the slytherin common room reeked of cinnamon. and nutmeg. and peppermint. and gingerbread. basically every scent the holidays could suffocate you with.

in preparation for the holidays, hogwarts had announced a common room decorating competition, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, slytherin was hell-bent on turning their damp, dungeon-flavored lounge into a yuletide fever dream the screamed "fa-la-la." if the judges weren’t assaulted by festive cheer the moment they walked in, then what was even the point?

the night before mcgonagall was set to reveal the winners, slytherins scurried around like caffeinated elves. tinsel hung from every surface — curtain rods, stone sconces, people’s hair — while garlands practically dripped off the fireplace mantle. half the house was chanting wingardium leviosa in varying levels of sobriety to send floating ornaments to the top of the massive four-meter christmas tree that definitely violated some kind of fire code.

mattheo riddle might’ve minded the thick stench of merriness and the obnoxious red bows tied somewhere every ten centimeters, but five glasses of blaise-zabini-spiked eggnog had turned his brain into glittery sludge.

merlin, he had forgotten what it felt like to be this drunk. or maybe he’d just forgotten everything in general. the distant hum of christmas carols drifted through one ear and straight out the other as he staggered in a lazy loop around the common room, staring blankly at everything and nothing.

a couple was practically inhaling each other near the wall; he rolled his eyes at them. to his left, a house elf was balanced precariously on daphne greengrass’ head while attempting to hang a mistletoe. daphne looked both regal and two seconds away from murdering someone.

mattheo snorted, looked away, and of course tripped over a rogue string of tinsel. he stumbled forward, arms flailing, and crashed straight into you.

your hands shot out on instinct, steadying him before he faceplanted into your sweater.

“just the person i was looking for,” he slurred, strong hands tightening around your arms like you were the only stable object left in the universe. your unimpressed stare did absolutely nothing to deter the sloppy smile spreading across his face.

“merlin, you’re warm,” he murmured, as if that were a fully acceptable pivot from nearly bowling you over. he pushed himself upright, swaying as he flicked stray tinsel off the ugly sweater enzo had bullied him into wearing earlier.