oceaxe: (Voldy the Snake)
[personal profile] oceaxe
I really can't imagine a better holiday than the one I'm having right now - my boyfriend making the turkey and about to go wrap my presents, my tree decorated and, underneath it, presents to all my friends waiting for them to come over tonight, reading a promising hd_holidays story in front of the fire (The Great Divide), and outside my city is snowier than it has ever been at this time of year. Huzzah!

If anyone wants to help motivate me, I sat down and jotted off a few paragraphs of holiday H/D yesterday.

Draco sat in front of the gently twinkling fir tree, not really seeing it. Truth be told, Christmas wasn’t one of his favorite holidays. But his house elf Blinky had made such a fuss that in the end he’d capitulated and allowed her to decorate. It didn’t matter. If it really bothered him, he could banish it. As it was, it gave his eyes something to fuzz out on as he contemplated his day.

Another fight with Potter. Over the same thing, naturally. One or the both of them was incapable of learning that their dynamic was never going to change – Potter would never trust Draco, and Draco would never back down. This time the excuse had been that Draco would be a liability on the team, based on his former connections to the Death Eaters being tracked. Absurd. As if those Death Eaters would know the identity of the people tracking them. No, it was only more evidence that Potter believed Draco weak and changeable. If he really believes I’m that likely to turn coat, why doesn’t he have me fired? The conundrum was never resolved, because Draco would never ask the question outright and Potter never volunteered an answer.

Let him keep his secrets, then, Draco thought, a mulish scowl on his face. The ongoing mystery wasn’t the real reason he couldn’t stop thinking about their fight that afternoon, however, and he knew it. His hand rubbed at the sore spot on his pectoral muscle as he wondered yet again just why Potter’s attack had rattled him like it had. Granted, their disagreements hadn’t come to blows in over six months, not since Shacklebolt had laid down the law in no uncertain terms. But this hadn’t exactly been a blow, it’d been a poke.

Don’t you aim for the middle of the chest when you poke? He asked himself irritably. The poke had landed painfully close to his left nipple – almost as if Potter had gone in for a titty-twister. His face flamed at the mental phrasing and he shook his head.

Then there was the moment that followed the poke. Draco had glanced down at the place Potter’s finger had been, then looked slowly up to meet his gaze, cold fire in his eyes. This calm furious glare, which he privately called “Icy Steel,” usually cowed those on the receiving end of it. Inexplicably, it seemed to inflame Potter even more, and he reached out again, grasping Draco’s shoulder and pulling on it . Draco had been on the cusp of retaliation when his partner Hedblade had walked in, causing Potter’s arm to drop and both men to assume studiedly casual demeanors.

The most wonderful holiday gift right now would be a suggestion on what comes next...

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June 2010

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