Alright. It's Christmas break, and therefore go time.
Let's see if we can get something good done.
And by good, I mean messed the hell up.
A/N: I've managed to completely cripple my finger, so I apologize for my typos. And the plot point ripped wholesale from Finding Nemo. That one isn't really related to the persistent numbness in my index finger, but it happened and it's staying.
The potter puppet pals references are there for the funs, my props to Neil Cicieriga and his dynasty of win.
Also, a secret wave at the Colbert Nation.
Oh! Why look! A Christmas miracle!
No lemons!
Lime, yes, but that's a Christmas color, eh?
Slash, of course, and Adult Language, if that still bothers anyone anymore.
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That Damn Owl, by WC43
A Christmas Story
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If you traced the story back to the very beginning, it was really Pigwidgeon's fault that Harry and Draco were in this situation. As they dangled there, in that stupid tall tree in the middle of the forbidden forest, they decided that it was the little owl that had started this whole series of dominoes in motion.
It began on Christmas Eve.
---
Because it was their final year at Hogwarts, Harry, Ron and Hermione, along with a good portion of their year, had decided to stay at the castle for the holidays. Mrs. Weasley had been disappointed, true, but she had made up for not seeing them by sending along many more parcels than usual, brimming with food and knitwear. The Golden Trio, although not much credit went to Hermione, had spent the afternoon gorging themselves on their treats, and were so forced to join the student body in the Great Hall for their Christmas dinner.
All this, however, claimed Harry, was circumstantial. Everything that mattered, in his opinion, was set in motion by the fluttering ball of feathers that was soon to interrupt, although the happy threesome strolling into the hall at that time hadn't been aware of it.
---
At the Weasley house, Molly looked under the tree with horror. The pygmy puff she had gotten for Ginny was still there, bouncing happily inside its miniature cage. She swore under her breath. All the owls were still out… except… She looked disapprovingly at the small, fluttering bundle in the corner. She picked him up, weighing the owl in one hand and the forgotten gift in the other. He would be able to make it…
---
Draco was being forced to stay at Hogwarts, and he was not happy. His father had been called off to Lithuania on Urgent Ministry Business, and had taken Narcissa along in case he needed backup. This had left the young Malfoy heir stranded at Hogwarts, as the house elves didn't care so much for their young lord and would not serve him as obediently as his forebears.
As he shuffled down to the kitchens to find some food to take back to his room, Draco grumbled silent curses at whoever had dared to need Lucius Malfoy. Giving the pear a gentle poke in the belly, he slid into the kitchens.
---
Upstairs, Harry and Ron had finished inhaling everything near their place at the table, and were heading towards the other end. Several third-years scattered in terror, but the two paid no heed. Hermione merely sighed and followed them cautiously, napkin held high to protect her eyes and mouth from the formidable spray.
---
The house elves were in a panic. They hadn't been planning on a crowd over the holidays, and so hadn't prepared properly for what seemed to be double the usual capacity. As they screeched around the massive kitchen, taking a bracing shot of butterbeer when they had a chance, they didn't notice the blonde haired boy sneak in, and so had no chance to lavish him with attention, even as he stood expectantly in the doorway.
---
Draco greatly felt like screaming. If he had wanted to be ignored-slash-mistreated by servants, he could've gone home. But no. It seemed that the world was working against him today. He stormed across the kitchen, looking for some food that he could snag. Seeing nothing, he seized a butterbeer from the small hand of an elf nearby and took a swig, waiting for the chaos to clear. Next year he was going home if it killed him.
The thought took Draco aback. There wouldn't be a next year. He would be off on his own, free to have his own elves and make them cook him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. The sudden sentimentality struck him, and he almost shed a tear before he realized what was going on. Suddenly, the thought of a drink, a stiff one, not just child's soda, sounded wonderful to him. He remembered hearing that Professor Binns, when he was alive, had had a bottle of fire whisky kept in the kitchens for cooking fancy desserts, and he set out to find it.
After a few minutes of rummaging in cabinets, completely unnoticed, Draco had uncovered a dusty bottle that was somewhere just under half full, and a ridiculously small teacup that would be serving as his shot glass.
Five minutes later, Draco was blasted. Now, one might assume that the slender blonde aristocrat would be able to hold his liquor, but young Malfoy had already surpassed all reasonable limits, and between the stress and loneliness he had no reason to stop.
This inebriation may have had something to do with the events that followed, he admitted reluctantly, but he had mostly sobered up when that damn owl appeared, and so the fault wasn't his.
---
Professor Flitwick had also taken the Christmas spirit and added an "s." He was hiccupping merrily into his seventh glass of port when Pigwidgeon made his appearance into the Great Hall. The fluttering puffball carrying a cage roughly the same volume as its body was greatly entertaining to the giggling charms master, whose hat fell off in his fit of mirth. Pigwidgeon, who could sense he was being mocked, peeped angrily at the little man, preparing to launch a little bird missile in his direction.
Before the mini-owl could release his bowels, however, Flitwick came to the conclusion that this tiny peep was instead a birdlike cry for help. As Pigwidgeon braced himself for a good, solid shot, Flitwick whipped out his wand and prepared to charm the little bird to his owner. Half way through this thought, however, he received a sudden craving for more of those delightful Christmas cookies that the elves made, and Pigwidgeon disappeared in a poof of feathers, the startled pygmy puff landing with a plop in Neville's salad.
---
Malfoy was preparing to swagger up to the replica tables and see if he could snag some of that food before it disappeared again. He had been watching the elves work for quite some time now, and was enthralled by their ability to move as if choreographed. Resolving to check out the elves at home, in case his were sub-par, he squinted at the plates. It took about five seconds for the food to disappear, and he suspected that, as the Gryffindor table seemed to be being loaded fastest, and was also the closest, that they wouldn't notice if he sprinted over and snagged something.
He went to stand and found his feet a bit harder than usual to place, but prepared himself anyway. He would get some food if he had to crawl! The previous food disappeared, and Malfoy prepared to run. Just as the last elf had cleared off, however, a small blue flash lit the air above him, and he looked up just in time to receive something warm and wet directly between his eyes. He was stunned.
This, however, only lasted a few fractions of a second, and then he was launching himself through the air with surprising agility. Panther-like, he seized Pigwidgeon midair and fell onto the table, just as the food phased to the great hall, taking him with it.
---
Harry had just pulled ahead of Ron in vacuuming the table with his mouth when he suddenly felt something of an odd texture against his tongue. It was chewy, and an odd temperature. Salty. He pulled it out, and stared at it in wonder. As it pulled away from him and punched him in the eye, he realized it was a hand. Or, rather, a fist. He flipped backwards over a tureen and landed on his ass on the gnawed remains of a rack of ribs.
He sat up curiously, staring at Malfoy, who appeared to be strangling a handful of feathers, as if he had attempted to execute a fatality against one of his high-end pillows. Harry giggled, until he heard Ron's pained scream of "PIG!"
Reality came crashing around Harry's head, and he stood up quickly, trying to see if he had landed on the poor owl. He finally realized what was going on as Ron punched Malfoy in the ear.
Draco yelled some sort of wizarding expletive that Harry hadn't heard before, then went after Ron, seeing as how Pigwidgeon was now recovering in the rafters. Harry, having recovered from his moment of confusion, hurtled to Ron's rescue, cracking out an impressive high kick to Malfoy's shoulder. They both fell, struggling for the upper hand on the ground, Hermione and Ron trying to tug them apart (although both snuck in a few blows… Harry had been a bit irritating lately, and Malfoy always deserved it.)
---
Snape entered the Great Hall with a look of utter disgust on his face. He could smell the trouble brewing from all the way down in the dungeons. It was one of the perks of having such a large nose. In the same way as dogs could smell oncoming seizures, Snape could smell rabble-rousing.
Smacking Ron and Hermione off of the boys, Snape pried the two apart. They stood on either side of him, panting heavily and bleeding.
"Methinks," he said, "some severe punishment is in order here…"
"Oh no," mumbled the bruised boys. Hermione just sighed.
Snape pondered silently for a few moments.
"I am in need of supplies," he murmured, "from the heart of the forbidden forest. Usually this is a job that would only be trusted to myself or professor Sprout, but as you four are so willing…"
They all gulped.
---
Five minutes later, the four troublemakers were bundled up in all the winter gear they owned, prepared to trudge out into the snow. As the door creaked open, they all gasped. The air was swirling with snow, and the blast of cold air nearly knocked them off their feet.
"But professor," piped Hermione, her nose already a stunning shade of scarlet, "we'll surely freeze!"
Snape hummed thoughtfully. "Yes… well, I think I have a solution for that, since you seem to be unable to use your own wand…" He flipped his through the air, showering them with crimson and gold sparks. The air around them instantly warmed. "You will be warmest when you are close, so we will have no wanderers off. I can only assume you will be able to find the things you need before it begins to wear off, for you won't be allowed back in the castle until you've brought them to me."
With that, he handed Draco the list and shoved them unceremoniously out the door.
---
Draco strode on at a fast pace, ignoring the numbing feeling in his nose and fingers. He wanted to get this done with before he had to spend any more time with the golden trio. As he pulled further, into the cool shadow of the dark forest, he shivered and stopped.
"Hurry up, would you?" he whined. "I'm freezing my arse off up here."
He watched as Harry visibly slowed, the ginger and the mudblood looking back at him worriedly. Tired of Harry's stupid sass, Malfoy stomped his foot.
"Come ON!" he yelled, bluish lips parting with difficulty. "The faster we get this done the faster I can get back to the castle and away from you freaks."
Teeth chattering, he watched as irritation and then sullen agreement passed across Harry's face. The boy sped up, his friends following soon after as they galloped gracelessly into the woods. Heat flooded over Draco once more, and he sighed, flexing his fingers and toes to make sure they were still movable. It hurt to move his skin, but he was still warm.
He looked at the list. It recommended they head north, collecting the hairs of the unicorns that often passed along those trails. On their way, they were to look for any other magical items they could find, as it changed often.
When they reached the end of the trail, they were to gather the berries there, although they were apparently highly toxic. From there, they were to head east and gather the small silver leaved plants under the oaks (Snape had stopped using technical terms, for he knew even Granger could only identify half of the ingredients…) and then return.
Draco sighed and headed off. They walked through the forest for what felt like hours, crowded together for warmth, finding only a few unicorn hairs and what appeared to be a golden eggshell. They trudged on, finding nothing more than a significant layer of frost and the occasional twig of something only Hermione could pronounce.
The young Malfoy was just about to Accio his broom and beat it the hell out of there when they came upon the clearing with the berries. It was, for lack of a manlier word, beautiful. With a synchronized intake of breath, they strode in. The heavy canopy broke above them, allowing bright moonlight and sparkling snowflakes to rain in. The bushes they needed ringed the clearing, bright red berries the only color visible in the stark wonderland. Draco sighed. This was the sort of beauty he appreciated. None of this sunsets-and-roses crap that everyone else seemed to find so nice.
They pulled on their gloves and gathered as many as they could, trying in vain to keep from trampling the pristine snow. Although the clearing was small, they found that they needed to follow each other closely to keep the biting chill away. Draco was sick and tired of Weasley stepping on his heels, and was about to tell him so, when there was a crashing in the forest behind them.
---
Bane was cold. And he was angry. He was cold because he was, obviously, a centaur. And centaurs didn't wear clothes. By now he would have been hunkered down in his home, wrapped in blankets and his mare, but for these stupid intruders who had gone and invaded their forest so close to the solstice. But no, there they were, tramping around and ruining everything, and he had to get up and go kick them out. He couldn't tell, actually, whether he was colder or angrier. It was flippin' freezing out.
Feeling his exposed flesh going numb, Bane snorted and moved faster. The little snots were close now, and he was going to deposit a hoof in each of their asses and then go back home. As he pulled into the clearing, however, he realized that they were doing more than just trample. They were stealing.
He took a moment to revel in the terrified looks on their faces, until the scrawny dark one piped up. "Bane?" Bane mentally smacked himself in the face. It was that one. The chosen whatever. The one who dared to ride one of his brethren like a mule! The anger began to win out over the cold.
"What do you think you are doing here, humans?" he growled, a feat one might think impossible coming from a mainly equine creature. It was an impressive growl, however, and Bane gave himself a mental high five. It was the bushy-haired female who spoke next. Bane was momentarily distracted by the male who seemed to be hiding behind her, although he was a good foot taller, and only managed to catch the last half of her sentence.
"… gathering supplies. Do you know where any are? We'd like to go home."
Finding this more than a little impertinent, he snorted. "So would I, but I am out here doing my duty to get you little fiends off of our land. Now shoo."
The little blonde one scoffed, looking offended. This was the final straw for Bane. He was sick and tired of being mistreated. The leaders of his clan sent him out in the freezing cold, but never ever trusted him to do anything of real importance. And now he was being mistreated by what appeared to be a snowflake in a high end cloak. He was done taking this crap.
"DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ME?! GO BACK TO YOUR DAMNED CASTLE AND LEAVE THIS PLACE ALONE!"
The three shrunk back as Bane panted wildly, eyes wide and twitching. The girl seemed stunned. "We apologize, but we need to collect these supplies, or we won't be allowed home. Is there anything we can give you in reparations? We just need a few more things…" her eyes filled with tears, widening and blinking up at him like a lost puppy.
Bane felt cowed, and then immediately disgusted with himself. He shivered, and an idea dawned upon him. "You may carry on, but in return I shall require your garments. It is awfully cold, and I've had to come such a long way… And if I can smell correctly you are charmed so as not to need them." He grinned. They had no way to say no, if they truly needed to stay.
The redhead and the pale one went to protest, but the dark one, Harry Potter, if he recalled, silenced them with a look and unbuttoned his cloak.
A few minutes later, Bane was prancing comfortably through the woods, laden down with a heavy blanket of clothing. He had informed the humans of the ceremonial places which they were not to defile with their presence, and then trotted away. He would go home and take a long sleep tonight.
---
Although Harry was not cold, he was certainly not comfortable. The snow was cold against his feet, although they warmed again the instant they were out of it, which led the group to an odd, stilting walk much like that of some large water bird. Moreover, he would really have loved to not have been in his boxers in front of Malfoy, although the blonde looked equally as uncomfortable. Hermione was absolutely mortified, and had insisted that the boys walk up front and not look back at her, assuring them that she would be keeping her eyes to the ground as well.
The three boys set out in awkward, angular silence, the periodic crunch of their bare feet in the snow the only thing breaking the quiet. They kept their eyes straight ahead, immediately dropping into the same mood as that of the common showers – just don't make eye contact.
Harry's discomfort, however, was more due to his insatiable curiosity, that which had him peeking over at Draco with every step. His eyes were drawn to his enemy's body like moths to a flame. And those silken boxers looked so soft…
His thoughts were torn away by a small, feminine cry from behind, and they all turned in time to see Hermione waver and fall over into the snow.
Ron and Harry both ran to her, Draco trailing along after as the cold hit him. Her skin was like ice, although the group's quick reunion revived her shortly. She sat up shakily, attempting to cover her matched lavender panties and bra to no avail.
"Granger," spat Malfoy, "I believe that the time for modesty has passed, especially seeing as how it nearly killed you."
Hermione managed a soft 'tsk' of irritation, but Harry nodded. "He's right, Hermione. It's not worth freezing to death."
Ron looked torn, Hermione outraged. "I won't have that slimy little toad looking at me while I'm like this, especially since it's his fault in the first place!" At this, she sneezed, looking woozy, and they noticed that she was worryingly pink in the cheeks, and, well, most everywhere else.
Harry swore. "Hermione, you're obviously ill. Let's just go back."
She shook her head stubbornly. "We can't! Snape won't let us in if we don't have the supplies!"
It was Draco who spoke up this time, surprising everyone. "Why don't we have Weasley carry her back to the castle, and Potter and I will carry on ahead?"
Harry was impressed, although not looking forward to his journey with Malfoy. To test the plan out, they paired up and spread out. Their partners proximity kept everyone warm, although not quite so warm as before, and they weren't given as much leeway. Ron gave Harry and Malfoy a formal nod before setting out at a fair clip, Hermione riding piggy-back.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Draco laughed. "Well, that finally happened!"
Harry surprised himself by laughing too. He stretched his limbs and set out walking, the silence now almost amicable. They tramped on, closer than either would usually walk but still comfortable. Soon they reached the silver leaved bushes, and started plucking.
This work, Harry discovered, was a lot more uncomfortable when you couldn't leave your partner's side, and when both you and that partner were only in your underwear (Harry thanked the stars that Bane hadn't found any valid use for those). They continued plucking leaves as the temperature continued to drop, and it was as they had pulled the last handful from the last bush that they realized that the distance between them and Ron and Hermione had messed with the spell.
As Harry's Hand brushed against Draco's, reaching for the last leaf, the comfortable warmth of the spell rushed over him, suddenly reminding him of how chill it had gotten. Their eyes met, and they both swore.
"Oh, bloody hell," spat Malfoy. "The damn thing's wearing off. How are we going to get back like this?"
Harry breathed out slowly, noting how nicely the particles in his cloud of steam swirled. "I guess we'll just have to tough it out," he sighed, and stood creakily.
---
Malfoy did not want to spend his Christmas eve in the forbidden forest, half dressed and freezing his balls off with the Boy-Who-Couldn't-Quite-Manage-To-Die. Based on the trends, if one of them was going to go, it would be Draco, and Draco didn't want to die. He sighed too and rose to his feet, brushing the slushy snow off of his knees. It was a slightly chilly room temperature without the other boy's touch, and he could manage.
They began walking, again finding a somewhat comfortable pace. They soon reached the pass Snape had directed them towards, but something tickled at the back of Draco's head. He pulled up short, grabbing Harry's wrist. He tried to ignore the pleasant heat that ran through his skin at the contact, telling himself not to get used to it.
"We can't go this way," he pointed out.
"Why not?" came Harry's defiant voice.
Draco couldn't honestly remember, but a misty voice in the back of his head was specifically telling him not to go through that stand of birch. "I can't remember… But we shouldn't…"
Harry scoffed. "Malfoy, I've been in this forest a million times. There's nothing dangerous in there."
Malfoy was irritated by the cavalier attitude, but he really just wanted to go back to the castle and put a shirt on, so he followed the Gryffindor along the path. He was nipping out heavily from the chill, and he longed for a jumper thick enough to block out the cold and block the boy-hero's eyes from his body's embarrassing reactions.
They kept walking, the cold slowly seeping in. Through a silent agreement, the boys moved closer, and the heat rose. It was this closeness, however, that allowed both their feet to land at the exact same time inside a small loop of unicorn-hair rope, which proceeded to tighten around their ankles and drag them up into the air, high above the snow.
"Fuck," groaned Harry, the first to regain his voice after the shock wore off.
Malfoy agreed. He coughed, rubbing his ribs as the blood rushed to his head. He now remembered why they hadn't been supposed to walk that way – it was the Centaur hunting grounds for their Solstice celebration.
Pulling out his wand, he told Harry to brace himself as he fired off a quick 'Relashio' at the rope. Nothing happened. He felt Harry squirm to look at the rope, which is when he realized how close they actually were. What felt like a thigh was sandwiched between his, and his left arm, curled awkwardly behind his back, was resting against smooth abs.
"Unicorn hair…" came Harry's murmured voice in his ear, and Draco was a bit too distracted to catch on.
"Whaa?"
"The rope is made of unicorn hair. Magic resistant. Strong."
Draco groaned. "Perhaps, Potter, the first thing we should do is get into a better position to survey our situation? I know I would like the use of both hands again."
Harry let out a soft "Oh!" of realization, and they had soon squirmed into a more comfortable situation, although their legs remained intertwined. They were spooning 270 degrees out of position, true, but Draco supposed it was all a little bit bent now, anyway.
"So…" he began, trying with all his might to quash down the "I told you so" and come up with something useful.
---
Two hours later, they had nothing more than friction burns and a catchy story introduction. Harry could feel the steam from his breath collecting in his hair and on Draco's shoulder, and he was incredibly warm from their persistent contact. It felt as though Snape had gone and reinforced the spell at some time, for what had once been a soothing heat had become steamy and lascivious with their maintained contact.
He was glad he had good self control, for all their rumbling around in the treetops made for a stimulating experience. Now every move Draco made across his body, attempting to wiggle out or gain a new vantage point, was like sweet torture. Harry was sure it was Stockholm Syndrome, but he was still deeply discomfited by the tingling in his bloodstream as Draco's admirably taut ass moved against his groin.
---
On the other side of this awkward man bundle, Draco was secretly enjoying himself. He had been wiggling around for about a half an hour when he realized that Harry's breathing got heavier when he brushed his thigh just so, and in another ten minutes he had connected the dots and was entirely freaked out. There was a horny man behind him, getting turned on by every motion, and they were both in their underwear hanging from a tree. Within a few minutes of panic, however, he came to the conclusion that Harry was not going to jump him, either for lack of ability or will, and that that heavy panting breath against his neck was entirely sexy.
Although he was thoroughly content to tease the man behind him for the rest of time, Draco realized eventually that he, too, was enjoying these intimate brushes, and that he didn't quite have as much self control as Harry. He was very tempted to throw his head back onto the muscular shoulder behind him and moan, but he knew that there would be no escape from that situation if the Potter said no.
With the need to either be distracted or free to wank forefront in his mind, Draco set about finding a way out. And then he saw it. There was a small bit of rope sticking out, apparently designed for quick release of the knot. How he hadn't noticed this before, Draco didn't know. It was probably, he realized, due to the man package strapped to his ass, or the fact that he was strung upside down from a tree in the middle of the forbidden forest, but he wasn't in the mood for contemplating his sexuality. In one fluid motion, the supple young blonde had pulled his torso up and folded in half, reaching up, grabbing the rope, and tugging.
---
Harry hadn't been prepared for the sudden grinding of Malfoy against his waist, and so was certainly not able to restrain any hormonal responses to the fact that the boy was bent at the waist in front of him, wiggling as he reached for something above him. As they fell through the air, Harry didn't even have time to pull out his wand and cast a cushioning spell, as every ounce of his brain was now focused on recreating that sensation.
He landed gently in the snow, and somehow Malfoy had rolled over and was cradling his head, thighs still intertwined and packages now rubbing, demanding and firm. Their lips met, their downward momentum still propelling them together. Two full seconds of delicious pressure, and then their eyes flew open and they flew apart.
Not quite disgusted, although certainly surprised, Harry touched his lips where Malfoy's had pressed so urgently. They stared at each other, the cold from their sudden separation shocking them into reality, and then into common sense. They moved closer again, edging in like unsure predators. How close would they have to get before they were warm, and would it start that again? Their bodies still craved it, they could see and feel that that was true, but would they? Pacing softly forwards, they found a happy medium, about two feet away from each other but still warm enough to thaw the sweat that had crystallized in their hair.
Harry looked at Malfoy, who looked equally stunned.
"Draco…" he began, but stopped short, not knowing what to say. He looked up, and his eyes widened, and he looked back at the confused blonde in front of him, smiling faintly. He moved closer and pointed up.
"Oh look. Mistletoe," he caught Malfoy's eye and grinned again. "Isn't that awkward…"
---
A few hours later, the Christmas morning sun rose, shining gently through the windows of Hogwarts. It illuminated two boys on their way up the stairs through the door, dropping a large bag just inside the doorway. One could just catch glimpses of them as they climbed staircase after staircase, roaming hallway after hallway, finally ending in a corridor on the seventh floor. They paced back and forth quickly, entering the door that appeared hurriedly and slamming the door behind them.
Although the boys didn't appear outside of their room that day, their handiwork was seen all over the castle, as mismatched couples from every house found themselves standing under a fresh sprig of mistletoe.
---
In the owlery, Pigwidgeon flew happily around the perches, gathering high-wings and his bet money. It was a good Christmas.
---
Fin.