Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter would I be putting it up on fanfic. net??

A/N: The slash in this is very mild. Yeah, can't really say more without giving it away. Anyways, I don't know why I wrote this one-shot as it's only November. I've obviously seen too many Christmas adverts on TV.

Merry Christmas, Harry

The Polyjuice potion fizzed as I threw in the silver hairs, and then turned a delicate shade of violet. I measured a small amount into a vial for later, then poured the rest into a large glass beaker. I glanced at my reflection before I drank it, taking in the pale skin, scarlet eyes, flat nose. I traded beauty for power a long time ago, and came out of that deal laughing. Lacking time for further hesitations, I drained the potion in one swallow and gasped as the changes began. I shrank down, shorter, and I filled out. Muscles grew on previously skeletal limbs. My face was pushed out, away from my skull, cheeks no longer hollow but rounded. Lips! I had lips. And a nose in place of the two slits I usually breathed through.

The transformation complete, I walked over to the mirror, marvelling at the grace in these legs. I could leap, I could dance if I so wished! And the physical power in these arms. It was quite amazing; I had forgotten what it was to be young. I surveyed myself in the mirror. Silver-blonde hair. Grey, cold eyes replacing the intense crimson of my own. The face of Draco Malfoy sneered back at me. I cocked my head to one side, amused and laughed. His laugh was so different from mine that it sounded very wrong.

Satisfied, I stoppered the vial containing the rest of the potion, for use later on. Then I concentrated and used my wand to change the clothes I was wearing, from the drab robes of the Dark Lord (no matter how impressive it is, one can never escape the fact that black is black), to a black t-shirt under a Slytherin green turtle neck jumper and tight trousers. I slid the vial of Polyjuice potion into my trouser pocket, and then continued accessorising. Even though I personally don't feel the cold, it was snowing outside and 'Draco Malfoy' would look odd strolling around without a cloak. A snap of my fingers and I was wearing one of deepest midnight blue, lined with soft lambs wool. I completed the outfit with slick dragonskin boots, a dark scarf and grey woollen gloves, then surveyed myself again. I was impersonating a vain, self-obsessed teenager. I felt that I looked the part.

But then again, he's not wholly self-obsessed. If he was then I wouldn't have had an opportunity like this. I smiled as I imagined him where I'd left him, tied to a chair in my study, gagged and barely conscious. Thank you, Draco. Brave, foolish, romantic Draco Malfoy. Thank you. I couldn't do this without you.

I apparated away from the house into a dark alley in the middle of London. Piled around me were empty cardboard boxes, whilst bins reeked with the remains of restaurant meals. The ground was slippery with snow. City snow. Urgh. Brown and slimy. I strode out of the alley with more care than usual. It would not do to slip and fall. My lip curled as I surveyed the street. Packed with muggles going about their Christmas shopping. Whole hoards of them, racing around, so pathetically sure of their own importance. I joined the crowd, trying to avoid touching them. I didn't want to be sullied by the contact, didn't want to have their filth near me. It was all I could do not to shudder away from them, and the hatred welled up in me. I could crush them all. Running around, so preoccupied, such busy little ants. In an instant I could say 'You will die!' and they would. But now was not the day, and I kept my gaze down as I passed through them.

I could feel their eyes following my movements, could pick up fragments of their thoughts as I passed by them.

He's so handsome.

What's with the cloak?

I'm going to be late!

The turkey still needs buying…

Disgusted I raised my mental barriers, shutting out the insistent yammering voices, so absorbed in their own insignificant existences.

I walked for five minutes, crossing roads with care, always avoiding eye contact with these dregs of humanity. It wasn't hard to find the hotel; lit by soft floodlights, it contrasted dramatically with the garish Christmas lights in the shops and on the street lamps around it. I read the sign, checking it was the right place. Hotel Fontana. I smiled as I contemplated the glowing building. Not a cheap place, but then Malfoys were renowned for their good taste, and it was only natural that it should rub off on their lovers.

I paused before I went in, as a small shower of snow began falling. The tiny flakes blew around me, around the shoppers hurrying towards their meaningless destinations. I stood there for a few minutes, face tilted towards the heavens, and allowed the icy flakes to melt on my cheeks and lips. The sensation surprised me; I was nowhere near as sensitive as this in my own body. To think, I'd forgotten the cold kiss of falling snow.

"Shit!" I lurched, feet slipping, as some idiotic shopper slammed into me. Scrabbling desperately, I caught a railing and steadied myself as the woman fell, her bag spilling open.

"I'm so sorry, are you all right?" she gushed. I resisted the urge to curse her on the spot, and instead smiled and helped her gather her purchases. As I handed her tinned tuna I quietly placed a curse on the fish. Eat that, lady, and you'll regret the day you ever bumped into Lord Voldemort. She muttered some words of thanks and was swallowed up into the crowd in seconds. I shook myself, angry. I shouldn't have allowed that to happen. I had to be alert; I had to give this my full concentration. I could not allow myself to be distracted by such a foolish, romantic thing as snow. Snow is useless, and thus I had no time for snow. Still grumpy, I climbed the steps, waited for the doorman to swing the glass door open, and entered the big hotel.

A standard softly lit hotel foyer; now draped with bright tinsel, an artificial tree shimmering in the corner, fairy lights twinkling merrily by the lifts. Merlin, I loathed the crudity of the muggle world. Everything has to be plastic, the faker the better. My mind flashed back to Christmases at Hogwarts, the only place I had ever known the true 'Christmas' sensation. Enchanted snow fell from the ceiling and melted before reaching us, and the banisters were draped with icicles. I could remember the trees, laden with magical beauty. I had been amazed. Christmas at the orphanage meant a new pair of pyjamas and second helpings at lunch. That was all I was used to before I saw the splendour of Hogwarts. It blew me away. I shook my head again, clearing it of the memories. Tom Riddle remembered Christmas at Hogwarts fondly, but Lord Voldemort had no use for such a silly time of year.

I approached the desk and was greeted by a receptionist with a plastic 'Happy Holidays' smile. Did I mention how I loathe the artificiality of the muggle Christmas? She recognised me instantly.

"Mr Malfoy." He's wearing a cloak again. Its weird, but it makes him even more gorgeous.

"My usual room, please." She reached behind her and unhooked a key.

"Your guest is already waiting for you, Mr Malfoy. Just a one night stay?" I nodded. "Please sign here." I ungloved one hand and scrawled something in the register. She glanced at the mark I had made, frowning. I could see the doubt in her mind. That's not his usual signature.

"I damaged my hand recently," I told her. "My writing's even more illegible than usual." We laughed together, then I pulled the glove back on, picked up the key and crossed to the lifts. As I summoned the lift I inspected the key. Room 713. I laughed to myself, spying the 13. Yes, a very unlucky number.

When the lift finally came (I hate the inefficiency of muggle lifts) I stepped into the red and gold interior and pressed the button for floor 7. The doors whined closed (grating on my nerves) and the lift slid smoothly upwards. The wall behind me was taken up entirely by a large mirror, and I took the time to critically gage my appearance. Cheeks attractively flushed with the cold, hair slightly mussed, the dark clothes perfectly complimenting my paleness. I checked my watch. Half an hour until the Polyjuice wore off. Enough time? Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not. I'd have to watch the seconds.

The lift ground to a halt with a shudder, and the doors protested noisily as they grated open. If it hadn't been for the maid walking down the carpeted corridor with a service trolley I'd have pulled out my wand in an instant and silenced those doors for eternity. As it is, I left them unmolested and padded along to room 713, the thick carpet beneath me swallowing the sound of my feet. As I passed the maid I heard her thoughts.

So handsome. Like that guy on tv. All so amusing. This body was definitely very different to my own, and I was not used to being regarded as attractive. Once I had received more compliments on my appearance than I cared to count, once every girl in Hogwarts would have died to be mine. Those years were long past. I had traded cheap adoration for far more gratifying respect and fear. Why be eye candy when you can be terrifying? But still, being attractive had its advantages. It allowed me to move easily, unquestioned, in this muggle hotel. In my own guise I would almost certainly have been stared at, and possibly even questioned, and then I'd have had no choice but to destroy every wretched muggle who got in my way, and that could take hours.

Room 713 was near the end of the corridor. A thick lacquered wooden door with a brass keyhole. I inserted my key, turned it carefully to make the minimum amount of noise, took a deep breath, and eased the door open. The lock and hinges were well oiled, in contrast to the lifts, and the person in the room didn't realise at first that I'd arrived. I closed and locked the door behind me, always keeping my eyes on him. He stood with his back to me, by the windows, watching the snow spiralling past the glass. I knew that he liked windows, that he had a fear of confined spaces. It came from being locked in a cupboard when he was small. I had not been the only one to mentally scar this boy in his lifetime.

I took the opportunity to study his back, trying to find what had caused Draco Malfoy to lust for him, to kiss him, to sleep with him. And frankly, I couldn't see it. He was a bit taller, but any growth at all was an improvement on his meagre height. His clothes were better than anything I'd seen him in before, but then, I'd only met him on four previous occasions, and he'd never been dressing to impress me. His hair was as thick and unruly as ever, although he'd grown it a little, so that it gave him a shaggy, wilder look. He too wore a cloak and boots, and his gloved hands rested on the cold window glass. As I watched, his breath misted up the glass, obscuring the reflection of his bespectacled visage. I coughed slightly, and he spun around. His expression was fascinating; at first he had the look of someone haunted, wary and tense, but as soon as he saw me his face cleared and a genuine smile appeared. I almost laughed. This was too easy! The fool completely believed that I was Malfoy. It was obvious, in the warmth shining from his emerald eyes, from the way his body relaxed, his guard lowered. All to my advantage.

"Draco," he said, moving into the middle of the room. I twisted my lips into a smile to answer his.

"Harry. You look amazing." He did too, for someone who lost his only parent figure half a year ago. His face was brightened by the cold, and his athletic figure gave of waves of health. Quite sickening.

"And you, Draco. As always." I laughed sexily (I could still remember how), searching the images I had taken from Draco's memory, searching for the correct response.

"You flatterer. All you want is to get me into that bed." I indicated the single bed and he moved closer still.

"Oh, and you would have a problem with that?" Sudden anxiety flared in me, and I took an involuntary step back. I didn't like this. I didn't like him smiling that way, didn't like that coy gleam in his eyes, didn't like him acting that way, with me. I felt unbalanced by the revelation of this new, sexual side of him, and that made me feel unsafe, but I forced myself to continue the charade.

"Actually I wanted to talk to you." He frowned, and then rolled his head lazily on his neck.

"Talk? Is that all you want to do? We needn't have seen each other for that."

"It's important." I tried to inject the right amount of worry, nervousness, tension and yes, affection in my voice.

"What is it?" He sat down on the edge of the bed, and I perched beside him. We were close, but not touching, both of us so wrapped against the cold that our faces were the only areas of bare flesh. He reached down and took my hand in his own gloved fingers.

"It's the Dark Lord." He stiffened slightly, but didn't make a sound. Instead he ran his fingers between mine and gently massaged my palm. "I think he knows about us." I turned to face him. "Harry, what would you do if he knew about us?" He continued kneading my hand, sliding his gloved fingers up under the sleeve of my jumper and over the bare skin of my arm. I fought the urge to shudder, to throw him off, and instead moaned encouragingly.

"Nice?"

"Oh, yes. But you're avoiding my question. What would you do?" He shrugged.

"I'll deal with that when it comes." I was disappointed. I wanted to taunt him, to hear him pour out his soul to me, so I pressed on.

"Would you defend me?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I would."

"Against Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"How will you do that? He's so powerful."

"Lord Voldemort is not omnipotent, Draco," he said calmly. Damn near though! "There are ways of opposing him." I nearly laughed out loud. Fool! Fool! I may not be all powerful, but I wasn't the one embracing his enemy's arm. I decided to try some mental torture.

"So you'd protect me?"

"Yes, Draco." I could hear impatience in his voice. What, Potter, do you struggle with the complexities of conversation? Tough.

"But you couldn't protect Sirius." His fingers froze, as he gasped audibly.

"Draco. Please don't talk about Sirius."

"But you couldn't protect him," I persisted. "You loved him so much, and yet still, he was killed in front of your eyes. You couldn't stop him dying. You couldn't catch or punish his killer. You still haven't." Oh it was wonderful! Every point I made he shuddered, as if each was a shard of ice slamming into his heart.

"I will do better the next time," he said quietly. "I will be prepared." I stood up abruptly, shaking him off my arm, and paced.

"But will you be? How can you stop Voldemort? He's more than strong enough to kill you in a straight fight." Yes, tell me how exactly you're planning to save the day. He hung his head.

"Draco, I don't know how I'm going to do it."

"So this is it, is it?" I sneered. "The grand plan of The-Boy-Who-We-Put-Our-Faith-In? That's pretty pathetic." He stood up too, looking shocked.

"Why are you so angry?" My own emotions were getting the better of me now.

"How is it?" I spat bitterly. "How is it that a child, whose best plan is 'I'll deal with that when it comes', keeps defeating Lord Voldemort? Why aren't you dead?" He rocked back as if I'd slapped him in the face.

"Do you… want me to be dead? Draco?" His voice was small, timid. Inside I cheered. He was so easy to wound.

"No, of course not," I said. "You're my boyfriend." I forced a smile. "If I didn't have you who would I share all my many problems with?" He frowned.

"Draco, we hardly ever talk about you." Oops. I recovered fast.

"And aren't you lucky. Because I could go on for days." Glancing at my watch, I stiffened and reached in horror for the vial. Running out of time. Only a few minutes left before I changed back. I pulled it out of my trouser pocket, and, as he watched, I unscrewed the stopper and drank the potion, then replaced the vial in my pocket. He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. I struggled not to bat it away.

"What was that, Draco?"

"Just one of those problems I mentioned." His face radiated concern.

"Did something happen? To you? To your family? Do you want to talk about it?"

"NO," I snarled. "I'm sick of talk, Chosen One. When are you actually going to act? When we're all old and grey? When Voldemort's so old one nudge will send him into the grave, and then you can dance in all your aged glory?" I'd pushed too far. He shoved my shoulder back, so hard that I nearly fell over.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Draco?" he snapped, eyes glittering with anger and…tears? "You come in here, obviously pissed off about something, and take it out on me. If these words are all I'm going to get, then I'll leave you until you've remembered how to be civil." Oh, now that was a slap on the wrist. Bad Voldemort, upsetting him like that. I slumped, endeavouring to appear utterly dejected, and reached forward, grasping his wrist.

"I'm, I'm sorry Harry. I'm just so scared. Scared that despite everything I've done, I'm going to lose. Scared I'm going to die." The anger faded from his face, to be replaced by the 'understanding' look. I swear, good people make me want to vomit. They are so easily manipulated.

"I won't allow it to happen." I grabbed his free hand with my other one. Now I was holding both of his wrists, and I pulled them in, pulling him closer to me.

"And I'm scared of you, too. Please Harry, promise you won't hurt me. I don't think I could endure that. No matter what, promise you won't." His eyes widened in beautiful bewilderment.

"I don't understand."

"It's just… people, they think I chose to be a Deatheater." I actually had a tear running down my face. Impressive, no? "I didn't, and I don't want to do it, and I'm playing a risky game here, because everyone thinks I'm with Voldemort, but I'm not, I'm with you. And if he were to find out… or if he were to frame me for something bad, or force me to do it… I'm scared that the only person whose side I'm on won't be there for me." His gloved hand reached up and stroked my cheek, the rough wool scratching my skin.

"You know I would never forsake you, Draco. And I would never hurt you either." He was swallowing the whole act, hook line and sinker. I struggled to keep myself from cackling, it was so marvellous. Not very bright, are you Potter? His other hand reached up to the back of my neck and I made no attempt to break away. Ok, I'd see what he'd do under his own steam. I was taller than him, and he pulled my face down towards his. I wrapped an arm loosely around his back. "Draco." His breath blew onto my face and I refused to inhale. "You know…" our faces were closing in together "that I truly…" our lips almost touching, I could practically feel his moving "love you." I quashed the impulse to pull away, because I wanted him to humiliate himself in this manner. I wanted him to initiate an action that would be utterly repulsive to him. I could control my own emotions far better than he could; I could survive this intimacy far better than he could.

He closed the gap between us, his lips gently brushing mine. In that instant I used the powerful arm around his back to pull him in hard, grinding our bodies together. My lips were crushed painfully against his, but I forced his mouth open and slithered my tongue in. He froze for a second and then gave a great buck, before thrashing desperately, trying to pull away, trying to scream. His whole body convulsed, as if he were in great agony, his hands snapping down to my chest, trying to push me back, to break free, but I wouldn't release him. His yell was swallowed by our kiss. I held onto him, forcing him to endure the intimate contact that was so horrific to him, and gradually his struggles slowed. Tears ran from his eyes, trickling across both our faces, as he sank slowly to his knees. That painful is it? Too bad. I broke the kiss when I wanted to, still holding him close to me, took one look at his stunned face and then viciously backhanded him. The strength in these arms was astounding. He was thrown back against the bed, shaking, hands scrabbling at his forehead, glasses knocked aside and lost. The lightning scar stood out starkly, an angry red. I had no doubt that it was absolute agony for him, yet he forced himself to speak.

"Voldemort!" I laughed and clapped my hands.

"Well, that revelation took a while. But we got there in the end, and that, Harry, is what counts!" The tears still ran from his eyes as I pulled out my wand. "So, shall we play a game? Because I have a lot of time on my hands, and I'm in the holiday spirit." He struggled to stand, but I lifted my wand and forced him back down. "Now then, we'll have none of that. You've yet to play my game." His eyes burned hatred. "I'll give you twenty guesses. Where, at this precise moment, do you suppose young Mr Malfoy is?"

"Draco," he breathed. I smiled.

"Exactly. Now answer the question. Any ideas?" Silence met me. "What, do I have to give you clues?" Again silence. It was beginning to irritate me. "I'd try answering if I were you. I really would." He said nothing. Fine. I lifted my wand. "Crucio!"

"Aaargh!" His back arched and he screamed. I lifted the spell after a minute, the thrill running through my veins. He panted on the floor, on his hands and knees, sides heaving. Another round of that and he'd probably throw up. Would you find that erotic, Draco?

"You remember this, don't you Potter? Now answer my question or I'll give you further encouragement."

"I don't know," he spat. I laughed again, mocking him.

"You don't know? Now that was a pretty pathetic effort. Oh come on, Harry." Silence. "Fine, I'll tell you," I announced gleefully. "Young Mr Malfoy is in my study, tied securely to a chair, awaiting my return." He shivered.

"Don't…" Begging, pleading. I loved it.

"Don't what?"

"You have me. Don't hurt him." I reached down with Draco Malfoy's strong arms and gripped his chin, lifting it, forcing him to meet my grey eyes.

"Would you believe it? He said the very same thing." I leaned down closer to him, pulling him up so that we met midway. "And I'll tell you the same thing I told him." My lips covered his and he whimpered in pain as I breathed the words into his mouth. "I am the Dark Lord, and I don't settle for half." He struggled weakly and I laughed, tasting the fear.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

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