Yuletide is Fooltide

Damn Christmas Ball.

Damn Christmas music. Damn what's-her-muggle-face for recording this song.

But most of all damn you. Damn you, Harry Potter. You inconsiderate prick. You've ruined my life and you've ruined my Christmas, which is supposed to be peak season for hope and understanding and forgiveness. Bullshit. Not when you're around. Just over there, where I can see you. You're back is to me. You talk to Weasel and mudblood - well, Granger, anyway - knowing perfectly well that three weeks ago you... Well, you know what you did. I don't see why I should have to remind you. You already know, don't you? Ah, sly, cunning, precious Potter. My desire to give you a taste of your own medicine is immense... How would you like it if I'd comforted you, hell, took your virginity in a bout of bacchanalia, then ran off? A dog, Potter. That's what you are. A dog with your tail not only between your legs but up to the root in your ass as well. And to the extent that you've forgotten your usual principled self. Hmm, having a tail up your ass might explain the rank mood you've been in lately. Anyone would be stale with something in there for that long. My god, imagine the constipation. Lord, now I'm carrying on a mental conversation with you, even though I know you can't hear. Fuck, NO ONE can hear; it's all in my head, isn't it? Isn't it? If I go crazy, I'm making you pay the bill for St. Mungo's. See what you've done, Asshole?

God, how I wish you'd come talk to me...

My habit of talking to myself has become a symposium. Mental voices, speaking in turn, each stating what they want or need. Perhaps if I moved... they'd stay here? Very doubtful, but worth a shot. Anything is worth a shot to get out of this. Suicide is even beginning to have its merits. Sighing, I get up from the table and murmur that I'm going for a walk. Instead, I lumber over to the doorway and lurk there in the shadows. You're less than twenty feet away... but I can't come near you. I can't even be seen this close to you, DAMMIT! I slam my fist into the wall, but no sound reverberates off the solid stone.

Damn castle; it's not even good for clouts. But it's fine enough to hide me, so at least I can stand here, a sentry to you. Ever since that day I've felt so responsible... you look so broken. You laugh with mudblood; you carry on with life. But I can't help feeling that it's my fault; I forced you, I got you drunk, I did what could almost be considered statutory rape. You lost your best friend. Hell, if I'd had a best friend to lose, I'd probably be so mad at me that I wouldn't be talking to me either. I feel so... NO! Evil word, I will not let you in my mind. No. I don't feel guilty. No bloody way. Why I long to watch over you I'm not sure, for the simple reason that it makes me more miserable. This, however, is easily countered by the fact that seeing you gives me hope that maybe I'm better than I grew up believing... that maybe you see something in me that even I am too blind to notice, and I see everything. Don't I?

I slam my fist into the wall again...

Jeez, it's a pity Weasel's such a homophobe. Who would have known? Although I think it's more that he's scared of me than of the gayness. Why is he so frightened of my, anyway? What did I ever do to him? No, wait. Forget I asked. I don't need a list of things proving how horrible a person I am, not on Christmas Eve. I've done so many awful things to him; it'd take me five hundred years to run through them all. And I don't have the time for this, not on Christmas. That still doesn't give him a right to be scared of me. Honestly, Granger wasn't that shocked that Harry was gay. So why was Weasel so goddamn fucking surprised? Or was he just shocked that Harry could find me attractive? I have been known to seduce a fair few... Grinning, I momentarily forget my predicament. Just look at you, laughing with Granger. You look so carefree... maybe you don't need me guarding you. After all you have the brilliant Hermione Granger, star of Gryffindor, to help you. And you would have had a tall, stupid redhead to assist you as well. Except whatever excuse you made for how you happened to wake up with me wasn't enough for him, maybe because he actually saw us together. My foul mood returned. I generally hate Christmas, but this year especially so. Nothing sucks more than unrequited love. I take that back. I don't love you. Duh, how could I? No one falls in love at the age of fifteen. Do they? No one I know of, anyway. Love with your enemy, who you forced to screw you, who lost their best friend for you, who saved your sorry ass, and comforted you, who was unconditionally kind when I needed it... not possible. A month ago, I hated you. I HATED you, more than anyone else, ever, and we Malfoys hate a lot of people. Yet in the space of about forty minutes, my hate for you dissolved and was replaced. Or maybe it just uncovered something hidden inside the shell I'd built around it. A feeling I hadn't felt in so long, I'd forgotten what it was called. Almost.

What the hell is love anyway? I don't love you. I can't love you. It was a very primitive concept, invented by our cave men ancestors. 'You, Potter. Me, Malfoy. We fight.' And so it was all throughout history.

'Til now, that is.

~~~

God, I have to stop talking to myself. It's a habit I'm well aware of. Someday, someone will notice that I'm frequently mumbling to myself. Although I don't see how that's possible, because these people are completely oblivious to everything. For example, nobody but me noticed Malfoy sneak away from the Slytherin table. No one but me saw him slink across the room. And nobody my me noticed that he's still standing in great archway, in the shadows, where no one can see him. Then again, maybe nobody but me cares... But how could I not? He's the most confusing, absolutely confounding person I've ever encountered. He's a mystery to me, and I've known him forever. Hell, I knew him before I met the people I consider to be my best friends. Of course, now it's been reduced down to 'friend.' Who would have thought Ron was homophobic? Arachnophobic, okay, that's normal. But homophobic? Who's homophobic anymore? 'God, Ron, this is the twenty-first century,' Hermione had chided him. 'I don't care. It's still not normal. And besides... it was a Malfoy.' Ron had refused to believe my story. I don't blame him, it was pretty stupid. But Herm had faith in me, and that kept me from breaking down and telling the truth.

'And, Harry?' my brain questioned. 'What exactly is the truth?'

There are always so many gifts for me... does he get ANY gifts, any at all? From somewhere deep with the recesses of my mind an answer came to me. No. No, he doesn't. Not anymore. Probably the only person who ever gave him a gift was his father, and that wasn't even a gift of love. It was gift to keep up appearances. A gift to dazzle... 'Hey, look what my father bought me. Ha-ha, I'm richer, smarter, and I got the latest gadgets for Christmas. Gee, I guess that makes me special.' That was the general idea of what a Malfoy meant when he flaunted his presents. He knew his father didn't love him, he just didn't want to believe that. Recent events confirmed his worst fears, and he cried to me. Me. Do you have any idea how awkward it is to have a person you've never known to show any emotion positively bursting with it in your arms? Someone you'd hated most of your life, someone who you suddenly found so attractive while they were crying there... drunk and bleeding, but somehow more beautiful than anyone you've ever seen before in your life? I'd never thought of myself as gay. I'd never been particularly attracted to any girl except Cho, and even I knew that was leading nowhere. But after what I did... I think, no, I know, that I'm homosexual... No, there was no room for debate. Besides, I'd already told the Gryffindors that I was. Too late to go back now. God, this all started with me thinking about presents. Only I could start with presents and wind up with sexuality. I know he doesn't get any presents... his mother's dead, his father... well. I feel so bad about this whole thing... I know what I did. I feel so stupid. Maybe I should get him something?

What do you get a Malfoy? More specifically, one Draco Malfoy that you had sex with when he was upset because his father is bonkers and after him, ready to kill with bare hands. One that you've been ignoring for three weeks because you don't know how you feel... He wasn't a friend. He was merely an acquaintance. A very, very attractive acquaintance that I felt horrible I'd ditched. And Operation: Get Ron Back, as Hermione playfully called it, was not working at all. He was as dead-set as he'd been the first day when he caught us sprawled on the floor of the abandoned classroom. Yeesh, I wonder what that looked like. Of course, I knew what it had looked like. And what it looked like had been correct. God, I should not have done that. Too late to change the past. Maybe I should use the time-turner... No, she'd never let me. The only visible way out of this was to get him a present, and a damn good one as well. Which brings me back to where I started. Operation: Get Draco a Present. Somehow I had the feeling this would not go much better than my other mission. I was overwhelmed with the feeling that these two tasks could not peacefully coincide with each other. Deciding to abandon Operation GRB, because that was going nowhere, I focused my full attention on the task now set before me. I don't know why it was so painful for me to see him in so much pain. Maybe we're linked? But no... can't be. He's a Malfoy. Dammit, Harry, just get past the surname already and focus on the person. Draco. Draco, Draco, Draco. What did Draco want from me for Christmas?

Shit, and I thought I was done with my holiday shopping. I hate Christmas shopping, and this year it was awful, despite Herm's attempts to make it fun. I'd even splurged and gotten Ron a real Chudley Cannons' Quaffle with the team signatures on it. Cost a fortune. I hate trying to buy people, but when you're desperate for your best friend to forgive you, you'll try anything. The way I saw it, it was a last-ditch attempt to revive a dying friendship. Correction: a dead friendship. At least he was still speaking to Hermione. But I think his secret crush on her has a lot to do with that. And she's just sitting here clueless, obsessed with Neville. But I know that occasionally I catch her looking at Ron with something more than friendship in her eyes... if only he would talk to me so I could tell him so! Well, last try. If he doesn't accept my gift then I officially give up. I can't take seeing Draco standing there, looking so miserable, when no one knows he's there, or even cares. No one loves him. That thought struck me suddenly. No one had ever loved him. Hell, he's never even had a friend. Not a real one. There was no one who could be his friend. But - perhaps - maybe - I - could? No, no. Ron would hate me even more. Hermione assures me it's not hate he feels towards me, but I'm not so sure. Still, it was tempting to go talk to him. And no matter what, I had to get him a present. But what? Gah, I hate the way I think in loops. I keep circling back to the same thing. But I suppose something so demanding in attention is obviously important to me. Why the fuck is Draco Malfoy - no, no, drop the surname - Draco - having such a big impact on me? He's dominating me. My life, my thoughts.

Whatever I needed to do, I'd better do it fast before I burst.

God, I just noticed he's standing underneath mistletoe. He doesn't know. He hasn't looked up. But I know. Suddenly, I'm struck by how adorable he is. His hair disheveled, his face smooth and expressionless. A face that'd I once viewed as thin and pointy became a face of interesting shapes and angles. I longed to touch that face. I barely remembered the last time I'd touched his face; that was how drunk I'd been. That was what I'd told Hermione. I was drunk, he was drunk; it was a total mistake. But that was a load of bullshit and both Ron and I knew it. Only she hadn't figured it out for once, or if she had she wasn't letting on. Mistletoe... and Draco. Draco, mistletoe; mistletoe, Draco. Either way, the words were a lethal combination for me.

It hit me that that was what I wanted for Christmas. And the way he kept 'discreetly' glancing my way, the way he followed me, spied on me at every opportunity, was enough to suggest that he wanted the same. I knew what to give him for Christmas. Forget Operation GRB and on with Operation GDAP. I sat, trying to build up courage enough to do this. Five minutes passed, ten minutes. I was going to have to completely abandon my efforts with Ron if I was going to do this, but I couldn't take one more second of Draco looking at me like that, like I had the power to save or destroy him. Like having never been in the light he was seeing the sun for the first time. Like I was the sun. I started to get up. Hermione must have known what I was doing, because she tugged me back down. "Don't," she hissed. "You have a very expressive face, you know. Don't try that. Not just yet, anyway." I sighed and resigned myself to silent observation.

~~~

Harry, please come talk to me. Please. Come to me, because lord knows if I come to you I'll get mauled. And it'd be a shame to ruin as pretty a face as mine. Of course, I could never look as lovely as you. Did I just think of you as lovely? Well, who cares? No one has to know; it is all in my head. Maybe talking to yourself has its advantages. Despite what people think, you and me are not opposites. We're the same. Both of us are alone. Well, I'm alone. But so are you. Reminds me of that time a few weeks ago when I thought that we were alone together. It suits us. We are alone together. Anyone who looks at us together would see that. Of course, when we're alone, you can't even tell we want to be together. You just have to know us, and since no one knows us both, we're stuck. I just confused myself horribly. Lovely. In addition to all my Christmas grief, I now have to process an excessively incoherent thought. Perhaps a change of mental scenery would do nicely. Ah, much better. Now, back to Pansy's question. 'What do I want for Christmas?' Well, that's easy. You. I can't very well tell her that, and if I did I doubt she could get it for me. No one can get that for me except you, and I don't really expect you to. Oh! You're trying to get up! You're looking at me! But stupid mudblood pulls you back down. Now I remember why I hate her. And to think that for awhile I thought she wasn't that bad.

You're looking at something over my head. Then at me, then back up. It's making me dizzy, the way you keep shifting your view. I look up and gasp.

Now, what the hell is mistletoe, aside from some stupid muggle tradition? A plant, with little berries, that somehow makes people kiss. Oh, and I think it's poisonous. Now why would a poisonous plant make you kiss? What a tradition. Just goes to show how dumb muggles are. Us purebloods would never think up something so idiotic. Or maybe we did think it up and the muggles followed suit? I shook my head to clear it. This was is not a time to debate which group is better; I could do that later. Right now I wanted to look at you, and think of you, and dream of you, and watch over you until you notice I'm here. You must know I'm here, though, because you just pointed me and the mistletoe out to Granger. She's shaking her head. I'd give anything to be in on this silent conversation. I've never had a friend to share a silent conversation with. 'Forget love,' I found myself praying. 'Forget love and just be my friend. I need someone, anyone, who will care about me and help me. Someone to talk to. Someone who was so valuable I'd come crawling back to them after I'd slept with the enemy.' Jesus, did that sound pathetic. And for god's sake, I'm atheist. I don't believe in any of this crap. There is one Christmas thing I believe in, and that would be the Miracle. With a capital 'M.' The fact that something totally unexplained could and most likely did occur every year on this day. Fate, destiny, and miracles. The three things I'm sure exist. But lately I haven't even been sure about those. Lately, I've come to doubt. After all, you aren't here beside me, are you? This is it. If you don't come over here, I'm going to detach myself from the world. Become a recluse who lives in his own misery-carved shell. I can't take seeing you see me, and see me that way, and not being able to do anything about it.

Please, please, please. Three words I am repeating over and over. It's become my mantra. I just look at you with pleading eyes. I am searching; searching for the place within you that wants to be near me as much as I wanted to be near you. You turned towards me, and the sun shines in on my grimy soul. I gasp. Our eyes lock. I see the place. I see your craving, your desire, I might even go so far as to say your desperation at not being able to come over here. Neither of us moves or even smiles, we just look into each others' depths and feeling what the other is trying to hide. It's an interesting feeling. Not really touching, but so close that I can read your mind and hear your heart. Our breaths come at the same time, and for a second we truly are together as one. Then Mudblood jabs you and you turn away. Loneliness soaks into me from every direction at once. I am alone again. Note to self: Get revenge on Granger for interrupting moment of tranquility. Additional note to self: Never let anyone look at you like that again. It hurts too much when they turn away. I myself turn towards the wall resting my head against it sideways, so I can still see you out of the corner of my eye. I need to see you. Wait, I've only just decided that I never want you to see me again and now I'm watching you as eagerly as ever? Lord, I'm confusing. I look at Weasel, who's glancing at Granger, than Longbottom, then you. My confusion must be nothing to his. At least he knows what he wants. But maybe I know what I want, and am scared to say it out loud. I just want you to look at me again. You are the sun. Please shine on me.

God, that's tacky. I regret ever thinking of such a stupid line. Sounds like one of those damn romance novels that Narcissa always used to read. Mother. Well, she's dead now. Father... what a prick. How could he kill her? Not that it's a big loss, but still... And more importantly, how can he threaten me? Maybe I'll just give myself up for lost and surrender. 'Father, I've decided that running is pointless, and you should just kill me now because I have a crush on the Potter boy.' I'll be dead in three seconds flat. It'd be better than this torture. I shudder at the thought of what he'll do with my body. Ew; how disgusting. On second thought, death may not be that palpable. Death, torture, death, torture. Really hard decision you have to make there, Draco. Duh! Torture. I'm not stupid enough or selfless enough to go walking into death for another. But you are. And you have. If I had one-tenth the courage or nobility you possess, I'd be - Ah, who am I kidding? If I had that, I wouldn't be in Slytherin. And we wouldn't be even having this problem. And if I were you, I'd be over here talking to me about you, trying to make me feel better. Did that make any sense at all? You haunt me. You haunt my mind, my thoughts, and you're in my blood. You are me. I hate admitting that the boy I used to hate so much knows me more intimately than anyone, and that I'd like to get closer still. Another moment with our eyes like that, and I'll be gone. My last shred of sanity will be gone, and you'll hold my fate in your hands. I'll follow you mercilessly; I'll never leave you alone. I'm already nearly stalking you. Because you are the sun. And I am a corner wreathed in shadow. A place where you could never shine.

Anyone could look at your face and see that you're wondering what to get me for Christmas. Come on, Harry, are you really that oblivious? Jeez. You know what I want for Christmas. And unless I am mistaken, you are toying with the idea of giving it to me. Good Lord, what a dumbass. We're both dumbasses. What a thing to have in common. Surely you know what I want for Christmas by now? It's completely obvious. Oh! Wait! You looked at me again. You're fighting with Granger, this is good. Bad. Good. Ugh! She drops her arms to her sides; I know that you've won. Raising your head slightly, you look my way. Our eyes meet again. Like before. You stare into my soul, and my blood turns to ice; every time my heart beats it's a jolt of electricity. How many watts do you think a human body can handle? Forty? One hundred? No matter. All that I care about is that you're looking at me and your gaze reduces me to nothing, yet makes me feel like everything because I'm worthy. Your eyes flicker upward, then back down to my eyes. I shoot you a questioning glance and you do it again. I give you an 'I don't get it' look and you give me a meaningful, exasperated, 'you'd better' look and quickly glimpse the ceiling, yet again, before returning your eyes to mine. I figure I'd better look up. Mistletoe. Oh. Oh. Suddenly understanding, I give you a meaningful look and your eyes seem to question mine. I find that we've been having one of those much-envied silent conversations. I blush slightly as you pose the silent question, 'Do you want me to?' 'Yes! God, yes!' My mind is screaming with joy. But I only give you a slight, calm nod. You begin to stand up.

~~~

You're crossing the room, closing the space between us. Twenty feet has become fifteen. God, but you walk slowly! Torturing me. Faster, you moron, faster! Look at me; I can barely contain myself. I want you here, in front of me already. Get here! We've yet to break eye contact. I don't know what you can see in me right now. I've thrown all caution to the wind. All my thoughts, feelings, emotions, and fears are all laid out in a great smorgasbord before you. It's like a great emotional buffet. You pay one price, and you get access to everything forevermore. I'm not sure how I feel about you knowing me so well, even though a moment ago I was praying for you to come to me. And what did you ever do to deserve to get to know me so well? What price did you pay? It hits. You didn't need to pay. I let you in for free. I've wanted you here for so long. And you've just been slow noticing, and slower arriving. You walk lightly, quietly. I see you in slow motion. All of Hogwarts surrounds us, and yet I can't see them. They've become a blur, and all I can see is you. You, in all your glory. You, approaching me, the very model of perfection. Our eyes... our eyes are boring into each other in such a way that I can feel that freezing feeling right through into my heart. You ask the silent question, 'Are you sure?' 'Yes. I've never been more sure of anything.' There is nothing I want more than this; there will never be anything I want more than this. Our souls have conjoined and we are each other. My thoughts race ahead into time and space and I can see our lives before us. I can see one house, one car, one life. Our life. And you're still fifteen feet away from me.

Fifteen feet has become ten. The whole school is watching us. I know they're watching because I can feel their eyes on you. They aren't on me. I'm still in shadow, unbeknownst to everyone but you and Granger. Your eyes, however, reside on me. I've never been connected like this. I know you know what I'm thinking. I know that you know that I know what you're thinking. I know we're connected by some sort of telepathy. I know we are together inside. I can hear your thoughts. Everyone is wondering where you could possibly have to go during the ball. After all, you are the great and wondrous Potter. I can hear you cursing them all for never giving you a moment's peace. I hear you telling me that we'll be sure to give them an eyeful and to let them have it their way. Something in the way we share all without saying anything... it makes me not trust myself. And I always have had absolute faith in myself no matter what. You make me doubt myself. Maybe this is that Christmas miracle I was praying for earlier. Maybe this is destiny. We communicate, you and I, and I realize we always have. I silently share that with you, and you internally agree. We know each other so much better than anyone else knows us. All those times we looked at each other with contempt or spite, we had really been sharing understanding and sympathy for the others' situation. We really are alike. We really are one. And then I know that this is truly fate, destiny, whatever. And it is certainly the most miraculous event in my lifetime. Five feet. 'Last chance.' 'I'm sure.' One foot.

I can feel you breathing. You lean forward slightly, not sure where to go from here. I assist you, and lean into you, slowly pressing my lips into yours. It isn't really a kiss; neither of us moves our lips at all. It is a simple connection of truths. With that little touch, our spirits connected, brushing together, and merging. The same essence occupies both of us, and I know that without you I will forever be a half soul. Whenever you aren't in the room, I'll be lonely and incomplete. When I'm not touching you, I'll be gravitating toward you until I can, and when I do I'll be able to die in that moment and as long as you're with me I'll be happy. Look what you can do to me with one kiss. We stay that way for forever, not moving, not needing to move. We're drawing life from each other. I'm reviving a part of you I thought had died, and you're doing more than the same for me. Granger - Hermione is happy for us, you use our connection to tell me. Good. Someone who can appreciate our oneness. Oneness. The word was designed for us, and while I have kissed many before, and I have even kissed you before, I have never shared myself with anyone. You should be honored. We separate and lean our foreheads together. 'You took forever getting here.' 'We both did.'

"Anything else you want for Christmas?" You lick your lips and look down at your feet. Kissing in front of everyone in the great hall is right up there with getting walked in on while you're peeing. Especially kissing your 'enemy.'

'Anything else you want for Christmas?' You'd asked it quietly, and I knew you didn't want anyone to know what was happening. Of course, they already knew. They'd seen it all. My face stretched into a gizzen. "Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, there is something else I'd like for Christmas."

"I know that. I meant, 'What is it?'"

"This." I kiss you again. It was a long, tingly kiss. Our first REAL kiss, if you will. Not influenced by alcohol, not a mistletoe kiss.

"Wow. I'm surprised my glasses didn't fog over." You grin. "Anything else?"

I lean in again.

You push your hand into my face and say, "Anything else else?"

"Oh. Um. Nope. Just you." I wink.

You look at me suspiciously. "How do you mean?"

Surely you aren't that stupid? You have to know what I mean. Or maybe you were a bit skeptical. I would be too. Hell, I still don't even know exactly what I'm doing. 'Ah, well. Worth a shot,' I think.

I take a deep breath. "Harry, will you...?" I trail off, not knowing how to word it without sounding juvenile.

You're shocked. "You - you mean as in we are together, dating, a couple?" I give a swift nod. "But - we're two guys! Is that allo - mmhm"

I silence you with another kiss. You push me off again and look into me. I sigh. "Yes, Harry. Together, dating, a couple. It's allowed as far as I know. Yes, two guys going out. Why not? We'll be trendsetters. So, what do you say?" I shift uncomfortably. Your hesitation has taken away my confidence. "It's what I really want for Christmas. All I want for Christmas is you."

I see your eyebrows curl together, then separate as your face relaxes. I hold my breath, and then you half-smile. "Why not." That's all I need to hear. I wrap my arms so tightly around your neck that your face begins to turn purple. I imagine I look funny, hanging here off of your neck, my feet dragging on the floor. But I don't care. I am happy.

"Harry, this is the first time I've ever been happy."

You laugh. "I'm happy too, Draco." Pause. "Umm, Drac? You're choking me a bit." I don't move. I don't want to let go. "Down, Draco." I loosen my grip. You continually say, "Down Draco," until I reluctantly let go. "Good Draco. Now you get a doggy treat." I scowl a bit, then grin. "So, attached to me already, huh?" I nod. You still look as though something's bothering you a bit. "Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," I say eagerly. And I mean it. In this moment, I'll do anything for you.

"We can take it slow... I don't want to go have sex and have it not mean anything like last time. We'll wait - "

"Until we're ready," I finish for him. I'm all too willing to agree to that. And I am never going near a bottle of alcohol of any sort again. "Yes. I totally agree. We'll definitely wait."

"Good." You pause and look at me.

"What?"

"You're beautiful." I know you mean it. I don't even need to look at you to know that, I can hear the sincerity in your voice, feel it in our soul. I like saying that. Our soul. You shift a bit. "Do you want to dance?"

"Yes. I'd love to." You start to drag me out onto the floor. "Wait," I say, grabbing your arm.

"What?" You turn and look at me questioningly. I see in your face that you think something is wrong.

"What about my treat?" I ask, pouting.

Laughing, you reply, "How about this?" and kiss me. After a moment, I push off and run onto the dance floor, pulling you along behind me.

And then we dance.