Hating the Christmas Decorations

Hating the Christmas Decorations

V. Beck

Draco walked briskly down the slushy road to Hogsmeade, trying to hum something placating to himself. He stopped here and there to box with shadows and kick out at snow covered bushes. His boots were heavy, and his socks were wet. A warm green woolen scarf was wrapped around his neck, obscuring is mouth from view. His thick winter cloak all but fell from his shoulders as another bush came back for more.

Was he stalling? Nooo.

Drunken Truth or Dare was a cruel, cruel game, and Pansy Parkinson was even crueler.

He hit a bush, and it sprayed snow all over him in retaliation. He swore colorfully, and continued on his way.

A date. Draco Malfoy did not date. He allowed women and men to faun over him, and occasionally have sex with him, but he did not date. This was blasphemy.

He looked back on the castle over his left shoulder, staring at the glittering lights in so many of the windows. It was only early December, but the overenthusiastic Hogwarts residents were already fully decorated. A group of rosy-cheeked Hufflepuffs shuffled past, industriously carrying a Christmas tree. He sneered at them, but no one seemed to notice. They were all too busy talking and laughing, the very picture of holiday cheer.

Holiday cheer could kiss Draco Malfoy's ass.

He crossed the railroad tracks slowly, hoping a train would come through and pound him into smithereens. No such luck. He jumped up on the other side of the platform, and headed up towards the main Hogsmeade thoroughfare.

As Draco passed the rows of bright and merrily decked-out shop windows, he was struck by an unfounded wave of anxiety. Would Potter even show up? Had he perhaps just agreed to the "date" to get Malfoy away from him as quickly as possible!? Oh gods. Gods bedamn Pansy and her hideously inventive dares. Draco Malfoy would not be stood up. He refused to let this happen!

Look at the bright side, Draco thought forcibly. If he doesn't show up, you'll have fulfilled your duty, and not even had to do half the work.

Yeah, but it's still getting stood up.

The Three Broomsticks loomed ahead, uncharacteristically foreboding. Draco sucked in an enormous breath. His heart was racing like mad, and this rather pissed him off. Potter did not deserve to make his heart race.

But it was....

He tapped the snow off his boots, and walked through the door of the Three Broomsticks. Immediately, his ears were met with the warm sound of banter. The air was heavy with the smell of alcohol and sweets. He looked around, pretending quite marvelously that he wasn't nervous as all hell.

Potter wasn't there.

Draco's stomach dropped a few inches. He walked up to the bar and plunked down in an emptier area.

"Butterbeer, please," he muttered to the plump bartender in turquoise robes.

"In a jiffy, dear," she answered happily.

Draco felt like burrowing into his robes and dying right there, in the middle of all the bustle and merry-making. He resolved to stay just long enough to finish his drink, and then he'd leave in the same unobtrusive way he'd come in. No one would be the wiser, right? Oh, sure....

The bartender witch set down an opened bottle of Butterbeer before him with a decisive plink. Draco curled his hand around the cool glass and was prepared to chug.

Behind, someone cleared their throat.

Draco turned.

"Sorry," Harry said, rather breathless. "I'm late."

Relief washed over Draco. Before he could think of something cynical today, "It's fine! Really," just popped out.

Harry gave him a bit of an odd look, and sat awkwardly.

Silence marched messily by.

"Two more Butterbeers," Draco said, for the sake of something to say.

The bartender nodded and smiled.

"So..." Draco said. My, he thought sullenly, what an interesting cocktail napkin.

"Cold weather, isn't it?" Harry stammered, grasping for a topic of conversation.

Draco shrugged, glancing up at him. "I rather like it. I mean, the snow's a change." He paused. "And the Christmas decorations are...nice."

"Yeah..." Harry said. He was staring at Draco.

The blond shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and took a sip of his second Butterbeer.

"What!?" he finally had to ask, irritated by all the attention and...and warmth, and holiday...holiday-ness.

Harry blinked. "Sorry! Uh, your eyes are...blue. Never noticed that."

"Well, yes. What color did you think they were?"

"Brown, or something," Harry muttered. A blush had spread across his cheeks.

"Yours are green, right?"

Harry looked at him so the other boy could inspect his eyes. "Yup."

"They're...uh, nice." Draco found himself blushing, too.

"Nice?" Harry smiled, and sipped his drink.

"Well, yeah." Draco snapped defensively. And then, with a bit more self-loathing in his tone: "Shut up, Potter."

Harry seemed to enjoy this pronouncement immensely.

Draco contemplated hitting himself in the head with his empty Butterbeer bottle.

"So what prompted you to ask me on a date, Malfoy?" Harry asked, grinning smugly. "Or rather, who? Because I know you're not here of your own free will."

"Right you are, there," Draco said, rather relieved at the new turn in conversation. "This is Pansy's doing."

"Pansy Parkinson? The one you took to the Yule Ball?"

"The same."

Potter snickered. "She's a real looker, huh, Malfoy?"

"Cram it, Potter. I don't see you strutting around with the great beauties of the world, either."

Harry laughed. "That can be attributed to the fact that I don't like girls."

Malfoy stared at him. "Are you serious?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, no. I'm just giving you reasons to spread horrible rumors about me for fun. So what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you straight or gay?"

Draco jumped a little in his seat. "I don't have to answer that!"

Harry chuckled. "Oh, come on, yes you do. Ron and I have a bet on."

Draco glared at Harry. "You're kidding. ...Who's betting on what?"

"Ron's sticking to 'bisexual slut,' I think, and I was going with 'flaming gay.'"

"Pay your mate a fiver, then" Draco said bitterly, and drained the rest of Harry's Butterbeer. "Is that really all you people think of me?"

"Yes. And I was going to drink that."

Draco looked incredulously at Harry. "Potter, I think you're almost as big of an asshole as I am."

Harry paused, looking at his Butterbeer bottle intensely. When he spoke again, it was in a slightly softer tone. "You want to go outside?"

Draco glanced at him. "Why?"

"I dunno. To take a walk. Somewhere."

"Somewhere?"

"Somewhere."

Draco raised his eyebrows, causing Harry to suddenly break into a furious blush and turn quickly in the other direction.

The dark-haired boy's attention was recaptured by the sound of a barstool scraping away from the counter.

"Why not?" Draco said quietly, and winked. "I think I need to give you a talking-to, in private anyway, you pretentious ass."

Harry paused, and then slipped off his barstool.

"That sounds just fine," he said, the blush not completely faded from his cheeks.

Mockingly, Draco offered his arm, and not to be outdone Harry slipped his hand lightly into the crook. They walked out together, looking like the most natural thing in the world.

Harry smiled quietly, and Draco forgot to hate the Christmas decorations.