Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
A/N: Written for the Triwizard Fest, hosted by Dramione Fanfiction Writers. Thanks for another great fest, mods!
Co-written with the wonderful Frumpologist. If you haven't checked out Part 1 of this story yet, please do!
www. fanfiction. net/s/13162039/1/Twelve-Days-of-Christmas-War-Part-1
(Delete the spaces!)
"Pansy said she's nearly blonde now," Blaise laughed as
No matter how much she scrubbed or charmed or finite'd, the bloody makeup wouldn't come off. The French cousins applied permanent sticking charms to all of their contours and highlights. Hermione looked like a damn runway model and she. Hated. It.
"You look gorgeous!" Theo gushed, and she smacked him hard in the chest. "I mean of course you look nice normally, but those hens certainly know their craft."
Hermione hid her face behind splayed hands and groaned. "It's awful. I don't want my looks to define me. I'm a powerful witch! I don't need to be pretty!"
"Of course not. Terrible responsibility, being attractive." Theo chuckled. "So, it's your go, yeah? Four calling birds on the list. What're you going to do?"
"Murder of crows?" Hermione grumbled into her hands.
"Not really a Christmas gift." Theo reached forward and pulled her hands away from her face.
"Magpies." She whipped her head to Theo and was instantly annoyed at the luscious waves that gently fluttered around her face. "He's going to get the beautiful song of four magpies."
"Er…" Theo peered at her skeptically, a face she knew wasn't impressed by her gift idea. "Sounds great?"
His concern faded when she pinned him with a devious smirk.
"Pansy said she's nearly blonde now," Blaise laughed as he sat with Draco in his parlor. "Cheekbones to put even your mother to shame."
"My cousins never fail to disappoint," Draco chuckled against the lip of his tumbler and tossed back the amber liquid inside.
"She must have skived off work today," Blaise pressed, glancing to Draco as if the blonde was going to divulge some deep secret. "Did you happen to catch sight of her?"
Draco downed another glass of whisky before wiping his lips. "I didn't like it."
Blaise opened his mouth to say something pointed about Draco's opinions when it came to Hermione, but he was interrupted. Something rapped on the window. Tap - tap - tap - tap. Blaise pulled his wand to open the window, but Draco stopped him with a shake of his head and then glared as a rogue shiny piece of glitter fell onto his sleeve.
"My four calling birds, I assume." He lowered Blaise's arm. He didn't trust that these birds were only birds. Nefarious winged beasts, maybe. Glitter bombs, probably. But definitely not birds.
"Fuck's sake, Draco," Blaise sighed and rolled his eyes. He opened the window anyway and let the birds inside. "They're just magpies."
The birds hopped inside and then flew to perch on the back of Draco's chair. He watched them closely, cautious in case they exploded or began to peck his eyes out. After a few minutes, they started to sing a melodic and sweet tune that actually calmed his nerves completely.
"She sent you singing birds?" Blaise considered the small black birds. "Lame."
Draco, however, was pleased nothing more sinister was happening. He listened to the song of the birds, and when it came to an end, he very nearly felt soothed.
Until, of course, the birds' songs started again. And again, and again, and again. No matter what he tried - stunners, silencers - the birds wouldn't stop bloody singing. Hours passed and he stared up at his ceiling with red, tired eyes, and the birds were still carrying on with their song.
Draco was still humming that incessant tune the next day. "Gah!" He tugged at the roots of his hair, wishing he could yank every single note of that song from his memory.
By morning, the birds were gone.
Well...they were dead. Draco had no idea what happened to them—he would be willing to testify under Veritaserum. All he knew was by breakfast—after eventually falling asleep and being chased by that blasted song in his nightmares—he woke to four unmoving magpies on the parlor couch.
Either Hermione had charmed the artificial birds to survive only one night—or Bitzy took matters into her own hands. Draco had his money on the latter.
He eyed Bitzy warily as she bustled around the study, dusting the lampshades. He was so engrossed in analyzing just how far his control-freak House Elf would go that he didn't hear Blaise enter the room.
"Hmm. What's this?" Blaise snatched the box in front of Draco before he could protest. Lifting the lid, he glanced at the contents skeptically.
Draco tsked. "Give me that." He stole the box from Blaise without waiting for a reply.
"Is that…"
"A present for Granger?" A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips. "Why, yes, Blaise. It is."
"What's it do?" Blaise peered over his shoulder at the gift, nestled on green velvet lining. "Petrify her fingers? Charm her into writing only naughty words?"
Draco shook his head slowly, basking in the wickedness of his plan. "Nothing."
"'Nothing?'" Blaise pulled back, staring at him with a dubious expression. "As in nothing-nothing?"
A sinister laugh bubbled in Draco's chest, and he released it, filling the large room. In the corner, Bitzy didn't bother hiding her eye-roll.
Blaise sat against the edge of the desk. "I don't get it, mate."
"It's like in those Muggle horror films she always makes us watch. The scariest part is the not knowing what the monster is—what it's capable of." Draco leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers in front of him. "It doesn't need to do anything. When Granger receives this gift, the little swot will drive herself crazy trying to figure it out."
Blaise stared at him, open-mouthed, as he shook his head. "Draco Malfoy," he whispered in awe. "You're a fucking genius."
"Draco Malfoy," Pansy mumbled under her breath, "you're a fucking idiot." She brought her glass of wine to her lips and took a healthy gulp.
After failing to detect curses, hexes, or any other antics, Hermione had rushed out of the living room, the small box secured under layers of charms. She had taken it to her magical safe for good measure, afraid of what the gift might do.
"Do you think she knows what those were?" Theo drawled, crossing his legs at the knees and sipping on a glass of Scotch.
Pansy sliced her head to the side. "I don't think so. I don't think she's that well-read when it comes to Sacred Twenty-Eight customs. Not like we are, anyway."
Theo hummed. "All right. Here's a more interesting question: do you think he knows what he just gave her?"
She covered her laughter in case Hermione came back down—and started asking awkward questions. " That , I don't know. Draco's not one to forget the meaning of Pureblood gestures. But when it comes to Hermione, his logic tends to get a little...wonky." She and Theo shared a knowing look.
"So, you don't think he realizes that he just gave her a box of promise rings— five of them, for good measure?"
Pansy snorted. "The day Draco sorts himself out when it comes to Hermione is the day I dance naked for Harry Potter."
Theo smirked at her around his tumbler. "You know, there's a rumor around the Auror bullpen that he fancies you."
"Shut up, Nott." Pansy glanced away, trying to control the heat in her cheeks.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Hermione sat across from Pansy, holding a steaming mug of tea and staring at the five rings mutinously. "Why, after everything these past few days, would Draco Malfoy give me… promise rings? Five of them!"
Pansy shrugged and sipped her wine – because as Hermione knew, if it was dark outside or a weekend, Pansy was imbibed with wine, full stop. Who was Hermione to argue with someone else's life choices? She clearly had her own issues. Like one Draco Malfoy fucking with her mind and presenting her with promise rings, of all things. A promise to murder her at the end of this, perhaps?
"Maybe he likes you." The way Pansy peered at her over the glass of merlot made Hermione glare in return. She was really getting tired of these pointed comments. "Or not, Hermione. That's the point. Maybe he has no bloody idea what they are. I just thought I should tell you."
"Thank Merlin it's Saturday," Hermione muttered into her cup. "I don't think I could stand to see him today."
"What are you sending to him, then?" Theo walked into the room and sat in his designated chair. He stole Hermione's tea right out of her hands and barely flinched as the piping hot liquid ran down his throat. "Six geese a-laying, your notes say."
Hermione sighed. Right, more birds. "Whoever wrote this song needs to get checked out for orinthomania. It's completely ridiculous to think your true love would want six geese laying eggs. Unless they laid golden eggs, but who can afford that?"
Theo coughed, and Pansy kicked him under the table. Hermione glared at them for a moment before she summoned her notes and passed them to Theo.
"I did some research –"
"Granger? Research? Lies!" Pansy chuckled. "Only joking, Hermione. It's endearing, how clever you are."
"Anyway." Hermione summoned a large box and set it on the table in front of her, effectively blocking Pansy's amused face from view. "I did some reading this week on the meaning of the song and what each gift can symbolize. And did you know –"
"Let's assume that no one except for you knows." Theo's eyebrows knit together as he read through her scribbles. "What are we going to do about eight maids a-milking? Buy him a cow?"
"We're not there yet, Nott, get your head in the game!" The competitive streak was coming out; they were halfway to the end and there was no clear winner. He bought her jewelry. Of course that gave him bonus points. She didn't have time for Theo's nonsense.
"Granger's in it to win it," Pansy commented with a giggle.
"It's bloody nine o'clock in the morning, Parkinson."
"Oh, hush, Nott. I know your scotch habits." She leveled him with a knowing look. "I do spend a lot of time with Daphne, you know."
Theo stopped talking and found Hermione's notes intensely interesting after that. While it was quiet, Hermione unboxed the gift and set it on the table. It was a large globe, sepia in color and strung against a solid oak wooden curve. She pulled six pins out of her pocket and began sticking them in several places; Los Angeles, The Maldives, Mount Kilimanjaro, Maunakea, The Amazon, The Great Barrier Reef.
"What are those pins?" Theo asked, finally pulled from her notes. "Six geese a-laying translates to… travel?"
"It's an old Muggle belief that it translates from – the story of creation. One pin for each of God's first six creations. Places Draco and I can travel next."
"Together?"
Hermione nodded.
"Alone?"
She nodded again.
"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy alone together in The Amazon Rainforest?" Theo lifted a thick brow over his eye as he considered her. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall…"
"What does it mean, Blaise?" Draco spun the globe around and around as his eyes watched the little red pins as if they were going to spell out a special message.
"It looks like a globe." Blaise stopped its spinning with a finger and pushed on one of the pins. Both of them tensed, waiting for something sinister to happen. When nothing did, both visibly relaxed. "It's a globe."
"Yes." Draco glared at him, lips pinched. "I'm quite certain I could figure that out on my own. What about the pins?"
Blaise shrugged. "Places she's shagged –"
"Don't." Draco lifted his hand up and cut Blaise off. "Must you always remind me of her dalliances with that prat?"
Blaise grinned and yanked out a red pin. "You're right. There's no way Granger could get to the top of Kilimanjaro and enjoy a good –"
"Zabini!" Draco warned.
Blaise chuckled. "Just saying, mate, I think she's fit but I don't think she's climb-a-mountain-and-shag-for-an-hour-fit."
The most ungodly noise ripped itself from Draco's throat as he spun the globe around again, hoping for some other explanation for the blasted thing.
Pansy and Blaise strode into Draco's study for the usual reason—to raid his liquor cabinet. They expected to find Draco still sulking over Hermione's latest present.
They were quite surprised when they found him bent over an object on his desk—a cardboard box with red stickers on the sides, marked, 'Fragile.'
"What's in the box?" Pansy asked as she breezed to the decanter.
A sly smile graced Draco's sharp features. "Exactly."
Understanding flashed across Blaise's face; his lips contorted with disgust. "Mate," he warned, "there better not be seven severed swan heads in that thing."
Draco answered him with a guttural guffaw.
"What's in the fucking box?" Theo asked once again.
Hermione scrutinized the package on her coffee table. She recognized the reference immediately.
Months ago, she watched the movie Seven with Draco. Right there in her living room—on the couch where she now sat—the two of them huddled. She had burrowed into his side, clutching his hand as Brad Pitt yelled those exact words.
Her cheeks heated at the memory—at the way he held onto her, at the cedar notes of his cologne as she hid her face in the crook of his neck—
With a deep inhalation, she shook herself like a dog flapping off water. And then eyed that box with trepidation. "He wouldn't," she murmured with disbelief.
"What's in the fucking box ?!" Theo yelled.
"Hopefully, not anything that will get us jailed for animal cruelty." She bit her lip and scooted to the edge of her seat. Slowly, she tore the tape open at the seams. Reached inside.
And pulled out an exquisite crystal swan figurine. She peeked in and found six more glimmering in various graceful poses.
"Oh," she breathed as she held one up to the light. "Oh, that's quite pretty."
Across the table, Theo rolled his eyes. "That's it, then? A box of figurines? I expected more theatrics from a Malfoy."
Hermione ignored him as she gazed at the lovely gift in her palm.
"I'd say he's in the lead," Theo mumbled over the lip of his glass. Hermione glared at him. He shrugged. "You can't out-purchase him at this point."
"She doesn't have to." Pansy swooped into her defense and shoved a glass of wine toward her. "Hermione will have something brilliant for day eight, won't you?"
"Short of finding him some breastfeeding mothers, Pansy, I don't really think I can find him eight maids a-milking and actually win this competition." Hermione sighed and pressed her hand into her forehead. Pansy was trying to ply her with drinks but Merlin, she couldn't think sober let alone with the amount of wine Pansy wanted her to imbibe.
"Send him one maid a-milking," Theo offered unhelpfully as he snatched Pansy's bottle and poured himself another glass.
Hermione lifted her head and stared at Theo's sparkling, mischievous eyes. "I don't think I care for what you're implying."
"Prostitutes are the Sacred Twenty-Eight way, Granger!" Pansy laughed and caught Hermione's glare. "Oh, come on. We all know that Draco wouldn't actually enjoy it. But –"
"How do you know? Have you actually ever known him to date anyone?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I haven't. He's probably a virgin."
Theo coughed and spluttered dark liquid all down his white shirt. His face was red under the strain of choking out the alcohol. Pansy was cackling. But Hermione? She was fucking miserable. Eight fucking maids a-milking made absolutely no sense as a modern gift.
"This is worse than the bloody bird massacres of days two and four." She groaned and smacked her head against the table. There would be a bruise in the morning. "Theo, help ."
"While I firmly believe that prostitutes in place of cows is Pansy's best stroke of brilliance in ages," Theo smirked and tossed back another drink of whatever he and Pansy were getting drunk on tonight. "You're right that it won't work for our Malfoy heir. What do your notes say?"
Hermione glanced down at her rushed scribbles and squinted to try and make out the words. "Eight beatitudes."
"The fuck is that?" Pansy grabbed the notes with a swish and spilled liquid all over the parchment. "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. What. The. Fuck."
"Granger." The back of Theo's hand was against Hermione's forehead. He's stared at her seriously. "Have you actually lost your mind over this competition? Trying to outdo Draco with…"
And then it was quiet. So quiet. Until Theo started to laugh. Hermione's lips twitched.
"Oh, Granger. Granger, Granger, Granger, you are a fucking genius." Theo praised her.
Pansy, however, glared at them both with narrowed eyes. "What is happening?!"
"Draco?" Hermione's voice was small as she knocked on his door and called to him from the other side. "Draco, are you home?"
Nothing happened for several minutes, and she was just about to leave when Draco finally cracked the door open and peered at her through a small sliver. He looked at her with keen suspicion and with pinched lips.
"What do you want?"
"Can I come in?" She blew into her hands and rubbed them together to warm up. It was bloody cold and the middle of December. He wouldn't leave her outside to freeze, surely.
He opened the door after a moment and allowed her to pass him by. "What do you have for me, Granger? Eight prostitutes?"
She laughed. Evidently, she was getting predictable with her gifts. Hermione shook her head and smiled at him with her hand outstretched, offering it to him to take. He didn't trust her because he knocked her hand to the side and followed her to sit on the sofa.
"What do you want, then?" He asked as she scooted closer to him. Draco moved over, and she followed him. She didn't leave much space between them at all. "Dammit, Granger, what the hell are you playing at?"
Hermione snatched up his hand and held it firmly between hers. He twitched but didn't try to take it back. She sensed his unease, though, and lifted her lips in an attempt to calm his nerves.
"Draco." She licked her lips and took a deep breath. "I forgive you."
Silence. Daunting, heavy, palpable silence hung in the scant space between them. His eyes brightened and then narrowed, and he pulled his hand away. His finger pointed at the door.
"Get. Out."
"But –"
"Get out."
He opened the door with his wand. And then forcibly removed her and allowed the door to slam shut in her face.
"Forgive me?" Draco mumbled under the gush of a steaming shower. " Forgive me? Forgive me ?!" He growled.
Forgiveness for what, he couldn't possibly fathom. He had been nothing but a perfect gentleman in their nearly decade and a half of friendship. Sure, he often teased her about her frizzy hair and bland fashion sense. Her know-it-all attitude, and always needing to be right. Her tendency to prefer the company of books instead of people. Not to mention the competitive frenzy they both got into around the holidays. But, other than that…
A perfect gentleman.
"Willing to forgive me , is she?" he sneered, glaring into the cloud of steam darkly. An idea took shape; one that might be stepping over the line, but…"Let's see how far that forgiveness can go."
His resolve held firm. For in truth, it wasn't really her sanctimonious little stunt that chafed—it was what she did before that. The nestling on the couch, their knees touching. The way she leaned into him, their faces mere inches apart. How that tongue—always quick with a swotty comeback—darted over her pillowy bottom lip.
That whole act was... frustrating . That she would tease him like so was irritating enough. That his body reacted the way it did—the way it was reacting now , as he pictured that pink tongue once again—
With an annoyed grunt, he turned the cold water to full blast.
The last department meeting before the holidays was always painful. Magical Law Enforcement was always swamped around this time. Normally, Hermione enjoyed her work—yes, for all the good she and her coworkers did, protecting the people of the United Kingdom.
Just a tad more important, though, was what it meant for her career. Deputy Head of the DMLE at her age—she was a shoe-in for Minister for Magic.
The Sorting Hat didn't place her in Slytherin for nothing.
Her aspirations, however, were at the back of her mind as the clock ticked slowly. Someone rambled on about next year's expenditure budget. Throughout the room—from the pencil-pushers and bureaucrats to the beefy, stone-faced Aurors—boredom was nearly palpable.
It was in this dreary lull that they came.
" Say my name, say my name ,"—lead dropped to the pit of Hermione's stomach as the vocals echoed through the meeting hall—" When no one is around you—say 'Baby, I love you.' If you ain't runnin' game…"
"Is that Destiny's Child?" a young Auror muttered.
"Say my name! Say my name ." The double-doors swung open, and they filed in. Statuesque figures clad in dark robes, donning colorful, sparkly masks.
One, two, three...They filed into the short aisle, sashaying to the smooth vocals. Eight of them.
"Oh, bollocks ." Hermione groaned. Eight dancers in total, wearing masks mocking those blasted Death Eaters. Which only meant one thing; and Hermione covered her face with her hands just as the first heavy beat landed and a stilletoed foot posed in the doorway.
She traced that five-inch heel up a muscular leg wrapped in fishnet stockings. Over a slitted grey robe—to the noseless face of the late Lord Voldemort. Lip-syncing to Beyoncé.
"Oh, gods ," Hermione moaned, while the rest of the room erupted.
Not with offended clamor.
Instead, they cheered . Shouts of wonder and encouragement. A few salacious whistles. Sure, there were some in the older set who fidgeted with discomfort, but all-in-all, the room was filled with bright smiles and surprised laughter.
Especially as Voldemort danced his way down the aisle and up to the dais where Hermione and the other heads were seated.
" Say my name, say my name ," Voldemort mouthed as he slipped his robe down one shoulder.
Hermione spied Harry Potter in the front row, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, surrounded by his raucous Aurors.
When the instrumentals came on, Voldemort sauntered to Hermione, bent down to her ear, and said in the richest baritone voice, "Draco Malfoy wishes you a very merry Christmas." Then, he joined the rest of the dancers to finish the song with a perfectly choreographed sequence.
As the vocals ended and the audience jumped up to their feet, clapping and hollering, Minister Shacklebolt turned to Hermione. "Well, that's one way to end a staff meeting."
With her cheeks still burning, Hermione gazed at the talented dancers and the cheerful faces around the room. "Indeed," she said breathlessly. A smile tugged on her lips, and after a moment, she gave into it. "Indeed."
To say that dinner wasn't awkward would have been a lie. Pansy Parkinson was many things—sneaky and salty and snarky when provoked—but she was not a liar .
She was also not a strangler—though as she watched Draco and Hermione watch each other across the table when they thought the other wasn't looking, Pansy debated the merits of adopting that descriptor.
The room was silent save for the clatter of silverware against china. Not an altogether strange scenario—for a group of friends as tight-knit as theirs, comfortable silence was not uncommon. Hermione and Draco sneaking surreptitious glances at each other wasn't entirely out of place, either. But after the nonsense of the past week and a half, Pansy had had enough of their reluctant dance.
Apparently, she wasn't the only one.
"So." Blaise cleared his throat. "Anything interesting happen to anyone recently?"
From the corner of Pansy's eye, Hermione's cheeks reddened as she glued her gaze to her plate. Across the dining table, Draco popped a piece of roast in his mouth and chewed slowly, eyeing Hermione with a triumphant gleam.
"Anything at all," Theo butted in, winking at Pansy. He had come to dinner before the others and rushed through the latest installment of the twelve-day saga. He wasn't at the staff meeting—it was mostly for the big shots of the DMLE—but he heard about yesterday's tomfoolery from other Aurors in glorious detail.
Pansy's abdominal muscles still ached from the laughter that ensued.
Laughter that was threatening to flow over as one best friend now studiously ignored the other.
"Draco," Pansy crooned. "Anything you'd like to share with the group?"
"Nope." Draco lifted a glass of wine to his lips. "Nothing interesting happened to me in the last twenty-four hours."
Pansy turned to her friend, who was doing her best interpretation of a tomato. "What about you, Hermione? Any fun stories to liven up this dreary dinner?"
Hermione shook her head violently. "Hm-hm. No, nothing. Just a regular, normal day."
Draco peered at her from under his thick lashes. "Are you sure, Granger? Nothing you'd like to say ?" he asked, dragging the last word out.
Hermione glared at him under her furrowed brows.
"Nothing for which you need to dive into that deep well of forgiveness?" Draco sneered.
Hermione's utensils clacked on her plate as her back pulled up straight. "Oh." Her eyes narrowed in challenge. "Is that what that ridiculous display was about? Did I bruise your fragile ego when I implied that the great Draco Malfoy makes mistakes?"
Draco answered by arching a brow and taking a long, slow sip of his red wine.
"As... amusing ...as yesterday's entertainment was,"—Hermione planted both palms on the table and leaned forward—"you did it at my place of work . I could have been in serious trouble with my superiors!"
"Ah." Draco mirrored her posture. "But I suppose coming into my home and insulting me to my face was a far cry better—"
"You know how seriously I take my work—"
"You destroyed the sanctity of my manor —"
" STOP FIGHTING, MUMMY AND DADDY!"
The shouting screeched to a halt as they all turned to a pale-faced Theo.
"Erm—I mean," he stammered. "Hermione and Draco. Stop fighting. Please." He gazed at them with wide-eyed innocence. "Not on Christmas Adam."
Collectively, they blinked.
"What. The fuck," Draco grumbled, "is a Christmas Adam ?"
Theo swallowed as he glanced at each of them in turn. "The day before Christmas Eve," he explained. "You know. Because Adam—"
"—came before Eve," Pansy finished with a snort. " Ugh , Nott. You're the worst." She drained her wine in one gulp.
"It's important," Theo insisted.
Hermione and Draco stared at him—the former with wonder, the latter with skepticism.
Finally, Hermione trained her eyes back on her blond opponent. "All right," she said carefully. "Malfoy. In the spirit of Christmas Adam ,"—Theo nodded enthusiastically while Draco rolled his eyes—"let's try to be more civilized ."
"Fine," Draco snarled. He took a loud, deep breath, and then leveled her with a heavy stare. "Granger. I realize now I could have put you in a bad spot at work." His gaze softened a fraction. "I'm sorry for my thoughtlessness."
Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Malfoy. And I'm sorry for coming into your home and saying things that could be construed as—"
"' Construed as?' " Draco scoffed.
"Offensive," said Hermione, wholly ignoring the comment. A corner of her lip twitched. "I apologize if my words made you uncomfortable."
"Hmm." Draco's gaze fell to his long-abandoned plate. "Right," he mumbled. "Right." Hesitantly, he picked up his fork and picked at his plate.
Silence fell at the table—the uncomfortable type. Pansy squirmed in her chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop and wishing she had more wine to fortify herself in the meantime.
Although she didn't need to wait long until Hermione spoke again, uncertainty in her voice. "That's not all, is it?"
Draco's grey eyes flicked up from his plate.
"Tell me."
Draco—cool, unaffected Draco— blushed .
Pansy, Blaise, and Theo froze in their seats.
" Tell me ," Hermione pushed.
Steel formed in those grey eyes, as though Draco resolved himself to his fate. He laid down his utensils and took the napkin off his lap.
Like he was readying to bolt after this admission.
"It wasn't your words," he said slowly, "that truly affected me."
Hermione tilted her head.
Briefly, Draco's cheeks hollowed as though he bit them from the inside. "It was your body language. You—I thought, perhaps,"—a deep breath—"you were going to kiss me."
Hermione's eyebrows inched up her forehead. They stared at each other wordlessly.
For a full minute, neither moved. And they seemed to have forgotten they had an audience, too—an audience that grew impatient rather quickly.
Pansy gave Hermione a swift kick in the shin to remind her. The witch gave a startled gasp.
"Oh! Oh ." Hermione's gaze drifted down to Draco's parted lips. "Would you—is that—something…" She dragged her stare back to his eyes, now alight with curiosity. "Would that have been...welcomed?"
Draco blinked. And blinked again as warmth flooded his expression. "Yes," he rasped. "Very much so."
"Oh." Never in their years together had Hermione looked so gobsmacked.
Again, the two froze.
Theo coughed, staring pointedly at Hermione. Blaise nudged his chin at Draco.
"For fuck's sake," Pansy muttered. Four heads turned to her, but she only glared back at two of them. She waved her arms emphatically. " Go. To. Each. Other ."
Laughter—light, breathy, not-quite-believing—and then a scraping of chairs against the marble floor echoed in the great dining hall.
But they ran; rushed to each other's side as though another second apart would be an offense to Merlin himself. And when they met halfway, they nearly collided in their enthusiasm.
Draco's arms snaked around Hermione's waist, pulling her close. "Wow," he murmured. The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Gods, I wish we were alone right now."
"We deserve to watch this happen with our own eyes!" said Theo.
"Yeah," agreed Blaise. "All the years of torture you put us through with your constant back-and-forth. This is our reward!"
"Hear, hear!" The two men clinked their wine glasses.
Draco cocked his head at them. "You know—"
"Oh!" Pansy threw her napkin in the couple's direction. "Just shut up and kiss already!"
Hermione ducked her head and laughed. Draco, his expression suffused with mirth, cupped her cheek and angled her face up.
"Well?" Draco asked. "Shall we give the masses what they want?"
Hermione nodded; leaned in; parted her lips—
Just as ten men leaped into the dining room.
"Oh, bugger." Hermione pressed her forehead against Draco's. "I forgot about that." She smiled at him sheepishly. "Last one, I promise."
"Last one," murmured Draco, leading Hermione to the nearest chair. He plopped down and gathered her in his arms.
There they cuddled as the five of them watched Hermione's gift to Draco—an abridged, all-male rendition of Swan Lake.
As the White Swan dove for his finale, Theo muttered, "Wonderful. Another dead bird."
A/N: Thanks for reading! We hope you liked it! Reviews are appreciated!
The Voldemort drag show scene was heavily inspired by a popular clip online of a Voldemort-themed drag show at OASIS. Google it. It's worth watching (over and over and over again!).
Happy Holidays!