"So, where do you want to go for Christmas? Fiji? Thailand? Or maybe skiing?"
Hermione looked at her boyfriend of eight months blankly.
"Paris is probably beautiful in the snow…" the blond prompted.
The man was a little bit worried. Hermione never looked confused - never. Yet she was staring at him like he had three heads, completely neglecting her pasta. Not that he blamed her, he now realised he was a very bad cook and he would not be going near an oven again. The charred carbohydrate he had produced was practically toxic. Actually, perhaps he had grown three heads. He checked his reflection on the back of a spoon, but everything looked normal.
The bushy-haired girl seemed to regain her composure, and spoke to him as one might speak to Goyle.
"We're going to visit our families. And I showed you the invitation from Luna."
"We're what? I didn't think you were serious! Merlin, Mia, why would you inflict that on yourself?"
"Because it's Christmas, Draco, and that's what people do on Christmas."
"Sit in a room full of people they don't like and have nothing in common with?"
"Yes!" Hermione nodded emphatically, her curls bouncing.
"But it's Christmas… you're my girlfriend, we've got to be together at Christmas!" the Slytherin whined, pouting ever so slightly.
"We will." Hermione was speaking like he was stupid again.
"But if we're both visiting our families…"
"We'll both visit both of our families," the exasperated woman intoned slowly.
"Oh."
Hermione remained silently, trying to find a part of her dinner that was edible.
"Do we have to?"
"Yes!"
"But why?"
The whining was beginning to get on the brunette's nerves. It was like having a child. Hermione had decided she didn't like children very much. They couldn't hold a decent conversation and they always got in the way.
"If you want me to have sex with you ever again you will do this. Christmas is for families." Suddenly her eyes widened in horror. "Unless you just don't want your family to meet me. Oh my goodness, that's it! You're ashamed because I'm muggleborn, aren't you?"
Draco saw his girlfriend start to grow pink with anger. "No! Hermione, listen to me!" She had started to stand up, so he grabbed her wrists and pulled her back down. His silver eyes bored into her chocolate ones. "No, Mia, I am not ashamed of you. You know that! You are beautiful and clever and kind and your blood is just as wonderful as the rest of you."
The Gryffindor smiled at him. She did know he wasn't really ashamed. When she had first met his friends, arriving for lunch at Daphne's home, he had grinned at them all and said "here she is." All Hermione's worries about being stuck at a table with a group of Slytherin purebloods had dissipated when they had actually been pleased to meet her. Well, apart from Theodore Nott, but he seemed a little disliking of everyone, even his friends.
Hermione brought herself back to the present and accio-ed her notebook, conjuring a quill.
"So," she began in a business-like tone, and Draco worried slightly about what he had gotten himself into. "We have to do my dad, your parents, my mum, the Weasleys and Luna."
Draco's mouth hung open.
"Oh, and I said we'd visit Pans. It must be awful to be on your own at Christmas."
"She's got Blaise!"
"Blaise is visiting his aunt."
The blond was momentarily awe-struck. Mia truly did know everything, all of the time. Occasionally he worried that she was secretly a spy, like in those muggle movies, and she had a little invisible ear-piece which told her everything, but that was one of his sillier thoughts. Instead of voicing this he continued to argue.
"She's got her parents!"
"They do not count. She needs moral support."
"Why do you always have to be so fucking virtuous?"
"Why do you always have to be so fucking selfish?"
"Touché."
And so it was that one week later, Draco was standing before a chart which covered an entire wall in the living room of his flat, where Hermione practically lived, listening to the tiny witch explain precisely what they were doing on every day, from when they both stopped work until they went back on the 28th. The grey-eyed man was trying very hard not to listen, but nevertheless he kept catching disturbing phrases; things like 'present shopping' ; 'stuff the turkey' (he didn't know what the heck a turkey was, but he doubted stuffing anything was pleasant) ; 'three children' ; 'board games' and, worst of all 'separate bedrooms'.
It was going to be a very long week.
A/N : Okay, so for the purposes of the story Hermione's parents are divorced and wizards don't eat turkey at Christmas, they eat something else (I shall elaborate in another chapter).
Please review and let me know what you think! (Constructive criticism is welcome.)