Winter (Draco x Reader)

Christmas Special- Snowflakes*

Merry Christmas everyone! Like I promised, here is the special one-shot featuring an older and entirely different Draco and Y/N  (no, they are not eleven) right around Christmas! Enjoy x

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There was snow everywhere. Drifting in flurries from the darkening sky, tossed side to side by the howling wind, so thick you could barely see. And when you did look closer, intricate, delicate snowflakes, lighter than the lightest feather, tangled themselves in your eyelashes.

I laughed at the sight of them, cheeks red with joy and nose blue with cold as I lay in the thick blanket of white that covered the concrete. Oh, I knew just how much I would regret this later, when laughs turned to chattering teeth and cheeks went red with fever and lips blue with gelidity. But for now I was just happy to lay there, making snow angels in the storm, the distant sound of cars honking and clinking glasses soothing me into a lull that counteracted my brain going half-delirious with excitement. After all, it wasn't always this kind of winter.

For there was snow everywhere. And in the middle of it all stood a figure in a black, overly expensive Italian suit, with hair the color of the freshly fallen snow that covered the ground, and eyes that matched the angry sky.

"Draco," I giggled, sitting up to wave a red-gloved hand at him briefly.

He didn't even bother to nod. The smile on my face faltered, only to widen again almost instantaneously.

"Why the long face, Draco? Is now the winter of our discontent?" I called, mock-pouting.

He still didn't move, something akin to pain blossoming in the grey pools of his eyes as he watched me babble and make a fool of myself.

"And therefore," I crowed melodramatically, "since I cannot prove a lover to entertain these fair, well-spoken days, I am determinèd to prove a villain, and hate the idle pleasures of these days. Gee, Draco, this could have been written for you."

His mouth twisted at the provocation. He charged at me, fingers clamping down on my arm tightly. I looked into his crazed eyes with a flash of defiance. It was so easy for him to slip back into his Death-Eater persona, especially at times like this.

I trailed a finger down his cheek, whispering, "And thus I clothe my naked villainy with odd old ends stolen forth of holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the devil."

The steel in his gaze melted with my touch. He said roughly, "Do you know that play off by heart or what?"

I pushed against his chest. "Of course I do-- it's Shakespeare. What did you expect?"

"Nothing else coming from you." He sighed, the little humor that had infused the situation disappearing. 

"What's wrong?" I asked gently, smoothing back a strand of platinum hair that had fallen into his eyes.

He looked away, the Christmas lights and the vaguely purplish sky casting odd shadows on his face, before leaning in to press his frigid lips against my own. "Nothing."

In that moment, I knew. I knew that he was lying. But, right then, as I felt the melted snow seep into my rubber boots and gazed into endlessly grey eyes, I didn't care. It could all wait until tomorrow.

So I ran away, sloshing through the snow as best I could without toppling over, and he chased me, hurling magically-created snowballs at my back with deadly accuracy. When one of my own snowballs hit him right in the neck, where his coat's collar didn't quite cover the sensitive flesh, he pulled me in for a deep kiss that had my knees faltering with the reality of what we had.

Later, much later, when purple had brightened to pink and blue had faded to white, he held me close. Almost too close, like he needed the pressure of his arms around me to know that I was real. That I wasn't yet another illusion conjured up from the depths of his wilting sanity.

"Do you remember the day we met?" His voice suddenly sounded, raw and throbbing, long after my eyes had fluttered closed from the aftermath of the cold and exhaustion.

"Of course I do," I mumbled into his chest. "It was back when you were such a major git that I was surprised anyone could even bear to talk to you for more than five seconds. You had just cursed Harry into singing Baby, it's Cold Outside for three days straight."

He chuckled softly, breath tickling the baby hairs around my ear. "I still don't regret it. Without that, you never would have--"

"Agreed to go on that date with you, barely a week later," I finished with a wry grin. "Unlike you, I'm good to my friends-- I couldn't just leave Harry like that."

"Your virtues are unlimited." He shook his head affectionately. "We went down to the kitchens, and you persuaded the house elves to let you bake, which is miraculous in and of itself. And then you made me, of all things, Muggle cookies."

I shrugged. "I couldn't leave you in your pathetic Pureblood ignorance-- Snickerdoodles are pretty amazing when you think about it. Can't imagine a world without them."

He pursed his lips slightly, an absurdly serious reflex in contrast to the thick irony that coated my voice. "You know, that shifted things for me. All of a sudden, I could see a world where it wasn't the label that mattered, just two people standing in front of an oven trying to keep cinnamon biscuits from burning."

"They were not burning!" I protested hotly. "You were just trying to sabotage me to prove the Wizarding World needs house elves to satisfy the basic needs of our existence!"

I couldn't believe he was doing this now. He knew how worked up the topic of house elves got me. Judging by the look on his face, he was absolutely getting a kick out of this.

"Angel, you need to calm down," he chuckled lowly, jabbing a gentle finger into my ribs. "You're making it snow."

Distracted, I lifted my eyes to see the small white bits that coated his blonde hair. "Fine-- if you're going to be like that, you won't be getting anything for Christmas. Not milk, nor cookies, nor special Christmas kisses."

I hopped off the bed, but an iron grip prevented me from moving even an inch. E/C met steely grey, and was surprised to find it already darkened with some kind of black humor. "Like I even need Christmas to get any of those."

I grinned slyly, pinching my lips together. "You do."

"I beg to differ," he chuckled, leaning in.

My breath hitched when his teeth just barely tugged at my lower lip. At the sound, he dipped me down like the couples in those old American Muggle movies did. I giggled loudly, throwing my head back. He smirked, taking advantage of the bared skin to attack it with small kisses that tickled and made me squirm. It was only then that I noticed the small sprig of mistletoe above our heads, and the self-satisfaction that tinted the curve of his lips.

"Merry Christmas, love," he laughed freely. In that moment, I couldn't care less about the fact he had just made my body turn to jelly and stolen a kiss from my reluctant lips and would probably be back to doing illegal, horrible, life-threatening deeds tomorrow. Because I could listen to that laugh, the honest, crooked rumblings of his soul, forever. 

But for now, I didn't even need forever. I settled with gazing at the crinkles by his usually-hard eyes and shoving my fingers in the dimples that so rarely carved themselves into his smooth cheeks. "Now, what does a girl have to do to get a fire and some hot chocolate around here?"

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There you go guys, so much fluff it's probably more nauseating than hearing Mariah Carey whining about being horny on Christmas Day (again) after eating a ton of chocolate and Christmas dinner for three hours! But hey, the season calls for it!