White Christmas

Draco Malfoy sprawled out on the overstuffed leather sofa in the Slytherin dungeon. It was a week before hols, and he had absolutely nothing to do. The two buffoons, Crabbe and Goyle, had long since ventured to the kitchens, and he couldn't bring himself to leave the room to go hunt down some unsuspecting first years or Potter.

He wondered whether there was any point to his being there at all. Perhaps he would write his mother to ask that she allow him to return to the Manor early. After all, with his father imprisoned in Azkaban, the Manor needed a master to run it.

A sudden commotion in the passageway sent him upright, expecting Crabbe and Goyle to come stumbling down the stairs with sweets up to their eyes. But no, instead Whitley Lords stood there, looking quite disgruntled at the books that now lay around her feet. She huffed, her fringe flying upwards, before she gracefully fell to her knees and began crawling and stacking the books in a neat pile.

She turned around, reaching for a book near the doorway. From where Draco sat, he got a rather nice view of her rear end and the green and red-striped knickers she was wearing. She stood suddenly, a free hand smoothing the back of her skirt much to Draco's disappointment, and turned around. Her eyes were glued to the book in her hands, and Draco was about to warn her when she ran into her little pile.

She stumbled slightly and let out a frustrated cry, glaring at the books at her feet before she kicked them down the stairs.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she said under her breath. "It's all his bloody fault anyway," she grumbled as she sent another book flying.

Draco had to duck to avoid being beheaded.

She sighed and went to start picking them up again. Draco leaned casually over the back of the sofa, "Little frustrated, are we, Lords?"

She jumped, her hand leaping to her chest, "Bloody hell, Malfoy, don't scare me like that."

She fixed him with a glare before returning to the task at hand.

Draco raised his eyebrows, "What do you need all those books for?"

"Ancient Runes project, and my partner essentially told me to do it on my own because he has a bet to see how many times he can shag his girlfriend before hols, so here I am."

"Your partner being...?"

She paused momentarily, "I actually don't remember his name. Some Hufflepuff, though. Complete tosser. Not unlike yourself."

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Did you just compare me to a Hufflepuff?"

Whitley smirked, brushing her black hair from her brown eyes. "Yeah, I s'pose I did. They're particularly good finders, you know. Maybe you are too," she suggested.

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing more, turning around and settling back into his previous position prior to Lords' little outburst.

Draco watched as she carried the stack to a nearby table, loudly dropping them on top of it and sliding her satchel from her shoulder.

It seemed as if hours passed as Draco lay there, absentmindedly watching Whitley as she worked. It was odd to see a Slytherin working so diligently on something. He couldn't help to think that she was probably better suited to Ravenclaw House.

In the years he had known Whitley Lords and, granted, that was since birth, she had never done anything particularly Slytherinish, for lack of a better word. Like his own family, the Lords were also pure-blood and had a longstanding tradition of being in Slytherin. Her father had supported the Dark Lord in the first war. However, unlike his own, Mr Lords had not returned to the Death Eaters the second time around, though he offered his country home as a meeting place and safe haven to Lord Voldemort.

He had visited their home over the summer, before his initiation into the Death Eaters. Whitley had spent her time in his presence sending him disapproving looks. They had usually been on friendly terms. He knew that his parents and hers had even tossed around the idea of betrothal between the two of them, before his father's arrest.

He really wouldn't have minded being engaged to her, he thought as his eyes traveled down her seated form. Even completely engrossed in reading she was attractive, at least compared to Pansy who, thank Merlin, hadn't bothered him that night.

Whitley sighed, "Like what you see, Malfoy? Or is my presence so irritating that you can't help but to look at me?"

He snorted. "I was just wondering what it might be like if that betrothal agreement had been signed before," he trailed off.

She scanned the room before her gaze settled on him, "Before your father was throw into Azkaban, eh?"

He set his jaw. If he knew her as well as he thought he did, Whitley was about to say something particularly stupid.

"And before you went and joined up with the De-"

As the words were about to leave her mouth, Draco reached her, his hand clamping down on her shoulder and his wand pressed against her throat.

She looked up at him, her facial expression challenging him to curse her. He couldn't bring himself to do it, though.

"Just," he sighed, lowering his wand, "don't finish that sentence."

The silence was tense as he remained standing, hand on her shoulder and wand now resting against her collarbone. His mind wandered briefly to the previous year, before any of this had happened.

How smug he felt as he watched her from across the common room as Pansy fawned over him. How he snuck behind Pansy's back to meet with her in broom closets, or the Astronomy Tower, or hidden passageways. How her lips felt against his...

He wondered if that was all he needed now. If this depression and sluggishness he had been experiencing of late only needed her comforting touch.

"Draco," she said softly, bringing his attention back to her.

He sniffed, realising that familiar burn in his chest and stinging in his eyes. He mentally scolded himself. Don't be a blubbering twat, Draco. Get a hold of yourself.

"Draco, what's wrong?" she whispered, her chair screeching as she stood up.

"You wouldn't understand," he breathed.

"Oh yeah? Try me," she huffed, her hands on her hips.

He didn't know why he did it, but his arms snaked around her waist and he pulled Whitley to him. His lips pressed firmly against hers for a moment.

Whatever comfort he felt at the sudden contact was fleeting as Crabbe and Goyle loudly made their presence known.

Whitley literally flew from his arms. Draco turned to glare at the pair.

"It's snowing!" Goyle boomed before dragging Crabbe after him.

Draco rolled his eyes, the desire to invite Whitley back up to his dormitory overwhelming.

She, however, had another plan in mind. Her eyes were wide and she took off after the two oafs. Draco, stunned, stood rooted to the spot for a moment, before he returned his wand to his pocket and ran after her.

He quickly caught up to her, but the pair didn't stop until they reached the courtyard. A snowball fight had already started between sixth and seventh year students, and Whitley was quick to join in.

Draco ducked out of the way as it became quite clear that the game was every man for himself. He prepared his own snowball and scanned the area for Whitley.

"Oy, Malfoy!"

Something frozen hit the back of his head. He turned, ready to berate whoever had done it, only to see Whitley looking back at him tauntingly, as if their kiss minutes before had never happened.

"What the hell was that for, Lords?" he demanded, rounding on her.

She threw another at him, hitting him squarely in the chest.

"And that one?" he asked darkly.

She dodged out of the way as he reached for her, scooping up a handful of snow. He grabbed her by the waist.

This gesture was only met with her handful of snow. Draco looked down at her as it melted and slid down his face.

She started laughing uncontrollably, "The abused look suits you well, Malfoy."

He shook his head before pressing his lips to hers again, wanting the comfort she gave him. She returned the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as he deepened it.

"Draco!" a sudden screech interrupted.

They parted, though Draco didn't let go of her. Whitley stood on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder. "Pansy," she breathed.

Whitley pressed her lips briefly against his again. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy," she breathed before slipping out of sight.

He turned to face Pansy. "Who was that you were with?" she seethed.

He shrugged. "Too dark to tell," he said evenly, knowing he would be seeing Whitley Lords again very soon.

Inspired by "White Christmas" by Dean Martin.

Please review!