"Good morning, Miss Granger," Draco says, opening his front door with a glorious smile.

I raise an eyebrow and smile back. "Thought I told you not to call me that?"

"Hmm, perhaps." He gestures for me to come inside. "Merry Christmas, by the way. Should I be watching out for mistletoe?"

I blush furiously. "Yes, if my aunt is holding it. She'll see you and want you, undoubtedly."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Draco says, putting on his shoes - some smart black ones. I notice that he's wearing socks with snowmen on and smile at the adorableness of it . He catches me looking. "They were a gift from my father. It felt rude not to."

I smile. "Of course. How is he this morning?"

"He was good," Draco sighs, happy. "He was good. I went over at around eight and there was a sort of breakfast. He handed the gift to me, saying he didn't wrap them - which was totally obvious."

"That sounds nice," I say.

"Yeah, it was." Draco nods and goes back to tying his laces. "It was odd, sharing gifts while he was in a hospital bed, hooked up to that awful machine. Better than an actual hospital though, at least."

"He's glad to be home?"

"As glad as a grumpy, middle-aged man can be, I suppose," Draco laughs. "He was tired, though. What's when I left."

"You don't have to come today if you'd rather…?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes, Hermione." Draco stands and just smiles at me, albeit a little sadly. "I'll see him tomorrow. I saw him this morning. As very much as I love my father, I can't wear him out or wear down our already tentative and strained relationship. It will kill us both."

I wait to see if he changes his mind in a few moments of silence. He does not. Instead, he suggests that we leave, picking up a gift bag on the way out to my car. He even tells me to pick the music - which is his mistake (in his words).

I was ready to be delicate with him, but Draco Malfoy is clearly made of stronger stuff.

"See, when I said pick the music, this was conditional on the premise that I thought you had relatively good taste," Draco sats, grinning at me from the passenger seat. "But this?"

I roll my eyes and turn on Wham's famous song. "You're a christmas Heathen; this is a classic."

Draco reaches over to change the song but I smack his hand away - sadly, a moment too late.

"Now, this is what I'm talking about," he shouts over the loud music as Mariah Carey begins her first run of the song. Draco clears his throat and starts to sing: "I don't want a lot for Christmas! There is just one thing I need! - Come on, Hermione. I know you know the words. Sing with me."

"You are such a dork."

He's right, though, and this song is catchy as hell. It doesn't take long before we are belting at full volume some of the worst singing I have even heard (aside from Ron's shower power ballads). The song ends as we are pulling up to my parents house and I am parking the car. My aunt and uncle are here already. I glance sideways at Draco to see how he's doing.

"What are their names again?"

"Jean and Michael Granger."

"And your aunt and uncle?"

"Deborah and Steven Wilkins." I smile at him as he appears to be making an attempt at remembering these small details. "You're going to be absolutely fine. Don't worry."

He smiles back at me, albeit a little nervously. An energy passes between us then imperceptibly thickening the tension in the car. I think about reaching for his hand when Draco suddenly looks away and points to the house in front of us.

"Looks like we've been spotted," he notes, gesturing to the rustling curtain as it quickly falls back into place. "Michael likes to read, Jean likes to paint, Deborah has knitting, and Steven is into golf."

"See, you know it." I sigh. "Come on, let's go in."

We pop our doors open and grab the gifts from the boot.

"Funny, isn't it?" Draco asks.

"What?"

"Dinner with your parents and we haven't even had a first date."

I blush again. "Don't be ridiculous."

He smirks at me, as if he knows the effect he has. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me along with him, as if he is suddenly the master of this situation. Obviously I am going to have to prove him totally and utterly wrong.

Mum opens the door before we reach it, shivering at the wind tunnel she just created into the house. I hear my aunt telling her to close that bloody door. I unlatch myself from Draco to introduce him (Mum, this is Draco). He reaches a hand out to her, which she shakes.

"Mrs Granger, it's a pleasure to meet you." Then he strikes home with that killer smile that I know he uses to get his way.

Mum smiles back. "You can call me Jean. I think we have met before at a train station." She looks at him knowingly, telling him she knows who he is, or rather who he was. Draco frowns for a moment. "Don't look so worried. Water under the bridge. Come in, come in. It's freezing out there."

She steps back and opens the door wider.

"Shoes off?" Draco asks me.

Mum huffs.

"Did I say something?2 Draco asks her, pausing in bending to his shoelaces. "I can keep them on? If that's better?"

Who knew he could be so accommodating?

Mum smiles lightly. "No, it's not you -"

"We're not breaking up, are we? It's not you, it's me."

Mum laughs at Draco's quick joke. I roll my eyes at the two of them, sure that Dad must be doing the same further inside the house.

"It's just that the last boy Hermionne brought over for Christmas wasn't polite enough to ask," she admits.

"Mum."

"It's true, Hermione," she chastises, while Draco grins at the both of us.

"Well, Jean, I promise you I'm no Weasley."

"Thank God," Mum says. "Hang your coats up too, please. Hermione, show him where to go." Then she walks off.

"Merry Christmas, then," I call after her.

She turns, mortified. "I totally forgot! Yes, dear, Merry Christmas!" She pulls me in for a hug and kisses me on the cheek, whispering something that I cannot quite hear. Then she walks away, leaving Draco and me to breathe a sigh in relieved unison.

"You okay?" I ask, looking at him, checking him over almost.

"Yeah. You?"

I nod. "Yeah. Come on. I'll show you where we put things."

"And your childhood bedroom?"

I roll my eyes and punch him lightly in the arm.

Once our coats and shoes are away, Draco and I make it into the lounge. Hugs, greetings, and all the rest of it. My aunt Deborah seems to suggest I have grown, though I am almost certain that you stop growing long before age twenty-five. I play along with her anyway, and Draco states that I am certainly taller now than when we first met. They don't have to know that this was over ten years ago.

"So, what is it you do, Draco?" Deborah asks, leaning in.

"I work with my father," he says, smiling back. "We essentially do investment work."

"Ooh, like Dragon's Den?"

"All the more amusing when you are called Draco," I mutter, catching Draco's grin.

"An unusual name," Steven comments.

Draco smiles. "Trust me, it's a fit. My family has a penchant for, as you say, unusual names." The silence begs for a further explanation. "My mother is Narcissa, and my father is Lucius."

"Mythical," Dad says. "You know the stories?"

"Surprisingly, no. I'm not familiar with them."

Everyone turns to me, the literary academic in the room. I guess it makes sense that they turn to me now. But really one day I'd like to give my mind a rest. Even if that opportunity does come but once in a blue moon.

I sigh. "Narcissus was infamously vain. He drowned himself by wanting to be closer to the reflection of himself in the lake." Draco looks taken aback. "And, Lucius, I'm guessing is a derivative of, you know, the devil himself. Sorry."

Draco shakes his head. "No apology required. It's very interesting," he muses. "Plus, I'm doubtful they were named for the qualities of these mythical beings, just as much as I am not an actual dragon."

"Hmm, not sure about that last one," I joke. He smirks.

"Must be tricky remembering all those complicated names, Hermione. It's hard enough meeting the boyfriend's parents without additional complications," Steven says, sitting back against the sofa.

Before I can respond, Draco interjects. "Oh, we're not dating. Sorry." He doesn't look at me, but I'm sure he must be able to feel that the world just sank from under me. We're sharing the same sofa anyway.

"Why are you sorry, son?" Dad asks, laughing. "I'd feel sorry for the sucker who was stuck dating our Hermione."

I glare at him, to which he shrugs his shoulders.

"She's not so bad," Draco defends, grinning. I don't dare to look at him. "Any guy would be lucky to be with her. She is far too good for me."

My insides melt. Just a little.

My mother claps her hands then, bringing us all back into the room. She's wearing an apron with ducks on, one I've seen many Christmasses before; she swears by it, claiming it lucky and the key to her food succes. She won't accept that the wins are her talent.

"Alright, is everyone ready for presents?" she asks the room at large.

"Any chance of a top up before we get started?" my father asks, indicating his empty glass.

My mother stands with her hands on her hips and I'm reminded of myself, especially during a difficult class. "One more, Michael. Then you're on tea until lunch."

"Yes, dear," he replies.

"Anyone else?" Mum asks. "Draco, Hermione?"

"Anything's good with me, Jean," Draco replies, smiling up at her.

"I'll give you a hand, Mum," I say, standing up. For a moment, Draco stares up at me like a lost puppy. I squeeze his shoulder - for apology in abandoning him, and also for reassurance because we both know he's secretly a social butterfly.

In the kitchen, I go straight for the Bailey's for Dad, and pour out the prosecco for my aunt and uncle. For Draco and I, I retrieve the open bottle of white wine from the fridge.

"He's alright, you know," Mum says, kissing me on the forehead as she reaches for the wine.

"Careful, you might inflate his ego."

"Merry Christmas, dear."

"Love you, Mum. Anything you want help with?"

"No, that's alright. Go sit down. Save your man -"

"He's not -"

Mum waves it away. "Really, I'm just putting the turkey in for the last bits. We need to do presents so everyone can be ready for lunch. I want your father in a good mood for the pictionary."

I groan. "Really?"

"It's my favourite," she admits. "We'll play other things too. Now, go. I'll be through in a minute."

I carry the drinks through to the other room on a tray, dishing them out as intended. Draco raises an eyebrow at the alcohol.

"It's Christmas," I explain, gesturing.

"I'm driving," he prairies.

"Just stay over," I say, all blase. Before he can respond, Mum comes into the room and demands that we do presents immediately in order to stay on schedule for the day. No one dares to argue with her. Draco tries to give me a look to protest my suggestion again, but I ignore him, pulling out the bag of gifts that we brought with us. Mum dives under the tree and starts making piles of beautifully wrapped gifts.

"Hermione, this one's for you." Mum throws me a wrapped box.

"Thanks Mum. Dad, this one's yours."

"Jean, this one is for you," Draco says, handing over a small box to my mother.

She looks taken aback. "Draco, you really didn't have to."

"It's my pleasure. Please."

He catches my eye then and I'm reminded of the conversation we had before we came over. I had told him that he really didn't need to buy gifts for my family, but he had argued that he had too much than he really knew what to do with.

"Aunt Deborah, this one is for you." I pass her a gift.

"Does everyone have a present?" Mum asks.

"Hold on, dear," Dad laughs. "Steven, for you. Draco, this is from us."

It's Draco's turn to be surprised. "That's very kind, thank you."

Dad smirks gleefully. "You haven't opened it yet."

"Alright, first gifts of Christmas," Mums sings. "Let's open them up!"

There is a symphony of ripping paper as we tear into the present. Deborah coos, Mum and Draco laugh, and I squeal with glee. Draco looks over my shoulder at the thing in my hands.

"Stars War?"

"Star Wars," Dad corrects.

"Don't tell me you've never seen it," I say, gawking.

"You've put me in a tricky position here, Granger. Sorry."

I shake my head in bemusement. "Once we're done with Marvel, we are sitting down to watch all of the Star Wars movies."

"That's harsh, Hermione," Steven interjects. "What if he doesn't like the first one?"

"I thought we were done with Marvel?"

"Sorry," I say, but he's smiling. He's joking with me. I know he likes the dumb sci-fi I've introduced him to. "Git." He laughs. "Thanks Mum, Thanks Dad. What's everyone else got?"

We rattle through the rest of the gifts are that, which is a flurry of themed socks, hats, and various other chattels. Mum loves the candlestick pair I bought her, Dad is totally enamoured with his new bound book that I found in Ye Olde book shop in Cambridge. Uncle Steven has already set up his mini desk golf on the beige carpet, and aunt Deborah is flipping through the photo album Mum put together for her. Draco is laughing at a book from my father, and I'm staring absentmindedly at the optimistic paint set that Deborah gave me.

It's worth pointing out that I have never painted in my life. She has a lot more faith in me than I have.

"Perhaps we could paint together," Draco suggests, sounding sleepy with drink and social activity.

I murmur back, "Aren't you sick of spending time with me?"

"You don't think I enjoy it?"

"You might get bored."

"Of you? Never." He smirks. I roll my eyes and lean against his shoulder, feeling tired.

Just then, a timer goes off in the kitchen and Mum leaps to attention. This is her call to arms.

"Alright, time to wash up. Michael, help me with the table."

Steven and Deborah head to the downstairs bathroom to wash up, while I lead Draco upstairs. He mutters something suggestive under his breath that I don't hear. We wash our hands and take just a moment to rest from the madness of Christmas, leaning against either side of the bathroom door frame. I ask him, lightly, how he is, just to check. He's smiling though, still. He's actually pretty much back to his normal, joking self, aside from this relaxation. He even flicks some tap water in my face, to tease me.

"Did you like your gift?" I ask him, wiping the water from my face.

He frowns, as if confused. "Yes, of course. Why?"

I shrug, insecurity flooding my veins. He seems to sense this.

"Hermione, it's a wonderful gift. It's spectacularly strange, just like you."

I hit him in the arm. "Not too dorky?"

"I like dorky. Plus, it's a lamp. There's nothing dorky about light."

"Yes, but you're twenty-four, not eighty-four." He laughs. "I just…. I wanted to get you something you wouldn't buy for yourself. Hence, carboot-charity-flea-market lamp. It's handmade, too. A classic."

"Bonus, it's my favourite colour," Draco remarks.

I roll my eyes. "Slytherin, yeah. Thanks for the mini-projector by the way. I know I already said it, but, you know… Thanks."

"My pleasure."

I suddenly notice just how close we are standing, and how life hangs in the balance. Draco reaches across the distance to brush a hair from my face, looking at me perplexedly. I can barely hold my breath.

"Draco, Hermione! Dinner!"

We break away, crashing back into reality; Draco leads the way downstairs. As we reach the dining room, we find the table to be decorated as lavishly as could be done - multiple table settings, a huge variety of cutlery, and piles and piles of steaming food. We sit down and make our way to filling our plates, all the while chattering all about all sorts in between passing potatoes and requesting more turkey from my mother who has cut it all perfectly. I watch as Draco loads his plate with cranberry sauce, and as he cringes at my overuse of bread sauce ("really, Hermione? Of all things? Bread sauce?"). My father takes the two servings of Yorkshire puddings, as usual, and Steven takes the other.

None of us attempt to say grace, but we all clink glasses and wish each other glad tidings. After that, there is a few minutes of silence as we all tuck in.

I may not love everything my mother cooks, but she makes a mean Christmas Dinner.

"Been on the golf course lately, Steven?" my father asks, breaking the silence for a pitter patter of smalltalk.

Steven shakes his head. "Too much bad weather, unfortunately. I was hoping to get out onto the driving range in the new year, though. It's something of a tradition."

"Driving range? That's some pretty serious stuff," Draco muses, setting down his fork. "Cool."

"You play?" Steven inquires.

"I have done," Draco replies, before shoving half a roast potato into his mouth. He must hate smalltalk.

"Where do you play?" Steven presses on.

"Blofield, mostly. But usually the client wants to play on their own course. It's a bit of a power move." Draco grins wolfishly. "Yourself?"

"Bawburgh. Michael's joined me a few times. He finds it boring, though."

"I've always preferred football."

"Who's your team?" Draco asks.

Dad laughs. "Norwich City, of course. Born and raised here; that'll never change."

"A man with integrity. I like it."

Mum looks at me from across the table and rolls her eyes, as if to say men or something similar. Deborah then drags her into a quiet conversation about quilting, of which I have absolute zero interest in. I sit and listen to everyone else for a while and eat my food.

Eventually, the conversation becomes light again and we end up rattling through movies and television recommendations (that I think we all know none of us will ever watch). Mum is convinced for a moment that she's seen Vampire Diaries, which I have to laugh at. Deborah tells me that she's seen Supernatural, which I actually believe, given her fascination for ghosts, vampires, and werewolves.

After the plates are cleared of food and cleared away, we sit in a food-induced stupor, each of us heavier and more tired than we have felt in a long time. Mum vaguely suggests dessert, which we all politely decline ("Maybe in a bit, Jean. I'm stuffed now," Dad told her.). Instead, she tops up the wine, and we chat about new year's plans. Deborah hopes to go to Italy in the Spring and to start doing some Yoga.

"We're over at Jenna's, but no fireworks this year," Dad says, looking at Mum for confirmation (she nods). "Should be interesting. They have a new puppy."

"Adorable. What type?" I ask.

"Um… Labra-something. Jean? Help."

We all laugh at my Dad's hopelessness without his wife.

"Labradoodle. It's very sweet, and extremely fluffy. And don't worry, dear, there's a lot of different types nowadays."

Draco mutters, "My favourite is a labra-dabra-doodle." I laugh quietly, grinning at him. He looks nonplussed and totally serious.

"How old are they?" Steven asks.

"Only mid-sixties," Dad replies.

"Still challenging to have a puppy at that stage," he muses.

Draco clears his throat and leans into the conversation. "My great aunt bought a puppy when she was eighty. She said it made her feel young, and it certainly helped to get her up and moving more than she would have otherwise done. The dog was always fit and healthy."

"I suppose that makes sense," Deborah admits. "Children and puppies are much the same that way. It'll be good to have some grandkids soon."

"We're not expecting anything anytime soon," Mum utters.

"Hey!" I shout, laughing.

She looks at me pointedly. "Well, should we?"

"No."

"Well then. Right, what about some games? Articulate? It's Hermione's favourite." Mum's suggestion rouses some intrigue around the table. "Couples pairings?"

Draco looks at me. "Me and you?" I nod. "Cool, how do we play?"

While Mum sets up the board, I explain: "Each team has a token, like this one. There isn't a green one, though."

"We can play Gryffindor," Draco concedes, picking up the red token and placing it on the start.

"Wow, alright then. So on the board you see the categories? They correspond to the cards." Dad hands me a card to show Draco. "You look at the category and you have to describe the word for me to guess, and vice versa. And then do as many as you can so we can advance around the board and win."

"Okay," he says slowly, comprehension dawning. "Yeah, I think I got it."

Mum and Dad go first.

"Three, two, one." I start the timer. I turn to Draco, "They have a minute to do it."

"A boat, but little, and it floats!" Mum shouts, quickly becoming ridiculously animated in her immediate desire to win. "It goes out with the RNLI to save people."

"Raft?"

"Yes!" Mum starts to make a movement. "Oh, sorry I can't do that." She skips. "Not shoes, but…?"

"Boots!"

"Oh goodness…" She skips. "You have two of these for Christmas dinner!"

"Oh that's not fair," Steve mutters, grinning.

"Roast potatoes? No - Yorkshires!" Dad shouts, slapping the table in his excitement. "Next one, go."

"Okay, um… You wear it at parties and things, it goes on your upper body -"

"Shirt?"

"No, no… It has buttons? Oh, that's no good. Black -"

"Time's up," I say over their bumbling din. "How many did you get? Three. Nice."

Steven and Deborah go next, accruing an impressive six cards. Then it's Draco and my turn. He tells me to describe first, as he's still getting to grips with the game. He makes eyes at me, as if to tell me that we have this in the bag. I'm not so sure, but maybe, just maybe this will go okay.

"Go!"

"Okay, you like blueberry, I like raspberry and white chocolate."

"Muffin."

I grin. "Measures atmospheric pressure."

"Thermometer? No, barometer!"

"Hiroshima."

"Atomic Bomb," Draco says.

"Close. The word for the middle of an atom."

"Nucleus? Nuclear bomb!"

"Yes!" I skip the next one, because I don't think we'd ever get a hacksaw. "This one store's whiskey, I think."

"Barrel?" he asks, tentatively.

"Close."

"Cask?"

"Yes! The bit on the front of a car - not a hood, the inside. Where your satnav is."

"Dashboard!"

"It dings in the morning to wake you up, especially you - not me."

"Phone? No, wait, alarm clock." Draco grins. "You don't have one, but I'm old school so I do." I shush him.

"It makes holes in the wall."

"Drill."

"BBC, Heart, Kiss - they all play on a…?"

"Radio?"

"That's time! Amazing," Deborah says, almost breathless. "That was incredible. You clearly have a talent for this game. Both of you."

"Put the two smartest, youngest people together, and what do you get?" I say, feeling excitable and fairly confident. "We got eight."

Draco high-fives me, in an extremely uncharacteristic fashion.

The game advances a little like this for a while, with Draco and I pulling back in the second round due to the "actions" topic which is by far the most difficult. We end up battling it out for the pole position and come a very close second, taken over by Steven and Deborah who have clearly been practicing the game.

Not that they're boring people, but their electric chemistry in this game genuinely surprised me.

Draco states that, one day, he would like a rematch ("We deserved that win, Hermione.").

We also play pictionary, which goes terribly wrong as I am god-awful at drawing and Draco just laughs (because he has no idea what to guess). After that is the Christmas pudding. We ooh and ahh at the sight of the bright blue flame lighting it up, and then all talk about how much alcohol this thing is clearly soaked in. My parents also don't like to watch Christmas tv on Christmas Day - they prefer to save it until Boxing Day, or the day after. So, instead of tv, we talk, we play more games, and we wander about the house in a vague drunken-stupor, humming to the music that plays at various intervals as we move through the rooms.

"Hey. You okay?" I ask Draco, clashing with him in the corridor between the lounge and the kitchen.

"Yeah," he says, smiling. "I have something to give you."

"Ominous."

Draco shakes his head. "It's not like that. Here." He pulls a small wrapped cuboid from his pocket and hands it over. I take it, albeit perplexed.

"It's a tape."

"I actually stole this from you so we could listen to the first song. I think you'll approve." He pulls my tape-player from another pocket. He shrugs, "Then you can listen to the rest of it at your leisure."

I read the title: Hermione's Mix 2. So I guess mixtapes are going to become a thing in our friendship. I like it. Draco hands over my tape player and steals an ear-bud from me. The music starts, a thrumming base, and pretty sweet guitar.

"This is awesome. What is it?"

"Phantogram. They're not the usual summery weird stuff you like, but I figured that you would be able to cope with a little heavier Indie." Draco turns up the chorus, and the symphonic cacophony fills my head.

We stand like this for some time, listening to the song. I think about the lyrics and imagine the music filling my body. Perhaps this is something I could attempt on the piano, if I had enough gaul to try it out. I suppose we will see. I can practically feel Draco humming to the tune, which is perhaps something that drunk, happy Draco does, that I didn't know about until just now. This is a whole new level of relaxation for him, and I can't help but look. His downcast eyes, eyelashes twitching with the music, the half-smile, half-concentration. I want to lean against him and melt into the moment with him, despite the fast pace of the music and the quickness of my pulse.

I could liquify right here, right now.

"Oh my goodness," Deborah squeals, interrupting my thoughts and the song as Draco leaps in surprise, ripping the ear-bud from me. "Sorry, you two. Just, you're under the mistletoe!"

We look up in surprise. Then we stare at each other.

Shit.

"You have to kiss," Deborah says. "It's a Christmas rule. It's a crime to break it."

"I'm sure that's not correct," I argue, laughing awkwardly.

"It's tradition."

Draco sighs and turns to me. "Do I have your permission?"

This isn't actually going to happen is it? Draco Malfoy is going to kiss me under the mistletoe? That's an absolutely ludicrous solution to anything, and no sane person would either expect this or not expect it. But then Draco leans in, places a hand on my shoulder, and presses a soft kiss against my cheek. Inside, I am screaming, but on the surface I maintain my sanity, even smiling politely at Deborah and him when he steps back from me.

Deborah tuts. "That wasn't a proper kiss."

Draco shrugs. "I'm a gentleman, Deborah. Not while another woman watches on."

"I can leave the room…?" she says, laughing.

"No need," I interrupt. "I'm just going to get a drink anyway. I'll meet you back in there."

The rest of the evening passes fairly quickly as we descend deeper into the madness of Christmas, shouting songs and playing more games (my aunt brought over Cards Against Humanity which is a whole new level of weird with my parents - Draco actually ends up falling onto the floor in his laughter, which is certainly an interesting sight). We have more food, in spite of our collective lack of hunger, and eat and drink until the day is extraordinarily late and pretty much everyone is falling asleep on the sofas.

Mum orders bedtime for everyone, without nearly as much gusto as she would have otherwise done. We find Draco a toothbrush and set up the lounge for the two of us. I say set up but what I really mean is there are some cushions on the floor as well as a couple of duvets and blankets. It looks comfortable, but I think we both know that it will never be as comfortable as a regular bed. For tonight, that's okay.

"Do you think this is strange?" I ask, looking to my left to see him lying on the floor beside me. He's pulled the blanket up to his chest, wearing a t-shirt that Dad pulled from a cupboard somewhere.

"What?" he replies, shifting around. I can hardly see him in the pitch darkness of the room, just a barely-there figure moving against the shadows.

I gesture around us. "Staying here, like this."

He sighs contentedly. "It's not the strangest thing we've done."

"You think?"

"Definitely," he says, certain.

"You mean me stripping in front of you, don't you?"

He laughs quietly. "I thought we weren't going to talk about that."

"But you were thinking about it."

"That image haunts me." I slap him on the arm. "Hey, not cool. I can't see you."

"Good," I reply, smiling to myself. "Merry Christmas, Draco. Thank you for coming over."

"Thanks for having me."

I think about saying something else, but before I can consider my words enough, the cushions and blankets are just too much and I am engulfed in the realm of sleep, fairly certain that I am going to wake up with a raging hangover. But, hey, that's Christmas. At least, for us, for now, anyway.

0-0

AN: I know I said no more ANs, but I want to thank everyone for their patience - both with me, and with this story. I know chapters don't come too often, and the progress is slow. But I promise, Dramioneness is coming really, really soon. Two big things coming in the next two chapters, so look out for those. This chapter was really weird to write at this time of year, so I hope it feels at least somewhat festive.