Chapter 9 - Mistletoe
Draco was sitting on the edge of the dock with Potter aside him. Their feet dangled above the frozen lake as they looked out towards the craggy tree line. The sinking December sun painted the skies pink and purple and brilliant orange. The cold's teeth grew sharper as the sunlight drained away. Draco shivered.
"I think you should let me help you," Potter said firmly, his breath a cloud of mist, "We'll find a way to evade Voldemort and save your parents together,"
The Golden Boy spoke with such stone-set certainty, Draco nearly believed him. He desperately wanted Potter's words to be true. He wanted to be saved. He wanted to escape Voldemort without killing anyone and he didn't want to die.
Mercy, he didn't want to die.
"Would you really help me?" Draco asked quietly, eyes falling to his lap where black knit mittens covered trembling hands.
Please, say you will. Draco prayed, but Potter didn't respond. He simply burst into a cackling laugh, high pitched and unnatural.
Alarmed, Draco looked over to the Gryffindor to find his face contorted with uncharacteristic cruelty. The expression was all wrong, lips twisted with mirth and eyes glinting red. His features had changed somehow. They were wickedly sharp, reptilian almost. For a split second, Draco could have sworn it was Voldemort seated by his side.
He inhaled sharply as Potter's laughter broke off abruptly.
"Of course I wouldn't help you. How stupid and gullible can you get?" Potter spat, "Why would I waste my time on an insufferable git like you? I've got a world to save and you're nothing but Death Eater scum,"
Draco tried to draw back but Potter was freakishly strong and suddenly upon him, hands fisted through his robes. He heaved them both violently upward. The clasp of Draco's cloak bit into his windpipe as he was lifted from the dock.
Potter dangled him dangerously over the edge.
"N-no! Unhand me!" Draco begged, fingers clawing against the fabric at his throat.
Potter began laughing once more.
"You should act more grateful, you know? After all, I'm doing you a favor. You're better off dead,"
The person holding him was no longer Potter. He was staring at a mirror image of himself. There was a lighting scar beneath his blonde bangs and he wore black-rimmed glasses and Potter's Gryffindor cloak.
"It's a noble suicide," The warped clone said with a grim, toothless smile before throwing him backward.
Draco shattered through the ice. The force of it jarred his bones and pummeled the air from his lungs and then the lake swallowed him whole. It pressed in on him hugely and dragged him down, down, down.
Draco shouted out for help but the water ate his voice greedily and then rushed down his throat to take his air as well.
"Oh Draco," Voldemort said with deep disappointment. The black lake currents had morphed into the frayed billowing robes of The Dark Lord. They engulfed Draco fully. Choking him. Drowning him. Draco's heart clenched with fear as the ghost-white face emerged from the darkness, slits for nostrils and red, cutting eyes.
"I always knew you'd be a failure. You're worthless. Pathetic. It's time for you to die,"
Draco woke with a gasp on his lips, chest heaving and heart racing.
He looked around frantically, confused by the absence of his four-poster bed. Red banners with gold embroidery and squared stonework lined the room. There was a red squishy armchair at his back and a glowing hearth to his left chock-full of burned down embers pulsing orange behind the grate.
He was in Gryffindor Common room.
He shut his eyes and leveled his breathing, gradually recalling how Potter had led him here after their trek across the grounds. The memories were blurry and eerily bled into the terrifying nightmare he'd just woken from.
He shuddered.
The sensation of icy water crushing in around him was still vivid. The darkness engulfing all else and the welling panic that builds when you've gone too long without breath. The desperate climb to the surface against cement-heavy robes. Just the thought of it made him feel sick.
He clenched his fists, trying to tamp down the residual fear. The longer he danced with the reaper the more apparent the truth became.
He did not want to die.
He was planning to murder himself, but Merlin, he wasn't actually suicidal. It was an ill-fated conundrum.
"Hmmg-"
Malfoy's heart practically stopped in his chest as the sighing grunt broke the silence, indicating he was not alone as he'd so easily assumed.
He carefully lifted his head and craned his neck to find bloody Potter fast asleep to his right. The Gryffindor was propped up in an uncomfortable looking position against one of the common room couches hardly a meter away. Potter's glasses had slid all the way to the tip of his nose and his head was rested inelegantly against his shoulder. He would likely have a terrible stiff neck when he woke.
Draco quietly rotated onto his back, cursing his sore muscles and throbbing head, but his new position allowed a better view of The Gryffindor. He watched the other boy sleep for several breaths time, realizing this was the second night he'd found Potter dozing beside him. Both times it seemed the Gryffindor had drifted off while watching over him.
He sighed. Potter really was a bloody good person through and through. He'd offered to help, and unlike Draco's dream-Potter, the real Chosen One had been genuine.
Draco's heart ached as he considered taking Potter up on his offer and crusading for another way out. It was tempting, but believing it possible for anyone to dig Draco from his situation was a rose-colored fantasy and he knew it. Gryffindor optimism was childish at best and delusional at worst. No matter how he looked at it, Draco knew deep down that one way or another, he would still have to die.
With that final cheery thought, Draco pursed his lips together and mentally prepared to sneak out unnoticed like the night before. He was just about to lever himself upright when Potter's body twitched. His head nodded off his shoulder before he started awake with another grunt.
Potter grimaced and rubbed at his neck before pushing his glasses back into place.
"Malfoy?" He said as he spotted Draco's eyes on him. "-Ugh, what time is it?"
Potter rolled back his sleeve and squinted at his watch tiredly. Draco's eyes flicked to the window, estimating about 6 in the morning by the red glow of breaking dawn. Curse his luck. If only he'd woken 10 minutes sooner he just might have escaped.
"Are you feeling alright?" Potter asked, stiffly rising onto his knees and ruffling his hair, mussing it even further if that was possible. The Gryffindor gave him a suspicious look before he could respond, "Wait, please tell me you remember last night. You agreed to come up here, you know,"
Draco groaned and sat himself up gingerly, the blankets falling from his shoulders and pooling around his waist. He rubbed at his temples, "Don't worry, Potter. I'm aware you didn't drug and drag me up here if that's what you're worried about. Though it certainly feels like that's what happened,"
"Thank goodness," Potter said, visibly sagging, "Last night you were not in your right mind. You were saying the strangest things,"
Draco's eye narrowed, "What sort of things?"
"-Er, nothing," Potter said with a flush, "It's not important, anyway,"
On the contrary, Draco was very curious to discover what he'd said to make Potter turn such a shade of red. He was about to press further but he became thoroughly distracted as he noticed his state of dress.
"What in God's name am I wearing!?" He gripped the hem of the thick scarlet-colored sweater and peered down at it, horrified. Draco had a strong suspicion it had been hand-knit by the mother weasel. A great gold-embroidered lion was staring up at him.
Potter burst into a fit.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Draco said, hauling himself to his feet and glowering down at the Gryffindor who was doubled up with laughter.
"I really am," Potter said, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Where's my wand," Draco said angrily. He spotted his olive cloak hung by the fire and stormed to it. The fabric was still a bit damp even after setting out all night. He pulled his Hawthorn wand from the pocket and on a whim, stocked over towards the boys' dormitory entrance. That got Potter's attention.
"Malfoy, -hey! Where do you think you're going?" Potter called as Draco made his way up the steps.
"If I've been let into Gryffindor Tower, then I'm going to take a good look around. Know your enemies and all that,"
He could hear Potter's steps pounding up the stairs behind him.
The common room was decorated much like the den. Thick maroon draping spilled from four posters of rich mahogany. Plush area rugs carpeted the floor beneath each bed and iron sconces clutched wooden torches which had burst knowingly into flames at their entry. The word cozy would have been an accurate way to describe it, especially compared to the cold, stone, silk, and silver of the Slytherin Dungeons, but Draco was loath to use a positive word to describe anything Gryffindor.
"Just as garish and tawdry as I'd imagined it," He said instead.
He could feel Potter's eye's on his back as he padded over to the window. The visibility of the grounds was spectacular. The jutting castle's structure thrust towards the skyline while the edge of the lake lay smooth and flat and covered in white. The Quidditch pitch was visible and beginning to glow with encroaching daylight. It looked like a doll's set from their height, small enough to pinch between your fingers.
"You have to admit the view's nice, though," Potter said, coming up beside him.
"It's not bad," Draco admitted grudgingly. It really was a sight to see. They watched the shadows of the Quidditch rings shorten as the curve of the sun finally crested the horizon.
"So, Malfoy," Harry said, clearing his throat, "Would you say we're even now?"
"What are you on about?" Malfoy turned to the Gryffindor only to find Potter standing rather close. Close enough for Draco to notice the brilliant color of his eyes. They glowed palely in the brightness, the color of summer grass, or verdant tourmaline. He marveled at how thick Potter's lashes were, just as dark and full as the hair on his head.
For a split second, Potter's expression mirrored the shocked awe he felt inside. They both broke the gaze at the same moment.
"I'm talking about the debt from you saving my life," Potter said, taking a hasty step back, "In fact, you may even owe me at this point. Between the past two nights, I could argue that I saved your life twice,"
Malfoy scoffed, feeling appalled with himself for becoming captivated by Potter's good looks. Damn him. "You're having a laugh if you think that. I would've been fine without your help,"
Potter looked angry, a satisfying reaction. "Come off it. You can't honestly believe you would've been fine. Especially not yesterday. How in the world would you have hauled yourself from the lake?"
"I had my wand in my cloak, didn't I? I would have found a way,"
"You're unbelievable,"
Draco chuckled, unable to help himself. He stalked away from the window and past Potter, striding over to the get a closer look at the bunks, "Fine, I guess you can say we're even,"
Draco came to a stop in front of what had to be Potter's bed. It was the only untidy corner in the whole common room. It was littered with books and quills and empty Christmas boxes. He picked up a model of the Chudley Canon's seeker, Galvin Gudgeon, from the night stand. The tiny seeker held up his snitch triumphantly as if he'd just won a game.
"What are you doing now?" Potter asked warily as if Draco was a wild animal that might suddenly decide to break the innocent model in his fist. Draco set it down roughly.
"Getting to know you on a deeper level. For example, now I know that you're a complete slob who doesn't sort his socks. I mean, how do you even find anything in here?" Malfoy toed the trunk at the foot of the bed which was spilling robes and shirts and shoes from its mouth. The house-elves must have been appalled.
"And I'm learning that you're even more of a prat than I originally thought,"
Malfoy snorted, undeterred. He continued to paw nosily through the things Potter had left in plain view until his eyes came to a wrapped box half hidden beneath the bed. He bent over and unearthed it.
"You've got an unopened Christmas present here, Potter. Did you know?" He held up the parcel, two separate boxes tied together with blue and gold ribbon. He gripped the little tag between his fingers and read, "From Romilda Vane?"
"Put that down, Malfoy. It's nothing," Harry made a grab for the present but Draco danced out of reach, amused that he'd found something Potter seemed embarrassed by.
"Who's Romilda, Potter? Your girlfriend?" Malfoy asked mercilessly.
"She's not my girlfriend. Give that here,"
"An admirer then?" Draco brought the parcel to his ear and gave it a shake, "Oh sounds like she's got you a box of chocolates. Ten galleons these are spiked with love potion. And how sweet, it's a two-part gift,"
Potter made another grab at the packages.
"Careful, Potter. This box has instructions on it. It says you've got to open it with Romilda,"
"I don't care! It's going straight into the fire," The Gryffindor lunged at him. They struggled for possession competitively, arms becoming laced as they wrestled. Potter was shorter than him, but he was stockier and more muscular, especially considering Draco's admittedly underfed state. It wasn't long before the Gryffindor overpowered him, plowing him roughly onto the bed and finally wresting the boxes away, victorious, but not without damage. The wrapping on the boxes had ripped in several spots and the ribbon sent askew in the fight. The smaller box lid slid off the bed and clattered to the floor.
Both he and Potter peered curiously at the leaf-berried plant which gracefully floated from the parcel and into the air as soon as its restraints were released.
It was mistletoe, Malfoy registered as it came to a stop hovering above their heads, and that was when he recalled the ad flier he'd seen for Zonko's Charmed Mistletoe. What better thing to pair with love-potion-laced chocolates? It took him too long to realize what was coming next.
As if someone had taken hold of his shoulders and thrust him forward, his face was shoved into Potter's. Their lips crashed together like ocean waves on the coast.
It was completely involuntary and impossible to escape.
Shocked green eye's stared into his grey ones, their gaze entirely too close, and then to his horror, Potter's lids fluttered closed. The tip of Potter's tongue skated against Draco's lower lip, a hesitant knock at the door. It must have been the cursed mistletoe, because Draco found himself conceding, parting the way for Potter to slip inside his mouth. Potter was warm and soft and tasted good. God, he tasted phenomenal.
The bed groaned beneath them as they shifted closer.
Potter's hand brushed the side of his face and slid its way behind his ear to tangle through his hair. The nails against Draco's scalp sent every nerve ending on his body dancing.
Snap out of it! Draco cursed as his eyes fell shut and he plunged his tongue past Potter's lips, melting deeper into the kiss. Potter moaned in response and the vibration of it rocked Draco to his very center.
Knowing he'd be doomed if he didn't do something quickly, Draco raised his wand and angled it up at the cursed Christmas decoration.
Incendio. He thought.
The mistletoe above them burst into flame as it was hit by the non-verbal spell. The invisible force at Draco's back vanished as the greenery whistled and cried as it was eaten by the fire. He and Potter broke apart like glue giving way.
They were both panting and wide-eyed and might have stayed frozen forever had the flaming mistletoe not fallen onto Potter's shoulder and set his robes aflame.
"Shit," Potter cursed, batting at the live embers clumsily.
"Aguamenti," A large stream of cold water shot from the tip of Draco's wand to drench Potter head to toe. The Gryffindor spluttered and wiped at his face, robes left smoking where the fire had been.
"That was a bit excessive," Potter said, shaking his sleeves as water seeped into his mattress, but Draco was speechless. For once in his life, he couldn't force his mind to form a single snarky remark. He stared at Potter, utterly appalled. They had just snogged, for Merlin's sake.
And what's worse, Draco had liked it. It was bloody fantastic. Add kissing to the list of things the Chosen One was good at. A million and one reasons were turning through his brain as to why what had just happened was completely and absolutely wrong. So, so wrong.
"Draco, I mean Malfoy, -wait," Potter said, reaching out a hand as if to stop him. Draco had dismounted the bed and begun back-peddling towards the stairs.
"Stay the hell away from me, Potter," And with that, Draco turned and fled.
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