On the Third Day of Christmas by xbitexmyxlipx [Rated PG-13]
Celebrate the Season fic request for Jessica/lelly_icecreamy
Title: On the Third Day of Christmas
AuthorL: xbitexmyxlipx
Rating: PG-13 for a little swearing
Disclaimer: JKR owns all.
Author's Notes: Completely AU from HBP. Possibly. I guess really, it depends on how the final book turns out and how many conspiracy theories were correct. I got as close to "romance" as I could without feeling vaguely ashamed of myself, so I hope Jessica appreciates it. :p Also, I recently found out that, apparently, the "12th day of Christmas" is...Christmas. Because of the repetition going backwards, I assumed it'd be considered the first. *Shrugs* I don't like the song anyway, so we're going to pretend it works that way for the sake of convenience. (Thanks to my temporary beta Jess.)
Summary: Three vignettes detailing three different holidays.
December 23rd, 1997
Hogwarts.
The teachers at Hogwarts took Christmas very seriously. During the day, the snow-covered trees that lined the building were charmed to hum carols (and yell at those who tried to break off branches or remove nests); and when the sun set, hidden lights twinkled meekly into view. Inside, the corridors were lined with garlands and poinsettias. Every classroom had at least one decorated tree, and was considerably brighter than usual. -- Even the dungeons were illuminated by golden light.
However, the Great Hall was truly something to behold. From floor to enchanted ceiling, the walls were covered in moving holiday-themed murals. Santa and his elves were making presents behind the teachers' table, while somewhat badly drawn children threw snowballs at each other behind the Slytherin table.
Normally, the wall opposing the Slytherins would match. But, this year the portraits of the previous Headmasters had been brought from Dumbledore's office to experience the festivities. This particular Christmas was special.
For years, the wizarding world had been plagued by fear and doubt while a power-hungry megalomaniac had periodically gained and lost power. Over the course of six years, said megalomaniac had made an attempt a year to destroy a certain student and gain complete control. Finally, just three months prior to the beginning of holiday festivities, Lord Voldemort had attacked with his remaining Death Eaters. Fortunately, he had been acting on tips fed to him by Snape and various spies, and hadn't expected to find Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix, and all the seventh years waiting for him. The result had been the permanent destruction of Voldemort, and the arrests of his followers that hadn't been killed.
Anti-climactic. That was a good word to describe exactly how one felt thinking back on the culmination. It was almost disappointing in a way.
“Hermione!”
“What?” she snapped, frowning at Ron.
He put his wand down and frowned back. “If you sit still any longer, you'll be buried under fake snow. Besides, we shouldn't have to do all this work alone.”
Professor McGonagall's ever-present grimace was firmly in place as she demonstrated the proper way to transfigure various shards of what had been used on the tree for decades (Certain sacrifices had been made to ensure that everyone was prepared for when Voldemort attacked, and thus, an elaborate alarm system had been created using anything that could be spared.) into new ornaments to a group of second years a few feet away. A glance around the room told her that Ron was right; he and Harry really were the only ones diligently working to bring the holiday spirit. And even if the results were a little... primate, it was the thought that mattered.
She sighed and wearily brushed the growing pile of fake snowflakes off her shoulder. “Maybe charming the ceiling to snow was a bad idea after all.”
Harry grinned crookedly. “It wasn't bad, Hermione. You just didn't think about the part where the snow would have to go somewhere.”
Ron nodded in agreement. “At least it's festive.”
Hermione scoffed. “Festive? Yes. Practical? Have you seen what the Slytherins have been doing with the snow?”
With a raised eyebrow, Harry looked. “Crabbe and Goyle are making snowmen. Malfoy is dressing them.”
She turned in her seat to look before swinging back around. Yes, Malfoy actually was wrapping scarves around their necks.
“Those aren't snowmen; they're first years.”
Harry exchanged incredulous glances with Ron. “Really? That's...”
“Horrible! What kind of example does that set for the younger students?” She glared.
Both boys shrugged and stared down at the table. She carefully studied their expressions; her eyes were automatically drawn to Ron's reddened complexion. “Unbelievable. You actually find that behavior amusing?”
Harry shrugged again and smiled sheepishly. “It's not that it's funny-”
“Actually,” Ron interrupted, “it is.”
“Ronald! I can't believe you. Wait,” she paused, clearly remembering the last prank Fred and George had tested on her, “you don't surprise me. But, Har-”
Ron groaned. “Lighten up, Hermione. In a few months, we'll be out in the real world. This may be the only carefree holiday we have.”
Hmm. Should she argue about exactly how “carefree” things really weren't or stay on topic? Decision made, she straightened in her seat and scowled at him. "Would you think it was funny if it was you?"
He rolled his eyes. "Ignoring how harmless it is, it's not one of us."
With a scoff and a final glare, she picked up her wand and resumed transfiguring. Despite being fairly sure that this entire assignment had been a plot to offer a distraction from overly depressing thoughts, there was no sense in letting it go undone. Truthfully, what the Slytherins were doing actually was fairly harmless since the snow wasn't even cold. Maybe she was slightly overreacting.
Aside from Voldemort's defeat, the other real difference this year was that all the time they had spent thinking most, if not all, of the Slytherins were evil was apparently wasted effort. The ones who hadn't refused to join the Death Eaters had served as spies for the Order. Hermione had been in what felt like a perpetual state of shock when she'd realized that, yes, that did include Draco Malfoy. ("I don't like you, but no one deserves to die.") Fortunately, the only thing that had really changed about their relationship was that now, their confrontations lacked malice.
Sometimes, people do change, she mused as she finished her last ornament.Now that she had nothing better to do, curiosity got the better of her and she found herself checking to see if Malfoy and his friends were still up to no good. As opposed to the last time she looked, they were working.
Her head tilted to the side as she watched Malfoy transfigure a star topper for the tree. With a very self-satisfied smirk, he handed it to Professor Flitwick and seemed to bask in whatever praise he was receiving. He glanced her way and raised an eyebrow. Damn. Hermione turned back around to face Ron and Harry; hopefully he didn't notice her blush. “Like his star is that great anyway,” she mumbled.
Harry looked up. “What?”
She shook her head and waved away the question.
“She really has gone mental this time,” Ron whispered.
It would take too much energy to send Ron a dirty look, so she settled for watching Flitwick levitate the star to the top of the tree. If she felt like being honest with herself (and she didn't), she'd admit that it was rather pretty with its glittering red points and shining green center. Good thing her quota had already been filled.
The familiar scent of overpriced (but disturbingly pleasant) cologne pulled her thoughts back to the table.
“Weasley,” Draco began as he seated himself next to Hermione, “if you really needed the money for a potion to rid yourself of... whatever that is on your head, you could have just asked. I'm sure Potter would have loaned it to you.”
Ron just shook his head.
What is going on here? “Perhaps you aren't aware that you're covered in the same thing he -and everyone else in this room-- is?” she suggested, aware that her tone wasn't nearly as haughty as she would have liked it to be.
His smirk came back in full force. “How could I forget? This was truly one of your best ideas, Granger.”
She hesitated before thanking him.
He nodded. “It's a shame you didn't have it go somewhere, though.”
“Why are you here?” she asked with a dark scowl.
Whatever retort he was planning was forgotten when Harry cleared his throat and said, “Nice star, Malfoy.”
The satisfied look was back on his face. Almost cheerfully, he replied with a, “Thanks, Potter.”
Hermione silently watched the three as they conversed, and ignored Malfoy's thigh brushing against hers. She should be used to this. For the first time, she was almost relieved that this was their last year.
.:.:.:.
December 23rd, 1998
Diagon Alley.
Hermione Granger carefully crossed Harry's name off her Christmas list. If he didn't like the Quidditch board game she bought him, he'd just have to pretend. But really, she couldn't think of a damn reason why he wouldn't love it. The little players flew around the board, and basically did what they were told to play out the game. Surely someone who loved the game as much as he did would enjoy it. Plus, the box promised that at least one tiny player would walk away with a concussion. Toy violence would be funny. She
checked her list again. The Weasley family had been taken care of months ago, and the only people uncrossed were her parents. Well, and Dumbledore despite his insistence that he didn't need anything. She would raid Honeydukes later.
She refolded her list and pocketed it. Pulling her tan leather coat tighter around her shivering form, she walked faster to get to Flourish and Blotts. It may be bitterly cold, but at least it's not snowing. Even though it was more of a school supply store than a book store, she had convinced the owner to order a collection of animated fairy tales for her. Her mother was a sucker for anything that promised a Happily Ever After. She had also ordered a book on swallows for her father. The week before, he had found an injured bird in the tree outside their house and was convinced that it was a swallow. At least if he was wrong, he'd be prepared should he find another in Spring.
The old wizard who was about to leave nodded a greeting as she walked through the building's threshold. With a smile, she moved to the side for him.
Glancing around the deserted shop, she frowned. She was sure that the witch in charge had told her the books would be in at one.
"Hello?" she called out, moving towards the storage room.
"Must you be so loud? I realize this isn't a library, but the rules remain the same," a voice replied from one of the aisles.
Hermione hadn't heard that voice in weeks (not since several embarrassing drunken encounters that ended with horrible karaoke, if she remembered correctly). "Malfoy?" she asked uncertainly.
His pale blond head appeared from off to the side so she could see his raised eyebrow. "Who were you expecting?"
She looked up and considered. "A lot of people. Dumbledore. Maybe the shopkeeper," she paused. "Santa."
He made a noise in the back of his throat and removed himself from view. "Santa," she heard him mumble incredulously.
She chuckled quietly. "What are you doing here?"
He sighed from behind the shelf of books. "Looking for something for Mother." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Not that it's really any of your business, of course."
Fight the impulse, Hermione. "You decided to get her a book, of all things?" The question slipped out.
This time, he fully stepped out of the aisle to stand in front of her. Rising to his full height (and looking entirely offended), he scowled. "Do you have a better idea?"
"Jewelry," she suggested. She was pleased that her tone was as How did you even figure out breathing? as she intended.
His gray eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to retort with something she was sure would be biting, before he apparently reconsidered. "Help?"
Don't do it. If you do it, you'll never have time to finish everything you need to get done, the figurative devil on her shoulder informed her. The angel pushed in, At most, it'll take an hour. You can't just refuse someone looking so helpless. Damn angel was right. She nodded. "As soon as I get my books."
-----------
An hour? Ha! She should have known better. Every single thing she picked out, he rejected. It was either too silver, too big, or too shiny. Too fucking wearable.
The object of her discord was peering into a display of singing earrings, completely oblivious to the nefarious plots his companion was considering (pushing him into the display and running, putting him in a body bind and running, hiding under a table then running when he wasn't looking).
“Please tell me you aren't buying those.”
He scoffed. “Of course not. These are all off-key.” He looked around the shop once more, and waved the shopkeeper over. "I'll take that one." He gestured towards a case near the door. "That one" happened to be a silver chain with an angel above a Siberian quartz pendant attached; it also happened to be the first one she suggested.
Luck was on his side today. It had to be since she somehow managed to not strangle him.
Hermione left him at the counter and went back outside to wait. Walk away now, the little voice whispered. You've done what you said you would, so there's nothing to feel guilty about.
The little voice clearly didn't know her.
Cursing under her breath, she leaned back against the wall. She should take him clot- no book shopping with her. See how he liked spending hours in one stifling little place. All the spells the sadistic owner could have used to expand the place and he chose not to.
“I thought you left.” He sounded so surprised to see her standing there.
“You should know better.”
They silently walked together, neither particularly willing to give up the quiet moment.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him looking around. “Where are we going?”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “Well, since you pushed back my schedule today, you're going with me to buy a new star topper for my mother's tree.”
He seemed to think about that as they continued walking. “Why don't you just make one?”
She laughed and put her hands in her pocket. “You mean like the star you made last year?”
He fought to keep the grin out of his voice. “Ah, you remember that.”
God, she hoped she wasn't blushing. “It was kind of hard not to.”
“Of course it is. It helps that I'm so -”
“This is the place,” she interrupted and grabbed his hand to pull him through the door.
If he felt the tiny shock of electricity as they passed through the entrance, he didn't show it.
The only other person (an older women swathed in miles of red and green fabric and holiday pins) in the room gave her a knowing smirk. “Can I help you?” she asked. Hermione nodded. “Where are your toppers?”
The women's face fell. “Oh. Over there,” she pointed to the wall at the back of the store. A sly look slid onto her face. “Are you sure that's all? A batch of aphrodisiacal gingerbread cookies were baked today.”
Hermione blushed and corrected her, “We're not... together.”
The woman glanced down at their joined hands. “Of course not, dear.”
She dropped Draco's hand and put a foot of personal space between them. “It's not... I should find that star.”
He frowned as the old woman smiled pleasantly. “I'll help you.”
Together, they searched the collection for something suitable. Suddenly, he snickered. “This is so very like those monstrosities Potter and Weasley created last year,” he said as he held up a gold star with specks of green and red shrapnel.
She rolled her eyes. “That's not nice.”
He shrugged. “It's true.”
“I didn't say it wasn't.” Her eyes scanned the stars in front of her. “They'd like this one,” she decided, reaching for an eight-pointed silver mesh one.
He reached over and moved her hair to the side. “Butterflies?”
She almost dropped the star. “What?”
“Your jacket.”
“Oh, yeah. Vintage,” she said with a nod and moved to rejoin the woman in the front.His hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Hmm?”
He pointed up.
Mistletoe.
Crap. “Oh.” Her eyes narrowed and she turned to stare accusingly towards the front of the store. “She knew. We should just go.”
His thumb gently traced over her slightly wind-chapped bottom lip. “It's bad luck to break tradition.”
He leaned forward and covered her mouth with his own. His hand brushed through her tangle of curls at the same time he gently sucked on her bottom lip and all the thoughts of ways this would make things awkward flew out of her mind. She sighed against his mouth before she remembered where they were. Reluctantly, she pulled awayfrom him, and he removed his hands from her hair.
“Find everything?”
“Yes,” Hermione breathed out and held up the star.
With a wink, the women turned on her heel and hummed merrily.
Awkward.
.:.:.:.
December 23rd, 1999
London
This was Hermione's first Christmas of living away from home, and to celebrate that, her parents were staying with her. Damn guilt trips.
She stretched and shifted in her favorite overstuffed chair. The warmth drifting from the fire several feet away was taking its job of relaxing her very seriously. Bringing the fuzzy blue blanket up to her chin, she snuggled
deeper into the squishy cushions and sighed. It would be so great to just stay there forever. The book she'd been trying to focus on slipped from her fingers, and she let it. Shifting again, she watched her parents place wrapped presents under the tree. Her eyes drifted shut when they turned to look at her, and, for a moment, she felt slightly guilty. But, that passed quickly enough when she heard them ascend the stairs.
Opening her eyes, she examined the Christmas tree and smiled. Against her will, her eyes drifted to look at the star. A pang of irritation (or some other emotion she didn't care to think about) shot through her when she noticed that the family star was back in its rightful place at her parents' house. Which meant that the previous year's trip to Diagon Alley had been for nothing, since she really could have done without a tree.
Stretching again, she stood and went into the kitchen for hot tea.
She had seen Draco Malfoy twice since... the incident, and both attempts at conversation had been severely lacking since it was incredibly awkward (for her since she didn't do well with teasing about how a little bit of tongue wouldn't have killed her). Despite that problem, he had sent her a thank you card (featuring a picture of fucking mistletoe, the vicious, cruel bastard) since his mother had loved the necklace. She shook her head and put the kettle on the stove.
In February, Harry had finally thought to mention that Draco worked with him at the Ministry. For weeks afterward, every time they were together, he passed on a “Malfoy said hello.” before they talked about other things.
In March, she ran into Blaise Zabini at the Daily Prophet's office when she went to “set things straight,” so to speak, with the magazine for the lies they had spread about Harry. He had informed her that Draco talked about everything but her. According to him, that was important in a good way. When the reporter she would be speaking with came to get her, she was never happier to be rescued from an uncomfortable - on her part, anyway - conversation.
In April, Pansy Parkinson had somehow found out where she lived. Their first civilized conversation had been over peppermint tea and chocolate cake. Pansy's last words (other than “see you soon”) had been along the lines of, “We should do this again sometime.We could invite Draco.”
When May came around and she saw Vincent Crabbe standing outside of the Starbucks she frequented, she was sure Draco was vicariously stalking her. She had smiled and made small talk for several minutes while she waited for her vanilla frappuccino. When she had flat out asked him if he'd been sent, he had blushed slightly and nodded.
Three months passed without incident and, for some strange reason, Hermione felt slightly abandoned now that his friends weren't showing up in odd places.
Going through the cupboard, she found her favorite cup and dropped a bag of Earl Grey into the bottom. She turned the stove off and poured the not-quite-boiling water over the teabag. With her cup of steaming tea, she stepped around Crookshanks and returned to her chair.
Then, on the nineteenth of September, Draco had sent a birthday card and a bottle of Draught of Living Death. There had been a note telling her that Harry had let it slip that she hadn't been sleeping well because of school. It was thoughtful, and she was just happy that he hadn't sent her jewelry or something that could give Ron room for a school colors joke.
“This is a nice place. It's a little boring, but that's the price of decorating like a librarian.”
To her credit, she didn't scald herself with tea. “Is this a social call, Santa?”
Draco took off his cloak and sat on the matching sofa. “That's not funny.”
She shrugged. “When did you get here? How did you get in?”
He adjusted the sleeves of his hunter green sweater. “Hours ago. I stopped by, but you weren't here.” He smirked. “Your neighbor is a very nice woman. As soon as I told her who I was, she insisted I take the spare key you gave her.”
Hermione took a sip of tea and thoughtfully gazed at him over her cup. “Hmm. And what did you tell her?”
“That I was your adoring brother paying you a surprise visit.” At her disbelieving look, he added, “She's not blind and called me on the lack of familial resemblance; I just said that I happened to take after the other side of the family.”
She nodded indulgently.
Watching her face closely, he questioned, “You want me to give the key back to her, don't you?”
“Well, if you keep it you must know that you'll have to be available at any odd hour of the night in case I lock myself out.”
“Fair enough.”
They fell into a somewhat companionable silence and Draco took the opportunity toreally look around. His eyes were drawn to the top of the glittering tree, and he fought the urge to comment.
She placed her cup on the coffee table and pulled the blanket back around herself. “What are you doing here?”
“I guess I just wanted to see you,” he replied, looking strangely vulnerable.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Draco reached down and picked up the book she had dropped. “My mother's in the Alpsvisiting old friends. She wanted me to go, too, but I guess mountains lost their appeal.”
“If you've seen one, you've seen them all,” she agreed.
He possibly smiled at that, but with his face towards the floor, she had no idea.
With a labored sigh, she stood and crossed over to sit next to him on the couch and draped part of her blanket over him. “This is the only time I'll share, just so you know.”
“I can live with that,” he laughed.
“The Slytherin fan club I somehow acquired?”
Groaning, he shook his head. “I had nothing to do with. Pansy took it upon herself to meddle, and the others were powerless to resist.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “You told Pansy?”
“No one tells her anything.” He hesitated. “There's something you should know. I had already ordered my mother that necklace when I asked you to help me.”
“Thoroughly Slytherin,” she announced.
“I'd return the favor, but Hufflepuff would better describe your act of good will.”
“If I do something very Gryffindor, you have to stay for dinner tomorrow and meet my parents.”
“All right.”
She reached forward and pulled his head towards her. “Remember that we have a verbal contract,” she whispered against his mouth. She brushed her lips over his. He raised his hands to bury them in her hair and pull her closer.
His tongue traced the seam of her mouth in a sweeping motion, and she moaned softly and melted into the kiss. Before releasing his mouth to trail kisses to his ear.
He pulled her against his chest and tried to move her backwards. When she resisted, he pulled away and stared questioningly.
“That's a little too brave when my parents are staying her for a few days.”
“That's not brave, it's foolish. Coincidently, that's been a trait of your former house for years,” he finished with a smirk.
She smacked his arm and tugged her blanket away from him. “Now that you've insulted me, you can't have it.”
“I could make it up to you. Rumor has it there's such a thing as aphrodisiacal cookies.”
.:.:.:.
Three things you want your fic to include: A swallow, a romance, thestar for the top of the Christmas tree.
Three things you do not want your fic to include: Intense angst,out-of-character Draco or Hermione, character violation of any kind (rape, etc).
Thank-you for Celebrating the Season with Draco and Hermione!
Title: On the Third Day of Christmas
AuthorL: xbitexmyxlipx
Rating: PG-13 for a little swearing
Disclaimer: JKR owns all.
Author's Notes: Completely AU from HBP. Possibly. I guess really, it depends on how the final book turns out and how many conspiracy theories were correct. I got as close to "romance" as I could without feeling vaguely ashamed of myself, so I hope Jessica appreciates it. :p Also, I recently found out that, apparently, the "12th day of Christmas" is...Christmas. Because of the repetition going backwards, I assumed it'd be considered the first. *Shrugs* I don't like the song anyway, so we're going to pretend it works that way for the sake of convenience. (Thanks to my temporary beta Jess.)
Summary: Three vignettes detailing three different holidays.
December 23rd, 1997
Hogwarts.
The teachers at Hogwarts took Christmas very seriously. During the day, the snow-covered trees that lined the building were charmed to hum carols (and yell at those who tried to break off branches or remove nests); and when the sun set, hidden lights twinkled meekly into view. Inside, the corridors were lined with garlands and poinsettias. Every classroom had at least one decorated tree, and was considerably brighter than usual. -- Even the dungeons were illuminated by golden light.
However, the Great Hall was truly something to behold. From floor to enchanted ceiling, the walls were covered in moving holiday-themed murals. Santa and his elves were making presents behind the teachers' table, while somewhat badly drawn children threw snowballs at each other behind the Slytherin table.
Normally, the wall opposing the Slytherins would match. But, this year the portraits of the previous Headmasters had been brought from Dumbledore's office to experience the festivities. This particular Christmas was special.
For years, the wizarding world had been plagued by fear and doubt while a power-hungry megalomaniac had periodically gained and lost power. Over the course of six years, said megalomaniac had made an attempt a year to destroy a certain student and gain complete control. Finally, just three months prior to the beginning of holiday festivities, Lord Voldemort had attacked with his remaining Death Eaters. Fortunately, he had been acting on tips fed to him by Snape and various spies, and hadn't expected to find Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix, and all the seventh years waiting for him. The result had been the permanent destruction of Voldemort, and the arrests of his followers that hadn't been killed.
Anti-climactic. That was a good word to describe exactly how one felt thinking back on the culmination. It was almost disappointing in a way.
“Hermione!”
“What?” she snapped, frowning at Ron.
He put his wand down and frowned back. “If you sit still any longer, you'll be buried under fake snow. Besides, we shouldn't have to do all this work alone.”
Professor McGonagall's ever-present grimace was firmly in place as she demonstrated the proper way to transfigure various shards of what had been used on the tree for decades (Certain sacrifices had been made to ensure that everyone was prepared for when Voldemort attacked, and thus, an elaborate alarm system had been created using anything that could be spared.) into new ornaments to a group of second years a few feet away. A glance around the room told her that Ron was right; he and Harry really were the only ones diligently working to bring the holiday spirit. And even if the results were a little... primate, it was the thought that mattered.
She sighed and wearily brushed the growing pile of fake snowflakes off her shoulder. “Maybe charming the ceiling to snow was a bad idea after all.”
Harry grinned crookedly. “It wasn't bad, Hermione. You just didn't think about the part where the snow would have to go somewhere.”
Ron nodded in agreement. “At least it's festive.”
Hermione scoffed. “Festive? Yes. Practical? Have you seen what the Slytherins have been doing with the snow?”
With a raised eyebrow, Harry looked. “Crabbe and Goyle are making snowmen. Malfoy is dressing them.”
She turned in her seat to look before swinging back around. Yes, Malfoy actually was wrapping scarves around their necks.
“Those aren't snowmen; they're first years.”
Harry exchanged incredulous glances with Ron. “Really? That's...”
“Horrible! What kind of example does that set for the younger students?” She glared.
Both boys shrugged and stared down at the table. She carefully studied their expressions; her eyes were automatically drawn to Ron's reddened complexion. “Unbelievable. You actually find that behavior amusing?”
Harry shrugged again and smiled sheepishly. “It's not that it's funny-”
“Actually,” Ron interrupted, “it is.”
“Ronald! I can't believe you. Wait,” she paused, clearly remembering the last prank Fred and George had tested on her, “you don't surprise me. But, Har-”
Ron groaned. “Lighten up, Hermione. In a few months, we'll be out in the real world. This may be the only carefree holiday we have.”
Hmm. Should she argue about exactly how “carefree” things really weren't or stay on topic? Decision made, she straightened in her seat and scowled at him. "Would you think it was funny if it was you?"
He rolled his eyes. "Ignoring how harmless it is, it's not one of us."
With a scoff and a final glare, she picked up her wand and resumed transfiguring. Despite being fairly sure that this entire assignment had been a plot to offer a distraction from overly depressing thoughts, there was no sense in letting it go undone. Truthfully, what the Slytherins were doing actually was fairly harmless since the snow wasn't even cold. Maybe she was slightly overreacting.
Aside from Voldemort's defeat, the other real difference this year was that all the time they had spent thinking most, if not all, of the Slytherins were evil was apparently wasted effort. The ones who hadn't refused to join the Death Eaters had served as spies for the Order. Hermione had been in what felt like a perpetual state of shock when she'd realized that, yes, that did include Draco Malfoy. ("I don't like you, but no one deserves to die.") Fortunately, the only thing that had really changed about their relationship was that now, their confrontations lacked malice.
Sometimes, people do change, she mused as she finished her last ornament.Now that she had nothing better to do, curiosity got the better of her and she found herself checking to see if Malfoy and his friends were still up to no good. As opposed to the last time she looked, they were working.
Her head tilted to the side as she watched Malfoy transfigure a star topper for the tree. With a very self-satisfied smirk, he handed it to Professor Flitwick and seemed to bask in whatever praise he was receiving. He glanced her way and raised an eyebrow. Damn. Hermione turned back around to face Ron and Harry; hopefully he didn't notice her blush. “Like his star is that great anyway,” she mumbled.
Harry looked up. “What?”
She shook her head and waved away the question.
“She really has gone mental this time,” Ron whispered.
It would take too much energy to send Ron a dirty look, so she settled for watching Flitwick levitate the star to the top of the tree. If she felt like being honest with herself (and she didn't), she'd admit that it was rather pretty with its glittering red points and shining green center. Good thing her quota had already been filled.
The familiar scent of overpriced (but disturbingly pleasant) cologne pulled her thoughts back to the table.
“Weasley,” Draco began as he seated himself next to Hermione, “if you really needed the money for a potion to rid yourself of... whatever that is on your head, you could have just asked. I'm sure Potter would have loaned it to you.”
Ron just shook his head.
What is going on here? “Perhaps you aren't aware that you're covered in the same thing he -and everyone else in this room-- is?” she suggested, aware that her tone wasn't nearly as haughty as she would have liked it to be.
His smirk came back in full force. “How could I forget? This was truly one of your best ideas, Granger.”
She hesitated before thanking him.
He nodded. “It's a shame you didn't have it go somewhere, though.”
“Why are you here?” she asked with a dark scowl.
Whatever retort he was planning was forgotten when Harry cleared his throat and said, “Nice star, Malfoy.”
The satisfied look was back on his face. Almost cheerfully, he replied with a, “Thanks, Potter.”
Hermione silently watched the three as they conversed, and ignored Malfoy's thigh brushing against hers. She should be used to this. For the first time, she was almost relieved that this was their last year.
.:.:.:.
December 23rd, 1998
Diagon Alley.
Hermione Granger carefully crossed Harry's name off her Christmas list. If he didn't like the Quidditch board game she bought him, he'd just have to pretend. But really, she couldn't think of a damn reason why he wouldn't love it. The little players flew around the board, and basically did what they were told to play out the game. Surely someone who loved the game as much as he did would enjoy it. Plus, the box promised that at least one tiny player would walk away with a concussion. Toy violence would be funny. She
checked her list again. The Weasley family had been taken care of months ago, and the only people uncrossed were her parents. Well, and Dumbledore despite his insistence that he didn't need anything. She would raid Honeydukes later.
She refolded her list and pocketed it. Pulling her tan leather coat tighter around her shivering form, she walked faster to get to Flourish and Blotts. It may be bitterly cold, but at least it's not snowing. Even though it was more of a school supply store than a book store, she had convinced the owner to order a collection of animated fairy tales for her. Her mother was a sucker for anything that promised a Happily Ever After. She had also ordered a book on swallows for her father. The week before, he had found an injured bird in the tree outside their house and was convinced that it was a swallow. At least if he was wrong, he'd be prepared should he find another in Spring.
The old wizard who was about to leave nodded a greeting as she walked through the building's threshold. With a smile, she moved to the side for him.
Glancing around the deserted shop, she frowned. She was sure that the witch in charge had told her the books would be in at one.
"Hello?" she called out, moving towards the storage room.
"Must you be so loud? I realize this isn't a library, but the rules remain the same," a voice replied from one of the aisles.
Hermione hadn't heard that voice in weeks (not since several embarrassing drunken encounters that ended with horrible karaoke, if she remembered correctly). "Malfoy?" she asked uncertainly.
His pale blond head appeared from off to the side so she could see his raised eyebrow. "Who were you expecting?"
She looked up and considered. "A lot of people. Dumbledore. Maybe the shopkeeper," she paused. "Santa."
He made a noise in the back of his throat and removed himself from view. "Santa," she heard him mumble incredulously.
She chuckled quietly. "What are you doing here?"
He sighed from behind the shelf of books. "Looking for something for Mother." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Not that it's really any of your business, of course."
Fight the impulse, Hermione. "You decided to get her a book, of all things?" The question slipped out.
This time, he fully stepped out of the aisle to stand in front of her. Rising to his full height (and looking entirely offended), he scowled. "Do you have a better idea?"
"Jewelry," she suggested. She was pleased that her tone was as How did you even figure out breathing? as she intended.
His gray eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to retort with something she was sure would be biting, before he apparently reconsidered. "Help?"
Don't do it. If you do it, you'll never have time to finish everything you need to get done, the figurative devil on her shoulder informed her. The angel pushed in, At most, it'll take an hour. You can't just refuse someone looking so helpless. Damn angel was right. She nodded. "As soon as I get my books."
-----------
An hour? Ha! She should have known better. Every single thing she picked out, he rejected. It was either too silver, too big, or too shiny. Too fucking wearable.
The object of her discord was peering into a display of singing earrings, completely oblivious to the nefarious plots his companion was considering (pushing him into the display and running, putting him in a body bind and running, hiding under a table then running when he wasn't looking).
“Please tell me you aren't buying those.”
He scoffed. “Of course not. These are all off-key.” He looked around the shop once more, and waved the shopkeeper over. "I'll take that one." He gestured towards a case near the door. "That one" happened to be a silver chain with an angel above a Siberian quartz pendant attached; it also happened to be the first one she suggested.
Luck was on his side today. It had to be since she somehow managed to not strangle him.
Hermione left him at the counter and went back outside to wait. Walk away now, the little voice whispered. You've done what you said you would, so there's nothing to feel guilty about.
The little voice clearly didn't know her.
Cursing under her breath, she leaned back against the wall. She should take him clot- no book shopping with her. See how he liked spending hours in one stifling little place. All the spells the sadistic owner could have used to expand the place and he chose not to.
“I thought you left.” He sounded so surprised to see her standing there.
“You should know better.”
They silently walked together, neither particularly willing to give up the quiet moment.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him looking around. “Where are we going?”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “Well, since you pushed back my schedule today, you're going with me to buy a new star topper for my mother's tree.”
He seemed to think about that as they continued walking. “Why don't you just make one?”
She laughed and put her hands in her pocket. “You mean like the star you made last year?”
He fought to keep the grin out of his voice. “Ah, you remember that.”
God, she hoped she wasn't blushing. “It was kind of hard not to.”
“Of course it is. It helps that I'm so -”
“This is the place,” she interrupted and grabbed his hand to pull him through the door.
If he felt the tiny shock of electricity as they passed through the entrance, he didn't show it.
The only other person (an older women swathed in miles of red and green fabric and holiday pins) in the room gave her a knowing smirk. “Can I help you?” she asked. Hermione nodded. “Where are your toppers?”
The women's face fell. “Oh. Over there,” she pointed to the wall at the back of the store. A sly look slid onto her face. “Are you sure that's all? A batch of aphrodisiacal gingerbread cookies were baked today.”
Hermione blushed and corrected her, “We're not... together.”
The woman glanced down at their joined hands. “Of course not, dear.”
She dropped Draco's hand and put a foot of personal space between them. “It's not... I should find that star.”
He frowned as the old woman smiled pleasantly. “I'll help you.”
Together, they searched the collection for something suitable. Suddenly, he snickered. “This is so very like those monstrosities Potter and Weasley created last year,” he said as he held up a gold star with specks of green and red shrapnel.
She rolled her eyes. “That's not nice.”
He shrugged. “It's true.”
“I didn't say it wasn't.” Her eyes scanned the stars in front of her. “They'd like this one,” she decided, reaching for an eight-pointed silver mesh one.
He reached over and moved her hair to the side. “Butterflies?”
She almost dropped the star. “What?”
“Your jacket.”
“Oh, yeah. Vintage,” she said with a nod and moved to rejoin the woman in the front.His hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Hmm?”
He pointed up.
Mistletoe.
Crap. “Oh.” Her eyes narrowed and she turned to stare accusingly towards the front of the store. “She knew. We should just go.”
His thumb gently traced over her slightly wind-chapped bottom lip. “It's bad luck to break tradition.”
He leaned forward and covered her mouth with his own. His hand brushed through her tangle of curls at the same time he gently sucked on her bottom lip and all the thoughts of ways this would make things awkward flew out of her mind. She sighed against his mouth before she remembered where they were. Reluctantly, she pulled awayfrom him, and he removed his hands from her hair.
“Find everything?”
“Yes,” Hermione breathed out and held up the star.
With a wink, the women turned on her heel and hummed merrily.
Awkward.
.:.:.:.
December 23rd, 1999
London
This was Hermione's first Christmas of living away from home, and to celebrate that, her parents were staying with her. Damn guilt trips.
She stretched and shifted in her favorite overstuffed chair. The warmth drifting from the fire several feet away was taking its job of relaxing her very seriously. Bringing the fuzzy blue blanket up to her chin, she snuggled
deeper into the squishy cushions and sighed. It would be so great to just stay there forever. The book she'd been trying to focus on slipped from her fingers, and she let it. Shifting again, she watched her parents place wrapped presents under the tree. Her eyes drifted shut when they turned to look at her, and, for a moment, she felt slightly guilty. But, that passed quickly enough when she heard them ascend the stairs.
Opening her eyes, she examined the Christmas tree and smiled. Against her will, her eyes drifted to look at the star. A pang of irritation (or some other emotion she didn't care to think about) shot through her when she noticed that the family star was back in its rightful place at her parents' house. Which meant that the previous year's trip to Diagon Alley had been for nothing, since she really could have done without a tree.
Stretching again, she stood and went into the kitchen for hot tea.
She had seen Draco Malfoy twice since... the incident, and both attempts at conversation had been severely lacking since it was incredibly awkward (for her since she didn't do well with teasing about how a little bit of tongue wouldn't have killed her). Despite that problem, he had sent her a thank you card (featuring a picture of fucking mistletoe, the vicious, cruel bastard) since his mother had loved the necklace. She shook her head and put the kettle on the stove.
In February, Harry had finally thought to mention that Draco worked with him at the Ministry. For weeks afterward, every time they were together, he passed on a “Malfoy said hello.” before they talked about other things.
In March, she ran into Blaise Zabini at the Daily Prophet's office when she went to “set things straight,” so to speak, with the magazine for the lies they had spread about Harry. He had informed her that Draco talked about everything but her. According to him, that was important in a good way. When the reporter she would be speaking with came to get her, she was never happier to be rescued from an uncomfortable - on her part, anyway - conversation.
In April, Pansy Parkinson had somehow found out where she lived. Their first civilized conversation had been over peppermint tea and chocolate cake. Pansy's last words (other than “see you soon”) had been along the lines of, “We should do this again sometime.We could invite Draco.”
When May came around and she saw Vincent Crabbe standing outside of the Starbucks she frequented, she was sure Draco was vicariously stalking her. She had smiled and made small talk for several minutes while she waited for her vanilla frappuccino. When she had flat out asked him if he'd been sent, he had blushed slightly and nodded.
Three months passed without incident and, for some strange reason, Hermione felt slightly abandoned now that his friends weren't showing up in odd places.
Going through the cupboard, she found her favorite cup and dropped a bag of Earl Grey into the bottom. She turned the stove off and poured the not-quite-boiling water over the teabag. With her cup of steaming tea, she stepped around Crookshanks and returned to her chair.
Then, on the nineteenth of September, Draco had sent a birthday card and a bottle of Draught of Living Death. There had been a note telling her that Harry had let it slip that she hadn't been sleeping well because of school. It was thoughtful, and she was just happy that he hadn't sent her jewelry or something that could give Ron room for a school colors joke.
“This is a nice place. It's a little boring, but that's the price of decorating like a librarian.”
To her credit, she didn't scald herself with tea. “Is this a social call, Santa?”
Draco took off his cloak and sat on the matching sofa. “That's not funny.”
She shrugged. “When did you get here? How did you get in?”
He adjusted the sleeves of his hunter green sweater. “Hours ago. I stopped by, but you weren't here.” He smirked. “Your neighbor is a very nice woman. As soon as I told her who I was, she insisted I take the spare key you gave her.”
Hermione took a sip of tea and thoughtfully gazed at him over her cup. “Hmm. And what did you tell her?”
“That I was your adoring brother paying you a surprise visit.” At her disbelieving look, he added, “She's not blind and called me on the lack of familial resemblance; I just said that I happened to take after the other side of the family.”
She nodded indulgently.
Watching her face closely, he questioned, “You want me to give the key back to her, don't you?”
“Well, if you keep it you must know that you'll have to be available at any odd hour of the night in case I lock myself out.”
“Fair enough.”
They fell into a somewhat companionable silence and Draco took the opportunity toreally look around. His eyes were drawn to the top of the glittering tree, and he fought the urge to comment.
She placed her cup on the coffee table and pulled the blanket back around herself. “What are you doing here?”
“I guess I just wanted to see you,” he replied, looking strangely vulnerable.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Draco reached down and picked up the book she had dropped. “My mother's in the Alpsvisiting old friends. She wanted me to go, too, but I guess mountains lost their appeal.”
“If you've seen one, you've seen them all,” she agreed.
He possibly smiled at that, but with his face towards the floor, she had no idea.
With a labored sigh, she stood and crossed over to sit next to him on the couch and draped part of her blanket over him. “This is the only time I'll share, just so you know.”
“I can live with that,” he laughed.
“The Slytherin fan club I somehow acquired?”
Groaning, he shook his head. “I had nothing to do with. Pansy took it upon herself to meddle, and the others were powerless to resist.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “You told Pansy?”
“No one tells her anything.” He hesitated. “There's something you should know. I had already ordered my mother that necklace when I asked you to help me.”
“Thoroughly Slytherin,” she announced.
“I'd return the favor, but Hufflepuff would better describe your act of good will.”
“If I do something very Gryffindor, you have to stay for dinner tomorrow and meet my parents.”
“All right.”
She reached forward and pulled his head towards her. “Remember that we have a verbal contract,” she whispered against his mouth. She brushed her lips over his. He raised his hands to bury them in her hair and pull her closer.
His tongue traced the seam of her mouth in a sweeping motion, and she moaned softly and melted into the kiss. Before releasing his mouth to trail kisses to his ear.
He pulled her against his chest and tried to move her backwards. When she resisted, he pulled away and stared questioningly.
“That's a little too brave when my parents are staying her for a few days.”
“That's not brave, it's foolish. Coincidently, that's been a trait of your former house for years,” he finished with a smirk.
She smacked his arm and tugged her blanket away from him. “Now that you've insulted me, you can't have it.”
“I could make it up to you. Rumor has it there's such a thing as aphrodisiacal cookies.”
.:.:.:.
Three things you want your fic to include: A swallow, a romance, thestar for the top of the Christmas tree.
Three things you do not want your fic to include: Intense angst,out-of-character Draco or Hermione, character violation of any kind (rape, etc).
Thank-you for Celebrating the Season with Draco and Hermione!