Title: The Mistletoe's Jingles

Summary: Draco hated mistletoes. They made him miss breakfast and got glitter in his hair. But worst of all, they made him kiss Potter. Just another mistletoe story, because there can't possibly be enough yet. Post-war Hogwarts. HPDM

Author's rambles: I had actually planned this as a one-shot, but since it turned out a little longer, it will be a shorter, 2- or 3-part story, I haven't decided yet. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas time and maybe, possibly, leave me a review and let me know if you liked it or want to exchange it when the stores open again.

Enjoy reading!

Part 1

The castle hated him.

The thought hadn't occurred to Draco only recently. He'd figured it out not long after the beginning of the term, since the Suits of Armour hadn't made a habit of coincidently stretching their legs when he hurried past them in his first 6 years of school. Also, there seemed to be a lot more of the vanishing steps on the way to his classes than he remembered and he just knew the Great Halls' candles liked to drip into his food, when he wasn't looking. It might have been because Hogwarts blamed him for having destroyed a part of it or because he'd stood on the enemies side in the battle, but there was no denying that the building or rather its magic just loved to mess with him at every chance it got.

Ding. Ding.

The jingling was almost above him and he moved faster, robes flapping as he rushed through the empty hallways.

He didn't know why he'd thought the stupid mistletoes would be any different. When he'd come up to breakfast on the first Christmas Day he hadn't set so much as the tip of his polished leather shoe into the Great Hall before the darned nuisance of a weed had spotted him and came flying at him in pursuit, its little leaves fluttering excitedly. And Draco had spun around and fled. Because really, there was no other option than to outrun the bloody thing.

He sharply turned the corner, sprinting up one flight of stairs before heading down a corridor on the 2nd floor.

The mistletoe would surely grow tired of chasing him. And ultimately it would find someone else to pester. Draco could just lock himself in his room then and wait for the holidays to be over. He just needed to keep this up a little longer. Just a little bit more …

His foot caught on a ridge, he could have sworn wasn't there just a moment ago and he had a second to brace himself, before he hit the ground, hard. His shoulder met the stone first, a dull pain shooting up his arm and back, then came his head and knees before finally the rest of his body slid to a stop. He groaned, slowly rolling onto his back and took a moment to breathe. He didn't need to feel the tingle of glitter on his nose or hear the victorious jingle of bells above him to know that he was now spectacularly, officially fucked.

"You happy, now?", he spat at the mistletoe hovering over him and quickly shut his eyes again as it jumped, as if laughing, dropping more glitter on him.

And then, as if the day couldn't get any worse, he heard something that made all blood drain from his face.

He and the mistletoe turned at the same time, staring at the person heading their way. Or he stared and the stupid thing fluffed up its leaves in preparation, waiting to cast its dreadful magic.

"Draco, are you okay?"

He sat up at once, scrambling to his feet. Dizziness almost made him tumble down again and he quickly gripped the wall, blinking in horror at the massive feet coming his way.

"Oh, dear Merlin, please, no ...", he muttered.

There weren't many people staying at school over the holidays. A couple of Hufflepuffs, a dozen Ravenclaws, a few Gryffindors and he could've counted the number of Slytherins celebrating Christmas at Hogwarts easily on one hand. And Millicent Bulstrode was one of them.

He watched her trudge closer with a sick kind of fascination, once again astounded by the sheer size of her body and how it was able to move. And a horrid image of being crushed between those giant arms, her face only a heartbeat from suffocating him, popped into his mind.

Spinning around as fast as he could manage, he ran, back the way he'd just come from, the jingling mistletoe right above him.

"Draco, wait, where are you going?", she yelled after him, but, he'd almost reached the Grand Staircase by now. Maybe, if he made it to the dungeons he could lock himself in with the bloody weed and hope the charm would wear off once the holidays were over? The glitter and clinking was annoying, but given the alternative ... His chances weren't even all that bad. Just three flights of stairs and a short path down the corridor. There probably wasn't anyone in the Common Room either –

He came to a halt, his shoes shuffling over the floor, as he dug his heels in.

Fuck his life.

A student came up the stairs and by doing so unknowingly cut off his escape route. He hadn't noticed Draco yet, since he was focused on the steps, not wanting to set foot on one that could trap him.

Tipping his head back, Draco glared at the mistletoe. "I will pluck out every single one of your leaves and push your sorry twigs through each of them separately before setting them on fire", he growled. He knew he could be threatening, if he wanted to. Most people went running with only a glance. But the plant appeared unimpressed, hovering motionlessly above his head.

So it was Millie or Longbottom, then.

Breathing out, he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, shaking out flocks of gold glitter. Honestly, he didn't know which one was worse. Maybe he could jump out somewhere. But this was a corridor without windows, there were just blank walls, torches and …

He was at the wooden door in an instant, whipping his wand out and all but blasting the thing open. Ducking inside, he quickly slammed it shut behind him and flicked his wand to lock it. Millie's heavy steps passed by only moments later and he slumped in relief.

Draco didn't know how much time had passed, when he woke. He had fallen asleep right next to the door, leaning against the cold wall, knees pulled up and head resting on top of them.

Tentatively stretching his limbs, he got to his feet and flinched when he put an arm on the wall to steady himself. Between his bruised shoulder, growling stomach and the mistletoe it was difficult to say which one made him most miserable. And as if it knew he'd been thinking about it, the useless piece of foliage jingled once, then twice and he could almost see its twigs curling upward, as if it meant to smile. He wasn't going to check, though. His scalp already itched, he really didn't need to get glitter in his eyes too.

Okay, screw that, the mistletoe easily made first place.

Slipping past desks and chairs he made his way over to the two windows of the room. Draco thought he hadn't had lessons in this particular classroom since his 2nd or 3rd year. Probably. Most of them looked very much alike with their high ceiling and arched windows and wooden bookshelves, stacked with tattered second-hand volumes. The blackboard showed a half finished drawing of a hanged man with a jumble of letters next to it and Draco felt it did a brilliant job of depicting his mood.

Propping one palm on the sill, he looked outside.

It was still bright, but the sun was already low on the horizon, confirming what his rumbling stomach had been telling him. He'd been in here for hours. His arse freezing on cold stone instead of sinking into the soft fabric of his armchair by the fireplace. Gut clenching in hunger, instead of feeling sick because he'd decided on eating that third slice of mince pie. His hair full of stupid glitter, he was sure to find anywhere on his body and in his clothes even days after showering, instead of snowflakes.

It was truly a splendid way to spend the first Christmas Day.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The mistletoe's bells' chiming broke him out of his self pity. He needed to get out of here. If he was careful, making it to his room without running into someone wouldn't be a problem. And then he'd take it from there. Baby-dragon steps, his mother had said.

Breathing in deeply, he turned. And froze.

"Potter", he choked. "How did you get in here?"

The Gryffindor stood in front of him, unmoving and smiling sheepishly, his hair its usual mess, scrappy glasses a little crooked on his nose and green eyes trained on him.

Draco hadn't thought Potter was staying over the holidays. At least he hadn't been at dinner the day before and that's why he'd figured the Gryffindor had gone to celebrate at the Weasley's place again. He wanted to laugh at the thought of Potter having probably fought with his little friends and getting kicked out of their dump of a house (it was the first thing to lighten his mood on this miserable day), but then the mistletoe jingled again and his eyes went round.

"Potter, you're too close!", he cried, frantically pointing above him. "Get away from me you fucking idiot!"

His lower back hit the windowsill, as he tried to get some distance between them, while the mistletoe kept chiming happily and showered him with so much glitter, he had to squint to get a clear view of the other boy.

"What are you doing?", he croaked as he realised the Gryffindor was too stupid to get it and actually moved in closer. "Can't you see there's a bloody enchanted mistletoe above me? Don't you know what happens when we get too close ...".

But Potter did know. Because next thing he knew, Harry Potter was kissing him.

Draco had been positive that Potter hadn't been dating much. There was the Chinese girl in 5th year and of course Weasley, who'd been ogling him ever since she'd started school. He hadn't heard about there being anyone else. So he doubted even Merlin could explain how Potter had learned to kiss like that.

He was pressing his lips to Draco's unmoving ones softly, sucking and nibbling gently at all the right places, amazingly, brilliantly, exactly the way he liked. And Draco had to realise this wasn't just a quick peck to satisfy the mistletoe's magic. It wasn't an aggressive meeting of mouths, either. It was a kiss you got from someone who wanted to kiss you.

His heart jumped into his throat and that must have been why its furious beating was suddenly all he could hear. He forgot about the mistletoe's annoying jingles, about the glitter surely getting inside his robes and didn't feel the ridge of the windowsill pressing uncomfortably against his back. And before his brain could convince him that he was about to do a very stupid thing, he was kissing him back.

Potter's hair was just as soft as he'd imagined, Draco thought without knowing when he'd let go of the wall and had pushed his fingers into the Gryffindor's raven hair instead. He tugged on it, getting him to tip his head back a bit further and gasped when he felt his tongue trace his lower lip, slowly as if savouring the sensation. His eyes had fluttered shut a while ago and he focused on the tingling Potter left on his lips and the feeling of the body pressed against him.

How had he never noticed how fit Potter was? He trailed down his body with one hand, reluctantly letting go of his hair, brushing over his neck, upper back, then lower, almost reaching his arse before stroking up his sides and, slipping between them, up his stomach and chest. Even with his robes covering him, he could feel the hard muscles, dipping just like he'd seen on that Wizard modelling for Malkin's new line of underwear. Then Potter bit his lip lightly and Draco's hand wrapped around the front of his robes, clawing at the fabric, his other one clenching in his hair, needing to hold on to something.

Merlin, if Potter was this good a kisser he might just understand the lovesick witches wanting a piece of the great saviour, who single-handedly defeated the Dark Lord.

And Draco grew still.

What was he doing?

The warm fuzzy feeling inside him vanished, like someone had tipped their wand to it at the end of Potions class. This was the Wizarding World's Hero. This was Harry Potter.

What, by Salazar's pants, was he doing?

He pushed forcefully against the Gryffindor's chest, not even noticing his bruised shoulder and Potter stepped back at once, offering no resistance.

"What is wrong with you, Potter?", Draco sneered. "Weasley turned you into a fucking fairy?" He wiped the sleeve of his robe over his mouth, not caring if his lips ended up sparkling like the Christmas decorations McGonagall was so fond of.

Potter said nothing, only looking at him with bright green eyes through the drizzling rain of glitter, his hair still a mess and his glasses even more crooked than before. But now it had been Draco responsible for all that and suddenly he didn't want to look at him any longer.

"Well, get your fix somewhere else, I'm not into your weird shit", he spat and turned.

And, at least, the mistletoe didn't follow.