Chapter Text
Potter had a nice arse, Draco couldn’t deny it.
In fact, Potter had a very fuckable arse in Draco’s opinion. Not that he had much experience in the matter, mind. It was just really hard not to look when Harry fucking Potter was a few feet away, bent over a thick, hard metal bar. So, there he was, grabbing his own thick, hard and cold bar, enjoying the view and the irony.
Because, as hard as he tried to understand, Draco really didn’t get why they had to do this of all things.
He had figured out a while ago that what he had been taught since he was born was a bunch of rubbish. He was even glad that Muggle studies had been a mandatory course for all of them this year. For fuck’s sake, he was even willing to admit that, perhaps, he might have some things to learn from Muggles!
When McGonagall had brought up the idea for the eighth years to do some practical work during the hols, Draco had been, well, not delighted, but at least curious.
But now, riding a butt lift (or whatever it was called), following Potter’s fucking ass, freezing his balls off, Draco couldn’t help but wonder how on earth Granger could have thought this was a good subject to study.
Come to think of it, the whole thing must be some kind of joke, because, really, why did he have to be lifted by a metal bar stuck between his legs when he could just have Apparated to the summit? And how, for Salazar’s bullocks, could the Muggles enjoy climbing and hurtling down the mountain when clearly that was a dangerous business? If they wanted to be down the mountain they could just, well, not climb it in the first place.
The lift didn’t seem to ever end and Draco’s ears were starting to get really cold. He thought for a moment about renewing his warming charm, but there was no way he would let go of his grip on the metal bar to reach for his wand, so instead he decided to focus on the hottest thing in sight. It was not Draco’s fault that the thing in question was Potter’s bum.
Everything happened very fast.
For some reason, Potter’s hips twitched and he fell forward. He tried to catch the bar, but it was already out of reach. In his manoeuvre, he had somehow managed to turn over and was now facing Draco. Before Draco could think of what to do, he was falling over Potter who didn’t have the good sense to move out of Draco’s way.
Draco, on the other hand, used his brain and quickly got back on his feet.
He pushed on his sticks and managed to slide out of the lift’s way.
“Budge over, you idiot!”
Potter seemed to get his senses back and crawled –crawled!– towards Draco. Admittedly, that was a good move, because Potter had no chance to pick himself up and ski out of Blaise’s way in time. But he managed to look no less ridiculous doing so.
Blaise laughed when he passed them. “See you later, tossers!”
Draco scowled and turned towards Potter, who was now standing on his feet. “What the hell, Potter?”
“Oh, sod off,” he grumbled, rubbing his left elbow.
“You had one fucking thing to do! Grab the sodding bar and bloody wait, for fuck’s sake!”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay, I…” Oh. A slight but noticeable shade of pink was colouring his cheeks. “I got distracted.”
“You got distracted,” Draco scowled. “Right.”
“I said I’m sorry. Could you please leave it there?” Then, to Draco’s surprise, Potter asked, “Are you hurt?”
“Well,” Draco felt a bruise forming on his side, where he had landed on Potter’s knee. There had been a time when he would have claimed to need an amputation and threatened to have Potter sent to Azkaban for molesting him. But that time was past. Plus there was no way he would show the bruise in this cold. “No, I’m alright.”
Draco removed his gloves and began to shake the snow out of them. “Though I’m probably literally freezing my nuts off right now.” The place was crowded with Muggles, there was no way he could pull out his wand and cast a warming charm without being noticed. “How aren’t you shivering to death?”
Potter was covered in snow. There was snow in his gloves. There was snow in his scarf; there was snow in the wild hair locks escaping from his absurd Gryffindor woolly hat. There was even snow on his impossibly long eyelashes –behind his glasses, mind!– and on his lips.
The whole sight was simply ridiculous.
“Well, for once, I’m properly dressed-”
Draco snorted.
“And,” Potter added fiercely, “I happen to cast a decent warming charm.”
While Potter started to tighten the links of whatever that was he had chosen instead of skis, -because Draco had checked, skis were supposed to be a two part package-, Draco began to shake the snow off his neck and ears. The latter had lost all feeling and were starting to ache painfully from the cold. He really needed a warming charm right now.
Potter bent his head and gave him a questioning look, “Why don’t you wear a beany?”
“Because, Potter, I have something called fashion sense.”
“Oh, please, Malfoy, you are skiing, nobody gives a shit about your fucking hair.”
“Speak for yourself,” Draco straightened and glared at Potter with as much disdain as he could gather. “Your hair always looks like a blast ended skrewt’s nest.”
Potter rolled his eyes. “At least I won't die of chilblain.” He sighed and, against all odds, took his horrible Gryffindor hat off. His hair was even messier than usual after the outrage. “Here, take mine.”
Draco glared at Potter’s outstretched hand and blinked. Twice. “Although I appreciate the offer,” He said slowly, “I’d rather not. Thank you anyway.”
Potter rolled his eyes again. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Potter reduced the few feet between them with a succession of little jumps. Draco had to admit he managed very well, because really, how could he move about otherwise, both Potter’s feet were attached to a single board. And then, without any warning, Potter attacked him with his beany.
Draco tried to struggle but before he could know what was happening, he was unexpectedly sitting on his bum; Potter was sprawled on his lap, both hands on Draco’s head. A warm feeling spread from his chest to his belly, and Draco was positive that it had little to do with the hot beany now resting on his head. Feeling his cheeks heat, he dismissed the thought and looked up the slope. Certainly someone would come by and cover them both in snow or simply crash into them at speed. Somehow, Draco couldn’t bring himself to care.
Now that he considered it, he had to admit that wearing Potter’s beany wasn’t exactly unpleasant.
Potter chuckled. Right, he was wearing a Gryffindor hat. Draco scowled at Potter, who let a bright laugh escape. The sound was like honey in Draco’s ears. Merlin, when did Potter stop being a scrawny little runt to become this charming-
Draco pushed the giggling idiot away and carefully rose to his feet. Like he had anticipated, the skis were not stable once on a real ski run.
“All right, but I toss it away as soon as we join the others. And if you mention this to anyone, I swear to god, I-”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll hex my balls off, whatever,” Potter winked, -winked, Merlin, what was wrong with him?- and jumped to his feet. “So,” Potter looked towards the skiing path, then the bars that were still carrying people up. “Are we supposed to catch one of them to climb what’s left of the mountain?”
“You tell me!” Draco frowned. Potter seemed genuinely confused. “Didn’t your Muggles ever take you skiing?”
Potter laughed. He must have broken at some point, because he never laughed whenever Draco brought Potter’s Muggles into the conversation.
“Right, between swimming lessons and Disneyland,” Potter said sarcastically. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’m capable of catching one of them.” He pointed a finger towards three free bars in a row that were coming soon.
Draco let go a relieved sigh. “So, we’ll just, er,” he turned his head to look at the white large path behind him. “We’ll just go down?”
“Aren’t we supposed to wait for the others to come? They won’t be long now, I reckon.”
It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t you listen to anything? Granger said there were two paths from the summit, and they agreed to follow the other one, because there is a café at the end.”
Draco didn’t wait for Potter's response and began to carefully turn away with the aid of his two sticks. He froze as he saw a bunch of kids hurtling down the slope at full speed. They were too numerous for a too tiny space, and they were skiing in a messy way, none of them following the same path, and oh god, there was going to be a crash.
There.
The children crashed.
One of them collided with another and both of them lost their skis and they rolled, all tangled limbs, for at least one hundred metres.
“Ouch,” Potter rasped behind him, “That looks painful.”
“Yeah, let’s just,” Draco bit his bottom lip as he watched the two boys go back to their feet and begin to climb back the slope. “Let’s not do that, alright?”
“Right.”
Draco turned his head to look at Potter’s equipment. He didn’t have the sticks Draco had. “Have you lost your sticks?”
Potter shook his head. “There aren’t any poles with the snowboard.” He pointed to his feet.
Draco quirked an eyebrow. “So why on earth have you chosen this?” The sticks seemed very safe, in Draco’s opinion. They were there to prevent the falling, after all.
Potter shrugged. “That looked steadier.”
The hell, that looked steadier, yeah. Draco was sure Potter had chosen the feet-tying-board-with-no-sticks to appear courageous or whatever. Fucking Gryffindors.
“Whenever you want,” Potter prompted, “I’ll try to follow you.”
“Okay, just give me a minute.” There were a lot of people. Was Draco supposed to go and integrate among them? “Or five.” Or until the park is closed and there is no one left on the piste.
“You can do this, Draco.”
Draco? Where did that came from?
He jerked his head back and saw Potter’s cheeks covered in an endearing shade of red. Wait. Endearing? Draco shook his head and forced himself to look away.
He and Potter were definitely not on first name basis. They weren’t enemies anymore, sure, but they weren’t friends either. They were at most acquaintances. Acquaintances that sometimes shared cordial conversations at night in the common room. Acquaintances that sometimes crossed paths, wearing only towels on their hips, in the bathrooms. Just, you know. Acquaintances. Nothing more.
Draco wasn’t sure how to take Potter’s slip. If it wasn’t for the goose bumps he felt forming on his forearms, he would have said he didn’t like it. But, hell, it was his given name. The name his mother had chosen for him. It was perfectly understandable to be sentimental over it, right?
The whole thing at least had the benefit of distracting Draco from his anxiety, and when he recovered from his surprise, the ski run was as free as he could hope.
He took a deep breath.
He pushed on his sticks and… entered the piste. He had to confess to himself that it wasn’t that bad. The skis were sliding gently on the snow. The only problem was that he had almost arrived to the other side of the piste and, holy shit, did he have to turn, now? He chose to stop instead and remember the position Granger had showed him. He parted his legs and began to slow down. In fact, he had slowed enough to actually st-
“What the fuck, Potter?” Draco shouted.
Potter’s board had slotted between Draco’s legs and Potter had slammed into Draco. Somehow, Draco had managed to keep his balance, therefore they were both on their feet, except that Potter was now leaning against Draco’s back and bracing his waist. Bracing his waist!
Draco detangled from Potter’s grip and shouted. “What on earth happened in your head that led you to think that was-”
“Oh, fuck off, Malfoy,” Potter jumped a few feet back. “I didn’t do it on purpose and you know it.” Draco wasn’t sure of that, but so be it. “I said I’d follow you. Why did you stop?”
Draco gazed at Potter in disbelief, “Duh,” he waved towards the firs a few metres before them. “I wasn’t going to run into the trees, was I?”
Potter rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you turn?"
Draco pictured a Hungarian Horntail burning Potter on the spot. That helped.
Potter bit his lips. "Maybe you should try the snowplough again," He slid closer to Draco. "Since you've been brilliant with that on the baby run."
What?
"Or maybe..." Draco could feel Potter’s breath on his cheek. "I'm not sure exactly how it works since Hermione couldn't show us before, but she wanted to teach us something called godille. I'm quite sure it's a way to negotiate the bends."
Potter's lips were chapped and pink, and oh god, did he really need to come that close?
"Look." He pointed towards a group of skiers.
They were drawing large bends on the snow. Maybe the godille was this classy, easy-looking way of turning. Draco watched them for a moment and took their technique in. They weren’t going too fast; that looked safe enough. He could have a try. He had to, anyhow, or else he would do something absolutely unfortunate.
Draco pushed on his sticks to detangle his skis from Potter's board. “Whatever, prat.” He bent forward.
He tried to follow the group of skiers. The first bend was laboured, and Draco nearly fell a couple of times, but he kept his eyes on the skiers ahead of him and soon found the technique. Tilt right to turn right, tilt left to turn left. Easy enough. He was sure he wasn’t half as graceful as the kids in red suits he was following, but yes, that seemed to work.
After a few turns, Draco felt comfortable enough to enjoy the wind on his cheeks. Once or twice, he almost lost his balance, but managed anyway.
He was cold on his teeth because he couldn’t help but grin and he felt good. He felt free.
All too soon, Draco’s speed slowed down with the slope.
A couple of seconds after he had stopped, Potter arrived, grinning. “That was cool, wasn’t it?”
Potter’s hair was slicked back by the wind, his glasses crooked and his nose and cheeks were red. Draco felt his own cheeks burning so he looked away. “What do we do now?”
“We could climb back and join the others. I’m sure they are waiting for us at the top.”
Draco was sceptical about the last part but agreed anyway and they started to line up again. There were more people waiting than the first time, and quickly, Draco felt much warmer than earlier. In fact, the sun was beginning to shine and he was a little hot under the hat. But, hey, you never know with the sun, better keep the hat, just in case.
“It’s kinda like flying, don’t you think?” Facing Draco’s interrogative look, Potter added “The descent.”
“Yes, I,” Potter had put a word to Draco’s feeling. “I felt exactly like the first time I flew a broom, actually.”
Wait. Since when did Draco talk to Potter about his childhood memories? Since when did he talk about feelings? Geez, that must be the skiing thing. These Muggles were insidious, weren’t they?
Seeing the huge grin on Potter’s lips, and the sparkles in his eyes, Draco thought that maybe, maybe, Muggles were on to something.
He looked away and forced himself to think straight.
“Out of curiosity,” Draco smirked, “how was the godille with this devil board?”
Potter laughed. Draco noticed that he did a lot of that today. Maybe it was the mountain. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t-“
“Nope,” Potter giggled, “I waited until you were far enough and I just,” he made a hissing sound along with a hand gesture “went tout schuss.” Potter looked satisfied to have remembered what Hermione called a straight run down. Draco didn’t point out that he’d mispronounced it.
This uninhibited Potter was a whole picture, and Draco couldn’t help but laugh.
Quickly, they reached the end of the line.
“Back off, Potter, if you fall this time, you fall alone.”
Potter shrugged and let him grab the first bar. Button lift Potter had corrected him.
Not scared out of his mind and not having Potter’s arse to look at this time, Draco enjoyed the landscape. He was glad to have kept the hat because the more he ascended the slope, the more he felt the chilling wind on his cheeks. He wondered if Potter’s head was as cold as his had been, but quickly dismissed the thought. He was not going to think about Potter’s wellbeing when he was holding a hard bar between his legs. However, he was glad he had chosen to wear his Muggle jeans today, because he knew how it made his arse look. You know, just in case Potter was checking.
Once he arrived at the end of the lift, Draco remembered Granger's instructions from earlier. He did his best to reproduce the way the people before him had let go of the bar and proudly managed to clear the path without falling. He skied a dozen metres away and waited for Potter who threw himself on the ground, kicking up a huge amount of snow onto Draco.
“Hey, that was rude!”
In place of an apology, Potter giggled. “So, where are they?”
The answer was easy enough for Draco. They were nowhere to be seen. “Maybe we should ask someone?” He extended a hand to help Potter to his feet. “Stay here, you’re a public danger.”
Draco tried his best to look at ease while skating on the snow. He headed towards a staff member who was bent over some sort of cable. He cleared his throat and the man looked up.
“Good morning Monsieur,” god, did he just call this Muggle ‘Monsieur’? The poor thing wasn’t older than Draco.
“‘ello,” the bloke gave him a wicked smile and started to devour Draco with his eyes. Of course, Draco was absolutely outraged-oh, who was he kidding, that was really pleasant. The guy was, after all, quite handsome. If you liked tall blokes in ski suits with messy dark hair, that was.
Draco smirked and leaned closer. “I’m looking for my friends. They were here, let’s say,” Draco paused to calculate. “Forty minutes ago.” The bloke was drinking his words. “There were fifteen or so.” It was very nice to have this attractive man hanging on his words like this. “They must have waited some time for my mate and I.” Draco waved towards Potter.
Damn, did Draco really have to call Potter his ‘mate’?
“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen zem.” The guy had the loveliest French accent Draco had ever heard. His face broke into a very lovely grin. For a Muggle, that’s to say. “Zey’ve waited for about ten minutes and zey left that way.” He pointed towards the piste Draco knew they’d planned to take. “I ‘eard zem saying you’d catch zem at some point. Zey also mentioned a patroness or somefing.”
“Good,” Draco gave him a sly grin. “Well, thank you, Monsieur.”
He turned to leave but was stopped by a firm grip on his wrist. “Wait, I…” a cute blush spread on the guy’s cheeks. “Would you give me your number?”
Draco had honestly no idea what the guy was talking about. Did he have to show him the badge Granger had given him this morning? “I don’t-“
The guy stopped him. “Never mind. I’m sure I’ll see you around anyway,” he winked, “I work at Au coin du feu tonight.”
Draco nodded in acknowledgment even though he had no idea what the guy was talking about.
“I’m Charles, by ze way.” Another wink.
Draco pushed on his sticks and started to slide. “Draco,” he said with a smirk. Who would have thought that Muggles could be that charming?
Still grinning, he joined Potter who was still in the exact same place, but was now wearing a puzzled look on his face.
“Well?”
Draco composed himself and repeated what Charles had told him.
The piste was a blue one. It would be as easy as the first one, so Draco felt confident. He led the way.
Surprisingly enough, the skis weren’t heavy under his feet. When he was at rest, they were a dead weight, more annoying than anything, but when he was skiing, they felt like a part of him. They felt necessary to steady him, just like his Meteorit felt when flying.
That’s why Draco felt positively betrayed when his left ski got out of control, slipped on his right ski and he fell right on his bum.
“All right, there?”
Draco looked up. Potter was also sitting on the snow, but his position seemed much more intentional. Did the guy even know how to stop without throwing himself on the ground?
“Yeah, yeah,” Draco grumbled. “Just a patch of ice. Why don’t you go first this time, and I will be the one to have fun when you fall?”
“Hmpf.” Draco wasn’t sure because Potter was quite far, but he thought he saw a faint blush on his cheeks. “I’d rather not. You know, just in case.”
Draco scowled. Bloody Gryffindors.
He picked himself up with the help of his sticks and went back to skiing.
Now that he was aware, he was able to distinguish the patches of ice on the snow. Avoiding them was another matter entirely, but he managed.
After what seemed like an hour but could have been just a few minutes, he checked if Potter was still behind him. Reassured, he didn’t stop.
Descending the slope was exhilarating and Draco couldn’t help but laugh as he hurtled down the slope.
Skiing really was like flying. He felt the same sensation of freedom, the same urge to go faster and faster. Even the turning mechanisms were the same. Everything was about balance, really.
They were halfway down the run and Draco was a little smug for having avoided a particularly difficult patch of ice when he was painfully crashed into by Potter. He hadn’t seen that coming and therefore wasn’t prepared for the heavy weight of Potter’s body dragging him down the slope. Both his skis left his boots and he fell forward on his knees. He tried to stop the sliding with his hand but Potter squashed his wrist with some errant limb.
So he did the only thing he could think of: he drove his stick hard into the snow.
That worked.
That worked so well that they were stopped short. Draco’s head, which obviously hadn’t been informed that the stop would be that sudden, collided violently with the handle of his stick.
He collapsed.
“Merlin, Draco.”
Was he currently resting between Potter’s legs?
“Draco, wake up.”
Was Potter whining? And since when was he calling him Draco this casually?
“Oh god, Draco, don’t be dead, please.”
He must have a concussion, otherwise why would he be imagining Potter’s warm hand on his cheek?
Or maybe it was Potter who must have a concussion, because Merlin, why was he molesting Draco? His whole face was hurting.
Draco winced, and wincing was painful, so instead he groaned.
“Thank Merlin, you’re not dead,” Potter cried.
For a painfully long second, Draco thought Potter was about to kiss him, but really, it must be the blow because why would Potter be kissing him?
“I’m so sorry, Draco, I…” Potter stopped and pulled a face. He also must have noticed how weird the name sounded in his mouth. He shook his head. “I skidded on the-“
“Patch of ice, right,” Draco tried to quirk an eyebrow but even that was sore. “I saw it, and believe it or not, I succeeded in avoiding it.”
Draco straightened on his elbow. His head was spinning and he felt a strange hotness on his face. He reached for his nose and “HOLY FUCK!”
Potter cringed. “Do you want me to look?”
Draco closed his eyes and nodded. Cold fingers raised his chin and he gritted his teeth in anticipation, but no touching came.
“Yeah, I think it’s broken.”
“Fantastic.” Draco scowled and Potter bit his bottom lip. Draco had never noticed, but Potter had oddly pointy canines.
“Look, there’s no one around to see, do you want me to try and fix it?” Potter gesticulated and rudely jostled Draco. Draco took a moment to get the measure of their situation. There were out of the piste, more or less buried in the snow. Merlin, Draco was glad his Impervius Charm was stronger than his Warming one because otherwise his arse would be properly frozen right now. Potter was sitting on the ground and Draco was, well, spread over Potter’s legs. Potter who was holding him tight. Potter who was now pointing his wand at him.
Draco considered the idea. He was brilliant at healing charms of course, but there was absolutely no chance he could fix his nose without a mirror. “Alright.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a spell to mend broken bones-“
“-I know,” Potter cut. “Brackium Emendo,” he said with a grin.
Draco startled and shook his head in panic. The spell was meant to make bones disappear. And he certainly, definitely didn’t want for his nose to disappear. He had known a noseless guy once and that wasn’t a look he wanted on his face.
He tried to mumble that no, that wasn’t the spell he was looking for, but was stopped by the glimpse of playfulness in Potter’s eyes.
He blinked.
Draco mentally cursed himself. What a fool, of course Potter would try to mock him in a such situation. Relieved, he started to laugh but the vibration went directly to his sinus. He pulled a face.
Potter gave him a crooked smile and Draco’s heart skipped a beat. He really must have lost a lot of blood.
“Okay…” Potter gently touched Draco’s cheek as if he was estimating the damage.
“Just do it, Potter.”
The plonker bit his lower lip as he focused. “Episkey!”
Draco felt a painful jolt spreading from his nose, but before he could yelp, everything was over. He let his head fall onto Potter’s lap. Warily, he reached for his nose and felt, well, his nose. And a lot of sticky warm fluid.
Following his gaze, Potter cast a Scourgify on both of them.
“Well,” Draco raised an eyebrow, “how do I look?”
“As handsome as ever.” Potter grinned.
Handsome? Draco smirked and Potter’s face reddened.
“Alright,” Draco awkwardly got to his feet. He looked around and saw his skis a good three hundred feet up. “Fuck.”
Potter followed his gaze. “Do you want me to fetch them?”
Amazed, Draco quirked both eyebrows. “I’m enchanted you’ve proposed, Potter,” He reached for his wand in his ski boots and gave Potter a sly grin. “But I think I can handle it.”
He accioed both his skis, and put them on with Potter’s help.
Draco grinned. “Although I quite enjoyed the cuddle, Potter,” as planned, Potter blushed even harder, “try to watch out this time, okay?” He blinked. Merlin, he loved making Potter feel uncomfortable.
Every muscle of his body was sore, but he managed to go down the slope without harm. The whole time, he thought about Potter’s arms around him.
Merlin, he was doomed.
Once at the foot of the piste, Potter hurtled past Draco and only threw himself down in front of a terrace. Draco was right, the guy didn’t know how to stop!
Slowly, Draco joined him and recognised his fellow eighth years, comfortably settled at the terrace.
“Hey you,” Granger trumpeted, “We were beginning to worry!”
She took a look at Potter and turned to Draco with a glint in her eye. Draco followed her gaze and, Holy Hell, the beany!
Hopefully she was the only one who had seen it, he thought as he removed it. He grumbled and skated towards Potter, then handed him the hat back.
“Oh, thanks,” Potter looked up at him and tried to suppress a laugh. “Actually, you may wanna keep it.”
Draco raised a hand. Merlin, Potter was right. His hair was wrecked. There was no way he could fix it without a mirror. And he would rather be eaten alive by Muggles than be seen with his hair in that state. Between two Bludgers, his choice was made.
“Right,” he scowled, “Just so you know, you’re gonna pay for this.”