Red and Green - A Magical Yule

 

 

[Author’s Note: This story is AU, and while somewhat consistent with canon through Book Six, the reader is invited to pretend that the events of Book Seven never happened. That is what Arwensong chooses to do. For purposes of this story, Severus Snape survived the final battle, as did all of the Weasleys. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy sacrificed themselves in order that Harry, Severus and their companions could escape with a Horcrux from Malfoy Manor, thus redeeming themselves somewhat for their past misdeeds. It is now about fifteen years post Voldemort’s permanent demise, and some of our heroes are doing better than others at living happily ever after....]

 

 

*~*~*

 

The First Assistant to the Minister of Magic had just finished a long week of conferences with the International Federation of Wizards and Other Magical Folk. Since this week was only the latest in a series of equally long and stressful weeks, Draco Malfoy didn’t want to risk apparating home. In his current state of exhaustion, there was a serious risk that he would commit the unthinkable and be the first Malfoy in over seven hundred years to splinch himself. Wouldn’t that make a lurid headline for the Daily Prophet, Draco thought dryly. All the years since the Second War Against the Dark Lord that he’d toiled tirelessly, not to mention thanklessly, to rebuild his family’s dignity, honor and prestige would be forgotten in a flash as the headlines proclaimed: “First Assistant Minister Malfoy Loses Arse at Close of Troll Negotiations-Pictures on Page Six..and Seven...and Eight.”

With a sigh, Draco grabbed a pinch of floo powder. Just as he was about to announce his destination as Malfoy Manor, he remembered with dismay that he was supposed to make an appearance at the Hogwarts Annual Yule Ball. Merlin’s balls, he’d forgotten all about the dratted thing.

There was no hope for it. He’d promised Severus that he’d attend. He looked at his conservative “business” robes, and with a flick of his wand, accio’ed more suitable dress robes, dark green with silver trim from the small dressing room that adjoined his office. He donned the robes and then murmured the anti-ash charm taught to him by his mother so many years before, which spell was the secret to the impeccable appearance Narcissa always managed to present even when traveling by floo. A balance charm was another trick passed down in the Black family. Draco smiled reminiscently, thinking what a pity it was that Potter had never been taught the trick by his godfather before the poor chap went through the Veil. To this day, the Savior of the Wizarding World stumbled through floos, arriving at important functions covered in ash and frequently landing on all fours. Floo travel was the only time Potter ever appeared clumsy, Draco reflected. Most of the time, the man moved with the same grace he showed on a broom.

With a last longing look at the divan in his dressing room that he used for short naps between meetings, Draco crisply spoke his destination......Hogwarts School of Magic.
 

 

*~*~*
 

 

The jarring thud into a hard red clad body almost sent Draco back into the floo network. Fortunately, the quick reflexes that had once made the two wizards in question the best Seekers of their generation at Hogwarts had not abandoned them when they entered their more somber thirties, Severus observed with only a slightly raised eyebrow. Albus Dumbledore’s portrait revealed his amusement more openly as Harry Potter whipped around and grabbed Draco Malfoy around the waist to pull him into the room just as Draco Malfoy leaned in and grabbed what a split second earlier had been the back of Harry Potter’s robes. The result was that the two men ended up clasped face to face in a bonecrushing hug.

Draco found himself glancing down into those brilliant green eyes, impossibly close now that the trademark glasses were a thing of the past. Granger had convinced Potter to agree to a spell to cure his myopia in the final months of the War. Distinctly uncomfortable with the closeness of another person, especially this person, and perturbed by the warmth and humor he saw reflected in those eyes and wondering if his own gray ones revealed any secrets at such proximity, Draco shoved the muscular chest away from him. He smoothed his hands along his robes as though to straighten the already flawless folds, a gesture that would appear designed to hide nervousness in most people. Malfoys, however, did not do nervous. Draco lifted his chin, which was not as pointy as it had been in his youth. Now it merely looked decisive, his mirror informed him.

“Please, Potter, must you still clutter the Headmaster’s office? I would have thought that under the new regime, you would have found someplace better to skulk, such as the Quidditch shed, or the Gamekeeper’s...” Draco’s mocking drawl stopped. How could he have forgotten for even a moment that Hagrid had died in the War? Of course Potter would not be hanging out in the Gamekeeper’s cottage as he used to as a student. He drew himself up to his full height and prepared to apologize but he stopped, his words cut short by his amazement at the brilliant smile Potter sent his way as he placed a hand on Draco’s arm and led him to a chair close to Snape’s desk. Up to this point, Severus Snape, the Headmaster, had watched the two young men without comment, his dark eyes not missing a gesture or expression but his own face its usual mask.

“Actually, I do love to visit Hagrid’s old place. You haven’t been back enough, Malfoy. It’s been made into a memorial. It’s a very peaceful place to visit, isn’t it, Severus?”

“It has developed into quite a tranquil spot for reflection, enjoyed by the staff and students alike, so yes, Harry, it is a fitting tribute to our fallen colleague.” Severus’ rich deep voice finally spoke. “Welcome, Draco. I am glad that you were able to find time in your busy schedule and hope that your negotiations did not fatigue you too much. Perhaps you would enjoy resting for a few moments and having some refreshment with Harry and reminisce about old school days before you head down to the Ball?”

Severus? Harry? Hagrid the halfwit halfbreed as fallen colleague? Have refreshments with Harry and reminiscing about old school days? Draco felt as though he’d been hit with a confundus spell. Since when were Harry Potter and Severus Snape on a first name basis? And while he, as a politician, would be among the first to admit that Hagrid had done more than most in the War, bringing in the Giants to fight on the side of the Light, and thus winning Golden Boy and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix precious time in the Final Battle, he would have thought that his godfather and mentor would have been among the last to utter such inane words. The rest of that little speech didn’t even bear thinking about...what would he and Potter talk about? The time he tried casting an Unforgivable on Potter, and Potter almost killed him with a cutting curse?

Draco shook his head, trying to clear it. Perhaps he struck it harder against Potter’s muscular body than he thought, trying not to become distracted by the memory of just how fit that body had been. It wasn’t that Severus wouldn’t believe that Hagrid was brave, it was merely that the Snape of old didn’t say things like that. Severus glowered, for Merlin’s sake! He didn’t smile! And he didn’t call Potter, Harry! He called him that wretched boy...when he was feeling kind! And he didn’t worry about whether people were fatigued, even Draco, whom he liked! Was Draco the only one who had stayed normal in this brave new world?

Draco looked at Severus reproachfully....after shaking off Potter’s hand, that is. Which was another thing. When did the Gryffindor get so touchy-feely?

“I shall be sure to take some flowers by the memorial before leaving,” Draco commented dryly before turning to his godfather. “Severus, I did not expect you to be entertaining Mr. Potter, or I would have apparated to Hogsmeade first and contacted you about my arrival from there. I apologize for my abrupt arrival...”

“Nonsense, Draco, you are always welcome to use my floo. As I said, I’m sure you are exhausted after your negotiations. The papers have been filled with news of your endeavors for weeks. We’re honored that you could make it. The children will be thrilled.”

Severus’ tone was dryly amused. Draco looked at him suspiciously. As though the children were likely to care about the presence of any grown-up, particularly a politician. If they cared about anyone, it would be the Boy Savior. Potter had sat down, after transfiguring a straight-backed chair into a soft overstuffed chair. He looked inquiringly up at Draco.

“How do you take your chair, Assistant Minister Malfoy,” he asked with exaggerated politeness, “extra hard, reminiscent of a torture device, like Severus, or...”

“Or so ridiculously soft that you are likely to develop back problems simply from sitting in it, which is what Harry seems to prefer,” Severus interjected, causing both of them to smirk at each other.

“Perhaps I should leave the two of you alone, since I am feeling somewhat de trop,” Draco complained, looking between the two former foes.

“Don’t be foolish, Draco, I will say it once more, I’m very pleased to see you, as always. Harry arrived a few moments before you did and once I informed him that you were expected, he asked if he could stay to speak with you for a few minutes before we join the students and staff for the Yule Ball festivities. Why don’t the two of you borrow my office and join us downstairs when you are done.”

Draco stared at his Godfather, hiding his incredulity behind his public mask. While the slight impatience was realistic, Severus Snape speaking with any measure of complacency about joining in festivities was reason to suspect Dark Magic at work as far as Draco was concerned. Could Potter have placed him under Imperius for some foul purpose? Draco had always suspected it was only a matter of time before the man cracked under the pressures placed on him by wizarding society and became another Dark Lord. Turning dark would explain how he managed to look so damnably good in those red robes of his, Draco mused. Disturbed by the direction his thoughts kept taking, and deciding it was probably more evidence of foul play, he resolved to remain on his guard and look for a chance to speak to Severus alone. If the former Potions Master, Triple Agent and expert in mind magic could be influenced by Potter magically, the Boy Who Lived was one tricky devil.
 

 

*~*~*
 

 

The Boy Who Lived was one tricky devil who could drink like the Giant Squid, Draco thought a trifle foggily, as Potter proposed yet another toast. Severus had gone down to the Ball hours earlier and left the two former classmates and deadly rivals ensconced in his office under the twinkling eyes of Dumbledore’s portrait, with an ample supply of fire whiskey as refreshment. Draco tried to remember the wand motion for the sobriety charm and whether he had stored any anti-hangover potions in these robes.

“Do you remember when Pansy Parkinson transfigured Lavender Brown’s nose into a snout for making fun of her nose? That was the best spellwork she ever did in McGonagall’s class! Whatever happened to...” Potter was sprawled in the overstuffed chair, his red robes opened to reveal form fitting black slacks and a white silk shirt.

“She was killed by Voldemort during her marking ceremony,” Draco said flatly, feeling entirely too sober suddenly. “She refused to kill a muggle child and tried backing out of the initiation. I was there with Severus, spying for the Order. There was nothing we could do.” He looked up from his empty glass and saw the green eyes looking at him with sad understanding.

“I’m sorry. I know how it feels when all you can do is watch and not be able to stop what is happening,” was all Potter said. Somehow Draco felt that he did know, not just the impotent pain of watching a childhood friend tortured and killed in front of you while you watched and feigned indifference, but that he also knew the pain of having the memory play over and over in your nightmares, along with countless others like it, until it was a relief to work such long hours that sleep, when you could finally fall into your bed at night, came easily and dreamlessly.

“Let’s go flying around the pitch!” Potter jumped to his feet, his red robes askew.

“What?” Draco asked, confused. One moment they were lost in a sad memory of the war, and the next, the madman of Hogwarts was suggesting they take a spin on their brooms...assuming they had brooms to go spinning on in the first place. Ignoring the small...very small he told himself...part of him that found the suggestion incredibly appealing, Draco replied, “Certainly not. We should be heading down to the Yule Ball. I don’t know about you but I intend to keep my promise to Severus and make a formal appearance on behalf of the Ministry. In light of the Minister of Magic’s absence....”

“Oh, Arthur is down there somewhere....he never misses the Yule Ball.” Potter smiled engagingly.

“What? I was asked to come out here because he couldn’t make it...are you telling me he is in attendance after all? I could have skipped this charade and gone home to a well-deserved rest?”

Draco was well on his way to a rant. His voice was still pitched low and it was perfectly modulated, but anyone who knew him would know that he was close to a rant. Of course, most of the people who knew him well were gone, he reflected, which is why he was stuck here, wasting a perfectly good rant on the terminally clueless Potter. Goyle, Crabbe, Nott...none of them would ever let him get this close to a rant without flurrying about trying to forestall it. Zabini would be popping popcorn...magically, of course.

Severus was so going to hear about this.

“Take my hand....” Draco looked into those green eyes again, and it occurred to him that perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea. He was alone with Potter, after all, and say what you would, the man was powerful, and it wasn’t like Dumbledore’s portrait could stop him. Nor did it look inclined to try, the way the old coot’s eyes were twinkling like Weasley’s Fizzling Rockets on Merlin’s Birthday. As Draco found himself reaching out to clasp the calloused hand of the shorter man, he realized that perhaps it would have been a good idea to occlude and protect against Imperius...surely Potter wouldn’t have used any Dark Magic on him...would he? The sensations that washed over him as they touched didn’t feel Dark at all, but Draco did feel himself spinning out of control...and through space. What in the worlds?
 

 

*~*~*
 

 

“We’re not in Hogwarts anymore,” Draco said wonderingly, as he came to his senses clinging to Harry Potter for the second time that evening. His green robes swirled around Potter’s red ones. He snatched them closer and took a couple of steps back, the better to glare. Glares were not as effective when attempted with muscular arms around one’s waist, Draco noted. At least not if one were making no effort to get away from said muscular arms.

“We’re not in Kansas, either.”

The madman who’d abducted him grinned and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. The purpose of which gesture was lost on Draco–surely he didn’t think it needed more rumpling and it seemed just as unlikely that even Potter could think that such cavalier treatment could make his hair look better. In a normal person, Draco would conclude it was a nervous habit, but Potter was far from nervous. He looked as happy as...as...Draco came up blank when it came to metaphors for happiness. He would examine that later. It was probably significant but it was also depressing and Draco had enough to cope with at the moment. He was in the middle of nowhere with a madman. For now he needed to find out what dastardly Gryffindor plot was afoot. He felt a pang as he realized that Severus must have been part of it, his Godfather who had protected him from Voldemort himself. He decided to examine that later as well. The whole insane Savior of the Wizarding World to cope with, really did take precedence, not to mention the killer hang-over he still had and for which he still could not recall the spell to dispell. Also, he was very tired and he had no idea where in the seven circles of hell Kansas was.

“Potter,” he began in his calmest, speaking to Trolls and other dangerous magical beings voice, “this has been quite a pleasant evening and enlightening as well. I shall be sure to alert the editors of the next edition of Hogwarts-A History, that indeed, apparating out of Hogwarts is possible. But I would very much like to return to my home now, so if you don’t mind....”

“Don’t you want to know where you are?” Potter asked as he casually transfigured two nearby branches into brooms. Not just any old brooms, Draco noticed, impressed despite himself, but two top of the line Quidditch brooms, specialized for Seekers. He remembered that it was considered wise to humor mad persons. Perhaps he should err on the side of caution and indulge Potter in his wish to ride brooms for a bit. What harm could there be? After all, if the wizard wanted to kill him, Draco would be dead. A flash of memory from sixth year, the cutting spell that Potter had struck him with in retaliation for the Crucio that he had so thoughtlessly sent first, came to Draco’s mind and he closed his eyes as visions of his own blood flooding the floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom came back to him, and he swayed on his feet.

“Draco...Draco!” The strong, red garbed arms wrapped around him again. He rested his head against the broad shoulder for a moment until the dizziness passed. He really shouldn’t have had so much to drink on an empty stomach.

“May I cast a reviving and sobering spell on you?” Harry asked quietly, his arms still around the taller, slimmer wizard. Draco nodded. At last, a use for Potter’s boundless need to show off his wandless magic. He felt the invigorating spell wash over him, clearing his head and settling his stomach, which he just now noticed had been queasy with a mixture of too much drink and nerves. Draco tried to take in stride the casual way Harry did everything wandlessly...and resolutely ignored the fact that he was now calling him Harry in his mind. At least he was asking permission before casting spells that affected him, he thought, trying to maintain his sulk. It was hard to do when wrapped in a very comforting embrace and while enjoying the absence of a headache and fatigue that, in all honesty, had preceded tonight’s drinking. Harry could be a useful person to keep around. And no, he didn’t just think that, he told himself, pulling away forcefully, although there really was no need for force. Harry’s arms fell away as soon as Draco made a move to get more distance between them.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to or how you convinced Severus to go along with you but...”

“I’m not ‘up’ to anything, you paranoid git!” Once more, Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair in frustration. The lightning bolt scar stood out boldly, and Draco couldn’t help staring at the rare sight of the famous mark that the other man was so careful to keep hidden. Such an odd thing to determine one’s life, he mused, and almost without his realizing it, he calmed down. Maybe he was recalling his childhood worship of the “Boy Who Lived” or maybe he was just worn out from his long week, but his silvery gaze left the scar to look tiredly into the almost equally famous green eyes.

“Then tell me what you want. Why are we shivering in the middle of a field in Merlin knows where instead of sipping wassail at Hogwarts and....”

“I told you already, I wanted to fly...and we’re in France. Not far outside Paris. I can cast some warming charms...well, so can you, I know, but let me, since you’ve had a much more tiring week than I’ve had, and then let’s fly for awhile...isn’t that better than attending a ball? It is for me, and I thought maybe, just this once, it might be for you too. Ron is covering for me and Severus will make your excuses and we can just have fun, so watching press, and then I promise, I’ll apparate you home to London...one short fly around....” The green eyes were pleading.

“You promised a pitch,” Draco caviled, knowing he was giving in but not wanting to appear to cave too easily.

“I did, didn’t I?”

With a wave of his hand, Harry transfigured the open field into a Quidditch pitch, complete with hoops on either side. Draco felt the corners of his mouth lift up. Not to be too drastically outdone, he transfigured their robes into Quidditch uniforms, Gryffindor red for Harry and Slytherin green for himself. Then, with a gleam in his eye, he transfigured rocks into bludgers and charmed them to chase after Harry as they took to the skies on the brooms that Harry unshrunk.

Harry’s laugh rang across the pitch as he dove to avoid one of the bludgers.

“You’ve gotten better at this since third year, I see...they’re harder to avoid!”

“I should hope so...after all, you’ve gotten better at avoiding them, haven’t you?” Draco drawled, watching lazily from his perch on his broom, as Harry continued to maneuver skillfully away from the bespelled balls. After watching, amused, for several minutes, he flew in the opposite direction. He was enjoying the freedom of being back in the air, the wind in his hair–it had been far too long since he’d done this. Suddenly, he saw a glimpse of gold at one the posts. A snitch! Laughing again, he took off at high speed.

He sensed rather than saw Harry drawing closer as he neared the snitch, which had taken off upward as he neared it. The two wizards flew up, almost vertically at a ninety degree angle to the ground, chasing the small golden snitch. Just as the altitude was getting high enough that Draco was giving serious thought to quitting the chase, loath as he was to give up before his rival, but recognizing that one of them had to be sane, his straining fingers touched the fluttering wings and he curled them closed around it. He almost overbalanced on his broom he was leaning so far forward, but Harry reached over and steadied him just in time.

“Well done,” a gasping voice breathed in his ear, with just enough disappointment to show him that the victory had been earned.

Draco turned to smirk at Harry and toss off some flippant comment as both of them started to drift down to a lower height. But the second he looked over at that familiar face, the black hair windblown and messy over the brilliant green eyes, the cheeks red from the wind and the lips, those lips that had uttered a thousand schoolboy insults...they were full and red also, and suddenly Draco couldn’t think of a single reason why, when he knew everything about Harry Potter, he never discovered how he tasted.
 

In the next moment, high above a field in France, bewitched by the combination of green and red, at the Yule, Draco remedied that omission.

Neither wizard noticed as the tiny gold snitch fluttered away.

 

*~*~*

 

Headmaster Snape watched over the proceedings at the Hogwarts Yule Ball with his customary scowl in place. Unperturbed by it, Junior Staff Member Hermione Granger stalked up to stand next to him, her robes swirling most impressively as she whirled around so that she also faced the dancing students.

 

From her position on the other side of the room, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall smiled to see the young witch mimic so many of her colleague’s mannerisms. She turned to Pomona Sprout, the Head Of Hufflepuff House, and murmured, “They’d better watch it or soon dear Hermione will be terrorizing the students as much as Severus ever did.”

Sprout looked shocked at the idea but Remus Lupin, the DADA professor, who overheard the comment, (naturally given his extra sharp senses), laughed at the idea. He peered over the shorter Herbology professor to retort to McGonagall, “I don’t think it’s just the students that Hermione has cowed, Minerva, watch how she can make Severus jump.”

The three professors turned their attention back to the two under discussion, who were carrying on their own discourse, although they were pretending merely to be standing next to each other, observing the students with matching scowls on their faces, arms crossed over their chests, wands out.

“I can’t believe you thought you could polyjuice one of my best friends into the other one and expect to fool me, Headmaster Snape, even if you are a potions master!” Hermione hissed, her lips barely moving.

“I assure you, Professor Granger, that fooling you was not the intention, and since you have achieved potions mastery yourself, I fully expected you to detect polyjuice in one of your close friends...especially a close friend for whom you had brewed the substance successfully as a mere child in what was it, your second year of schooling?” Severus smirked to see the look of surprise that was quickly masked. He’d make a Slytherin of the chit yet.

“Why then is Ronald pretending to be Harry tonight...and not doing it very well, by the way. You might have considered utilizing one of the gay Weasleys if you wished to make a plausible Harry Potter out of one of them. Having a Harry Potter walking around who is eying the assets of the females is not particularly plausible,” she noted dryly.

Severus snorted. That’s what he got for allowing Potter to do some of his own plotting. He nodded slightly to his companion. “I have always said you were the brains behind the Golden Trio, Professor Granger and I have long had my doubts about the much vaunted strategic skills of the youngest Weasley male. You have just confirmed it. Clearly a libido suppressant should have been added to the potion.”

“Wouldn’t that have lessened the effectiveness of the hippogriff spleen?” She looked up at him, her brown eyes bright with curiosity. The deep red robes she wore flattered her ivory skin and the dark brown curls that she restrained in a coronet around her heart-shaped face. On a sudden whim, Severus had transfigured his usual black robes to deep green for the occasion, and he was struck by how well their robes looked together, reminding him of the red and green holiday decorations from his Muggle youth. Quirking his lips up in a rare smile, he bowed to the small witch, and taking her hand in his, shocked her into a silence that was almost as rare as one of his smiles by asking,

“Professor Granger, may we discuss the potion alterations further after I have the pleasure of this...dance?”

 

*~*~*
 

 

The cat with the strange markings around her eyes wandered away from the stairs leading to the Headmaster’s quarters after seeing the wearer of the dark green robes whisk the wearer of the dark red robes inside his chambers. If a cat could be said to smile, this one surely was.

Elsewhere, Remus Lupin was keeping an impatient Charlie Weasley, Professor of the Study and Care of Magical Creatures, waiting as he checked the Marauders Map, long since returned to him by his de facto godson, Harry Potter. Seeing the names of H. Potter and D. Malfoy, appearing and staying close together in the area of the Room of Requirement, the prematurely silver-haired Wizard smiled, the careworn lines on his face relaxing.

“What has you smiling, love?” Charlie asked, as he wrapped his strong arms around the older man. Remus relaxed back into his lover’s embrace, relishing in the peace of having found a partner who had no fear of the animal that lurked within him. A man who’d happily worked with dragons throughout his youth found a werewolf, especially one taking Wolfsbane, to be child’s play.

“It’s going to be a merry Christmas this year, Charlie. The light and dark is being laid to rest in a Christmas of Green and Red,” Remus told him.

Charlie cocked his head and then grinned, saying, “Well, that almost sounds like one of Sybil’s half-arsed prophecies to me, but if that’s what it’ll take to have a merry Christmas, far be it from me to miss out.”

With that the brother of George and Fred cast a spell before tossing his wand aside and pulling his lover into bed.

Before casting Nox to douse the light, Remus happened to glance in the large mirror across the room and burst out laughing. His silvery hair with its sparse streaks of brown had been turned bright green, to coordinate with his lover’s mane of bright Weasley red hair.

It was going to be a very Merry Christmas at Hogwarts indeed.

 

 

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