Author's Notes: A big thank you to whoever nominated me for this year's Livejournal D/Hr Advent (go and check all the entries out, they are amazing). I was very honoured to be asked to write for this great fest. And a massive thank you to mccargi who not only sorted out my lack of commas and awkward sentences but also gave me the title for this submission.
A Little Something Extra
"Granger, what's this?" Draco asked, holding up the green velvet material between his thumb and forefinger.
"Oh good! You found your costume."
"Costume?"
"Yes, for the cards. Draco, you do remember don't you?"
He could tell he had the blank I have no idea what you are talking about look on his face from the exasperation that settled in Hermione's eyes.
"We talked about this the other night and you said yes."
Draco searched his memory and he came up with nothing. Instead, delicious flashbacks of a night when Hermione's parents babysat Scorpius and he and his wife made the most of it came to mind. His blood stirred until Hermione whacked him around the head with the book she had been reading.
"Ouch, woman, that hurt!" he protested.
She sighed audibly. "I can't believe you."
"Okay, okay," he said, his hands held up in surrender. "I don't remember and if it was something you suggested the other night – you know, when Scorpius was with your parents – then I probably would have agreed to a foursome with Potter and Weasley."
His wife of five years shook her head. "You are a piece of work at times, Draco, do you know that?"
He smirked and snaked his arm around her waist. "You shouldn't be so distracting then."
A blur behind her shoulder gained his attention and he jumped back at the sight of a moving brown bundle of fur. Oh sweet Salazar, no! he thought. She's gone and got another cat.
Draco had rejoiced when Hermione's demon cat – otherwise known as Crookshanks – had died within a few months of them being married. The beast had never hidden its disdain for Draco or the Manor. In fact, Draco had never seen it be nice to any human other than Hermione. It positively loathed Ron who had refused to come to the 'funeral' Hermione had held in the grounds of the Manor for it. She hadn't spoken to her friend for a month after that.
"Er… Hermione, love, what is that?"
She tutted and swatted his arm away before stooping to pick the furry thing up. She turned back around to face him and he saw a disgruntled face staring out of a reindeer suit. Draco's first thought was Phew! followed by sympathy for his poor suffering son.
"Why does Scorpius have antlers sprouting out of his head?"
His wife beamed. "He looks so cute, don't you think? It's for the card shoot. Speaking of, you need to go and try on your costume. The photographer is coming tomorrow, so any adjustments need to be made today."
Draco looked between the green velvet and his wife as a nasty suspicion bloomed in his mind. He remembered the red and white candy striped tights hanging over the vanity chair and realised that they probably weren't a new fashion kick his wife was on, but most likely went with the tunic he was holding in his hand. Resigned, he held his tongue – a praiseworthy feat for him - and trudged his way upstairs.
Twenty minutes later, he stared in horror at the full-length mirror. He looked like Robin Hood gone wrong. The mediaeval-style, green velvet tunic was matched with tight knee-length breeches made of red velvet. His calves were encased in stripy red and white tights and he had some sort of green, embroidered Moroccan slippers on his feet made all the more ridiculous by the upturned toes with bells on them. He hadn't yet put on the green elf hat trimmed with white fur (faux of course) around the brim and a puffy ball of it at the end.
No! There was no way he was wearing this in any capacity, let alone on something that would be sent out to all their friends and family. He would be a laughing stock for months – actually, scrap that, for years. He would never live it down.
Not bothering to take it off, he stomped his way back down the staircase, ignoring both the jangling of the bells and the catcalls from various, oh-so-amusing, long-dead relatives.
His sweet wife apparently drawn to the sound of bells, popped her head out of the main drawing room and squealed in a very un-Granger like manner.
"Oh, we are going to top Harry's card for sure this year."
With no more dark wizards to foil, the golden trio had channelled their energies into trying to outdo each other with personalised Christmas cards each year. So far, Draco had resisted any attempts his wife had made to get him involved. If there was one thing Draco had learnt from the war, it was not to try outdoing Harry Potter any more. He was always going to lose.
"Every year you say that, Hermione, and every year he manages to outsmart you. Goodness knows how as he's not the sharpest tool in the box."
As strange as it seemed, it appeared Potter had a flair for all things Christmas. The charmed flying- sleigh cards, complete with a full team of paper reindeer, he had sent last year had been genius, casting Hermione's twinkling Christmas tree with paper lights that flashed different colours every second firmly into the shade.
"Yes, but this year I have thought outside the box and drawn on my Muggle heritage. Who could resist the cutesy charm of a family Christmas photo, especially with Scorpius as Rudolph?"
"Me!" he replied firmly. "I'm sorry, love, but there is no way I'm actually being photographed wearing this."
A frown appeared on Hermione's face. "You've done family portraits before, Narcissa told me."
He laughed. "Yes, but those were dignified affairs. Malfoys do not dress up as cartoonish characters and send out the evidence."
Hermione snootily put her nose in the air. "Malfoys also didn't marry Muggle-borns, but you bucked that trend."
"I think there is a slight difference between marrying a smart, sexy, Muggle-born witch and dressing up as a giant green elf."
Draco knew he didn't stand much chance of getting out of this, but he'd try anyway. No one knew more than him just how stubborn Hermione could be. After all, it was the reason he was married to her. She had refused to settle for the status quo, had befriended him after the war, and wormed her way into his heart much to his father's disgust.
And whilst he might have been willing to fight his father and end centuries of Malfoy pureblood heritage, it did not mean he was going to capitulate in this matter. Well, not until he got something in return.
Hermione put Scorpius down on his activity mat before returning to him. She finger walked up his arm. "I think you look like a very sexy Christmas elf. In fact, this woman might have realised that she has a thing for sexy Christmas elves."
She gave him a seductive look from under her eyelashes and his blood rushed to a place not easily concealed in skin-tight breeches.
Trying to distract his thoughts, his mind fumbled to find a less incriminatory subject.
"By the way, why is it only Scorpius and I who are wearing costumes? What are you going to be?"
"Why Santa Claus of course."
Draco frowned. "As the man of the house, surely I should be going as Santa Claus?"
"Well, if you want to dress up in Gryffindor red…"
He paused. His wife had a point. At least the elf was mainly green.
"I may have also purchased an R-rated version of my Santa Claus outfit for your eyes only," Hermione purred into his ear. "But you'll only get to see that if you are a very, very good boy."
In the end, Draco agreed, as his wife knew he would, and the Christmas cards were a huge success. She finally trumped Harry, despite his snow globe cards being incredibly inventive. The committee of Neville and Luna, who judged the cards each year, had given the win to Hermione purely due to the fact that she had managed to get Draco into a fancy dress costume and one that involved red and white striped tights at that. The cards also provided endless hours of entertainment as Santa Hermione was constantly battling to keep both Draco and Scorpius in the card.
Draco's friends were disappointed that the merciless teasing he received from them did not cause the famous Malfoy scowl to appear. Instead, his eyes would glaze over and wicked smile would appear on his lips. For some reason, instead of being deeply traumatised, the blond associated the card with seemingly happy memories, which only confused his tormentors.
If they had rooted around in the dressing room attached to the master suite at Malfoy Manor, they might have found the reason for that - tucked away in a far corner was a scandalous piece of red and white lace lingerie.