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“Oh, the horror!”
“Oh my God, Draco—”
“The anguish!”
“We’ve been married for fourteen years, you twat!”
“I guess I have no other choice but to make the great sacrifice of kissing Harry Potter on the lips! How else will we ever see the light of day?”
“That’s it. I’m taking you out of those drama classes,” Harry said, pointing an accusing finger at Draco, who gasped and brought a hand to his chest in mock-betrayal.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I will if you don’t kiss me right now so we can get out of this godforsaken corridor.”
With a pout, Draco leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You’re no fun. Here I am, trying to brighten the spark of our love with a little roleplay of our old selves—”
“If your past self had been like that I would’ve dumped him within a week,” Harry cut him off, trying to sound serious but unable to hide the mirth in his words.
“Just humour me a little bit, Potter, for Merlin’s sake. I swear, you’re no fun anymore.”
“When have I ever been fun?”
When Draco’s pout became, impossibly, more pronounced, Harry rolled his eyes fondly and approached him, resting both hands on the wall by the sides of his head. He sighed, shook his head, and said, “That’s right, Malfoy. There’s no way out of this but to kiss me, your, uh, most loathed arch-nemesis. So, what are you going to do about it?”
“You know, you should join my drama classes. You’re a terrible actor.”
“Oh, come on! I’m trying!”
“Just come here, you idiot.” Draco rested a hand on his nape and pressed his lips against Harry’s, softly.
Harry smiled, hummed as he returned the kiss. “I love you, you insufferable git,” he said against Draco’s mouth, and then he kissed the tip of his nose for good measure before looking up to see the mistletoe dissolving into glitter that disappeared just before falling on their heads. “Now let’s get out of here, I still have Defence essays to grade.”