Chapter Text
They walked up the path to the front door, their bags laden with gifts and satchels packed with a few necessities. Everything else they needed was already at home. Fairy lights twinkling on the eaves spilled an amber glow over the dormant shrubs in the front garden. There were three figures silhouetted by the sheer curtains framing the sitting room window. They laughed over their martini glasses as the festive music of a record spinning on the turntable became the soundtrack of Christmas Eve 1997.
“Ready?” Hermione asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” Draco replied. He snuck one last kiss before they entered Hermione’s house.
“There they are! Merry Christmas, my turtle doves!” Michelle crossed the room and embraced both her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend in a wide embrace, gin sloshing in her glass.
Ian kissed his daughter’s forehead and gave Draco a tight hug. They both held on a second longer than needed.
And then, Draco saw his mother.
“Hi, mother.”
“Draco, how I’ve missed you,” she held her son in her arms and didn’t let go. Michelle stifled a sniffle before returning from the bar cart with two full glasses.
———
After their Christmas supper, the door kept opening as friends and family came to join the fun. Narcissa welcomed her sister Andromeda, whom she had rekindled a relationship with over the fall. Nymphadora and Remus joined them, too, happy to share that they had eloped on Halloween. Ted was there, too. After their pudding, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville apparated into the back garden with what appeared to be the entire contents of Weasley’s Wizard Wheeze’s wrapped in colorful paper. They had a raucous evening, full of explaining Muggle traditions, charades, and plenty of music and cocktails. Ron revealed Fred and George’s latest invention, Cracking Christmas Crackers, which made a personal-sized firework when you pulled the ends, and produced a crown made of Leprechaun gold set with candy jewels. Hermione didn’t want the night to end, but eventually, their guests started to trickle out, back to their own homes in preparation for a comparatively quiet Christmas Day. Narcissa insisted she was fine to apparate home, but the hics at the end of every sentence and her swaying posture made it clear she did not know how to handle Muggle liquor. Draco was better off than his mother, but not by much. He was half-asleep on the sofa, having spent much of the last hour replaying Ian’s 45 of Wonderful Christmastime ad nauseam.
The Grangers insisted the Malfoy’s stay the night.
“Oh, but we can’t. We always spend Christmas Eve at home, hic. I can’t imagine Christmas Day anywhere else but home! Hic,” Narcissa slurred, setting her empty glass on the table beside her.
“We insist! There’s plenty of room for all of us,” Michelle took her guest by the elbow and led her towards the stairs, “Hermione, would you be a dear and prepare the den for our guest?”
Hermione happily obliged and fished in the pocket of her jacket hanging from the hall tree. She retrieved her wand, and led the way up the stairs. She went through her old routine from that summer: extending the bed, closing up the walls, and turning the curtain that still hung from the opening into a door. It seemed so long ago that she had first charmed this room. So much had changed. She had changed. She charmed the pillows for a deep, dreamless sleep and conjured a glass of water on the desk under the window. A light, sleepy snow was falling over the back garden. It wouldn’t stick, of course, but it set perfect backdrop for a cozy night.
As Hermione left the makeshift bedroom, Narcissa exited the bathroom across the landing. Hermione had never seen her wearing anything but a severe, high-necked black gown. She had to stop herself from laughing at the sight of Lady Malfoy herself wearing baggy grey sweatpants and an International Conference of Dental Professionals 1994 commemorative tee.
“I seem to have misplaced my wand, hic, otherwise I could have turned this into something hic more comfortable,” Narcissa held up her fine dress, now crumpled into a ball in one hand, “Your mother was kind enough to lend me a set of her, erm, pajamas, if we can call them that.”
Hermione watched Narcissa settle into the bedroom, reaching for the glass of water and draining it in one go. She collapsed onto the pillows and began snoring immediately. Hermione conjured more water into the glass.
Her parents were cleaning up downstairs and she joined their tidying. There was nothing like waking up in a charming home on Christmas with the people you loved most. Draco was in the kitchen, rubber gloves on, washing every delicate glass in the Granger household. Hermione put her wand away and dried every glass by hand. Once they were all satisfied with the state of the house, or perhaps too tired to care about the rest of the mess, they trudged upstairs to turn in for the night.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Ian boomed at Draco, eyebrows raised, as he ducked into Hermione’s room.
“Oh! I, um, since my mother,” he gestured to the den, flustered and beet red, “I thought I could… I can sleep on the sofa downstairs.”
“I’m just taking the mickey,” Ian gave Draco’s shoulder a shake before turning to his and Michelle’s room with a yawn, “Merry Christmas, dream of sugarplums.”
“Goodnight!” Michelle whisper-yelled as she closed the door behind her husband.
Draco entered Hermione’s room, tired from the day and drained from the excitement of being around so many people. He reached into his bag and pulled out a set of matching silk pajamas, identical to the ones he had brought with him this summer except the top on these had long sleeves. He started to undress.
“Awfully presumptuous of you to bring pajamas to my house, Malfoy,” she teased.
“Why, Granger, do you think I won’t be needing them?” he teased back. She smiled at him, and he felt lighter than any fairy lights or fireworks he had seen all day. He crossed the room to her bed and wrapped her in his arms.
Hermione whispered, muffliato.