Writer's Block 42.4 - Voting!
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Challenge: On the 1st day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
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A.
Title: First Christmas Kisses
Harry waved Ron and Hermione off with a smile. Yet again he was spending Christmas at Hogwarts while the two of them were off on holiday. Once he was sure they’d gone, he let the smile slide away and turned to head back into the castle. Before he’d taken a step, he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of Draco Malfoy sitting on the wall by the entrance.
Steeling himself, Harry took a deep breath and moved forwards again. He couldn’t avoid Malfoy if he wanted to go back into the castle.
“Potter.”
Harry sighed as he stopped walking again. He turned to face Malfoy, who hadn’t moved from his position on the wall. “Malfoy.”
“You do know we’re the only two sixth years staying?”
Harry suppressed a groan. “Are we?”
Malfoy nodded. “Yes we are.”
“Why are you staying anyway?” Harry asked.
“Funnily enough, Potter, my home life has been thrown into a bit of disarray recently,” Malfoy replied dryly.
“Oh… yeah,” Harry said, scratching his head. “Sorry, I didn’t think.”
“Nothing new there then,” Malfoy sighed. “Anyway. Get used to this, because there is no way I am making friends with any third year Hufflepuffs that are staying.”
“Does that mean you’re trying to make friends with me?” Harry asked, puzzled.
“There are no other Slytherins staying. Any Gryffindors?” Malfoy replied, raising an eyebrow.
Harry shook his head hesitantly. “I don’t think so. Maybe a couple of first years.”
“Looks like we’re stuck with each other then,” Malfoy smirked.
Over the next few days, for reasons he cannot fathom, Harry found himself enjoying Malfoy’s company. Without any other Slytherins around, Malfoy had no-one to impress and was therefore much more pleasant. He’s not that bad to look at either, Harry mused.
When they parted company on Christmas Eve, Harry was almost sad to be heading to the Gryffindor dormitory alone.
The next morning, he awoke to a small pile of presents on his bed from his friends which made him smile. Topping the pile was a small piece of folded parchment which he opened curiously.
Come to the entrance of your common room.
It wasn’t signed. Puzzled, he hopped out of bed and padded down the stairs and pushed open the portrait hole. On the other side was Draco, simply standing in the corridor, wearing his pyjamas.
“Is this from you?” Harry asked, indicating the parchment.
Draco nodded. “I sort of felt I owed you a present after we’ve spent so much time together these last few days.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Harry said, feeling slightly ashamed that he hadn’t thought of giving Draco anything.
“Maybe not, but I wanted to give you a present anyway,” Draco replied, shrugging.
“Ok… well, where is it?” Harry asked, noting that Draco’s hands were empty.
“Here,” Draco said softly, leaning in and kissing Harry firmly.
Harry made a surprised noise but wasted no time returning the kiss, his hands laid gently on Draco’s waist.
B.
Title: Close Encounters
I sighed at the stack of paperwork that had just landed on my desk. “Well, it’s no partridge. And there’s a distinct lack of pear trees.”
“What are you on about?” Malfoy asked.
“Muggle Christmas carol. All about the gifts someone’s true love gave them. Remind me to sing it for you sometime.”
“I’ll pass, thanks. No need to hear in minute detail all the things Weasley gives you. My stomach couldn’t take it.”
“Ha! Ronald.”
Malfoy blinked. “Well, that was more bitter than expected. All’s not well in Weaseltown?”
“Hardly.”
“Clearly. You didn’t bother to give me hell for the Weasel barb. What’s he done now?”
I closed my eyes. “Nothing I shouldn’t have seen coming.”
Malfoy whistled softly. “That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say it’s some kind of cosmic joke that I have more in common with you than with him.”
“Ha! Don’t I know it.”
My eyes snapped open just in time to see him blush furiously. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Malfoy. Speak.”
“You can’t order me around, Granger. We co-direct this department.”
I gave him my best librarian stare.
“Won’t work. I’m immune to your looks of death after twelve years.”
I continued my stare.
“Granger.”
Stare.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Really? We’re doing this now?”
Stare.
“Fine. I have always been acutely aware of how much we have in common. Particularly since we started working in the Department of Mysteries. But I knew, even back at Hogwarts.”
“You were an utter and complete bastard to me at Hogwarts.”
“You were an insufferable know-it-all who trampled all over my culture. What did you expect?”
“Point. But...now?”
“Exactly how bad are things in Weaseltown?”
“Bad enough that Christmas will be a solo affair for me.”
The edge of his lips flicked up. “Wanna change that?”
I swallowed hard, wheels of oh-my-god-this-is-insane-god-he’s-gorgeous churning. “Ronald would never forgive me.”
“Hence my inquiry about the exact state of Weaseltown.”
“Malfoy!”
“Maybe we could start with you calling me Draco.”
I let it sit on the edge of my tongue for a moment. “Draco.” It felt sharp and strange and inexplicably comfortable.
He smiled. “Hermione. I have an utterly delightful twenty-five-year-old Macallan sherry oak scotch whiskey back at my place. Would you care to share some?”
“Why do you have Muggle liquor?”
“You think I can spend twelve years with you and not learn to appreciate the finer offerings of the Muggle world? You wound me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Prat.”
“A prat with a right fine bottle of scotch he’s willing to share. I hope it beats - what was it? A pheasant in a fruit tree?”
I smiled. “A partridge in a pear tree.”
“Yes, that. But we here in the Department of Mysteries believe in empirical investigation. We should really investigate the relative merits of scotch to partridges.”
“You make an excellent point.”
“Shall we, Hermione?”
“Do let’s, Draco.”