Ravenclaw, Prefect additional short, Thanksgiving, WC: 976
AU. A Muggledom fic.
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"Draco dear, it is wonderful to see you," my mother coos, bringing him in for a suffocating hug, dressed in a floral apron and jaunty, turkey-shaped hat. "You're a bit peaky, definitely time to get some food in you. Hermione, come on inside and close the door," she adds, poking up her head from Draco's shoulder. I step inside, a little too close to the pair of them, quietly shutting the door behind me. It slams with a sudden gust of wind.
The hallway is filled with a rush of warm scents that remind me almost instantly of Christmas. Like a pre-Christmas. I hug my mother lightly, drawn further into the house by the central heating and smell of roasting turkey with cranberry sauce, mincemeat, pies, carrots, broccoli. If only Shakin' Stevens would come on the radio now, I would accept the early arrival of December 25th.
"Your father is in the living room, Hermione," my mother says, smiling sweetly. "To the kitchen!" Then she spins on the spot and turns to the room behind her, evidently going back to her cooking. I glance at Draco momentarily, knowing that he's off to assist her. It doesn't help in my detachment of the day, even when he presses a kiss to my lips and squeezes my hand gently. He shouts a jovial 'gobble-gobble' to my mother on his way to putting on a second floral apron. I can't help but scowl.
My father is sitting in his favourite crumbling chair when I enter the living room, reading the newspaper with careful, bespectacled eyes. He blends a little less into the neutral tones of the room, instead having opted for some purple and yellow jumper and bright red corduroy trousers. I grin wholeheartedly, genuinely happy to see him.
"Alright Dad?" I ask, announcing myself and plonking down on the sofa beside his Sherlock chair. He looks up quickly, as if surprised I'm even there. For a second, it's as though he doesn't quite recognise me, but then he puts down his paper and grins just as wide as me. He pulls his spectacles from his nose. "Anything good in the news?"
"Depends what you think of as good," he chuckles. "I'm glad you're here. You mother was driving me potty!" I laugh. My mother giggles loudly from the kitchen, causing me to roll my eyes.
"He was very pleased to help," I tell my father, settling deeper into the heavy cushioning of the sofa.
"Your mother has been obsessed with doing a thanksgiving dinner since we came back from Connecticut last December," he muses in return, picking up the hidden mug of tea from the table at his side. I nod, remembering her returning from the trip and jabbering about how it was like Christmas, but with so much more food, and so many different tastes and flavours.
"Draco's been excited ever since she mentioned it."
"Well, pumpkin, you know I can't cook," my father laughs, then coughs.
"And I'm no wizard in the kitchen," I say, albeit a little anxious that his chest infection hasn't been cured yet. However, we descend into chatter and laughter, discussing the little and large things in life that have occurred since we last spoke, and everything in between.
Just an hour and a half later, we are sitting down to the old table I grew up with, each placing bowls of vegetables, and tarts, and the smorgasbord of meats, sauces, pies, and fruits. I pour out glasses of red wine, grinning at Draco and squeezing his hand. Together, we raise our glasses and clink together, smiling jovially in each other's directions.
"This looks amazing, Mum," I say, scooping up a spoonful of potatoes.
"Hermione!" she shrieks, slapping my hand. I retreat quickly, scowling at her in spite of myself. "We need to say what we are thankful for."
"Why don't you start, Mum," I reply, seething just a little inside and trying to avoid my own annoyance at my mother. She raises an eyebrow.
"Alright." She pauses dramatically, then stands. "I am thankful for my beautiful daughter, Hermione, and her wonderful partner, Draco. You are an asset to this family, and I love you both." Half wondering whether she's talking more about me or Draco, I settle down for the next few uncomfortable sentences. "I'm thankful someone will finally cook with me. God knows the pair of you are useless," she laughs. "And yes, I'm thankful that I'm no longer menstruating."
"Sarah!" my father protests. "We're at the dinner table."
"I'm still thankful," she says, sitting down. She glares at my father, prompting him next. He stands with difficulty.
"I am thankful that my heart, my mind, nor the rest of me, hasn't given up yet."
He sits again.
"Dad..." I start, glancing over him. His face is red for even standing a little too long, eyes unfocused. But he shakes his head at me. I stand. "Fine. I am thankful for stupid cat videos, a good job and a nice home, and I am thankful for Draco Malfoy." I sit, already too hungry and angry to consider my words.
"I love you," Draco murmurs, grinning broadly at me. Then he stands. "I am thankful for a lot of things. It used to be having a home filled with powerful people, but now it's just having a life that's filled with goodness." Hardly unprompted, my face grows hot. "I'm extremely thankful that I can find myself in such a wonderful family. And Hermione. I'm thankful to have a Hermione Granger in my life."
The rest of the evening is delightfully warm and genuine. Funny, I felt much better after those words.
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Thanks for reading!
