If this chapter for some reason or the other doesn't get as much love as I anticipated, then I will seriously be doubting my abilities as a writer. Hope you awesome readers enjoy the chapter. As for me, I'm going to be dead since finals week is close-by and I have TOOO MUCH stuff I need to get done. Pray for me.

Chapter 20: Wintery Fun and Dreams

Harry had two problems he needed to solve.

The first was Draco. Whether they admitted it or not, whether the blonde played it off as another milestone of puberty or brushed it off altogether with no questions asked, something was happening to them. Moreso to him. Harry didn't remember anything from Remus's talk that covered glowing eyes as a side-effect to puberty. Nor the sudden bouts of urgency that happened during Harry's…comforting. At least that was what he meant to offer: comfort. Draco was so terrified over what happened at the game and Harry wanted to take away the pain. In the moment, it seemed right, almost too right, before gentle reassurance became something fierce and frightening.

His cheeks still burnt whenever he thought about it.

There were also the Dementors. He knew they were nasty creatures, but had no idea they were that nasty. And fatal. No one else fainted in their presence. No one else heard in their heads the echoes of their dying parents. Harry honestly couldn't imagine anything worse: reliving his mother's final moments, attempting to comfort him, attempting to save him, hearing her pleas abruptly end with a final, bone-chilling scream.

It was the only thing from Halloween he remembered with perfect clarity. His dad running off to face Voldemort on his own while his mom scrambled to figure out a way to escape. Voldemort came in before she had the chance.

Harry needed to find a way to defeat them, and knew just the person who could help him.

Remus returned to class around the same time Harry was released from the hospital. When he stepped into the classroom, he was taken back by the thunderous applause that greeted him.

"Well, well," he said with a smile. "Maybe I should take a sick day more often."

"No!" Ron pleaded. "Please."

Remus smiled and began the day's lesson, ignoring the notes Severus had left on the blackboard. To the class's relief, although he didn't grade the essays, they were receiving credit for their effort. Hermione wasn't as thrilled, peeved that the ten pages she put in wouldn't receive a letter mark. After he dismissed the class, Harry lingered, asking the man if he was up for a walk in the forest. To his relief, Remus accepted his invitation, and soon they were in the brisk autumn air, leaves crunching beneath their feet.

"Did you hear about the Dementors?" Harry asked.

Remus's easy step didn't falter for a second as he glanced over at Harry. "I have. They've been growing restless for some time. Apparently they're furious about Dumbledore's refusal to let them inside."

Harry hesitated. The question that's been revolving around his head slipped through his lips before he could stop himself. "Why do they affect me like that? Am I just-"

"Weakness has nothing to do with it," Remus said sharply, as if he read Harry's thoughts. "Dementors are among the foulest creatures to ever walk the earth. They feed on every good thought, every happy memory until the person is left with nothing but his worst experiences. You are not weak, Harry. They effect you most of all because there are true horrors of your past-horrors your classmates cannot even begin to understand."

Harry remembered the coldness that gripped him tight as the dementors approached him, the same coldness he felt when his mother died right in front of him. "I'm scared, Moony."

Remus offered him a weak smile. "Well, I'd consider you a fool if you weren't."

"I need to know how to beat them," Harry said. "You could teach me."

"I'm not sure-"

"Please Moony. Just so I'm prepared."

Remus looked into Harry's determined face, then said, "Very well-after the holidays. For now, I need to rest."

With the promise of Remus's anti-dementor lesson, the thought of never relieving that fateful Halloween night, and the fact Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff the next Quidditch match, Harry's mood improved immensely. His thoughts still lingered on Draco's behavior, his glowing eyes and the growing intensity of his possessiveness. He made a promise to himself to research it further, and perhaps ask Aunt Cissa about it.

Autumn withered away with its' heavy rain and depressing gray and winter arrived with fresh sheets of snow. Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened to a dazzling, porcelain white and the muddy grounds were covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air; Hagrid dragged ten-foot pine trees into the Great Hall. Professor Flitwick decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be actual fairies. The students happily discussed their plans for the holidays. Ron invited Harry and Hermione to his house after Christmas, while Harry and Draco received letters from Narcissa reminding them about the annual Christmas ball at the Manor.

To everyone's delight except Harry's, there was another Hogsmeade trip on the last weekend of the term. He didn't try going to his guardians about the trip. They made it clear the first time around they weren't budging. He was however determined to go to the village, with or without their permission.

Deciding to put his father's invisibility cloak to good use, Harry wrapped it around his body and crept behind the last group that was leaving. Before his left foot left the entrance, two pairs of arms pulled him back.

Fred and George smiled at his protests as they dragged him inside the castle.

"If you want to get to Hogsmeade," Fred began.

"You're gonna have to do a lot better than that." George finished.

Harry broke free of their hold and scowled as he pulled off the cloak.

"Luckily for you," George said. "We have a solution."

He commenced a drum roll on his stomach as Fred reached into his jacket and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment. Sure that it was another one of their pranks, Harry accepted the parchment warily and waited for a moment, expecting some sort of explosion, itching powder to sprinkle his skin, or nasty bugs to crawl from the corners. When nothing happened, he unfolded it. There were a few tears here and there, but other than that it was a simple, blank parchment.

"Er…"

"Allow me to explain dear Harry," Fred said. "To the unwise, this is an ordinary, old parchment. Nothing special."

"Yet to the wise-not to mention incredibly handsome-" George shared a grin with his brother. "It's so much more." He took his wand and tapped it against the sheet. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

Thin lines of dripped from the corners of the parchment, spreading across like a spider's web from the point of George's wand. The lines joined each other, overlapping and crossing, fanning into every corner of the parchment. Words blossomed across the top. Great, curly green words that proclaimed:

Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot & Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present-

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

No way, Harry thought, staring at the map in shock. There was no way this could be what he thought it was. Then again what were the chances of another student of being called Moony other than Remus? The chances of someone else inheriting his dad's old nickname?

His dad told him about the map. How it helped him sneak out after curfew, slip past teachers, avoid rivals-it was the key ingredient to their legendary pranks. "Is that-"

"A map of Hogwarts?" Fred guessed.

"Showing everything and everyone, including secret exits? Yes, yes it is." George answered. "Also a valuable treasure left to us by the masters of mischief."

Harry wasn't going to go there, but he had a good feeling Fred and George wouldn't believe him if he said he was the son to one of those masters. Then again maybe they would. Either way, that was a conversation meant for another time. "How did you two get this?"

"First year," George said. "We were serving detention with Filch. Found this little beauty among the island of confiscated toys."

"It's been our gem for years." Fred said.

"And you're seriously giving me this?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Fred said. "We talked it over and figured you'd need it more than we do. Consider it an early Christmas gift."

Harry didn't know what to say. Somehow, someway a "thank-you" popped out of his mouth.

"There's one important thing you need to know. When you're done, tap the wand again and say 'Mischief Managed.'"

At the tap of his wand, the words disappeared, vanishing as if they were wiped away by a magical eraser.

"Brilliant." Harry grinned.

As beautiful as the village was, filled with quaint little shops and cafes that added to its charm, it was losing its appeal. At least it was for Draco. Most of his classmates were using this trip to get last-minute Christmas shopping done, but he already had his gifts picked and wrapped since September. Not to mention, he could only take so much arguing between Theo and Pansy before he exploded.

Leaving the two to their quarreling, he decided to check out the Shrieking Shack, Crabbe and Goyle following behind him. At first glance, the building certainly lived up to its name. It was smaller than he imagined, almost the size of a cottage with a taller structure, the window stutters crushing with the wind, snow and ice falling from the loop-sided roof.

Further down the hill, he saw he wasn't the only interested in the site. Granger and Weasley was there as well; the boy awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, the girl spouting historical facts. It was so pathetic, it was laughable.

A smirk unfolded across his face. "Well, well, well. Look who's here. You two shopping for your new dream-home?" He took a glance at Weasley. His flushed face was as red as his hair. "A bit grand for you, Weasel-bee. A vast improvement from your family's one-room hovel."

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy!"

And just like that, his afternoon was suddenly improving. "Not friendly at all, I see. Boys?" He looked over at them and knew from their smug smiles they were itching for a fight. "I think it's time to teach Weasel-bee how to respect his superiors."

A scoff emerged from Granger's mouth as she stepped in front of Weasley. "Hope you don't mean yourself."

Blood boiled in Draco's body, roaring in his ears. Miserable, insufferable, irritating-"How dare you talk to me, you filthy little insect-"

A cold, strong force slammed against his left cheek-a snowball, nearly taking his head off. Startled, Draco glanced around. There was no one else there.

"Who did that?" he demanded. "Who's there?"

Silence fell over the forest until another snowball, much larger, hit him directly in the face, followed by another that hit his chest, knocking him back.

Distressed, Draco turned over to Crabbe and Goyle who stood frozen, gawking at him like a pair of ninnies. "Don't just stand there. Do something."

"What-" Crabbe was cut off as his woolen hat was pulled over his face, his trousers yanked down to his ankles before he was pushed forward, landing face-first into the snow.

Goyle's scarf raised mid-air and the boy was spun around and around until he finally toppled over, his face changing into a nasty shade of green.

Draco tried to get away, but he tripped over Crabbe who was still struggling with his trousers. The ghost, invisible being-whatever the hell it was-grabbed him by his ankles while he was down and dragged him to the slope of the cliff.

With a cry, he managed to break free. He hopped onto his feet and ran, knocking Crabbe and Goyle off his path. "Move! Get out of the way!"

"Malfoy!" Crabbe cried. "Wait!"

Draco most certainly did not. He continued to run, determined to put as much as distance between him and the thing as possible. He heard the damn insect and weasel laughing behind him and vowed to exterminate them both later. He ran until he was in the deepest part of the woods. Winded, he leaned against one of the trees for support, struggling to catch his breath.

His heart froze as he heard a snapped twig, loud as thunder in the snowy silence. Dear Merlin, it was here.

"I'm warning you," Draco said, trying to sound indifferent despite his trembling knees. "My father is a powerful man. And he'll have heads if harm should come to his one and only heir. Ghost or not."

The threat sounded a lot less ridiculous in his head than it did out loud. He wasn't the only one who thought so. The footsteps grew louder, coming closer to him.

I'm gonna die, he thought with a whimper (an actual whimper), shaking like the rumpled leaves. I'm gonna-

His train of thought ran off course as a scent tickled his nose: dessert tart and cinnamon. Draco frowned in confusion. He was in the middle of a forest, why the hell would he be smelling tart and-wait a minute. There was only person he knew who was associated with that scent. "Harry!"

He heard a string of stifled chuckles as a poorly-done, deep voice replied, "No, not Harry. I am," His best friend peeled the invisibility cloak off his body, grinning at the dark scowl on Draco's face. "The ghost of Christmas past."

"Oh, you're gonna be a ghost all right!" Draco growled. Harry took off running. Draco got himself off from the snow and ran after him.

Chasing each other on foot was no lost concept to them, a familiar childhood rite. Harry had always been fast, but Draco was faster. He easily caught up with Harry's stride, wrapped his arms around his waist, and hauled him up.

"No!" Harry yelled, laughing as Draco tossed him into a tall pile of snow. He tried to escape but Draco climbed on top of him and pinned his wrists by either side of his head.

"I'm gonna make you pay, Potter." Harry tried to wiggle free but Draco was persistent, holding his arms tightly. Harry tilted his hips, trying to shift Draco's heavy weight, and Draco felt heat shot straight to his lower region, burning through his body like a flame. Harry stilled, his chest rising and eyes widening, startled by the scorch just as he was.

So pretty. It seemed such an odd thought to have at that moment, even odder to describe his best friend that way. Yet at the moment with his face flushed-pink from their running, messy dark hair sprawled around his head like a black halo, his eyes green and glinting from the sunlight's rays, it was a word that seemed right.

So pretty, he thought, dazed.

Harry's flush deepened, realizing how close they were to each other. He made one more feeble attempt to move, but was halted by another brush of hips, clothed-bodies gliding over each other, fanning the fire.

Mine, a desperate voice hissed.

"Guys!" Goyle's call came over them like a bucket of ice-water, bringing them back to reality. Harry rolled away from Draco, leaving him no choice but to get himself off the ground.

Crabbe rushed over to them, his trousers fixed and reattached. "There's a ghost!"

A ghost named Harry Potter, Draco scowled.

Blaise came into the clearing a minute later. His brow arched at the sight of Harry's flushed cheeks and rumpled clothes, glancing from him to Draco and then back again. The smirk tugging on the boy's lips was too knowing for Draco's taste, almost as if he knew what had happened before Crabbe and Goyle interrupted them.

"Glad you made it, Potter," he said. "You almost missed out on the fun."

"What fun?"

Blaise led the group down the slope where Pansy was lounging on a fallen tree trunk, tending to her nails. Next to her was a snowman with a blue scarf wrapped around its neck and a matching hat, sporting a stone-encrusted grimace instead of a smile. Draco heard the sounds of snow shifting in the distance, settling quickly.

Pansy grinned at Harry and came over to hug him, missing the dark look flashing in Draco's eyes. "Darling."

"Pansy," Harry pulled back a bit, his arm secured around her waist to Draco's displeasure. His green eyes darted around the area. "Where's Theo?"

"Oh, around." She smiled innocently, although the gleam in her eyes clashed with that gesture.

Draco heard a crunching from the snow again, louder than before.

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

"Tempting," she said. "Then I realized Heaven's sanctuary would come to an end." She placed her hand under her chin and tapped it with her finger. "Or should I say Hell's?"

The sound of the settling snow grew louder, beginning to shake the ground. It could be animals, searching for food, playing in the trees. Then again Draco couldn't name an animal that'd use the word "wench" with such venom in their lips like Theo-

Wait a tick.

Draco looked over at the frowning snowman, taking note of the twitching branched arms and the stifled sounds vibrating through his stone-dotted mouth. "You didn't."

Pansy smiled like a cat that caught herself the canary.

Quickly connecting the dots, Harry did a double take at the snowman. His eyes widened in shock. "You turned Theo into a snowman?!"

"Well, he already has a frozen heart," Pansy said. "Figure I'd speed things along."

Dumbfounded, Harry whirled over to Blaise. "You saw all this?"

"Yes, yes I did." he answered without hesitation.

Draco's brows flew up to his hairline. "And you didn't think to do something?"

"I did," he commented. "'Help. Aurors. Murder.'" He shrugged, untroubled by the dumbstruck expressions on their faces. "No one came."

The boys were ready to give the Italian a double dosage of forehead slapping until Theo the snowman shuffled more, sprinkling them with snow. It was a good thing Pansy remembered the counter jinx to the spell, though it took over an hour to finally wrangle the information out of her. Once they managed to change Theo back into a boy, they took him to Three Broomsticks to warm him up. Five layers of blankets the owner was kind enough to loan them, a seat right by the fireplace, and three large cups of hot chocolate later, Theo was still shivering.

"When I-I-I get my h-h-hands on you, P-P-Parkinson," he snarled, his teeth chattering. "I'm gonna have your h-h-head."

"Whatever you say, F-F-Frosty."

Draco rolled his eyes at the arguing pair as Harry returned from the counter with another round of hot chocolate topped with whipped-cream, sprinkled with cinnamon. He set the drinks down on the table, took two that had peppermint-stick straws, and carried them over to the window frame where Draco was seated.

"Cheers," he said, sitting next to him and handing him a mug. "To our wacky friends."

'To scheming ghosts."

Harry smiled at the remark. "To shrieking prats."

"And fun in the snow."

Draco hadn't considered the weight of the words until they were said, hanging in the air between them, weighting down the light-hearted mood. Harry's smile dropped and Draco's ears burnt underneath his hat.

"It," Harry said after a long moment that dragged like an hour. "It was definitely something."

You're telling me, Draco thought.

Harry looked up and, as if sensing the jumble of thoughts colliding in his head, sent him a soft, reassuring smile. As grateful as Draco was for that smile, replying with one of his own, his mind drifted back to what happened in the snow bank. Entangled in each other, their bodies positioned in angles and touching in ways they've never done or felt before, creating a new and dangerous friction.

Stop it, he ordered, shoving the image in the deepest corners of his mind.

Adrenaline thrummed through his veins as he spotted a shock of black hair through the sheets of snow, hiding behind a tall three. Harry cried out, laughing as he was discovered and quickly abandoned his hiding spot. He ran straight for the clearing as Draco followed.

The snow was thick; a heavy layer of blanketing the ground, clouding the air, but Draco was still able to see him. The drifts of snow slowed Draco a bit, but he felt like he was flying, running faster than he ever had before like he was tearing through the sky on his broom. He was actually moving faster than he had been on a broom, his feet barely touching the ground.

As did Harry's when Draco finally caught him, letting out a victorious cry and pulling him close.

"No!" Harry yelped as he was tossed into a small mountain of snow, the impact sending thousands of flakes into the air, dotting Draco's face and hair with white.

He straddled the smaller boy's hips before he could escape, pining his wrists by his head, smirking at his friend's struggles. "I told you I'd get you, Potter."

Panting, Harry looked up at him. Draco couldn't explain why but the sound made his body hum in pleasure.

"And I expect full payment."

Without hesitation, Draco swooped in and melded their lips together. Warmth surged from Harry to him and back again, connecting the two together like a sacred thread, growing stronger and hotter.

Harry stilled for a second, stunned by Draco's bold move, but gave into the sensation, reaching out to touch the flames that grew between them. With a breathless whimper, he surrendered, giving into the fire, opening his mouth. The moment Harry granted access, Draco charged. He was addicted to the sweet sparks dripping off Harry's tongue, the embers of his mouth and heat in his lips. The warmth was so delicious, it was almost painful. The draw to fire so powerful, it was frightening. As frightening as it was, neither could stop. Neither wanted to stop.

Harry's hand curled around his shoulder, the touch seeping through the multi-layer of clothes. "Draco."

Hearing his name said in a faint whisper made something in him snap. Broke the frail lock of remaining self-control he had left in him. He deepened the kiss as his need intensified.

Mine.

The kisses grew passionate, more thorough, and more desperate. Draco kissed Harry like he was a starving man and Harry was the last morsel of food. Devoured Harry as if the boy was fine bourbon and he was an alcoholic sucking every drop. Each time they separated, even for a moment, Harry panted as he took in gulps of air while Draco snarled from the parching thirst running through him from the separation, moaning as their lips were brought back together.

Greedy mouths swallowed moans, whimpers, and sighs as tongues clashed and parred like dueling swords, fighting for control. Dominate, submit. Order and obey. Sucking until bruises bloomed, marking necks, cheeks, lips-over and over again. The hunger transferred over to hands that grabbed and tugged, tearing through each other's clothes with the vigorous of a child with their presents on Christmas morning.

Jackets, scarves, hats, sweaters, shirts. All tore and discarded, pooling around them. Draco unpeeled every layer that kept him apart from that beautiful, flushed skin begging to be touched, to be kissed, to be marked. He needed to mark every inch of him.

Mine.

Draco moved downward over the smooth expanse of Harry's chest, goosebumps erupting in his wake as he kissed over the soft skin, biting down before laving the marks with his tongue, soothing the redness he left behind. A gasp tore from Harry's throat as Draco caught his nipple with his lips, tugging at it with his teeth, feeling Harry writhing underneath him. "Draco."

"You're mine," He barely recognized his own voice, tight with desperation and hunger. "Mine!"

He repeated Harry's name possessively as he dug his fingers through layers of clothing, pressing his cheek to Harry's chest, breathing in the smell of his skin and feeling his erratic heartbeat. He finally wrestled Harry's belt free from its buckle, showing down layers of denim and cotton, soaked heavy from the snow and reached to find Harry's hole open and ready for him. Drunk from the beautiful sight, he exhaled against Harry's cleft. He frantically unbuttoned the buttons of his trousers and got rid of the offending garment, finding himself already slicked with pre-come and harder than he could have imagined.

Draco positioned himself, leaning in to whisper in Harry's ear. "You're mine, aren't you? All mine," as he charged in. He almost blacked out at feeling of completion that came over him. He never felt anything so right, so perfect.

"Yours!" Harry screamed, back arched, fingers digging into the ground. Snow-white feathers seeped through the gaps of his fingers.

"Fuck!" Draco woke up with a jolt, his skin damp with sweat. He placed his hands against his chest to keep from his pounding heart from jumping out, struggling to catch his breath.

What in the dear name of Merlin just happened? What made his mind came up with something so-a frown pinched his face as he shifted his legs and felt something hot and warm pooled around his thighs. What the hell? Did he piss on him-

This is not piss, Draco concluded, his face red and hot as his hand crawled under the blanket and felt something much sticker.

Dear. Stinking. Merlin.

A scream soared up his throat. He clamped his mouth shut and bit down hard on his tongue to keep the mortifying sound in. He reached for his wand and cast a non-verbal to clean the spoiled sheets and his nightwear. Though the mess was gone, Draco still felt dirty. Tainted.

He must be tainted. Absolutely delusional and insane to be thinking about his best friend like that, to have a dream like that.

Goddamn bloody hormones, he fumed. They were the culprit. They were the ones making him feel…well, things he didn't usually feel, making everything absolutely crazy-

"Draco."

His heart leaped to his throat at the sound of his name. Panicked, Draco slowly looked over his shoulder, dreading to see the look in Harry's eyes. Instead, his best friend slept peacefully, lost in his dreams and blissfully oblivious to Draco's mortification.

Draco was about to slip from the bed until Harry rolled over to his right, facing him, his hand reaching out. A frown touched his face as his hand patted the bed and felt nothing.

"Draco," he murmured his name, half-conscious, still asleep.

Draco felt a war beginning to rage in his chest. The part of him that still stunned from the dream and the mortifying aftermath wanted to pull away, to go into the empty bed and try to forget about what happened with some distance and sleep. Another part of him, one that was bigger and stronger than other side, wanted to draw Harry close to him and try to go back to sleep.

Victory was declared as Harry murmured his name once more, his hand still searching for his favorite pillow. Moving quietly as to avoiding waking him, Draco scooted closer to Harry, trying to ignore the previously-damp spot, and gathered the smaller boy into his arms. As soon as Draco's arms were around him, the frown on Harry's face broke into a small, peaceful smile, a sight that made Draco's heart ache with contentment-and confusion.

This was his best friend. His boy, his other half.

Nothing came between them. Not their clashing ideals over Muggleborns, not Granger and her conniving words. And he'd be damned if he let anything, much less puberty and their bloody buggar hormones, get between them.