A/N: Happy Christmas to all!
This is the first fic in my Twelve Days of Christmas jamboree. It may be read as a stand-alone, but look out for the second part coming later in the series. If you choose to check out other parts of this series, keep in mind that none of them technically need to be read in order with the exception of days 9 and 10.
A quick holiday shout out, with much love, to AuroraBorealia, my bestie and beta reader. Happy hols; please enjoy the corrected version of this story!
Tags: 12 Days of Christmas, Holidays, Partridge in a Pear Tree, Wingman, Snark, Snow, Fluff, Slash (M/M)
Enjoy!
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A partridge in a pear tree...
Ronald Weasley paused as he approached the cold oak door. His face was rosy enough to rival his hair and he knew it. He had no other choice but to go through with this.
He took a moment to stretch his neck and check the shiny placard on the wall. Right. As though he didn't know this was in fact the ferret's lair.
In typical Slytherin design, the warm tone of the wood had been covered up by a cool toned lacquer. Alright, maybe it did give the place an air of crisp design, but whatever.
Stealing himself for the inevitable onslaught of insults and declarations of his ineptitude, Ron hastily knocked on the door. Silence answered. Maybe he's not here.
No such luck. The padding of supple leather shoes signaled his enemy's approach.
"Hello, can I… help you?" Draco Malfoy's voice trailed off as he realized who had knocked.
Ron could have made an excuse to hightail it out of there, but then he wouldn't get the information he came for.
"I, erm, need some advice," Ron started lamely.
Malfoy's lower lip stuck out a tad, the way it always did when he didn't understand something. Ron wanted to slap himself for noticing. This was all Harry's fault! Merlin's beard, a day didn't pass without his auror partner and best mate mentioning something new he had noticed since dating the bloody Slytherin.
When it became clear that said blonde would offer no aid in the form of words, Ron huffed and folded his arms inside his robes. "I haven't got Hermione a Christmas gift yet, and it's so soon. I would've-"
"Gotten."
Ron wrinkled his nose. "Wot?"
"'I haven't gotten her a gift yet.' Continue."
"What are you, the grammar auror? Whatever. Since you're chummy with 'Mione now and all-has she mentioned anything that she'd like as a gift?"
The Slytherin shifted in the doorway for a moment, wearing an unreadable expression. Then-the nerve of that arsehat-he actually grinned. Ron wanted to slap that stupid smirk off of the ferret's face, but all he would get for his trouble was the cold shoulder from Harry and a disappointed lecture from his wife.
"Go 'head, make fun of me for leaving gifts for the last minute; I don't care. Knew I should have asked Nev."
"I too would have approached Longbottom for help. However, it seems he is off visiting those strange friends of his for the holidays and won't be back until after the New Year."
"I knew that. He asked me to plant-sit for him." Ron was sure his own brain had gone on the fritz. "Wait, what?"
Ah, there was Malfoy's holier-than-thou sigh. It almost felt more normal to be insulted, albeit silently. "Harry's present. I suppose you know what he wants."
"Erm." It took Ron a second to process the fact that Mister Prim and Proper, the wizard who prepared meticulously for every occasion-in obnoxious detail no less-was in the same boat as him this time. "Seriously? You're having me on."
Merlin's beard, did Malfoy look sincerely embarrassed. "Shove off, Weasel. We're going shopping."
"Right now!?"
"Unless you have a better idea. Hermione works late tonight and Harry's watching Teddy. You hardly have anything better to do."
By the time the oddball pair had made it downstairs to the Ministry Floo, Ron sincerely considered rethinking his life decisions. They couldn't make it more than twenty meters without arguing. Any attempt to create small talk resulted in short answers or awkward silence. Why in Circe's name had Harry decided to date such an obnoxious ponce? He could have picked literally any other gay wizard in the world and things would be so much better.
Admittedly, those two criterion limited the pool just a tad.
"Let's just get this over with."
"Agreed."
Both men wandered through Diagon Alley with hands in their robe pockets, browsing the windows while trying to avoid the massive throng of shoppers. At least they weren't the only ones in a pinch. All the traces of Ron's earlier reluctance and embarrassment had fled. They needed to find the perfect Christmas gifts and it was better late than never.
One teeny tiny problem: how were they supposed to make any progress when Malfoy took one look at a shop and then immediately cast it aside? So much for him leading this whole excursion.
Ron had thoroughly expected the prat to scathingly reject his every idea. Come to think of it, neither of them that really talked about it. In a rare moment of thoughtfulness, he suggested that they take a break at the Leaky and try to strategize. He was just barely able to snag a single table in the farthest corner. Given the sizeable crowd, it might be awhile before their drinks appeared.
Malfoy sulked and drummed his fingernails on the wooden table. They hadn't gotten anywhere, true, but still… it seemed like something more than shopping frustration was weighing on the blonde's mind.
For his own health, Ron wanted to stay out of the git's personal issues, but since this concerned Harry it behooved him to make some kind of effort.
"You really don't know, do you?"
"Hmm?" Malfoy seemed to have forgotten his presence, taking a moment to recognize the question. "What?"
"Harry'll like anything, as long is it's from you. He won't stop running his gob about 'spending his Christmas with Draco.' 'Draco this' and 'Draco that;' it's all I've heard this week. You could get him cheap gloves and he'd be stupid happy."
Just when Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, Tom plopped their drinks on the table with a lazy levitation charm. Some of Malfoy's gigglewater sloshed out of the tankard, nearly reaching his robes and he swore. Ron thought he might leave the table, he looked so angry.
Taking a careful sip of his firewhiskey, Ron surveyed the Slytherin. For a brief moment, he wondered if maybe Malfoy and Harry had a row. No, Harry would have mentioned it at work. "What is it, Malfoy?"
After some intense hesitation, Malfoy cast a privacy charm and reached into his pocket. He motioned for Ron to look under the table.
Wow.
First off, Ron felt truly disappointed in himself. As an auror, he really should have seen this coming. Second of all, that was the most extravagant rock he had ever seen. A bright ruby, surrounded by tasteful diamond studs, all nestled in gold with painstakingly intricate engraving. Not too bulky nor too feminine, sized exactly for Harry, and laced with wicked strong protection spells, if Ron wasn't mistaken.
Ron blinked. "It's perfect. Why exactly are you still shopping?"
Malfoy blinked in return. "You're not going to explode?"
Rolling his eyes, Ron took another sip of his drink. "It's not exactly a surprise."
"Too bad. I was almost looking forward to your typical Weasley blow-up."
"Sorry to disappoint," the redhead answered wryly.
Malfoy closed the ring box with gentle care and slipped it back into his pocket. "You see the problem? A Christmas proposal is the least original thing ever!"
"Refer to my point earlier."
Seething with frustration, Mafoy took several generous gulps of gigglewater, followed by the requisite hysterical laughter. The sound likely reflected his true feelings, not just symptoms of the enchanted beverage.
"So you want to do something special, I get it. This is my first Christmas with 'Mione since we got married. I thought about doing one of those experience things, you know? Where you buy a portkey to a spa in France or something."
"Oh. My mother owns two of those."
"Of course she does," Ron snorted. "Anyway, we decided to save our money for next summer, and it's too late in the hols to buy something cheaper like concert tickets. But since money isn't an issue for you…"
Malfoy continued to down his drink. Ron subtly passed the rest of his firewhiskey toward his side of the table. Poor bastard looked like he needed it.
"I want-something money can't buy. You get it, right Weasley? Something that will make him smile every time he thinks about it or sees it."
What a bloody damn sap. He and Harry deserved each other.
As entertaining as it was to observe Malfoy's nervous pain and suffering, Ron found himself at a loss. It looked like Malfoy would be of little help in finding Hermione's ideal gift.
Bollocks, why couldn't he be more creative than this!? He could win his way through a chess tournament, and yet a couldn't think of a half-decent Christmas present.
Thankfully, the auror in Ron knew when to call it quits. "Look, this is getting us nowhere. I propose we go home, sleep on it, and take another crack at it again tomorrow." When Malfoy declined to answer, Ron sighed and left their balance on the table. He stood up and tugged at Malfoy's arm. The other wizard wasn't completely sloshed, but he clearly needed some physical support to make it back to the public floo network.
After Ron saw Malfoy safely to a fireplace, he cast a tempus charm on his wrist. Bloody hell. He had forgotten how he promised to stop by his mum and dad's house. Grabbing a fistful of floo powder, he scrambled into the fireplace and shouted "THE BURROW!"
Naturally, his mum had cleaned the fireplace especially for unexpected guests. The whole house smelled of pine, juniper, and freshly-baked muffins.
His mother tended to collect a lot of useless junk, yet each and every decoration was imbued with love and care that made the Burrow shine unlike any other place. Even Christmases at Hogwarts couldn't inspire that same homey feeling.
The days when Ron had failed to appreciate his parents' home seemed such a long time ago. How childish he had been. Loafing around with Malfoy sure made a good sample case for the life lesson that money did not solve one's biggest problems.
"Ronald, dear!" Ron let his mum's hug wash over him. He hadn't visited in about two weeks, so he let her hug her fill before he gently patted her shoulder to let up.
"Hey, Mum. Sorry I missed dinner."
"Pish posh. There's shepard's pie under stasis for you on the counter, and some extra to take home. You hard-working lovebirds deserve a night off from cooking."
Ron couldn't quite remember the exact point at which his mother had learned to accept his non-traditional role as primary cook in the house. Maybe when Percy began seeing Audrey? If one perfect daughter-in-law was all their mother needed to let up on him and his other siblings, Ron felt they should all chip in to send the happy couple a fancy fruit basket as thanks.
He didn't have the heart to tell his mum that he and Hermione had largely cut meat out of their diet for health and budget purposes. Those leftovers would undoubtedly constitute Harry's lunch the next day.
"Where's Dad?"
"Downstairs in his 'wizard cave.' Or 'muggle cave,' I should say. Don't ask me what he's fiddling with this time."
They chatted amicably for some time, Ron updating her on the latest news from work. He pointedly left out Malfoy's proposal ordeal. He knew his mum still secretly clung to the insane dream that Harry and Ginny would drop their current significant others and reunite. That ship had long since sailed. It probably had never properly floated in the first place, considering the fact that Harry was as bent as a quaffle hoop.
To everyone's immense relief, their mum had recently taken up with a charity knitting club for middle aged witches. She channeled the negative energy she had once spent on anxiety and gossip into her activities, and now that she could afford higher quality materials, her work had much improved. Ron genuinely looked forward to receiving his Christmas sweater this year.
About an hour had passed before she put on the kettle for tea. With a flick of her wand, she sent a steaming mug Ron's way. "You'd best go give this to your father. Merlin knows how he ignores bodily functions when he's down there."
Ron grinned and accepted the tea. Whatever Dad was up to this time, it couldn't be much worse than that time he had enchanted a muggle television and accidentally sent Harry and Malfoy on a musical adventure. That was one of his favorite stories to tell whenever the topic of his father's muggle obsession came up in conversation.
When he reached the basement door, Ron realized that the music that had been playing in the background for his entire visit was coming from his father's workshop instead of a charm his mother had cast. Now that he was really listening, he didn't even recognize the songs, or at least not the lyrics.
Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walking home from our house Christmas Eve
You can say there's no such thing as Santa
But as for me and grandpa, we believe…
His eyes widened in disbelief. The concept was awful and strangely violent. Yet, the mental image of a little old witch getting barreled over by an overzealous deer was too funny not to enjoy.
"Dad, what the hell are you listening to?" he laughed.
Arthur Weasley smiled up at his son from the reading corner and waved hello. "Muggle Christmas Carols! This one is a recent 'hit,' as they say! That word is particularly challenging; when I looked it up in this "urban dictionary," I found that the term also applies to narcotics. Curious, these muggles."
Ron hummed and gave his dad the patented "I totally understood what you just said" nod while he dug up a coaster on which to set the hot tea. "Mum says to drink your fluids."
"Right-o." He tried to pick up the mug but accidentally burned his fingers and winced.
Parents.
He listened patiently to his dad's detailed review on the practical functions of tinsel until a different carol caught his ear.
"-and apparently they use it to scare away black cats, because you know how their superstition dictates that black cats cause bad luck. But wouldn't you know, it has the opposite effect-"
"Dad. What's this song?"
"Oh. It's an old one, I think. I've heard it play quite a few times. Here's I'll play it again."
He and Ron listened quietly to the piece. The melody, if you could call it that, was quite repetitive, but the verses were interesting. Slowly, but surely, a solid plan was forming in Ronald Weasley's brilliant mind.
"D'you think maybe Hermione knows this song? And Harry too?"
His dad's face lit up like a yule log. "Yes, yes, I'm sure of it! These songs have existed for many years, from when you three were tiny tots. Last year, Harry sang one about a dysfunctional reindeer. Fascinating, these muggles' obsession with deer."
"And birds, apparently," Ron murmured. "Thanks, dad, you've been a great help. I know just what to get Hermione for Christmas now."
In his usual manner, Ron's father appeared not to follow, but he looked quite proud that his studies were useful for something other than satisfying his own curiosity.
He bade his parents goodbye and entered the fireplace with an armful of pie.
There was work to be done.
The bulk of the next workday passed by quickly, despite consisting mainly of paperwork. Their recent caseload was blessedly low. It seemed that even criminals sometimes settled down around the holidays. During lunch, Ron gave Harry the shepherd's pie and then scrawled a quick note to send to Malfoy via the owl post.
Half-past four found Malfoy standing at his office door with a bewildered expression. "What is the meaning of this, Weasley?"
"Oh good, you got it then." Ron double-checked the back room to be sure Harry had left the office for his meeting.
"What the actual hell! Whose idea was it to buy their lover this many birds and human beings? Six geese. Eleven pipers. Eight maids a-milking!? I assure you that Harry would be most displeased if I gifted him a harem, gender notwithstanding." He examined the parchment once more. "These muggles have more interesting Christmas customs than I imagined. No wonder Harry left this part out, it's positively vulgar and wasteful!"
Like Malfoy had room to chastise others for gluttony. "I don't think they mean you have to buy exactly those items or those quantities."
Malfoy made a noise in his throat as he thought. "Harry has complimented the peacocks on more than one occasion. But I don't want to kill one of them just to make a feather pillow. I suppose we could keep one as a pet; ever since Hedwig, he hasn't kept a bird. Hmm, I think he would prefer a reptile if I were to go that route…"
Yes, Harry was definitely a snake person. Hermione, on the other hand…
"Damn. Crookshanks would eat it."
"Excuse me? I'm not inviting that sorry excuse for a kneazle onto my personal property!"
"Not talking about you, Malfoy." Ron sighed and rubbed his temple. "Look, you don't have to go with this song exactly. If we're talking about Harry, he didn't exactly have the greatest hols at his aunt and uncle's house, so maybe using a muggle song isn't the way to go."
The blonde gave him a stubborn frown. "No. I like this one."
"Fine. Do what you want. If you change your mind and want to browse other muggle Christmas carols, send my dad an owl. He'll be more than glad to help you out."
Ron sent out a silent thanks to Merlin for the fact that he would not have to endure another shopping trip with Malfoy. They exchanged curt goodbyes and went their separate ways for the evening. The Slytherin might not have said anything, but Ron was pretty sure he had solved the present dilemma for both of them.
Now he could go home, make hot cocoa, and snuggle with his wife on the couch.
The next four days leading up to Christmas passed by at an agonizingly slow pace. Ron felt very satisfied with himself once he had solidified his plan and gone about setting everything up. Of course, it did mean finding excuses to keep Hermione from going in the back garden. He knew she would notice the oddly-placed disillusionment charm if she stayed out there for long enough.
Luckily, she enjoyed his alternative indoor activities as much as he did and remained none the wiser.
Having everything planned out made Ron's mind feel way more at ease than it usually did before any special occasion, however, that meant he had nothing to focus on other than his abysmal stack of forms. Since Kingsley insisted that he and Harry had "nothing better to do," they had both gotten stuck helping out fellow aurors who had been out on cases that week.
Ron really didn't care that Bulstrode had forgotten to submit receipts for her expense report. And he certainly didn't feel like using his time and magical energy to trace the destination of every single knut in her team's budget.
When Friday evening came, Ron's feet were positively itching to get out. Harry tapped on his desk and grinned, tossing a hastily-wrapped package and a crisp cream envelope into his lap.
"Happy Christmas. Figured I'd give you your gifts now, since we won't be at yours for breakfast."
"Thanks, mate. You didn't have to." His face was a carefully-constructed picture of innocent curiosity. "What's the change in plans?"
"Draco is making me wake up early. On Christmas," he groaned. "I have no idea where we're going, but I'm sure it's not his parents' house. We have an understanding-join them for Christmas Eve dinner and tea on Christmas, and dinner with everyone at the Burrow."
"You sure he won't subject you to breakfast and lunch at the Manor?" Ron teased. He imagined the inevitable chaos of Christmas dinner this year, with his parents and siblings crowding him to get a look at the ring.
"Bollocks, I hope not."
Ron shrugged. "Your funeral. Thanks again, Harry. I didn't think to bring your present today, so you'll get it at dinner."
Harry gave him a hug and made his way out of the office. They would have left together, if Ron didn't need to pick up the last piece of his Christmas plan before the shop in question closed.
In all of this gift-giving madness, he hadn't wondered even once what Hermione had gotten him. If she could somehow ensure the Cannons' victory in the World Cup, his whole year would be made. Funny enough, the same thing he had told Malfoy that day in the Leaky held true for himself: any gift he got would be perfect, if it was given to him by one Hermione Granger-Weasley.
Oh Merlin. Not him too!
The package in his arms jostled slightly, pulling him from his thoughts, and he carefully adjusted it. Through the day-old blanket of snow he trudged into the garden and set about putting everything in place.
Caught up in his excitement-and his internal debate on whether or not to give Hermione her gift on Christmas Eve or to wait until the morning of-he had forgotten to open Harry's present. When he finally got settled in and finished making dinner, he retrieved the package from his robe pocket.
Inside the festive, bright red tissue paper was a nice pair of omnioculars, not too ornate or expensive and perfectly practical. His last pair had cracked beyond the scope of a simple reparo, and bringing it to a specialty shop would have been just as costly as replacing them. Thoughtful as always. The real gift was always Ron's unspoken invitation to any and every quidditch game of his choosing as a perk of Harry's deluxe season ticket package.
Next was the envelope; that was odd. Harry didn't normally do cards. He hoped George hadn't convinced him to send something with an obnoxiously loud gag song or sonnet.
Instead, he found a short note written in tidy script with a looped flourish.
Weasel,
I cordially thank you for your assistance. Your questionable muggle music proved to be strangely helpful in divining the perfect gift for Harry.
Enjoy these with your wife. Happy Christmas.
~DM
Ron checked the envelope and found two weekend passes to a luxury wizard spa in France, complete with hotel flexible reservations and vouchers for the wine basket of their choosing.
Well. He may be a ponce, but at least he was a generous ponce. Perhaps Harry hadn't made such a terrible choice in his life partner after all.
In the end, Ron was able to stick it out until the morning. Hermione wouldn't have been able to enjoy her gift as much when it was already dark outside on Christmas Eve.
They enjoyed their leisurely pancake breakfast and hummed along to some familiar tunes. Ever since Hermione had heard wizard carols in their first year of Hogwarts, she had especially loved "Smash the Vials," and "Round the Yule Log We Go."
Ron had carefully snuck in "The Twelve Days of Christmas" when he cast the music charm, and his wife recognized it at once.
"How do you know this song!? We used to sing it all the time when I was little. Mum and Dad made it a tradition to sing to the elderly in their group homes, did I tell you that? Every year this was part of our repertoire because it has a simple melody and we could all hit those notes."
"My dad," Ron answered simply. He slid his arm around to the small of her back and led her towards the door to the garden. "I have something for you."
Hermione's brow rose in curiosity, but she followed him without question into the snow. Waving his wand, he dispelled the disillusionment charm and watched her silent shock unfold.
He pressed a kiss to her hairline and whispered, "Happy Christmas, 'Mione."
"Ron, this is…" She stepped forward to examine her unorthodox gift. There, in the middle of the yard, was a fully-grown pear tree. On one of its lower-laying branches, close to the ground, sat a very content partridge in her golden nest.
He had taken a sapling from Neville's greenhouse and planted it. He had even sped up its growth so that they could enjoy the fruits of his labour during the new year. Ron doubted his friend would miss a single sapling, but he had left money and a note just in case.
The bird was a trickier case. Its handler had revealed to Ron that, no, partridges do not live in trees. He had to set up a nice space with shrubbery and soft soil for whenever her natural instincts commanded her to nest on the ground. For the purposes of the gift, however, it looked like his plan had worked; by attracting the partridge with shiny material and birdseed, he had convinced her to hop in the nest after all.
Hermione's merry laughter was music to Ron's ears. "It's-very literal." He blushed as she swept over to kiss him. "And very sweet. What shall we name her?"
"What about… Birdie?"
"I take it back. What should I name her? Hmm..."
While she gave it some thought, Ron decided to elaborate on his gift. "I figured she could live out here, you know, away from Crookshanks. I know how you like to watch the birds sometimes, so… And there are pears," he finished lamely.
"It's lovely, really. I mean it. Thank you, Ron."
The redhead grinned and hugged his wife close. "I love you."
Their first holiday as a married couple was a happy one. Filled with laughter and joy, they spent time together and regaled their families with the story of how a muggle song inspired the arrival of their new feathered friend.
A Happy Christmas indeed.
(To be continued in Part II...)
If you are a Drarry fan, stay tuned for the twelfth and final installment of this series.
Feel free to spread some holiday cheer in the comments if you like. Any and all flames will fuel the fire by which my characters snuggle with their significant others.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!