.Rain.
He held open his palm. The droplets hit his skin, clear and cool. He wished his head was like the raindrops. It wasn't though. It was a ranging storm, a category five hurricane.
What was he doing?
What were these feelings?
It was foreign. He didn't like foreign. He visited Thailand once – the heat and food didn't settle with him, and the friendly smiles of the muggles enraged him.
He felt his heart flutter. Internally, he shouted at the organ in his chest to return to its half-dead state.
He wasn't in love, especially not with the boy who lived.
.Mistletoe.
It was December, the dreaded month where sparkles decked the hall and green leaves sprouted from the ceiling.
Draco hated mistletoe. He hated it with the same level of passion his father had for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Squealing girls from all the houses watched him, waiting for him to fall beneath one of the green bushels so they could steal a kiss.
Walking down the halls of Hogwarts, Draco kept his eyes on the ceiling, reminding himself that Christmas break was days away. It seemed he was in luck; he'd make it to potions without a mishap.
Well, until he kissed Harry.
.Presents.
Draco was not having a good Christmas. First, he kissed Harry (by accident, of course, a ridiculous spell the teachers had cast to make any student under the mistletoe kiss the other; he would never kiss Harry voluntarily). Secondly, he was forced to stay at Hogwarts last minute due to some "family emergency". Blah. And lastly, it was Christmas day and he only had fourteen presents.
They weren't bad, he supposed. His mother got him what he wanted, and his father always catered to his dark desires. It was the fourteenth present though that enraged him; the prank from Harry.
.Christmas.
It was well established that Draco's Christmas cheer was missing. Even the dunderheads Crabbe and Goyle had taken notice.
At dinner, Draco listlessly pushed around his food. At breakfast, he didn't even spare a glance at the festive holiday muffins, let alone a bite. His mood was so sour in fact, that even the normally depressing Slytherin common room would send a muggle emo running in terror.
It was so bad that the golden trio had taken note, particularly Harry who recalled the forced mistletoe kiss quite vividly.
Sick of the moping, Harry marched across the hall and kissed him.