“Honey, we have to make a decision,” Hermione reminded her new husband for the thirteenth time “ this morning alone, he felt quite certain. “You know that tomorrow's Christmas Eve, and my family is expecting an answer.” Hermione scowled at him from her seat at the breakfast table.
“As is mine,” Draco answered, shutting the cabinet door and taking his seat next to her. He feigned a look of displeasure that almost made her laugh “ he could be a spitting image of his father when he wanted “ but she tried desperately not to, because no matter what happened, she wanted Draco to know that she was serious about this, and was not going to be swayed. “So what are we going to do about it?” He playfully raised his eyebrows and stared deep into her eyes.
“I don't know,” Hermione responded, quickly breaking the stare. She eyed her breakfast as if this were typical conversation, and she wasn't worried about what might happen. “But you'll have to make up your mind soon, because my parents will need a little forewarning before we show up on their doorstep.”
“And if we go to my parents'...?” Draco asked, still giving Hermione that playful, yet strangely intense stare.
“I suppose it'd be common courtesy to let mine know beforehand that we'll be ruining their Christmas.” Hermione stomped off without even looking at Draco.
“Baby,” Draco called after her, but Hermione walked straight into the sitting room and began to stare out the window, ignoring him entirely. Draco walked up behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She tried to pry him off, but he wouldn't budge. He craned his neck around to look her in the eyes, and Hermione tried to wriggle free, but Draco's grip was ever-tightening, and she couldn't budge.
“What do you say, baby?” he asked her as he began poking her in the side. “Give me a smile?”
In between her cries of “Get off!” and “Stop it!” Hermione laughed like a madwoman. When she finally wrenched herself free, Draco was laughing almost as hard as she had been, but Hermione was certainly not amused. She gave an indignant, unintelligible shout, and stomped up the stairs.
“Darling, where's your Christmas spirit?” Draco called after her from the bottom of the stairs.
In response, Hermione slammed shut the bedroom door, and the clanging sound of the deadbolt told him that she wouldn't be coming out any time soon.
Sunlight streaking through the partially opened blinds caught Hermione's still-sleeping eye and roused her awake. She stretched her arms widely across the bed, and realized with a start that Draco was not beside her. Blood rushed to her face as she felt that old anger begin to rise up once again... but then she remembered that she hadn't unlocked the deadbolt last night, and to her knowledge, Draco took the hint and slept elsewhere. She almost felt sorry that she had treated him so poorly, and she went downstairs to find him and apologize.
But when she descended the stairs, she did not find him lying on the sofa. And entering the kitchen, she did not find him cooking breakfast. After five minutes of honest searching, she concluded that he was nowhere in the house, and he had left her no clues as to where else he might be.
I'll bet anything that he left so he can avoid this conflict, she thought to herself. But where did he go? And in this very moment, Hermione realized that Draco must be at his parents' house, because there was simply nowhere else for him to be. The thought made her positively fume, but at the same time, because she wasn't entirely cold-hearted, it also made her think.
I know his family is important to him, she reasoned. And of the two, I think my parents would be more understanding if we told them that we couldn't come...
With a slow, calming breath, Hermione decided that this Christmas would be about sacrifices and self-control. “And if it's a battle of wills,” she said aloud, “well, I've changed mine. That doesn't make me wrong.”
Making the decision to give in wasn't even the hard part, Draco realized with a sigh. He probably should have paid a bit more attention all those times that Hermione had tried to educate him on Muggle customs, even though at the time he simply couldn't imagine a circumstance where such knowledge might actually prove useful. But now, he might as well be lost, because shopping in Muggle London on a Christmas Eve could be a very dangerous thing, even when you know what you're looking for.
“Twenty-five percent off all merchandise! Today only! You can't afford to miss this sale!” a young department store clerk who stood outside the glass doors shouted at all the passersby. Trying to comprehend the madness, Draco apparently wasn't in rhythm with the rest of the shoppers, and a few hurried ladies shoved him out of the way, because they certainly weren't going to miss a sale this good. Draco, on the other hand, wouldn't know what to do with half the merchandise, and searched desperately for a store he understood.
Across the busy street, his eyes caught what appeared to be a bakery, though he couldn't quite be sure. For all the ladies with their shopping bags frightened him, though, the endless line of cars that refused to stop gave him a right decent scare. How was he supposed to get to the bakery? Was this some sort of joke?
The only thing to do... would be to Apparate, he thought, but he knew that was out of the question. And so, closing his eyes, he pretended that he was in Diagon Alley, and stepped out into the rushing stream of traffic.
The deafening screech of halting tires brought Draco back to reality, and he opened his eyes to see an angry cab driver giving him some dirty looks to go with the stream of invective pouring out the window. Well, he thought, rather satisfied with himself, they do stop for you!
Luckily, he made it to the bakery in one piece, but the crowded inside was no better than the busy street. Muggles walked around with such sense of purpose that no one seemed to notice his entrance in the least, but somehow, he found his way to the counter.
“Hello,” Draco began, setting his arms on the counter. “I“”
“What'll it be?” the mannish lady behind the counter croaked.
“See, I'm not quite certain,” he began rather slowly. “I'm going to spend Christmas Eve with my in-laws“”
“Oh, god, well good luck making them happy!” the large lady barked in a manner that really frightened Draco quite a bit. Even though she laughed, he couldn't be certain that she wasn't angry at him for some reason.
“Yes, and I'm not even sure how they celebrate the holiday, so I'm really at a loss.” Draco looked at the woman with such pitiful eyes that the lady was taken back..
“You're not from around here, are you?”
“Beg pardon?” he asked.
“You're... foreign, aren't you?” she whispered in such a way that one might tell embarrassing secrets. Draco felt a bit worried that she might somehow know of his wizarding blood... But before he became too frightened, the lady yelled at her coworker, “Dorothy, come help me explain ‘Christmas’ to this bloke!”
And so Draco received quite a lecture from the two women, undeniably sisters, about how Christmas was celebrated in Muggle London. Even though they were quite convinced, through nothing that he had said, that he hailed from some Eastern European locale, Draco gave them no reason to believe otherwise, as “foreign,” he decided, was probably better than “freak.” With a smile on his face, he left the bakery with a package that he knew would make Hermione's Christmas Eve.
Oh, these dress robes will make Draco's Christmas Eve, Hermione thought with a grin as she modeled in front of the bathroom mirror of their home. Hermione, who had likewise spent the day shopping, got so caught up in this new side of herself that she decided she needed new dress robes to match. And according to Madam Malkin, Seductress was Narcissa Malfoy's absolute favorite line.
Narcissa, who did not think much of Hermione's “school girl style,” would not be able to recognize Hermione in this stunning display of green and silver. She felt like she was trying on a disguise, so little did this low-cut, tight-fitting gown suit her personality. But that was what had made the whole day fun “ she had, in a way, been discovering a new side to herself. Discovering, she thought, or reinventing. But either way, it had been an adventure. And what a steal she had found at Borgin and Burkes! It was the perfect gift for Draco and his family... or so Mr. Borgin had told her, because even after his lengthy explanation, she wasn't quite certain she knew what the gift was for.
Well, she thought, I suppose I should write my parents... It really can't wait any longer. It seemed that her makeover was only skin deep after all, because the thought of explaining everything to her parents still made her stomach turn flips. But, taking one last look at herself in the mirror, she found one last bit of courage (mainly through pretending that she was Narcissa) and sat down to write the letter.
Dear Mom and Dad...
...I'm so sorry to tell you that Hermione and I won't be able to spend Christmas Eve with you this year, Draco wrote to his parents.
We decided that it would be best to spend Christmas Eve with the Malfoys...
...and while I know this comes as a surprise to both of you...
...we've made our decision, and there's nothing else to be said.
Love,
Hermione
Well, they're going to love that, Draco said, rolling his eyes as he finished signing his letter, and he attached it to his post owl. He had already made it back home, and he couldn't wait to tell Hermione the exciting news... and show her the Christmas surprise he bought for her and her family. He heard her upstairs getting ready, so he climbed the stairs and entered their bedroom.
Hermione heard Draco's footsteps on the stairs, and for some reason, she felt a brief moment of panic, and she shut herself in the bathroom. She knew that this outfit wasn't “her.”
“Hermione?” Draco asked as he opened the bedroom door. He heard the bathroom door closing as he came in, and he thought it an odd coincidence.
“Yes?” Hermione replied.
“Are you almost ready to go?” Draco asked.
“Almost,” Hermione replied playfully.
“Good, because I've got a surprise for you, when you come out,” Draco said to her.
“Have you? Because I've got one for you, too!” Hermione said as she opened the door with a dramatic flick of her hair. Hermione's hair spilled over her shoulders and, in her hands, she had clasped what appeared to be a human skull.
Draco's eyes widened, as did Hermione's.
Hermione, the first one to move, quickly hid the skull behind her back. “What are you wearing?” Hermione asked incredulously. Draco stood before her, shifting a little awkwardly in his khaki pants and itchy sweater, complete with a knitted reindeer head on the front. In his hands, he held his prize from the bakery.
“Fruitcake?” he asked, holding the cake up to his wife.
“I thought...” Hermione started.
“...that we were going to your parents' house,” Draco finished. “And what are you wearing?” He seemed a little more interested, though a laugh wasn't hiding far behind his smile.
Hermione's shoulders drooped a little. “I thought you'd like it,” she said, looking expectantly at Draco.
“I... it's lovely, but... you look like my mother, if you don't mind my saying.” Draco burst into laughter, and Hermione, though initially a little hurt, joined in the giggling.
“Just so you know, Draco, no one actually eats fruitcakes,” Hermione finally said.
“Yes, and I suppose you think my family makes ritual human sacrifices?”
Hermione pulled the skull out from behind her back. “I didn't know...” But one look at Draco, and they both erupted in laughter.
“So, where are we going tonight?” Hermione asked as she sat down on the side of the bed.
Draco sat down beside her. “Who says we have to go anywhere?”
Hermione smiled at her husband, and chunked the skull into the wastebasket on the far side of the room.
“Nice shot,” Draco said, as he followed suit with the fruitcake.
“You know, when you take our parents out of the equation, we don't really have much of anything to fight about,” Hermione said.
“Unless you count the sacrifices,” Draco said, smiling at Hermione. He leaned over and kissed her, and they finally remembered that their marriage was never intended as a suspension of hostilities between two enemy camps, but a love that, despite the overwhelming odds, simply could not be quenched.