A/N: Sorry if a little late. I'm in the Navy and stationed in Italy so sometimes my updates will be either a little early or a little late, but I am trying to keep them on track. Thank you all for page views and favs. Especially a thank you to a certain reviewer. *grins* 3

== Mittens ==

They were all rushing around this time, late for an important outing. He could hear the tapping of Hermione's feet and the small giggles that kept escaping Luna as they waited for the three men. They would've been ready twenty minutes ago, but Draco insisted that they had to be properly bundled. The memory of the previous year with Harry ending up sick for a week was a lovely reminder of why they should wear all the proper gear. But really, they were only mittens!

"Don't even open your mouth, Potter," Draco growled at Harry, noticing the dark haired man looking easily annoyed at the fact that they were late because they couldn't find the mittens Mrs. Weasley had gotten them last year.

Harry simple grumbled to himself and went back to searching under the large bed. He could swear Draco was pmsing if it wasn't for the fact that he was reminded almost nightly that Draco was a bloke. Not that he minded. He quite enjoyed being reminded nightly of Draco's status as a guy.

"Draco, they're fucking mittens. We'll be fine with out them!" It was instead Tom, as he walked back into their bedroom that spoke up. His entire bodily attitude screamed annoyed and Harry was glad it was Tom going against the blonde and not him.

"Both you and Harry get sick far to easily. We'll find the stupid mittens and then we can go. Because if you two get sick because you were missing them than you both can sleep in the living room."

Harry couldn't help a wince at the cold look in those normally warm silver eyes. He would've rather curled up in bed with the other two than be in the argument currently, but he and Draco had promised Hermione that they'd go to the Ministry's Christmas party, even if Harry would end up with a headache by the end of the night. A promise was a promise to him.

"Why don't we just try summoning them," he meekly put out. Getting between Tom and Draco was never a smart idea and he really didn't care to die that night.

Both males stopped their glaring contest before whipping around to look at him with surprised looks. "You mean... No one has tried that yet?" Harry merely shook is head at Draco's question. Tom had turned around to smack his forehead against the door way, aggravated that they'd been running around like common muggles instead of using their magic like the intelligent wizards they were.

"Accio Mittens," Harry finally tired and all three watched as two pairs of mittens suddenly launched themselves into the air from the closet behind Draco before landing in Harry's lap. It took only a few seconds to go from looking at the mittens in his lap before he, as well as Tom, leveled a glare at Draco.

"…Oops," was the blondes only reply, trying to not look at all guilty. So he missed the mittens when looking in the closet. It was a normal mistake…right? Tom rolled his eyes before walking over to Harry and snatching his mittens.

"Come on, let's get going before the beaver comes after us." Harry nodded and got up quick to follow his already retreating lover out of the bedroom, but instead paused for a moment. He turned emerald eyes onto Draco whose face held a light tint of embarrassment.

Giving out a sigh he walked over to the blonde and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips and a bright smile. "Come on. If you're not with us I may end up maiming that stupid Dark Lord of ours."

Draco smiled back in return, giving a light nod in acknowledgement as he grabbed Harry's hand and tugged him towards the door. "I suppose that is true and I really don't feel like getting blood all over the carpet when you bring him home."

Both men laughed as they exited the room, neither noticing a pair of silver and green mittens that lay forgotten. Of course, the chances of any of the three going to search for them would be slim to none. Not with Hermione already at her wits ends, even if she promoted dressing properly or not.