Late, late Christmas Story...
Title: Re-Education
Author: freefall2108
Rating: G
Warnings: Fluff.
Summary: “Well, Malfoy. That just won’t do. Clear out Christmas Day, doll. You’re in for a day of good, old fashioned Christmas fun."
Word Count: 3,064 [according to Word]
Authors' Note: Thanks to my betas sam.reynard and amibivalentx, and to yourebrilliant for the excellent prompt!
“And to the happy couple!”
Granger lifted her glass, signalling the close of her speech and the start of a round of festivities that would last well into the night and then some. The room echoes her movement, lifting their glasses, saluting the newlywed couple. It is enough to make him roll to the ground and feign dragon pox, just to get the fuck out of there. He’d been to enough of these extravaganzas that month to last him the rest of his natural life.
After the war, people had started getting hitched at a breakneck speed. And Draco Malfoy, now heralded as a ‘hero’ alongside Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley and Ron Weasley had been invited to a large majority of them. It was enough to make him sick.
He didn’t know how Granger did it. Nowadays, everyone was her best mate. And she was everyone’s bridesmaid. A total of 39 times, he’d counted, that she’d been up there, giving a toast to people she barely knew, just because it was their day and she was too goddamn nice to say no. Poor girl, really.
He was grateful he was best man only for Potter’s. A repeat of the experience might just do what Voldemort couldn’t.
The applause died down, and people started to mingle with each other, swapping gossip and trying to maintain a sort of control before they all got smashed and started to flash their underwear to the other guests.
He turned back to his champagne, picking up the glass and making his way past the guests to a corner, where he could, with any luck, disappear until it was polite to leave. Which was, checking his watch (the one Hermione had gotten him as a joke, with a black mouse looking creature on it), still three hours, ten minutes and roughly 14 seconds away.
Seemed like an age.
Unfortunately, his hopes for invisibility were dashed as a shadow lingered above him, placing their own glass of champagne next to him. A woman, he thought. She had a familiar smelling perfume, too.
“So, Malfoy, still trying to escape the unwed ladies and their mothers? Poor ickle Draco.”
She dragged out the ‘a’ in his name, making him turn and pin her down with a glare.
“And you aren’t escaping the requests for everlasting love, Granger?”
She snorted, sipping her champagne. “We both know the answer to that one Malfoy. Neither of us are Ron.”
The insult to her best friend was dismissed easily. These days, Ron slept with anything wearing a skirt, citing; “I want to find true love, Hermione,” as his reason. The front page articles ranting about Ron’s status as the Wizarding World’s Casanova got old very quickly.
The war had changed everyone, good and bad.
They sat in silence, contemplating different, mundane things. Draco thought of the several pairs of shoes that were bought back in May last year that needed to be fixed, making a note to himself to get them to the shop tomorrow.
Hermione thought of the party she was hosting tomorrow, a cosy Christmas get-together at her place for friends, just before Christmas Day.
They spent the next three hours in near silence, asking little questions about the weather, the mutual friends, the state of the Ministry and, when the clock struck eleven fifteen, both adults jumped out of their seats and escaped the ballroom before anyone could stop them and ask another insipid question.
---
They were at Hermione’s December dinner party (she had one every month because that was the only time everyone was free). The living room had been magically expanded and the décor had changed from its usual crème and gold to a more festive red and green. The chairs had been pushed aside shortly after dinner, and the table magically collapsed. They made a small dance floor, because expanding spells can only go so far, and they danced until the clock stuck midnight and the gifts started to fly to homes via owls.
Hermione said goodbye to each guest, handing them their cloaks and wishing them a Happy Christmas. She kissed her friends on the cheek and hugged them, assuring them she’d be there for the Christmas Ball at Malfoy Manor the following night.
The night had been a success. Her face hurt from the smiles, her feet hurt from the killer heels and her body groaned at the washing up that still had to be done. She berated herself for not making Malfoy stay behind (because he’s the only one who’s still single in the midst of all the wedding frenzy) and help her with the dishes.
She banged her head on the wall when she remembered her earlier promise.
There was still another ball tomorrow night.
Groaning, she made a start on the dirty dishes.
---
The ball was boring to say the least. She came fifteen minutes late (because fashionably late was something she’d just gotten round to showing off), decked out in robes that cost twice as much as anybody else’s (she bought them on a whim, and only blinked at the cost because she had to have it).
Her robes were a deep emerald in colour, the trim a faint white. It showed her curves, subtly of course, and highlighted the green flecks in her eyes. Hermione figured that pretending to be an almost Slytherin for the night was worth the feel of being a woman, wanted and desired by more than half the men in the room.
Although, now that she had been twice around the room with almost every wizard there, Hermione was wishing she’d gone with that violet dress at the back of her wardrobe.
Too late now, she thought as she let another wizard (whose name she had forgotten almost soon as he gave it) whisk her out to the dance floor.
Sighing, she let herself be spun around; making sure her feet didn’t get stepped on too often.
The things one did for beauty.
---
She thought it showed as she danced with him. They were both single, both in on and off and on again relationships with people who didn’t count towards anything worth counting for. All in all, their love lives (Draco and Hermione’s), hell, their whole lives, were in shambles.
“So? What are you doing for Christmas? Anything special? Traditional?” She didn’t know why she’s asked him this, but she couldn’t take it back.
He looked down at her, his eyes moving from their place on the walls. “No.”
She looked up at him, quirking her right eyebrow.
“No to what? Christmas, special events on the day, or traditions?”
She didn’t expect him to answer, but he did. “All of the above, Granger,” he said. “We never had any intimate celebrations, unless you count the Christmas Dinner and gifts opened in silence.”
She tried to look as if she wasn’t shocked.
A childhood without Christmas traditions. God, now she knew how horrible Lucius Malfoy’s home really was.
“Well, Malfoy. That just won’t do. Clear out Christmas Day, doll,” she said as the waltz stopped and she curtsied (he bowed).
“You’re in for a day of good, old fashioned Christmas fun.”
---
“Can you at least have the courtesy to give me a clue as to where you are dragging me?”
Hermione spun around, twisting Draco’s arm painfully in the progress.
“Can you stop whining for a moment, Malfoy? We’re nearly there, and it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, would it?”
She turned back around, her steps paced unevenly.
Behind her, she heard Draco mutter something about ‘abuse on Christmas’ and could easily imagine him rubbing his poor, mangled wrist.
Sighing, Hermione arrived at her old ice skating rink, Draco Malfoy in tow, ready to correct a dismal twenty-three years of ill-informed education on the topic of Christmas.
“Know how to skate, Malfoy?”
---
Draco unlaced his skates, wriggling his toes a bit to see if there was any more feeling in them. Nope. None.
Granger was a slave driver.
Hurry Draco!
Faster, Draco!
Catch me, Draco!
Why are you so slow, Draco?
I thought you said you knew how to skate, Draco!
Come on, Draco!
Bloody annoying nuisance. The world would be much better off with her locked up somewhere far, far away from the rest of the human population. God knows what else she would do to him today.
He shuddered at the thought, vowing to himself not to partake in anymore of her hair brained scheme to ‘convert’ him to a man ‘who can proudly say he’s experienced Christmas at its best’. He had perfectly fine Christmases in his childhood, thank you very much.
But he let her drag him out of the rink (in pretty much the same fashion she had employed when she dragged him in) and onto the next stop in his Re-Education.
The Snowball Fortress.
---
“Come on, Malfoy. Surely you know how to throw a snowball!” She made it sound as if not knowing how to throw a snowball was a crime.
“No, Granger. I do not know how to throw a ball of snow, dirt and germs. Kindly let me go.”
He tugged at his captive arm; those piles of ‘snowballs’ looked dangerous all of a sudden.
“Aww, come on, Malfoy. One snowball won’t hurt. And I’ll teach you how to throw one. You’ll be a pro in no time.”
She smiled at him, her smile contagious and he found himself smiling back. Quickly, as to not be caught smiling, he replaced it with a sneer.
“And, how exactly are you going to teach me how to throw these ‘snowba-“
He felt the impact before he heard it. A cold, wet thing seeped through his coat - his designer, tailored, one of a kind coat.
He breathed in, out, in, out, like etiquette tutors had taught him. It wouldn’t look good if he left Hermione Granger in snow surrounded by her own blood. It also wouldn’t be good if he let his vengeful side take over. But she did ruin his coat.
His reluctance to hit her with a ball of wet, slimy, dirty snow lasted all of two seconds.
Draco snatched a snowball from the pile, caught sight of his target and fired.
He was rewarded with her scream.
---
“See? You enjoyed it didn’t you Malfoy?”
He averted his eyes, willing her to walk like a normal person, instead of getting herself in front of him like a two year old fresh from their first flight.
“Come on, Malfoy. There’s no shame in admitting you enjoyed Christmas activities. Not that it matters with you. Hell, I’m sure you’d be comforted later tonight if you didn’t like it.”
Hermione almost sounded as if she were jealous.
He didn’t have enough time to figure out what she was jealous of; they were standing outside the Grangers’ door, Hermione poised to knock.
It was time for Christmas Lunch.
---
“Here, Draco dear. Have one more serving of turkey. You’re much too skinny to do any good, aren’t you now.”
Dr. Granger (Jane, she told you to call her Jane) heaped another serving of her Christmas turkey onto his plate before he could protest, pinching his cheeks for good measure on her way back to the kitchen.
Sighing, Draco looked at his plate.
He was sorely tempted to kick whoever introduced the idea of turkeys at Christmas lunches, bloody idiot.
He’d been fed more thoroughly in the last one and a half hours than any other time in his life. Hermione’s parents had an annual Christmas dinner and (according to Hermione) the house was usually full for it. Hermione had also said that her parents had made an exception this year, opting to shoo their annual guests away in order to help their darling baby girl re-educate a friend on Christmas.
Draco looked at his plate forlornly. There wasn’t much he could do. After all, Hermione had confiscated his wand, her only reason being; “I don’t want you to Evanesco away food.”
When they had been standing outside in the snow, the excuse had been flimsy at best. But now, inside the house, warm from the fire, he had to admit Granger had a mean streak in her.
Draco picked up his knife and fork and started to eat.
---
The Drs. Granger (being busy, professional dentists) had yet to decorate their house. They had been planning to do so before Draco and Hermione had arrived but the activity had to be postponed because of Dr. Granger’s disorganisation.
Then, shortly after lunch when the four of them had been sitting in the lounge room, the Christmas decoration boxes around them, Dr. Granger’s pager buzzed.
A little boy had been unable to eat his Christmas lunch because of a severe ache in his gums.
Draco was sorely tempted to tell the kid that he was one lucky, lucky boy if got to miss Christmas lunch.
Hermione’s parents immediately rushed off, apologizing for the horrible afternoon, asking them to decorate the house in their stead.
Both Hermione and Draco agreed.
For two of the most talented students to graduate from Hogwarts, they sure were stupid.
---
Draco had taken his wand from Hermione as soon as her parents had left, claiming it was much too hard decorating a tree without one. He also pretended to be in awe of ‘those brilliant Muggles’ who could decorate a tree without magic.
Hermione called him a lay arse before throwing the stick of wood in question across the room.
Hermione emptied the boxes, deliberately tipping most of the contents on Draco’s foot.
Ha. Let’s see how he liked being aggravated.
The mass of baubles, tinsel, reindeer, plastic candy canes and fairy lights tumbled out, coating the living room floor with Christmassy colours.
“Now look what you’ve done Malfoy.”
“Me? What about you, Granger?”
Pointing to the mess on the floor, she said, “You were supposed to catch the stuff. Not let it roll all over the floor.”
Grumbling, he flicked his wand, emptying the contents of the box on Hermione’s head.
And they were the ones who helped saved us from Lord Moldypants. Pfft.
---
They had finally gotten the tree in place, wrapping it in so much tinsel that the green of its branches could hardly be seen and the glittery decorations that adorned the tree seemed to make it droop more than necessary.
“I told you it was too much.”
Hermione looked at Draco, her voice clearly blaming him for the state of her beloved Christmas tree.
“Fine. You do it then.”
Draco pouted before flopping down on the Grangers’ couch, Malfoy Code of Conduct forgotten.
Nobody could possibly decorate that tree better than he did.
---
Hermione sits back, looking at her masterpiece.
The tinsel didn’t crowd the branches and the decorations didn’t drag the tree down until its branches touched the floor. Draco even got off his place on the couch to help her, telling her that she couldn’t possibly do anything without him.
She knew that secretly, deep down inside that shrivelled none-existent heart of his, Draco Malfoy couldn’t do anything without her. Hopeless, harmless boy.
---
“No.”
“Why not? Didn’t you say; “More, Draco!” “Stop being such a Grinch, Draco and get more Christmas Spirit!”?’
He looks at her, clutching a sprig of mistletoe fresh from a hedge somewhere in the Malfoy Gardens.
“No.”
“But mistletoe is vital to Christmas! You need it.”
“No you do not. Stop whining, Malfoy. My parents don’t expect you and I to still be here when they get back at seven, so we haven’t got time anyway.”
She pulled a face, looking at the mistletoe warily. Nothing good happens under the mistletoe.
Her first kiss had been under a sprig of mistletoe at one of the Christmas Lunches her parents hosted. She had been seven and he had been her jerk of a next door neighbour.
It had honestly felt as if a dog was slobbering on her.
To be fair, it was probably the poor boy’s first kiss too, but she was still wary of the little sprigs of hell.
She grabbed Draco’s hand, dragging him out of her parents’ place, locking the door behind them and hid the key under the mat.
Hopefully, with any luck, he’d shut up about the mistletoe.
---
He trailed behind, a sprig of mistletoe nestled snugly in his pocket.
He had never been one to listen to orders like a good boy.
Besides, all of a sudden, Grangers’ lips looked perfect for kissing.
---
They arrived at the Royal Albert Hall, just before the service started, looking for a space in the back pews.
“Do we have to, Granger?” he whined, grabbing at the mistletoe in his pocket, fingering it nervously. He didn’t think she’d be very susceptible to a sneak ‘attack’. More than likely he’d be the one attacked.
“Yes. Just listen, Malfoy. They’re very good.” She turned so her head rested on her palm, her eyes glazing over as the carols started to wash over them.
Together, they sat, Draco fingering the mistletoe, half listening to the music, Hermione’s eyes half shut.
---
They walked back to her place in silence, the shouts of eager children and laughter from houses accompanying them back to her apartment.
“Did you enjoy today, Draco? Like how the normal people celebrate Christmas?”
She heard him grunt an answer that agreed most pleasantly with her.
They climbed the stairs, their footsteps damp from the snow outside.
When they reached her door, she assured him that she’d see him tomorrow to give him his Christmas present, pressing her hand on her door, ready to close it shut.
“Just one more thing, Granger.”
She opened the door a little more, enough for his foot to slide in easily and he hung the mistletoe up above them.
He cradles her cheek, drawing her closer to him before kissing her. Her eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself to the ministrations of his lips. Merlin, the boy should come with a warning sign.
He breaks the kiss, gently taking down the mistletoe and pressing it to her.
“Happy Christmas.”
Smiling, he walked away, leaving a mystified (and slightly annoyed) Hermione standing with her door half open, a sprig of mistletoe cradled to her chest.
Author: freefall2108
Rating: G
Warnings: Fluff.
Summary: “Well, Malfoy. That just won’t do. Clear out Christmas Day, doll. You’re in for a day of good, old fashioned Christmas fun."
Word Count: 3,064 [according to Word]
Authors' Note: Thanks to my betas sam.reynard and amibivalentx, and to yourebrilliant for the excellent prompt!
“And to the happy couple!”
Granger lifted her glass, signalling the close of her speech and the start of a round of festivities that would last well into the night and then some. The room echoes her movement, lifting their glasses, saluting the newlywed couple. It is enough to make him roll to the ground and feign dragon pox, just to get the fuck out of there. He’d been to enough of these extravaganzas that month to last him the rest of his natural life.
After the war, people had started getting hitched at a breakneck speed. And Draco Malfoy, now heralded as a ‘hero’ alongside Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley and Ron Weasley had been invited to a large majority of them. It was enough to make him sick.
He didn’t know how Granger did it. Nowadays, everyone was her best mate. And she was everyone’s bridesmaid. A total of 39 times, he’d counted, that she’d been up there, giving a toast to people she barely knew, just because it was their day and she was too goddamn nice to say no. Poor girl, really.
He was grateful he was best man only for Potter’s. A repeat of the experience might just do what Voldemort couldn’t.
The applause died down, and people started to mingle with each other, swapping gossip and trying to maintain a sort of control before they all got smashed and started to flash their underwear to the other guests.
He turned back to his champagne, picking up the glass and making his way past the guests to a corner, where he could, with any luck, disappear until it was polite to leave. Which was, checking his watch (the one Hermione had gotten him as a joke, with a black mouse looking creature on it), still three hours, ten minutes and roughly 14 seconds away.
Seemed like an age.
Unfortunately, his hopes for invisibility were dashed as a shadow lingered above him, placing their own glass of champagne next to him. A woman, he thought. She had a familiar smelling perfume, too.
“So, Malfoy, still trying to escape the unwed ladies and their mothers? Poor ickle Draco.”
She dragged out the ‘a’ in his name, making him turn and pin her down with a glare.
“And you aren’t escaping the requests for everlasting love, Granger?”
She snorted, sipping her champagne. “We both know the answer to that one Malfoy. Neither of us are Ron.”
The insult to her best friend was dismissed easily. These days, Ron slept with anything wearing a skirt, citing; “I want to find true love, Hermione,” as his reason. The front page articles ranting about Ron’s status as the Wizarding World’s Casanova got old very quickly.
The war had changed everyone, good and bad.
They sat in silence, contemplating different, mundane things. Draco thought of the several pairs of shoes that were bought back in May last year that needed to be fixed, making a note to himself to get them to the shop tomorrow.
Hermione thought of the party she was hosting tomorrow, a cosy Christmas get-together at her place for friends, just before Christmas Day.
They spent the next three hours in near silence, asking little questions about the weather, the mutual friends, the state of the Ministry and, when the clock struck eleven fifteen, both adults jumped out of their seats and escaped the ballroom before anyone could stop them and ask another insipid question.
---
They were at Hermione’s December dinner party (she had one every month because that was the only time everyone was free). The living room had been magically expanded and the décor had changed from its usual crème and gold to a more festive red and green. The chairs had been pushed aside shortly after dinner, and the table magically collapsed. They made a small dance floor, because expanding spells can only go so far, and they danced until the clock stuck midnight and the gifts started to fly to homes via owls.
Hermione said goodbye to each guest, handing them their cloaks and wishing them a Happy Christmas. She kissed her friends on the cheek and hugged them, assuring them she’d be there for the Christmas Ball at Malfoy Manor the following night.
The night had been a success. Her face hurt from the smiles, her feet hurt from the killer heels and her body groaned at the washing up that still had to be done. She berated herself for not making Malfoy stay behind (because he’s the only one who’s still single in the midst of all the wedding frenzy) and help her with the dishes.
She banged her head on the wall when she remembered her earlier promise.
There was still another ball tomorrow night.
Groaning, she made a start on the dirty dishes.
---
The ball was boring to say the least. She came fifteen minutes late (because fashionably late was something she’d just gotten round to showing off), decked out in robes that cost twice as much as anybody else’s (she bought them on a whim, and only blinked at the cost because she had to have it).
Her robes were a deep emerald in colour, the trim a faint white. It showed her curves, subtly of course, and highlighted the green flecks in her eyes. Hermione figured that pretending to be an almost Slytherin for the night was worth the feel of being a woman, wanted and desired by more than half the men in the room.
Although, now that she had been twice around the room with almost every wizard there, Hermione was wishing she’d gone with that violet dress at the back of her wardrobe.
Too late now, she thought as she let another wizard (whose name she had forgotten almost soon as he gave it) whisk her out to the dance floor.
Sighing, she let herself be spun around; making sure her feet didn’t get stepped on too often.
The things one did for beauty.
---
She thought it showed as she danced with him. They were both single, both in on and off and on again relationships with people who didn’t count towards anything worth counting for. All in all, their love lives (Draco and Hermione’s), hell, their whole lives, were in shambles.
“So? What are you doing for Christmas? Anything special? Traditional?” She didn’t know why she’s asked him this, but she couldn’t take it back.
He looked down at her, his eyes moving from their place on the walls. “No.”
She looked up at him, quirking her right eyebrow.
“No to what? Christmas, special events on the day, or traditions?”
She didn’t expect him to answer, but he did. “All of the above, Granger,” he said. “We never had any intimate celebrations, unless you count the Christmas Dinner and gifts opened in silence.”
She tried to look as if she wasn’t shocked.
A childhood without Christmas traditions. God, now she knew how horrible Lucius Malfoy’s home really was.
“Well, Malfoy. That just won’t do. Clear out Christmas Day, doll,” she said as the waltz stopped and she curtsied (he bowed).
“You’re in for a day of good, old fashioned Christmas fun.”
---
“Can you at least have the courtesy to give me a clue as to where you are dragging me?”
Hermione spun around, twisting Draco’s arm painfully in the progress.
“Can you stop whining for a moment, Malfoy? We’re nearly there, and it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, would it?”
She turned back around, her steps paced unevenly.
Behind her, she heard Draco mutter something about ‘abuse on Christmas’ and could easily imagine him rubbing his poor, mangled wrist.
Sighing, Hermione arrived at her old ice skating rink, Draco Malfoy in tow, ready to correct a dismal twenty-three years of ill-informed education on the topic of Christmas.
“Know how to skate, Malfoy?”
---
Draco unlaced his skates, wriggling his toes a bit to see if there was any more feeling in them. Nope. None.
Granger was a slave driver.
Hurry Draco!
Faster, Draco!
Catch me, Draco!
Why are you so slow, Draco?
I thought you said you knew how to skate, Draco!
Come on, Draco!
Bloody annoying nuisance. The world would be much better off with her locked up somewhere far, far away from the rest of the human population. God knows what else she would do to him today.
He shuddered at the thought, vowing to himself not to partake in anymore of her hair brained scheme to ‘convert’ him to a man ‘who can proudly say he’s experienced Christmas at its best’. He had perfectly fine Christmases in his childhood, thank you very much.
But he let her drag him out of the rink (in pretty much the same fashion she had employed when she dragged him in) and onto the next stop in his Re-Education.
The Snowball Fortress.
---
“Come on, Malfoy. Surely you know how to throw a snowball!” She made it sound as if not knowing how to throw a snowball was a crime.
“No, Granger. I do not know how to throw a ball of snow, dirt and germs. Kindly let me go.”
He tugged at his captive arm; those piles of ‘snowballs’ looked dangerous all of a sudden.
“Aww, come on, Malfoy. One snowball won’t hurt. And I’ll teach you how to throw one. You’ll be a pro in no time.”
She smiled at him, her smile contagious and he found himself smiling back. Quickly, as to not be caught smiling, he replaced it with a sneer.
“And, how exactly are you going to teach me how to throw these ‘snowba-“
He felt the impact before he heard it. A cold, wet thing seeped through his coat - his designer, tailored, one of a kind coat.
He breathed in, out, in, out, like etiquette tutors had taught him. It wouldn’t look good if he left Hermione Granger in snow surrounded by her own blood. It also wouldn’t be good if he let his vengeful side take over. But she did ruin his coat.
His reluctance to hit her with a ball of wet, slimy, dirty snow lasted all of two seconds.
Draco snatched a snowball from the pile, caught sight of his target and fired.
He was rewarded with her scream.
---
“See? You enjoyed it didn’t you Malfoy?”
He averted his eyes, willing her to walk like a normal person, instead of getting herself in front of him like a two year old fresh from their first flight.
“Come on, Malfoy. There’s no shame in admitting you enjoyed Christmas activities. Not that it matters with you. Hell, I’m sure you’d be comforted later tonight if you didn’t like it.”
Hermione almost sounded as if she were jealous.
He didn’t have enough time to figure out what she was jealous of; they were standing outside the Grangers’ door, Hermione poised to knock.
It was time for Christmas Lunch.
---
“Here, Draco dear. Have one more serving of turkey. You’re much too skinny to do any good, aren’t you now.”
Dr. Granger (Jane, she told you to call her Jane) heaped another serving of her Christmas turkey onto his plate before he could protest, pinching his cheeks for good measure on her way back to the kitchen.
Sighing, Draco looked at his plate.
He was sorely tempted to kick whoever introduced the idea of turkeys at Christmas lunches, bloody idiot.
He’d been fed more thoroughly in the last one and a half hours than any other time in his life. Hermione’s parents had an annual Christmas dinner and (according to Hermione) the house was usually full for it. Hermione had also said that her parents had made an exception this year, opting to shoo their annual guests away in order to help their darling baby girl re-educate a friend on Christmas.
Draco looked at his plate forlornly. There wasn’t much he could do. After all, Hermione had confiscated his wand, her only reason being; “I don’t want you to Evanesco away food.”
When they had been standing outside in the snow, the excuse had been flimsy at best. But now, inside the house, warm from the fire, he had to admit Granger had a mean streak in her.
Draco picked up his knife and fork and started to eat.
---
The Drs. Granger (being busy, professional dentists) had yet to decorate their house. They had been planning to do so before Draco and Hermione had arrived but the activity had to be postponed because of Dr. Granger’s disorganisation.
Then, shortly after lunch when the four of them had been sitting in the lounge room, the Christmas decoration boxes around them, Dr. Granger’s pager buzzed.
A little boy had been unable to eat his Christmas lunch because of a severe ache in his gums.
Draco was sorely tempted to tell the kid that he was one lucky, lucky boy if got to miss Christmas lunch.
Hermione’s parents immediately rushed off, apologizing for the horrible afternoon, asking them to decorate the house in their stead.
Both Hermione and Draco agreed.
For two of the most talented students to graduate from Hogwarts, they sure were stupid.
---
Draco had taken his wand from Hermione as soon as her parents had left, claiming it was much too hard decorating a tree without one. He also pretended to be in awe of ‘those brilliant Muggles’ who could decorate a tree without magic.
Hermione called him a lay arse before throwing the stick of wood in question across the room.
Hermione emptied the boxes, deliberately tipping most of the contents on Draco’s foot.
Ha. Let’s see how he liked being aggravated.
The mass of baubles, tinsel, reindeer, plastic candy canes and fairy lights tumbled out, coating the living room floor with Christmassy colours.
“Now look what you’ve done Malfoy.”
“Me? What about you, Granger?”
Pointing to the mess on the floor, she said, “You were supposed to catch the stuff. Not let it roll all over the floor.”
Grumbling, he flicked his wand, emptying the contents of the box on Hermione’s head.
And they were the ones who helped saved us from Lord Moldypants. Pfft.
---
They had finally gotten the tree in place, wrapping it in so much tinsel that the green of its branches could hardly be seen and the glittery decorations that adorned the tree seemed to make it droop more than necessary.
“I told you it was too much.”
Hermione looked at Draco, her voice clearly blaming him for the state of her beloved Christmas tree.
“Fine. You do it then.”
Draco pouted before flopping down on the Grangers’ couch, Malfoy Code of Conduct forgotten.
Nobody could possibly decorate that tree better than he did.
---
Hermione sits back, looking at her masterpiece.
The tinsel didn’t crowd the branches and the decorations didn’t drag the tree down until its branches touched the floor. Draco even got off his place on the couch to help her, telling her that she couldn’t possibly do anything without him.
She knew that secretly, deep down inside that shrivelled none-existent heart of his, Draco Malfoy couldn’t do anything without her. Hopeless, harmless boy.
---
“No.”
“Why not? Didn’t you say; “More, Draco!” “Stop being such a Grinch, Draco and get more Christmas Spirit!”?’
He looks at her, clutching a sprig of mistletoe fresh from a hedge somewhere in the Malfoy Gardens.
“No.”
“But mistletoe is vital to Christmas! You need it.”
“No you do not. Stop whining, Malfoy. My parents don’t expect you and I to still be here when they get back at seven, so we haven’t got time anyway.”
She pulled a face, looking at the mistletoe warily. Nothing good happens under the mistletoe.
Her first kiss had been under a sprig of mistletoe at one of the Christmas Lunches her parents hosted. She had been seven and he had been her jerk of a next door neighbour.
It had honestly felt as if a dog was slobbering on her.
To be fair, it was probably the poor boy’s first kiss too, but she was still wary of the little sprigs of hell.
She grabbed Draco’s hand, dragging him out of her parents’ place, locking the door behind them and hid the key under the mat.
Hopefully, with any luck, he’d shut up about the mistletoe.
---
He trailed behind, a sprig of mistletoe nestled snugly in his pocket.
He had never been one to listen to orders like a good boy.
Besides, all of a sudden, Grangers’ lips looked perfect for kissing.
---
They arrived at the Royal Albert Hall, just before the service started, looking for a space in the back pews.
“Do we have to, Granger?” he whined, grabbing at the mistletoe in his pocket, fingering it nervously. He didn’t think she’d be very susceptible to a sneak ‘attack’. More than likely he’d be the one attacked.
“Yes. Just listen, Malfoy. They’re very good.” She turned so her head rested on her palm, her eyes glazing over as the carols started to wash over them.
Together, they sat, Draco fingering the mistletoe, half listening to the music, Hermione’s eyes half shut.
---
They walked back to her place in silence, the shouts of eager children and laughter from houses accompanying them back to her apartment.
“Did you enjoy today, Draco? Like how the normal people celebrate Christmas?”
She heard him grunt an answer that agreed most pleasantly with her.
They climbed the stairs, their footsteps damp from the snow outside.
When they reached her door, she assured him that she’d see him tomorrow to give him his Christmas present, pressing her hand on her door, ready to close it shut.
“Just one more thing, Granger.”
She opened the door a little more, enough for his foot to slide in easily and he hung the mistletoe up above them.
He cradles her cheek, drawing her closer to him before kissing her. Her eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself to the ministrations of his lips. Merlin, the boy should come with a warning sign.
He breaks the kiss, gently taking down the mistletoe and pressing it to her.
“Happy Christmas.”
Smiling, he walked away, leaving a mystified (and slightly annoyed) Hermione standing with her door half open, a sprig of mistletoe cradled to her chest.