The snow fell gently outside the towering windows of Hogwarts, painting the grounds in a pristine white blanket. Draco sighed, adjusting the scarf around his neck as he muttered the Gryffindor password to the singing portrait. He had no desire to spend the holidays here, but with Lucius away on some Ministry business and Morgana accompanying him, home wasn’t much of an option. His so-called friends had all left to celebrate with their families, leaving Draco feeling strangely... untethered. It was Harry’s casual invitation that had kept him here: a few words tossed his way after Potions class about how "staying back wasn’t so bad."

As the portrait swung open, the sight inside was warm and inviting. A few Gryffindors who had stayed behind for the holiday break were lounging around. Hermione and Ron were by the fire, her nose buried in a book while Ron’s arm rested casually around her shoulders. And then there was Harry. His emerald eyes lit up the moment they landed on Draco, his grin wide and utterly disarming. Draco’s lips twitched at the corners—he couldn’t help it. Harry bounded over, his sweater slightly askew, and before Draco could even say hello, he was being pulled upstairs to the boy's dormitory.

By the time Draco found himself perched on Harry’s lap, the curtains drawn around the four-poster bed and soft light casting shadows across Harry's face, he realized something was off. His boyfriend was drunk. Not just tipsy-drunk, but full-on affectionate and annoyingly cheeky drunk. “P-Potter...” Draco stammered, trying to wriggle out of Harry’s grip as warm fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt. A nip at his neck had him freezing, followed by a husky murmur. “Harry. I told you to call me Harry, didn’t I?” The sound of Harry’s voice sent shivers down Draco’s spine. He opened his mouth to protest, but a kiss to his ear silenced him. “Endure it, Draco,” Harry whispered, his teasing tone making Draco’s cheeks flame.