Mistletoe Blackmail
Disclaimer: Characters and settings property of J K Rowling. Alterations to previous canon plots are courtesy of me.
A/N: This is one of the 'Stocking Filler' triad (if I get round to writing three before Christmas. But I'm off school now, so it looks hopeful). I won't say go and read the others, as they're very different pairings.
A bit of background: Imagine HBP hasn't happened, and at the end of OotP, Voldemort died and Sirius lived. Mainly I'm saying that so that Harry can be normal(ish) instead of a moody, self-pitying little prick who has to fight evil. (No, I don't like him much in the canon. However did you guess?)
The rating is for language and some slash.
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It was approaching Christmas at Hogwarts, and the strain was showing on the students. Roving bands of hyperactive young witches and wizards wandered the corridors plaguing everyone else with (terrible) renditions of The Weird Sisters' 'All I Want for Christmas Is a Toad'. Older students had taken to hexing them, finally resulting in a rather nasty incident where Dean Thomas transfigured a second-year boy's ears into kippers. Dean had received the expected ticking-off about behaviour unbefitting a sixth year, but had put up with it due to the sound knowledge that the second-year had come off much worse.
Two days before the end of lessons, most of the younger classes were winding down; the fifth, sixth and seventh years, however, were being exhorted to keep working right up to the last minute, cart home all their books for the holidays, and study until they collapsed (though none of the teachers quite phrased it like that). The weight of books being carried by the wretched students slowed them down considerably, and made the corridors a very dangerous place for them to be.
In a fit of merriness after the defeat of the Dark Lord, Dumbledore had made a great effort to make the castle suitably festive. Hence the extra-extra-extra-large Christmas trees, the fairies dressed as Father Christmas that floated around the place, and something altogether more sinister: Dumbledore had invested in a job lot of mistletoe. But this was no ordinary mistletoe; it had a nasty tendency to present itself whenever two people who loathed each other crossed paths. It also had the rather nastier tendency to prevent anyone from resisting its will. No one actually knew exactly what it did to achieve this, as anyone who resisted subsequently spent several mysterious days in the hospital wing, emerging with a massive aversion to discussing their ordeal. Consequently, nobody was any the wiser.
Harry Potter was one of the rare specimens of the student body who had not yet fallen victim to the voyeuristic vegetation. He had witnessed many things he would rather never have seen, but at the present time, he had not had any encounters of his own.
That Monday, just before the end of term, he was on his way to Transfiguration when he found the corridor blocked by a knot of people. With a little subtle elbowing, he made his way past a few of the spectators, and saw for himself what was going on. It wasn't a pretty sight; right in front of him were Millicent Bulstrode (who, to be quite honest, was very different to the way she used to look) and Ginny Weasley, kissing like it was going out of fashion. He wasn't even surprised this time; he just looked up at the ceiling and – wait. The mistletoe wasn't there any more. Judging by the screams coming from the other direction, it had buggered off somewhere else. So what was going on here? He looked around at the small crowd. They were watching avidly; some of the boys even had their mouths hanging open. "Perverts," he muttered, deciding it was time for action. "You two? The evil plant's gone, and you have an audience…"
The two girls jumped about a foot in the air as they separated and realised the situation around them. Millicent blushed redder than Ginny's hair, pushed through the crowd, and disappeared. Ginny presented several of the nearby boys with a death-glare that could have fried an ox, before running off after the Slytherin.
What was that all about? Harry wondered, waiting for the group to disperse before going on his way to class.
An hour later, he left the classroom feeling none the wiser. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he had to stop thinking about it in order to put his guard back up, for his own safety.
He completed the journey to the Great Hall and managed an uneventful lunch, much to his relief.
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He stayed at Hogwarts for the first part of the holidays; he had promised Sirius a peaceful Christmas in Grimmauld Place with his partner, in return for Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny descending on the house for New Year.
It was pretty quiet after most people had gone home; only about ten students had opted to remain for the holiday. None of his friends were among them, but Harry didn't really mind. It was nice to have some proper quiet, and it was safer to go about the school alone. Or at least that was what he thought until December 23rd.
On that day, he was on his way to the Library after lunch when he rounded a corner and collided with something. Predictably, it was a person. More predictably still, it was Malfoy.
"Get up, Potter," came a voice from somewhere below him. "You're slightly crushing me."
He couldn't even be bothered to get angry. Since the summer, Malfoy's venom had entirely dissipated, and Harry had been forced to the conclusion that the Dark Side had never really been the blond boy's choice in life. He had just been pushed into it. Nonetheless: "I had noticed that, Malfoy, seeing as you're the size of a gnat and I'm on top of you at present. Not of my own volition, I might add. Now – oh shit." In the process of trying to get up, Harry had spotted something on the ceiling that made him feel even sicker than when, in first year, he had seen a slice of salami on the ceiling of a classroom.
"What?" Malfoy demanded, managing to get back on his feet, and following Harry's line of sight. "…Bloody hell, you're kidding me."
Harry fought back a wave of nausea. "Alas, no. That is mistletoe. We're screwed."
Malfoy shot him a dark look. He hated Potter so much right now; not, surprisingly, for his heroic nature and devotion to the Light Side. Really, it was more about how Draco couldn't resist said heroic nature and devotion to the Light Side. And that was without even mentioning the Quidditch-toned physique, great bone structure, and creepily sexy eyes. Though it made him feel ill to think about it, he had a crush on The Boy Who Lived. And now he was going to have to kiss him or face the wrath of the notorious flora.
Now Potter was staring at him. Why was Potter staring at him? Oh yeah, because he was staring at Potter. Oops. He tried to sound annoyed and wearied: "Well, shall we get this over with?" To himself, he sounded like a frightened chipmunk.
To Harry, he sounded almost seductive. "Um, I guess so… do you know what the… ah, mistletoe…" he felt like such a prat saying that "…wants? Like, kiss on the cheek, or…?"
"I have no idea," Malfoy confessed. "There's really only one way to find out. Unless, that is, you want to find out what it does to miscreants?"
Harry didn't even answer; he just leaned forward and kissed Malfoy on the cheek. Then he looked up. It hadn't moved. If it were human, it would be tapping its foot. "Okay, not enough."
They tried on the lips. That didn't work. "Can mistletoe look pissed off?" Malfoy asked in an undertone. "'Cos that stuff doesn't look happy to me."
Harry laughed. Now he was laughing at stuff Malfoy said? He had a problem. "Um…"
They made eye contact. Neither spoke; they simply glanced at the threatening clump of green leaves and white berries, which resolutely hovered over their heads. It wasn't moving; it was time to accept their fate.
It was Malfoy who moved first, leaning in to touch his lips against Harry's. Against his immediate instinct, Harry found himself responding. His first thought was that Malfoy must use lip balm; it was a cold winter, and he was pretty certain it took a lot of care to keep your lips that soft. Hold on. He was thinking positive thoughts about kissing Malfoy? That was so patently wrong, except holy crap he was good. His warm, smooth lips were moving against Harry's with a gentleness that could not have been borne entirely of mistletoe blackmail.
After a long moment, Malfoy pulled back about an inch from Harry's face and glanced up. Harry looked up as well, and was worryingly pleased to see that the mistletoe was still there.
He saw Malfoy's eyes flicker with what, at first glance, could be taken for annoyance. But he followed that with a muttered: "Oh, for fuck's sake," put an arm round Harry's neck, and gave the audient foliage what it wanted.
The kiss started out gently, but quickly deepened; it was debatable as to whether this was due to the fear or to the attraction that both of them could no longer deny. This time it was Harry who was the instigator, teasing Draco's lower lip with his teeth, eliciting a small gasp, and pushing his tongue into the blond's mouth.
Draco had to admit to himself that he had not expected Potter to be quite this good. Jesus, the boy had everything. His eyelids fluttered slightly as he responded, pushing his tongue against Harry's with a light pressure to begin with, then stronger, putting his other arm round Harry's neck and weaving his fingers into the other boy's dark hair. Harry's reaction was to wrap his arms around Draco's waist, pulling him even closer so they were virtually touching. The mistletoe was probably sated by now, but neither of them seemed to care.
It was several minutes into the heated kiss, far past the point where Harry had discovered the value of belt loops as a way to draw Draco closer, far past the point where Draco had discovered that Harry was the only person in the world with hair nearly as soft as his, that they finally pulled apart. Draco immediately looked up. "The pervy mistletoe's gone."
"I'd smile if I hadn't worn out my lower face muscles," Harry answered.
Draco blushed. "I think we might have overdone that slightly."
Harry raised his eyebrows at him. "Of course we did!" He smirked slightly. "Draco… I never heard that you were into guys."
The Slytherin's blush intensified into a grade 8: lifeblood. "Pardon?"
Harry ran his hands over his hair, which was even messier than usual. "Straight guys don't kiss other guys like that."
Draco reached grade 9, which, next to his hair, looked quite shocking. "Okay, I might be just a little… bit… gay…"
Harry shrugged. "Fine. By the way, what I just said kind of implied that I'm not exactly the ladies' man either."
"I fancy you," Draco blurted out, deciding to get it over and done with.
Harry grinned. "I don't think you really even needed to say that out loud, but thanks. I rather like you too." His cheeks flushed a little. "Does kissing make people bolder?"
"I think it's the lack of oxygen to the brain," Draco replied, giving Harry his best ever genuine smile. "So while you're still deprived of air, do you want to come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?"
"I'd love to," Harry smiled.
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A/N: I have mixed feelings on this. I thought it was going to turn out awfully, but it wasn't quite as bad as I expected. Note I say 'not quite'. I'm still not crazy about it. Please review and tell me what you thought.