Note: MykEsprit and I teamed up for the Triwizard Tournament Fest at Dramione FanFiction Writers on FB. This story is in two parts. The second part can be found by following this link: www. fanfiction. net/s/13162050/1/Twelve-Days-of-Christmas-War-Part-2 (Delete the spaces!)
Disclaimer: we do not own Harry Potter (sadly)
"Your feet are over the bloody line, Malfoy."
"Your bloody hair is over the line, Granger."
They stood toe to toe and each held a charmed dart in their hands. It was Blaise's brilliant idea to tiptoe over to where they stood and gently snatch the darts from their hands, lest they stab each other with the pointy end. Pansy ducked her chin as he sat down beside her. Blood all over her mother's imported Venetian carpet wouldn't go over well with the Parkinson matriarch.
"You purposely skipped me, Draco!"
"I did not. You took two bloody turns because counting isn't your strong suit, obviously –"
"I was above you in NEWT Arithmancy, you arse!" Hermione shoved his chest, and Pansy could have sworn she heard a growl, though she couldn't tell you which of her friends it came from.
The only thing she could do was laugh. Even Theo and Blaise's shoulders shook as they watched the pair duke it out over who was following the rules more closely. As usual, Theo rooted for Hermione, and Blaise backed up Draco. Instead of feeling like the fifth wheel, Pansy called them all tossers and ignored the rest of the argument. It would resolve itself eventually – it always did.
If anything in Pansy's life up to this point was a firm guarantee, something she could always count on no matter what, it was that her very best mates in the entire world were nothing short of cutthroat when it came to competition. Sure, most wizards had quidditch and exploding snap, but those meant very little in her circle of friends. Child's play, Theo had once called it. They dedicated an evening once per month to destroying each other with games. Hermione single-handedly brought about the destruction of Blaise's very favorite glass dinette set when she lost to Draco a month ago.
It was the first time they'd gathered together since that night. Draco and Hermione were hardly speaking to one another, no matter how forcefully Pansy tried to get them to interact. Best mates, and after one night of Puking Pastille Pong, it began to crash down around them. Blaise and Theo, to their benefit, patched things up quick enough by sending each of them an owl to apologize for the behavior of the other. That's how Draco and Hermione had always been. Explosive and cataclysmically competitive in nature. No rivalry was bigger than the one they shared. Volatile, too. Ever since first year when Hermione bested Draco in all of their classes, it was a constant fight for the top spot. All seven years of Hogwarts were hell for the Slytherin House, who all had to listen to the never-ending bickering and trash talk between them.
Pansy sometimes wondered what it would have been like if Hermione had been sorted into any house other than Slytherin. They'd have brought down the entire school with their rivalry.
"Pansy, tell Draco –"
"Oh, no." Pansy stood from her perched spot on the arm of her sofa, hands on her hips. "I am not getting in the middle of another one of your fights. You know, the holidays are right around the corner, and all of this fighting is really starting to ruin my favorite time of year."
" But, Hermione didn't –"
"Draco wasn't -"
"I don't care. Merlin, I actually don't care at all." Pansy's hands were up in the air, curled in frustration.
She was half a beat away from screaming when Theo, quiet and thoughtful, stepped beside her. He thumped his finger against his chin twice and then pointed it at the fired up pair in the middle of the room.
"Pansy's right." He tilted his head just a little bit and considered them for a moment. "We need to put an end to this before one of you kills the other."
"Not that we don't enjoy a little bloodshed during our holidays, of course," Blaise said, a twitch of his lips as Pansy smacked him in the stomach.
"Though we'd rather not mourn at a funeral on Christmas, either." Theo leveled a glance at Blaise and then turned his attention back to Hermione. "Pocket your wand, Granger. Malfoy, stop muttering the killing curse under your breath."
The pair sheepishly eyed one another, but neither said another word. Hermione slid her wand back into her pocket, and Draco's lips remained pressed together in a thin line. Pansy was impressed, actually. Theo tended towards introspection and non-aggression, but Draco and Hermione both respected his input enough to feel ashamed of their behavior when he called it out. Blaise chuckled next to her and Pansy threatened to smack him again, satisfied when he flinched away from her.
"Christmas is –" Theo peered around the room, and his eyes landed on a small advent calendar that Pansy hung next to her fireplace. "Thirteen days away. As your friends, we're asking you – no, demanding you – to stop this mental behavior and put all of this competition behind you before Christmas. We can't bloody take it anymore."
Pansy nodded. "You two are the worst. Almost as bad as Hufflepuffs."
Hermione and Draco both glared at her, and she shrugged. A spade is a spade, and Pansy called it as she saw it.
"Thirteen days?" Hermione asked, and she had that look on her face that Pansy didn't quite like. It said she had an idea, and as cunning as Hermione could be, Pansy knew her ideas were more often than not a small step away from evil villainy. "How about one final competition. Winner takes all."
"I don't feel comfortable with the idea of encouraging this," Blaise said in the silence that followed.
"How do we know who wins, then?" Draco asked sharply, never taking his eyes from Hermione. "We can't simply end our game nights without declaring an overall winner. What's the point of even having them, then?"
"Draco's right." Everyone turned toward Theo, whose contemplative face was pinched in thought. "The only way these two are ever going to stop is by finally declaring one of them the winner."
"Winner of what?" Pansy stood up and joined the other three in the center of the room. "Everything?"
Blaise came up behind her. If anyone was looking in on them, they'd think the group was conspiring together on some devious plot, but it was a habitual formation for them. The five of them owned Slytherin House in Hogwarts for several years. Their tight circle was well known, and no one could break into it or find vulnerabilities to it. It was probably the reason any of them were alive today, to be honest. Their group of friends garnered so much attention and spite that the attempts to lure them apart was great.
"Whoever wins," Hermione said dramatically, eying each of them in turn, "has bragging rights for being the best Slytherin since Salazar himself."
"Really?" Draco's pale eyebrows raised high on his head. "We're seeking glory? Sounds like we're a bunch of Gryffindors."
"Not glory," she clarified with a mischievous smile. "Power. We make a pact that whomever wins must be the other's house elf for a week – "
"A month – "
"A year ."
"You are all ridiculous." Pansy's hands were on her hips and her eyes rolled so hard that she could see the migraine that this entire evening was going to give her. "Okay. Whoever loses the competition that Theo, Blaise, and I decide on, will make a wizards oath to be the house elf to the winner. Agreed?"
Draco and Hermione faced each other wearing their best smirks. They reached out their hands and squeezed hard. "Agreed," fell from their lips in perfect, hushed tones.
"Excellent. So, what's the competition, Theo?" Pansy eyed the way that their hands touched a second or two longer than what was necessary and she couldn't help her own self-satisfied smile.
"Me? I honestly don't care. Blaise?"
Blaise shrugged. "Who can buy the best present for the other?"
Pansy sighed. Men were useless, utterly senseless. "That's not the worst idea. But, it's lacking."
"Twelve Days of Christmas," Hermione interjected excitedly. Pansy watched her eyes light up and her small smirk grow into a satisfied smile. "We will each buy a gift for the other for the twelve days of Christmas."
"That's… a lot of gifts." Draco pointed out, but then lifted his chin. "Whoever's collective gifts are deemed best wins?"
"As judged by me," Pansy informed them. She could practically hear the cogs turning in Theo and Blaise's brains; they couldn't be impartial to the competition if they tried.
"Better get creative, Draco," Hermione warned him. Pansy nearly flinched at the devious flash in her eyes. "I've already started a list of all the things I'm going to have you do when I win."
Draco merely smirked in response, and Pansy wasn't sure who she was more worried about winning.
Snow came down in flurries, but neither this nor the foot of snow from last night's blizzard made any impact on Diagon Alley. Holiday shoppers rushed from one storefront to another, their arms laden with boxes and gift bags. Children pressed their gloved hands against cool glass and stared longingly into the display window of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Grown men did the same thing, but at Quality Quidditch Supplies.
Draco could not fault them; the new Firebolt came out just in time for the holiday rush. He mused about getting one for himself—when can one be self-indulgent if not on Christmas?—but he quickly dismissed the thought. He wasn't there to think on his own wish list.
He was there to get the Best Gift Ever and shove it in that insufferable swot's face. Oh, to imagine her expression when she opens up her gift—whatever it would be, Draco was sure he'd figure it out soon enough—and then her brown eyes will light up, and a pretty blush will color her cheeks, and she'll say, "Oh, Draco! How wrong I've been all these years! You're absolutely better than me in all things, but especially at Christmas—"
"Draco!"
At the sound of his name, Draco dug his heels in the snow. He glanced at the row of quiet townhouses. He had been so caught up in the delectable fantasy of victory that he'd turned into a residential street, effectively leaving his companion on a busy footpath in front of the shops. He trudged back through the snow and was greeted with a pair of curious eyes.
"Where were you going?" Blaise asked.
"I...thought I saw someone I knew."
Blaise cocked his head. "You hate everyone you know," he said flatly.
"Which is why I was trying to get away from them by going down a random street." Draco folded his arms across his chest. "Is the Italian Inquisition over? Because I do have a purpose for being here so bloody early."
"Okay, first of all, you're welcome for agreeing to accompany you at eight in the fucking morning for this bloody errand." His dark eyes rolled heavenward. "And, second, can we please hurry this along? I didn't get much sleep last night, and I'd like a kip before lunch."
As they meandered back to the heart of Diagon Alley, Draco huffed. "Oh? What's her name?"
Blaise bestowed him a feline grin. "Beatrice. Met her in a pub after last night's shenanigans. A Muggle pub."
Draco's snort bounced off the tall building facades. "Of course, you did. You do have a type."
"As do you," Blaise muttered.
His head sliced to the side as he regarded Blaise's impish expression. "What does that mean?"
Blaise shook his head, quietly chuckling. In lieu of an answer, he asked, "So, what are you getting Hermione for Christmas?"
Frustration caught in Draco's throat. "I have no fucking idea. But it has to be perfect."
"I bet it does." Blaise nudged his chin towards Flourish and Blotts. "How about a book?"
He blinked slowly, unimpressed. "A book?" he drawled. "Well, golly. I hadn't thought of that at all , I'm ever so glad you're here—"
"All right, no need to get your knickers in a twist." Blaise sighed. "How about a new set of robes?"
"I'm not her mum."
His companion glanced at the colorful display in front of Sugarplum's. "A bag of sweets?"
"I'm not her nan."
Blaise raked his fingers over his short, tight curls and growled. "I don't know mate. A bloody partridge in a pear tree, then!"
Draco halted and stared, slack-jawed, at his friend. "A what in a what ?"
"It was something that Beatrice mentioned last night." Blaise's face relaxed into a grin. "I told her about your twelve-day Christmas challenge, and she mentioned a Muggle song." As he described the presents, a plan took shape in Draco's head.
"Hmmm. A prescribed list of Christmas gifts?" Draco mused as he gazed into the distance. "I can work with that."
Draco hid behind a pillar near a bank of gilded fireplaces. Across the atrium, a small crowd gathered, but he waited patiently for a particular Ministry official.
Hermione charged out of the green flames with a stack of parchments in one hand and her post-lunch coffee in the other. To Draco's advantage, the growing congregation caught her attention. Slowly, she jostled through the crowd; her clear voice reached him in his hiding place.
"What's going on here?" she asked.
She was answered by a faint murmur. A moment later, the sound of ripping paper echoed in the atrium, followed by Hermione reading the words he had written with extra flourish: "On the first day of Christmas…" Confusion colored her tone.
Draco peeked through the gaps in between the crowd and spotted the curly-haired witch, who gazed at the yellow-green pyriform shapes hanging from her present. "A pear tree?" she murmured.
"Oh!" Beside Hermione, a stout blonde remarked, "Just like in the song!" She hummed a few off-key notes.
A branch moved; its surrounding leaves rustled.
"What was that?" Hermione inched closer to the tree to investigate. Draco's smile widened in anticipation.
"A partridge, of course!" her chipper workmate said. "'A partridge in a pear tree.' It's probably just settling in its nest."
Hermione shook her head. "Impossible. Partridges don't nest in trees; they nest on the ground."
Draco covered a laugh with the back of his hand. Of course she would know that fact.
The branch shook again.
"But if it's not a partridge," the blonde asked, trepidation growing in her tone, "what's in the tree?"
Hermione stepped closer and looked up at the branches. Her eyebrows knit together. "It looks like…" Briefly, her eyes narrowed. Then, they grew as wide as saucers. "Oh my—"
A cloud burst out of the leaves. From his hiding place, it looked as if bluebirds swarmed the atrium. Except they weren't birds of any kind, they were—
" Pixies !" a man hollered as he ran away. Panic spread quickly through the crowd as they tried to rush out of the atrium. Cornish pixies tugged the collars of their robes; rumpled their professional coifs; stole their paperwork and made them rain down from the atrium's high ceiling.
In the midst of the chaos, Hermione stood with her back ramrod straight, hands fisted at her sides, and brown eyes fixed on him with fury.
Draco threw his head back and laughed as he raced to the nearest fireplace. He Floo'd out of the Ministry, Hermione's scream resounding in his wake.
"MAL- FOY !"
She fumed all through the day as she thought of the ridiculous display at the Ministry. Malfoy had purposefully started their Christmas War - because that's what it was now - at a highly visible location, probably to throw her off. Well, he'd have another thing coming. Pixies in a Pear Tree – utterly ridiculous. Well, she'd show him; she'd call reinforcements.
Theo arrived with wine, bless him, and Pansy barged her way into Hermione's flat carrying the caged birds she'd requested via owl. They sipped on the aged elfish wine and ran through Hermione's notes. Hermione's fingers got stuck in tangled bits of curls as they ran through her hair. She got annoyed with it and pulled it up into a loose knot on top of her head and ignored the bits that fell against her neck. If anyone could top Draco's ridiculous Christmas gag, it was her. She just had to think harder. Twelve Days of Christmas was straightforward, really. She wrote down each day and what it entailed. But Merlin, she wasn't sure how to make two turtle doves the Best Christmas Gift Ever.
"A partridge in a pear tree?" Theo considered the piece of parchment in front of him. "What the fuck is a partridge?"
"Never mind that now," Hermione waved him off and snatched the caged birds from beside Pansy. "What can I possibly do with these doves to top that? Cheeky git went public. He's really gone mental, hasn't he?"
Hermione stood in the sitting room of her flat, Pansy right beside her with a smirk plastered across her face.
"Well, you did tell him to get creative this year." Pansy folded her arms across her chest, trying desperately to keep her cackling to herself.
"Yeah, but when I said that I wanted twelve days of Christmas, I didn't mean literally!" She shrieked as she held a cage of two pristine white turtle doves, cooing lovingly beside each other.
"Two down… ten to go." Pansy lost control and began to wail hilariously.
"You're really no help." Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Theo. "Shall I Transfigure them into real half turtle-half doves? Is that even remotely funny?"
Theo leveled a dark gaze at her and barely spared the energy to shake his head. "It's not so much the gift, Granger. It's the presentation. If you're going along with this turtle dove charade, you're going to have to think bigger ."
"I could enlarge them?" Hermione shrugged, and Pansy was in fits next to her. She sighed. "It's not going to make much of a scene if I just send two caged birds to Draco and say 'Happy Christmas.'"
"Twelve Days of Christmas, Granger, how does the song go?" Theo's voice was encouraging, like he was leading her exactly where he wanted her to go. "On the twelfth day of Christmas… he receives everything all over again, yeah? How many turtle doves does the true love have in the end?"
She gasped and snapped her fingers. "Brilliant, Theo! Yes! Oh, he's going to hate me. It's brilliant. Pansy, I need you to get me into Draco's office tonight. Can you?"
Pansy sobered and ducked her chin, all business. She plucked a golden key from within her bosom and held it out for the other two to see. "Being everyone's best friend has its benefits."
"It's really eerie in here without the lights on," Hermione whispered as Pansy opened the door to Draco's office. "He's very minimalist, isn't he?"
"Just because his office doesn't look as if it's been attacked by an abominable snowman in nesting season, doesn't mean he's minimalist, Granger." Pansy closed the door behind the three of them and locked it again.
"Organized chaos is still chaos," Theo told her as Hermione opened her mouth to argue. "You're a swotty slob, but we all still love you."
Hermione scoffed, narrowed her eyes, and then tossed her satchel onto the middle of Draco's dark wooden desk. When she opened it, one solitary turtle dove flew out. She prodded the bag with her wand. Something moved around, dragging the satchel to the side of the desk, and then back again. Suddenly, twenty one more beautiful, white doves flew out.
"Salazar's Snake," Pansy breathed as she watched them fly around the room in a perfect circle. "He might bloody well kill you, Granger."
"Oh, this is nothing. The duplicate doves aren't actually sentient. The second that he tries to use magic to make them stop flying…" A proud smirk lifted the corners of Hermione's lips as she aimed her wand at one of the doves and cast a stunning spell. Instead of stopping or falling, the dove burst into a shower of glitter and went absolutely everywhere.
"That's fucking devious," Theo, who wasn't prone to laughter, chuckled darkly. "Duplicate it again, and let's get out of here."
The next morning, Hermione made sure to arrive early to the Ministry. She strolled by Draco's department, coffee in hand, and made idle chat with Blaise while she waited to see Malfoy stroll by in his usual morning dawdle into the office. She greeted him with a kind smile, tipped her chin, and bid him good morning. From across the corridor, Pansy's eyes glittered as she watched Draco open his door and stop immediately.
Theo and Blaise flanked Hermione. Theo was quiet and amused, but Blaise stopped breathing altogether. Draco didn't react, just pulled his wand from within his robes and took aim.
"Er, Draco," Blaise stepped closer. "I don't think Avada-ing the birds will help, mate."
"They're not real , Blaise. You can see their magic shimmer when they fly." Draco rolled his eyes. "Hermione obviously loses round one."
He fired off three spells in quick succession and the effect was instantaneous. Rainbow-colored glitter everywhere. Draco turned to Hermione, fury in his gray eyes, and shook glitter from his hair all over the ground at his feet.
Hermione wiggled her fingers at him and turned around to leave. As she flounced down the corridor, so much laughter at her back, she heard Draco cursing up a storm.
" Bloody Hermione Granger!"
"Gaahhhhh!" Draco rubbed his cheek as he glared at the mirror. It had been twelve bloody hours; yet he kept finding rainbow glitter everywhere, despite soap and water and magic. "Bloody infuriating woman!" He scrubbed the glitter off his face. He thought he had at least cleaned his hair and face of the buggering things, but he must have touched a surface where they lingered—and since his entire office had been covered with glitter following the Great Turtle Dove Massacre…"Bloody evil woman," he muttered darkly at his reflection.
"I thought it was funny."
Draco shifted his glare to Blaise's image in the glass. The lanky man leaned against the tile behind him, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
"Hey, at least it's just glitter. Considering how downright scary Hermione can get when she's angry...or annoyed...or just hungry…" Blaise shrugged unapologetically. "Could have been worse."
Grey eyes narrowed to slits. "That blasted glitter," Draco sneered, "fell down my collar. It got under my clothes, Blaise. I'll be finding glitter in— places —for weeks!"
Blaise covered his mouth with a fist and had a coughing fit, which sounded very much like constrained laughter. Draco glowered at his traitorous friend's reflection until he finally quieted down.
"What's next?" Draco pushed through gritted teeth.
"Go starkers and guide Father Christmas' sleigh with your shiny bum?" Blaise laughed.
"I meant, what's next on the gift list, you twat."
Blaise glanced up at the ceiling, mouthing silently to himself as if singing through the verses. "Three French hens," he stated after a moment.
"Great." Draco curled his fingers around the edges of the sink and leaned towards the mirror. His eyes glinted, thirsty for vengeance. "I'll fight fire with fire." His reflection frowned. "Or fowl with fowl, as the case may be."
Behind him, Blaise winced. "I dunno, mate. Isn't that a bit too...uninspired? Hermione did say to get creative."
Draco cocked his head and pressed his lips together. "You're right," he murmured. "It simply wouldn't do if I just sent back three glittery French hens." Then, an idea struck him, a plan so devious he practically vibrated with giddiness. "What I should do," he said, more to his own reflection than to his friend observing him curiously in the mirror, "is send her three. Glittery. French. Hens."
There was a rapping on Hermione's door, light but persistent. Pansy raised an eyebrow at the brunette, who glanced at the door with apprehension.
"Are you going to get it?" Pansy asked.
The corner of Hermione's lips twisted. "Are you having me on? Of course not! The whole purpose of me holing up in my flat all day is to avoid anything that prat may send."
"Are you really that scared of a few chickens?" Pansy's lips pulled up into a smirk.
Hermione raised her glass of wine—she and Pansy have gone through quite a few bottles by now—and mumbled, "Chickens are evil."
"All right," Pansy drew out. "I guess we'll just sit here and wait for them to go away."
For two full minutes, she and Hermione sipped their drinks in silence, looking everywhere but the white door, which undulated from the frantic knocking.
"So," Hermione yelled over the sound, "what do you think about—"
Pansy cut her off with an irritated growl. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" She jumped up and marched to the door. "I can't stand it anymore!"
"Pansy! No !"
With a grunt, Pansy ignored her, yanking the door open. Light flashed in her eye; she blinked until her vision cleared and revealed three unexpected guests.
"Ahhhhhh! Zere you are!" Platinum blonde hair and floor-length sequins waited beyond the door. "We 'ave been waiting for ages !" The woman waltzed into the small living room without further invitation.
She was followed quickly a golden blonde beauty with a plumed dress and a haughty scowl. " Why do you not let us in?" She pouted a plump lip. "Iz zo drafty out zere!"
On her heels was a statuesque woman with blonde curls falling down her back like a waterfall. "We are supposed to spend ze 'ole day wiz you!"
"Chloe. Sandrine. Lucette." Pansy greeted each one respectively with a shallow nod. She gave the sisters—Draco's French cousins, though she couldn't quite remember how far removed—a questioning glance. "What are you doing here?"
Lucette gave a flabbergasted Hermione—wine glass forgotten on the carpet as she scrambled up from the floor—a brilliant smile. "Cousin Draco zaid you want us 'ere." She grasped Hermione's hands in both of hers and leaned in to plant kisses on her cheeks. "'Ermione! You 'ave no idea 'ow long we 'ave waited for this! For years and years, ever since we met you!"
Hermione bit her lip, alarm growing in her eyes. She once confided to Pansy that she found the sisters exasperating with their incessant chattering about clothes and aesthetics. Shallow as they were, the sisters were well-intentioned and enthusiastic; it was difficult to turn away their company. Although even Pansy, who had more of an interest in such things, found spending time with them a challenge.
The other two sisters circled Hermione, examining her hair, minimal makeup, and outfit; Hermione's throat bobbed. "Wait for what?" she whispered.
Lucette leaned in, the tip of her shapely nose grazing Hermione's. Her blue eyes were so bright and excited, they bordered on manic. "For us to give you a makeover !"
Hermione's eyes grew wide with fear.