Wayward Cupid

Chapter One

Draco was trapped. Cornered. Pinned. Horrifyingly close to a gruesome demise.

Somehow, he'd never pictured his death as being at the hooves of a hoary beast, even with the continuous, and almost unanimous, dislike animals seemed to hold for him. But there he was, with no escape possible, and some sort of wide-hoofed, knobby-kneed monster hedging him against the Quidditch supply shed.

He wasn't quite sure how it had happened. One minute he'd been leisurely walking the length of the pitch, broom in hand, and the next he'd found himself backed into the wooden building by a stamping, snorting, hairy... thing.

It was heavy. And smelled a bit like wet socks and cabbage. And was currently leaning into his stomach, slowly pressing the breath out of him.

His wand was long gone, of course, dropped somewhere in the snowdrifts. He couldn't even hit the animal with his broom, since the hand clutching it was squashed painfully against his hipbone by the beast's shoulder. It was too small to be a cow, although it made a similar lowing sound. And even if it was a very small cow, which he highly doubted, Draco was acutely aware that cows, amongst a number of other wild and domesticated beasts, were not fond of him.

Snarling in a fit of fear inspired rage, he struggled briefly, shoving unsuccessfully against the creature's side, and hissed, "Get. Off. Get off, get off, get off!"

Draco froze as he felt vibrations shudder through its body. Was it hungry? It wasn't going to eat him, was it? The beast moaned again and Draco began to squirm in panic, sure that he was only minutes away from getting gored by the creature's impossibly sharp antlers - well, all right, they were rather dull, like the edge of a spoon; but spoon attacks, Draco knew, were nothing to be laughed about - and then ripped apart by its gnashing teeth. He felt something warm and wet on his right hand and glanced down in alarm, watching as its lolling pink tongue slowly licked the strip of skin between his robe sleeve and glove.

Draco, understandably, was afraid of cows. And Thestrals. And Blast-Ended Skrewts. And Graphorns. And leprechauns - although, really, who wasn't? But this was most obviously a different sort of beast all together. One set on stripping his skin from his body with its persistent, raspy tongue.

In the morning, he'd be found dead and skinless, a bloody pulp in the snow.

Then, as a crowning glory to his incredibly miserable day, it started snowing again - large, fluffy flakes that landed on his face, melting instantly against his warm skin and dripping annoyingly off the tip of his nose, dampening his hair and causing some strands to stick to his cheeks. It itched, really, and he couldn't even swipe the water away, what with one hand pinned to his body and the other being slowly licked to the bone.

He didn't know how long he stood there - it felt like hours and he was getting steadily colder, the animal's wet coat soaking the front of his robes - but, suddenly, he spotted a banner of red in the distance, flashing amidst the whirl of falling snow. A Weasley; it had to be. No one else sported that garish a ginger shade. The important thing, though, was that it was a Gryffindor, born and bred with reckless heroism.

He called out in a low rasp, and when the sound didn't incite the beast to attack, he shouted louder, "Weasley, over here!"

The flag of red paused and he breathed an audible sigh of relief. It was the first - and, he adamantly vowed, it would be the last - time he was happy, ecstatic even, to see a Weasley. He was even more relieved, really, to see it was the Weaslette who was making her way slowly towards him. Her brother was probably the one Gryffindor who'd have been tempted to ignore bravery and honor and let the beast eat him, since he tended to send the Weasel into a spasmodic fit of rage without even purposefully trying.

He chuckled a little at the thought.

Then promptly froze again, recalling he had two hundred plus pounds of shaggy, ice and snow encrusted, enraged beast pinning him against a wall.

"Weasley," he cried anxiously as the girl stopped and stared at him, open-mouthed. "Don't just stand there, gaping. Do something."

What she did, of course, was burst out laughing.

"I don't find this the least bit funny, Weasley. I'm being attacked!"

"Licked to death?" she giggled.

Draco glanced down at his arm, where the skin had gone past chapped and was rapidly being licked raw.

"Really, Malfoy," she said, her cheeks rosy from mirth as well as the cold, a light dusting of snowflakes coating her curls and cloak. "He seems to like you."

"Like me for dinner," he muttered. "I know it's incredibly hard for you to do, being a Weasley and all, but could you stop being an idiot and stun the beast?"

She arched a brow and sauntered forward, reaching out to scratch the hideous monster. "So pretty," she cooed, patting its head.

"Don't provoke it, Weasley," he said, his voice breaking as he warily eyed her hand.

"Hmmm..." She ran her palm over the animal's back. "It's quite peaceful, Malfoy; harmless. He's even got a collar." She leant closer to the creature, trailing a finger over the thick leather at its neck. "There's a name plate, too." She grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling. "Must be someone's pet."

"Pet?" he questioned with disgust.

"Cupid," Ginny continued. "How adorable! It looks a bit like a reindeer. I wonder..." She trailed off, cocking her head in thought as she gazed at the animal.

"I don't care if it's your mum, Weasley, I just want it off me!" Bolstered by desperation, he gave one massive push and the animal shifted away for a split second before returning with a deep-seated sigh, leaning even more weight into his abdomen.

Spotting his abandoned wand half buried in the snow, Ginny bent over and picked it up. She smiled a small, devilish smile, fingering it idly, and murmured, "Looks as though I've got you at my mercy, Malfoy."

Malfoy growled absently, his eyes fixed intensely on the reindeer.

Dropping her arms to her sides, she sighed. "You're no fun at all when you're frightened out of your wits, you know." And, she added to herself, in his current wandless state, he could at least have the courtesy to be frightened of her.

"I'm not frightened," he said, then gasped as the animal swiveled its large head and looked up at him, its round brown eyes staring unblinkingly into his. He could see his death in those deceptively placid irises.

Weasley shook her head and grasped Cupid's collar. "Come on, boy," she coaxed softly, clucking her tongue. Slowly, Cupid took a step forward, easing some of his weight off of Draco. "That's it, love."

"Good Lord, Weasley," Draco spat out testily, "it's a ferocious beast. You don't have to be nice to it."

"Don't you know you can catch more flies with honey, Malfoy?" she quipped, a wicked smile stretching her red lips.

"I don't want any flies. I want--"

"Cupid off you. Yes, I know," she said resignedly. Cupid took another step towards her, then another, until finally Malfoy was free. She watched him take great gulping breaths of air, visibly sagging with relief. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Ginny cut him off. "No need for an insincere 'thank you,' Malfoy."

He scowled at her. "I was going," he sniffed disdainfully, "to ask for my wand back."

"By all means."

She released the slender piece of wood into his hand and he gave her a curt nod, not in the least embarrassed by what had transpired - truly - and then turned to walk away.

Ginny grinned as she watched Cupid, clearly smitten, trot after Malfoy, his broad hooves churning up the freshly fallen snow. Then, to her even greater amusement, the reindeer nudged him firmly in the middle of his back with his muzzle. Caught off guard, the push sent Malfoy sprawling forward, landing face down in the snow. Ginny's laughter rang clear as a bell over the pitch.

Draco rolled over with a moan, spotted Cupid's massive furry head looming above him, and froze. Those square, yellow teeth were dangerously close to his delicate, slender neck.

"He likes you," Weasley said as she reached his side. Cupid butted his nose into her hand, braying loudly, and then she dropped to her knees beside him. "Malfoy," she said softly.

He didn't move - couldn't really - his gaze locked on the animal that was chewing on the shoulder of Weasley's cloak. Sweet Merlin, it's eating the little Weasley! His eyes flicked over her briefly. "What?" he asked, sure she would start screaming at any moment, and then the beast would move on to him.

Tentatively, Ginny lifted her hand and brushed a stray blond lock off his pale forehead, gazing down into his widened gray eyes. He looked disheveled and vulnerable and so entirely un-Malfoy-like that she snatched her hand back with a gasp. Oh, she did not need a un-Malfoy-like Malfoy to dote on. It was already proving increasingly difficult to stay impartial to the Malfoy-like one.

"Malfoy," she said sternly, rising to her feet. "Cupid is not vicious. He is not going to bite you, dismember you, or eat you. Stop being a baby."

A flash of fire crossed his features and his eyes hardened. Good. That was better.

She offered him a hand up, but he ignored it, scowling at her as he struggled to his feet and dusted off his clothes with more force than was necessary. They stared at each other, eyes locked, and Ginny couldn't help the flush that rose to her cheeks. She hoped desperately that the chilly air disguised it as windburn. It would not be good for Malfoy to suspect she'd been having soft thoughts about him lately.

Draco dropped his gaze as Cupid stepped towards him. He involuntarily retreated, watching as the cold air condensed the reindeer's puffs of breaths, but Weasley reached out and caught his arm.

"He likes you," she reiterated, her firm hold urging Draco to keep still. Her hand slid down his arm, moving to grip the back of his gloved fingers, and, as Cupid took another step forward, she placed it on the animal's forehead. "See?"

As Cupid blinked up at Draco, rubbing his large, furry head into his palm, the fear in him melted almost as fast as it had crystallized. Weasley said it liked him. An animal liked him. It felt exceedingly strange, like the cockles of his heart were warming, and he wasn't at all sure that was a good thing.

"You know what he most likely is, don't you?" Weasley asked, grinning indulgently at him.

Draco arched a brow. "I thought we already established he's a reindeer."

Her grin spread wider. "But he's a bit small and his ears are a tad over-large. And look, he's practically smiling at you."

He did have a goofy look on his face. Draco straightened his back and sneered at her. "Are you insinuating," he drawled, "that there is something wrong with my reindeer?"

"Oh, so he's yours now, is he?"

Draco was just about ready to smack her - verbally, of course; even he wasn't enough of a cad to fell a girl, Weasley or no - for her infuriatingly smug grin, when a flurry of voices seemed to surround them all at once.

"... I told you, he's lost again."

"No, no. He knows exactly what he's doing."

"But he's been lost millions of times; you can't deny that. It's those bloody big ears of his, you know. They hear everything."

"Robbie's right. He could be miles away by now..."

"Could have been distracted by a voodoo chant in Haiti..."

"... Or that Snow Queen competition up in Nome. Loves the ladies, he does; can't say I blame him."

"He's more sense than that, Lars."

Ginny grabbed hold of Malfoy's arm. "What...?"

Quick as a cat, he slammed his palm over her mouth, his eyes widened with horror. "Leprechauns," he whispered.

Ginny grew quite horrified herself. A gaggle of little men, their bright green coats highly visible against the falling and fallen snow, were milling about the Quidditch pitch. Leprechauns, she knew, were not to be messed with.

"Look!" one of them cried, pointing in their direction.

Ginny's distressed squeak was muffled by Malfoy's leather encased hand, still plastered across her face.

"Run," he hissed in her ear, slipping his hand from her mouth and down to circle her wrist. As they turned to take off towards the castle, however, they found their way blocked by the amiable, furry form of Cupid the reindeer.

Malfoy hauled Ginny to the left, clearly intending to skirt the animal; only Cupid gave a soft snort and whirled to cut them off. Ginny pulled Malfoy back towards the right, but the reindeer moved too fast - or rather, he seemed to have taken a flying leap - and landed so abruptly in front of them that Ginny started in surprise and lost her balance, dragging Malfoy down with her.

Sprawled out in the cold snow, Ginny blinked up at the overcast sky and then shifted to look over at the fallen boy next to her. He had his eyes tightly closed and his pink lips pressed together in a grimace of pain.

"Malfoy?" Ginny shifted onto her knees, gazing down at him worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Are they still there?" he asked.

She glanced up at the rapidly approaching... men. "Erm..."

"Told you he's never wrong. Look at that... Perfect!" one shouted, grinning ear to ear as he stomped through the high drifts. The others were nodding happily, their stubby arms pumping as they picked their way towards them. "Icy Nordic looks, cut bone structure..."

Malfoy snapped upright, a growl at his lips. "Nordic? I'm French, you imbeciles."

Unperturbed, the leprechauns circled the pair of students; only, up close, Ginny didn't really think they looked like the evil Irish buggers. In fact, they seemed to be wearing more red than was generally accepted by those folk. And their boots were decidedly pointy.

"Spot on, I'd say," another one said, and by the high-pitched voice - and lack of facial hair - Ginny surmised it was a female not-quite-leprechaun. "Her, too," she continued. "Look at all that red hair! Why, the missus had hair just like that, not forty years ago."

Ginny gave Malfoy a wary glance, but he still seemed rather put out about the Nordic comment, and was busy scowling down the offending little man. Turning back to the female sort-of-leprechaun, Ginny cleared her throat. "Excuse me," she said, "but could you please explain what's going on?"

"Why," she said with a surprised start, "Cupid's chosen you, he has. About time, too; the missus and mister are getting up in years, you know." She leaned in, conspiratorially, and whispered, "To be honest, we were losing hope. Never seen the beast so picky as he's been with this. Certainly wasn't in any hurry, I tell you." She beamed at her. "Oh, but it was worth the wait, I'm sure. Look at that mass of hair on you!"

Ginny was a bit taken aback at all the enthusiasm held for her hair, but she managed to give the squat woman a shaky smile.

And then she heard the bells. She'd know those bells anywhere. Cupid heard them, too, his head perking up and his tail giving a wag. Sleigh bells.

A small, red sleigh with a team of reindeer attached appeared out of the swirling snow, pulling to a stop in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. And, suddenly, it all snapped together. They weren't leprechauns. They were elves. Christmas elves, to be exact. She felt stupid, really, for not having realized it earlier. She'd had her suspicions, after all, about Cupid.

As slowly as possible, Ginny slid her wand out of her robes.

"Here now, miss," the lone female elf huffed, "there's no need of that. It won't work on us anyway, you know. Only Christmas magic works on us."

Great. Just fabulous. Ginny sighed and pocketed her wand.

"What, you're not even going to try and hex them, Weasley?" Malfoy drawled, brandishing his own wand.

"I wouldn't if I were you, Malfoy," she hissed at him. "You don't know what could happen." When Malfoy made no move to lower it, Ginny reached out and snatched it from him.

"Hey," he cried indignantly. "Give it back!"

Ginny sent him a warning look, and then addressed the elf again. "Er... madam..."

"Gretchen."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Me name's Gretchen, miss. And this here's Robbie and Lars, and over there yanking on Prancer's harness is Garth. Here now, Garth!" she yelled over to the small, towheaded man who, strangely enough, had a coal black crow perched on his shoulder. "Stop teasing Prancer!" Gretchen then pointed to the red-haired elves flanking Cupid and Malfoy and said, "Those two are Murphy and Billy. And then the one's got the reins is Martin. He don't much like being called Marty, see, so take care you don't."

Ginny nodded mutely, not sure if she should be angry or amused by the situation. A glance at Malfoy told her what emotion he'd chosen. Granted, a great deal of his anger seemed to be directed towards her, as he was still grumbling about her nicking his wand.

"I was wondering, Gretchen," Ginny said, having a terrible sneaking suspicion of what was going on, and desperately wanting the elf to prove her wrong. "You don't actually expect us," she motioned to Malfoy and herself, "to come with you now, do you?"

"Of course!" she cried, confirming Ginny's fears. "Why else would we have the team with us? Although, it's only the everyday sled, mind you. A bit bigger than the one the mister uses, to fit us lot in it, but not as grand."

She seemed to expect some sort of response about the fitness of the sleigh, so Ginny nodded enthusiastically and said, "Oh, it's a fine sled, of course."

Gretchen beamed at her.

"I'm not," Malfoy said through his teeth, finally seeming to catch on, "going anywhere with these lunatics."

Ginny clutched his upper arm and sent Gretchen a pained smile. "We'll need to write a note, though," she said. "Our classmates and teachers will wonder where we've gone."

"I said I wasn't--"

Ginny slapped her other hand over his mouth and leaned in close to his ear. "I really don't think we can get out of this, Malfoy," she whispered, "so we'll just cooperate, write a note to Harry and Ron, and they'll come rescue us, all right?"

Malfoy's eyes shot daggers, but he nodded and she released her hold on him. "Fine," he said, when her palm slipped from his lips. "But I'll write my own note."

She rolled her eyes. "Just so long as they know where we are."

"Everything all right, dears?" Gretchen asked, her eyes wide and, to Ginny, deceptively guileless. She made a mental note to keep close tabs on the sly elf.

"Yes," Malfoy said stiffly, looking ready to have an apoplexy at any moment. "Everything's fine."

And so they wrote their notes, sent off to the castle with Garth's pet crow, and allowed themselves to be herded into the small, red sleigh.

Not an hour later, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves sitting in Dumbledore's office, Ginny's missive in hand. It was rather a hard thing for them to believe, Ginny and Malfoy being spirited off to the North Pole, but, although Ginny definitely had the Weasley penchant for causing mischief and pulling tasteless pranks, this one seemed a bit more tasteless than usual. They were inclined to believe it was true.

However, their incredulity skyrocketed again when Pansy Parkinson, followed closely by her Head of House, burst into the office, her swollen and blotchy face testament to a recent and heavy crying jag.

She waved a piece of cream parchment in the air and shouted, "Draco's been kidnapped by a pack of deranged leprechauns!"

Dumbledore, the Gryffindors thought, laughed a little too gleefully.

******

Ginny knew it was bad form to be amused by a fellow student's plight, especially one whom she confessed to having a slight, very slight, crush on. But Malfoy's expression, as the sly Gretchen perched herself on his knee - the sled was stuffed to the brim, after all - was enough to send her into spasms of laughter. Since she'd gained a good laugh at his expense earlier, though, she politely clamped down on her mirth and merely snickered.

Malfoy spent the entire flight glaring at her.

He didn't like the situation at all. He didn't like the stupid leprechaun - Christmas elf? Ha! - clutching his thigh. He didn't like the way the reindeer jostled the sleigh through the air, banging his bum unpleasantly on the hard bench beneath him. He didn't like that it was growing increasingly frigid, and that he could feel his nose and cheeks becoming ruddy in the biting wind - Malfoys simply did not get ruddy. Most of all, though, he didn't like the little Weasley, eyes glittering with laughter, somehow managing to look... well, pretty he supposed.

Oh, she would pay for making him think that. He wasn't quite sure how yet, but she would most definitely pay.

They traveled for hours through the air, the sky turning from gray to black and then, as they approached their destination, a fascinating shade of iridescent pink. It was the reflection of the Northern Lights on the snow.

Draco was surprised to find the town rather quaint, with rows upon rows of thatched-roofed cottages dotting the landscape, but it did next to nothing to improve his mood - he'd always preferred grandiose to quaint. Naturally. However, he was thankful it wasn't the sort of garish Christmas town he'd been imagining, with pulsing, blinding lights and high-pitched singing and the stench of good cheer. Bah, humbug.

Ginny, though, found herself somewhat let down. Everything looked so normal, if a tad under-sized. Snow blanketed the small houses, ribbons of smoke leaking from chubby chimney tops. Heavily laden evergreens towered over the squat buildings, and clustered particularly around a lodge-like dwelling in the center of the village. It was utterly too normal, too bland, for a Christmas town. Where was the cheery singing? The twinkling lights and red-berry holly? The beribboned mistletoe? Not that she needed the temptation of mistletoe anywhere near her with Malfoy in sight. That spelled disaster.

Ushered quickly out of the sleigh - Draco permitted himself a small groan as he stretched out his kinks - they were led into the heart of town towards a reddish brown cabin, the elves chattering excitedly around them. More elves, their expressions disgustingly rosy, stepped out onto their respective front stoops and waved or called out to them or simply gave them wide-mouthed sappy smiles as they passed by. Draco's palm itched to grab his wand - which the little Weasley still held captive - and hex them all into chickens. Or mice. Or, better still, top hats. Top hats, after all, didn't make any sounds at all.

"Now then," Gretchen said as she opened the door to the cedar slatted - yes, definitely cedar, Draco sniffed; he absolutely hated cedar - cottage, and motioned them inside. "You both settle and make yourselves at home" - here, she giggled, and Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion - "and we'll just be on our way. Jed, he's newly gotten his license to officiate; he'll be over the moon about this, just wait!" She clapped her palms together once smartly, and then hustled out the door, pulling it firmly closed behind her.

Ginny thought the soft snick of the door locking was surely just her imagination. Surely.

"I fear these elves have lost their minds," Malfoy drawled, draping himself over a comfortably stuffed armchair.

Ginny tore her gaze away from the surely-not-locked door - surely, it wasn't! - and slowly walked over to where Malfoy was sitting. The cottage was small and spare, but cozy, and even though they'd both had to stoop to cross the threshold, the ceiling was high and arched and latticed with beams that thankfully started a good two feet above their heads.

Standing in front of the hearth - the fire crackling merrily and throwing warmth over her chilled skin - she placed her hands on her hips and stared down at him. "How can you be so calm?" she marveled. "Where's your rage; your indignation? They've locked us in!" Only, not really, her mind countered emphatically. Christmas elves couldn't be nearly that devious, could they?

"I'm tired," he said on a yawn. "And it smells like someone died in here."

Ginny cocked her head to the side, failing to see the correlation between those two statements. "But, aren't you the least bit worried about what's going on? You realize what this is all about, don't you?"

"We've been kidnapped by small, pointy-eared persons," he said absently, "supposedly of the Christmas elf variety."

"Malfoy," Ginny said, "they mean to marry us."

Malfoy lifted an incredulous brow.

"They mean to make us the new Mr. and Mrs. Claus," she went on.

A corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched.

Ginny tapped her foot impatiently. "Your evil core will melt into pudding, Malfoy. You'll be Father Christmas."

After a long, overly dramatic pause, he finally queried, "And you've jumped to this outlandishly stupid conclusion how exactly?"

"Well," Ginny bit her lip, "there's the fact that they're Christmas elves--"

"Still debatable, in my opinion."

She ignored him. "And they said Cupid's chosen us... and they forced us here... and Jed, officiating..." Ginny trailed off thoughtfully, then threw her hands up in disgust. "Really, Malfoy, it's obvious."

He leant his head back against the chair cushions, closing his eyes with a sigh. "I don't see how obvious it is, Weasley. However, I'm quite sure ceremonies of this sort are performed under the Christmas moon, with fuzzy bunnies, chubby-cheeked squirrels and large-eyed fawns in attendance. Perhaps a lark or two for good measure. It's not even December yet," he concluded.

This made sense, of course, and Ginny found herself slightly mollified, if a little disturbed by the oddity of Malfoy spouting about fuzzy bunnies and large-eyed fawns. Only... "Malfoy," Ginny started in an alarmed whisper. "Malfoy," she said again, louder, when the boy didn't respond.

"What?" he replied testily, not bothering to lift his head from its weary position.

"Isn't it always Christmas in Christmas Town?"