heat, fascinates him. He desperately wants to visit Italy. As a matter of fact, he is planning on doing just that as soon as he graduates. Secondly, it’s the book that helped Draco resolve the matter of his Confused Sexual Orientation. Was he gay, and was Pansy simply an untalented kisser? Was he going stark-raving mad? Was he attracted to Zabini, of all people? As it turned out, yes he was. Also, Zabini was a way better kisser than Pansy. Too bad he was also such a tosser. Thirdly, Ancient Runes And Runaways was about archeology, which both interested and frightened Draco. The idea that there were things hidden in the Earth that had not been uncovered for thousands of years was at once awe-inspiring and comforting. Awe-inspiring because it illustrated just how insignificant, how unimportant his life’s choices and possessions truly were, and comforting because that meant that it didn’t really matter a great deal what you were up to. Whether you were a Muggle or a Pureblood Wizard or a Death Eater or a whatever-the-fuck Potter called himself, a hundred years from now they’d all be rotting in the ground. There was no greater good, not really. There was only waiting for your life to go by and trying to be comfortable while you waited.
Draco absolutely could not leave the book at Hogwarts. There was just no way. He cursed himself silently for not having the insight to get multiple copies, if he was so dead-set on having his happiness depend on a book. It was, he remembered, possible that Pansy had borrowed it. If she had, it’d been ages ago. But still. After they were done with the awkward heterosexual fumbling and all of the apologies and the memorable screaming fight, Pansy had been the first one he’d come out to. She’d seemed relieved that he was not attracted to girls in general, not just to her. To make up for having used her to solve his confusion, he’d offered she borrow the book. It was quite steamy in parts, and if Draco was not mistakes girls liked that sort of thing. Yes, Pansy must still have it.
This posed a new problem. He couldn’t go look for it in her room, for the obvious reason that that would piss her off. He didn’t much care about that, though. The real problem was that the girl’s dormitories were protected, so that no boys could enter them. Never mind that Draco was as queer as they get, there was just no way he was gaining access to those chambers. But then it was only about eight o’clock. The odds of Pansy still being out and about were high, and it would be quick work to go find her and demand his book back right this second.
Draco had forgotten all about the Yule Ball.
When he reached the ground floor of the Castle though, blinking against the brightness of the candlelight, the realization came rushing back to him in a painful flash. He wasn’t dressed for it. As a matter of fact, he was wearing black pajama bottoms under his robe that had a pattern of snitches on them. This hadn’t been much of an issue before, but with everyone out and about in their best garb he suddenly felt self-conscious.
Pansy was nowhere to be seen. She was probably off somewhere snogging the Ravenclaw bloke she’d been on about. Good for her, but that meant she’d be difficult to find and if he did find her, she might be in a compromising position, and he very much did not want to bear witness to that. He leaned his head back against one of the heavy pillars that flanked the entrance to the Great Hall, and tried to block out the wailing noise of the Weird Sisters and the flashing lights of the sparkling stars attached to the ceiling. He didn’t notice the Magical Mistletoe floating towards him.
The first thing he noticed was a smattering of glitter on his right shoulder. It was silver and gold and it looked out of place on his ordinary black cloak. He looked up to see where the despicable stuff had come from and abruptly turned bright red. There, drifting over his head, close enough to reach if he stretched out, was the bloody Magical Mistletoe.
“Grimy Goblins,” Draco cursed.
He tried to walk away from it, hoping against his better judgement that the Mistletoe was just drifting past, that its intended victim was not him. It was no use. The infernal plant had created a boundary around Draco. He was trapped in a circle approximately three feet across, and the only way for him to ever leave this exact spot was to get snogged by his True Love. God fucking dammit. Bloody hell. His cheeks burning with humiliation, Draco sank down on the floor, crossed his legs, and thumped his head against the wall behind him.
Already he could feel the eyes of curious Hogwarts students on him. Just his luck that his prison had popped up at the entrance to the Great Hall, right where literally everyone would be walking by at some point this evening.
It was a ridiculous notion, he reflected. True love and all that nonsense. What if his true love was not currently attending Hogwarts? What if his true love was in Rome, for example? Was he to wait in this exact spot for ages until the tosser figured it out? What if, God forbid, there was no one intended for him?
“That’s not the way it works, Mr Malfoy,” sounded Professor Sprout’s authoritative voice in the back of his mind. “The Mistletoe only becomes activated if your Perfect Match is within a mile of you. Otherwise it wouldn’t be much use.”
So there was someone on the Castle grounds right now that was meant for Draco. The thought excited him a little, in spite of his God-awful situation. Who could it be? His sexual orientation automatically disqualified about half of the Hogwarts attendees. It couldn’t be a Gryffindor, he reflected. Not a Hufflepuff either, for that matter. Those types of people just weren’t suited for him. Oh Merlin, what if it was a teacher? He shuddered. The thought was too horrible to contemplate.
He wasn’t carrying a timepiece, and it was anyone’s guess how long he’d been there by now. His back was starting to ache from the cold hard surface of the wall it was leaning against, and his tailbone was digging uncomfortably into the stone floor. He stood, stretched his muscles, then quickly sat down again. Standing up had earned him a bunch of curious looks from passersby and he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than strictly necessary.
Then, to his utter relief and embarrassment, the Ball came to an end. Hordes of students started pouring out of the Great Hall at once, and Draco could feel a million eyes on him. Mercifully, the droning noise of the music had stopped.
“Mr Malfoy?”
Draco had squeezed his eyes shut so as to avoid seeing everyone looking at him, but upon hearing the smooth voice of his Head of House, he opened them at once.
“Yes, professor?”
“Is something the matter, Draco?”
The use of his first name wasn’t unusual for Snape, but Draco was taken aback when he heard it in such a public setting. He couldn’t bring himself to explain, but he did look up. Snape followed his gaze and let out a breath in understanding.
“Ah.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Mr Malfoy,” Draco knew what was coming and couldn’t help but close his eyes again. “Do you have any idea who could help you out of this particular predicament?”
Draco shook his head. “Not really, professor. But..”
He hesitated and looked at Snape again. Oddly enough, Snape had an almost kind expression on his face, not pitying so much as compassionate and understanding.
Heartened, Draco finished his sentence. “I’m quite sure it’s a boy, professor.”
Snape’s eyes widened a little, but mercifully, he didn’t comment.
“I know who it is.”
Draco looked around, dumbfounded, to figure out who had spoken. The Hall was full of students and at first he couldn’t tell, but then, to his dismay, he saw the Weaslette approach.
As soon as she was within speaking distance, she told them: “It’s Harry.”
Draco blanched. “No, it isn’t.”
Ginny gave him an incredulous look. For a moment, she seemed to be gathering her thoughts. Then she said: “It’s him. Trust me.”
Draco’s mind was reeling. Was there any way she could be right? Potter was fit, sure, but a lot of boys were fit. Potter was also a colossal git. Not that the two of them had ever had a serious conversation, but still.
Snape was smiling wryly. “Miss Weasley,” he said, “would you be so kind as to fetch Mr Potter for us?”
For the first time that evening, Draco was truly rooted to the spot. In his mind, he went over every interaction he’d had with Potter over the years. He thought of his failed attempt at befriending him in first year. He thought of the endless fights and the spying that had been going on recently. He thought of the way Potter looked on a broomstick, all disheveled and aglow with excitement. Shite. The Weaslette might be on to something. Draco didn’t say anything to Snape, who was now looking at the entrance to the Great Hall, trying to find Potter.
“It can’t be, professor,” Draco said softly. Snape turned to face him.
“Draco,” his voice was gentle. “We can’t decide who we fall for. Trust me, I know all about the wicked ways of the heart. The fact that you’re trapped under the Mistletoe only means that someone loves you back, that someone is meant for you. You should consider yourself a very lucky young man.”
Snape’s voice was still kind, but something in his expression betrayed a hint of bitterness. Perhaps, Draco thought, Snape hadn’t been so lucky as to have his feelings reciprocated. He quickly discarded the thought. It was odd to consider that Snape had a personal life, and feelings, and other human qualities like that.
Thankfully, Draco was distracted from such disturbing thought by the return of the Weaslette, a flushed Potter in tow. Draco felt something lift in his stomach, then plummet like a Wronsky Feint. Potter was blushing, out of breath, and his eyes were shifting around nervously. He looked even more disheveled than during Quidditch. He looked, Draco suddenly realised, delectable.
“Thank you, Miss Weasley,” said Professor Snape, and he gently guided the Weaslette away from where Draco was staring at Potter. The hallway was still busy, but suddenly it felt like Draco and Harry were the only people in the whole castle.
For a while, nobody spoke. Draco tried to meet Potter’s eyes, which, he recalled, were bright green. Potter just kept looking alternately at the floor and the Mistletoe floating above Draco’s head. Draco wasn’t really surprised to see that the plant had started to float towards Potter, so that Draco was forced to step closer to him. Then, a moment later, closer still.
Draco considered. He had two choices. On the one hand, he could keep resisting, stay here in this corridor for the rest of this life, and be a git about the whole thing. On the other hand, he could close the distance between them easily now, and just kiss Potter. It would complicate everything, but at least he’d be able to get away from this godforsaken spot after that.
Then Potter, because he was an utter wanker with a strange need to overshare, muttered something.
“What?” snapped Draco.
“I said,” this time Potter met his eyes. “Ginny and I broke up because I’m in love with you.”
Draco stood, mouth gaping open, and looked at Harry. His jaw was gorgeous, angled and strong and pale and smooth. His lips were thin but they were almost smiling, and it was the cutest thing Draco had ever seen. His hair, his ridiculous hair, was a complete mess. Draco’s fingers itched to touch it.
“Let’s just get it over with so you can get out of here,” Harry offered.
Draco’s eyebrows went up. “You weren’t exactly paying attention in Herbology, were you, Potter?” He made sure to keep his voice condescending and aloof and absolutely Malfoy.
It worked. Harry gave him a confused look.
“I wouldn’t be trapped here if I wasn’t in love with you too, tosser.”
Except Draco couldn’t really speak that last, fond insult, because he was suddenly being snogged. He considered that kissing a bloke with glasses, while glasses were in his top three of sexiest things, was very impractical. He clutched Harry’s head in his hands and knocked the glasses right of his face. Then they were kissing again, deeper this time, and with tongue, and Merlin was it delicious.
Somebody coughed politely. Annoyed, Draco pulled away from Harry a little and looked over to see Pansy, awkwardly staring just left of where they were standing, Ancient Runes And Runaways in her hands.
“Err, Draco?”
He gave her a pointed look.
“I thought you might want this back.”
He snatched the book from her hands and muttered a quick, “Thank you,” before getting back to snogging Potter.
They kissed more slowly this time, more carefully, and Harry gently guided Draco until he was pressed up against the wall, holding on to Harry by his shoulders and allowing his mouth to be pushed open softly by Harry’s tongue. He tasted like Butterbeer and Draco reflected that it was absolutely delicious.
Draco had been wrong, there was a greater good. It was this, right here, Harry’s skinny arms under his hands. The greater good was love. And there was something to be said for Christmas, after all.
Title: The Greater Good
Author/Artist: hastendown
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, a little bit of Hermione/Ron
Prompt: The magical Mistletoe is supposed to find the right partner for you, but it must be defective because there is no way ____ is right for him!
Word Count: 3.674
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This was beta’d by my awesome little brother, Roleof
Summary: Draco gets trapped under the spell of a Magical Mistletoe. He’s forced to wait for his Perfect Match to kiss him so he can walk around freely again. Who on earth could it be, though?
Draco hates Christmas. He doesn’t usually have any reason to, eleven out of twelve months of the year, Christmas is irrelevant. It doesn’t bother him as long as it isn’t talked about or gushed over. On the 1st of December, Christmas breaks out at Hogwarts castle like a plague, like a nefarious plot being put into action, and in the blink of an eye everything is covered in lights and tinsel and sparkly shite, and it makes his head ache. Blaise laughs at him for his ridiculous hatred of the relatively unoffending holiday, and continuously plagues him with Christmas carols and candy canes and other such nonsense. For the duration of December, Draco likes to pretend he’s already at the Manor, where Christmas is quiet and understated and relaxing in a way that isn’t in Hogwarts’ dictionary, apparently.
The worst of it is probably his education getting infected with festivities and frivolities such as Giftwrapping Charms and Decorating Spells and Magical Cooking. It’s about as far from academically useful as you can get and it bores Draco half to death.
“Magical Mistletoes,” Professor Sprout is saying, “are amongst the most intelligent of Magical plants. They have the ability, much like the Sorting Hat, to read the minds of those in their proximity, and they have an uncanny knack for creating romantic matches.”
The old woman is grinning while she tells them this, as though there are few things as exciting as romantic matches. The greenhouses are chilly, and Draco wants to get out of there badly enough that he’s considering trying to Apparate, and damn the consequences.
“There will, as always, be Magical Mistletoe present at the Yule Ball, so be warned. No good has ever come of ignoring the Mistletoe’s insights. It always spots romantic love, but only in cases where the couple are actually well-suited for one another.” She moves on to the next plant, and Draco looks at the students murmuring excitedly around him. Pansy, the daft tart, is talking in an animated voice about some Ravenclaw bloke she fancies, and how she’s sure the Mistletoe will see that they are meant to be. Across from Draco, the Gryffindors are nudging each other and whispering, but he can’t make out any words. Granger is giving the Weasel a pining look that’s bordering on too pathetic, even for her. The only one who seems as disinterested as Draco is the Great Potter, and this makes Draco laugh wryly. Of course, the Chosen Plonker already knows he’ll be spending however little future he has left with the Weaslette. Nothing for him to worry about but killing the Dark Lord or getting killed. At this point, Draco isn’t sure which he would prefer.
On the one hand, having the Dark Lord defeated would certainly destroy Father, or at the very least destroy the self-possessed calculating man he once was. Trouble is, Draco isn’t sure he likes that version of his father. Mother would surely survive, she isn’t as prejudiced as her heritage suggests. As a matter of fact, she’s simply a witch who fell in love with a wizard with some pretty unusual opinions. Surely she can’t be faulted for falling in love, Draco thinks.
The walk back to the Castle is blissfully quiet, and Draco walks another circle or two around the lake before reemerging himself in the terrible cacophony of the Great Hall. When he does enter, he’s grateful he’s taken a while, because everyone seems to be shouting something, all pushing at each other to get closer to the Gryffindor table where, Sweet Salazar, Granger and Weasley are snogging like it’s their last day on earth. Draco looks away quickly, not wanting to spoil his appetite, but not quickly enough to miss the Magical Mistletoe floating above the two of them. It was about damned time those two figured it out.
Potter is sitting next to Weasley, and awkward but happy smile on his face, occasionally rolling his eyes to amuse the bystanders. He doesn’t seem to mind that he’s been eternally demoted to third wheel. The Weaslette, to Draco’s great surprise, is ignoring both Potter and the snogging duo in favour of Seamus Finnigan. She talking to him animatedly on the other side of Gryffindor table, flipping her hair about like an utter twat. The Magical Mistletoe is leaving both her and Potter alone. Curious.
The bright combination of tinsel and Christmas decorations and a gazillion candles is making his head hurt, so Draco excuses himself and goes to bed. He’s had it with Christmas already.
**************************************
For the next few days, life at Hogwarts is blissfully Christmas-free. Draco goes out of his way to let everyone know that no, he will not be participating in any Secret Santa shenanigans and no, he will not attend the ball that will be held on the evening of their departures. He is, mercifully, left alone. There’s still Magical Mistletoe floating around the Castle but at least the stuff’s been banned from classrooms. It’s not like Draco does anything but go to class, so there is no place for the Mistletoe to ambush him. Furthermore, there is no one he fancies, so he doesn’t see what all the fuss is about.
On the night before he’ll be boarding the Hogwarts Express, Draco does what he always does. He goes down to his dormitory right after dinner to pack his trunk. It’s not like he doesn’t have clothes or books at home. It’s just there’s one little thing that he’d prefer his roommates didn’t know. Draco loves studying. He packs early and when he’s sure he’ll be left alone because for every holiday, he’ll take all of his books home with him. In fact, the whole suitcase will be full of books. He doesn’t want anyone to know, because there are few people in the world less tolerant and understanding than Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Zabini. And it just so happens that these are the boys Draco’s been condemned to live with for seven years.
He’s packing the books in alphabetical order, spines facing upwards for easy access, when he finds to his utter discontent that one is missing. It’s Ancient Runes And Runaways, and yeah, that isn’t exactly part of any school assignment. It is, however, Draco’s favourite book and he must have it in his possession at all times. Ancient Runes And Runaways is the swashbuckling tale of a young Pureblood wizard who runs away from home to become a Muggle Archeologist. Occasionally, he happens upon findings of magical origins, and he quickly becomes well-known in his field. As an archeology-prodigy, Humboldt, for that is his name, starts studying in Rome. There, he meets a charming Italian man and the pair fall in love. There is only one problem: how will Humboldt tell his family about his relationship with Ludovico, a destitute Muggle?
It’s Draco’s favourite book for many reasons. Firstly, the setting of Rome, the ancient yet modern city, the delicious ice cream and sweltering heat, fascinates him. He desperately wants to visit Italy. As a matter of fact, he is planning on doing just that as soon as he graduates. Secondly, it’s the book that helped Draco resolve the matter of his Confused Sexual Orientation. Was he gay, and was Pansy simply an untalented kisser? Was he going stark-raving mad? Was he attracted to Zabini, of all people? As it turned out, yes he was. Also, Zabini was a way better kisser than Pansy. Too bad he was also such a tosser. Thirdly, Ancient Runes And Runaways was about archeology, which both interested and frightened Draco. The idea that there were things hidden in the Earth that had not been uncovered for thousands of years was at once awe-inspiring and comforting. Awe-inspiring because it illustrated just how insignificant, how unimportant his life’s choices and possessions truly were, and comforting because that meant that it didn’t really matter a great deal what you were up to. Whether you were a Muggle or a Pureblood Wizard or a Death Eater or a whatever-the-fuck Potter called himself, a hundred years from now they’d all be rotting in the ground. There was no greater good, not really. There was only waiting for your life to go by and trying to be comfortable while you waited.
Draco absolutely could not leave the book at Hogwarts. There was just no way. He cursed himself silently for not having the insight to get multiple copies, if he was so dead-set on having his happiness depend on a book. It was, he remembered, possible that Pansy had borrowed it. If she had, it’d been ages ago. But still. After they were done with the awkward heterosexual fumbling and all of the apologies and the memorable screaming fight, Pansy had been the first one he’d come out to. She’d seemed relieved that he was not attracted to girls in general, not just to her. To make up for having used her to solve his confusion, he’d offered she borrow the book. It was quite steamy in parts, and if Draco was not mistakes girls liked that sort of thing. Yes, Pansy must still have it.
This posed a new problem. He couldn’t go look for it in her room, for the obvious reason that that would piss her off. He didn’t much care about that, though. The real problem was that the girl’s dormitories were protected, so that no boys could enter them. Never mind that Draco was as queer as they get, there was just no way he was gaining access to those chambers. But then it was only about eight o’clock. The odds of Pansy still being out and about were high, and it would be quick work to go find her and demand his book back right this second.
Draco had forgotten all about the Yule Ball.
When he reached the ground floor of the Castle though, blinking against the brightness of the candlelight, the realization came rushing back to him in a painful flash. He wasn’t dressed for it. As a matter of fact, he was wearing black pajama bottoms under his robe that had a pattern of snitches on them. This hadn’t been much of an issue before, but with everyone out and about in their best garb he suddenly felt self-conscious.
Pansy was nowhere to be seen. She was probably off somewhere snogging the Ravenclaw bloke she’d been on about. Good for her, but that meant she’d be difficult to find and if he did find her, she might be in a compromising position, and he very much did not want to bear witness to that. He leaned his head back against one of the heavy pillars that flanked the entrance to the Great Hall, and tried to block out the wailing noise of the Weird Sisters and the flashing lights of the sparkling stars attached to the ceiling. He didn’t notice the Magical Mistletoe floating towards him.
The first thing he noticed was a smattering of glitter on his right shoulder. It was silver and gold and it looked out of place on his ordinary black cloak. He looked up to see where the despicable stuff had come from and abruptly turned bright red. There, drifting over his head, close enough to reach if he stretched out, was the bloody Magical Mistletoe.
“Grimy Goblins,” Draco cursed.
He tried to walk away from it, hoping against his better judgement that the Mistletoe was just drifting past, that its intended victim was not him. It was no use. The infernal plant had created a boundary around Draco. He was trapped in a circle approximately three feet across, and the only way for him to ever leave this exact spot was to get snogged by his True Love. God fucking dammit. Bloody hell. His cheeks burning with humiliation, Draco sank down on the floor, crossed his legs, and thumped his head against the wall behind him.
Already he could feel the eyes of curious Hogwarts students on him. Just his luck that his prison had popped up at the entrance to the Great Hall, right where literally everyone would be walking by at some point this evening.
It was a ridiculous notion, he reflected. True love and all that nonsense. What if his true love was not currently attending Hogwarts? What if his true love was in Rome, for example? Was he to wait in this exact spot for ages until the tosser figured it out? What if, God forbid, there was no one intended for him?
“That’s not the way it works, Mr Malfoy,” sounded Professor Sprout’s authoritative voice in the back of his mind. “The Mistletoe only becomes activated if your Perfect Match is within a mile of you. Otherwise it wouldn’t be much use.”
So there was someone on the Castle grounds right now that was meant for Draco. The thought excited him a little, in spite of his God-awful situation. Who could it be? His sexual orientation automatically disqualified about half of the Hogwarts attendees. It couldn’t be a Gryffindor, he reflected. Not a Hufflepuff either, for that matter. Those types of people just weren’t suited for him. Oh Merlin, what if it was a teacher? He shuddered. The thought was too horrible to contemplate.
He wasn’t carrying a timepiece, and it was anyone’s guess how long he’d been there by now. His back was starting to ache from the cold hard surface of the wall it was leaning against, and his tailbone was digging uncomfortably into the stone floor. He stood, stretched his muscles, then quickly sat down again. Standing up had earned him a bunch of curious looks from passersby and he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than strictly necessary.
Then, to his utter relief and embarrassment, the Ball came to an end. Hordes of students started pouring out of the Great Hall at once, and Draco could feel a million eyes on him. Mercifully, the droning noise of the music had stopped.
“Mr Malfoy?”
Draco had squeezed his eyes shut so as to avoid seeing everyone looking at him, but upon hearing the smooth voice of his Head of House, he opened them at once.
“Yes, professor?”
“Is something the matter, Draco?”
The use of his first name wasn’t unusual for Snape, but Draco was taken aback when he heard it in such a public setting. He couldn’t bring himself to explain, but he did look up. Snape followed his gaze and let out a breath in understanding.
“Ah.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Mr Malfoy,” Draco knew what was coming and couldn’t help but close his eyes again. “Do you have any idea who could help you out of this particular predicament?”
Draco shook his head. “Not really, professor. But..”
He hesitated and looked at Snape again. Oddly enough, Snape had an almost kind expression on his face, not pitying so much as compassionate and understanding.
Heartened, Draco finished his sentence. “I’m quite sure it’s a boy, professor.”
Snape’s eyes widened a little, but mercifully, he didn’t comment.
“I know who it is.”
Draco looked around, dumbfounded, to figure out who had spoken. The Hall was full of students and at first he couldn’t tell, but then, to his dismay, he saw the Weaslette approach.
As soon as she was within speaking distance, she told them: “It’s Harry.”
Draco blanched. “No, it isn’t.”
Ginny gave him an incredulous look. For a moment, she seemed to be gathering her thoughts. Then she said: “It’s him. Trust me.”
Draco’s mind was reeling. Was there any way she could be right? Potter was fit, sure, but a lot of boys were fit. Potter was also a colossal git. Not that the two of them had ever had a serious conversation, but still.
Snape was smiling wryly. “Miss Weasley,” he said, “would you be so kind as to fetch Mr Potter for us?”
For the first time that evening, Draco was truly rooted to the spot. In his mind, he went over every interaction he’d had with Potter over the years. He thought of his failed attempt at befriending him in first year. He thought of the endless fights and the spying that had been going on recently. He thought of the way Potter looked on a broomstick, all disheveled and aglow with excitement. Shite. The Weaslette might be on to something. Draco didn’t say anything to Snape, who was now looking at the entrance to the Great Hall, trying to find Potter.
“It can’t be, professor,” Draco said softly. Snape turned to face him.
“Draco,” his voice was gentle. “We can’t decide who we fall for. Trust me, I know all about the wicked ways of the heart. The fact that you’re trapped under the Mistletoe only means that someone loves you back, that someone is meant for you. You should consider yourself a very lucky young man.”
Snape’s voice was still kind, but something in his expression betrayed a hint of bitterness. Perhaps, Draco thought, Snape hadn’t been so lucky as to have his feelings reciprocated. He quickly discarded the thought. It was odd to consider that Snape had a personal life, and feelings, and other human qualities like that.
Thankfully, Draco was distracted from such disturbing thought by the return of the Weaslette, a flushed Potter in tow. Draco felt something lift in his stomach, then plummet like a Wronsky Feint. Potter was blushing, out of breath, and his eyes were shifting around nervously. He looked even more disheveled than during Quidditch. He looked, Draco suddenly realised, delectable.
“Thank you, Miss Weasley,” said Professor Snape, and he gently guided the Weaslette away from where Draco was staring at Potter. The hallway was still busy, but suddenly it felt like Draco and Harry were the only people in the whole castle.
For a while, nobody spoke. Draco tried to meet Potter’s eyes, which, he recalled, were bright green. Potter just kept looking alternately at the floor and the Mistletoe floating above Draco’s head. Draco wasn’t really surprised to see that the plant had started to float towards Potter, so that Draco was forced to step closer to him. Then, a moment later, closer still.
Draco considered. He had two choices. On the one hand, he could keep resisting, stay here in this corridor for the rest of this life, and be a git about the whole thing. On the other hand, he could close the distance between them easily now, and just kiss Potter. It would complicate everything, but at least he’d be able to get away from this godforsaken spot after that.
Then Potter, because he was an utter wanker with a strange need to overshare, muttered something.
“What?” snapped Draco.
“I said,” this time Potter met his eyes. “Ginny and I broke up because I’m in love with you.”
Draco stood, mouth gaping open, and looked at Harry. His jaw was gorgeous, angled and strong and pale and smooth. His lips were thin but they were almost smiling, and it was the cutest thing Draco had ever seen. His hair, his ridiculous hair, was a complete mess. Draco’s fingers itched to touch it.
“Let’s just get it over with so you can get out of here,” Harry offered.
Draco’s eyebrows went up. “You weren’t exactly paying attention in Herbology, were you, Potter?” He made sure to keep his voice condescending and aloof and absolutely Malfoy.
It worked. Harry gave him a confused look.
“I wouldn’t be trapped here if I wasn’t in love with you too, tosser.”
Except Draco couldn’t really speak that last, fond insult, because he was suddenly being snogged. He considered that kissing a bloke with glasses, while glasses were in his top three of sexiest things, was very impractical. He clutched Harry’s head in his hands and knocked the glasses right of his face. Then they were kissing again, deeper this time, and with tongue, and Merlin was it delicious.
Somebody coughed politely. Annoyed, Draco pulled away from Harry a little and looked over to see Pansy, awkwardly staring just left of where they were standing, Ancient Runes And Runaways in her hands.
“Err, Draco?”
He gave her a pointed look.
“I thought you might want this back.”
He snatched the book from her hands and muttered a quick, “Thank you,” before getting back to snogging Potter.
They kissed more slowly this time, more carefully, and Harry gently guided Draco until he was pressed up against the wall, holding on to Harry by his shoulders and allowing his mouth to be pushed open softly by Harry’s tongue. He tasted like Butterbeer and Draco reflected that it was absolutely delicious.
Draco had been wrong, there was a greater good. It was this, right here, Harry’s skinny arms under his hands. The greater good was love. And there was something to be said for Christmas, after all.