Thank You all a lot for favoriting and, of course, reviewing. I hope you have wonderful holidays. So Merry Christmas everyone, enjoy the last part of this story!

Part 3

He hated himself.

Not all of him (he did have great hair) and not all the time, but for many things. For his part in the war. For some spiteful words he'd said. For putting the green-grey-sprinkled Every Flavour Bean in his mouth. For messing up his Draught and, shortly after, his favourite robes in Potions. For actually swallowing the god-damned Bean. And, of course, most of all, for ever talking to Potter.

He grimaced, his stomach clenching.

"Be a darling, Draco and don't throw up in the Common Room", Pansy said, shooting him a glance that probably was somewhere between pity and disgust. Mostly disgust. "Why did you eat it anyway? You know not to touch those."

He just shrugged, before letting his head fall on the back of the sofa once again. Pansy didn't really care for an answer anyway, she was just taunting him for making a poor choice. Although, if it had been a real question he actually had an answer to it.

Because he was bloody out of his mind, that's why.

Sighing, he pressed his palms to his eyes before rubbing over them. School had started again and although he had wanted nothing more than for the holidays to pass quickly when he was still hiding from the mistletoes, he now wished himself back to the time when he'd locked himself in his room and could stare at the fissures in the wall without being reminded of how he'd so brilliantly ruined his life.

He blinked his eyes open, lazily. But that made him look at the chandelier and he sat up again, groaning.

Pansy breathed out loudly through her nose. "Could you be sick silently, Draco? I really have to finish this."

She waved the parchment at him. He didn't know what subject she was working on. He couldn't even remember his own assignments, since he'd been thinking about more important matters. Like breaking into the Department of Mysteries to verify if all of the rumoured Time-Turners really had been destroyed.

"Fine", he mumbled, pushing himself up somewhat sluggishly. "I'll go." He knew the way Pansy was forcing her mouth into a tense imitation of a smile and what it meant for her patience, despite her forthcoming words. It was better not to push it before he ended up having to avoid two Slytherins instead of one.

Although the reason why he didn't want to meet Millie had nothing to do with any kind of vengeful acts.

He sighed again, before stepping into the dim light of the dungeons. Turning right he walked down the corridor, past empty classrooms, the Potion storage room and Slughorn's office. It was Sunday, so the corridors were fairly empty, since most students chose to either spend their weekends in Hogsmeade or to catch up on schoolwork. He considered the odds of running into anyone other than first and second year brats even lower than Potter not sitting at Madame Puddifoot's right now, smiling stupidly at the Weasley girl over lacy napkins and pinkish teacups, oblivious to how her carrot hair clashed with every single item in there.

He kept walking, not realising where he was going until his shoe hit the ground with a scrunching sound and he felt icy air drift past his cheeks, making his eyes water.

The Courtyard looked peaceful in white. There were dents here and there were students had walked before. But the footprints had begun to fill out again, the edges already soft with a new layer of snow. Draco trudged on, aligning his steps with the ones that had been there before. When he reached the alcove on the other side he stamped on the floor, ridding himself of excess snow before falling back against the wall.

He breathed out, watching the mist form and disperse in front of him. Already reaching for his wand he halted in his movement and reconsidered casting a Warming Charm. He crossed his arms in front of his chest instead, fingers curling into the thin fabric of his robe. It was a piece of his regular school attire and not suited to be worn outside, so it did little in protecting him from the cold. Which was fine. The cold helped calm down his stomach and if he could just focus on his freezing toes and the block of ice he was leaning against, he might manage to forget about things he wanted to be obliviated for.

Unfortunately, though, the snowman someone had built next to the fountain was right in his line of sight. It had a body made of three uneven, massive globes, two bulky appendages stuck to the middle one for arms, a crooked branch for a wand and a carved face, adorned with stones for eyes and a pine cone for a nose. It looked very ugly. And a lot like Millie.

"By Salazar, Draco, would you stop?", she had said, grunting, while dragging him away from Potter. He remembered resisting at first, but since she'd pressed her palm against his mouth and nose, effectively suffocating him, he'd had to give up quickly.

"You so owe me for this. Listen here. The mistletoe only shows you what you want to see after a few hours, if it catches only one person. It's the glitter. It's illusionary magic, supposed to make the lonely people happy too. The bells jingle three times when it triggers, so you know it's not real."

By then they'd rounded at least one corner and Draco still didn't know whether he'd gone limp because of a lack of oxygen or because of what she'd just said.

"Do you understand, Draco? You just made the magic show you, because … well, because … " She'd let go of him then, her face twisted into a grimace that had looked a lot like Pansy's asking him not to vomit on the couch.

"Why ...", he'd coughed out between sucking in gulps of air, hurriedly interrupting what she'd been about to say, "haven't I", taking another breath, "heard of this?"

"Well, McGonagall explained about it the morning before Christmas", she'd said, still frowning. "I think, you were late."

The flakes were piling on top of Snow-Millie's head and Draco thought his face must have had the same colour back then, with all blood drained from his face. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the two little stones any longer which, in his mind, held the same accusations as real Millie's.

It had been fine when everything had just been in his own head. Thoughts he could deny and push to the furthest parts of his head, crumple them and stuff them right in between everything related to the Dark Lord and all he ever learned in Muggle Studies. It had been easy to pretend they weren't real. Merlin knew, he'd never intended to act on any of it.

Shivering he opened his eyes again and pushed off the icy wall, stomping right through the snow, not caring about his socks and trousers getting soaked. The snowman fell after his foot buried itself in the bottom globe.

"Sodding git", he cursed under his breath, kicking the pile once more. "Fucking Potter." The pine cone went flying and the branch snapped under his heel. He brought his foot down again, sending snow everywhere, not stopping until there were only unrecognizable heaps and the prints of his sole left.

He stared at his work, his chest rising and falling, before clenching his stiff fingers into a fist and spinning to make his way back to the castle.

"Malfoy?"

The word was barely more than a whisper, but it made him freeze up like someone had all but screamed the incantation for the Body-Bind-Curse at him. He turned around, carefully, as one might do when facing a predator, ready to pounce.

Sure enough, Potter had just reached the alcove where he'd been standing before, turning his head left and right. He seemed to be breathing hard with little puffs of mist forming quickly in front of his nose. He didn't wear a coat and his scarf looked as if he'd thrown it around his neck in a hurry, almost slipping off his shoulders. Curiously, he wasn't holding his wand, but a piece of parchment in one hand. And from where he was standing, he hadn't spotted Draco, but somehow still seemed to know he'd been there.

Draco quickly ducked behind the huge oak tree, as silently as possible. Maybe, if Potter didn't move and he kept walking in a straight line back to the castle, he could manage to keep out of sight.

"Malfoy?", Potter asked again and Draco started walking backwards, barely lifting his feet, pushing the snow aside quietly, instead of treading on it.

And he really wanted to stomp the stupid snow into the ground right now, since he couldn't kick his own arse. How had he pulled off running into Potter on a Sunday, when he'd been able to avoid him all week? What was wrong with him? He should have never left the Common Room. He'd take Pansy jinxing him a hundred times over having to face Potter.

He'd almost made it, when the Gryffindor rounded the oak tree, his head snapping up, eyes leaving the obvious trail of footprints and focusing on him instead.

He stopped abruptly and Draco went rigid too, freezing mid-motion with one foot behind the other.

"Malfoy ...", Potter said again. No enquiry this time. And Draco was proud that he managed to keep his mouth from curling down with the way his stomach was twisting.

Today Potter looked very much like the illusion he'd conjured underneath the mistletoe. There was snow instead of glitter and he wasn't grinning sheepishly, but his cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, his lips slightly parted and the green eyes were round, without furrowed brows topping them.

"Very good, Potter", Draco said. "You found me. It's your turn now. Go on, hide until I count to 100."

Potter's forehead wrinkled.

"Ah, you don't like hiding, do you? Always the glorious Seeker." His laugh wasn't meant to sound quite that humourless.

Draco knew eloquence wasn't one of Potter's stronger points. He liked filling his sentences with Err's and Uhm's and often took his time to answer, so it wasn't hard to interrupt, when Draco saw him open his mouth to form a reply. One he absolutely, definitely didn't want to hear. "Not to worry, Potter", he said, aiming for his favourite sneer. And failing. "I rather dislike this particular game. You better go and look for Weasley."

And then he whirled around, somehow managing not to slip on the icy ground. A Slytherin always knew when to run. And run he did.

Draco had been dreaming something about Suits of Armour chasing him and throwing snow in his face, so he took a while to realise that there really was something tickling his nose and cheek.

He rubbed one hand over his face and brought it up to his eyes, heavy lids opening slowly.

His room was dark. There was just the one window which was charmed to show the sky outside, like the Great Hall's ceiling. But the half-moon was enough for him to see the outline of his hand and the little dots covering his palm, reflecting the light. And at once he was wide awake, rolling around to clasp his wand from his bedside cabinet.

He almost dropped it again, when his spell hit the fireplace, lighting up the room. Even though a part of him had already expected it.

"Potter ...", he whispered, before shaking his head at himself. That wasn't Potter. Wistfully he tipped his head back and found the mistletoe hovering motionlessly above him.

He ran his fingers through his hair, fighting the urge to laugh. He didn't know how this one had managed to hide for a whole bloody week, but there was no doubt in his mind that whatever many of the plants were left, they'd surely come after him. And his stupid brain had nothing better to do than to conjure Potter yet again.

He trained his eyes on the boy sitting on his bed once more, dragging his gaze over the awfully tousled hair, the green eyes which were currently locked on him and the glitter-covered robe he'd left hanging open.

And he lifted his hands, reaching for the illusion, his wand forgotten on the bed. This was as close as he'd ever get to having Potter. It was pathetic. Sad. And very stupid. But he might as well enjoy this.

Draco had seen Potter glare at him a lot of times. He'd seen him angrily flustered, bristling, irritated and confused. He'd seen him laugh and smile too. At other people. But he'd never seen him nervous before.

Potter was biting his lower lip as he started to climb over. He looked as if he were hesitating, his eyes glancing up to his face and then down at the sheets, then up again until he was sitting back on his heels right in front of him.

And Draco thought his mind really was brilliant after all. He hadn't even realised he'd wanted to see this quite so much.

He could feel Potter's fingers tremble as he put his hand in his neck, pulling him closer. Or rather, he was imagining how it would feel like, just like he imagined the soapy smell of his hair and the tingle of his breath against his lips. He'd even made his green eyes more intense this time. They were round and bright and looking at him as if searching his face for something. And then he was touching his lips to Draco's. Timidly, barely putting pressure in it and, much to his annoyance, unmoving. Very different from the way he'd conjured Potter kissing him before.

It was more like a peck, really and Draco pushed his hand into the dark hair, roughly pulling on it, while taking his lower lip into his mouth and sucking. Because he wasn't having this. It wasn't enough.

Potter gasped and the next moment something hit him on the head and made them jump apart.

"What –"

Looking around Draco glanced up at the ceiling in confusion, trying to make sense of something that just couldn't have happened.

Hogwars' enchanted mistletoe had fallen on top of him.

He stretched, reaching to pick it up, but jerked back his hand when he felt the leaves prick his skin. Draco hadn't always been paying attention in Herbology. But he did know enough to be certain one couldn't possibly prick oneself by touching the round leaves of a mistletoe. But he had. Because this wasn't a mistletoe at all. It was a branch of holly, berries plucked off, drizzled with glitter and made to levitate above him.

And he came to realise there was something else that'd been missing too.

There was no bloody jingling.

He whipped his head around, incredulous.

"Err … hullo?", Potter said, smiling sheepishly and ruffling his hair. And Draco was too stunned to do anything other than watch him shake the very non-magical glitter out of his hair.

"Sorry about that. You know, Ron was always better at Levitation –"

"Do you think this is funny, Potter?", Draco spat. Potter talking about any Weasley had done it. He could feel his hands tremble with fury and gripped the sheets before he'd be sent to Azkaban for punching the saviour through the wall. Into the lake.

Potter went still, his eyes going big. "No!", he cried.

"Did you get your little friends in here to laugh at me too?" He turned his head, looking around the empty room. "Ah, I forgot, you'd want to tell them yourself. It is all about attention with you, isn't it?"

Maybe it would be worth it. Among cellmates he'd surely be celebrated for killing the one who had brought down the Dark Lord.

"Gods, no! You've got it all wrong!"

There was barely any glitter left in his hair with both of his hands running through it, before rubbing over his face. He seemed almost dejected. "It's just … I couldn't get you to talk to me! You were always hiding in your Common Room between classes and didn't even eat in the Great Hall any more. And then you ran again today, talking about how I'm supposed to be the Seeker and I started thinking how you were right and that I had to come to you."

Draco stared. Trust a Gryffindor to misunderstand everything.

"I had planned to tell you it's really me, after ... But then I kind of lost focus, when you, err, did that thing …." Potter grew silent, looking at the sparkling sheets.

And Draco closed his eyes, breathing in and out, before opening them again. Potter was still there, plucking glitter off his hands. It only stuck to his fingers instead.

"Why?", he asked, his voice trembling. "If you wanted to talk to me that badly, why didn't you just petrify me after breaking into my room? I was bloody sleeping, even Longbottom could have stunned me." And remembering about his wand, he grabbed it again, training it on the Gryffindor.

Potter was still holding his own, but made no move to point it at him. Instead he, infuriatingly, bit his lip again.

"Ah, about that …." He trailed off, going silent and Draco's eyes narrowed.

"You either explain yourself right now, Potter or I will trap you underneath your sorry excuse of a mistletoe with Goyle."

Potter's head snapped up to him in horror. "You can do that?"

"Want to find out?" He lifted his wand and Potter scooted back a bit, raising both of his hands in defeat. And Draco wondered when exactly he'd decided he didn't need to guard his arrogant Gryffindor arse around him anymore. Prat.

"No, no, wait", he said hurriedly. "It's just not that easy to say ..."

Draco poked his wand against his chest, the tip resting on the hideous gold-red-striped tie. "Try."

"Merlin, you're such a git", Potter mumbled, shaking his head. It sounded more weary than angry. And Draco's fingers clenched around his wand, pushing harder.

"Stupe –"

"It's because I wanted to know, alright?", he called, green eyes wide and Draco dropped his hand.

"Know what?"

Potter swallowed before speaking again. Softly, this time, almost whispering. "I, uhm, kind of wanted to see, if what you said last week was true or if you were just messing with me."

Draco's face hardened. He'd definitely handed Potter the answer to that.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the Gryffindor any more, who was still chewing on his lower lip. He also didn't want to listen any more, but Potter obviously wasn't finished tearing his dignity into tiny shreds as he kept on talking.

"And also … well …", he stumbled over the words and Draco would have made fun of this, if he wasn't busy imagining what would happen if he tried to jump out of an enchanted window.

"The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know how it would feel like." There was a slight tremble to Potter's voice. But he might as well have imagined it, just like he was certain he couldn't have heard what he said next. He hadn't seen Potter form the words after all. "To, uhm, kiss you."

His eyes flew open. "What?"

Potter actually blushed. It was just a faint tinge on his cheeks, not easily distinguishable with just the lighting of the fireplace. "I, er, wanted to kiss you." This time he really did whisper and Draco could feel his own face grow warm when his gaze dropped to lips. "Still do, actually."

There was just the loud thumping of his heart, he was sure Potter could hear too. He didn't move as the Gryffindor shuffled closer. He still didn't budge, when he brushed the tips of his fingers over his cheeks, lightly, as if he was touching something precious and didn't resist when his hands found his neck, tugging softly. And then Potter was pressing his lips to his for the second time and his breath hitched.

It wasn't as timid a kiss as the one before, but it still was more of a peck than anything else. And nevertheless, somehow, this quick touching of lips was better than any kiss he'd ever gotten before. It might have to do with the warm buzzing in his stomach or with the way he felt light-headed all of a sudden. Or the train of thoughts spinning through his head, repeating the same unbelievable, amazing thing over and over again. That Harry Potter actually wanted him.

Draco woke from his stupor the same moment Potter let go of him, sitting back. He was looking at him, his forehead wrinkled and Draco stared for a while before he realised he was waiting for him to say something. Licking his lips, he tried to summon a coherent thought from his still jumbled mind.

"You've got to do a lot better than that to make up for dropping that sodding branch on my head", he finally said, while fighting not to smile. Grinning stupidly usually ruined any kind of threat.

And Potter crossed his arms, pursing his lips into something resembling a pout. "That's your fault, too, you know. I wouldn't have dropped it, if you hadn't distracted me doing that, uh … thing with your mouth … "

"Did I?", Draco mused, inclining his head. He couldn't stop the evil smile from spreading. "You'll have to be more specific, Potter. Whatever did I do?" His smirk grew. "Care to show me?"

The Gryffindor just glared at him, blushing deeper. "Git."

And Draco carefully raised one eyebrow. There was one thing he knew of Potter could never resist.

"Scared, Potter?", he asked.

Sure enough, his answer stayed the same and this time Draco couldn't stop his mouth from curling upwards.

What he'd really wished for, he'd ultimately gotten because of Hogwarts' stupid mistletoes. And Draco thought, maybe he'd been wrong after all. Maybe the castle didn't hate him all that much.

The castle definitely hated Draco Malfoy, Harry thought.

It just liked him that much more.

oOo END oOo