- Rating:
- PG
- House:
- Astronomy Tower
- Characters:
- Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
- Genres:
- General
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Stats:
-
Published: 01/31/2004Updated: 01/31/2004Words: 502Chapters: 1Hits: 706
- Posted:
- 01/31/2004
- Hits:
- 706
- Author's Note:
- Written for the Chocolate Frog Advent Calendar. Hugs to Penguin, Bettyblue, Haleth, and my husband for beta-reading.
When Draco saw the lonely figure hovering over the Quidditch pitch for the fifth night in a row, he got angry. Actually, he was more than angry, he was absolutely furious. What was the idiot trying to do? Freeze his fingers off? After having seen Potter flex his stiff fingers for several days in a row, Draco had come to the conclusion that Potter probably didn't wear gloves when flying. He had a hard time believing even Potter could be that stupid, but then again, it was Potter. He had his cloak on and was halfway to the pitch before he even realised what he was doing.
"Potter! Come down here! NOW!" he yelled as soon as he reached the edge of the pitch.
To his surprise Potter did just that, a quizzical look on his face. Before Potter had time to change his mind, Draco took his broom and put it on the ground. Then he reached for Potter's hands and held them up in the moonlight.
"Have you gone mad? It's DECEMBER! Your fingers will turn black and fall off if you keep this up." Potter was staring at him, his mouth hanging open in surprise, while Draco kept raving on. Draco let go of one of Potter's hands and started rubbing the ice cold fingers of the other.
"Ow! That hurts!" Potter squeaked.
"It's supposed to hurt, idiot. It's the blood coming back." He rubbed even harder and Potter squeaked again.
"You do realise you won't be able to catch the snitch if your fingers fall off?" Draco asked. Potter kept staring, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. Draco smirked.
"And how would you be able to get a firm grip on your wand, eh?" Draco raised an eyebrow and gave Potter an insolent grin at this. Potter's blush was now everything but faint, and he stared at the ground instead. When Draco was done with the first hand, he let go of it and started on the other, revelling in Potter’s pained yelps. He only had himself to blame. If the stupid git had worn gloves...
"There. Now, if you absolutely must hang above the pitch and sulk every night, would you at least wear gloves?" Draco scowled at him.
"I lost them. I haven't had time to get new ones." At least Potter had the decency to look guilty. Draco stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out his own gloves. Dragonhide, fur-lined and insanely expensive. He tossed Potter another insolent smirk.
"I believe we're about the same size." Unbelievable how someone could look so red, even in the dark. Draco snickered and took hold of Potter's hands again, this time to put the gloves on. When Potter looked questioningly at him he just shrugged.
"Christmas came early this year." He turned and marched briskly back towards the castle. When he reached the stairs he cast a glance over his shoulder. Potter was still standing, as if frozen to the spot, where Draco left him.
"Potter! Come down here! NOW!" he yelled as soon as he reached the edge of the pitch.
To his surprise Potter did just that, a quizzical look on his face. Before Potter had time to change his mind, Draco took his broom and put it on the ground. Then he reached for Potter's hands and held them up in the moonlight.
"Have you gone mad? It's DECEMBER! Your fingers will turn black and fall off if you keep this up." Potter was staring at him, his mouth hanging open in surprise, while Draco kept raving on. Draco let go of one of Potter's hands and started rubbing the ice cold fingers of the other.
"Ow! That hurts!" Potter squeaked.
"It's supposed to hurt, idiot. It's the blood coming back." He rubbed even harder and Potter squeaked again.
"You do realise you won't be able to catch the snitch if your fingers fall off?" Draco asked. Potter kept staring, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. Draco smirked.
"And how would you be able to get a firm grip on your wand, eh?" Draco raised an eyebrow and gave Potter an insolent grin at this. Potter's blush was now everything but faint, and he stared at the ground instead. When Draco was done with the first hand, he let go of it and started on the other, revelling in Potter’s pained yelps. He only had himself to blame. If the stupid git had worn gloves...
"There. Now, if you absolutely must hang above the pitch and sulk every night, would you at least wear gloves?" Draco scowled at him.
"I lost them. I haven't had time to get new ones." At least Potter had the decency to look guilty. Draco stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out his own gloves. Dragonhide, fur-lined and insanely expensive. He tossed Potter another insolent smirk.
"I believe we're about the same size." Unbelievable how someone could look so red, even in the dark. Draco snickered and took hold of Potter's hands again, this time to put the gloves on. When Potter looked questioningly at him he just shrugged.
"Christmas came early this year." He turned and marched briskly back towards the castle. When he reached the stairs he cast a glance over his shoulder. Potter was still standing, as if frozen to the spot, where Draco left him.