Title: A Little Christmas Spirit
Summary: It was the Thursday before Christmas and Draco Malfoy was waiting for some sort of sign.
Warning: This is SLASH. As in, guys liking guys. Or girls liking girls. If you're not into that kind of thing, don't read it. Don't say I didn't warn you.
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A Little Christmas Spirit
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It was Thursday when Draco began to seriously consider his state of mental health.
The sky was that lovely gray bleakness that arrives only before a winter rain,the dining hall was filling with the cloying smell of maple syrup and Draco was seated in the Slytherin table, looking cool and composed as usual.
However, the young man's mind was racing worriedly in a thousand directions. And Draco could find no explanation or excuse for his feelings.
As of late, Draco's mental mansion had been refurbished without his consent. And in every imaginery room, down every corridor, on every stairway, was one Ronald Weasley.
It was insane, Draco knew, and absolutely unforgivable. That he was even thinking of the boy vexed him; however, the attraction made Draco question his sanity.
Potter he might have been able to understand, and resist- it would be a simple case of reverse psychology and could be remedied by inattention.
However, these feelings for Weasley baffled Draco. Weasley was nothing- totally unnoticable had it not been for his blind devotion to Potter. Standing alon, Weasley was merely a rather gangly young wizard with about five Knuts to his plebian name.
Even in the company of the Boy Who Lived, Weasley wasn't much- a shadow, a sidekick, a faithful dog.
Despite all this, Draco Malfoy had a horrible suspicion he was falling for this Ronald Weasley, this nothing, this shadow of his adversary.
It was the Thursday before Christmas and Draco Malfoy was waiting for some sort of sign.
A few seats down the Slytherin table, the other Slytherins staying for the holidays were discussing a pratical and degrading way to sabatoge the Gryffindors' common room.
"We could fly up to their tower and hurl dungbombs through the windows."
"In this kind of weather? We'd be frozen before we got to the broomshed!"
"Well, then we could..."
But Draco, irritated by his housemates' drivel, ignored the conversation and looked across the hall to the Gryffindor table, where sat Harry Potter and his unattachable growth, Weasley.
They looked disgustingly cheery, with noses red from the cold, and snow melting in their hair. Evidently the Boy Who Wouldn't Die and his constant companion had been in a snowball fight before breakfast.
As if feeling the almost silver eyes on him, Ron turned around and searched the hall, finally ending at Draco, who glared back. The red-headed boy glared back and returned to his pancakes.
Harry was now talking to Ron, a thick line of milk arching over his mouth. Draco slumped down in his seat, bored, and watched the two Gryffindors eat.
Summary: It was the Thursday before Christmas and Draco Malfoy was waiting for some sort of sign.
Warning: This is SLASH. As in, guys liking guys. Or girls liking girls. If you're not into that kind of thing, don't read it. Don't say I didn't warn you.
*
A Little Christmas Spirit
*
It was Thursday when Draco began to seriously consider his state of mental health.
The sky was that lovely gray bleakness that arrives only before a winter rain,the dining hall was filling with the cloying smell of maple syrup and Draco was seated in the Slytherin table, looking cool and composed as usual.
However, the young man's mind was racing worriedly in a thousand directions. And Draco could find no explanation or excuse for his feelings.
As of late, Draco's mental mansion had been refurbished without his consent. And in every imaginery room, down every corridor, on every stairway, was one Ronald Weasley.
It was insane, Draco knew, and absolutely unforgivable. That he was even thinking of the boy vexed him; however, the attraction made Draco question his sanity.
Potter he might have been able to understand, and resist- it would be a simple case of reverse psychology and could be remedied by inattention.
However, these feelings for Weasley baffled Draco. Weasley was nothing- totally unnoticable had it not been for his blind devotion to Potter. Standing alon, Weasley was merely a rather gangly young wizard with about five Knuts to his plebian name.
Even in the company of the Boy Who Lived, Weasley wasn't much- a shadow, a sidekick, a faithful dog.
Despite all this, Draco Malfoy had a horrible suspicion he was falling for this Ronald Weasley, this nothing, this shadow of his adversary.
It was the Thursday before Christmas and Draco Malfoy was waiting for some sort of sign.
A few seats down the Slytherin table, the other Slytherins staying for the holidays were discussing a pratical and degrading way to sabatoge the Gryffindors' common room.
"We could fly up to their tower and hurl dungbombs through the windows."
"In this kind of weather? We'd be frozen before we got to the broomshed!"
"Well, then we could..."
But Draco, irritated by his housemates' drivel, ignored the conversation and looked across the hall to the Gryffindor table, where sat Harry Potter and his unattachable growth, Weasley.
They looked disgustingly cheery, with noses red from the cold, and snow melting in their hair. Evidently the Boy Who Wouldn't Die and his constant companion had been in a snowball fight before breakfast.
As if feeling the almost silver eyes on him, Ron turned around and searched the hall, finally ending at Draco, who glared back. The red-headed boy glared back and returned to his pancakes.
Harry was now talking to Ron, a thick line of milk arching over his mouth. Draco slumped down in his seat, bored, and watched the two Gryffindors eat.