Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. "She" belongs to Charles Aznavour. So no, not mine either. And you know what else is not mine? "As Time Goes By." That belongs to Herman Hupfeld.

Note: I feel the need to clarify this before continuing on with the chapter. The "I love you" at the end of the last chapter, wasn't a romantic pronouncement. Rather, I wanted to point out a couple of things. Mainly, that Draco and Hermione understand how valuable they are to each other. And the other—that they're both mature enough to realise and acknowledge that fact. Even though, they are absurdly blind to a few other things. ^__~

~~

When I was child, I asked my father why I didn't have another sibling. Not that I wanted one, but because I had merely wondered why others had such big families and mine was, well, small.

He never really answered me directly—only tried to convince me that my life would be better off as an only child.

I suppose, I'll never know whether he was right or wrong.

~~

It was Day Four into the Battle of the Wills.

"No."

"But—"

"No, Hermione. No. No. No. And you know what? No. Why don't you just bring Harry?"

Hermione sighed loudly and rolled her eyes for good measure. "Because I want you to be there, you twat. And because Harry's spending the holidays over at the Weasleys' and you know about… well, everything. So, please?"

"No."

Draco ignored the ever-growing pout on Hermione's face, shook out his irreparably wrinkled newspaper and continued reading on about Minister of Magic Amelia Bones' latest accomplishment.

But it was the pacing that finally got to him and grated his nerves. Hermione had almost run a circular track into his expensive Persian carpet and she probably would have gone through the thick mahogany floorboards if Draco hadn't finally admitted defeat.

"Yes, all right?" he bit out, a harsh frown marring his features. "I'll go with you. Are you happy? You can even do your little victory dance to gloat properly."

It wasn't an unpleasant sort of dance, actually, Draco realised while fighting back a smile as she spun about the room. Hermione was like a little child on Christmas morning. Speaking of Christmas… It was a few days away and he had yet to decide what to get her. There wasn't anything that she needed that he could buy for her—she was more than self-sufficient and there wasn't anything that she wanted that she didn't already have. For all her numerous denials, Hermione Granger was a spoiled brat and did as she pleased.

He was the same in that respect now that he thought about it.

"Merlin, Granger, do stop. It isn't at all ladylike," Draco chastised her fondly. "And it's beginning to make me think that you can't live without me."

Hermione paused in mid-twirl, winked and blew him a kiss from across the room. "You're damn right, Oogly Boogly-kins."

"Oogly Boogly-kins?"

She gave a dainty shrug of nonchalance. "That's your Christmas present. A new nickname," she explained evenly. "Actually, it isn't new as you've never had a nickname before. Well, except for—"

Ferret.

"Shut up, Granger or else I won't accompany you to your parents' Christmas party, which you so 'fondly' termed as The Den of Single Male Lions."

Her brow furrowed and her lips were pursued. But she said nothing. Victory was, indeed, a very glorious thing.

He wasn't about to admit that he felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that Hermione needed him. She had been a tad given to exaggeration when she described the situation as being one of life or death. But Draco supposed that if his mother ever got the itch to push him towards "very eligible" women, he'd probably do some serious bodily harm to himself.

He laid down his copy of the Daily Prophet on his desk and sighed. "I don't understand why you wouldn't just inform your mother of your… unwillingness to obey your mother's wishes."

Even before the words left Draco's mouth, they both knew the absurdity of the suggestion. It has been the consensus of both that had their mothers belonged to the same social circle—they probably would have been the best of friends. And as both older women were quick to refute—menopause was a bitch.

Grandchildren. Now. Please. Get to mating.

No ifs, not buts, no "I'm waiting for the love of my life, the one I can be with forever" arguments. Horribly one-sided.

"You know my mum, Draco. When the engagement was broken she wouldn't talk to me for a month. When she finally did, she said that I should sign up for one those online dating services. Besides, dad would want me there." Hermione shook his head and perched her hip on Draco's desk, fingering the discarded newspaper. "Why are you reading this piece of shite?"

One could pinpoint when exactly Hermione Granger's hatred for the Daily Prophet was spurned. It was during her fourth year in Hogwarts when she became the target of false journalism. It increased the following year when Harry was subjected to the cruelty of biased reporting. People deserved to know the truth. And that's what she was going to give them.

And give them she did.

Wizard Ink. Five years in publication and had just recently enjoyed international circulation. Hermione's brainchild was now a fierce rival to the Daily Prophet.

Which Draco still continued to read.

"To royally piss you off, my dearest."

"It's bloody well working."

"The shade of lime green Popsicles suit you quite nicely." Draco grinned and reached up to push his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. His reading glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose and the pale afternoon sunlight flickered off of them in soothing manner. However, Hermione's hand came flying out of thin out and snatched the silver frames right from his nose.

"Hey! Watch it!" Draco said, trying to reach for them, although none too valiantly. "I'll have you know that that pair was custom-made for me in Italy to fit to the elegant contours of my face."

The look she shot him tried his control in staring back at her innocently. "What?" he asked defensively. "I'm… delicate."

And the glasses made their way back onto their original perch, but not without a good load of smirking.

"Well, I'm off," Hermione announced, pushing away from Draco's desk. "I really ought to get ready for the party." The look on her face made it clear that the term party was used very loosely.

"I'll pick you up at eight."

"How about you pick me up at eleven? We get pissed until we can't tell left from right and I embarrass my mother into never talking to me again?"

Draco considered this for a moment, as indeed, the offer was terribly tempting. "Make that seven thirty."

Nothing says "I'll see you later" like a good smack upside the head.

~~

I was around thirteen or fourteen when I discovered the finer points of liquor. And I'm not talking about butterbeer—that's for pansy-arsed drinkers—but hard liquor that just gets you humming.

There's something about the way it runs down your throat. The searing sensation, burning a path, defining every curve and bump in your insides, making you feel places you never thought you had.

Yes, I'm dramatic. Thank you very much for noticing.

~~

Draco looked on amusedly as Hermione stomped her feet against her parents' porch to ward off the cold. Or so she would have everyone think.

"I don't know, Hermione," he drawled lazily. "I don't think you're parents are going to think that you are suffering from hypothermia and pass up the party."

She sighed and leaned her head against the imposing front door of the Granger household that was being weighed down by a spectacular amount of holly, golden bells and oddly-shaped reindeer. Well, at least that's what Draco thought they were.

"I'll count to three and I'll ring the doorbell," she whispered in promise to both of them. Hermione held her finger up in preparation. "One… Two… Three…"

Draco turned to Hermione expectantly.

"Four… Five… Six"

Draco sighed. And sighed nineteen times more before Hermione finally decided to ring it.

"Hermione! Darling! What took you so long?"

Christopher Granger was a jolly man. Honestly. Draco had never called anyone jolly before meeting Hermione's father and now, it was the only adjective he could use to describe him. Content, satisfied, happy… yes, those were other words he could easily associate with him, but jolly fit the most.

"Hello, Draco!"

And he was a bit loud, too.

Draco grinned and reached out in a firm handshake. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Granger," he returned as he was quickly ushered into the inviting living room that was welcomingly lighted with various vanilla scented candles and candles shaped like apples. There were about close thirty people milling around bearing glasses of champagne and eggnog and conversation was either laughed out loudly or whispered softly.

"Really, Draco," Hermione's father said, with a big grin on his face. "Haven't I told you about a million times already to call me Christopher?"

Draco grinned in answer. "Yes, you have Mr. Granger."

Suddenly, Hermione's hand latched on to his arm and Draco could feel her fingernails slowly begin to dig into his flesh.

"Ooh, Hermione! There you are!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed from across the room. "And you've brought Draco, too!" She looked at the two new arrivals appraisingly, in such a way that made Draco feel like he was a fat turkey being inspected for purchase.

"Well, I'm glad you're here now," Hermione's mother continued after reaching out and straightening Draco's tie. "Because there's someone here I'd like for you to meet, Hermione. He's a dentist, too."

Kiss of death.

"His name is Montgomery Prewitt."

A mouthful of a bloody name.

"And I'm sure that you'll absolutely take to him."

Like mold to a bathroom floor tile.

"Really, Dianne. You should really stop pushing those blokes in Hermione's direction," Mr. Granger but in, forcing glasses of eggnog into unwilling hands. "She's old enough to know what she's doing. No spoon-feeding required."

"I am not pushing anyone into anyone's direction!"

Christopher Granger gave a loud guffaw. "Right and do you pay rent for that little corner in Denial that you so love to dwell in?"

Indignant looks were exchanged and Hermione quickly ushered Draco into the spotless kitchen.

"I can't believe my mum!" Hermione cried in frustrated, all the while slamming drawers open and shut. "Honestly. I'm tempted enough to marry the first the man that walks through those doors, shag him like crazy, pop out a babe, give it to my parents and live the rest of my life in miserable seclusion." She turned around and snatched away Draco's glass just as he was about to bring it to his lips. "And I saw Uncle Frank out there. That means copious amounts of liquor in any served beverage. I'll bet there's liquor in the liquor."

Draco watched as the white liquid was promptly disposed of via sink. "Fun," he mused and turned his attention to the appetizer platters on the kitchen table. "Why can't you just enjoy the party? You know, like a normal person. Or are you not capable of acting like that? You know, normal."

He took Hermione's hand and led her to one of the kitchen seats. "Hey, look. Salmon." He held up the tiny canapé in front of Hermione and jiggled it a bit in an attempt to make it seem more appetizing.

"That's very unsanitary, you know."

Draco popped the hors d'oeuvre into his mouth with a grin. "Well, so is your hair floating around in the dipping sauce."

There is nothing sadder or more pathetic than when a joke is not laughed at.

"Draco!" Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands.

"She
May be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay"

For some reason unknown to Draco, Hermione thought that music was making everything worse.

Mrs. Granger strode through the kitchen doors with an agitated look on her face. "You're father's drunk, Hermione, because your Uncle Frank has squishy oranges for brains. And your father has the microphone plugged in." She went through the kitchen cabinets just as her daughter had just done only moments ago. "After I kill your Uncle Frank, can the two of you be your lovely selves at serve the guests?" she finished, holding up a meat cleaver in her hand and a triumphant look on her face. "I needed fertilizer for my rose garden anyway…"

With a resigned sigh, Hermione plucked the axe out of her mother's hand and pushed her out door. "Don't worry, mum. I'll take care of Uncle Frank."

"She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell"

"That's a pretty good song, actually," Draco told her before getting hauled back into the living room.

Draco had never met Uncle Frank before. He had met Aunt Josie who liked to wipe the silvers with the sleeve of her shirt, just to make sure that they were clean. And even Hermione's cousin Jeremiah. Jeremiah was a traveler. Or at least, that's what everyone in the family called him to avoid actually calling him a bum, as that what he really was. But he pretty much lived off everyone he knew and oddly enough—no one seemed to mind. Draco supposed that it was because Jeremiah was a pleasant person, despite his lacking in motivation. And Uncle Andrew…who was "confused." What Uncle Andrew was "confused" about, seemed to confuse everyone else.

Because of these… well, not weird, but unique characters in the Granger family, Draco decided to brace himself for the worse.

It was a good thing that he did, too.

Uncle Frank was… an original. For someone… someone was obviously stuck in a different decade. The sixties.

Draco didn't know whether or not he should laugh at the obviously inebriated man spread out on the Granger's settee. It was like a rainbow of swirls vomited on the blue and white silk sofa and he wasn't sure if he could stand there with a straight face for a minute longer. It looked like the rest of the partygoers were similarly conflicted.

Hermione leaned down and took Uncle Frank's ear firmly in her hand before twisting it. Clockwise, Draco took note.

"Ow! What the—"

A pair of disoriented grey eyes surveyed his surroundings for a moment in wonder. "What the bleeding hell is going on, Michael?" Uncle Frank held on to Hermione's shoulder and shook it. "Michael, go get me a brandy and go put some brandy in it. And a bit of scotch if you have it."

"Uncle Frank, it's me, Hermione—"

"Hermione!" Uncle Frank exclaimed, pulling Hermione into a bear hug. "I haven't seen you since. Well, since… I really don't know."

Hermione sighed and gestured to Draco to help her drag her uncle to his feet.

"Last week, Uncle Frank." Hermione gave a soft grunt in exertion from yanking a load twice her size. "Remember? I went over to your house for Aunt Elisabeth's biscuits and you and Uncle Samuel were fighting over Rugby?"

Draco fought about a snarky reply to Muggle sports—one of the things he wasn't able to acquire a taste for—and successfully heaved Uncle Frank to his feet.

"Who are you? Where are we going?"

Draco pasted a fake smile on his face. One to designed to placate mothers and steal breaths… it was an art. "I'm Draco Malfoy, Hermione's friend," he informed the older man in the tone he normally used when dealing with people who could be annoying if not handled carefully. "And we are going to the kitchen."

"Where the sink and the meat cleaver are," Hermione muttered beside him.

"She
May be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years
Me
I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is she"

"Oh, bloody good song, brother-in-law!" Uncle Frank said enthusiastically. "We must sing something together now, shall we?"

As if dealing with one drunken person wasn't difficult enough…

"You must remember this
A kiss is still a kiss
A sigh is just a sigh
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by"

However, the look on the face of Hermione's mother made it worth it.

"Oh, look, you two, mistletoe."

Draco and Hermione looked up at the same time and sure enough, there it was. Mistletoe. Right above their heads. All of a sudden they felt like tiny pawns in a game of gods who were placing bets on them, their strength, their will, their control… Who will snap first? Who will be the first to throw their hands up in frustration? Who will turn on their heel and run out of the room screaming?

Draco looked down at Hermione who was glaring at her father for having brought such a frivolous thing to their attention.

"Well?" Uncle Frank drawled out, swaying a bit dangerously on his feet.

"Moonlight and love songs—never out of date
Hearts full of passion—jealously and hate
Woman needs man—and man must have his mate
That no one can deny"

Draco put his finger underneath her chin and tilted her face towards hers. The surprised look on Hermione's face made him smile. "Tradition, you know."

"Hmm, yes," she murmured. "Where would we be without tradition?"

He leaned down slowly and gently brushed his lips against hers. Draco quickly caught himself before he could let out an astonished gasp at the warmth that radiated from them and pulled away.

"Certainly not here."

Hermione smiled. "Certainly not."

"Happy Christmas everyone!" Uncle Frank exclaimed before bending down suddenly.

The Grangers' rug will never be the same again.

~~

Pansy once asked me what my best Christmas was like. I didn't answer her.

It wasn't because I didn't have a best Christmas to speak of, but rather I couldn't choose. Could it be the days when I believed in Santa? When Christmas would come and find all that I had wished for sitting underneath the large Christmas tree like gleaming diamonds?

Or perhaps the times when I realised that Santa didn't exist? When I had unwittingly found out that whether or not I was good—I would always get what I wanted.

I wanted many things. They were given to me. From my mother, my father…

My father.

I want so many things.

Sometimes, I wish that I still believed in Santa.

Author's Notes:

I am dreadfully sorry for the delay in this chapter. I redid it thrice and I went on a short out of town trip. The trip, however, has recuperated my inspiration immeasurably and I already have parts of the last chapter written. There aren't that many chapters. Even a dozen chapters may seem a stretch as—let's face—I may be evil with drawing things out, but I'm not a sadist to be sure. Besides, I want to find out what happens to the couple, too! ^__^ Be ready for sap. There is much sap. And much Draco. Much, much Draco with sweet words designed to steal your heart.

This chapter: I love family. Mine is kooky. Very much so. And thus Hermione's family. Upon writing out that short banter between Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it occurred to me that they represent a sort of "older" version to Draco and Hermione.

I know that in Steep I had Hermione fashioned out as a journalist. It just seems to fit her personality to the tee. Highly opinionated, methodical, thorough, and a good deal of self-righteousness that could either work for her or against her. So no, I didn't run out of any ideas, I just think that it would be the logical career choice for Hermione. Ok, fine. So maybe I did find myself lacking in ideas. A little.

Next chapter: Narcissa Malfoy. A revelation. A New Year. Ugh. A little too late for that, I know .

On another note: I have been told not to pull Steep as it would be wise to keep an online copy just in case. I'm not sure what "just in case" means, but I'm shallow enough to accept that as a good enough reason. However, I will still not be updating it anytime soon. Sorry.

I've finally created a livejournal dedicated to my Draco/Hermione love, but there's not much on it. ^__^ It can be found here:   Go ahead and friend it and I'll friend you right back. And if you don't have an LJ, go get one! ^__^ You no longer need a code!

Special Thanks To:
Campy Capybara for her lovely suggestion of eyewear. Funny thing about that, I had already written out that scene of him reading before you reviewed and I must say, it's a superb addition.
moefodraco for suggesting the lime green Popsicle. Much appreciated ^__^
Jade Shintz because your suggestion made me laugh the moment I read it! Squishy oranges! A must! Shall use this one again. Definitely!
Shedraconis for the vanilla scented candles. I'll also be adding this in another chapter ^__~ For a more romantic setting.

*pissed = drunk

REVIEWS! SO MANY! I LOVE THEM LIKE THE CHILDREN I NEVER HAD! PERHAPS THE CAPS LOCK DID WORK! SHALL TRY SOMETHING DIFFERENT. MY LOVE FOR YOU IS ALL CAPS AND BOLD.

^__^ Please leave me reviews. I am an attention seeking whore and need reviews to reaffirm my existence. Actually, they just make me happy and a good deal giggly. ^__^