This is a Draco/Hermione one-shot I wrote for Christmas. The characters may be OOC, I hope it won't bother you. Obviously I don't follow canon.

I apologize for the mistakes I can't get rid of (I'm French)

Hope you'll enjoy your reading!

And a review always warms the heart =)

Elie

Her Yule Log

"Fuck!"

She stretched the cut a little, letting a tear of blood fall on the present.

"Fuck," she repeated.

Everything seemed to be against her. It might be better if she stopped trying before she seriously hurt herself. First she'd almost got run over – though she'd been very careful as usual. Then a tree had fallen some centimetres away from her. A thief had been attacking the shop where she was and the police hadn't allowed her to leave for thirty minutes. And after she'd finally reached her destination the vendor had told her the item she was purchasing was out-of-stock.

It'd really been a hell of a morning. She'd nevertheless succeeded in finding what she wanted in another shop – far away from her flat, making her waste around two more hours.

When she finally had the item in her hands, she thought her ordeal was over, how wrong of her! To properly offer a Christmas present you had to wrap it with a beautiful wrapping paper, but it seemed there was no wrapping paper left in town!

"A hell of a morning," she mumbled while licking the blood away.

Leaving her house at eight, she thought she'd be back at twelve, yet she hadn't been able to come back before the middle of the afternoon, and now she still had to wrap all the presents – his as well as the others' – to cook dinner, to decorate the rooms, to get ready – meaning she had to do her hair, her make-up, and to find a suitable dress.

Her shoulders dropped. She'd never finish everything in time.

"Everything because of a present he'll refuse."

She glared at the box. It'd taken her so long to find it, would he really throw it back to her without opening it? It was possible. It was probably what would happen.

She laid back on the carpet.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have bought anything. He didn't want anything after all. Well, I can always not give it to him. I can keep it for somebody else. I can-"

The box suddenly fell from the coffee table.

"Perhaps I should give it to him as it was planned," she smiled.

She knew he'd probably refuse to take it first. He'd only growl, criticize her choice, he might even shut the door to her face, or turn his back to her if she succeeded in entering his flat. Shouldn't she make him come to hers instead? At least she'd be certain not to wait for him to become honest in the cold.

The truth was he'd love to have a present. His heart would flutter and his cheeks would redden – but don't expect him to ever admit it.

Of course he'd have received presents from his family, and friends, but they wouldn't mean the same as hers would. To receive a present from her meant he'd been accepted by someone else, someone who had got to appreciate him progressively.

Their relationship wasn't rigged. She didn't care about his money, he didn't care about her wits. They weren't taking advantage of each other. When they couldn't suffer each other's presence any more, they simply separated, walking on their own way until they calmed down and their paths met again.

They'd had a big fight before the start of the holidays, bigger than usual, more painful too, they'd gone further than they were used to allowing themselves to go, the past normally being a forbidden subject, something which was too sensitive to be broached without uneasiness and pain. She didn't even remember what had been said about this painful past they both shared, and she didn't care. All she wanted was for this quarrel to be forgotten. She didn't like not to be kept away from him for so long when they weren't on good terms.

So Hermione had organized her holidays in order to be free on Christmas Day, thus she'd be able to spend it with him - if he ever deigned to speak to her again, it went without saying.

"Well I'll cook", she stopped. Cook? Was she really going to cook? "I'm going crazy," she smiled. No, of course she wasn't going to cook. The caterer should arrive soon.

She'd have liked to cook dinner herself, however she wasn't ready to go that far for him, not yet – plus she didn't want to risk to poison him, not yet, again.

"Next time I-" she glanced at the oven, "next time I'll do the same thing."

She wasn't good at cooking, what could she do about it? She could try, of course, to improve. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a wooden spoon.

She could try.

Wasn't there something she could make for tonight? Something he'd really like to eat, something he'd be glad she'd made herself. A cake? A chocolate cake? She glanced at the cupboards. There should be some ingredients there. Her eyes went to the clock. She already knew which dress she wanted to wear, with which shoes. Her hair would remain free and wild – she couldn't tame them any way– and she wouldn't apply more make-up than the one she was already wearing. As for the presents, she was twenty now, wasn't she? The use of magic wasn't forbidden any more, and a little help couldn't do any harm, could it?

She slightly bit her lower lip in hesitation. The image of a chocolate cake wouldn't leave her mind. Would he be happy? He would, as much as when he opened the present she got him each year, though he'd never openly say it.

Her fingers tightened around the spoon. Her mother had given her a book of recipes, it should be somewhere in the cupboards, with the ingredients, and the utensils. The oven was working, and she was a grown-up girl, an adult, wasn't she? To make a cake shouldn't be too difficult, should it?

"But it's Christmas," she murmured. "Isn't there something special to make at this time of the year?"

Lost in her thoughts she hadn't realised she'd started to search for the book. She only realized what she'd done when she found herself with it – open – on the table in front of her.

"Christmas Recipes," she read before turning the pages randomly.

Randomly? It wasn't so certain for the picture of a particular dessert seemed to be stuck in her mind. The Yule log her mother used to make every year, could it be in this book? Her shoulders dropped a little, it was impossible for the recipe to be written in such a book, except if this heirloom belonged to several families – such as the author's. There was no chance for her to find it. No chance at all.

She blinked. There it was! Written at the end of the book by her own mother's hand! A huge smile appeared on Hermione's face. The instructions were really detailed, each step explained clearly and with a spare way of making it.

"You know me so well, thank you Mum," she whispered.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?"

Hermione frowned. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No at all."

"Oh please," she sighed.

"I don't get it at all."

"What is it making you think about?"

"I'd rather not say it aloud, you'll get madder."

Hermione clenched her fists. A whole day of preparation, two hours prisoner of the room of nightmares – the kitchen – and this was all she got in return? She hadn't expected any compliment, or thanks, however she hadn't thought he'd be making so lame comments about her work.

First the decoration had been made by a child – probably blind. Then the presents – she hadn't given him his and was seriously thinking about not giving him anything at all – had been wrapped by toddlers too, and the dinner, though made by a caterer was of a low level. Oh and the dessert – if it could be called thus – was impossible to identify.

Enough was enough.

"You're the worst," she declared.

"I've never asked you to do anything."

"I wanted to make you happy."

"You know I hate Christmas I-"

"Wrong," Hermione cut him off. "It's not Christmas that you hate, it's spending it alone that you despise, but when I see how you behave, I understand why even your friends don't make any effort to celebrate such a great time with you."

She turned away. "You can bin it if you want. I'm going to sleep. The door is locked, use magic to get away."

"Hermione-"

"Go away Malfoy. You're right I shouldn't have tried. This year is worst than the others."

Draco froze. That he called her by her last name was normal, that she didn't use his first name was a bad omen. He'd really pushed the things too far this time. He shouldn't have kept up with this scornful attitude of his. It was all right to make a little fun of her, of her decoration, and of the way the boxes were wrapped, but he should have remembered she wasn't doing it for others, or for herself only, she was doing it for him as well, in order to offer him a great time, a nigh he could enjoy. Besides she'd cooked! She'd cooked him a Yule log, a chocolate dessert – his favourite – and he hadn't even been able to acknowledge her work.

She was right, he was the worst.

"Will you get out of your room?"

"Didn't I tell you to go away?"

"I'm still here."

"Obviously."

"And you're talking to me."

"I can ignore you if you prefer."

"The chocolate is getting cold on the cake."

"Bin it."

"I want to eat it."

Hermione didn't reply anything.

"I want to taste what you've done."

"Bin it," she repeated in a weak voice.

"I won't."

"Then take it and go."

"I won't either."

"Then what are you going to do?" he heard her sigh in frustration through the door.

He'd chosen to go to her bedroom rather than leaving. This time he'd try to do things correctly. He wouldn't let them part on a stupid fight again – a fight he'd, again, been the one to start.

Though her door was locked, she was still standing close enough to it to speak to him, this was, he thought, an encouraging thing. She could have just laid in her bed, ignoring him, his presence and his attempts to apologize.

"I want to eat it with you."

He leant his forehead against the door.

"Hermione?"

He turned around and slid to the floor.

"It's been four years since you've started to spend Christmas with me. I'm certain your red-haired friend still wants to kill me."

He stopped a little, expecting her to defend her friend, but she didn't say anything.

"You know I won't say anything nice, I just can't."

"I know."

"Then why are you so angry?"

Hermione suddenly opened the door, making him collapse on her bedroom floor.

"There are some limits Malfoy. I can bear not to hear any compliment, and I can support your mocking words, but this year you are making it insufferable."

She firmly set her hands on her waist. "What's wrong with you?"She was glaring at him, yet he could only smile back. Hermione raised an eyebrow then sighed.

"Really, what's wrong with you? I don't understand." She went to sit on her bed.

He got up and imitated her.

"I'm not the only one who isn't acting as usual."

"I'm the same as ever," Hermione retorted.

Draco shook his head. "You usually don't cook."

Hermione shrugged. "It was nothing special. It didn't mean anything."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"You're lying."

"Go away Draco."

He smiled. She'd said his name.

"I want to eat the Yule log."

"Take it with you."

"I want us to eat it together."

"Spoiled brat."

He leant his head on her shoulder. "This isn't a novelty, is it?"

"Why do you want to eat it with me?"

"Don't get me wrong, I just want you to taste it, thus if it's somehow poisonous I'd be warned."

She punched him. "Mean."

"Would you like me to be otherwise?"

She got up, offered him her hand, before leading him to the kitchen.

"Though it's a shame, no I don't want you to change," she admitted. "I guess I was too tired this time to bear with you. You don't imagine how long it takes to make a cake."

"And I guess I was also too tired to understand. I went too far."

"Careful Draco, it sounds like apologies to me."

She winked at him.

"You dream too much."

"A big or a small piece?"

"Big, if I die it'd be on a full stomach."

"Spoiled brat."

"With a lot of chocolate please."

She gave him a plate. "Happy Christmas Draco."

"Thanks."

The End