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“Don't you ever get tired of annihilating me in chess?” Harry asks after Draco has called checkmate for the fourth time that day. He leans back in his chair and stretches his legs out, prodding at the other set of feet beneath the table.
Draco raises an aristocratic eyebrow at him and steals his mug of hot chocolate. “Do I, Draco Malfoy, ever tire of annihilating you, Harry Potter, at anything? That's a ridiculous question. And keep your disgusting, holey socks away from me.”
He snorts and pushes his foot forward again, wiggling his toes. “Why does it bother you so much?”
Draco purses his lips and stares witheringly down at the table, as if his glare could reach Harry’s currently unseeable sock. “Not only do you have more galleons than you know what to do with, but you're a damned wizard, and yet you choose to wear ratty, hole-ridden articles of clothing.”
“Come off it! There’s only two holes and they're tiny! I didn't even notice them there before you pointed them out.”
“Of course you didn't. You have the observational skills of a flobberworm.” He pauses from his insults to finally take a sip of Harry’s drink, rather than use it as a hand-warmer. His eyelids flutter closed and he simply holds the mug to his lips for a moment, savouring the flavour.
Harry huffs a laugh, causing his eyes to open partly and stare suspiciously.
“What is it?”
Casting a vague gesture at where he’s still clutching at the hot chocolate, Harry says, “You're practically kissing me right now,” and smirks mischievously.
A pleasing shade of red tints the blond’s cheeks as he sets the mug down on the table, looking distinctly put upon. “Did you never outgrow your childish first year sense of humour?”
He eyes the beverage as if he’d really enjoy another drink, but is refusing to for the point of it. It makes Harry laugh, openly this time, and shake his head. “Just drink it, you tit.”
“I refuse. You've tainted the good nature of cup-sharing.”
“Well, I refuse to play another bloody game of chess.”
“Fair enough,” he allows, beginning to pack the pieces away. “Skating, then?”
Harry frowns, rolling the edge of his jumper between his fingers. “Skating as in...on ice?”
“Obviously on ice. We’re surely not going to be skating on the walls.”
“I’ve never skated before,” he admits, feeling a bit stupid as he does. He tries to remind himself that it’s hardly something everyone’s done, that having a frozen lake right in your backyard is not actually commonplace. Still, he gets the feeling he’ll make a complete arse of himself trying to learn and only get teased for his efforts.
“Worried that you’ll cock it up and I'll spend the entire time telling you what a plonker you are?” Draco asks, as if Harry’s telecasting his thoughts straight into the air. “We wouldn't be us if it happened any other way. Plus, when have you ever chosen not to do something because of what I might say?”
The underlying challenge in his words are what ultimately make Harry’s decision, and he defiantly nudges at Draco’s foot with his holed sock. “All right.”
They put on their boots in silence and head outside as another flurry of snowflakes begin to descend from the sky. Harry sticks out his tongue to catch them, earning an amused smile from Draco.
In the short amount of time it takes for them to reach the lake, the snow they've accumulated on themselves has begun to melt and is seeping into their shoes and the bottom of their trousers. It’s cold and uncomfortable, and Harry openly wonders if they shouldn't have put on more weather-appropriate clothes.
In answer, Draco raises an unimpressed eyebrow and casts a drying and heating spell on the both of them.
“Okay, but, how do we skate now?” he asks, then points out, unnecessarily, “We’re not wearing skates.”
“Have I bumped my head quite hard and not realized it? Are we actually just muggles and I've imagined my entire life? Honestly, Potter, think like a wizard for once, will you?”
Harry scowls at both being called by his last name and the foolishness he feels for asking and aims a kick at Draco’s shins. They've not even started yet and he’s already embarrassing himself.
Draco ignores the petulant behaviour and casts a spell that Harry’s never heard before. Faintly glowing, intangible blades shoot out from his boots and he nearly falls backwards, arms waving frantically, until a firm hand grips his arm.
“You're a clumsy oaf,” Draco mutters, but the fondness in his voice is clear even to Harry, whose chest fills with a matching feeling.
“You're the one who sprung them on me without warning,” Harry says, turning his hand to grab onto Draco’s forearm for more stability. “How do you stay so steady on yours?”
Draco smirks and guides him onto the ice, which only serves to make him wobble more. “Natural grace, a concept very foreign to you.”
He tries to focus on his feet instead of how close Draco is to him, moving backwards while he moves forwards. His right foot slips and he grabs onto Draco’s shoulder with his free hand. It’s like someone’s jinxed his legs, making him unable to keep his balance. He tries to skate again, but really he’s just awkwardly shimmying across the ice at this point. He knows he must look completely daft at the moment.
After a few minutes of leading, Draco decides to let go of him, and he promptly falls on his arse, drawing a peal of laughter from above. His cheeks heat and he mumbles obscenities under his breath.
“Come on, then, back up,” Draco says, reaching down to pull him upright again.
An hour passes much in the same fashion, and he brings Draco tumbling down with him on multiple occasions.
“This is utterly ridiculous,” he says, lying face up on the hard ice. “I'm obviously not cut out for skating.”
Draco peers down at him, eyes glittering. “Don't be so dramatic.”
Harry sputters, finally drawing himself up into a shaky stand. “Says King Draco Lucius Drama Malfoy himself.”
“Quite a mouthful,” Draco says, unimpressed. “Fell a bit flat.”
“Yeah, whatever. How long are we going to do this?”
“It’s not that bad. You just need more practice. It’s all quite amusing to me, in any case, watching you bumbling around like a newborn hippogriff.”
Harry sighs and attaches himself to Draco again, gripping his shoulders hard enough for knuckles to turn white. “Glad to be of service,” he grumbles sullenly.
“You have to feel it,” Draco says, gliding backwards and pulling Harry along. He’s a surprisingly patient teacher, even if he does often snicker and tease, and it makes Harry feel slightly better about the whole ordeal.
“All I can feel right now is bruises on my arse, thanks.”
He snorts and drops his hands to Harry’s hips. “Close your eyes. Push yourself forward one side at a time. You can't just move your feet. Try to find a rhythm.”
Harry obediently shuts his eyes and tries in vain to slow his heart. He battles the urge to simply pull Draco closer and attempts to follow the directions.
They practice for a while longer, and Harry finally manages to make it a few feet without help. He gets so excited about the accomplishment that he makes to turn to Draco before he realizes that he is still not quite that proficient with skates and ends up slipping. The grin is wiped off his face instantly and replaced with horror as he pinwheels and ultimately falls a-fucking-gain.
Draco immediately begins cackling, wrapping his arms around his middle and clutching at his sides. He laughs so hard that he ends up joining Harry on the ground when he loses his footing. It starts up a new round of laughs between them, until they're just lying on the ground in tears.
When they finally calm down, they stare up at the sky, still sprinkling snowflakes down around them, breaths making puffs of white in the air above them. The only sound to be heard is their light panting and Harry looks over to see the contentedness fade from Draco’s face as he frustratedly attempts to blow away the snowflake on his cheek. Failing that, he turns to Harry, only to stare when he finds Harry looking back, starry-eyed and amused.
Whatever words he’d seemed about to say die out and he turns away, cheeks red and hair tussled with the wind and frequent tumbles. Harry becomes acutely aware of their fingers touching between them, and his pinky twitches inadvertently.
“We should go inside,” Draco says quietly, gazing overhead. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”
Harry finds that he doesn't particularly want to move from this spot, and Draco must feel the same, because he shifts his hand over Harry’s and squeezes slightly. A wild warmth floods Harry, starting in his chest and making its way out to his limbs. He squeezes back, reveling the feeling of Draco’s hand in his.
Gathering his courage, he lifts up onto his elbow and catches Draco’s eye. The rest of the world fades out a bit as they look at each other, like it’s waiting with baited breath for one of them to move. Harry leans down and catches Draco’s lips between his own, bracing his left hand on the ice at Draco’s side. Their eyes slide shut and he deepens the kiss, heart hammering in his chest.
When they break apart, he bumps their noses, and Draco’s face slackens with surprise.
“It’s an Eskimo kiss,” he says, unable to keep the grin off his face.
“You're a sentimental sap,” Draco huffs, eyes crinkling at the corner.
Harry nods and lies back down, intertwining their fingers and smiling to himself.
They stay like that for a long time, close, calm, content.