It's Christmas

"It's Christmas"

Chapter 3 - December 8

 Draco Malfoy laughed heartily as he closed the door to Harry Potter's office, the two had become good-natured enemies after both completing their Auror training. He had just dropped off an armload of the worst part of the job, paperwork. He hated filing reports, reviews, and updates, they took so much time from the cases themselves, even the famous Harry Potter loathed paperwork. Draco was still laughing at the expression that he had left Potter with when he came face to face with a pair of brown eyes that he knew far too well.

"Hermione," he said finally, his voice bland and dull, which bothered him immensely for Malfoy's voices are usually sexy or evil, hardly bland.

"Draco," Hermione replied with a smile, her tone pleading with him.

"Harry is in his office," he said as he tried to walk past her but she moved into his path.

"I'm not here for him."

He looked into her eyes for a moment, trying not to get caught up in them and succeeded as he tried again to move past her. "Well, you are on the wrong floor, you know Blaise works with the Department of Mysteries, about seven floors up."

Hermione swallowed hard. "I'm not here for Blaise."

"Then why are you here, Granger?" Draco asked, his voice next to a whisper but it had regained some of its infamous venom.

Hermione felt it as she looked into those stone-gray eyes that refused to tell her anything. "It's Zabini and Blaise's birthday is next week, I know we don't get on very well any more and I was hoping, despite that, you would come to dinner."

He glared at her for a moment before walking past her toward his office. "You came here just to ask me that? His birthday isn't for another ten days."

 "I know," she sighed, as she leaned on his office door frame, "I decided to come up before I lost the nerve."

"Well," Draco sighed, sitting at his desk quickly, bowing his head with a sarcastic sigh, "you've completed your task, young Gryffindor, you may leave because I will be at dinner next week.

Hermione stood up straight, her eyes stared holes into his porcelain skin. Draco watched her eyes narrow and the hair on the back of his neck stood up, she was angry and it reminded him of a day, long ago, in their third year, a rather painful day for his cheek. "Malfoy, what do you want from me? I'm trying my hardest to be your bloody friend and all you do is shoot me down!"

"I don't want anything from you, Gran -- Zabini," he replied as he raised a well-sculpted eyebrow, trying to hide his level of discomfort.

"Fine," she growled, throwing her hands up saying before she walked away, "I am done, I'm finished, good day, Malfoy!"

Draco sat his elbows on his desk and ran his fingers through his hair, with a loud emotional sigh. "What I want from you, Hermione Granger, you've already given my best friend."

~*~

"Was that Hermione I saw going down the stairs rather angrily?" Ginny asked as she entered Harry's office.

He shrugged lazily while he continued to read a report. "If it was, she didn't come see me."

"How about you put that down and give me a moment of your time, Mister Potter," Ginny whispered softly into his ear as she stood behind him with her hands roaming his wide, muscled, chest.

 "Are you talking to me, Miss Weasley?" Harry asked, as she leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest on her breasts.

"Who else, sir," she replied innocently as he quickly turned in his chair and placed her in his lap.

He smiled at the red-haired witch who sat comfortably on his lap, her hand running gently through his unruly hair. "It seems the unattainable Ginerva Weasley has a slight thing for me."

"No," Ginny replied, with a smile, "a big thing, Harry Potter, a very big thing."

Harry cupped the back of her head, as he pulled her to him in a mind-blowing kiss, electricity ran between them as Harry gently bit her bottom lip. When Harry finally released her from his embrace she was left feeling cold, like a baby without its blanket or a bear without its fur, and at that moment Ginny knew that there was no way that another man could ever replace Harry James Potter.

~*~

Pansy sat dejectedly tapping the tip of her quill on her desk. She still hadn't heard from Ron and it took all of her willpower not to Floo right over to his flat. However, she was determined not give in that easily, but what she wouldn't do to see his blue eyes.

"Blimey, Pans, what do they pay you for?" a playful voice asked as he stepped into her office with his trademark, crooked grin.

"Ron!" Pansy exclaimed as she rounded her desk in a flash and pulled him into her arms.

Ron wrapped his arms around her and she laid her head on his shoulder with a soft, content, sigh. He could smell the scent of Strawberries that always seemed to follow her wherever she went and rejoiced silently at his moment of broken pride. He had suffered for five days without hearing her voice or seeing her face and realized that he couldn't take it a moment more and decided to make a visit to Gladrags design offices.

"Oh, I'd thought you had given up on me," she whispered, snuggling into his arms as the smell of his cologne took over her senses.

"Give up on you? After all this time?" He chuckled as his hands rested peacefully on her hips. "I'd have to be a complete moron."

"I'm sorry, Ronald," Pansy whispered as his strong arms seemed to anchor her.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Pansy," he replied, reassuringly.

Pansy nodded into her shoulder, her nose tickling his neck a bit. "You were angry, Ron."

"I wasn't angry," Ron replied as he turned his head just so he could kiss the side of her temple, "I was disappointed."

"Disappointed?" she groaned. "That's worse than angry, Ronald!"

"Disappointment is not something that I can’t ignore, Pans," he whispered softly. Sure he was hurt, sure he was disappointed, feeling downright rejected but when a man's in love there are a lot of things he can push behind him for a while.

"I refuse to apologize for who I am and what I feel, Ronald," Pansy remarked as she let go of her hold on him and looked up at him, her eyes asking questions that she wasn’t sure she was ready to have answers to.

"I'm not asking you to," Ron answered, levelheadedly, a state in which many of his friends would have loved to see him in; but after days of contemplation there wasn't much room for much more.

She frowned thoughtfully, not wanting to start a fire from a slight flame. "Ronald, I still haven't changed my mind about spending Christmas with you, this little reunion will do nothing for my decision."

"Oh, shut up, Pansy!" He chuckled loudly, pulling her to him, her head bending slightly to look up at the lanky Quidditch player.

"What?" she whispered indignantly, her blue eyes searching his for some answer or explanation.

"You think we're fighting!" Ron exclaimed as he bent his head downward, toward hers with a smile. "And I think we are finally communicating!"

~*~

"Mrs. Montague," Daphne Greengrass greeted Angelina as she neared her husband’s office, "it's nice to see you again."

Angelina pursed her lips slightly before smiling at the leggy blond who smiled at her as if she was gloating over some big win. "How nice to see you too, Daphne."

Angelina walked past the blond, hazel-eyed, monster without so much as a second look, for the smile on Daphne's face gave it all away, she had slept with her husband and had no qualms about bragging about it. Angelina willed all tears away as she stepped into Julius's office, willing herself to keep what she knew to herself and not let her husband have it right then. She could if she wanted to, they owned these offices and no one could kick her out for disturbing the workplace. That reassurance was all because they were a rich family; Julius Montague owned everything having to do with Puddlemere United, the Quidditch team and not to mention the Montague inheritance, which Angelina owned a share of the empire that he was building as did Miles and any other child they would have.

"Julius," she greeted softly as she entered her husband's spacious office.

"Angie," he smiled, his green eyes gleaming with something akin to what he used show so openly.

"Do not call me that," she said, without an ounce of humor as she removed her gloves and sat in the brown leather chair opposite his desk.

Julius frowned, his wife rarely, if ever, had a sour mood this time of year. "Is something wrong, dear?"

"No," Angelina replied, dryly, "everything is perfect, as usual."

"Good," he replied, still frowning, he didn't believe her but he wouldn't push it. "Have you talked to mother? When I received her letter this morning, she seemed eager to see you."

Angelina nodded, thinking fondly of the proper purebred witch, whom she couldn't help but adore. Estelle Montague was a regal and imposing woman, with painfully straight posture; long black hair, that was streaked appropriately with gray; smooth olive toned skin; and dark-brown eyes that Angelina found to be quite captivating. Estelle was a no-nonsense, blunt, lady with a heart of gold, if you could put up with her public facade of dignity and propriety long enough. She would proudly declare that she was a former witness of the Dark Arts and dare anyone to judge her on her past faults, no one would. Estelle carried the Montague name with pride, hosting several charities and opening many buildings in the name of her dearly departed husband, Courtland who died defending Voldemort. The irony of it all never failed to amuse Angelina.

"She sent Miles a letter informing him that she would home soon from Moscow," Angelina replied, refusing to meet her husband's eye.

Julius sighed loudly, he could feel the tension surrounding them and mentally slapped himself for being the cause of it. "Honestly, Angelina, what is the matter?"

"Tell me," she inquired, finally meeting his stare, the pain obvious in her eyes, "what would you do if you were in my place? What would you do if your husband made you look like a fool? What would you do your husband made your entire life seem worthless?"

"Oh, Angelina," he sighed, his green eyes clouding over, "I'm such a fool."

Angelina stood quickly, while she bit her bottom lip to will away the tears, and pulled on her gloves in such a way that would have made her mother and mother-in-law proud. "You're a fool that I loved, Julius Montague."

Julius round his desk quickly and took hold to her arm, his eyes crying out to her as she stood stoically, her entire body trembling with emotion. "You're trembling."

She pulled her arm from his grasp and replied softly, as she walked out the door, "I will be all right."

~*~

"She's no use to me anymore," Ernie Macmillan laughed as he watched Gwendolyn scurry around Dean's kitchen, trying to fix him something for lunch.

Dean chuckled softly, a vision of Marietta doing the same thing over taking his senses. Marietta and Gwendolyn had gotten on so well and it was no wonder since they both had this way of becoming the mother of any group. Marietta would pamper him accordingly when he got caught up with a painting and wouldn't rest, she would stay up with him many nights until the painting came out perfect. It was a love that Dean could never imagine replacing.

"She just couldn't stay away," he said, as he watched Ernie's hazel eyes followed his sisters petite frame around the kitchen.

"Gwendolyn is a devoted woman," Ernie remarked, with a tad bit of pride.

"She's a Muggle, you know," Dean reminded him, trying to evoke a reaction, trying to see where Ernie stood when it came to her.

"I knew this when we got involved but she blends in with this world so well," he answered, a faint smile sitting upon his lips.

There was something about his countenance that reminded Dean of his own past. "If that's how you feel, Ernie, what's keeping you from claiming her as your own?"

Ernie finally looked away from Gwendolyn and down at his hands. "Have you ever felt something so strongly but wasn't sure how the second party felt?"

 "Only once, Ernie." Dean chuckled. "But if you knew what I know now, you wouldn't hesitate another moment."

 Ernie frowned slightly as he looked over at the dark-skinned man. "What do you know now?"

"Well, you know how honesty needs a little plus," Dean began, raising an eyebrow, "well sometimes fate needs a little push because the end of the story could be a few chapters sooner than you thought."

"That's just it, when?" Ernie whispered, sitting back in his chair and wringing his hands.

"There's no better time than the present."

~*~

"You dance like a prince," Susan said as the two sat in a small café enjoying their lunch break.

Adrian smirked proudly. "It's a trait my mother swears came solely from my father's blood."

Susan pushed her chocolate colored hair behind her ear with a smile. "He must be a grand dancer."

"He was," Adrian replied softly, staring down into his glass. Although their loyalties ultimately lay in different corners, Adrian still revered and loved the memory of his father and was forever humbled by witnessing his death.

"The war?" Susan questioned simply, understanding completely, those were days she wished she could forget.

Adrian nodded simply, his eyes still searching his glass for some unseen thing, he rarely showed blatant emotion but the death of his father was an exception. "Marcelo Pucey was an old-fashioned man, who believed dress robes were appropriate at all times and that you could never work hard enough. Father didn't hate Muggles or anything like that, he followed Voldemort out of fear, a fear of losing the society that he knew so well. He could out Waltz a million wizards without breaking a sweat, which is why so many ladies adored him, and one could never tell, in passing, the evil he allowed himself to fall into."

"His death strikes a cord in you, I see," she whispered watching his blue eyes finally look up at her after moments of drowning in his glass.

"I was there," Adrian whispered, looking her in the eye, his pain touching her deeply, "I witnessed him give everything for a cause he wasn't so sure he even believed in."

"Oh, Adrian," Susan whispered, reaching across the table to take his hand in her eyes, her eyes lined with tears.

Adrian frowned for a moment before continuing, his emotions jumbling around in his mind. "He was a great wizard but even great wizards can make human mistakes."

"If it makes it any easier," she began as she squeezed his hand, "at least he escaped that mess and didn't end up in Azkaban."

"True," Adrian replied, nodding his head as he tried to push the emotional moment away, "it may not have been so easy for him to be pardoned as it was for my uncle."

"I'm sure it still hurts something fierce, though," Susan remarked as he began to smile again, his blue eyes settled on her intently.

"You know," he began, changing the subject, "you have the most beautiful eyes."

"Thank you." she blushed, struggling not to look away.

"You should never close them," Adrian commented seriously, his trademark smirk ever-present.

"Adrian," Susan argued, glancing away from his perfect face, an innocent smile appearing upon her lips.

He chuckled heartily, kissing the base of her palm before whispering. "That smile is going to be my end."