Merry Christmas everyone! Heres a Drarry HC for Hailey Dufus. Enjoy! ~Baron Hotschaft Von Hugenstein ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Draco had the hood of his Hogwarts robes pulled up over his head to conceal his face. It was almost five in the morning, and he was totally exhausted and aggravated, and he’d already doubled back twice before working up the nerve to keep going on this ludicrous mission. Still, he kept on, his fingers clamped tight around a large parcel hidden in his robes. He reached the Fat Lady, who was snoring. Loudly. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and barked, “HEY!” She woke with a start and glared down at him. “Hmph! Can’t you see I’m sleeping? As YOU should be!” Draco had braved Filch, trick staircases, and mortification for this. He had no patience for a painting’s annoyance. “Just ask for the bloody password.” She rose deliberately slowly, taking her sweet time and making Draco’s blood boil. Finally, she drawled, “Password?” “Phoenix altitude.” Draco had pummeled the information out of a Gryffindor first year. With a reluctant nod, the Fat Lady swung forward, giving the disguised Slytherin access to the common room. Step one had been leaving the Slytherin dorms without being seen; step two, gaining entrance to the Gryffindor tower, was now complete. Draco slipped inside silently and tiptoed into the orange-and-yellow meeting area. Despite the early hour, a fire crackled in the fireplace. It was so disgustingly homey it almost made Draco jealous. He shoved it down. “Stupid Potter. Why couldn’t he have been in MY house?” It would’ve made the plan easier to execute, although it would’ve been harder not to get caught. Sitting against the far wall was a Christmas tree, tiny compared to the monster in the Slytherin common room. This one was decorated with paper snowflakes and lumpy clay elves that were probably designed by first and second years, whereas the Slytherin tree was adorned with only silver baubles, which, now that Draco beheld the rival house’s tree, suddenly seemed too cold and clinical. He ignored this emotion and continued forward; he’d almost made it and just wanted to get it over with now. Who knew when that wretch Weasley woke Potter up for Christmas? He crept up to the tree and, with a furtive look around, slid a hastily-wrapped box under the branches. “Merry Christmas, Potter,” he muttered, half with derision and half with longing. Then, standing up straight, he scurried out before someone woke up. ---- The next morning, Harry and Ron rifled through their packages, both of them kept warm with Molly’s homespun sweaters and mutually ignoring Hagrid’s stone-hard rock cakes. “I think that’s all of mine,” Ron announced, having made a small nest of presents around himself. “What about you?” Harry gazed at his gifts: the sweater, the rock cakes, a feather and a letter from “Snuffles”, a Post-It note from the Dursleys, mismatched gloves from Dobby, and an expensive quill-and-parchment set and chocolate frogs from Hermione. “I think so. Do you—wait, no, there’s one more.” He pulled out a large green package, addressed: To H.P. It didn’t say who it was from. “Oh, cool. Do you reckon it’s another invisibility cloak?” Ron spoke around a mouth full of jelly beans. “I’ve always wanted for myself.” “I dunno.” Harry unwrapped it and inside was shocked to find a thick black book inlaid with gold decals and huge precious gems. “Wow!” “What is it?” Ron crawled over to see. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Merlin’s beard! Harry, that must be worth a fortune! Who’s it from? Sirius?” “No, he sent me a letter….” Harry had no idea who could’ve given it to him; everyone else’s gifts were here and accounted for. He opened the cover and discovered it was a blank journal, and suddenly feared that it was another diary like Tom Riddle’s, but there was something already written in it in what looked like normal ink. In big, loopy script, it read, “Merry Christmas. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you’re cute. –Your Secret Slytherin.” Ron laughed. “You have an admirer now? That’s pretty funny. Looks like she’s from the wrong house, though.” Harry nodded, completely surprised. “Well, whoever she is, she must be filthy rich.”
Posted on: Thu, 25 Dec 2014 18:30:00 +0000
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