Hi, everyone! People wanted to know what would happen the morning after, so here you have it: Part Two of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.
"This is all your bloody fault, Ron."
They were standing in front of Harry's fireplace at Grimmauld Place, with gifts and Christmas leftovers in hand for Hermione. Cold sweat was running down Ron's back, while Harry kept adjusting his glasses. Both felt extremely guilty that they didn't at least try to get Hermione to spend Christmas Eve at the Burrow. Ron may have cheated on her and Harry may have been busy catering to Ginny's every pregnant whim, but they were still her best friends.
Ron's head whipped to the left to face Harry, his blue eyes enraged. "My fault? It's not my fault 'Mione has such a large stick up her-"
Harry smacked him hard upside the head. "I dare you to finish that sentence. I dare you." Ron rubbed his head and grumbled, only the words bloody mental and complete nutcase intelligible.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a large breath. "Right, then. You know she forgives us faster when we grovel, so better get your sad eyes ready. We also both know that only I have the chance of getting out of there unhexed, so you'd better prepare yourself for another flock of canaries."
"Bloody hell. Those canaries were vicious."
"You were a right arse. You deserved it, and if it happens again today, you still deserve it," he said, each of them grabbing a handful of Floo powder. They both stepped into the fireplace, announced Hermione's address in clear voices, and were whisked away by the Floo.
It was too damn hot.
She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to deal with the morning just yet. Her entire body felt like she was being enveloped by the flames of Hell, and she felt like she had been hit by hundreds of Bludgers all over.
Flames of Hell? Bludgers? Aren't you being a tad loony, there? You weren't protesting about the heat OR the soreness last night, Inner Hermione snarked.
Last night.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, and her entire body went rigid. Last night?!
That was when she heard a groan. A very manly, sleepy, morning sex type of groan. She felt the arm around her waist tighten, as well as the leg that had been slung over her, crushing her to the bed.
"Damn it, Granger. I can practically hear those gears twisting in your head. It's hardly time to get up."
She smiled at the voice behind her, and rolled to face him. "Hi."
Draco's mouth broke out in a grin. "Hi, yourself. I'd ask if you would care for round two, but we both know we went more than one round last night. So, instead, would you care for another demonstration of my Sex God skills?"
"That sounds like an excellent plan, Mr. Malfoy," she saucily replied, straddling his hips.
"'Mione, you home? 'Mione!"
"Shut up, Ron! She might be asleep!"
"Harry, it's almost noon. Nobody sleeps past noon on Christmas Day. Nobody."
Harry set their packages down on the kitchen island, and Ron followed suit. Hermione had quite the night, it seemed. A blanket made by Molly was haphazardly strewn over the back of the couch. Empty ice cream cartons and two glasses of wine sat on the coffee table in front of the telly, and two wine bottles were on the floor. He was unsure whether two meant company, or Hermione was obsessive-compulsive about her wine and didn't want to use the same glass for two different kinds.
He was betting on the second option.
Ron had been studying the photos on Hermione's mantelpiece, and Harry heard him sigh. He grabbed his gift for Hermione and walked over to him.
"She took down all the photos with me in them," he said, running a hand through his red hair. "Even the ones of the three of us."
Harry gave him a sympathetic look. "You cheated. You can't blame her for not wanting to see your face after that. Honestly, Ron. Lavender is hardly worth cheating on Hermione for."
"I know," Ron replied. "It's just, we were so unhappy, y'know? It was always just fighting and yelling at each other and storming out. I was tired and went to get a drink at the Leaky after work and saw Lavender, and Hermione was supposed to be out of town, and-"
"You're a bloody Gryffindor, Ron. You could've at least lived up to our House's traits."
"I know. If it means anything, I'm sorry."
"It isn't me you should apologize to, you know," Harry said, walking to Hermione's bedroom door. He held his ear to it, but heard nothing. Huh, he thought. Silencing Charm, probably.
"'Mione? Happy Christmas, 'Mione. Time to get out of bed, don't you think?" he called, hand on the doorknob. "You reckon we should just go in?"
Ron shrugged. "I dunno, mate. I think I'll stay here. Don't want to be too close if she hexes me."
"When, you mean."
"Yeah, when."
Harry turned the knob of Hermione's door. Locked. Well, then, he mused. It's Christmas. She won't mind.
"Alohomora."
"Fuck yeah, Granger. Just like that," Draco hissed, grabbing her hips harder. She rolled her hips faster, her thighs burning and her hair bouncing with every stroke. They didn't hear the opening of the door or the thud of something hitting the floor.
"Shit, Granger, ah- holy fuck, Potter?!"
"Malfoy?!"
"MALFOY?!" they heard from outside the door.
"Harry?!"
Hermione screamed and scrambled off of Draco, landing on his side with a thud and pulling the blanket to their chins. She sent a silent thank you to every deity watching over her that she was covered with a blanket as she and Draco engaged in their activities. This was completely mortifying.
"Harry, I can explain-"
"Fucking a, Potter, way to ruin someone's morning-"
"MALFOY, YOU'D BETTER GET THE FUCK OUT OF-"
"Shut up, Ron!" both Harry and Hermione yelled. Hermione grabbed her wand from the bedside table and pointed it at him.
"Ronald Weasley, you have exactly five seconds to tell me why you're here. You," she rounded on Harry, "Also have five seconds to explain why you thought it would be alright to enter my bedroom, seeing as it was Silenced and locked, and you," she faced Draco, "will shut up and sit there quietly. Got it?" She pointed her wand at Ron once again. "Right, then. Go on."
Ron stood agape, his ears flaming red. "What the- what are- Hermione, there's a bloody ferret in your bed! What the-"
"You, of all people, have no right to comment on who I have in my bed, Ronald!" she screeched. "Avis!"
A large flock of canaries appeared out of thin air and circled above her head, twice the size of the flock that Hermione had conjured back in sixth year. Ron slowly backed away from the bed, holding his hands up.
"Now, 'Mione, let's not get violent-"
"Violent?" Hermione rose from the bed, clutching the sheet to her chest as it slipped off of Draco and trailed onto the floor. Draco grabbed a pillow and positioned it over his nether regions, trying to maintain a modicum of privacy in front of Scarhead and the Weasel.
"I'll show you violent, Ronald Bilius Weasley," she said menacingly. "Oppugno!"
The canaries zoomed at Ron, beaks and talons poised for attack. He yelped, raising his hands in a futile attempt at shielding himself, while the birds pecked and clawed at him. He ran out of the flat and into the fireplace, hastily grabbing Floo powder and calling out the Burrow.
"Brilliant, if I do say so myself, Granger."
She glared at him, and he snickered, covering himself up with another pillow. "I remember telling you to shut up, Malfoy."
"Back to Malfoy now, is it? You didn't seem so keen on calling me Malfoy while my tongue was-"
"Eugh. Can it, Malfoy. I might lose my breakfast."
"Nobody invited you, Potter. Now if you'll excuse us, we were in the middle of-"
"Shut up, Draco." Hermione hissed, smacking him with a pillow. "Harry, what are you doing here?"
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose again, counting slowly to ten and taking deep breaths, just like his post-war therapist had told him to do in time of stress. "Came to apologize for not spending Christmas with you. Brought turkey and mince pies from the Burrow. Bought you a gift," he said, taking his glasses off and polishing them on the end of his shirt.
"Honestly, Harry, my door was locked and Silenced. What in Merlin's name were you thinking, just barging in like that? What if I were naked?"
"You were naked-"
"If you don't shut up, Malfoy, so help me-"
Harry cut her off. "I'm really sorry, 'Mione. I figured you'd just be asleep or reading or-" He made a face, grabbing the blue robe hanging from the hook on Hermione's door, and threw it at Malfoy. It hit him square in the face, Harry noted with satisfaction. "Put it on, Malfoy. Knowing you're starkers is making me want to vomit."
"Scared to see how much better my body is than yours, eh, Potter?" he goaded, slipping his arms through the robe.
"Anyway, 'Mione, I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. We wanted to make sure you were okay. Ron was worried too."
Draco scoffed. "Worried? More like guilty as fuck."
"Draco," Hermione warned.
"Hermione, what's he doing here?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco cut her to the chase, smirking at Harry. "For your information, Potter, while you were being totally pussy-whipped by Weaselette and while the Weasel was at home crying to his mummy, I was here, with this little minx-" he smacked Hermione's bum lightly, "-easing her sorrows away. Now if you'll excuse us, we have activities to get back to."
"Do that again, Malfoy, and I swear I will cut your bollocks off with-"
"Do that again in the presence of company, you mean-"
"Company? Who told you that you were going to become a permanent fixture around here?"
"Now, Granger, we both know you can't resist me. Why pretend, yeah?"
Harry slowly inched out of the room as they bickered, setting his gift for Hermione on the dresser. "So, yeah, 'Mione, I'll best be going. Ginny, you know. She sends her love, by the way, and told me to remind you about tea on Thursday. Thank you for the gifts, too. Can't wait to try out those new Quidditch gloves. Love you."
Hermione gave him a soft smile. "Thank you for the gift, Harry. Tell Ginny I'll be there. See you later?"
"Of course," he replied. "Happy Christmas. You too, Ferret. See you around."
"Happy Christmas, Harry."
"Happy Christmas, Scarhead. Give my regards to Weaselette."
Harry left the room, and they heard the whoosh of the Floo.
Hermione flopped onto the bed. "That was mortifying. And what did you mean, give your regards to Ginny? Do you even talk to each other?"
"I'll have you know, Granger, that Weaselette is like a fungus that grows on you."
"That made absolutely no sense, you pillock."
He grinned, pinning her to the bed. "She sent me an owl, once. I think you were in a meeting. Told me to get my shit together and ask you out already, but I ignored her. Then more owls came with all these unwarranted tips about how to get on your good side, what you liked and disliked, and all."
"Ugh. I told her to quit meddling."
"Of course, I didn't take any of her advice. I knew you'd come around and ask me out yourself."
"Prat."
"Yeah, yeah. Can we pick up where we left off now?" he drawled, his lips barely brushing hers, warm and inviting.
Happy Christmas to me, she thought, before she ripped her robe off of him and proceeded to enjoy the rest of Christmas afternoon.
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