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Part 2

He hated the castle.

Well, to be fair, it was only some parts of it that Draco truly hated. And enchanted mistletoes made it pretty far up the list. Right below the Grand Staircase that had made him late for almost every important lesson this year and above the Portrait of the Witch in the Common Room, who giggled constantly whenever he sat down to work on his Essays. And he had to do a lot of those, thanks to the previous point.

Warily, he peeked around the corner. And, after making sure the path was clear, swiftly walked down the corridor, his bag swinging.

It was day three of Hide and Seek with mistletoes and as of this morning he'd run out of sweets he'd gotten for Christmas. The box of Pumpkin Pasties contained nothing any more but crumbs, the Cauldron Cake he'd gotten from Pansy was long gone and all that was left of Honeyduke's Christmas Assortment were the green and grey Every Flavour Beans no Slytherin in his right mind ate. It had happened much too soon and Draco suspected his Chocolate Frogs of masterminding a breakout, since he was certain he couldn't have eaten the whole box by himself.

Stopping again, he closely pressed to the wall, straining his neck to get a glimpse at the corridor that made a sharp turn to the right. It was empty and he moved on, a bit slower than before. The part of the dungeons that lead right up to the Common Room had a ridiculous amount of alcoves to hide in.

There was nothing that jumped at him though and he let his breath out in relief as his heels finally met the soft fabric of green carpet and the exit closed behind him with a thud. He slipped the bag off and set it on an armchair, rolling his shoulder.

This had gone surprisingly well.

He'd pocketed enough pie to throw a party and even got the chance to sit down and eat proper food again. Draco was certain the meal had been one of the best he'd ever had, regardless of the wax he'd fished out of his soup. And he hadn't encountered a single one of the sodding jingling branches.

He smiled smugly, scratching the back of his head.

Hogwarts was loosing its touch. It could at least have had one of them pacing in front of the Common Room or hiding behind the Christmas Tree. This was easier than getting Potter detention in his first year.

Humming, he reached for his bag and, in this moment, came to realise three very different things.

First, Draco noticed he'd used the wrong hand when pain shot from his shoulder up his arm. Grimacing, he switched, deciding once again he'd visit the Hospital Wing as soon as the bloody mistletoes were gone for good.

Second, the Common Room was empty now, so the two 3rd year brats must have somehow succeeded in convincing Millie to participate in Quidditch. She was a decent Keeper. Millie almost covered two of the rings by hovering in front of them.

And third, his fingertips were sprinkled with gold glitter.

The Portrait giggled, a high-pitched sound that would have made him throw a mince pie across the room, right into the ugly hag's face, if he hadn't frozen up, his stomach dropping like the lump of ice it felt like. And as if it was laughing at him too, the mistletoe above him jingled merrily.

"Shut up, will you?", Draco hissed, resisting the urge to turn his head into the drizzle of glitter.

He lay on his bed, facing the wall. It was made of smaller and bigger rectangular pieces of stone, varying in different shades of grey. The one in front of him had a warmer brownish tinge and a polished, uneven structure that felt smooth to the touch. There were two fissures, a long one, running diagonally from the bottom right corner to the top and a smaller one, branching off two thirds along the way. It was exactly the distance from the base to the nail of his little finger. Or to the second knuckle of his index finger. Or if he held two fingers against each other …

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Pressing his eyes shut, he clenched the hand he had to the wall into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm. Curse those sodding good-for-nothing excuses of plants. He'd tear them into a million pieces, take the scraps down to the Greenhouses and feed them to the Flesh-Eating Slugs. Only ever a few each day.

Who'd expect a creature with fucking leaves right next to open fire? A mistletoe hiding in a chandelier should have been shaking its bells in fear, not hovering in utter silence. It really wasn't fair.

The rain of glitter had gotten stronger, some of it trickling into his ear, and he rolled around and sat up, shaking his head, swearing.

"Bloody piece of firewood, I should –"

He grew silent.

Then blinked a few times, making sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

"Potter?", he gaped. "How – I'm sure I locked the door. This is the Slytherin Dormitory!"

He looked just like the last time he'd seen him, tousled hair and a little crooked smile on his lips that, until then, Draco had only known from afar, directed at the Weasley girl. And just like last time he didn't say anything, just stood there, watching him out of bright green eyes with his hands tucked into the pockets of his robe. Like the thought of Draco cursing him hadn't even crossed his gullible Gryffindor mind.

"What the fuck are you doing in here? Get your arse out of my room!", Draco yelled, hurriedly shuffling backwards on his bed, sending glitter everywhere. "Now, Potter!"

Inwardly, he'd already known he wouldn't. Or couldn't. Since his dark hair was sparkling like the Christmas baubles on the Great Hall's fir tree. And Draco threw himself back, eyes wide, when the Gryffindor set his right, then his left knee on the bed. He winced as his shoulder made contact with the wall he'd been staring at for hours.

"Did you follow me here? That is sick, Potter! You're sick! A sick, pathetic poof!" He wanted to sneer, but his laugh came out choked and too high-pitched.

And then Potter was in front of him. Kissing him again and Draco forgot why he'd ever wanted to make him leave, when his mouth did all those wonderful things to him and his stomach fluttered with that unfamiliar feeling again, that made him think he wouldn't need his cashmere coat when going out into the snow.

Memory hadn't done him justice, he thought, groaning when Potter gently sunk his teeth into his lower lip. How was it possible he knew all of his soft spots? Potter was supposedly utterly incapable at magically closing his mind, it was unthinkable he'd even try to use Legilimency. But with the things he did to him it was just as unlikely he hadn't somehow read his mind.

A hand found the back of his head, tugging tenderly and tingles spread down his spine, making the little hairs all over his body rise. Shivering, he grabbed his robes, burying his fingers in the fabric while pushing against him and all of a sudden they were toppling over.

Draco didn't particularly like pain. But he thanked Merlin for the stabbing needles he felt piercing his shoulder the moment he fell on it. He hadn't noticed when he'd closed his eyes, but they snapped open now, staring in horror at the green ones looking back at him.

And he was scrambling, shuffling, scooting off his bed the next moment.

Looking at the raven haired boy still sitting on his bed he opened his mouth and snapped it shut again, teeth clenching. Then he whirled around and sealed the door to his bathroom shut behind him.

The next time he opened it, Potter and the mistletoe were gone.

It was New Year's Eve when Draco met Potter again. He'd been on his way from the Hospital Wing, just rounding the corner, when he noticed him standing next to the Grand Staircase, talking to the Weasley girl. He was smiling his stupid crooked smile Draco had last seen through a curtain of golden glitter, hugging her briefly before she turned with a wave of her hand and walked down the stairs, ponytail swishing.

Draco only noticed he'd stopped, when he started moving again, heading for the corridor Potter had disappeared in. It wasn't a detour, really, if he took the secret passage to the dungeons instead of using the stairs. He only had to pass this hallway, then two more until he made it to the library and walk back the whole distance after exiting the Portrait. It practically took just the same amount of time.

"Potter!", he called, when he'd almost reached him.

The Gryffindor turned around and Draco found his face didn't hold much resemblance to the one he'd seen beneath the mistletoe. It probably had something to do with the way he was now keeping his mouth in a straight line instead of grinning sheepishly. And the absence of glitter.

"It's touching you seem to have made up with your little girlfriend, but you shouldn't lead her on like that. She's already poor, don't you think she at least deserves a boyfriend who likes kissing girls?"

Potter's eyes seemed different too, because the eyebrows on top of them were drawn together, forming little creases between them. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?", he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Draco stepped a bit closer, curling his lips into a deliberate smirk. "Oh, please, Potter. You can stop pretending. Should I get a mistletoe to jog your memory?"

Potter just blinked and Draco had to admit, he really had the whole innocent act down. But then again, he'd already known about his infuriating talent to get out of any kind of trouble.

"Er...", he said, like Draco had heard him say a hundred times before.

"Ah, that's right, there are no more left." He tipped his finger against his chin. "That's really too bad. You can't justify your disgusting obsession with me any longer."

Potter's mouth opened. "My … what?", he asked, his shoulders slumping a bit in his feign of being surprised.

"You didn't actually think I wouldn't figure it out, did you?", Draco said, his smug smile widening. "You're obviously infatuated with me."

Potter stared at him, looking as if he'd just explained that his father had donated the Malfoy fortune to Granger's House-elf project for Christmas and knitted a dozen socks himself. "What?"

"Come on, admit it, Potter. You've fallen for me. And that's why you've been following me around all week, using those bloody enchanted weeds as some lame excuse to force yourself on me."

The wrinkle on Potter's forehead deepened and he shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I wasn't even here, Malfoy. We just got back today."

Draco snorted, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes. "You really are a pathetic poof. Can't even own up to it, can you?"

Potter's eyes flashed. "What's your problem, Malfoy?", he snapped angrily.

"My problem? I don't know, maybe it's you, stalking me, ambushing me in that classroom and breaking into my own bloody room to get me to kiss you! Stop lying already. I fucking saw you underneath those mistletoes!"

And as soon as the words had left his mouth Draco got the feeling he'd just said something he'd better have dropped into a Pensieve and lost in there. It was a stifling sensation, low in his gut, similar to the one he got, when he'd made a mistake somewhere in the exam without being able to pinpoint what it was.

Potter's stunned expression wasn't helping. His eyes could go very round, Draco thought. "You … you saw me under the mistletoes?", he asked.

Draco should have stopped talking.

"Of course I saw you", he said, rolling his eyes. "Did you think the glitter made me blind somehow?"

He should have just bloody stopped talking.

"You … saw me kissing you underneath the mistletoes?", Potter asked one more time.

He should have spelled his mouth shut and lost his wand.

"Yes, Potter", he said. "So why don't you just admit your pitiful infatuation with me and explain how, by Salazar, you managed to get into my room, so I can make sure it never happens again."

But he didn't. And by that point it had been too late anyway.

When Millie pulled him away, covering his mouth (and nose and his left eye) with her massive palm, he'd already handed in his work. And it was some spectacular mistake he'd made.