The Bodyguard
(Rated PG-13 for coarse language, sexual references and mature themes)Disclaimer: While I have no proper one, I'll give it a shot ... The characters Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy and all other people, things, etc affiliated with the world of Harry Potter do not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling. I am making no profits from this story. Shows like Hack and other mentioned ones do not belong to me either, but to their creators, etc. Do not sue me. I own nothing (except for Tammy Harding - she's mine).
Summary: She was the successful, intelligent and influential Ministry official. He was the trust-funded, but un-employed, handsome playboy. But when Draco Malfoy is hired as Hermione Granger's bodyguard, it's amazing that two people so different (with the hatred of each other to prove it) could fit together so perfectly in the jigsaw puzzle of life.
THE BODYGUARD
Chapter 7 – Christmas
Chapter 7Weeks passed and Hermione found herself throwing herself more into work, with paperwork and filing haunting her occasionally. More often than not, she would be spending more than two hours in her office after everybody but Draco had left. It was rather maddening; going through all the work efficiently and quickly enough so that she could have a decent Christmas break. But she knew that even though she may have earned that break, her dining table would be home to more stacks of work; enough to get her through six weeks. Hermione was hoping that she'd be able to work through it in three weeks (the length of her holiday) before she settled back into her familiar squishy armchair in her office.
Of course, the holiday was supposed to be longer (it was the end and the beginning of a year), but Hermione found it comforting to be kept busy by work than to be 'tied down' by being invited to party crazily. Quite unusual; as she had intended to party crazily for many years but couldn't because of work. Now when the holidays rolled around, she would be doing nothing but voluntary work.
It was a nice, sunny, Saturday morning when there was a tapping on Hermione's bedroom window. Jerking her head up from the Charles Dickens book that she was reading, Hermione saw an owl tapping on her window with its beak. With a wave of her wand, the window opened by itself and the owl swooped it, setting itself down at the foot of Hermione's bed. It then proceeded to walk (or waddle; which was perhaps more appropriate) up the length of the bed until it reached Hermione's elbow. The owl hooted and dropped the letter at Hermione's arm.
"Thank you," Hermione said, stroking the owl a little bit on its feathery head before it bowed and flew out the window.
Hermione put her book down and picked up the newly delivered letter. She opened it and a cascade of gold and red glitter plunged onto her white blanket.
"What the ..." Hermione muttered, pulling out the contents of the letter. It was a rumpled piece of cardboard folded in half with smudged green glitter glue on the front and a star arranged from macaroni on the front. Hermione smiled; it was her first Christmas card of the year. And a hand made one at that. She opened it.
Dear Hermione,
How are you this time of year?
I'm fine – David and the kids are having heaps of fun, and Anastasia just got her first tooth. It was a nightmare when it was coming, but now that she has it, she just can't help biting into anything; even if it's my patience!
David got a promotion and now he's the personal assistant of Penelope Boggly - the junior head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports in the Ministry.
Anyhow, this wouldn't be a proper Christmas card without a proper Christmas greeting. May your Christmas be as delightful as life itself and may your new year be as good (or even better) than this one.
Lots of love,
Lavender and the rest of the Phoggy family
P.S. David Junior insisted that he make the Christmas card for you.
P.P.S. We must get together some time and catch up.
Hermione smiled. She hadn't heard from Lavender in ages; but she was glad that she was enjoying life. Back during Hogwarts days, Lavender was more likely to backstab a friend for the sake of a boyfriend and talked about nothing but clothes. These days, Lavender was dealing with a teething child instead of thinking of ways to sabotage Pansy Parkinson – not that Hermione had ever objected to that.
Hermione folded the card, put it back into its envelope and stuck it in her nightstand. It wasn't as if Lavender was her best friend; that position obviously belonged to Harry and the other one, but it was nice to hear from her. Other than that, Hermione knew that Lavender didn't send her anything else for the rest of the year. And she always wrote that the two of them should meet and gossip girlishly, yet she never did anything about it. Maybe she expected Hermione to do something first
The weeks that had passed were boring, to say the least. Nothing new happened – Draco was still flirting profoundly with Tammy and went to any means to impress her, Harry visited her office daily to talk, Hermione was always buried beneath a mountain of paperwork and scheduled meetings and her and Draco seemed to be fighting more and more often, if that were possible.
But in the terms 'nothing new happened', there was bound to have been something that had been overlooked or skipped. And of course, there was.
Even though Draco was still flirting with Tammy at every given opportunity (Hermione often scowled at him when he shot out random, insulting bits in French at poor Tammy), it only gave him a leeway to ask her out more and more. And with those 'more and more' dates, Hermione found herself distancing herself more than she would have usually distanced from the memory of the ... incident and searching more frantically for vodka, or anything else that could have gotten her drunk; very quickly. Of course she didn't like Draco. Oh, goodness no, that would have been terribly sick of her (but she didn't think that Tammy was sick or twisted – the fact that she was dating Draco and God knows what else was sick and twisted). But Hermione could never shake that teeny weeny, ever so slight jealous feeling. She didn't know where it came from. Or how she got it. Or even why it was there. What she did know was that she didn't like Draco at all.
No; of course not.
That was extremely absurd. Not to mention completely ridiculous; and disgusting.
Moving on from Draco (not everything revolved around him; as much as he liked to think so), Harry also had undergone some changes – physical and emotional.
Olivia, Harry's ex-girlfriend (remember her?), had recently taken him back. Of course, Harry was over the moon about this somewhat miraculous occurrence and had taken the liberty to spoil her silly with expensive presents and showering her with comments. He was in his best form ever, going to the gym, wearing cologne and tackling more work than usual with ease. He was sweet and romantic and nice but hardworking. In summary: Harry had turned from a buffed slob with a dangerous job into a buffed metrosexual with a dangerous job.
Hermione only noticed this because Harry was her best friend, and she felt happy for him and his newfound image. He was finally turning his romantic life around, and Hermione couldn't have been happier.
But in the end, the expensive presents and showering of comments eventually got to Olivia. Apparently, Harry had raised her self esteem and self confidence to the state of narcism, and therefore Olivia was absolutely convinced that she had enough charisma to charm any guy that she wanted. Which meant that she had to ditch Harry-the-definition-of-a-metrosexual-with-a-dangerous-job (well not really had to; Olivia had been quoted saying that Harry was "just the roadblock to bigger and better things") and ran off with Mitch; Mitch-the-definition-of-heterosexual-with-a-dangerous-appetite-but-legal-access-to-a-fortune.
Harry was obviously crushed and sought refuge in Hermione's office for a number of days afterwards, which was good, mostly because Draco was always outside saying that Tammy had a disfigured face in French. He – Harry – had spent countless hours sitting in a squishy arm chair staring out of one of Hermione's many windows with a wistful but defeated look on his face. It seemed that he had obviously swallowed too many tears in the privacy of his own abode to swallow his pride and cry in the public vicinity of the Ministry.
There had been one such day the day before.
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Harry was in the armchair that had evidently taken up a new residence next to a window and was moping again. He was leaning back into the squishiness of the chair, not caring that his shirt was getting crumpled. He was watching people walk past with their own pairs of sensible work shoes and hairstyles.
Hermione had been at her desk, her quill moving speedily across the page. Her head twisted from a document next to her to the one that she was writing.
"She's not coming back, is she, Hermione?" Harry had asked. Hermione had taken in and let out a silent breath. Harry always asked that when he had moped for long enough and decided to further torture himself.
"She is." Hermione had reassured, not looking up from the page.
"No, she isn't." Harry had insisted. He got up from the chair and sat resignedly in the remaining chair facing Hermione's desk.
"She might." Hermione had tried. She signed the page with a flourish and then laid the quill down.
"No, she won't. She wouldn't ever want a big good-for-nothing idiot like me." Harry had moaned. Hermione looked slightly dejectedly at the polished wood of her table. She had found Harry's hand resting there. She took it in her own.
"You are not a big good-for-nothing idiot." Hermione had assured Harry, squeezing his hand slightly. Harry eyed his and her hands wearily. "You're wonderful! Look at yourself, Harry. You've got a job as a high-profile Auror. You've got your own apartment. You've got a wonderful personality. You've got a fantastic sense of humour. And you have me as your best friend – that should get any girl running to you." Harry smiled weakly and squeezed back. Hermione returned both of them.
Hermione thought that Harry had been counselled enough for the day, but she was wrong. And that didn't happen very often.
"But Hermione," Harry had groaned. His hand left hers and he used it to rub his face. "I don't want anybody else but her!" Hermione felt like snapping that Olivia was an arrogant tramp who cared more for a beer swelling jerk that had access to a fortune than she did for wonderful Harry. But Hermione couldn't say that, no matter how much that she wanted to.
"I know that she's the one that you want, but you'll have to have to face the fact that one day you'll find somebody else out there that's ten times better than Olivia. Somebody who won't leave you and somebody you'll want more than her, but actually somebody that you'll get to keep."
Harry's lip had started trembling and then he suddenly flung himself at Hermione and enveloped her in a crushing hug.
"Thanks, Hermies." He said.
"You're welcome." Hermione managed to choke out with some of the last breath left in her body. "Er, Harry ... I need air."
"Oh, right." Harry disconnected himself and then absent-mindedly scratched the back of his head. "Sorry."
"It's alright." Hermione smiled as she managed to start breathing again.
"Just ... thanks." Harry said sincerely before exiting the room.
After that, Harry didn't come into Hermione's office anymore to wallow in his self pity by the window. And the armchair was eventually moved back into its previous and rightful position in front of Hermione's desk.
- -- -
Hermione turned over in bed and then got out. Now she had to clean her glittery blanket.
She found it rather annoying that Lavender was the same age as her, but was already married to a nice man and had two kids. But that would have meant on average a year and half of pregnancy and child birth and a marriage that would have spanned two years so far. Hermione snorted; trust Lavender to get married at 19.
"Claero!" Hermione said half-heartedly, waving her wand and watching as the glitter disappeared.
Even though Lavender had probably married at 19 and was more a teen bride just surviving the hormonal flying period of puberty, Hermione thought to herself at how it was. Both women were 23 years of age. One was married and had two kids. The other was married to her job. The first had sacrificed her career and future partying with girlfriends to settle down before she reached mid-twenties. The second had also sacrificed partying and future partying with girlfriends for her career. It was times like these, when her brain wasn't tackling enough hard hitting problems that it focused onto Hermione's personal ones. When her brain was like this and Hermione found herself analysing her life, a small part of her wanted to pry open the bars of the occupational prison and run wild whilst her morals and her version of common sense tried to police it.
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HUNGRY.
H.U.N.G.R.Y.
HUNGRY!!
The word kept repeating itself over and over in Draco's head. He needed food. Now.
He headed to the kitchen with a stalking gaze in his eyes.
It was Draco's way of thinking; like it was programmed into him or something. Whatever he wanted would keep repeating itself again and again in his mind and wouldn't stop until he was satisfied. Of course, being born into an aristocratic and rich family that deprived its members of nothing was also quite helpful. Draco was fortunate enough to get whatever he had wanted. And he would have still been able to get whatever he wanted if his mother hadn't have shipped him off to live with mudblood Granger. And for the sake of protecting her! It was as if some random person off the street had plucked him and Hermione and started their own twisted tale with them.
Draco snorted as he opened the fridge door and pulled out anything that hadn't gone mouldy (which was actually nothing - Hermione kept her fridge clean and organised and the food edible, which suited Draco just fine). He was actually still amazed by the fridge. When he first saw a fridge, he was mocking muggles for their rather ignorant way of storage. True, he had never seen the house elves prepare his meals, and he never intended to. And, true, once again, that the food that his 'family' didn't consume was thrown out. But that was obviously not wasting - after all, if a Malfoy had rejected it, then it was obviously wasn't even fit for house elves.
As he made himself a bowl of cereal and some fruit salad, Draco smirked another one of his trademark smirks. It was a fact that he was a rather excellent cook. Lucius would have never approved, most likely calling it 'slave work' and something 'un-Malfoy'. That was the only reason that Narcissa paid for classes when Lucius was rotting in Azkaban. Draco had obviously rose to first in class (of course; he was a Malfoy) and soon was ready to prepare anything with enthusiasm and great skill. He also found that it was a fantastic girl-magnet.
Not that he needed one in the first place.
Leaving all the preparation tools and extra food on the kitchen bench, Draco sat himself down at the dining table and started reading The Daily Prophet.
He could have easily prepared himself and Hermione a delectable dinner with entrees and dessert. Then he wouldn't have to conjure up sandwiches and salad. And Hermione wouldn't have to rely on the microwave so much. But he didn't. He liked seeing Hermione struggle at anything; and cooking seemed to be the thing that Hermione struggled at the most. So by keeping her under the impression that he couldn't cook, he could watch Hermione fail at something for once in his life. It was hilarious.
Just as he had finished this thought, Hermione stepped into the kitchen and sighed when she saw the mess that Draco had created on the bench. She turned to find him gobbling up cereal, fruit salad and reading news articles.
"Aren't you house trained?" she asked him crossly as she waved her wand. The mess cleaned itself up and Hermione started rummaging through the fridge.
"Why; finally want to start that hands-on experience?" Draco asked, not even looking up from the newspaper. Hermione rolled her eyes and scanned the fridge once again. The situation was dismal; she always seemed to buy groceries, but they either disappeared because Draco ate them all or they had gone off. Sure, the stuff in her fridge was edible, but they could hardly constitute for a meal. Most of the things were sauces and random bits of fruit and vegetables.
"No, actually," Hermione replied bitingly, making her own bowl of cereal and then exiting the kitchen. There was no way that she was going to voluntarily sit near Draco.
"Aww, now Granger, there's no need to get stuffy about that." Draco looked up from the paper and turned around to eye Hermione. Hermione gave him a sarcastic look and started eating her breakfast.
"About what, exactly?" Hermione asked in between swallows of cereal.
"The experience," Draco purred, getting up from his seat. Hermione snorted.
"Here's an experience for you, Malfoy." Hermione said pleasantly. "How about you stick your head in the microwave and press 'Start' and stay there for a little while?" The Christmas spirit will always fill everybody.
"Ooh, feisty these days, aren't you?" Draco asked, slinking towards Hermione.
"Only when you're around," Hermione replied.
"Glad to see that I've created such a wonderful impact." Draco smiled fakely.
"Shouldn't the microwave be in use right now?" Hermione asked.
"Not as such, no." Draco replied. He was now right behind Hermione.
"I wish that you'd stop trying to look down my shirt, you disgusting beast." Hermione said, buttoning up the rest of her buttons.
"Talking dirty now, are we?" Draco asked smugly.
"Don't you have something with two legs and below the age of 60 to shag?" Hermione asked. She raised her cereal filled spoon to her mouth.
"Yes, I do actually." Draco said, his arms tying themselves around Hermione's neck. He rested his head on top of hers.
"Get off me, Malfoy." Hermione said stiffly, the spoon stopping dead in its tracks.
"No, I quite like it in this position." Draco smirked.
"If you don't get off, your head is going to be in the microwave for a long time as little pieces." Hermione persisted. The spoon remained stuck in its path.
"I told you that you're feisty these days." Draco said, not budging from his position.
"And I told you that if you don't move then I will have no other choice than to behead you." Hermione retaliated calmly.
"Fine, Granger." Draco unhooked his arms and Hermione's spoon continued its journey. Draco went back to his own breakfast. "But if you ever need that hands-on experience … I'm only a couch away."
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The days gradually passed and Hermione's apartment went under a seasonal change. Now next to the fireplace there was an authentic Christmas tree, decorated with baubles and other little trinkets. Christmas cards wishing Hermione a great holiday and an equally great new year appeared on top of the television. The top of each doorway had red and gold tinsel decorated on it (Hermione had laughed inwardly at Draco's disgust at the choice of colours). And almost every day, a package would arrive from Hermione's mother, containing mince pies and Christmas cookies. It really was a wonderful Christmas, if it not had been for Draco.
Even though Draco was handsome enough to maintain his status as playboy (albeit playboy-on-slight-vacation-for-work-reasons these days), he always managed to quash the Christmas spirit. Whether it was destroying all the tinsel every day or transfiguring Christmas cards to say 'Have a Stinking Holiday' and 'Seasons Greetings, Mudblood', Draco seemed to have enjoyed being quite the scrooge.
But Hermione ignored all this (killing people wasn't exactly in the Christmas spirit) and persevered on being chirpily festive. And besides, hopefully one day one of Draco's spells would backfire and transfigure him into a Christmas cookie. That way, in Hermione's eyes, it would make him at least look slightly appealing.
And in true tradition, all the employees in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office gathered together another time for their annual Christmas party. Each year, Hermione was required to make a speech. And this year was no different.
"Writing yet another love letter for me?" Draco asked, sneaking up on Hermione in the dining room as he had left the television on.
"No, actually," Hermione replied crisply. "I'm writing a speech for tonight's Christmas party."
"Breathtaking. I'm so very interested in your life." Draco said in a bored voice. He sat back down on the couch and noticed that he was playing around with the cushion tassels again.
"You're the one who asked me." Hermione continued. Her quill stopped as she tried to think of what else to say.
"Don't you ever get tired from blaming other people for your mistakes?" Draco asked, abandoning the tassels to lean back against the couch.
"Don't you ever get tired from being such an asshole?" Hermione asked as her quill went back into motion.
"Swearing? At this time of year?" Draco asked, tilting his head slightly. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Granger."
"Being such an arrogant and immature brat all year?" Hermione reacted. "You should admit yourself into St Mungos, Malfoy. That way at least Christmas would become perfect."
"Ahh yes, but how can I protect you when I'm in the loony bin with Longbottom and those Patil girls?" Draco asked. He stretched himself out like he owned the place.
"It's hardly protecting, Malfoy." Hermione spat. "All you do is sit outside my office and flirt with Tammy. And I can hear what you've been saying, and I'm telling you that I don't like the sound of it."
"An eavesdropping voyeur? Why, Granger, I'm flattered." Draco pinned his hands to his chest lazily.
"Oh, quiet you." Hermione barked. "I've heard what you've said to Tammy in French; and it's definitely not funny."
"I know that you're desperate for a love life, but there's really no reason as to why you're trying to crack into Tammy's." Draco drawled.
"I am not desperate for a love life!" Hermione objected. She slammed the quill onto the table. "I'm just saying that calling Tammy an insane idiot isn't funny."
"On the contrary," Draco smiled lazily, "it is. So don't go being all fou about it." Hermione let out a frustrated groan and sat back down at the table.
"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy." Hermione grumbled, getting back to her speech.
"You're the one who started it." Draco said childishly.
"No, I wasn't!" Hermione's temper was flaring. At this rate, her speech would never be finished. "Look, just ... shut up. I'm trying to write a speech and this constant bickering isn't helping."
"'Shut up', eh?" Draco waggled his eyebrows.
"Yes." Hermione replied. An idea struck her and she started writing again.
"Do you remember the last time that somebody was told to 'shut up'?" Draco asked. Hermione almost dropped her quill.
"I do, actually." Hermione said, writing slower. "The person eventually did become quiet. And I wish that you would do so as well."
"Wishful thinking." Draco snorted. "But do you remember anything that happened before that person became quiet?"
"They were threatened rather well." Hermione said. She didn't want to be the person who reminded both of them what had happened. Not that both of them actually needed reminding; they both seemed pretty clued up on what had gone on.
"Nothing after that?" Draco was getting up again and Hermione ignored him. She couldn't be distracted again. Her quill started walking across the parchment. "Nothing at all?"
"Nope." she said simply. The quill was running.
"Hrm ... then I think that I'm in a place to remind you." He was walking to her again. "It starts with a 'k', Granger. Are you familiar with the letter 'k'?"
"Yes, I am." Hermione smiled pleasantly. "You see, the letter 'k' starts off such wonderful words such as 'killing' and 'kick'."
"Nothing else?" Draco asked. Hermione wasn't even aware that he was approaching; her quill was still feverishly going across the paper. "How about another word that starts with 'ki'?"
"Killjoy." Hermione replied. Reading practically every single in the library hadn't left her without a very much extended vocabulary.
"Then why not a 'kis' word?" Draco was watching Hermione's reaction.
"Kismet." Hermione supplied, smirking internally.
"What?" Draco was momentarily sidetracked.
"Kismet." Hermione repeated. "It means a person's dest-"
"I know what it means!" Draco snapped. He regained his composure, though, and continued playing games with Hermione. "No other words?"
Hermione's quill kept on going. She knew that there was no other word in the dictionary that began with 'kis' unless it had the word 'kiss' in it. (A/N: Debatable?) And she wasn't going to be the one to say it.
"I'll give you a hint." Draco's grey arms sparkled mischievously. He had reached Hermione and was now extremely close to her face. The quill had stopped. Just like the spoon.
Hermione knew that she should have been repulsed at this act. She knew that she should have gotten up, slapped Draco in the face and call him a dirty bastard before throwing all of his possessions out of the window; and him as well if the window would permit. She knew that she should have kicked Draco, or at the very least lean back. But even though she knew that she should have done one of those things, Hermione couldn't move. It was hypnotic in a way. She wanted to move, but she was glued to the spot. There was an odd pounding in her ears. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
"K-" Draco closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Hermione's. And surprisingly, Hermione didn't move. "-I-" Draco moved his lips. Everything was getting slower for Hermione. She didn't even move her own lips, and it didn't look like that she was going to. She was both stunned and weirdly calm at the same time. "-S-" A tender move of soft lips. There was an ink blot on the paper. "-S." One last movement before Draco pecked her on the lips.
And it was over.
Draco's lips left Hermione's and he stood up.
"Your ink is blotting." he said before he went to kitchen.
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Hermione didn't talk to Draco after that.
She knew that she should have; or at least acknowledged his presence. But she didn't.
To tell the absolute truth, Hermione didn't know what to think or do. There she had been, writing her speech when Draco Malfoy went up to her and kissed her. And she didn't fight him off or do anything. She just sat there stiffly as Draco moved his lips around hers. She wasn't frantic, and things were moving slower to her. She wasn't even sure if she enjoyed it or not. Most probably not though, mainly because:
1. It was Draco Malfoy.
2. She was too stunned to do anything.
3. Draco was with Tammy.
OH, GOD.
Hermione had completely forgotten about Tammy. The guilt flooded in. She had kissed (or had been kissed) by Tammy's boyfriend. She had betrayed one of her best friends in an unimaginable way. She felt disgusted with herself. And she felt sick.
'It can't be my fault,' Hermione tried to convince herself as she locked her bedroom door. 'After all, it was that creep who forced himself onto me.' She felt slightly better until another voice interrupted.
'Excuse me, but he didn't FORCE himself onto you.' a voice said in her mind.
'Yeah, I guess that that's true.' Hermione noted grimly to herself. She went to her closet and pulled out a pretty but conservative black dress.
'And you didn't do anything about it, either.' the voice continued. Hermione sighed as she changed into the dress.
'Yeah, that's true too ...' Hermione agreed. She zipped herself up.
'What; not defending your hero these days?' the voice asked the other usually present and argumentative voice.
'Well I can't, really.' the voice piped up. 'I'm sorry, Hermione darling, but there isn't really much to be said.'
'That's alright.' Hermione thought as she pulled on some simple black high heels. They were a good inch taller than her usual sensible work shoes, and they went with nearly every occasion.
Hermione put on a holly broach that she had found the day before and also added a red and green scrunchie to her hair. She then grabbed her clutch - a satiny green and red creation.
"We're leaving." she said curtly to a bored looking Draco as she checked her pulled up hair.
He was wearing a slightly tight knitted green turtleneck sweater and a pair of tailored black pants. Not quite as festive as Hermione, but she absent-mindedly figured that this meant that Draco could look like a Slytherin and celebrate Christmas as well. His hair was its usually organised, silky mess and his black leather shoes were polished. (A/N: Lol, I had considered noting that there was a giant reindeer's head knitted onto the front of Draco's sweater, but I adore Colin Firth too much to picture him as Draco Malfoy. And besides, could you really picture Draco in a reindeer sweater; a metrosexual like him? I think not.)
Draco got up from the couch and followed Hermione around her apartment with an unreadable expression on his face as she checked that everything was secure and locked. When she had finished, she took a pinch of Floo Powder and threw it into the fire.
"There isn't usually a fireplace at the office, but I had to put one specially in. It's only connected to my house though." Hermione said politely. She grabbed her speech and stepped into the green fire. She could have sworn that she saw the slightest of smiles on Draco as he eyed the colour of the flames. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic."
And she disappeared.
Draco took one more sweeping look of the apartment before throwing his own pinch of powder. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic."
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The office was buzzing with merry workers, all wearing different assortments of Christmas decorations and all having a bit too many drinks. The office was decorated with tinsel, Christmas trees and there was even a sly patch of Mistletoe hanging from a corner. It was the office Christmas party - a time when somebody (usually somebody who did photocopying) would eventually get up onto the desk and start singing their own version of Jingle Bell Rock with a flute of chardonnay precariously balanced in their hand whilst they themselves wobbled dangerously around on the table.
"Hermione!" Harry appeared holding a flute of chardonnay. "Glad to see that you've made it."
"No, Harry, I was going to escape a Christmas party for a department of which I am the head of." Hermione said sardonically.
Harry laughed. "Well good to have you here all the same." He winked at her as he pulled out a box from inside his suit pocket. "Merry Christmas." It would have been perfect if Draco had not also appeared. Harry's smile wavered slightly as Draco gave him an arrogant look before he stalked off.
But Hermione saw none of this. She was too busy opening her gift; fiddling around with the gold bow. Finally when all the wrapping came off (Hermione made sure that it was placed safely inside a bin), Hermione held in her hands a simple navy blue rectangular box. She opened it.
"Oh, wow, Harry!" Hermione said in awe. Inside the box was a gorgeous (and obviously outrageously priced) silver necklace. Differently coloured tear drop shaped jewels hung off of the chain and sparkled wonderfully in the light. The one directly in the middle was a glittering ruby.
"I thought that you might like it." Harry said, shrugging. He acted like he didn't really care, but on the inside he was brimming with happiness because she accepted it.
"It's beautiful!" Hermione exclaimed. She gave Harry a bear hug. "Thanks, Harry."
"You're welcome." Harry smiled and he took the necklace. "Would you like to wear it now?"
"Of course!" Hermione turned around and Harry put it on her.
"There." he said, smiling again.
"Thank you again." Hermione repeated, giving Harry another hug. Now she felt overwhelmingly guilty for the second time that day because she hadn't bought him a gift in return. Well she had, mentally, but she hadn't actually gone out and physically bought the gift that she had intended on getting him. Malfoy proved quite a distraction.
'A good one or a bad one?' the evil voice in her head piped up.
'Be quiet.' the good voice said.
"Harry!" There was a call from the mingling office workers and Hermione came face to face with a pretty brunette about the same height as her. She was wearing a less ... conservative dress which was also black and wore sophisticated black heels.
"Oh, hey." Harry said as he kissed the girl on the head. Hermione smiled. She was glad that Harry had moved on from that horrid, wretched -- "Hermione, this is Olivia. Olivia, this is Hermione." -- Wonderfully nice and charming Olivia.
"Hello." Hermione said pleasantly, absent-mindedly toying with her new necklace. "Very nice to meet you." Even though Hermione had undergone many hours of helping Harry get over his heartbreak of Olivia, she had never actually met the woman. But now here she was in the flesh.
"Likewise." Olivia replied pleasantly. She turned to Harry and Hermione looked away, trying to find where the wine carriers were. "Harry, darling, I'm going to get some wine. Maybe later we can discuss the crystal and diamond affair ...?" Maybe Hermione would have some wine later.
"Of course." Harry grinned, kissing Olivia on the cheek. Olivia's smiled.
"Nice to have met you, Hermione." she said before leaving. Even though her smile was angelic, Hermione knew that inside, Olivia's intentions were worthy of devil horns and a matching trident.
"So ... what do you think?" Harry asked eagerly. Hermione wished that he hadn't have said that; she just about to gather up her guts and tell Harry about the real Olivia when he had asked that question.
"She's ... great." Hermione managed. "Wait; what happened to Mitch?"
"I don't know." Harry said genuinely. He shrugged. "He just seemed to have disappeared off of the scale or something."
"Or maybe he ran out of money." Hermione muttered to herself, playing around with the centre ruby on her necklace.
"What was that?" Harry asked, taking another sip of his chardonnay.
"Oh, nothing." Hermione said, flashing Harry an Olivia smile. Poor Harry. Poor, unassuming, dumb Harry. He never seemed to see what was really on the agenda when women smiled nicely or did something fake.
"Speaking of nothing," Harry brought his lips up again to the drink, "where is Malfoy?"
"I don't know." Hermione said sincerely. "I hope he stays that way." Harry laughed.
"We have connections, remember?" he reminded, tapping his nose. This time Hermione laughed. Harry looked around before resuming talk. "Have you seen Tammy lately?"
"No." Hermione said. It was true that she hadn't seen Tammy as of late; she only knew that Malfoy was probably snogging her in his spare time (which was probably all the time). "Why, has she disappeared ...?"
"No, no! It's just that she's really, really chirpy these days." Harry said. He took another sip of chardonnay.
"Chirpy?" Hermione asked through slightly gritted teeth. "I wonder why."
Hermione was surprised at her own behaviour. Here she was being an absolute cow about a situation that she should have been happy about. She was gritting her teeth for goodness' sake! She hadn't done that since seventh year when she was on the verge of insanity when studying for her N.E.W.T.s. Hermione scolded herself mentally for comparing Tammy and Draco canoodling with her career choosing exams.
"Yes, I wonder too." Harry said, overlooking yet again the hidden woman agenda.
Maybe this was the time for wine.
"Hey, Harry, do you want to come with me to get some --" Hermione started for the direction of the nearest wine carrier.
"Oh my goodness." Harry interrupted her.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked. She turned to face the direction of Harry's eyes.
There, under the sly patch of Mistletoe in a corner, was Tammy and Draco. And they were kissing each other. Not in the 'All I want for Christmas is you' way, either. It was more the 'All I want for Christmas is a shag' way.
Definately the time for wine.
"Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick." Harry said before quickly turning away.
"I'm getting wine. Come with me." Hermione said, and she practically dragged Harry over to the wine carrier. She took a flute off of the carrier's tray.
"Luckily we were the only two who saw something." Harry said as he watched Hermione drink the alcohol steadily.
"Great, so we're the only ones scarred for life." Hermione said, bringing the flute back to her lipstick red lips. She didn't really need to mention the fact that Draco had snogged her on two previous occasions. They were minor details, really.
"Erm, I think you should lay off the drinks." Harry said, gently but firmly grabbing the flute and bringing it down.
"It's only one glass, Harry." Hermione reassured. "And besides, it's me. ME! HERMIONE GRANGER. Do you really think that I'm going to get drunk at the office Christmas party?"
"Well not every Christmas party has us witnessing Malfoy snog-" Harry met the look in Hermione's eyes. "-Erm, no. Of course not. You're Hermione; designated floo girl."
"A role that I was born to play." Hermione said. The alcohol was relaxing her slightly. "And don't worry if I have a drink, Harry. I'm allowed to have it, aren't I? It's Christmas! Don't worry; it's only one glass."
It wasn't only one glass.
After Hermione had (soberly) delivered her head of department speech, she had witnessed with Harry Draco snogging Tammy quite animatedly underneath the mistletoe again.
"Can you really do that with your body?" Harry had asked as he tilted his head to the right.
But whilst Harry was too busy wondering the flexibility of the human body, Hermione had found herself more wine. And 'only one glass' had turned into 'only ten glasses'. And even though it would take a long time to drink ten glasses of wine, Harry wouldn't have noticed because he had been distracted by Olivia, who had found her own patch of mistletoe in the corner. So Hermione decided to have her own Christmas party in her office - the guests of honour being her, a bottle of chardonnay and a champagne glass.
It wasn't like Hermione to drink heavily. She was always the one who annoyed her friends about the consequences of alcohol and such. But the motto of drinking and letting go at Christmas and having fun seemed to have really impacted Hermione, if not too much. With each drink she told herself that she was having a great time, and that the party was a sort of way to compensate for all the missed nights of clubbing. That logic would have been ridiculous to Hermione if she wasn't shooting down alcohol every ten seconds. But she WAS shooting down alcohol every ten seconds; and so she figured that that logic was perhaps the best in the world. Apparently alcohol gives you confidence AND an inflated ego.
Good thing her office door was locked.
As the night drew on, Hermione had a bigger and bigger urge to get onto her desk and start dancing around. But there obviously was some part of the old, sober Hermione in there that urged her not to. And old, sober Hermione had won.
But just barely.
Besides; Gary Tanner had done the honours anyway.
When the last Christmas cracker had popped and the last flute of drink had been downed, everybody left the office, exchanging last minute goodbyes and wishing each other merry Christmases and happy new years. One person they couldn't find, however, was Hermione. She was still locked in her office trying to find out if there was any alcohol left. People merely assumed that she was in there in order to get some last minute work done, and they privately thought of her as crazy (for skipping the Christmas party for paperwork) and dedicated (for skipping the Christmas party for paperwork). So everybody well-wished through Hermione's office door, to receive a drunken (which they interpreted as stressed and tired) "You too."
When everybody had gone, Draco was the only one left aside from Hermione.
"Granger?" he called in a tired voice into the empty department.
"You too." came the reply from Hermione's office. Draco smirked slightly and headed for the door. He tried the doorknob but the door wouldn't budge. Draco whipped out his wand.
"Alohomora." he said. The lock clicked open. "Granger -"
He found Hermione sitting in her squishy armchair, legs on the table. Her high heels had obviously been kicked off clumsily; one had ended up in Hermione's plot plant and another one was upside down on top of the filing cabinet. Her dress was hitched up her leg slightly, and she had taken out her fancy hair do. Draco noticed the tell tale signs of an empty wine bottle and a very much used (the whole rim of the glass was covered in lipstick) champagne glass. Draco folded his arms and shook his head. Hermione replied with big brown eyes. She was obviously too drunk to notice that she had practically flashed Draco in the middle of a deserted apartment.
"Come on, Granger." Draco said gruffly, not budging from his spot.
"You too." Hermione replied with a silly smile on her face. Draco sighed and then moved towards her. It was obvious that she wasn't going to talk properly, let alone walk.
"You're going home." Draco said, picked up the wine bottle.
"No!" Hermione grabbed the bottle and jerked it down to the table. The shocking show of strength managed to drag Draco down onto the table.
"Ow!" he said, rubbing his cheek. "Careful, Granger."
"You too." Hermione giggled. Draco groaned irritably and got up.
"Alright, Granger, it's time for you to get back to your dwelling."
"You too." Hermione said. She laughed. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Can't you say anything else?"
"Yeah!" Hermione said. She laughed again. "'Yeah!' That was anything else, wasn't it?"
"Look, you're clearly drunk, Granger." Draco went over to her and prepared to scoop her up. "So now it's time for you to go bed."
"I need my shoes to do that." Hermione said. She put the champagne glass in her view and moved her hand around behind it. "Wow; my hand looks so ... cool."
"You don't need shoes to go to bed." Draco insisted, he went to pick her up, but Hermione shook him off.
"Yes I do. Black ones." she said. Draco realised that she meant the heels she had flung off.
"Accio heels." he said and the shoes zoomed toward him. "Now can we go?"
"Yep, yep." Hermione said. She set the glass and bottle down. Draco went to pick her up, but Hermione stopped him. "I'm fine!" she reassured with a dopey look on her face. She got up from the desk and immediately topped over.
"Woah!" Draco said. He stooped down to her level. "Are you alive?" he asked. It was the closest he was going to get in asking her if she was alright.
"Alive? Of course I'm alive!" Hermione insisted. "The question is ... are YOU?" She tried getting up again.
"No, you're not doing that." Draco said. Hermione slipped on the heels and tried walking again. Draco doubted whether Hermione could manage to walk with high heels if she had just fallen over from trying to walk with no shoes on. "Look, just let me do my ... 'job', Granger. If you die, I don't get my pay."
"I told you!" Hermione said. "I'm not dead; I'm ALIVE!"
"Yes, of course you are." Draco said in a patronising tone. He scooped her up with a slight flinch. He may have snogged her twice before, but that didn't make him stop reacting when he touched her. "C'mon." Hermione wasn't as heavy as he had anticipated.
They exited Hermione's office and even in her drunken state, she still managed to lock it appropriately. Draco carried her to the fireplace and made her throw in a pinch of Floo Powder.
"Granger, Harbour St, London." Hermione said in an oddly clear voice. Draco stuck her in the flames and she was whisked off.
"Granger, Harbour St, London." Draco said after throwing in some of the powder. He stepped into the fire.
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The first thing that Draco saw when he arrived at Hermione's house was a cat.
Was it really a cat?
Obviously not; Draco had just landed on it and there didn't seem to be any heartbeat or anything.
No, it was just Hermione's hair.
"Ow." Draco complained, getting up from the space in front of the fireplace. He picked Hermione up gruffly. "Come on, off to bed with you." He started carrying her again and her limbs dangled in the air.
"You smell nice." Hermione said, still blatantly in her drunken stupor.
"I try." Draco said.
"Do I smell nice?" Hermione's face screwed up into a pleading one.
"Of course you do." Draco smirked. Even though she smelled like chardonnay, he still liked to humour her. And anyway, it would be interesting to see how far this game would go. Draco kicked open her bedroom door.
"Doors are so stupid." she smiled.
"Sure." he agreed. Draco plonked Hermione down onto her bed.
"You know; you're really pretty." she said. Draco scoffed. "Why are you laughing?"
"I'm not pretty, Granger." Draco said. He was gorgeous; handsome; even delicious. But most definitely not pretty.
"You have a low self-esteem." Hermione said, shaking her head. Draco snorted.
"Trust me, my self-esteem isn't low." he said. Hermione kicked off her heels.
"Sure, sure, you try and fool me." she flicked her index finger at him with her eyes half closed and pulled up the blankets. "But I know your --"
And with that she fell asleep. Draco scoffed silently at the sheer weirdness of it all - he had just carried a drunken Hermione Granger to her bed and had been called pretty before she fell asleep in the middle of a sentence. And she really was friendlier when she was drunk.
Of course, Draco wouldn't have been as nice when he was drunk - he was still frost with the people he hated and smoother (if that was possible) with the women. His friends had told him so, and they knew better than to lie to Draco Malfoy. Draco frowned. They weren't really his friends though. More like underlings. He didn't really have any friends. He didn't want any either.
Did he?
He emitted a barking laughter and then pulled off his turtleneck. Friends were for the weak and the stupid. That was why Harry and Hermione never really had true, self-gained power. No; they had Professor Dumbledore to solve their every woe. He, however, had managed to climb up the truly savage power chain. In first year people thought that he was merely an 11-year-old armed with a fierce tongue, but gradually people began to group with him so they wouldn't become negatively scrutinized and then in his last years at Hogwarts, people feared him. They were scared of what he or his closer minions - Crabbe and Goyle - would have done to them if they so much as put a toe out of line.
But not the Golden Trio. They just relied on Dumbledore to protect them from the real world. They needed his twinkle of the eye and strange but somehow true advice. Co-dependence; it was something that Draco always hated.
He was like this every year at Christmas time.
Finally finding his pyjama shirt and pulling it on, Draco quickly changed his pants and then slipped under the covers. It was an alright Christmas (he didn't get any girls except for Tammy); it had been saved by Hermione's drunk talk. He would revel in that in years to come, and he would make sure that she'd never forget the way she behaved. Draco grinned wickedly.
No presents though. Not as yet, anyway. Usually Draco was armed with bagfuls of gold to go buy whatever he wanted. But not this year. This year there was just him, his couch (he had slept on it for quite a while; it was his) and Hermione.
"Bah, humbug."
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A/N: There you go my pretties, another chapter added to the saga that is THE BODYGUARD.
As this was a celebratory Christmas chapter as well as a Happy New Year chapter, it was longer than usual. How do I know? Well for one thing ONE Notepad document wouldn't hold it (I write in Notepad first and then transfer it to Word).
Anyway, I hope that you had a magical, safe and fabulous Christmas, and that you all got what you wanted (I'm still waiting for either Colin Firth or Daniel Radcliffe to appear in a parcel on my doorstep)!! Sorry that this chapter didn't come out on Christmas Eve (as I had originally planned), but my sister hogged the computer so I couldn't post it.
By the by, 'fou' means 'insane' in French, for those of you who were slightly confused and probably committed some rather random typos in the chapter.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all my spectacular reviewers. Yay - you guys cracked the 100 review mark! Dances around insanely So, I would just like to say thank you to my reviewers; you are the best ones in the world. :)
And of course, the best of the best usually receive awards. So you may claim your (belated) Christmas stocking from me if your name is: insanemaniac, HGDM lova, IceCrystal, Meg, Christi-Lynn, Nubia (who gets two for reviewing twice … psst – check out my previous authors notes for the translations), HogwartzBoizRHottiez, blonde-brain, Becz, Miss Mills, NitenGale, malfoysblondie, xOxOkIsSmYaSsXoXo, Fiona McKinnon, Emerald Flame, SmilinStar, Tacroy, alien726 and Tori. YOU GUYS RULE!
Hrm ... for this chapter I think that it is appropriate that I give out classic looking red covered diaries with gold seals on the front. I know; I usually give out food, but this time I think that everybody gets a diary - to put in your New Years Resolutions, your thoughts of life, love, etc and just generally have something special. It IS "time to make a new start, perhaps" as Mark Darcy from Bridget Jones's Diary would say when him and Bridge are standing in the snow on Christmas and in love with each other and about to have one of the most romantic kisses that I've ever seen and, and, and -- Clears throat Ahem. Anyway, review and get your own diary. :)
Have yourself a Happy New Year ...
Your devoted fanfiction writer,
--Look at moiye, ploise!--
P.S. Hello Becka my dear. :)
P.P.S. I'm still watching you, Sophie.