It's Christmas

"It's Christmas"

Chapter 5 - December 24

       Hermione laughed as the door bell rang and she ran out their bedroom to answer it, leaving a frustrated Blaise behind. "Please just find something suitable to wear!"

       "Fine, but if I die from lack of exercise I'm coming back to haunt you!" he yelled from their bedroom.

       "Oh, I promise you won't die," she called back as she straightened her ruffled hair and blouse.

       She opened the door, still laughing, to find a very serious Draco Malfoy standing there. "Draco --"

       He interrupted her with a whisper. "I need to talk to you but don't tell Blaise I'm here."

       Hermione nodded and thought quickly, signaling for him to wait one moment. She went and grabbed her coat and called to Blaise, "Blaise, it's old Mrs. Deavoreax, from upstairs, she needs some help with charming her packages up the stairs. I'm going to go help, I'll be back in a minute!"

       "Hurry back," Blaise whined as he threw another pair of dress robes on the floor, "I'm dying here!"

       "I will," she replied as she put on her coat and began walking out of the door, "and shut up!"

       Draco watched Hermione intently as she closed the door softly and they began walking down the hall. He spoke suddenly as they began their descent down the stairs, "Where can we talk?"

       "Just outside the building," she replied as they reached the bottom floor, "you can't see the entrance from our flat."

       Draco opened the door for her silently and they positioned themselves to the right of the door, that they had just exited, so people could still walk in and out of the building while they talked. The tension was thick between them, Hermione attempted to read his eyes or expression but for the first time in her life she couldn't comprehend what she read.

       "So," Hermione whispered, "what did you want to talk to me about?"

       "You know when you came to my office, before Blaise's birthday?" Draco asked, looking up into her eyes as the cold wind began coloring her cheeks.

       "Yes," she replied, remembering how cold he was that day.

       "You mentioned us not getting on as well as we used to and I'm here to admit that it's entirely my fault," he said, being more honest than he had been in years.

       "No," Hermione argued, "if anything it's time's fault. Everyone changes and friendships fall apart and it's all because of time."

       "Hermione, don't try to rationalize it because I know the truth and it's time for you to know it too," Draco retorted, his gray eyes locking with hers.

       "The truth?" she whispered, rather apprehensively.

       "Yes," said Draco as he pushed a stray hair off her face. "You know -- well I bet you don't -- but back at Hogwarts, I had something of a crush on you and it ate me to pieces our last two years."

       "Well," Hermione remarked, blushingly, "it wouldn't be called 'a crush' if it was supposed to feel good."

       "You're right about that," he replied as he continued, "and when you went, willingly, with me to Hogsmeade our sixth year it was amazing and I couldn't get you off my mind. But soon after you began dating my best friend and I could feel my anger rushing through my veins all the time."

       "Oh, Draco," she whispered, eager to say something but her mind could come up with nothing.

       "However," Draco continued with a smirk, a small dimple, that she never knew he had, appearing right beside his lips, "right before the Leaving Feast, our Seventh year, I realized that I'd rather have ninety minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special with you and I couldn't be angry with either one of you anymore. During the war, you two were . . . amazing, to say the least. To this day I can't explain it but the strength I saw in you back then still amazes me to this day."

       "Draco --" Hermione tried to interject.

       "No," he demanded, "let me finish. I always imagined that you saved me, and in some ways you did, but then he proposed and I was angry at you all over again. I never meant to make you feel so uncomfortable around me, that's the last thing I ever wanted to do, I just have always wanted to tell you that I loved you. And there is not much more I can say but for now, let me say, without hope or agenda, just because it's Christmas, and at Christmas you tell the truth, to me, you are perfect, and my wasted heart will love you until the day I die."

       "Oh, gods, Draco," she whispered, completely speechless, her brown eyes filled with tears.

       He smirked, his fingers grazed the nape of her neck as he pushed another piece of hair aside, the feel of her skin giving him chills. "I don't regret loving you, Hermione, I never will. I have no doubt about how much you love my best friend and that's why, today, it's the end, I'm giving up."

       "Draco, I --" Hermione began but was interrupted again by Draco.

       "Don't say anything," Draco requested as he leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek, "have a happy Christmas, Hermione."

       "Happy Christmas, Draco," she whispered softly, as he tightened his coat around him and walked away from her.

~*~

       "I remember," Harry chuckled as he lounged on the couch, "how I used to be your hero."

       Ginny smirked as she sat next to him. "Well, now I'm too old to be searching for a hero, nowadays I just want a man to grow old with."

       Harry took a sip of hit coffee before looking at the redhead. "It's funny how this time of year I used to sit around and think about how nothing ever worked out for me."

       "It's funny how, suddenly, everything worked out," she replied as she leaned over and kissed him.

       Ginny gave an innocent grin before she whispered, "Do you think our love brought us together over all of the obstacles we put in it's path?"

       "I believe our love is stronger than any one thing in this world," Harry replied, honestly.

       "It was real, wasn't it? We were just two kids, but we really loved each other, and through all the time that has flown by since that one kiss, we still do," she remarked in a nostalgic voice.

       "It was as real as real could get, Ginerva Weasley," he whispered as she leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder.

       Ginny sighed in contentment, her perfectly red hair falling on his chest. "Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories."

       "I hate to even think on it," Harry whispered into her hair.

       She closed her eyes and relaxed into his embrace, whispering, "Who would believe that I was ten-years-old when my life began?"

       "I would," Harry answered, expressing his feelings a lot easier than he ever had before, "because I was only eleven."

~*~

       Pansy had been crying since Ron had walked out of her flat that day and couldn't seem to stop even as her mother tried to console her.

       "Now, I'm all for crying," Joséphine whispered, as she caressed her daughter's hair, "makes your hair grow but you are starting to worry me, you have never been so weepy!"

       "Mother," said Pansy as she sniffed loudly. "I'm going to lose him if I don't make a decision but I'm not ready to choose, I know I'm not."

       "Are you sure you're not ready? Are you completely sure that it's not fear of a life you've never known?" Joséphine asked, as Pansy looked up at her mother's round, porcelain, face.

       "At least that's what my mind tells me," Pansy replied as her mother wiped away her tears gently, "I wish my brain would explain it to my heart."

       "Sometimes your heart is smarter than your brain, Pansy. Only you can decide who you will be with but your heart can let you know just how right that love is. And, obviously, whatever happened between you and that Weasley boy has given your heart a swift kick in it's arse. And, darling, in my opinion it's about time you stop caring about people who don't matter," said Joséphine with a superior smirk sitting upon her thin, red, lips.

       "H-H-How do you know about Ronald and I?" she asked, her voice small and almost frightened.

       "Darling," Joséphine cooed, lovingly, "I'm your mother not the village idiot."

       "Mother, I'm not insinuating that you are an idiot I just didn't think you knew," Pansy explained, her blue eyes searched her mother's for any anger that could be present.

       "Oh, I know, darling, I've known longer than you could ever imagine. Molly and I are good friends, I'm sure you didn't know that, we go way back to Hogwarts, she was a guest at my wedding," she replied, revealing more of her former life than she ever had to her daughter or anyone else.

       "But why didn't you say something before now?" Pansy asked, rather loudly.

       "Now, now, do not shout it will make you hoarse and you'll sound like your father," Joséphine directed as she patted her daughter's hand.

       "If you have known as long as Ron's mother has known why didn't you come to me?" Pansy growled through her closed teeth.

       "I was waiting," her mother replied simply as she averted her gaze to her pale, folded, hands that laid in her lap.

       "Waiting," Pansy frowned, "for what?"

       "I wanted to see if I had molded you into the woman that I will never be," Joséphine replied, taking her daughter's hand.

       "Mother," Pansy whispered, confused, "you are a wonderful woman, with numerous qualities that I wish I had."

       "No, no, no," she retorted, her cobalt blue eyes lined with tears, "I molded you so you would be nothing like me. I did not, and still do not, want you to make the mistake that I made years ago."

       "What mistake, Mother?" Pansy asked, her mother's expression of emotion shocking her more as the moment continued on.

       "A mistake that I live to regret every day of my lonely life," Joséphine whispered softly, as if she were afraid someone would hear her. "The biggest mistake of my life was the day I let Gideon Prewett walk out of my life."

       "Who is Gideon Prewett?" Pansy asked, her curiosity peaked by the tears that fell down her mother's face.

       "Molly Weasley's oldest brother, the man I loved, and one of the best wizards killed by Voldemort," she replied, looking up at Pansy, her eyes begging her to do what was right.

       "The man you loved?" Pansy asked, thoroughly confused.

       "I won't treat you like some insolent child, Pansy," Joséphine said, strongly, "it's rather obvious that your father and I got married because we had to. If I had my choice, all those years ago, my dear I don't think it would be legal for you to be dating your father's nephew."

       "Everything could have been so different," Pansy mumbled, shocked and surprised by the true nature of her mother's feelings.

       "But things are not any different than they are at this very moment," Joséphine said quickly. "I'm begging you, Pansy, do not become who I am. Gideon loved me with every fiber of his being but I, the one who was so caught up by appearance, couldn't bear to turn my back on my family nor my connections. So I was stupid, I told him I refused to marry him and kept a stiff upper lip as he walked away and I have lived to regret it every day since."

       "Oh, Mother," Pansy whispered as she wiped a tear from her mother's cheek, "you have never forgotten him, have you?"

       "You never forget the only person that you have ever really known," she replied, squeezing her eyes shut, "do not be a fool, Pansy. Do not let Ronald Weasley get away from you, ever."

       "But --" she began but was quickly interrupted by her mother.

       "No buts," Joséphine demanded, as she pulled Pansy into a rare hug, "go to him, do whatever he asks, love him, adore him, just do not let go of him. I never saw the love of my life alive after that day, he and his brother were murdered just two weeks afterward and I was left, alone, to grieve in silence."

       As Pansy pulled away and looked down at her teary-eyed mother she asked, "You've never told anyone, have you?"

       "No, darling," she whispered, a small smile appearing from the clouds in her eyes, "I keep it to myself so that he will survive and for him my heart will always be a deep ocean of secrets. "

~*~

       "Tell me," Angelina whispered as she stared at her husband through the mirror on her vanity table, her thick tresses spilling down her shoulders, "was it just sex or was it something else, something greater?"

       Julius turned to her as he buttoned his pajama top, his green eyes sweeping over her curvy frame and the tan, silk, nightgown that made her mahogany skin glow. "It was just sex, I don't love her, I never have."

       She sat the brush on the table with a forlorn sigh. "Is that supposed to make me feel any better?"

       "No, Angelina," he sighed as finished the last buttons on his top with a loud sigh, "I know there is nothing I could say that could make you feel better . . . although, I wish there was."

       "There are no words that could ever ease this pain," Angelina whispered as she looked at his reflection in the mirror, "you have made the life we lead foolish and there is nothing you can say to make it better."

       Julius nodded, running his fingers through his thick black hair. "I am completely aware of that but I refuse to divorce you."

       "I'm not willing to divorce you, Julius, though I've thought about it more times than you could ever know," she replied as she began tying her hair up in a loose bun.

       "How?" he whispered softly as he slowly approached her vanity. "How can you do that?"

       Angelina turned to him for the first time since she had sat at her vanity. "I can do that because I love you. I love you, I love our son, and I love our family and that's more important to me than a stupid mistake. I've decided to choose us, Julius, I choose what we have."

       "You'll never know how much I appreciate that choice," Julius replied as he leaned on the tall, cherry-wood, post on their bed.

       "I'm doing it for purely selfish reasons, Julius," she said as she stood and made her way to her side of the bed.

       "Well," he sighed as he followed her to the other side of their colossal bed, "I'm still thankful for it."

       Julius stood right in front of her as she sat on the edge of the bed with her eyes looking down at the button at the top of his pajamas. He looked over her slowly, taking in her smooth skin, her long lashes, and the gentle roundness of her supple breasts; his breath got caught in his throat as he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as her breathing became ragged, Julius could remember a time when their proximity to each other would have ignited a passion that could rival all things but, sadly, he could only feel a dull tremor of what used to be.

       Julius slowly reached his around her head and pulled, slowly, at the lone chopstick that held her bun in place and sighed slowly as her thick, black, hair came flowing down her shoulders. The moment he ran his fingers through her hair she choked back a sob. "Oh, dear gods, I wish I could hate you!"

       "Hate me," he whispered as he tangled his fingers in her soft hair, "please, hate me if it makes the wound in your heart heal."

       "Julius," she cried softly as she looked up at him, "sometimes you make it so impossible to love you."

       "I'm sorry," Julius mumbled as he leaned in and kissed the top of her forehead, he could feel the fire ignite and his heart rate began to increase.

       "But then you make it so damn impossible not to love you," Angelina continued as his lips continued to make their way around her face, lips, and nose.

       "I want this to be over," he said as he cupped her face with his hands, "I want my marriage back, all I want to be is yours."

       She stared up into his green eyes a few moments before she whispered, "I hurt, Julius, love me, please, love me."

       "Darling, you didn't have to have to ask twice," he whispered as he gently picked her up off the edge of the bed and gently laid her in the middle.

~*~

       Dean sighed, loudly, as he finally closed the blinds, cutting off his constant view of the snow. The snow was starting to make him hallucinate because all he could see was Marietta for miles and it was starting to frighten him. "God, I miss her."

       "I know," came a soft, masculine, reply from the other side of the room.

       Dean jumped as Seamus entered the living room and sat down, Dean sat in a chair opposite him with a frown. "Why don't you learn knock, Seamus?"

       He shrugged with a smirk. "Why learn to lock when it is always unlocked?"

       Dean nodded, looking down at his thin, brown, fingers, trying to shrug off the tension between them. Well, it wasn't tension so much as uneasiness between best friends. "I thought you were in Bulgaria with that Ulga woman?"

       "Nah," Seamus replied, shaking off the thought of his last fling, "I came home for Christmas after we spent an uneventful weekend watching all her ex-boyfriends play Quidditch."

       "Uneventful?" Dean questioned, thinking of the spontaneous, blond, rail-thin, Ulga.

       "I kind of got tired of her and her lack of respect toward monogamy," Seamus answered with a shrug.

       Dean laughed heartily. "Have you seen a healer for that yet?"

       Seamus watched the smile slip from Dean's face quicker than he'd ever seen one fade on anyone. He had been on a business trip when Marietta was buried and returned to find only a shell of the man he had known so well and as he sat, silently, he realized that the man that sat before him was only a dressed-up shell of the Dean Thomas that he'd grown up with.

       "We all know my love life is in a bit of a hole," Seamus said, taking on a face of seriousness, that he rarely displayed, "tell me, how are you holding up?"

       Dean glared at him, with everything but contempt. "How would you hold up if the only woman you ever loved died?"

       "Dean," Seamus sighed, as leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together, "I've never been in love before but Lavender always told me that's it's possible to love a thousand times in one lifetime, so I'm not so sure that Marietta will be the last woman to steal your heart."

       "If love is so easy to come by then why are you here and not with Lavender?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow, "It is the night before Christmas and you aren't with the first woman you ever loved."

       Seamus looked down at his hands, silently, it was no secret between the two that Lavender Brown was the only woman that could slow the, well-known, playboy down. Somehow they had avoided dating though they kept in touch and Dean swore that Seamus was so scared of committing that he would miss his chance and Lavender would run off with someone else.

       "Lavender, is spending Christmas with Terry Boot in Cartagena but enough about me, I wanted to discuss you."

       "She's in Spain with that Boot fellow and you are sitting here with me," Dean retorted, his face contorted in a frown, "I think, mate, that you are terribly misguided."

       "What are you going to do about your love life?" Seamus asked quickly, hoping that Dean would leave the sensitive subject of Lavender and Terry Boot behind.

       Dean looked decidedly contemplative before looking over at his friend, with a smirk. "I'm going to the Ministry Ball tomorrow, that's what I'm going to do. So what are you going to do?"

~*~

      "I was so scared I almost cried," Susan exclaimed as she reached across the table to pick up her wine glass.

       "If you were scared why did you go through with it?" Adrian asked, honestly interested in her tale of her childhood misadventures.

       "I'm a Bones, that's why," she replied simply giving him a small look, "plus, the things you are afraid of are usually the most worthwhile."

       "True," Adrian nodded as he cut his steak with ease.

       Susan groaned softly, which caught his attention immediately. "What?" he asked.

       "You just reminded me of my Uncle Philip, he's the only person in the world that can answer everything in three words or less," Susan replied, with a chuckle, as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

       "Really?" he inquired, raising his eyebrows.

       "Yes," she replied as she glared at him, "I've never heard him explain anything but once my entire life and that ended with a grunt!"

       The live band began playing a soft, melodic, tune with just enough piano solos in it to pique Susan's interest. Ever since she was a child, and she had sat on her Aunt's lap and listened to their charmed Grand Piano play every tune imaginable, she had been in love with the instrument and it didn't help that she the song seemed to getting longer as the moments went by.

       "Let's dance," Susan suggested, excitedly, remembering the amazing dancer she experienced a few weekends before.

       "Why not," Adrian mumbled as he stood, rounded the table and pulled out her chair for her, and then directed her to the floor.

       Adrian placed one arm around her waist, laced their fingers together, and then brought their intertwined hands close to his chest. As their bodies glided, smoothly, around the floor Adrian could do nothing but stare into her brown eyes, hypnotized as her perfume invaded his senses. They both moved in step with the music yet never looked away from one another, they could feel the electricity pass between them and Adrian bent down to kiss her lips softly.

       When he pulled away she smiled, as they continued to dance. "You, apparently, are a lot like your father."

       Adrian chuckled as he, gently, held her out for a dip and brought her back quickly. "I must say I learned from the best."

       "We must dance like this tomorrow night," said Susan, the excitement glowing in her brown eyes as her navy blue dress-robes fluttered along behind them.

       "If it makes you happy," he whispered as the song ended beautifully and they released each other, "I'll dance like this every night for the rest of my life."

       She grinned at him as he led her back to the table and stared into her eyes expectantly. "It would make me immensely happy," she whispered.

       "That smile means that there is no hope for me or my legs," Adrian smirked as she blushed and looked away.

       "You make me remember what it was like to be a nine-year-old, wrapped in a blanket, and staring out the window on Christmas Eve, daydreaming," Susan replied softly, as the waiter came and whisked the dishes right off the table.

       "Really?" he asked, raising a questioning yet, seemingly, charming, eyebrow.

       "You make me remember the fairy tale I used to dream up in my head," she whispered as she looked down at her tanned fingers, wondering why he -- this former Slytherin, son of a Death Eater -- had this effect on her.

       Adrian was quiet a moment before she looked up at him and he asked, "Do you mind if I tried to give you that fairy tale?"

       "No," Susan answered, her voice soft and delicate, as he reached across the table to take her hand, "I still want my fairy tale to come true."