Title: Baby It's Cold Outside
Pairing: Draco/Astoria
Category: Romance/Humour
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Draco gets into the Christmas spirit. Very unwillingly. A piece of silly Yuletide nonsense.
And the songs that Draco is submitted to are: 'Frosty the Snowman', 'Run Run Rudolph', 'Santa Baby', 'Baby It's Cold Outside' and 'I'll Be Home For Christmas'. If you aren't listening to them right now then go and do so. 'Tis the season, and all that.
-0-
The Yuletide season was fast upon Malfoy manor. Snow blanketed the entirety of its surroundings until everything was glittering, Mitty the house-elf had laced every conceivable surface or edge with Christmas decorations that were icy, stylish and above all very, very cool, and in the sitting room amid the roaring fire and the Christmas tree and the embossed snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, Draco Malfoy was ear-deep in denial.
And that denial had everything to do with the girl in his lap that he was rather enthusiastically kissing.
He didn't like her, alright? Well, ok, he liked her, because she was a friend – of sorts, in that kind of 'I-disagree-with-you-on-mostly-everything-you-believe-and-the-many-different-facets-of-your-personality-combine-together-to-drive-me-crazy-but-we-get-on-reasonably-well' type of way. But that was it! There were no celestial choirs or bluebirds or fat kids with tiny wings and heart-headed arrows every time he saw her. That would be – disturbing. And no. There was nothing…there. Nothing. Absolutely not. No.
Astoria Greengrass was just a friend – a bicker buddy, if you wanted the technical term. A rather disapproving, sarcastic, rather endearing – when she wasn't utterly irrational, which was always – bicker buddy, but a bicker buddy nonetheless.
And yes, so when she'd started working at the Ministry he was pleased – only because he had someone to argue at, mind – and yes, so they did occasionally run into each other in their respective departments, but that was it. And yes, when his mother had pointed out that Astoria Greengrass was far more bearable than that dreadful Parkinson girl, he hadn't immediately objected because – well, most people were far more bearable than Pansy. And when they'd decided to sneak into the Department of Mysteries Halloween office party, got completely smashed on firewhiskey and ended up waking up in the same bed the following morning, alright, so it was a little bit awkward, but they'd ended up deciding - after a great deal shouting - that it was simply something they enjoyed doing together.
Very much so.
Which was why every couple of days they'd end up meeting up even though they very pointedly never made plans to do so, insult each other for a little bit just to establish that there was no real affection there, and then things would end up – well, on a very similar and very horizontal note.
And it was why she'd Apparated over not fifteen minutes ago, ostensibly to drop off a Christmas card from her mother to his (because owls were temperamental in all this snow, and really, who would send a poor little bird out in the cold?) and was now soft in his lap and pressing against all the right places and his hands were going everywhere and her mouth was hot against his and Merlin, where had she learned to kiss like that and had her last boyfriend broken it off simply to stop himself from suffering a stroke?
She wasn't his girlfriend. The phrase 'girlfriend' implied holding hands and sharing secrets and actually, you know, liking each other. It also implied that he was her boyfriend, and that particular idea was just too terrifying for words. Main squeeze? Well, it certainly described what they were doing without comfortably carrying all those disturbing connotations of love found in Celetina Warbeck ballads.
Unfortunately he'd teasingly called Astoria that two weeks ago: she'd responded by punching him in the kidneys.
But not his girlfriend. Definitely not. Because he didn't like her. Not at all.
HE DID NOT LIKE ASTORIA GREENGRASS. HE DID NOT LIKE ASTORIA GREENGRASS.
Yeah. They were just…friends. Ish. Sort-of friends. Friends had activities they did together, didn't they? Like Gobstones and Chocolate Frog Card collecting. This was – he moaned slightly as she shifted in his lap – simply another activity for friends. Like Quidditch practise. Exactly the same as Quidditch practise, actually. It was something everyone did. Dad used to meet up with Crabbe and Goyle's fathers for a spot of Quidditch practise every week in the old days, said it kept him active.
Wait. Eurgh.
That was most definitely actual Quidditch practise and not whatever the hell this was.
Almost certainly.
Yes.
His girl – no. Wait. Not-girlfriend. His not-girlfriend pulled slowly away, leaving soft strands of hair in his face and prompting a sound which, if it had come from anyone else, would have been classed as a 'whine'. Luckily, he was a Malfoy, and Malfoy's did not whine, particularly not when girls they didn't even like stopped necking with them. "I've really got to go. Daphne'll be wondering where I've got to."
"But you've only just got here!"
Well. Maybe that sounded a little desperate and more than a tad disappointed.
Luckily he was a Slytherin, and therefore quick under pressure; and promptly pulled her into another kiss before she had a chance to notice.
He didn't like her. Honestly.
And she didn't like him either. He knew that very certainly, because when his mother caught them together last week (he'd been teaching her how to ride his Nimbus Two Thousand and One – not metaphorically – and they'd ended up spending half an hour in the broom closet) and she'd delicately mentioned the word 'girlfriend', Astoria had bluntly told them both that she'd rather have her tongue glued to her nose than go out with him.
So that was alright then.
She sighed pointedly and sat up again, glancing out the grand bay windows with a distinctly unnerved expression in her eyes. "Draco, the peacock is staring at me."
The albino peacock was indeed strutting outside the window with a bewilderingly smug expression on its avine face. He felt the strangest desire to grab his wand and blast the thing to kingdom come.
Erm. Because he was a male and thought with his trousers and therefore any interruptions in makeout time were distinctly unwelcome. Not because he was feeling protective of his girlfriend from potentially dangerous peacocks. Because she wasn't. His girlfriend. And besides, peacocks very rarely had nefarious designs, did they? It was just, well, if that particular peacock ended up pecking his not-girlfriend in the eye or something like that, he'd have to listen to her grumble before taking her to St Mungo's because he might have been a Slytherin and a nasty bastard and a former servant of the Dark Lord and all that, but he was a gentleman. That was all.
"I gave it a pat on the head the last time I was here and it's not stopped watching me since," she muttered dryly. "Is that normal behaviour for a peacock?"
He wasn't entirely sure – mainly because the serious study of peacock behavioural patterns was something that had never occurred to him, but also because the weight of Astoria's body settled in his lap was incredibly distracting.
Even though she was really annoying.
"Want me to hex it for you?"
"No! That's animal cruelty, it's as bad as hexing kittens and kicking puppies!" Turning back from the window she regarded him with a look of resigned dread on her face. "Oh God, you go around kicking puppies, don't you?"
That wasn't fair. He'd never, to his knowledge, kicked a puppy. He had, on occasion, attempted to stamp on that ridiculous Longbottom's toad throughout his youth though.
Catch him admitting that to Astoria though.
"No!"
"Really?" She blinked doubtfully at him. "'Cause that kinda sounds like the sort of thing you'd do."
Why was he spending time with her again?
"Astoria; I do not go around kicking puppies. That would just dent and possibly get blood on my shoes."
"Uh-huh. Well, as lovely as that little glimpse into Draco Malfoy's psyche was, I've got to go…" This time she actually managed to get to her feet before he pulled her straight back into his lap once more.
"No you don't. Look, it's all cold and…snowing outside. You don't want to go outside right now."
Astoria shook her head. "Look, I've got to meet up with Daphne at Diagon Alley and do all the Christmas shopping – you do know what that entails, don't you? It's what people who don't hate the entire world do for the people they care about. And we were going to have a drink together, and Daphne wanted to meet…" she paused for a moment, very delicately. "Someone."
Someone.
That word had very pointed connotations.
"'Someone'?" Draco repeated lightly. "As in, your great-aunt Mildred 'someone'?"
Her gaze was fixed very pointedly on the great holly wreath hanging above the mantelpiece. "As in a male…someone."
He had to be imagining it; because there was no way steam was actually coming from his ears.
"Apparently he's on the Italian Quidditch national team."
Green was the Slytherin colour, wasn't it? No wonder he could feel himself turning into a lovely bright shade of it.
"While he's not volunteering on the Board for Protection of Overlooked Magical Beings, but I think that's just on weekends. In a legal capacity of course."
Git.
Erm.
Not that he cared.
It was just silly of Astoria to go after someone who so obviously had a tight schedule. That was all.
"And then I'm helping put up the decorations," she continued, eyeing him carefully, "and I want to start listening to carols on the radio too…"
So this was what was happening. He, Draco Malfoy, one of the most hated and eligible young men to come out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (if only because being flanked by Crabbe and Goyle made him look damn terrific in comparison), was being passed over for a radio.
And an international Quidditch star who spent his free time campaigning for the welfare of underprivileged beings with no voices for themselves.
But mainly the radio.
Not bloody likely.
"You can listen to it here if you like," he grumbled, a little reluctantly and not without some serious doubts. He liked the Weird Sisters as much as the next guy, but Astoria did have some serious dodgy tastes in music. Besides, he couldn't help remembering how Crabbe, in a fit of unprecedented independent mindedness, had convinced him to start head banging to Graham Goblin and the Gargoyles and he'd ended up spraining all the muscles down the left side of his neck.
But no. It was worse than that – much worse.
"It's a Muggle radio," she announced to the glum Draco as she brought forward a small silver box dotted with dials and speakers. "Someone's been hexing them so that the Muggles' ears grow smaller if they listen to one."
"Better than listening to that Muggle rubbish, isn't it?"
She kicked him.
That wasn't fair. His comment had been perfectly logical, as a matter of fact - he knew very well how dangerous an effect the Muggle variety had on Astoria. It had been him who'd had to put up with her singing something called 'The Time Warp' under her breath the last time they'd met at the Ministry.
It was utterly disturbing.
And that hadn't even been as terrifying as her trying to demonstrate the dance that apparently accompanied it.
There was even tap-dancing.
"You're not going to make me listen to it, are you? I happen to think my ears are pretty much the perfect size, thank-you."
Astoria poked out her tongue – which was incredibly childish and not at all endearing – and fixed him with a Look. One which said precisely how annoying he was being and which never failed at making him feel roughly five years old. "Arthur Weasley fixed it, you goon. He just let me borrow it; I want to see what sort of things Muggles listen to."
"If you start dancing again, I'm Apparating to Siberia."
"It was fun."
"You looked like a leprechaun suffering a severe fit!"
"It might be nice." She made a face. "You've got to admit, anything's better than Celestina Warbeck."
No arguments there. He couldn't help but scowl as Astoria began to fiddle with the various dials and knobs on the ridiculous contraption. How exactly had her attention diverted from being focussed entirely on him to entirely on that – thing. It wasn't fair. Not that he was put out, or envious in any way. His arms snaked their way back around her waist. "You know, what I had planned doesn't involve listening to any kind of music, so we both win…" he muttered hopefully, his mouth pressing at the spot beneath her ear.
"Get off."
"Yeah, that was definitely what I had in mind..."
One very pointy and very deliberate elbow caught him straight – well, below the belt would be the best way of putting it. An un-manly yelp escaped from his lips.
Ow.
"I want to listen to this," Astoria replied primly, sounding for all the world as if she hadn't just inflicted dire bodily harm on his person. And potentially prevented any chance of a Malfoy heir being born. "So either I'm going home to watch it, or taking it to the Leaky Cauldron to listen with my sister and her friend, or you can let me listen here; it's your choice. Besides, there's nothing wrong with broadening your horizons and taking an interest in other cultures! You might learn something!"
"You don't want me to take an interest in Muggle culture," he grumbled, sinking further down into the sofa. "That'll just make me more open-minded and forward-thinking and a better person overall, and let me tell you that is not the man you're attracted to!"
"Shut up Draco."
Sulking a little more than was technically necessary, and silenced unwillingly by Astoria's hand clamping down against his mouth, he folded his arms, consenting to listen to – whatever ridiculous Muggle nonsense was on the radio. Quite tolerantly, as a matter of fact. He sat in silence while the radio started trilling about a snowman who danced around with village children (a simple Animation charm would pull that off, surely?) and some bloke called Rudolph who was apparently 'whizzing like a shooting star'. All very obediently, and very quietly.
On the next song, however, he felt he had to speak up.
"This is insane."
Astoria scrunched up her nose. "It's incredibly…innovative."
'Santa baby,' the radio trilled, "Hurry down the chimney tonight!'
"'Tor, it's a song about a girl trying to seduce a fat man into giving her expensive presents."
She clicked her tongue, looking at him with fond-but-not-too-fond-because-of-the-whole-no-deeper-emotion-thing irritation, moving to her own pillow on the sofa.. "It's just a fun song, Draco."
"Good. Because I've seen Muggle pictures of Santa, and believe me, I'd never want him to hurry down my chimney. Or, y'know, come and trim my Christmas tree."
"Do you have to make everything sound dirty?"
"I'm a Slytherin, it's how we roll."
If his father were to walk in and hear the Muggle songs blaring from the radio…
'Hurry – to-ni-ight!"
…Well, his stability hadn't been all that great since rejoining and subsequently leaving the Dark Lord. It was entirely possible that this might just send him over the edge.
How lovely.
"Alright, now I really have to go."
"No you don't!" he yelped. "Seriously, it's freezing out there."
This, reasonably speaking, was a ridiculous excuse. Particularly as she could very easy Floo or Apparate to Diagon Alley without feeling the cold for more than a mini-second. Could probably warm up by the fire with some smug bastard of a Quidditch player slash lawyer in roughly five seconds. But if she didn't notice the flaw in his argument; well, he wasn't going to point it out either.
'Baby, it's cold outside,' the radio began to croon in a very deep voice (Not to mention lascivious voice. He would have started to worry that the voice was beginning to come on to his not-girlfriend, until he remembered that this was a Muggle radio and, strictly speaking, that wasn't possible).
"I really can't stay."
"Uh-uh." This from somewhere around the base of her collarbone as he pulled her back into his lap, mouth actively seeking out her skin. "It's cold outside, look, I only have your best interests at heart."
"I have to go."
"Yeah, but – " He really didn't have another good excuse. Nevertheless. "It's cold ou – "
'I really can't stay/But baby, it's cold outside…'
Draco frowned. "Is that stupid thing mimicking us now?"
"Draco, you idiot." That phrase was coming a little too easily off her tongue… "It's a Muggle song. The woman wants to go home but the bloke's too much of a perverted man thinking with his pants to let her."
There was a pause, during which time another Look was flung his way. He supposed that was meant to make him feel guilty. Unfortunately he was smirking too much to notice.
"So what happens at the end of the song?" he grinned wickedly.
"Hopefully the girl kicks him in the boxers for being such a prat. Draco, I'm late, I was going to meet Daphne twenty minutes ago…"
"No, no-no-no-no-no, you really don't have to…"
Another Look. He was becoming impervious to them. "Haven't had it in ages, huh?"
Damn.
Scowling as she began to chuckle, Draco made a face at her. Well, that was just unfair was what it was. That was just childish. And that wasn't why he didn't want her to go – alright, so it was a key reason, but not the only reason. And he'd just realised that if it wasn't to do with getting her in bed then maybe there were – shudder – deeper feelings involved, such as affection or tenderness or jealousy, and no.
So maybe it was one of the key reasons then.
"Face it Draco, the only reason you want me to stay is 'cause you wanted to get lucky."
He shook his head vehemently as she slipped back away from him. "That's not it."
Smirking, she pulled her knees up to her chest glanced up at him from over their edges. "Go on then. Try and think up a reason why I should stay that doesn't make you sound like a horny bastard."
Well…alright. That was…well, there was a perfectly good reason why…Squirming, Draco grinned uncomfortably. It shouldn't have been this hard, but whenever he tried to think why Astoria should stay all he could really notice was the fact that her skirt had ridden up where she'd collapsed heavily against the sofa.
Observations like that weren't exactly helpful.
"Because…I enjoy the pleasure of your company?"
Astoria turned and fixed him with a look that was suddenly far too piercing and far, far too thoughtful for his own comfort. "You enjoy hanging out with me?"
"Ye-es," he lied. Because that was obviously a lie. Because obviously he didn't.
She paused for a moment, enough to make his insides turn ice-cold and constrict for some bewildering reason. "…Nice try Malfoy. But honestly, I have to go now."
"But," he frowned as the radio repeated the immortal legend of 'Baby it's cold outside' in full, resonant glory. "Yeah. What he said. Baby, it's cold outside. So you shouldn't go."
As Astoria began to giggle, in a way that was not altogether flattering (Typical. Juust bloody typical. There he was trying to be charming and sincere at the same time and the girl found it funny. Why did that always seem to happen to him?), he broke away from pushing his hand further against her leg as the grandfather clock from the hallway struck gloomily. Bugger.
"Now I'm really late," Astoria uttered pointedly, getting to her feet.
No. No, no, no, that wasn't the way things were supposed to go. What was supposed to happen was Astoria curling back up on the sofa with him for a few more moments before the pair of them making their way up to his bedroom and things progressing naturally from there. What was not supposed to happen, what was very definitely not supposed to happen, was her going to the Leaky Cauldron and meeting up with some famous, rich, charming, altruistic guy who most likely had devastatingly chiselled facial features and a smile as bright as Gilderoy Lockhart's, the bastard. And then them getting on like a house on fire and deciding to spend the rest of the day together and before you know it…
Well. Bad things happening.
And she was already moving towards the fireplace. And before he knew it, he'd sort of…
…stuck his leg out beneath her feet and sent her flying headfirst into the oak writing desk in the corner of the room.
Oh.
Bugger.
It was a really good thing he wasn't her boyfriend – not that he ever would be, or ever wanted to be – because he'd be really, really crap at it.
He was meant to be a Slytherin. All evil and cool and aloof. It was distinctly unfair that whenever he was around her he was transformed into a blundering prat.
While all these thoughts were floating around his head with self-loathing accuracy, he vaguely realised that Astoria had sort of…collided with the desk and was now looking very, very unimpressed. Oops.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he yelped, bolting over to help her up and grasp her wrists – ostensibly to steady her, and to prevent the young woman from getting her hands on her wand. Malfoys didn't apologise, not to anyone; but they were also very much into self-preservation, and…well, he had just knocked Astoria Greengrass into a very heavy wooden desk.
"Draco, I'm seeing double…"
He couldn't help raising his eyebrows as he led her back to the sofa. "You should probably lie down for a bit…"
"Draco!"
"Again, sorry." Slipping his arms back around her, Draco helped lower her very nervously to sit back down. If she suffered a concussion he couldn't help feel it would be pretty embarrassing. "Does this mean you're staying?"
Astoria flung a particularly dirty look at him through dopily glazed eyes.
"If I do will you stop physically assaulting me?"
"Maybe."
She sighed. "Fine, fine, I'll stay!" And then Astoria paused, falling silent very unexpectedly and letting her expression shift to one of blood-chilling, spine-tingling, mischeivously malicious sweetness. "I'll stay if you sing along to the song."
…
…
…
"What?"
"If you sing along to the song, the 'cold outside' one, I won't leave," she said, crossing one leg over the other with lethal innocence.
He could hear his teeth grind together.
"It's finished," Draco growled sourly, nodding to the radio as it began to blare out some strange Muggle bint twittering about how she'd be home for Christmas. "See? Song's over."
To which Astoria promptly whipped out her wand and tapped the radio; provoking it to crackle and buzz with static before warbling out that bloody song again.
"No it isn't."
"Well I'm not doing it."
"Then I," she attempted to push herself back up onto her feet, rather ridiculous considering she had a potential concussion, "am going to the Leaky Cauldron. I'll get you the Quidditch player's autograph, shall I?"
There was maybe a bit too much of a knowing smirk to her mouth at that last comment.
This was ridiculous. He was being blackmailed into singing – singing! – along to some dopey Muggle song by a girl two years younger who used to trail after him in Hogwarts asking if he could check her Potions homework. All because he wanted to get her back into bed. He was pathetic, daft, frustrated – and he really, really didn't want her to go.
Even if they just hung around trading insults for the next hour or two.
Oh God. He was a stupid, stupid man.
Fuckity fuckity fuck. He was going to have to do it, wasn't he?
"Baby it's cold outside," he began to sing – well alright, mumble – in a voice which even he had to concede was more used to sneering insults at Gryffindors than sing blasted bloody Muggle Christmas songs. "I really bloody hate you Astoria – but baby it's cold outside' '
"Can't hear you..."
"Beautiful, what's your hurry - this is so bloody annoying 'Tor..."
By the Mark, she was laughing at him again.
"Draco…" It really would be less embarrassing if she could actually stop laughing long enough to pass whatever maddening comment she was about to mock him with, but no. "Sorry. Really sorry. But you have an absolutely dreadful singing voice."
…Maybe he could just move into Azkaban and have done with it. At least that way no one could find him.
"You're truly ridiculous," he grumbled evenly, simply because something had to be said. Getting up and preparing to storm into the grounds simply to sulk alongside that wretched peacock, he didn't even realise she'd got to her feet too until he felt the pressure of her hands rest against his back.
"Quite possibly." Astoria grinned, slipping her arms around his midriff. "But you deserved to be humiliated just a little. You did trip me into a desk, after all."
"Huh. Well…" He couldn't help but smirk as he turned to fit his hands against her waist. "You called me an idiot when I was being all smooth and charming."
"You insulted my dancing and my radio."
"You were going to ditch me for some poncy Quidditch player!"
Her eyes were sparkling. Not that he was noticing, or looking into them particularly closely.
"Truce?"
"Yeah, truce." As the music began to swoop and dive he absentmindedly twisted her hand in his, spun her around idly. "Fancy a dance?"
Astoria smiled. "Really?"
"As long as it's not that 'Time Warp' thing you kept doing. Or that 'Macerena'."
"Oh, alright, alright, you big baby."
Well, the sitting room was pretty big, all gleaming bare floorboards and darkened silver rugs, and the annual Christmas party at the manor was coming up soon. He needed the practise. And besides, it was fun to spin Astoria around on her feet and dip her over until she was nearly shrieking with laughter, and when a particularly slow song came on the radio her slender body fit damn near perfectly against his.
Alright, so maybe he did enjoy her company. So maybe he did like the warmth of her and the way she smelled and kissed and tasted and felt and even the way she shrieked at him every time he was wrong (never) or whenever she thought he was wrong (much more often). And so maybe he even liked the way she spectacularly took the piss out of him. But that didn't mean anything.
"'Tor, what is a Macerena?"
"I don't know. Some kind of Muggle sweet maybe?"
It wasn't as if he really liked her, or anything ridiculous like that
It certainly wasn't as if he loved her.
That would just be stupid.