His Happiest Christmas

[Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of J.K. Rowling and is not my intellectual property. I intend no copyright infringement and seek no financial gain from this work. This work of fiction is purely for entertainment purposes and honestly, it's basically just porn.]  

~*~

"See? I told you the place will be empty. Now tell me this isn't infinitely preferable to the bloody Gryffindor common room!"

Harry isn't listening to Draco's gloating; he sulks near the entrance, arms crossed as he scowls around the dim, eerily lit room. The stone pillars are hung with tapestries in rich, emerald green, the glass windows looking into the Lake ominously thin.

"Don't you ever worry that the place will flood?" he blurts out, starting as an enormous something whizzes past one window.

Draco makes a sharp sound of impatience over near the massive fireplace that takes up most of one wall; he lays down yet another rug over the three he's already spread out, sniffling wetly. "Stop being a tit and come here," he calls, reaching over the back of two armchairs and a sofa to steal all the cushions he can find, tossing them down and then fishing out his handkerchief to blow his nose into.

The fire crackles, spitting loudly, and Harry is sure he hears a cat purring somewhere in the room as he gives in and meanders over to Draco. The chill from the stone walls and floor seeps into the room, but the fire is a huge, bright vermillion flare, and that along with the ridiculously ornate Christmas decorations dripping from every available surface around the room (with the addition of the sight of Draco in a fluffy, pure white Weasely jumper, pink nosed and bright eyed, kicking his shoes off and disappearing into the nest of cushions and quilts) lends the room an undeniable, comforting warmth that seems to settle into his very bones.

"Harry," Draco's voice, though nasal and stuffy, has taken on that flat, demanding tone, "Stop lingering and just come here." He snorts softly into his handkerchief again, wiggling his nose into it until it emerges beet red.

"For Merlin's sake," Harry grumbles, kicking his own trainers off and throwing himself beside Draco, dragging the quilt he's huddled under almost completely off him and over himself. He receives an elbow in the face for that, and immediately retaliates by shoving his freezing hands under Draco's jumper, onto the soft, warm skin of his stomach and flanks.

Draco shrieks, thrashing and managing to shove one socked foot into Harry's chest as they flail around together, Harry's breathless laughter and Draco's obscene swearing ringing around the otherwise still room.

They collapse abruptly into a pile of wool and fervent kisses, Draco's still gloved hands cradling Harry's cheeks, Harry's hands drawing tantalising patterns across the scars slashing across Draco's heaving chest. Their mouths move together in a slick, easy dance of blissful familiarity, until Draco pulls away, gasping for breath through his mouth, his blocked nose emitting high, wheezing sounds as he pushes Harry's face away.

"I'b really dud with this cold," he declares irritably, groping around for his handkerchief again, the silver M monogrammed onto the dove grey material standing out brightly before he buries his face in it and blows his nose again. Emerging with a sigh he says, voice less stuffy now, "I'm more than a little disappointed that I haven't managed to snog some germs into you as well."

"Yeah, I don't fall ill much," Harry lifts up and places one elbow next to Draco's shoulder, resting one cheek in his hand as he gazes down at him, "If there's one perk to the way I was brought up, it's that I developed a great immunity even before I turned ten." He grins lazily, lightly tickling the red tip of Draco's nose as he drags another pillow under his head and then wraps both arms around Harry's neck, sighing as Harry lands atop him with a soft oof.