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HTTYA Christmas Special: Traditions	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 1829 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story

Chapter List
- 1-Traditions
- 1
8,500 words.
25 pages.
This Christmas, I wanted to give something back to those of you who have been there for me since the beginning. The How To Train Your Auror series is something extremely close to my heart. I've poured more of my soul into this fanfiction series than any other fanfiction I've written. I really hope you enjoy this little snippet into Draco and Hermione's downtime.
How To Train Your Auror: Traditions
Summary: Christmas Special to the How To Train Your Auror series! Takes place between books one and two. This year is Draco and Hermione's first Christmas together, but things aren't going as well as Draco would like. The memory of Ron Weasley still haunts the both of them. Can Draco survive Christmas dinner with the Weasleys long enough to make Hermione a very Happy Christmas?
This fic has been edited by the lovely waymay and the ever-enjoyable LightofEvolution.

There's a mention of a Jarvey in here. A Jarvey, as it turns out, is the very creature Newt got expelled for harboring at Hogwarts. (Fantastic Beasts)
For Sam Wallfower, who gave me the writing prompt to make a Christmas Special: I hope I have given you something that warms your heart.
"This Christmas" by Shane Dawson
This song is hilarious and touching all at once, and I think it fits perfectly with this fanfiction. Give it a listen on youtube!
*(*)*
It was in moments such as these, Draco Malfoy thought, staring down at the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet, when he wished he had a small section of the universe carved out for him, and him alone, to crawl into. No one would be able to find him there, and no one would care to look. He did his very best to appear nonchalant as his girlfriend (he supposed he could call her that, now) walked into the kitchen of her tiny flat, still wearing Draco's button down from the night before. It should have instilled a sense of pride within the Malfoy, but instead, all he wanted to do was scamper away like a wounded animal ready to die.
"Draco?" Hermione asked, sidestepping across the room toward him. He, quickly, folded the Daily Prophet over, debating over whether spilling tea on it would be a nice back up incase she asked. "Are you alright? You look pale."
"Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm a Malfoy," he smirked, tilting his head up to her.
"Ha. Ha. Ha." She stuck out her tongue, reaching for the newspaper. Draco stood up from the table at once blocking her mid-motion and claiming her lips in an entrancing, distractive kiss. He thought he just might have made it out of this one. Hermione's arms curled around his sides, allowing him to deepen the kiss -and then she snatched the Daily from the table and pulled away in a rush, spiking Draco's libido and agitation.
"Don't-" he said in a rush, but she already had the paper turned over, her eyes scanning over the headline. But it wasn't the headline Draco feared. He watched her face fall as she noticed the picture and read the caption aloud.
"St. Mungo's Christmas Charity Ball celebrating ten years of helping those wounded by the Second War." Her brows furrowed, and she turned the paper around. In a rectangular prison of memories, a young Golden Trio stood side-by-side, attendees of the first Charity Ball. Harry Potter stood in crisp, black and white robes, his hair making him look like a hobo who had stumbled upon a nice suit. Hermione flanked his right, dressed in a glitzy, golden cocktail dress which left no curve to the imagination. But it was the tall, gangly looking redhead who stood next to her who stole the spotlight in Hermione's kitchen this morning. His red robes, two sizes too large, offset his hair in the most hideous fashion. He held a firm arm around Hermione's waist, and every few moments or so, he would lean in to kiss her cheek.
"Stupid Prophet," Draco grumbled, attempting to lighten the mood. "My father will hear about this. We'll have the whole place shut down by tonight."
The usual quirk of her lips didn't register on her face, despite his try at humor. Instead, she sat the paper onto the table, almost as if she were cradling an ancient relic. Then, she closed her eyes, inhaled through her nose, and exhaled through her mouth. "Has it really been ten years since the War ended?"
Draco ran a hand through his thick, blond locks and sighed. "Feels like yesterday, sometimes."
"Most times," she agreed. "This will be the second Christmas without him here."
Draco felt cold -colder than he had in years. The entire room seemed to drop to subzero temperatures as Hermione pursed her lips and touched her finger to Weasley's picture.
"And our first Christmas together," Draco offered, noting his breath as it hung in the air. Merlin's hat, was she doing this? He noticed the ice formulating on the inside panels of the windows. "Scorp's first Christmas, too."
Hermione's head tilted up, and her gaze softened. The room became considerably warmer in an instant. "I can't wait to see his face when it starts to snow."
"By all means, let him pop in here. Feels like Christmas already." He nudged his face up to the ceiling, where small droplets of snow began to flitter through the air.
Hermione's eyes widened, and she produced her wand, muttering, "Scourgify!" The ice crystals, snowflakes, and bitter cold swept out of the room in a disgusted poof of transformation. "Sorry…" She chewed on her lower lip, lost in thought. "I should go shower."
"Want me to join you?" Draco offered, only half teasing.
She shook her head and began to wander off toward the bedroom, muttering, "I'm fine."
With a sigh as heavy as his heart, Draco turned his attention back to the newspaper, eyes resting on the young Ronald Weasley. "Cockblocked from the grave." He knew, deep down, how morbidly bitter it sounded, but he couldn't help himself. Christmas used to be a time for celebration in his family. His mother would sing Yule carols, and his father would spike the eggnog with far too much brandy. When he was young, his grandfather, Abraxas, would take Draco to pick out the largest spruce, and his grandmother, Winny, would magic the sled from the attic to race Draco and friends around the gardens.
Even Christmas with Astoria had been pleasant. Since Draco rarely spent time with his family these days (years of resentment piled on top of abandonment after the war), the Greengrass household was always so happy to invite Draco in to their traditions.
Traditions.
Draco's head perked up.
Maybe traditions could save this Christmas after all.
He padded his way down the hall, through the bedroom, and into the bathroom. Hot steam fogged up the mirrors, which was a shame because Draco always enjoyed staring at himself. He cleared his throat and called out, "Hermione?"
"Oh!" her silhouette jumped in the shower, and she peeled back the curtain. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Shrugging, Draco tried his very best not to take a peek, even though he desperately wanted to. "I'm popping out for a little bit before work."
"Alright," she moved to shut the curtains, thought of something, then added, "Don't forget, we have dinner with the Weasleys this weekend."
Draco's eye twitched. "We do?"
"Oh, don't be that way."
"Hermione, we've been over this."
"Look, they're just as much a part of my family as my own parents!" she gave him an incredulous glare. "We're going, Draco. I've already arranged it with Astoria to pick Scorpius up early this weekend."
"Now you've gotten Astoria involved?"
"It's called co-parenting."
"I know what it's bloody-well called!" he snapped, shutting his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just don't understand why you're doing it." Wait. Shit. That came out wrong.
"Excuse me?"
Shit. That definitely came out wrong.
"I only meant I'm the father, and I should be made aware of these things as they happen and not after."
But the damage had already been done. "No, I think you made yourself perfectly clear."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means… weren't you leaving?" The icy way in which she snapped the last of her words caused even Draco's frozen heart to think, 'damn, that's cold.'
"Hermione-"
"-I'll see you at work!"
Frustrated, Draco slammed the door behind him, kicked the dresser in Hermione's bedroom, and shouted when his foot jammed with unspeakable pain. "Fuck!" He hobbled around the room, sat on top of the bed, and placed his head in his hands. "Shit." He knew he had an awful way of mucking things up, but this took the damned cake walk, prize and all. Why couldn't he have his cake and eat it, too? Why were there so many phrases associated with cake? 'Let them eat cake' -there was another one.
He gave a disgruntled sigh and rubbed the sore foot inside his shoe. "I'm not giving up yet."
*(*)*
"Sure, I could, but what's it for?" Dean Thomas sipped from his mug of hot butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks across from Draco. The froth laced his upper lip like a mustache, making him look older and wiser than he ever was.
"It's our first Christmas together," Draco explained, clinging to his cup of peppermint herbal tea like it was a life preserver. "I'd do it myself, but I have certain… obligations… this weekend."
"Weasley Christmas party?"
"How'd you know?"
"It's always held around the same time every year."
"And you're not going?" Draco nearly sounded desperate.
"Sorry, mate. Harry's got me working at the Auror Division. I know how much you could use a friend right about now." Dean reached for two packets of sugar, ripping them open to pour them into his tea.
Draco glared at him bitterly and narrowed his eyes.
"Anyway," said Dean, "I can get it done, even while working. I can send Luna out."
"You sure she'll know what to look for?"
"She's been studying muggle customs for her articles. Yeah. I'm sure."
"Alright," Draco's faces relaxed, and he sat back in his chair, muscles unwinding. "Thanks, Thomas."
"It's alright to call me Dean, you know."
Smirking, Draco sipped from his piping hot tea and replied, "Oh, I know."
*(*)*
Hermione avoided Draco for the remainder of the afternoon, which practically constituted their entire shift. The only time she spoke to him was to leave a giant stack of different colored parchments on his work station, muttering, "Harry needs these by this evening. See to it, would you?"
"Ah, come on! I hate paperwork!" Draco griped, but fell silent when his girlfriend shot him a glare worthy of Severus Snape. He snapped his mouth closed afterwards, slipping the top sheet of paper off the pile and setting to work. He knew he was in the pygmy puff house after his misconstruance of words this morning. If everything went according to plan, he had a very great chance of making up for it. But for that to work, he'd need Potter -who, conveniently, was out for the day.
The next time Hermione gave him any notice was when her shift ended. Draco's, technically, ended thirty minute prior to hers, but he was only halfway done with the paperwork, and he was determined to finish it just to spite her. He tried to ignore her presence as she approached his desk, slipping on her winter mittens.
"I'm off," she announced. Draco nodded in recognition, straining his eyes over the same word on the page in front of him, refusing to meet her gaze. Before long, the word 'Ministry' looked foreign to him. Hermione sighed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" that caught his attention. "What about tonight?" It was tradition for him to mosey on over to her flat after work on nights he wasn't caring for Scorpius.
"I think I just want to rest," she answered quietly.
"I see," Draco stopped scribbling with his quill and set it in its ink bottle. "Well, pleasant rest, then."
Once again, Hermione sighed. "This isn't easy for me, you know."
"What? Being nice?"
"Christmas time," she glided around the table to stand beside him, resting her hip at the edge of his desk. There, she nervously played with her bottom lip between her teeth, pondering what to say. "It was Ron's favorite time of the year. All of the Weasleys', actually."
"Yes, well, Christmas isn't only reserved for gingers, as I recall," Draco snapped. 'Ministry' began to take on the form of 'Mini-stry' -The word 'stry-stry' was in reference to a very sexy person, so now all he could imagine was a little person wrapped in sexy lingerie. "The Malfoys also enjoy the holiday season, but we are to, apparently, push it all aside in favor of favouring the Weasleys."
"Do you listen to yourself when you spout such selfish things out of your mouth?"
Draco squeezed his hand into a fist and cocked his head up, looking at her clearly for the first time this afternoon. "I've tried being sensitive to the situation. This isn't easy for me, either. I'm only dating the wife of the man I helped to…" His voice trailed off, glancing about the bullpen. With a heavy sigh, he reached over and took her hand. "So being around Weasley's family… it isn't exactly a vacation."
As if seeing him clearly for the first time, she squeezed his hand back. "We could tell them -everything."
Coldness spread through Draco's chest. "Are you trying to get me murdered?"
"Ginny knows the truth," Hermione said. "And she's forgiven you."
"It took her three months to warm up to me after she found out my involvement."
"But she warmed up to you, all the same."
"It's out of the question," he shook his head. "It's the last thing they need during the Holidays."
"Draco-"
"-Go rest, Hermione. I'll see you tomorrow." He kissed her knuckles and released her hand, reaching for his quill instead. Anything to keep him preoccupied. "One day. But not now."
*(*)*
That night, Draco tossed and turned.
He couldn't shake the image of Weasley in the morning's paper any more than he could forget the disheartened look on Hermione's face from seeing it. Somehow, Draco got the feeling he'd never live up to Ron Weasley's greater heart. So many people mourned over the man's death; Draco doubted there would be more than a handful of people at his funeral. He tried to name them off in his head to give him comfort. Dean Thomas, for sure. His mother. Hermione. Scorpius. Astoria.
Would Potter go? Surely not.
*(*)*
That same night, Hermione sat at her kitchen counter, staring down at the Daily Prophet. She was afraid to throw it away. She was even more afraid to pick it up. Something about seeing them all so young and full of life sparked the greatest longing Hermione had felt in nearly a year. She knew she wasn't being fair to Draco -asking him to come along with her to the Weasley's Christmas dinner was beyond selfish. But she just couldn't do it alone.
Last year's Christmas had been full of saddened looks and careful whispers. Molly Weasley had thrown herself across the armchair after too much spiked eggnog (courtesy of George) and cried herself a river, clinging to Hermione's arm over the recent loss of her son. Arthur had stood next to his wife, consoling her, trying to pry her off the younger witch, while Harry looked apologetically across the room to Hermione. Ginny had stared into the fireplace, not saying much of anything at all.
She needed Draco and Scorpius to get her through this holiday season. So why was she putting the man she loved away at arm's length?
With a flick of her wand, she pulled the bourbon down from the top of her cabinet and magically poured herself a glass -something to keep her troubled thoughts at bay.
"I'm being ridiculous," she whispered to herself.
*(*)*
"Your sweater looks altogether too itchy," Draco commented on Hermione's maroon colored Christmas sweater, courtesy of Molly Weasley, with a giant "H" sewn into the front. Paired with it was a pleated grey skirt and a pair of mary-janes, making Hermione resemble a pretty image of her youthful days at Hogwarts. Draco, on the other hand, thought Christmas dinners were meant to sport nice clothing, so he adorned a jade button down paired with a pewter vest and slacks. Standing next to Hermione he felt entirely too dressed up -no, he corrected himself. She was entirely too dressed down.
He paced next to the floo, awaiting Astoria's arrival with Scorpius. He'd given his ex-wife specific instructions to dress their son in Slytherin colors to match Draco.
"She's late," he grumbled, looking at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.
"By one minute. Relax."
Draco scoffed, pushing his hands behind his back and grasping at his wrists to fidget.
"And quit fidgeting."
"I'll fidget all I like."
Things still weren't the same between the pair since the beginning of the week. The more Draco tried to fix things, the worse they seemed to become. Eventually, he kept his head low and gave into his brooding nature. Though, today had been better. She smiled at him, which was more than he could say for the rest of the week.
"Here, let me fix your tie."
"It's fine."
"It's crooked," she reached out, firmly grasping the strip of cloth and yanking him forward a peg, right into her personal bubble. Draco smirked, enjoying the sudden closeness while Hermione loosened his tie and began the tedious process of re-tying it.
"You could just fix it with magic," he replied dully.
"Yes, well, magic isn't everything. It obviously couldn't set your tie straight. There." She patted his tie softly, eyes on his chest. Her hand grazed over his pectorals just above his heart. "All done."
Draco reached up and placed his hand over hers, staring, determined, into her eyes, even if they wouldn't look at him. "Hermione, you're every bit a parent to Scorpius as Astoria."
"I know."
"I'm sorry for what I said the other day."
"I shouldn't have overstepped my boundaries," she made to pull away, but he kept a firm grip on her hand.
"No. You didn't. I did. It's difficult to admit, but… sometimes, I'm wrong."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Did you just admit-?"
"-You'll never be able to prove it," he swooped down and kissed her cheek. At the same time, the floo lit to life, and Astoria stepped out of green flames, Scorpius in tow. The nine month old grinned at the sight of his father, his silver eyes reflecting off his red bowtie- "Really, Tori?"
"Hmm?" Astoria followed her ex's eyes down to the fiendish colored tie and gave a knowing smirk. "I thought it fit him. Red is a wonderful color on him."
Hermione giggled, releasing Draco's tie. "Indeed, Scorpius would make a fine Gryffindor."
"Absolutely not. I won't parade my son around in Gryffindor colors."
"Red's also a Christmas color," Astoria pointed out. "And don't think about spelling the color. I've placed anti-transfiguration spells on his clothes -to preserve the integrity of the clothing."
"You're as cold as ice."
"And twice as deadly," Hermione laughed, offering her arms out. Astoria passed off Scorpius, her eyes filling with pride. "Would you like to join us tonight, Astoria?"
"Circe, no!" the witch exclaimed. "No offence love, but I have no idea how you got that one," she pointed over to Draco, "-to agree to it. He's as antisocial as they come."
"You're lucky our son's present, or I'd be giving you a bird for Christmas right about now."
"As if that's stopped you before," Astoria pretended to rummage around in her robe pocket before producing her middle finger. "Besides, I've already gotten you one."
"You shouldn't have…"
"Right. We should get going," Hermione said, budging in between the two. "If you won't join us, then I wish you a pleasant evening."
"Likewise, dear." And with that, Astoria kissed Scorpius on the cheek and meandered her way back to the floo. "Be terrible for Daddy, Scorp!"
"He'll just be taking after his mother!" shouted Draco, but his ex-wife already disappeared through the floo, on her way back to the Greengrass Estate.
"Aren't you two adorable?" Hermione chided.
"If adorable means constantly at ends with each other… hand me the baby." He threw his arms out.
"You know, Scorpius, you're already giving your father a run for his money on looks." She handed the baby over.
"No matter how cute you get, Scorp, you'll be nothing without charm -which I will teach you, when you're old enough." He snuggled the infant to his chest and kissed the top of his head. "Ready?"
Hermione nodded, straightening her stance. "Let's."
*(*)*
"Hermione, dear! Wonderful to see you! Oh, my. Have you done something different with your hair? Did you grow it out?"
"Cut it, actually," Hermione responded to Molly Weasley as she stepped out of the floo. It lit to life behind her, and Draco emerged with Scorpius. "Molly… you remember Draco…"
The always chipper witch's face still held a smile, but its demeanor changed. Something Hermione noticed right off the bat. "Of course." She didn't rush to him as expected, but she did grin happily as her eyes set on the cooing infant in his hands. "Oh, my! Is this little Scorpius? He's gotten so big!"
"Yes, that tends to happen to babies as they grow," Draco grumbled under his breath, and Hermione slammed her heel down on his toe, making him gasp in pain. "Pleasant to see you, Missus Weasley," he squeaked out through the pain, offering out Scorpius as a tribute to keep the peace. Molly, quickly, scooped the baby up in her arms and began jammering baby talk into Scorpius's ear.
"Oh, how's my wittle Scorpy been, hmm? Did you miss your gwamy Mowwy?"
Draco rolled his eyes. 'If she keeps that up, Scorpius will grow up to be a Weasley. Uneducated. Annoying. -Oh, what the bloody Hell is she doing? I can literally see her rubbing her poor off onto him!' But it was too late -Molly had already fashioned a homemade, lopsided winter hat onto Scorpius's head.
"I've seen house elves with better fashion sense…" he muttered, once again earning a swift heel in his direction. He anticipated it this time, however, and stepped back. Hermione stumbled backward, and he caught her under her arms, setting her upright. "Nice try, lov-" Wham! Her elbow went into his ribcage, knocking the wind out of him.
Triumphantly, Hermione spun around and fashioned one of his own smirks on her pretty face. "Nice try, love." She patted his cheek and skipped away, toward the Christmas tree, where Potter was busy gawking at the hideous ornaments on a dying pinetree by the fire.
"Oy, oy!" snapped Draco to the other Auror. "Where are your spawn tonight?"
"With Fleur and Bill. They'll be along, soon enough," Potter replied cheerfully.
"Better be," Draco berated under his breath. He certainly didn't want to be the only parent with children around.
"Allo, Malfoy!"
Draco jumped, caught by surprise as someone clapped their hand on his shoulder. His eyes narrowed when he realized it was George Weasley, having just come from the kitchens. "Weasley," he greeted with a firm nod of the head. He promised Hermione he'd play nice, but Merlin, it was so difficult to. Even if he remembered the Weasley twins as being a tad funnier in his youth than he'd care to admit. Having only one alive today seemed… wrong.
"If you greet everyone here that way, you'll never know who you're talking to," George replied, pushing a plastic cup of something warm and frothy into Draco's hand. "Apple cider -with a splash of rum." He whispered the last bit under his breath, "Don't tell Mum, though, or she'll have your bits. She hates when I spike the drinks."
"Um… thanks," Draco raised the cup to his lips, preparing to sip, when another voice, this one much higher and feminine, startled him.
"Don't drink that!" The cup was wrenched from his hands by none other than Ginny Weasley, her face flaring red with anger as she glared at her older brother. "Honestly, George! Did you think none of us would notice when Malfoy's hair began falling out?"
"Well, by then it would be too late for any of you to argue," George grinned. "Besides, it would have only been temporary. A few weeks and five galleons for the counter-potion, and Malfoy would have been right as rain."
"Ever a businessman."
"You got it, baby sister."
"Weasley," said Draco, chest still slamming with his heart and the panic of nearly losing all of his hair, "You do realize I'm wealthy beyond all reason and could easily buy out the surrounding shops next to yours just to fill them up with Jarvey pet shops."
George's face paled, while Ginny giggled. "You mean those overgrown ferrets?" she asked. "The ones that can talk?"
"Spout insults is more like," replied George. "And they stink to high heaven."
"What's this I hear about ferrets and Malfoy?"
"Leave out of it, Potter," Draco snapped as Harry approached, "Go back to your simpering under that poisoned arbor."
"George tried to use his new hair loss potion on Malfoy," said Ginny, offering out the cup as evidence.
"Can't blame a bloke for trying, can you?" George laughed, rubbing his sister's hair into a static frizz.
"George!"
"Oh, stop it now!" said Molly, walking by with Scorpius still in her possession. This time, Draco's child held a candy cane and was attempting to fit the hook in his mouth.
"Sweets before dinner?" asked Draco, tucking his hands behind his back to hide the fact his knuckles were white from balling his hands into fists. Molly Weasley proceeded to ignore him, carrying off Scorpius into the kitchen.
"Where's Arthur?" asked Hermione to the group.
"Dad's working late again," replied George. "Though Bill and Fleur will be here within the hour. Charlie's bringing one of his dragon training chums. Percy won't be making it, as per the usual. Too busy kissing arse at the Ministry, I imagine."
There was a growing silence around the group as Draco realized two more names would have been mentioned, had they not been…
"Shall we play a Christmas game while we wait?" asked Hermione, trying to lighten the mood.
"Fred always enjoyed a good game of Forehead Detective," said George.
"No," Ginny exclaimed, pointing her finger into her brother's chest. "The last time we played with you, you used one of your joke shop mirrors and cheated."
"But I don't have one right now," he countered, "so it's anyone's game."
"Why don't we let Malfoy decide?" offered Potter, his green eyes glistening humbly over to the caught-off-guard Auror. "He's new, after all."
As the eyes fell on him, Draco felt a flush of embarrassment at having so many people looking to him at once. Correction, so many Weasleys. Hermione was once one herself, and Potter was basically adopted into the family. Draco knew he was the outsider, and didn't like it a bit when Potter called him out on it.
"Leave me out of it," he said, fidgeting with his tie. "I'll… erm… just go check on Scorpius." Quickly, he darted his way to the kitchen door, ignoring Hermione's wilting expression. Safely tucked on the other side of the door, Draco leaned his head back and gave a heavy sigh.
"Difficult evening, dear?"
Draco jumped, forgetting momentarily that Molly Weasley stood in the kitchens with him. Scorpius was seated in an old, wooden highchair (probably another generational keepsake), banging two spoons together while Molly stirred a pot of something on the stove. Draco smoothed out his tie, humiliated that he could be so jumpy around Weasleys. He cleared his throat and replied in his most casual drawl, "Never been better." He stuck his chin up in the air and strutted across the room, pulling out a chair to sit next to Scorpius, who still wore the ridiculous looking hat.
"What are you doing?"
"...taking a seat?"
"No, no. That will never do." Molly placed her hands on her hips and nudged her head towards the cooking on the stove. "Come and help me with the cooking."
"I hardly think I'd be much use," Draco scoffed, though the formidable glare on Molly Weasley's face caused him to stand up anyway, abandoning his cushioned seat. Begrudgingly, he undid his cufflinks and began rolling up his sleeves, crossing the room. Molly's face softened, and she waved her wand, conjuring up a spare apron from a drawer nearby.
Then, she offered it out to him.
"Seriously?" Draco cocked an eyebrow.
"Yes, dear."
He sighed, took the apron, and slipped it over his head. Molly quickly tied the back with a flick of her wand and gave a satisfied smile. "Do you cook, dear?"
"Hmm?" Draco was horrified.
"Cook. Did your mother ever teach you?"
"I'm fairly decent at breakfasts," he noted, eyeing the different concoctions in the various pots on the stove. "But…"
"Oh, never you mind. Stir this one here counterclockwise -that's a good lad. And keep an eye on the potatoes."
"For what?" Draco had never cooked potatoes before. Would they explode if he wasn't careful?
"Honestly. What did your mother teach you?" Molly huffed, brushing her hands down her apron as she set off toward the staircase to their left.
"Manners and good hygiene," Draco replied under his breath. Then, he said louder, "Wait. You're leaving me?"
"Just need to use the loo! I'll be right back!" She hurried up the staircase and out of sight.
Nervously, Draco turned back to the food, his hand never leaving the ladle as he stirred what looked like gravy in the pot closest to him. He eyed the potatoes, wondering their boiling secrets.
"Da da!" Scorpius shouted, banging his spoons onto the table.
Draco's back stiffened. Quickly, he turned around, forgetting about the food. "Did… did you just say 'da da' Scorps?" His face lit up like lights on a Christmas tree.
"Da da! Da da da!"
"Hermione! Hermione, get in here!"
The kitchen door burst open, and Hermione charged into the room, wand drawn. "What's wrong?"
"Put the bloody wand down and listen. -Go on, Scorpius. Say it again for Daddy."
The babe smiled at his father's attention, but otherwise remained silent.
"He said it just a moment ago. He said 'Da da'."
"Are you sure he wasn't just making noises?" Hermione asked, tucking her wand back in its holster. "Babies around Scorpius's age are known for trying out their vocal chords in new ways, and what we perceive as words could very well just be a baby-"
"-You frightened him, charging in here like that," Draco grumbled, waving his ladle at her. "I know what I heard. He said 'da da'!"
It was then Hermione took in his attire. "What… are you wearing?" She placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Draco glanced down to his apron, straightened his posture, and said proudly, "I'm helping Molly with the cooking."
"Are you?"
"Yes. Care to kiss the cook?" he didn't wait to find out her answer, reaching out with his free hand to pull her to him. He slipped his arm around her waist and touched his nose to hers. "I'd love to boil you over if you catch my meaning…"
"Is something burning?"
"Only my want to bend you over this counter and-"
"Draco."
"Hmm?"
They both glanced over to the stove as one of the pots began to rattle wildly. Draco looked down to the ladle in his hand, back up to the stove, and then, realizing his mistake, he shouted, "Get down!"
"What!?" Hermione shouted as Draco yanked her around the opposing side of the counter.
In a split moment, the entire world seemed to crawl in slow motion as a series of unfortunate events occurred.
Firstly, the door handle turned at the back door, signifying Arthur Weasley's early return home.
Secondly, the contents of the mysterious gravy looking substance began to make a hissing sound inside its pot.
Thirdly, Draco shouted, "The potatoes!" (because Molly had said to keep an eye on them, and he didn't, which means they could only be the culprit to these fiendish events about to unfold) to which Hermione turned her head and quizzically asked, "Huh?"
And then it happened. The gravy exploded on the stovetop and flew through the air in every direction. Hermione, with her quick thinking, shouted, "Frigus!" cooling the contents from their boiling temperature to a mild lukewarm before they splattered against the counters, windows, Arthur as he walked in the door, Scorpius in his highchair, Hermione (who had stood up to ensure the spell worked) and Draco (who had peered over the counter to watch the horror unfold).
The entire kitchen was splattered in… "Oh, this is cranberry sauce!" Draco exclaimed, licking his lips (his face was quite splattered in the sticky substance).
Arthur stood in the doorway, eyes closed from a spray of sauce in his face.
Scorpius giggled, covered head to foot. The only silver lining was the hat was no longer 'wearable', though in Draco's opinion, it never was.
"What in the - oh my - what happened to the - is everyone alright - oh, look at the baby! My kitchens!" Molly came tearing down the staircase, nearly slipping on a thin layer of sauce at the bottom of the stairs. "What happened? Is everyone alright? Hermione, dear?"
"Fine, Molly!" Hermione assured the older witch, patting the top of her sauce covered head and grimacing. "Everything's fine! No one's hurt!"
"Except, I think, the hat didn't survive the assault," Draco chided, finally standing upright to take in the damage he had done. Not only was there cranberry sauce all over the kitchens, but in every uncovered pot on the stove as well including… "Well, glad to know the potatoes don't explode after all."
Molly Weasley and Hermione gave him an incredulous stare before Molly set her hands on her hips and looked Draco square in the eyes. "What happened, Mister Malfoy?"
"I…"
Just then, the kitchen door flung open, and the eyes of Ginny, carrying baby Albus, Harry, George, Bill, Fleur, and little James peered inside the messy kitchen just before Harry shook his head, catching Molly's expression as well as Draco's guilt-written face and yanked the door back shut, muttering a 'Nope!'
"Cowards…"
"Draco Lucius Malfoy." Molly's tone shifted into one Draco had only heard once before -in a howler aimed at Ronald Weasley his second year. "What were you doing? I leave the room for five minutes…!"
"You mean you abandoned me with absolutely no clue as to what I was doing," Draco sneered back, finally fed up. He was embarrassed -and an embarrassed Malfoy always lashed out, even when they knew they were wrong.
"It's not as if I asked you to make a quichè!"
"How do we know it wasn't your sauce? What sort of sauce just blows up?"
"Da da!"
"Oh my!" Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth, turning toward the babe in the highchair, covered in syrupy sauce. "Draco, did you hear?"
"Of course I did," Draco smirked, taking his attention off of Molly momentarily to walk over to the highchair and pick his son up. "I told you he said 'Dada'."
Molly's face shrunk up into a humbling look, all of her anger forgotten. She reached both of her arms out, a large smile gracing her face. "Oh, what a sweet moment-"
Arthur cleared his throat, stopping the witch before she swooped in on the child. "Molly. This is, indeed, a sweet moment. One that, I'm sure, Draco would like a moment to contemplate before we all jump in." He looked at her expectantly, but dutifully. In that moment, Draco had never felt so much thankfulness aimed at one Weasley.
"Right. Oh, of course." Molly ran her hands down her apron, a blush on her cheeks.
Draco nuzzled his son closer to his chest, resting his chin on top of Scorpius's head as he glanced around the ruined kitchen. His eyes met Hermione's, and she nodded encouragingly. Damn her.
"I…" He cleared his throat. It, suddenly, felt as if a chocolate frog was lodged inside his vocal chords. "My ap…. apologies," he said the word between clenched teeth, "Missus Weasley. Mister Weasley. I… I was distracted by Scorpius, and…" With a huff and a sigh, Draco came clean. "I should have been watching the cranberry sauce."
Molly's face crumbled, and -oh, Merlin. Were there tears in her eyes? Draco didn't think he could handle a sobbing Missus Weasley. "No, dear. It's my fault. I shouldn't have put you on cooking duties if you weren't ready. I just… wanted you to fit in, is all."
His stomach flipped, and guilt rushed into his body like a floodgate being opened. "Oh."
"Oh?"
"I… I thought you were… well, it doesn't matter." He jutted out his chin and strode over to Molly. With Scorpius tucked over one arm, he offered out a free hand. "I'll clean all this up. You have my word."
Arthur and Hermione chuckled when Molly didn't take Draco's hand, but instead yanked him into a severe hug, Scorpius wedged between them. "You know, I wasn't sure what to think when Hermione told us she began dating again after Ron…" She patted his back. Hard. "But," she sniffled, "Oh, you really have turned into a mature young man, haven't you, Draco dear?"
Draco threw Hermione and Arthur 'Help me!' eyes, but they were 'too busy' looking 'elsewhere' to do anything.
"Alright. Alright. We can stop hugging now. Like, now."
"Right." Molly pulled away, but not before scooping Scorpius out of Draco's arms in the process. "A few cleaning charms, and this place will be like new."
"Except for Scorpius's clothing," Draco muttered. "My ex-wife put anti-transfiguration spells on his clothes to keep them Gryffindor themed."
"No matter," Molly smiled. "I'm sure I have some of Ron's old baby clothes tucked away in a trunk upstairs. Arthur, would you fetch some, please?"
"Er - no -really, it's fine." Draco could only imagine what little shop of horrors resided in said trunk upstairs.
"We insist."
"I really don't know what I'll be looking for, Molly," Arthur said timidly, trying to help out the Malfoy man in his kitchen. Molly, however, would have none of it.
"Fine! I'll go up and fetch something! You can help the children clean up." She passed Scorpius off to Draco and trudged up the staircase, once again disappearing into the mysterious abyss.
"We're hardly children," Draco grumbled when she was out of earshot.
Hermione wasted no time in whipping her wand back out and cleaning the room with thick, robusts swishes.
"Would you care for a shower, Draco?" asked Arthur.
Draco patted his sticky hair and thought he'd very much love a shower, but was far too fearful to find out what a shower at the Weasleys entailed. "I'll just settle for a cleaning charm."
"As you wish," Arthur smiled pleasantly.
There was a knock at the kitchen door, and then Potter peered inside. "Is it safe to come in?"
"By all means," said Draco sarcastically, "Join in the spectacle."
Potter came in anyway and whistled as he took in the room while Hermione whittled away at it with her magic, cleaning patch after patch of coagulated sauce. "Impressive."
"Shut it."
"Charlie's just arrived with his friend Bernard."
"Wonderful," said Arthur, not understanding Harry's meaning. "We'll be right out."
"How in the world…?" Hermione muttered to herself as she attempted to clean the drapes by the window. "This wasn't a natural kitchen explosion."
"You make it sound as if they're common," sneered Draco.
Her eyes fell on Scorpius. "Of course. It was Scorpius!"
"You're going to blame the baby now?"
"Not blame him. -It was an accident after all."
Draco glanced down to his son, realization setting in. "His first accidental magic."
"That's… sort of cute, actually," Potter mused, a lopsided smile on his face.
"He wanted my attention," Draco offered. "Both of ours. We were so busy arguing, we didn't stop to consider…"
Molly Weasley returned with a red (of course it had to be red) pajama set adorned in golden snitches and broomsticks. "I'm eyeballing it, but it should be his size. This was Ron's favorite when he was little… loved the footies, you see…"
Draco and Hermione exchanged softened glances at each other as Molly took the baby from Draco to change him. Together, they finished cleaning the kitchen, and each other, to the best of their abilities. Arthur retired into the living room with Harry to greet the newly arrived Weasleys, leaving just Hermione, Draco, and Molly in the kitchen once again, surrounding the table as the eldest witch buttoned the final button of Scorpius's new onesie.
"There, now. Doesn't he look simply adorable?" Molly mused, nuzzling her nose against Scorpius's cheek. "It's so exciting to have a baby in the home around the holidays."
"Well, Molly, you have Albus," stated Hermione as-a-matter-of-factly. "He's younger than Scorpius, even."
Molly nodded thoughtfully before plucking Scorpius up, tucking him in her arms, and kissing him on the nose. "Yes, dear. I know. I only meant it's nice to see you with one of your own these days." Her eyes fell on Draco. "I haven't thanked you enough for all that you've done for this family."
"Me?" Draco cocked an eyebrow, entirely out of his element. "I… I've done nothing-"
"-Nonsense. You gave this family justice for our dear Ron. You brought in his killer -you and Hermione. And you've given her a family to come home to. In my eyes, dear, you're just as much a part of this family now as Harry or Fleur."
"Molly, you're embarrassing him," Hermione noted, watching as Draco's face turned magenta. Indeed, Draco felt embarrassed. But it wasn't because of the kind words; rather, it was the guilt that resided heavily in his heart for knowing what part he took in everything leading up to Ron Weasley's death. His eyes fell to the floor, and he stepped back, taking off his apron.
"I...need some air."
He turned from the women, and his son, and made a quick dash to the back door, slamming it firmly behind him. He barely made it to the edge of the gardens before he began to upchuck into the weeds. The cold bit at his face and ears, but it hardly registered against Draco's frantically beating heart.
This was all… so much. Too much. Being here, with the Weasleys, being accepted as one of their own, practically talking about families as if Hermione really could be a part of his own... No. He loved her. Goddammit, he loved her with every fiber of his being, but he didn't deserve to be a part of her family. Not after everything he'd put her through without even trying.
Some time passed as Draco rested against the fenced border of the gardens, contemplating how he could sneak away from this evening without repercussions. Maybe he could feign a stomach illness… no, too unbecoming of a Malfoy. He couldn't pretend to have a family emergency because he wasn't on particularly good speaking terms with his family as of late. Damn it. Why couldn't he have let Hermione buy him that muggle phone? He could have used it right now to call Dean and floo in with an excuse to leave… yes, he was that desperate to telephone Dean Thomas.
So lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the pitter patter of small feet as they approached.
"Unca Dwaco?"
The blond spun around to meet the glistening green eyes of James Sirius Potter smiling whimsically in his witter coat.
"Oh. Erm. James," Draco gave a curt nod of the head, attempting to straighten his composure. "It's… um… what are you doing out here?"
"Mummy told me come get you."
"Your mummy said that, did she?"
"We gonna decowate the tree!"
"Doesn't it already have enough of those heinous ornaments?" Draco snorted a laugh, to which James cocked his head to the side.
"What does hee-ne-us mean?"
Shit. "It means lovely," he lied. Staring into the toddler's eyes, Draco put aside his insecurities for the night. Just for tonight.
*(*)*
"I wanna put da dwagon on!" shouted James excitedly as his mother handed him a moving replica of a Hungarian Horntail to place on the Christmas tree. Little did the small child have any idea his father battled one once in the Triwizard Tournament. "Thanks, Mummy! Your dwess is so hee-ne-us!"
"James!" Ginny gasped. "Where on Earth did you learn a word like that?"
"Unca Draco!"
All eyes turned to the Malfoy in question, who was busy letting his son smack him in the face with a fresh candy cane. "Erm… nah, I didn't use that word, James."
"Yes you did!"
"You're mistaken."
"Nuh uh! You said the orn-a-mints were hee-ne-us!"
"Did you, now?" Hermione asked, raising a teasing eyebrow.
"I… er… no… what I said was…" But Draco didn't get to finish his sentence, because Scorpius sneezed into his face, simultaneously lighting the Christmas tree on fire.
*(*)*
"Look at him sleeping so peacefully," Hermione smiled, leaning her cheek on Draco's shoulder as they both stared down at a sleeping Scorpius in his crib.
"Yes. It must tire one out once one has set an entire tree and half the Christmas presents on fire." He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tight. "Just when the Weasleys were starting to like me."
"You want their approval?" Hermione giggled.
"I -no - no, don't twist my words around."
"Molly and Arthur aren't one to hold grudges. Especially since you offered to replace everything."
"I know. I just… I wanted this dinner to go well. I know it meant a lot to you."
"And it did go well," she patted his arm and turned his face toward hers, forcing him to look at her. "You were as pleasant as one could expect from an antisocial gallionaire."
"You're just saying that so I won't mope the rest of the evening."
"Brooding, I think, is the better word. Besides, we still have Christmas." The sentence was met with a forced pleasant tone, but equally as unpleasant look of forlornness in her eyes.
'Right,' Draco thought to himself, gripping the edge of Scorpius's crib tight. 'I still have time to fix this.'
*(*)*
"Are you sure this is right, Lovegood? These look so… ordinary."
"I do believe that's the point, isn't it?"
"Luna's right, Draco. You're worrying about this too much."
"We have to get it right."
"We will. -Wait, where are you off to now?"
"I have one more thing to do."
*(*)*
"Can you make it happen?" Draco asked, hovering over Potter's office desk like the plague.
"Yes, Malfoy. For the hundredth time, yes."
"Are you sure, though? I don't need you mucking this up. I'm in enough trouble as it is."
"Auror Malfoy, leave my desk right now, or I'll put you on paper-duties for a month."
*(*)*
Hermione awoke Christmas morning in Draco's bed after an eventful evening of lovemaking. The faux stars of his room hung like a canopy over her head, inviting her into the early morning hours of December twenty-fifth. She turned over, expecting to feel the warm skin of Draco snoozing next to her, but was met with cold silk sheets instead.
Her head propped up, and she looked about the empty room. "Draco?" It was odd, wasn't it? He hardly ever was up before her on nights she decided to sleep in. Sighing, she rolled over and peeled herself out of bed, padding her way to the bathroom, where her clothing had been discarded the night before. Expecting to see the garments strewn across the floor, her face fell into a momentary lapse of surprise when she found a stunning dress, the color of rubies, hanging on a rack at the edge of the bath. With it were matching ballet flats, and a folded note.
'Get dressed and meet us downstairs.
Happy Christmas
~Draco and Scorpius'
Hermione's lips pulled back into a grin as she slipped the dress on, finding it fit her perfectly. The skirt landed just below her knees, and the neckline was simple -a U scoop to accentuate her collarbone but still deemable as tasteful. She wiggled into the matching shoes, giving up on her wild curls, and stepped out into the hallway.
There, another note, spelled to the banister leading to the staircase, awaited her.
'Hermione,
I know this year has been hard with Weasley gone. Everything is entirely new. So, on this first Christmas together, let me offer you something from your past I think you can appreciate.
~Draco.'
Only then did Hermione hear the sounds of laughter downstairs. Curious, she strided down the staircase, following the multiple voices, which led her into the grand den.
Her breath caught.
The Weasley family filled up every sofa, love seat, and chair available, stringing popcorn onto thin threads with sewing needles. Luna and Dean stood next to the fire, sipping on eggnog in ugly Christmas sweaters. Instead of the lavish, traditional spruce that decorated the den last night, a small fir, stripped of any decoration, stood proudly. Around it were boxes of simple muggle decorations. Bobbles and trains which didn't shoot out puffs of smoke and plastic reindeer. Next to the tree stood two figures Hermione hadn't seen in ages.
"Mum! Dad!"
Without thinking, she took off at a dead run until she slammed into both of her parents, enveloping them in a vice-like hug.
"I thought we were visiting you today," she said between a small influx of tears.
"Well," said her mother, rubbing gentle circles down her back, "So did we, dear. That was, until Draco called us-"
"-Called you?"
"On the telephone, yes. He asked us all sorts of odd questions, asking about muggle Christmas traditions and your favorite parts as a child. Then he invited us over to help decorate and-"
"-Draco did all that?"
"Don't sound so surprised," an amused voice carried across the room. Hermione turned to find Draco sitting in the back corner, dressed in -dare she believe it - a muggle sweater and slacks. He stood up from his chair, stepped across the room, and presented her with a poorly wrapped box. "Open it."
"Draco-" she shook her head, glancing around to all of the people she loved, together, in one place. "This is all I need. I don't need-"
Draco shoved the box into her hand. "Open. The. Box."
And so she did, discarding the wrapping paper and prying open the top.
Inside was a small, globe Christmas ornament, made of glass. Inside of it rested a picture of Hermione, Scorpius, and Draco together at the fountain outside Diagon Alley. The same one Draco had fallen into the fateful night the Leaky had been destroyed.
Draco cleared his throat. "You should never forget your past" he said, fidgeting, "And I don't want you to, either. But I thought… maybe… to make the transition easier… if we took a few of your old traditions, and made some of our own…"
"It's perfect," Hermione said at once, a tear falling down her face. "All of this." She gestured around the room. Then she laughed. "I got you a new quill set. Seems dull in comparison."
Draco smirked, shrugging. "I'm a Malfoy. We always do Christmas better."
"Shall we decorate the tree?" said Molly, bouncing Scorpius up and down on one knee.
Hermione clutched her Christmas ornament to her chest and leaned her head against Draco's shoulder, crying and smiling at the same time. "I love you."
"Yeah, yeah. I love you, too." Draco rolled his eyes, though he beamed with pride. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."
She sniffled into his sleeve. "Happy Christmas, Draco."
*Sniffle* Hope you loved! Please, leave a review?
Happy Christmas HTTYA family!
~A.
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HTTYA Christmas Special: Traditions