This is written to go along with a song, but I recommend you listen after you read the story, or at least wait until you're near the bottom.
Song: Christmas Eve by Blackmore's Night. I did not write the song! It belongs to Blackmore's Night and whoever else has performed this Christmas song.
With a leaden heart I stomp home through the storm. The wind howls and snow whirls around me as I shiver in my parka. For too long I have been struggling home from visiting the horses in the stable out back. When I was in the stable I didn't want to aparate and upset the horses. Once I was in the storm I was afraid to aparate in such bad weather. I suppose I could have skipped seeing the horses after my visit to Diagone Alley where I had spent the majority of my day perusing shops and trying to be ignored by the general public. On the other hand, I always wanted to give the animals an extra carrot or two on nights like this. The wind upsets them so, but a carrot ameliorates some of their discomfiture.
Finally, the door of the manor appears through the blizzard, and I push it open to reveal a dark house. I know better than to call my parents' names to find out where they are, so instead I simply push the door closed and shrug off the majority of my snow-covered, outer layers. Now standing in just a dress shirt, black slacks, and my still warm snow boots, I shiver slightly. It's strange that the manor is so cold. Have my parents decided to stay upstairs and not heat the bottom level?
Wandering further into the manor, a note on the long dining room table catches my eye. Uneasily I reach for it and notice my hands are slightly shaking. I read it in seconds and my eyes turn as cold as my prickled skin.
We went to town and by chance we came across some old friends who invited us to dinner. We didn't know what time you'd be arriving, so we accepted and went to dinner with them. I know you won't mind. Make yourself at home! The servants have the night off since it's Christmas Eve, however there's some cold ham in the fridger. Your father says to help yourself to it.
Merry Christmas Eve,
Mother
I let the note flutter through my fingers to land upon the newly polished table, a tiny sigh escaping through my lips. I shouldn't be surprised- they've done this before- but this year mother promised we'd spend both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day as a family. It's likely, now, that mother and father will not be back until tomorrow morning, and by then they'll be in no mood to participate in a 'jolly' Christmas with the likes of me.
I bite my lip uneasily, a habit that has returned since father stopped paying so much attention to what I'm doing in life, and I think about the gifts I have spent so much time picking out: A new silver-grey tie for father, and an emerald studded necklace for mother. Both were ridiculously expensive, but I remember my parents used to get me expensive presents before the war; it's about time I help give back to them the amount they'd given me. That's the spirit of the season after all, isn't it? Giving? That's what I'd always thought, but the spirit of my season these days seems much more to do with nights spent alone and cold ham in the fridger.
Nevertheless, I make my way toward the kitchen, which I go into much more frequently these days since my mother randomly gives the house elves days off. After all, after the war they became 'servants', not 'house elves'. Sometimes I forget, but then mother reminds me.
Someone didn't change the calendar in here; it still says November. As a gift from some diplomat to my father, we believe the calendar is muggle, but my mother loves the pictures so much we've kept it. Hearing the wind howling outside the window makes me glance up to see the blizzard that surrounds the manor. No resemblance to the golden brown picture on the calendar can be seen; it is winter now, no doubt about it.
I reach for the fridger, when the wind howls once more, and I reconsider. I've sat at home, alone, eating cold ham for the past three Christmases. I'm not going to do it again. My parents can ruin my Christmas, but only if I let them. Maybe I'll just finally take matters into my own hands. It's about time for things to be on my own terms.
I wonder where I'll go, and then a little village I haven't visited in years comes to mind. With a definite nod, I think about it and aparate.
I land in a clearing where a light snow is dusting the already blanketed ground and evergreen branches. It sprinkles my arms and lands on the lashes that are just under the brim of my soft fur hat. Remembering that I'm still in my dress clothes, I transfigure another pair of warmer pants and a woolen coat for myself. Though there is no blizzard here, the air is still chilly.
Music floats from somewhere nearby, and I wander in that direction. Soon, a storybook village alight with candles and tiny bulbs appears, people laughing and singing in their town square. I'm not going to go down and interrupt their joyous party. I am content to continue my walk through the lightly falling snow, occasionally catching a fleck of white upon my tongue as I count each snowflake that floats past my vision.
I don't plan to go any closer to the village, yet the laughing of children and singing of such happy people pulls me near. An all too recognizable face makes me almost flinch away, but when my old red-haired school enemy waves a sparkle of golden magic, my eyes refuse to pull away from his father who sits in a red sled with twelve reindeer in front. His son waves the golden magic again, and the reindeer, sled, and grandfatherly Weasley lift into the gently clouding sky.
Bells ring in a soft melody of symbolic goodbye, and the children's eyes glow in the light of the gigantic red and gold Christmas tree. I cannot find it within myself to frown at how happy he looks as he joins hands with the girl I mocked throughout my entire childhood. She smiles as she links hands with her red-haired husband and gives him a small kiss. At this, everyone cheers before they break into a song of love and peace to the world.
It seems that the entire village is there. They are holding hands in a circle, laughing and singing. Children are building snowmen and falling back into soft snowbanks to create beautiful snow angels that look like patterns in powdered sugar.
I mean to smile and walk away, but instead I am pulled closer to the village, a lighted cottage catching my eye. The people in the square don't notice me, so I glance into the cheerily decorated window. Inside is yet another face I recognize, and once more I feel the need to turn away and march far from this happy, storybook village; but I don't because watching the family inside warms me more than cold ham ever could.
The young red haired lady is lighting a candle and telling the bespectacled man that this is Christmas, so he should forget the cares of the day and enjoy himself. He nods at her, and the nightmares that people say constantly cloud his eyes, are replaced with a smile. Another familiar redhead marches into the room, a laugh upon his lips and matches in his hands. He creates a fire in the fireplace the muggle way, and then decorates the hearth with red bows, green holly, and newly picked mistletoe. He smiles at his sister and brother-in-law, and then makes a joke like he used to be so famous for doing. A moment later, a woman who I don't know quite so well wanders in, her hands resting on her large stomach. The standing red-head pulls her into his arms and kisses her before he helps her onto the couch and all four of them talk of Christmas stories and bygone years.
I allow a smile to grace my lips; however, the call of a child floats upon the wind reminding me that I don't want to get spotted. Glancing in the cottage once more, I turn and wander up into the woods where I lean against a slightly waving pine tree and watch the villagers indulge in their Christmas party.
Not even I can ignore the absolute beauty of this night under the stars peeking out from the less heavily clouded patches of sky. Not even I can ignore the beauty of the snow which lands on my gloves like tiny flecks of moonlight gifted to the world on this gorgeous, magical night.
"What are you doing up here all alone?"
The woman's teasing greeting comes from my left. It startles me so much that I whack my head against the tree and cause a pile of snow to fall off a branch and onto me. The woman's gentle laugh makes me turn my head and glare through cold, angry eyes.
Her giggling finally ceases, and her eyes widen in shock.
"Draco?" she asks, and I have to suppress a groan as I press my eyes shut, frustrated. I've been recognized; now she'll surely go screaming down into the village about how an ex-Death Eater is watching their festivities, surely plotting to off them all or some such nonsense. Yet suddenly it occurs to me that she used my first name, and my eyes fly open in shock.
"Wait," I ask. "Do I know you?"
"Well I should hope so," she smiles warmly at me. "I grant it's been a few years since we saw each other at the Zabini Hallows Eve Ball, but I rather enjoyed our waltz together."
"Astoria?" I gasp, and as I gape at the woman in front of me, I realize she is recognizable, though vastly different at the same time. She looks much older, but not in a bad way. Her hair is redder than it used to be, but not red like the Weasleys; instead it's more of a deep auburn. She's dressed in an all-white fur coat and hood, a sprig of holly pinned to her lapel, and a smile adorning her bright red lips.
"Hello," she tells me with a curtsey. "It's been several years. You've nearly disappeared, it seems. How are you? People only ever hear about your parents anymore."
"I've been alright, just trying to stay out of the limelight. And you? How've you been?"
"Oh, just the same, although much happier since the war has ended, as I'm sure you could have guessed. What are you doing hiding in the woods?"
"Oh, just trying to stay out of the limelight," I repeat. "I had the manor all to myself tonight, but I'd rather be here watching the lights twinkle and the snow fall. What are you doing here?"
"I've been in the chorus every year since the war ended," Astoria explains. "Father told me that my singing voice was being wasted so I tentatively joined the Christmas Choir, and now nothing can keep me away."
I smile as she talks, her face flushed from the biting air. When she asks me to join the party in the square, I politely refuse, yet she insists I go down into the village, and so together we walk amongst the jollily decorated buildings, some shining with lights and others dark because their inhabitants are still singing and dancing under the gold and red Christmas tree.
Astoria and I leave a trail through the newly fallen snow as we laugh at drawings in windows which children have created, and stare in awe at the ice statues which were built for the town competition. Finally it grows so late that I know I must return home, and so I turn and inform Astoria. She nods in understanding, yet before I can aparate, she tugs me under an archway which leads into someone's front garden. I glance up to see a familiar sprig of green, and then Astoria plants a gentle kiss upon my cheek.
"Merry Christmas, Draco," she tells me as the bells finish striking midnight, and then the villagers sing their final chorus.
Its Christmas eve
Bells will ring
Through the town we gather to sing
Christmas eve
Has begun
Peace and love to everyone
IMPORTANT: Song and lyrics by Blackmore's Night and anyone else who has sung this Christmas carol. Here is a couple more verses of the song. For the full song you can look on Youtube (which I highly recommend).
Say goodbye to November
She must be on her way
The cold winds of December
Feel like they're here to stay
Me, I'll just count the snowflakes
As they start to fall
Getting lost in the beauty
The magic of it all
And our eyes filled with wonder,
As the reindeer take to flight
Its Christmas eve
Bells will ring
Through the town we gather to sing
Christmas eve
Has begun
Peace and love to everyone
Light the festive candles
They'll chase the shadows away
Gathering round the yule log
With handfuls of holly
Winter winds will whisper
Through the shivering pines
Never have the stars looked brighter than tonight
AU: I know fridger isn't a word, but I had to make refrigerator sound more wizardish, so fridger is what I came up with.