Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
A/N: Happy Holiday, everyone.
Tie Me Up With Mistletoe
The Christmas market at the heart of a certain town was awash with people and sound and lights. Beneath the blue evening sky, thousands of fairy lights hung in the air and along the stalls like spider's threads, keeping the long, dark night at bay. There was a chill in the air, but it did not dampen the spirits of the crowd. Visitors were holding cups of hot chocolate or coffee or steaming mulled wine bought at the drink stands, and drinks were occasionally spilled onto the pavement.
Sitting inside one of the handicraft stalls, Albus stared at the crowd lining up in front of a coffee stand like bees lining up for their favourite nectar. The smell of coffee (and food from nearby food stalls) wafted towards him, enticing him with its warmth and caffeinated promise. He would like to have a cup of mocha himself, but it was too much hassle to close up the stall and join the long line-up just to get some coffee.
Albus let out a sigh, his gaze falling upon the products he was supposed to be selling: handmade scented candles of various colours and sizes. A tea light burnt ever so gently inside a glass lantern, its flame looking faint and feeble against the glare of the fairy lights. Nonetheless, the familiar warmth of candlelight brought him some peace and comfort in the bustling madness that was the Christmas market.
Business was slow on this mid-December evening. People were more interested in handcrafted decorations, gingerbread and sweets, and novelty artefacts that were more amusing than practical. To be fair, Albus was only looking after the stall as a favour to a friend, who had gone off somewhere and left him to hold the fort.
As Albus stared vacantly at the deepening sky, a figure blocked his line of sight. Blinking, he found himself staring at a familiar face—a certain pale-haired, grey-eyed someone—and he caught his breath. Dressed in a stylish, tailor-made black coat, Draco Malfoy cut a sharp and sombre figure in the crowd. A whiff of cedar and musk drifted towards Albus like the spectre of his desire.
"Hello, Mr Malfoy," Albus said.
A flicker of recognition appeared upon Draco's face, and his lips curved into a faint smile. "Good evening, Albus." His voice was low and mellow as always. "I wasn't expecting to see a familiar face at a place like this."
Albus shot a glance at the Muggles moving about, Muggles who knew nothing of the other world that existed alongside their world since time immemorial. "Me neither. What brings you here?"
The curve of Draco's lips became ever so wry—lips that had haunted Albus' dreams and reverie with phantom kisses. "I was lured by the prospect of authentic mulled wine."
Albus blinked. Of all the things that could draw Draco Malfoy to a Christmas market, he had not expected it to be mulled wine. I'll look for a recipe later, he told himself. "And how authentic is it?"
"I prefer alcohol in my mulled wine over the non-alcoholic variety, but to each his own," Draco remarked as he put on his reading glasses and studied the boxes of candles on display: candles with names like Carnival Night, Bleeding Heart, Goblin Market, Snow Child...
Not wanting to disturb his potential customer, Albus silently beheld the man who was the object of his affection and desire. Those thin-rimmed glasses looked good on Draco, he thought idly, his gaze lingering on the strands of pale blond hair that had fallen over the glasses. For one impulsive moment, Albus wanted to reach out and brush those strands aside and consequences be damned. In the end, he did what he had always done—nothing.
"Hmm, interesting names," Draco said. "I presume the candles are named after their scents?"
Jolted out of his musing, Albus collected his thought and tried to remember what his friend had told him about the products. "Yes, that's the idea. These candles are handmade by my friend. Each candle captures a unique moment in time—or so she claimed."
Draco let out a humming sound and picked up a candle in a glass. Deep red vines ran along the candle's side like red strings or blood veins. When he looked at the label, a ghost of a smile played about his lips. "Well, I must confess I'm intrigued."
"Please take a sniff if you like. There is a little bit of magic in this candle."
With mild interest Draco held the candle to his nose, took a whiff, knitted his brow, and took a whiff again. "I see. That's why these candles aren't selling well on this side. The magic is probably a little too strong for the people around here."
"Yes, I thought so too." Albus stared at the hand that was holding the candle labelled Desire, a hand wrapped in a slim leather glove. "But she likes playing tricks like that."
"Your friend sounds like quite a character," Draco said mildly.
"She just likes stirring up trouble," Albus muttered.
This candle will reveal to you the one you desire, his friend had explained while holding up the candle as though making a toast. This candle smells differently to different people—unless you and someone else happen to want to shag the same bloke.
When Albus lit the candle in the privacy of his room the other night, the air smelled of cedar and musk with a hint of apple. The scent enveloped him like a pair of ghostly arms, binding him with its many invisible threads. He imagined Draco lying beside him by the warm candlelight, breathing sweet nothings and dirty words into his ear. While the candle flickered and burnt, he was left with nothing but desire and desperation, and like a man possessed he masturbated until he was thoroughly spent.
In truth, he knew it was nothing more than a fantasy, an erotic dream, a hopeless infatuation. He knew too little about Draco; he could barely decipher this enigma of a man. He was not even sure if Draco would be interested in a young man like him. In Draco's mind, Albus was likely nothing more than his son's friend, his former rival's child, and the shop boy who worked for the apothecary he occasionally patronised.
Remembering what happened the other night, Albus felt warm in spite of the winter chill, and his gaze was inevitably drawn to the man in question, who was quietly browsing the stock of candles. What would Draco's desire smell like, Albus found himself wondering, but he knew better than to ask.
"Mr Malfoy, do you make mulled wine at home?"
"Just something simple," Draco replied absently as he put down the pale blue candle labelled The Wild Hunt. "With orange, sugar and a few spices."
"I would love to drink the mulled wine you make."
Those slate grey eyes of Draco's met Albus' green gaze. A beat later, Draco took off his glasses and slipped them into the pocket of his coat. "Well, if you ever drop by, I'll make you something." With that he flashed Albus a faintly sardonic smile. "But don't expect anything fancy."
"I'll be happy to drink anything you make." As words tumbled out of Albus' mouth, it occurred to him that he might have said more than he ought to. "I like the alcoholic version better too, so I know yours will be good." And I wouldn't mind eating you up while I'm at it, he thought.
Raising his eyebrows, Draco cast Albus a strange look and made no comment about his awkward turn of phrase. "Right, I'll be sure to prepare something alcoholic for you then." He picked up a few candles and handed them over to Albus. "I'll take these."
When Albus caught sight of Desire among Draco's purchases, his heart skipped a beat. Feigning innocence, he rang everything up on the old cash register. A suggestive stillness lingered in the space between him and Draco, stillness that seemed somehow teeming with meaning. Albus did not hate that, this pregnant moment he shared with Draco as if they were partners in crime united by a secret and an inside joke only they could understand.
What would happen if Draco lit this candle while they were in the same room together? Albus wondered as he wrapped the glass jars of candles in brown paper, unable to rid his head of certain wild scenarios. Perhaps he should ask his friend later...
"Are you still working for that apothecary in Hogsmeade?" Draco asked.
"Huh? Er, yeah, I'm still working there. The total comes to—"
One pleasant chime from the cash register later, Albus gave the change and the receipt to Draco, and with that done he placed the candles in the bag. "I'm afraid we don't have any nice shopping bag or wrapping paper."
"It's fine. They aren't Christmas presents."
"They are for personal use then?"
After making certain no one was watching, Albus took out his wand and cast a spell beneath the counter. Three sprigs of mistletoe sprouted into being, their berries white as snow and their leaves green as early spring. A dark red ribbon slithered out of Albus' wand and bound the mistletoe together in a tidy knot. The electric lights in nearby stalls blinked once, twice—to the confusion of the stall-keepers and their patrons.
Taking the modest decoration, Albus secured it to the handle of the bag. Once he was finished, he held out the bag to Draco and smiled a sheepish smile, all the while feeling imaginary butterflies fluttering their imaginary wings in his stomach.
"Happy Christmas, Mr Malfoy."
With a thoughtful look Draco contemplated Albus for a heartbeat or two before he accepted the bag. "Thank you, Albus." There was a pause. "I take it you will be busy looking after your friend's business for the rest of the month?"
"I'm just helping out for a few nights. It's a busy time at the apothecary too." Albus grabbed a pamphlet (specifically made for the wizarding mass) from under the counter and gave it to Draco. "My friend accepts order through owl post. The apothecary I work for also carries some of her candles, but they only have the non-adult-oriented ones."
There was a hint of amusement in Draco's countenance. "I see."
Albus returned the smile. "Please come by when you have time." I'll be waiting—he would never say that out loud. "Do you have any plans after this?"
"Yes, I have some business to take care of nearby."
"Oh." Feeling a little deflated, Albus swallowed what he had wanted to say and fumbled around for words in the dark. "I hope it goes well."
"Me too. It's good to see you, Albus. Good night."
"Good night, Mr Malfoy. I hope you have fun with the candles."
With a quirk of a smile on his lips Draco nodded and went on his way, and soon his figure was lost in the crowd. Letting out a white breath, Albus sat down on the stool and returned to watching the constant stream of people walking by. Even though no one had stopped by to take a look at what he was selling, he found himself in a good mood.
There were brighter lights and bigger spectacles and stranger sights elsewhere, and yet somehow Draco had decided to stop by this plain-looking candle-maker's stall. "Thank you for not being here," Albus whispered under his breath to his absent friend.
Silvery snow drifted down from the hazy sky as the night grew deep. After making some small talk with a customer, Albus watched the customer depart with her purchases. Snowflakes tumbled and swirled in the wind; the ground and the rooftops of makeshift stalls were covered in a veil of glittering white. Feeling the chill, Albus shivered and warmed his hands with the flame of a burning candle.
The hour was late, and the crowd had thinned out. There was a hush in the air; even the jangling music of the nearby merry-go-round was deadened by the snow. Albus checked his watch: the market was closing in less than an hour. Some of his neighbours were already packing up for the night. Should he do the same?
As he stared off into the bright, dazzling night, a shadow fell upon him. Stricken with a feeling of déjà vu, he looked up and met the slate grey gaze of a certain someone, a certain someone who was slightly out of breath.
"Good. You are still here." With that Draco Malfoy handed a small shopping bag to Albus, who, dumbstruck by this turn of events, accepted the bag without a word. "Happy Christmas, Albus."
Feeling a shade too warm, Albus mumbled thank you and looked inside the shopping bag. A box of gingerbread biscuits rested beside a take-away coffee cup, which was warm to the touch. With much care he took out the cup and opened the lid. Chocolate flakes floated atop a sea of milk foam, while the unmistakable aroma of coffee and chocolate told him all that he needed to know—it was mocha, his favourite.
Turning from the cup of mocha in his hand to the man who bought it for him, Albus took a deep breath and spoke up. "How do you know I like mocha?"
"How indeed. Perhaps with a little bit of magic?" Draco purred while holding Albus in his gaze, and Albus held his breath. A heartbeat or two later, a quirk of a smile appeared upon Draco's lips. "Actually, I found out about it when I came by the apothecary some time ago."
"Oh."
In an effort to mask his disappointment, Albus wrapped his cold hands around the warm cup and drank a mouthful. Sweet and rich and smooth as velvet, the mocha was delicious, and it was made all the more delectable by that certain someone who delivered it to him in person. "Thank you. I was just wishing for a cup of mocha earlier."
"Well, it's good to know that I have granted your wish," Draco said wryly.
"And what's your wish, Mr Malfoy?" Albus wondered aloud, half serious and half playful. There was a flicker in Draco's eyes, but it might have been a reflection of the candlelight and nothing more. "Will you let me grant one of your wishes?"
"Hmm, there is something." With an impressive sleight of hand Draco pulled a We Are Closed sign out of the shadow of the stall and left it on the counter. "Why don't we go to some place warm, and you can tell me all about the things you have a liking for beside mocha and alcoholic mulled wine?"
Finis.