How Many Days Are There Again?

How Many Days Are There Again?

i. a partridge in a pear tree


Draco Malfoy was cursing his luck.

Everything had been going his way, which should have been the first indication that disaster was on the horizon, but thoughts of fate turning against him had not been at the forefront of his mind.

No, his mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of his new wife in her skimpy red bikini and their upcoming vacation of turquoise seas and white beaches. It had taken a lot of convincing and begging on his part for her to take off from work and he had planned to reap the benefits from his hard labor.

But then, something dreadful had happened, and if he didn't know any better, that it was just his rotten luck, he would swear on Salazar Slytherin that someone somewhere was orchestrating against him.

His mother had come down with doxy flu.

It was nothing life-threatening, of course, but it did take a couple of weeks to recover from, time that was usually spent in bed with plenty of fluids and boxes of tissue.

Now, you might ask yourself, how did this ruin his vacation plans? His mother was a grown woman with a manor full of staff and house-elves at her disposal. It was well-apparent that she could take care of herself to get over this bout of illness.

Well, the war had been hard on everyone involved, but none more so than those who were orphaned or permanently injured by it. Narcissa, to make up for the damage her late husband had caused during the conflict, had begun a fund-raising event that was held every year during Christmas where the doors of Malfoy Manor were opened for guests to come stay over a three-day period and participate in the activities held on the estate.

There was normally gift-giving, a charity auction of donated items, games for the children, and a ball held on the last night of the stay, Christmas Eve. There had been special events from year-to-year as well, from a Muggle movie marathon set up in the observatory to a story-telling contest in the outside pavilion. For the most part, however, people wanted to come see the grandeur the Malfoys lived in on a regular day basis and the historical ancestral home of one of the oldest pureblood families in the world.

This was to be the fifth year of the event and for the last four, Draco had taken the affair in stride. It was amusing for him to watch people come and gawk at where he'd lived all his life. After all, it was a good cause and his mother had raised well over a hundred thousand galleons from the event during the last few years.

Normally, he attended a few of the activities, including the ball on Christmas Eve, but his presence wasn't required since it was Narcissa's show. She usually spent a month planning each detail and then spent a week explaining to all her designers, decorators, and coordinators exactly what she wanted and where she wanted it placed. From each separate activity to where every sprig of mistletoe should be hung, it was organized down to the tiniest, most obscure detail.

If he understood it correctly, it was quite a bit of work, but his mother usually had plenty of help.

When Narcissa realized there was no way she was going to arrange everything, she'd been devastated and told Draco and his wife so. They'd gone to her wing of the manor to check on her to see how she was feeling and she couldn't stop talking about those poor orphans.

And then the dreadful thing happened.

His wife uttered seven words he knew would make his Christmas holidays hell, along with anyone else in the near vicinity. She turned her big brown eyes on him and fixed him in place with her gaze.

"I'll do it and Draco will help."


ii. two turtle doves


Now, this might not have been so bad if his wife had been anybody but the former Ms. Hermione Granger, presently Mrs. Hermione Malfoy.

She had decided that they could handle everything, the decorating, the planning, and the coordinating, by themselves, without any need for help from professionals. Somehow, she actually believed they were going to get everything done before the first day of the event started in less than two weeks.

Draco knew, at this moment, that his wife was bug-shagging crazy.

How he ended up with her as his wife he might never understand, but he could pinpoint where it had started and it just sort of nose-dived from there.

After that whole misunderstanding regarding Dumbledore's death, Draco had graciously turned himself into the Order, or as Hermione put it 'came running scared from the Dark Lord', and after giving up any information he might have had, he generously offered his services for their side, or as his wife said 'was forced to prove his trustworthiness.'

Whatever. It was the same thing really.

Anyway, two years into the war and after he'd been cleared of any doubt, he and Hermione had been assigned to watch the same house for Death Eater activity. Needless to say, they didn't 'watch' very much that night.

They'd gotten into an argument, probably over something completely pointless, and had ended up tangled together on the floor. Hermione had wanted to re-examine their relationship the next day, and Draco had agreed to everything she said until she was satisfied.

For him, it'd just been 'pretty girl, will shag.'

But then he had started to realize he looked forward to seeing her every day and didn't like it when she left his bed in the morning. So he did what most young men his age did when they realized they were in love.

He went deep into denial.

After breaking up with her and telling her he never wanted to see her again, he tried to drink away her memory and the feel of her beneath him using copious amounts of firewhiskey, and when that didn't work, he moved up to dragon ale.

Unfortunately for him, his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend as the case had been, was the determined sort and had seen right through his game. She'd marched down to the bar on Diagon Alley he'd holed himself up in and pulled him out by his ear before apparating him home.

A cold shower and change of clothes later, she had tucked him into bed and waited for him to wake up in the morning. When the sun broke through the curtains the next day, he cursed her for not having the common decency to let him die in that bar.

The hangover was probably the worst one he'd ever had and was most likely the only one that bad he'd ever have. Hermione, unsympathetic to his sudden aversion for any noise, had started screaming at him for being so stupid, that the war wasn't over yet, and he was going to get himself killed.

It was around that time, in-between the head-pounding and her decibel-shattering screams, that he had realized he'd missed her over the last couple of days and proposed to her on the spot.

Hermione had stopped in mid-rant and gazed at him open-mouthed before saying this was the dumbest thing he'd ever done. When she had realized he was absolutely serious, she said yes.

Most of their close friends and various acquaintances had already known about their relationship, but none of them had been expecting their engagement when it became common knowledge. And when the war had ended less than six months after he'd popped the question, he'd expected to be standing at the altar fairly soon.

But, oh no, not his Hermione.

She had to help, of course. If they had let her, she probably would have rebuilt the wizarding world single-handedly, but that had not been the case. She helped with everything she could though, and she also had decided to go into mediwizardry, which had taken a couple of years for her to finish and get her certification.

And when she finally got the job she had wanted at St. Mungo's earlier this year, they had finally gotten married.

Draco didn't remember much about the ceremony, only that it had taken them over three years to get to this point and that Hermione had looked ravishing in her white wedding robes.

They'd had a smooth ride of it for the most part, but now, he had this Christmas fiasco to get through, and if he was completely honest about it, he wasn't sure he was going to make it.


iii. three french hens


"Draco!" his wife's high-pitched screaming resounded up the staircase from the foyer as the front door slammed behind her.

That was okay though. She had no idea that he was home from his office so he was safe up in his study on the third-floor. Drowning out the sound of her banging around, he went back to the profit margins he was studying and tried to figure out what more he could do to improve his overall revenue for the next business quarter.

When his papers were snatched out of his hand and he felt a hard flick on his ear, he knew that his earlier assumption had been vastly mistaken. Hermione stood before him in righteous anger; she had found him.

"Didn't you hear me calling you earlier? I had an armload of bags, Draco. I could have used some help."

He scowled and tried to snatch back his papers. "I thought you wanted to do the shopping yourself and needed my help when you start to hang ornaments or whatever. Bags sound like shopping to me."

She rolled her eyes as she set the papers back on his desk to stop his waving arms. "Shopping, yes, but that doesn't mean you can't help with the carrying."

Draco shrugged, ignoring the papers. "So, you need my help right now?"

"Yes," she called over her shoulder as she walked back out of the room.

The blond sighed as he tucked the papers away for later perusing before following his wife down the stairs and into the entryway. When he stepped foot on the landing, he saw she hadn't been kidding about needing help with the carrying.

There had to be at least two dozen bags of different sizes spread across the floor of the corridor between the front door and the door to the sitting room.

Draco felt his eyes widen. "Hermione! Don't you think you went a little overboard?"

His wife frowned. "No, that's only half of it. The boys are behind me with the rest. And I still haven't told the staff what I want served each night yet, but Narcissa said she'd give me pointers with that."

He sighed in the way of most long-suffering husbands and decided to just go with it. "So, what is all this exactly?"

Hermione bent down and reached into one of the bags drawing out a thick evergreen garland sprinkled with fairy lights. "These are the decorations, of course. We'll start putting them up in a few minutes."

Suddenly, the front door swung open and two snow-covered boys entered the house weighed down by yet more bags.

"That's all that's left in the car, Hermione," said Harry Potter, the boy who lived and the man who continued to be a thorn in Draco's side.

He was accompanied by Ron Weasley, the third in their little trio and the youngest of the Weasley brood. The two boys set down their burdens and started towards the kitchen where Dobby was back in service and where they could find something hot to drink.

Draco felt his mouth fall open as he glanced at his grinning wife. "What are those two doing here? Didn't I promise I would help? You don't need tweedle-dum and his clone's help when you've got me."

Hermione giggled before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You've all agreed to let the past stay in the past so behave. The more the merrier."

With that parting statement, she skipped off to the kitchen to get a hot drink herself and hummed Christmas carols as she went.

The blond surveyed the area around him with caution. Red bows were spilling out of one bag while rolls and rolls of wrapping paper stuck out of another. There was chiming coming from one of the bags, though he didn't know which one, and some sort of whirring was coming from another. There was glitter, snowflakes, ornaments, candy canes, icicles, wreaths, more garlands, and an insane amount of fairy lights in all different colors.

As he started to drag the bags down the hall to the sitting room where they would start, he listened as Hermione and Potter tried to teach 'Frosty the Snowman' to Weasley and groaned.

Merlin save him.

iv. four calling birds

"What do you mean they didn't have twelve Christmas trees?" The piercing voice of his lovely wife practically shook the foundation of his ancestral home.

Draco shrank away from the decibel-splitting and found something interesting on the wall over her shoulder to stare at. "They only had ten left."

"Ten? TEN?" He didn't think it was possible, but her screams got even louder and he feared for any glass objects in the near vicinity. Her breathing was starting to get ragged and he took a step back in case she actually did explode.

"How am I supposed to have a theme of 'the Twelve Days of Christmas' when I DON'T HAVE TWELVE CHRISTMAS TREES! It's completely illogical!" She spoke as if the Christmas tree people had plotted against her and this was some personal slight in her Christmas war by a covert enemy.

Draco nodded his head in agreement before looking directly into his wife's eyes. They were burning with a deadly fire, and he took another step back.

"Draco," she said sweetly, in a way that was very dangerous for him, "you get me two more Christmas trees or I will not be responsible for what I do to you." She got right up in his face and poked him in the collarbone. "I don't care if you have to cut them down yourself! I only have seven days left and I want EVERYTHING TO BE PERFECT!"

He studied her with wariness, but she looked normal enough. For all he could see, there were no external signs of demonic possession, but he realized those demons could be tricky. Maybe he wasn't looking for the right thing.

Apparently deciding he was taking too long, Hermione smacked him across the chest and started pushing him towards the door. "What are you waiting for? GO!"

Draco tried to dig his heels into the carpet, but he couldn't stop from skidding his way to the door. She was doing that determined thing again, but he imagined if he turned around, he would see she had some magical assistance. He was, after all, a lot bigger than his tiny wife.

"You want me to go now?" he asked in amazement as the door was opened and he was unceremoniously shoved out into the cold. "It's after eight o'clock and it's freezing out here."

Hermione handed him his coat and pursed her lips. "Exactly. So you better hurry."

He wasn't surprised when the door was slammed in his face.

Knowing he wouldn't get back into the house without the trees, especially since the servants and house-elves were currently more frightened of his wife than he was, Draco bundled his coat up around his ears and set off for the forest that bordered the Malfoy estate on its east side.

It was rather pretty out tonight. The crystal clear light of the moon reflected off the surface of the snow and turned the area around him into a true winter wonderland. The wind blew softly across his face and shook the strings of bells lining the front lawn, making their tinkling rings sound into the night.

Trying to focus on his task without letting his mind think about the warm fire that awaited him in his study, the blond drew out his wand from his inner coat pocket as he approached the line of trees.

Spotting two evergreens he thought would do the trick, he approached them to get close enough to use a cutting hex and then planned on levitating them back up to the house.

Draco, not taking much care with where he was standing, let the hex loose with a flick of his wand and directed where he wanted the tree to fall. Unfortunately for him, the cut disturbed the snow resting atop the tree's needles and he found himself soaking wet and standing in a snowdrift up to his knees.

Someone was going to pay for this.


v. five gold rings


Luckily for his future health and harmony, the two who ended up paying for his mishap with the tree were, in fact, Potter and Weasley who turned up after he had managed to get the trees back to the house and made his wife insanely happy and giggly, like she hadn't just thrown him out of his own home thirty minutes before.

Crazy bint.

Anyway, he'd incited them into a pissing match about their Quidditch picks, which he'd won since he'd only lost one game in a pick this season, and made himself rather smug in the process. He was always cheerful when smug.

Around that time, the clock chimed midnight while Hermione put the finishing touches on the last tree in the parlor where he was watching her from the loveseat, brandy in hand. They were now six days away from the big Christmas shebang.

When they went to bed that night, she rewarded him for his extra-hard effort in her planning.

The next morning, however, his high from the night before quickly wore off when he awoke to that high-pitched screeching his wife was so fond of doing.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'LL TAKE THREE MORE DAYS? I WANT THOSE POINSETTAS HERE TODAY!" she screamed into the Muggle telephone she had insisted on having installed in their suite so she could continue to stay in contact with her family.

He rolled over onto his side and took the pillow with him, covering his ears tightly and trying to muffle his wife's piercing voice. His eyes caught the face of the clock and with a groan realized it was only eight in the morning on a Saturday. Even the house-elves wouldn't be up yet.

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT BUSINESS DAYS! I ORDERED THOSE FLOWERS ON THURSDAY AND I WAS TOLD THEY WOULD BE DELIVERED IN THREE DAYS, NOT THREE BUSINESS DAYS!" her voice echoed into the receiver as the florist on the other end stuttered while trying to explain.

Giving up his crusade to fall back asleep, Draco unwillingly climbed out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. He started to go through his morning rituals as he continued to listen to Hermione argue with the poor florist who had no idea what he was getting himself into.

The blond was beginning to slather shaving cream on his chin when he realized his wife had just been getting started as her voice sounded off the walls in the bedroom.

"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? MY HUSBAND IS THE OWNER AND CEO OF MALFOY INDUSTRIES AND IF THOSE FLOWERS ARE NOT HERE SOMETIME TODAY, I WILL GET HIM TO SUE YOU FOR ALL YOU'RE WORTH!"

Recognizing this could turn into a media scandal of massive proportions now that he dealt in the Muggle business world as well as the wizarding one, Draco, not even taking the time to wipe the cream off his face, raced into the adjoining room and snatched the phone out of her hand before she could say another word. He placed the phone against his ear like Hermione had taught him and tried his best to placate the man on the other end of the line.

"Sir! Sir! This is Draco Malfoy. Yes, I know. She can be a little -" he glanced at his wife and noticing her pursed lips and raised eyebrow, decided not to try his luck with what he really wanted to say, "excitable around this time of the year. Christmas is a big holiday for us Malfoys. Yes. Yes. I understand. Monday will be fine," he agreed, ignoring Hermione's waving arms. "Thank you for your service, sir. We look forward to doing business with you again. Good day to you, as well."

Draco placed the phone back on its hook as he glanced over to the petite brunette who was burning holes into the back of his skull with her gaze.

"I was handling him just fine. He would have delivered today if you had given me a few more minutes," she said, her arms crossed over her chest with her silk robe pulled tight around her waist.

"Yes, and then he would have told the press about how my wife threatened to put him out of business. You should be thanking me for intervening," he pointed out charitably, forgetting exactly who he was talking to.

Hermione smiled sweetly up at her husband and circled her arms around his neck. "Thank you, sweetie," she replied as she drew his head down for a kiss, her tongue curling around his own before drawing back. Then, he felt her foot connect with his shin hard enough to bruise. "For putting your nose where it didn't belong."

She shimmied out of the room and down the stairs as Draco headed back to the bathroom in a worse mood than when he first woke up this morning.

And the day was just getting started.


vi. six geese a-laying


Tinsel.

It was his new worst enemy. Even higher on the list than Weasley and Potter and the stupid person who had invented child-proof caps.

They were now five days away and Hermione had decided the trees weren't eye-popping enough.

She had actually used the term 'eye-popping.' Very scary.

So, she had decided they needed to be covered in tinsel and had gone to buy some of the stuff from the store. When she came home, he surmised that she had bought the store's entire supply since she had oodles and oodles of it.

Then, he, she, Potter and Weasley had scattered it over the twelve themed Christmas trees decorating the various rooms on the ground level of Malfoy Manor and Draco had learned a very important lesson about tinsel.

It got everywhere.

It was in his hair, it was on his clothes, it was inside his clothes, and Merlin he had no idea how, but it was even in his shoes.

He was in the bathroom, just picking the last of the strands out of his hair, when Hermione's voice called up the stairs from the kitchen.

"DRACO!"

Wondering what new torture she'd devised for him this time, he threw the tinsel in the trash and bounded down to the kitchen, wary of keeping his wife waiting now that it was beginning to get down to the wire.

"Yes, dear?" he called as he turned the corner and encountered the kitchen elves and staff standing in a line. Confused, Draco stepped cautiously into the room. "What's going on?"

Hermione was standing over by the bar as she arranged something across its surface. "We've finally decided on all the food that will be served over the event's three days and I want your opinion on what we've chosen."

A taste test? Now that was more like it.

"Sure, just let me know what I'll be eating," he replied as he crossed the room and took a seat at the bar. A serving platter was set up with all kinds of lovely tidbits and he pulled it towards him.

His wife smiled at him as he put the first small bite in his mouth. "These are the appetizers."

Slowly, they went through the platter together as the ones who would actually be preparing the food looked on. Hermione carefully told him what each thing was and Draco told her exactly what he thought about it. Eventually, the plate emptied and he stood from his seat, planning on making his way to bed now that they were finished.

"I declare the hors d'oeuvre course a success." Leaning over, he pressed a gentle kiss to his wife's cheek. "You did a good job, babe. Come up to bed when you're done, okay?" Then he turned and started for the door, but Hermione caught him by the arm.

"Where are you going? That was only the first night's appetizers. We haven't even gotten to the entrees yet. Not to mention the desserts."

Draco's stomach groaned in protest as he thought of all that food. They'd already had a big dinner before she got him to try the platter of appetizers.

He wondered if it would be wrong to tell his wife he had cramps.

vii. seven swans a-swimming

He was hiding.

Again.

Very unmanly, he knew, but it was safer than being out in the open as a moving target for Ms. Party-Planner-Extraordinaire. They were less than two days away from the guests' arrival and his lovely wife had taken on a feral appearance as she marched around the manor and barked out orders to anyone who had the misfortune to cross her path.

For the sake of his last threads of sanity, he'd taken refuge in the sun room in a part of the manor that went unused during this time of year in the very, very far back of the house, which wasn't open to visitors during the event.

Hopefully, if all went according to plan, she wouldn't find him.

"DRACO!"

Merlin, she had found him! How had she found him?

Not thinking about how ridiculous he probably looked, Draco ducked down behind the white whicker couch decorating the far side of the room and prayed he hadn't been seen.

"Draco, what in Slytherin's name are you doing?" a feminine voice asked bewilderedly.

Wait a moment, that wasn't the voice of his wife.

The blond peeked over the top of his hiding place and saw Pansy Zabini and her husband, Blaise, watching him oddly, as if he was definitely a few cards short of a deck.

He removed himself from behind the couch and took a seat on it instead, ignoring the pink he could feel spreading across his cheeks, and invited them to join him. His former housemates were only two out of a handful of Slytherins that had made it through the war without dying or being sent to Azkaban. Blaise had surprised Draco when he hadn't committed to serving Voldemort even though he'd been vocal about supporting blood purity. The black boy had seen it was a death sentence, and Pansy had simply followed his lead. Neither one of them had actively fought for the Order like Draco had, but they'd both donated many galleons to their cause.

"How did you find me?"

Blaise snickered as he folded himself into one the chairs perpendicular to the couch. "We were sent by Granger to find you, and we looked just about everywhere. Pansy finally had to use a locater charm. We didn't realize you were actively hiding from her."

His female counterpart placed herself on the arm of Blaise's chair as Draco shrugged. "You haven't been here the last couple of weeks. You don't know what it's been like."

The dark-skinned man smirked. "I always said you'd met your match when you got engaged to Granger."

Draco scowled at his two former housemates. "You know, she's a Malfoy now."

Pansy tossed back her curly blonde hair and sniffed indifferently from her upturned nose. "She'll always be Granger to us."

The blond gazed at his friends with suspicious eyes. "What are you two even doing here? The stupid thing doesn't even start for another couple of days."

Blaise's face turned sheepish. "Granger asked us to come a few days early and help with the last minute preparations."

Never had the two past Slytherins seen their friend laugh so hard.

"She got to you two, too! You couldn't say no to her, either! This is just fabulous! My tiny wife is bullying around all the Slytherins." He barely could get the words out as he gasped for breath between his boisterous cackles.

Pansy and Blaise both frowned before the former tried to kill her friend's amusement. "We're not the only ones who showed up today."

Draco stopped short at that statement and glanced at them in dread. "Who else is here?"

The blonde girl ticked off her fingers as she listed all of the people she'd seen toddling around the front of the manor. "Potter and his wife, the Weaselette, Weasley and his wife, Lovegood, and their kid, Tram or whatever, Longbottom and his wife, Bones, Finnegan and his wife, Brown, and their twins, I don't know what their names are, Thomas and his wife, Patil, the Ravenclaw, the Gryffindor Patil and her husband Smith, the Weasley twins and their wives, Spinnet and Bell, I don't know which one belongs to which, and I'm pretty sure I saw the Creevey brothers setting up their photography equipment in the parlor. I think that's it."

He felt a dead faint coming on.

His house was overrun by Gryffindors!


viii. eight maids a-milking


"HERMIONE!"

His wife came running at the sound of his distress, her brunette head floating through the sea of people in his sitting room as she came towards him.

Her eyes had lost some of that wild look and were now filled with concern. "What's the matter, Draco?"

Ushering her out of the room and out of hearing distance, he closed the door behind them as they entered the parlor and he cast a silencing charm on the room.

"Are you insane? Have you gone completely mental?" he shouted, his arms waving all over the place. "We're already going to be invaded for the event; did you have to tack two more days onto the loss of our privacy?"

His wife crossed her arms over her chest and raised a cynical eyebrow. She looked scarily like him when she did this.

"So, you want me to send all of our friends home when they're already here and packed to stay for the next five days just because you don't like a little bit of extra company?"

Draco felt his eyes grow to the size of saucers. "Little? LITTLE? There are over twenty people here, Hermione."

She shrugged and stood on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You won't even know they're here. Besides, like I said, the more the merrier, and there will be even more by the end of the week."

With that, the brunette exited the room and rejoined the crowd in the sitting room, leaving her husband to gaze behind her in astonishment.

The blond could literally feel his sanity begin to crack.

Later that night, there were twenty-six places set for dinner and he didn't think he'd ever remembered the dining room being used to its full potential. He made small talk with Pansy and Blaise and tried to ignore the appalling presence of so many Gryffindors in one place.

The war might have changed many things about his beliefs, but he still didn't like Gryffindors, even if his wife had been one.

The next day wasn't much better as everybody scrambled to make last-minute changes to the manor and anything else that needed to be done before the guests started arriving in the morning.

Draco was disturbed from his slumber by the sound of crashing on the ground floor. It turns out Finnegan's twins had pulled down one of the trees trying to get to the shiny star on top.

Thankfully, however, his wife took some pity on him and fixed the tree using magic instead of making him get a new one and start from scratch.

Around noon, they settled down to wrap the presents that would be given out during the event and when they were done, they were placed under the twelve themed trees and labeled with numbers to be sorted out later when they drew cards.

During this whole time, Draco had to withstand the Gryffindors telling stories about the good old days back at Hogwarts and how many times they'd beaten Slytherin at Quidditch. He glanced at Pansy and Blaise many times throughout the day and saw they were bearing it with pride as well.

If he kept imagining Potter's head exploding, he could endure a lot of things.


ix. nine ladies dancing


Today was the day.

The guests would be arriving this morning and he'd already had more than his share of grief for the day.

Hermione had been a bundle of nerves when they woke up and he'd had to fence through all her wardrobe questions. 'Was red a good color on her? Did this dress make her look fat? Should she wear flats or heels?'

It was too much for one man to take, really.

She finally settled on a short, emerald dress that brought out the natural gold highlights in her hair and looked fabulous on her, paired with her black pumps and gold accessories. For him, she picked out his dark gray pinstripe suit she'd had tailored for him for his last birthday and a dark green tie to match her dress, and he'd known better than to argue with her on a day like this as he put on the clothes.

After getting through that with few lasting scars, Hermione had sent him to rouse their current houseguests and get them in order while she went down to the kitchen to make sure everything was running smoothly.

Easier said than done.

For all his trouble, he'd been smacked, kicked, and he'd found out Weasley's boy, Sam his name was, liked to bite when he was bothered too early for his liking.

Eventually, he got them all up and about and after many showers and arguments over bathroom time, his fellow classmates and their offspring started trickling down in immaculate shape to the entryway where they would all be doing the meet-greet thing.

Precisely at ten o'clock, the motley group heard the cracking of many people apparating to the outside lawn along with the whooshing of Portkeys and Hermione opened the front door.

People started pouring into the house in waves and Draco could barely keep track of who shook his hand, hugged him, or pinched his cheek.

All his former Hogwarts professors seemed to be there, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and even Snape though he looked as dour as usual as he gave Hermione a curt nod to her cheery greeting. The Weasleys who weren't already in attendance arrived and all their progeny as well; they'd come into money somehow and though he wasn't exactly sure, Draco had an inkling it had something to do with those gadgets the twins were always trying to get him to buy.

There were also various people from the old pureblood families like the Baddocks and the Goldsteins, but Draco figured their presence had little to do with Christmas and charity and more with keeping up appearances in wizarding society.

He saw quite a few more of his Hogwarts classmates, including some of the ones older than he had been that he didn't know all that well. And the families of the ones who were already staying also came through the door.

There were more than a few people that he didn't know at all, but he figured these were the ones they got every year who saved up for the price of admission and came to gawk at Malfoy Manor.

Once everyone had piled into the foyer with very little room to go around, his wife took charge.

"If I can have everybody's attention," she spoke over the noise, aided by a cleverly cast Sonorus, "I would like to welcome you to Malfoy Manor for the fifth annual Christmas Cheer Benefit!" A round of applause followed her announcement and she waited for it to die out before she continued. "I'd like to start by thanking all of you for your patronage. The war touched us all and we have to do as much we can by giving back to the people who were most affected by it." Another period of clapping commenced before she could finish her speech. "My name is Hermione Malfoy and I will be your hostess for this illustrious event in Narcissa's stead. If you don't mind, we'll just jump right in and get started.

"Now then, these house-elves," she pointed to the small creatures that were lined up on the staircase, "will lead each one of you to the room you will be occupying during your stay. If you have any questions about your room or anything else, the house-elves and staff can help or you are welcome to ask me or my husband. Draco, where are you? Wave, so they know who to come to."

Feeling pink spread across his cheeks once more, Draco found something interesting on the floor to stare at while he made a quick gesture with his hand. He'd definitely hit rock bottom.

Hermione clapped her hands together. "Now, there's tea and toast in all of your rooms if you're in need of refreshment. We'll let you relax and unpack for the next couple of hours and then we'll have a small lunch at noon, which will be held in the dining room. Then, we'll be breaking off into teams and going into the observatory for our first activity of this wonderful event: charades!"

As the people scattered in search of their accommodations, he felt his stomach plummet as he realized he'd been wrong.

This was definitely a lower place than rock bottom.

x. ten lords a-leaping

After faking an emergency at work, Draco had managed to get himself out of the charades debacle, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get out of the whole event altogether.

But, charades was another story.

He'd been tricked into playing that moronic game on Potter's birthday the year before when Hermione had called his manhood into question, and after a long session of humiliation after humiliation, he swore he'd never play it again. Draco could never erase from his mind when Weasley had tried to describe the word 'detective.'

Wife, or no wife. He had his pride, after all.

So, he'd gone to the office and acted busy for a few hours, which was rather difficult seeing that most of his employees were on vacation leave and he'd had no one to boss around. Nevertheless, he'd managed to get a jumpstart on his January paperwork and that made him rather giddy.

Now, however, his productive high was wearing off as he stood in the middle of the first night's cocktail party, highly alcoholic beverage in hand, and found himself cornered by Portia Parkinson, Pansy's mother, a stout woman adorned in jewels and furs, who shared only the same blue eyes and curly blonde hair with her daughter.

"Your wife has done a lovely job in decorating the manor, you know," she said graciously, as if paying the highest of compliments. "I never thought you would have ended up with a Muggleborn and that you can be sure of."

Draco made a noncommittal noise as he took another swig of his Chinese Fireball and watched Hermione mingle around the room in her short crimson dress. Pansy and Blaise joined them a moment later and immediately noticed his disinterest in the conversation.

"Mother, why don't we see what Granger has set up on the buffet?" she asked, trying to steer the woman away.

Not discouraged in the slightest, Portia brushed her daughter off. "In a moment, dear," she replied before refocusing on Draco. "You know, I always wished you and Pansy had made up after that tiff you had back in sixth year."

She sighed as though this was a tremendous loss as the other three became increasingly uncomfortable.

"Oh well, I love having our dear Blaise here as a son-in-law anyway. I guess Pansy always had a liking for dark meat."

Mr. And Mrs. Zabini both blushed a bright red after that and the latter decided her mother had already had way too much to drink as she grabbed onto her arm and yanked her out of sight.

Draco just chuckled, and he was suddenly very glad that his own mother was resting in her room and not down here finding new ways to embarrass her son.

Deciding his drink wasn't half-full but rather half-empty, the blond started to make his way over to the bar Hermione had set-up on the far side of the reception hall but was waylaid by Weasley, the most annoying one, before he could take two steps in that direction.

"Malfoy! How absolutely corking to see you!" the redheaded man exclaimed as he threw an arm over Draco's shoulder in an exceptionally friendly gesture.

The blond was immediately put on alert and knew not to make any sudden movements, like dealing with a wild animal that could smell your fear. This was very much not normal behavior, after all.

"Weasley? What's in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"

Ron clumsily leaned over as if he couldn't make out his words and Draco was unexpectedly confronted by a strong whiff of alcohol, much stronger than his own choice of beverage.

"Nothing's wrong, mate. I feel absolutely fantastic!" he slurred against Draco's shoulder as he started to slip down towards the floor.

Draco caught him under the arm before he could totally fall over and propped him up while he tried to move him, half-dragging and half-stumbling with his weight, over to one of the tables. "Oh yeah, and just what have you been drinking tonight, Weasley?"

"Just a few glasses of that Muggle drink Hermione likes. What did she call it? Eggbog, maybe?" the redhead asked with a puzzled expression, his glazed eyes peering up at the ceiling and finding the cracks in the marble fascinating.

The blond groaned. He knew exactly what Weasley was talking about. His father-in-law, Mr. Granger, liked his eggnog strong so that's how Hermione always made it. No wonder he was nearly three sheets to the wind.

They had almost made it to the table when Weasley finally pulled his attention away from the ceiling and transferred it back to Draco, his blue eyes alight with glee.

"Have I ever told you how much I love to hate you, mate?"

As the redhead launched into a rambling soliloquy, Draco sighed as he took a seat at the table and knocked back what was left of his drink before signaling to one of the staff to keep them coming.

It was going to be a long night.


xi. eleven pipers piping


The next morning the blond was reminded of one of his late father's more persuasive gems of wisdom.

If you find yourself in the middle of chaos, Draco, a well-placed curse could make all the difference.

He was seriously considering Lucius' advice and calculated how many guests he could take out before his wife confiscated his wand.

At this point, he figured homicide would be deemed justifiable by most.

Draco had awoke with a hangover the size of Germany and the cold spot in the bed where his wife should have been didn't make him feel any better. When he went to look for the potion that would have taken care of his pounding head, he found the bottle in their medicine cabinet hadn't been refilled since the last time he'd emptied it.

Not deterred in his quest, the blond snatched up his bathrobe and exited his bedroom to make his way down to the kitchen where they kept extra batches of the potion, especially now during the event. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't fastened his bathrobe very tight since it was, after all, still very early, but apparently a group of teenage witches had been camped outside his door waiting for just such a moment.

And no, he hadn't 'screamed like a girl' as Hermione had said but had very manly exclaimed before rushing back through the door and locking it behind him. His wife had apparently witnessed the whole thing since she was coming up the stairs to wake him. Taking pity on her poor husband, she shooed the girls away and brought him a bottle of the hangover potion.

Then, of course, she patronized him for being afraid of a bunch of teenage girls and told him to get his rear going because they would be doing the gift-exchange in a couple of hours.

Draco had just shrugged as he got in the shower and started to wash his hair. His wife didn't know how dangerous they were when they traveled in packs.

He blamed the Gryffindors. He hadn't had this problem during the last four years.

So, now he stood in the parlor and watched in amusement as his wife unsuccessfully tried to convince Snape to put on a Santa hat and help her pass out the gaily-wrapped packages under the trees. No questions there, Draco was pretty sure Snape would rather face the Dark Lord again than appear cheerful in the slightest way.

But then, Hermione's eyes fell on him and Draco felt the bottom of his stomach fall out.

She smiled, eyes bright and teeth showing. "Draco."

"No." His feet were backing away as she approached, but he knew resistance was futile as he felt the wall pressed behind him.

"It's just for a little while, I promise." Her eyes got even wider.

"Absolutely not," he replied, trying to stay strong. Have some backbone, man, his inner voice screamed at him.

Her brown eyes started to get watery. "Not even for me?"

And he knew he was done for. Good lord, the woman was a whole mess of emotions.

After putting on the hat and taking his place beside her near the tree as the rest of the guests started appearing, his lovely wife decided his clothes weren't festive enough and transfigured his black cashmere sweater into a ghastly red one with a cotton-ball snowman on the front before he could say anything to the contrary.

Merlin, the utter horror. Ugh.

They worked together to sort out the presents after everybody drew a number that coincided with each of the twelve trees and each gift underneath all of them. Once all the gifts from all the trees had been handed out, the guests divided into different rooms to open and admire them and compare to everyone else's gift.

His wife seemed rather pleased with herself when nobody had any complaints about the gift they'd been given.

He was just happy nobody had remarked on his outfit.

Knowing there was no time like the present, Draco saw the perfect opportunity to slip out when Hermione announced the next activity after lunch would be a tour of the manor and a sleigh ride complete with spiced cider and toasted marshmallows, as well as a wreath-decorating contest for the kids. Later that night, they would also be having a round of Christmas carol karaoke.

Oh, no. He was getting out while he was still alive.


xii. twelve drummers drumming


Draco had made it.

It was Christmas Eve, the last day of the event, and it was nearly time for the ball to start.

The last occasion planned before the guests would be leaving.

He'd spent the last day and a half doing a fairly decent job of dodging his wife and all the guests staying in his home. After taking refuge in one of the vacant attic rooms, he made use of the secret passageways in the manor to get around. Luckily, his wife didn't know the entire layout of the large house even though she'd been living in it since before they got married, but he figured her not tracking him down had more to do with how busy she was with the event.

Oh well, score one for him.

However, Hermione might overlook him ditching her over the smaller activities, but she'd never forgive him if he didn't attend the ball, the one thing she'd worked on the hardest.

So, he was back in his bedroom and going through his dress robes trying to decide which one would look best and failing miserably since he didn't know what his wife would be wearing.

"Wear the gray one," her voice floated over his shoulder from the doorway.

Draco turned around to ask her which of the gray ones and felt his heart jump into his throat.

Hermione's dress was a shiny silver satin and clung around her hips before swirling down to the floor. A v-shaped neckline was cut into the bodice with the point ending halfway down to her navel and the large emerald pendant he'd given her for her birthday was hanging between her breasts. Her hair was swept up off her shoulders into a chignon and her feet were encased in strappy silver heels.

"You look radiant, love," he breathed on a whisper as she moved towards him.

She reached behind him and pulled a set of dark gray robes from the wardrobe before handing them over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Closing his eyes to indulge, he caught a hint of her perfume, a spicy rose scent, before she drew back.

"Don't be late, Draco."

When he opened his eyes, she was already gone out the door and down the stairs to make the last few preparations before the ball started. With a sigh, he dressed quickly and followed behind soon after.

The ballroom of Malfoy Manor was only used once a year during this festive occasion and it was a sight to see when it was decked out in Christmas decorations. There were wreaths and garlands hanging all around the room, along with a vast number of fairy-lights, and tables had been set up on the sides around the dance floor. A stage had been added to the room for the band Hermione had organized, which was getting set up as he walked in. A table of refreshments was placed on the opposite side of the stage and he saw his wife straightening everything out with the food as guests started sauntering in through the open doors.

Before he knew it, his wife had declared the beginning of the ball and thanked everyone once again for their support and the band then started to play.

Couples started trickling out onto the dance floor to take part in the music.

The ball was an enormous success, but Draco only had eyes for his wife that night. She looked completely gorgeous as she danced with Potter then Weasley and tried not to wince when they stepped on her toes. He finally got a waltz with her and held her as close to him as he could before she was swirled away by Blaise and Pansy took her place.

The blonde woman smiled kindly at one of her oldest friends as his ash gray eyes followed the brunette around the dance floor. "You really love her, don't you?"

Draco smirked as he twirled his partner under his arm. "Of course I do. I wouldn't take all this abuse for just anybody, you know."

"I know," she said as she nodded before being accosted by Snape and Draco went off in search of a drink.

The hours ticked away as he danced with Weaselette, Lovegood, and the Patil twins as well as Pansy once more. In-between his turns on the dance floor, he'd had a few glasses of rum punch and was feeling quite tipsy by the time the guests started departing.

He stood with Hermione by the door, leaning heavily on her for support, as they thanked everyone once more and watched as they left little by little. Soon, only a few of their closest friends were left as they grouped at a table and relaxed for the first time in days. The event was officially over as the clock struck midnight.

"Happy Christmas," Potter exclaimed from where he had collapsed by his wife, his robes in disarray from his dancing. "We'll have to do this again next year."

Draco glared at him from his place in Hermione's lap, her fingers combing through his hair as her bare feet dangled over the edge of the chair.

Weasley groaned from Lovegood's shoulder, his complexion was tinged with a sickly green. "That eggbog is evil. Hermione, why didn't you tell me the eggbog was evil?" he complained as the Zabinis chuckled from their place behind Hermione.

His wife rolled her eyes at her redheaded friend. "It's eggnog, Ron." She sighed as she surveyed the ballroom, her fingers continuing their ministrations on Draco's hair. "It was a lot of work, but we got through it. And I had so much fun decorating and organizing. I never really thought I would like doing something like that, but I did. Maybe we should celebrate another holiday sometime soon, like Valentine's Day. I was thinking -"

Feeling a new dawning of horror, Draco tuned her out as she started describing her ideas to the group.

If his wife was looking into party-planning as a hobby, he would have to start looking into therapy.

Fin.