Picture Perfect
His stomach growled furiously in the silence of the room. He could, just barely, hear the voices of people several floors below, talking animatedly and joyfully. He wanted to join them, a little part of him desperately wanted to be with them in the warmth and glow of happiness and love.
But there was this other part...this angry, furious, cruel part of his mind that kept him far from everyone else. It had come to the point that even the ghoul refused to move above his room.
He locked himself in this prison, a prison he had once called home, because he could not control his jealousy and hurt.
He couldn't push away the guilt.
Oh...what had he done?
Burying his face in his hands, Ronald Weasley sat on the edge of his bed in despair. He couldn't believe that he had let so much rage, so much jealousy take over and consume him like that.
He didn't know what had made him realize this; maybe it was the thinking on the train or perhaps the hours he had spent in here, locked away with no one to talk to and no form of entertainment. All he knew was that, somehow, he had calmed down enough to conclude that he had done the worst thing imaginable.
How he had succeeded in this, he still wasn't sure, but he knew that he had some serious repairing to do.
There was only one problem...
He knew that if he were to see her, the envy would come back full force and he would become the monster he had been just a day ago.
He wouldn't care about her thoughts or feelings; his mind would shut down to every other bit of reason aside from his own and he would act violently and selfishly, uncaring of those who got in his way.
Damn it...why did he have to get a lot of his mother's traits?
But...well...now that he thought about it...maybe the envy was to be expected. He hadn't always been able to get the best of everything, being the youngest son of a large but poor family. He had always received hand-me-downs and used items, and he had always come in second or third to everyone in the family.
Even when he had gone to school, hoping for a chance to earn a place in his family, he had not been able to be the best. It was always second best for Ronald Weasley, sidekick of the famous Harry Potter.
Nope, Ron never deserved full credit for anything and he certainly never deserved to be number one. He was always number two.
He had helped Harry defeat the chess set, hadn't he? He had even sacrificed himself in order to help the ungrateful prat go ahead and defeat Quirrel. In second year, wasn't it he who had helped Harry find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets? Third year, hadn't he been the one injured against Sirius? Had Harry ever said a proper thank you? Had Hermione ever been grateful for his sacrifice while defending her in second year?
What about fourth year, when he had given away so much precious time to help Harry train for the Triwizard Tournament? Or fifth year, when he had, finally, gained some self-respect in wining the Quidditch Cup? What had Harry done? The prat had decided to kiss his sister!
Sixth year! What about the bloody sixth year? When Hermione attacked him with damn birds and had hardly looked guilty when he had nearly died! Had anyone ever thanked or apologized to him? Had anyone ever offered their sympathy when his brother had been attacked?
No. No sympathy for the Weasley. No apologies for Ronald. No credit for Ron.
So yes...his jealousy was well deserved. What had Malfoy done to deserve Hermione's full attention? The git had spent his entire Hogwarts career torturing them! He had thrown insult after insult, curse after curse, at them without any sense of remorse. He had joined the Dark Side in the war, had done nothing to help them in his Manor when they had been taken captive.
Draco Malfoy did not deserve Hermione Granger's sympathy.
Ronald Weasley did.
But...Hermione Granger did not deserve Ronald Weasley's anger.
She...she had to be innocent. She was sweet, kind Hermione, someone who, even though she never showed it, cared deeply about him. She was his first true love, the first girl who had filled his mind for years on end. She was his everything and Draco Malfoy was trying to take her away from him.
He would find a way...he would find some way to get rid of the spell Malfoy had cast over the innocent Hermione. He would rescue her from the dragon's clutches!
But...maybe...maybe he had to apologize first...just a bit. Just enough to let the others feel guilty for taking him for granted...they would feel the regret that he now felt...
But...even though they never appreciated him...they still didn't deserve what he had said and done...hell, he had nearly attacked Hermione on the stairs!
No...she didn't deserve for him to lose his cool and attack her. She didn't deserve to have him lash out like that. Only a Slytherin would do such a thing, and Ron Weasley was no Slytherin.
He was a Gryffindor, brave and courageous, not a coward who hid behind envy and pain, not someone who hurt ones he loved, and he was definitely not someone who let their loved ones go as easily.
He would get Hermione back.
She was his after all, wasn't she? Oh yes...she was his.
He would get her back...no matter what.
That bloody git had been avoiding her for the past four days! It was now 13 days until Christmas and they hadn't even dented her list!
Hell, the Christmas decorations were still sitting in their bags by the door, waiting to be taken out and hung. The tree looked forlorn and bare in its corner, naked of colour and lights.
That bastard...
Seething, she paced the Common Room, waiting for the git to get off his arse and come downstairs so she could confront him and demand for some explanation.
They hadn't done anything wrong, had they? They hadn't argued, she had not prodded into his personal life, and they had certainly not done anything intimate since that blasted kiss on Sunday.
It was Thursday, god damn it, and she demanded to see him and get some reasons for his actions!
Even if it meant cursing him to the point that he was begging for mercy while being assaulted by make-up.
But really...she hadn't done a single thing wrong, had she?
She'd tried, time and time again, to find some reason for his inexplicable actions, and she came to no plausible conclusions. Maybe it was something someone had said...perhaps Dennis had not kept the photos to himself and Draco had heard of some rumours. Or, maybe he had just decided to finish all of his schoolwork before Christmas.
But none of these made sense, especially since she knew he had completed all of his work last week. There were no rumours; she, as a Gryffindor, would've been one of the first to hear of them.
Besides, whenever she saw Dennis in the halls, he went sprinting in the other way, probably more to protect his camera than anything. There were no actual signs that he had printed the photos or told the tale to anyone.
She knew Dennis well enough to know that the young Creevey would keep his mouth shut and photos to himself. He had far more common sense than his older brother and knew what actions would make his life significantly shorter.
Pacing, unable to fight back the tension building inside of her, she huffed loudly with impatience while waiting for the blond git to come out of hiding.
The bastard had been avoiding her, god damn it, and she wanted to know why!
Had she done something wrong? Said something that had offended or bothered him? Had she, somehow, touched him inappropriately? Fuck, had she eaten her food the wrong way and had, as a result, insulted him and his 'rich' upbringing?
Damn it!
"What the hell did I do?"
"I don't know, but it better not result in horrific consequences."
She spun around, gesturing furiously at the stairs, directing every action towards the blond standing at the bottom of the steps.
"You! You have been hiding in your bloody room for the past week!"
He arched a brow, his face stoic as his heart hammered in his chest. He could not possibly let her know his reasons for being in his room, hiding from her as he tried to figure out and fix his mind.
If she were to find out that he had really been hiding in his room, things would become so unbelievably awkward that they wouldn't be able to be in the same building together.
Hell, he probably wouldn't be able to be in the same country as her!
So, instead of giving in and answering her honestly, he decided to do the next best thing.
Resist.
"What the hell are you talking about? I have not been hiding," he replied, hoping that he had put the right amount of annoyance and confusion in his voice.
"Yes, you have. You have not come out of that room for the past few days, especially when I'm around. Hell, I heard you running up there whenever I get out of my room or into the Common Room. So don't try and fool me." Her hands met her hips in a stern expression.
"Have you gone mental? Am I not allowed to spend a few days to myself? Bloody hell, for all you know, those days I went running to my room was because I was wanking off in the Common Room!" he lied.
She quickly averted her eyes and her anger faded into embarrassment as her cheeks flushed with red.
"Well...that's just...foul! Why would you be...doing that in our Common Room?"
He shrugged, going along with the lie so long as she didn't see through and find out the truth. "Some days it was because I was bored and I just felt like it, other times I was reading Playwitch and well...things happen. It's not my fault you decided to show up and I had to run to my room."
"It is you fault for doing something so foul out in the open! Next time, just go to your room and do it!" She rubbed her face with her hands, silently cursing him. "Which one?"
"Hm?" he arched a brow in question.
"I...I have to know which couch you did it on," she mumbled, face burning. "That way I won't sit on it..."
He glanced over to the couches, wondering whether he should have fun with this or not. He could easily say that he had done it on all of them, or he could say that he had done it in her favourite spot. But, he could be nice and say that he had done it in his usual spot...
Now what mood was Draco Malfoy in at this very moment?
"Pretty much all of them, but I prefer the sofa. I can lie down and it's quite comfortable."
"ARGH!" She threw her hands into the air, trying not to gag and vomit all over the carpet. "You...you..."
"Foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach?" he offered with a grin.
"You are vile, disgusting, and have no respect for anyone else! How dare you do that? On my favourite spot!" she cried, cheeks blushing with astonishment and rage.
"The couch was there and it was comfortable," he shrugged. "What more is there to say?"
He wondered when she would see through his ruse. For now, she was overwhelmed with feelings of disgust and embarrassment, but he knew that she would eventually realize that he did regularly masturbate while seated in her favourite spot.
Breathing heavily, she rubbed her face vigorously as she fought to gather her breath and wits. The image of him, lying naked on the couch, massaging his bare cock, had instantly filled her mind. With that image – fantastical, no doubt, seeing as she had imagined him with a large penis while she was certain that in real life is was no bigger than a thumbtack – her body had been consumed by white-hot explosion of desire. She wasn't too sure if it actually was desire or something different, but she became utterly aware of their proximity and the way her blood pounded in her veins.
She felt liquid heat pool in her abdomen and fought to the urge to squirm with awkwardness as she felt her knickers dampen.
Had she just peed herself?
Something, some deep animalistic instinct, told her that she had not peed herself. Something far worse had just occurred.
Shaking every image and thought from her mind, she battled to clear it enough to find some sanity in this situation.
When her breathing had eased just enough and her blood had stopped pounding unbelievably loud, she took in a slow breath and dared to glance at him through her fingers.
The rat bastard was smirking.
Smirking!
He was probably enjoying every...
Oh bloody hell. The bastard was taking her for a bloody ride! She was the mischievous glint in his eyes, the way the grin held pride and a puckish hint, and she especially noticed the way his body shook ever so slightly, as though he was fighting back the urge to laugh hysterically.
"You...you..." she snarled, pointing a shaking finger at him. "You liar! You made it all up! I knew it...it seemed too perfect...too embarrassing...you ... tell me the truth! Tell me the bloody truth before I hex you until you believe that you are a fourteen-year-old girl in love with Justin Timberlake for the rest of your life!"
He arched a brow and almost asked her who Justin Timberlake was, if it weren't for the malicious glow in her eyes. She meant every word she said and he was now caught. Damn witch.
"All right," he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "If you must know, I do not wank off daily on your couch." He then grinned. "But the one time I had, it was the best wank I had ever had."
She moved to attack him and he held out his hands in defense. "But...but I did clean up afterwards. Thoroughly. The only reason I don't wank off there anymore is because the clean up takes too bloody long. Just a waste of time, so I decided not to do it there anymore...even though it was better than when I did it in the shower."
She took in a heavy breath and willed herself to not explode at him a second time. He was doing this to get a rise out of her; he enjoyed watching her scream and rage over such a silly matter.
This, she slowly noticed, was probably his revenge for her claims that he had been hiding.
"Okay...okay...you're a male...it's a natural process, completely natural for a male to do when he is unable to ignore his hormones. It's a completely natural process, and the shower is clean...so...nothing to worry about." She breathed deeply and rubbed her eyelids, finding just a thread of sanity and gripping onto it for dear life.
"Okay," she finally sighed, lowering her hand and glaring up at him. "I will go on pretending I never heard a single word you have said to me in the past ten minutes."
"Good," he grinned, finally moving away to head into the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of soda that had appeared in the fridge. "So, why were you so angry that I was hiding?"
She narrowed her gaze at him, moving to lean back against the couch. When he grinned, she leapt off of it as though burned and glared furiously at him. "If you must know, I was not angry, simply frustrated."
"And why is that?" He turned around and opened the cupboard, content to find a bag of American chips.
Hermione watched him dump the food – if anyone were to even consider it as nourishing food – into a rather large bowl. "It's because of this," she gestured her arm over to the pile of Christmas decorations by the door. "It has all been just sitting there for the past week, untouched, and I did not buy all of that just so it could stay in the bags."
"So, you were waiting for me to decorate?" He put down the bowl as his mouth twisted in perplexity. "Why? Why didn't you just do all of the decorating yourself?"
She shrugged as she crossed her arms. "I have a few reasons. The first is that I plan on doing it the Muggle way, meaning no magic to lift anything or put anything in its spot. If I do it that way, I am far too short to reach several places I wish to decorate. You, on the other hand, are tall enough. The second reason," her pale cheeks became just slightly rosy, "is that I thought it would be nice if we did it together. I mean," she blurted, "you did help me buy them and we do share the Common Room, and it would be unfair if I did it all by myself and..."
He couldn't fight back the smile if he wanted to. His lips curled into the softest smile she had ever seen. It was smile that made his eyes glow and her heart pound furiously in her chest. It was the first time she had ever seen Draco Malfoy smile with true contentment.
"I think that it's a great idea," he said. "That way, I can make sure that you don't make the Common Room look like a mess."
She glared at his amazing ability to ruin a perfectly good situation. "You prat."
He grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. "I know. And we're using magic."
"We are not."
"You think that we're not, but we will be using magic."
"You think that we are, but we certainly will not be using magic."
"And why is that?"
"Because I will steal your wand and hide it."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I would. Now get your lazy arse over here and help me start decorating."
"Not until you agree to use magic."
She lifted her head and rolled her eyes at him, ready to reply with a sarcastic remark when someone banged on the door.
He frowned and glanced at the entrance, before glancing back over to Hermione, who did not look the least surprised to hear the knock. "Granger, who did you invite over?"
She smiled at him. "I have had a discussion with a certain mischievous boy who likes to take photographs. We have come up with an agreement of sorts."
"An agreement that was made without my knowledge," he growled, moving over to her. "You know very well that I am just as affected as you are by that pathetic photograph. What sort of agreement did you make?"
Hermione looked over to him, pausing halfway to the door. "It was a simple agreement. He will give us the photograph in exchange for other photographs." She continued before Draco could rage. "I told him that he could take as many pictures of us decorating as he wanted to. Those," she added, "we can easily create a back-story to that everyone will believe."
"And how did he know that we would be decorating today?" Draco took another step forward.
"He didn't. He has been showing up every day for the past week and I have been turning him down because you have been 'wanking' off." She grinned and moved to open the door. "I suppose today is his lucky day."
"But why can't he just take one picture and leave?"
She spun around and placed her hands on her hips. "Because, that one picture he took is worth a million words and can ruin our reputations. I find it perfectly acceptable for him to waste a roll of film on use arguing about using magic while decorating."
"I suppose it does make some sense," he said after a moment's hesitation. "But...do we get the picture right away? You're certain that he has not made any copies?"
Hermione grinned. "I told him that if he made copies that we didn't know about, I would let you hex him and then leave him in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Naked."
"You are one cruel witch, did you know that?"
"Yes." She opened the door, revealing the mousy haired before, camera in one hand, a very, very, very, important picture in the other. "Hullo Dennis."
"Hi Hermione," he squeaked. "Here's...here's your picture."
Hermione snatched it before Draco could, folded it up and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. "Thank you Dennis. Now, come on in. We were just about to get started."
Their idea of getting started was by pulling out the decorations and arguing loudly about the best way to the check the light bulbs and whether or not they should use magic. Eventually, Draco won in the matter of verifying which light bulbs worked, while Hermione produced a small ladder for Draco to climb up on and hang the bulbs.
While he worked his way with the light bulbs on the tree, she began the slow process of twining other strands of lights around garland, which would then be strung around their bookshelves, on top of the fireplace and around the railings for the stairs.
Dennis, all the while, leapt about, taking picture after picture, capturing every second of their experience on his roll of film.
As soon as he was finished with the tree, Hermione set him on the task of decorating the bookshelves while she did the lower sections. Dennis caught on film the blond man using magic to hang the garland, and then the furious argument between Draco and Hermione after the brunette had caught him.
Once they had finished with that part, Hermione took out several gold and silver candles, placed them into their festive holders and put them on the ends of the shelf above the fireplace.
"You bought candles? When the hell did you buy candles?"
She glanced over to Draco as he stepped down from the ladder, finished with the bookshelves. "I bought them two days ago, when you were 'hiding,'" she replied.
"Are they scented?" He marched over and yanked a red taper from her hand, sniffing it. "Ugh, they're scented!"
"Yes. I bought gingerbread, pine, cinnamon, this special white snow one, and cranberry. I got these lovely holders, too." She lifted up a few holders, a couple were simple wreaths of holly or poinsettia, while another was similar to a snow globe and one more was a replica of Father Christmas, the stars on his jacket open to let the light escape.
"Why the hell did you waste so much money on this?" he cried, picking up the Father Christmas one.
"They were on sale, actually, and I love them. They add to the Christmas spirit."
"Bloody hell," he groaned, rubbing his face as Dennis took picture after picture. "Do what you want, just give me the damn Icicles."
She handed the bag of Everlasting Icicles to him and went back to coordinating the candles with the appropriate holder. By the time she had set up the candles, as well as several snowmen and Father Christmas plushies, he had completed his task of hanging the Icicles, with the aid of magic, no doubt.
They set up the task of placing the flowers around the Common Room and Draco was surprised to find that, although Hermione had bought a large amount of items, the room did not look overcrowded. Grinning, she winked at Dennis as she levitated a sprig of mistletoe to hang just at the base of the stairs. Draco had had his back turned, focused intently on how to place a vase of poinsettia.
Hermione's choice on the base of the stairs was simple enough; the mistletoe could remain a piece of decoration simply because they never crossed paths at the bottom of the stairs. Maybe only once during their cohabitation had they met up at the bottom of the steps.
Behind Hermione's back, however, Dennis recorded her mischievous spirit on camera without her knowledge.
"All right, the Common Room is done," Draco sighed, running his hand through his hair. "The Muggle version of things takes a lot less time than I had thought it would."
"That's because you cheated half the time by using magic," Hermione replied, heading into the kitchen to pull out three glasses and a jug of juice from the fridge.
"I only used it that one time," Draco replied, taking the jug and pouring himself a glass of the juice – which was not pumpkin, a flavour he had grown quite sick of three years ago.
"We'll see when we get the photographs," she replied, taking back the jug. "Well, we only have the tree left."
Dennis simply watched as they spoke, not wanting to intrude on their conversation. He sipped the juice, camera hanging loosely around his neck.
"I suppose we have no choice but to do it today," Draco sighed, adjusting his sleeves, which he had rolled up halfway through decorating the bookshelves.
Dennis began to grin as he watched their interaction, finding the way they held themselves, how they stood around the kitchen, Hermione seated on the counter, Draco lounging against the table, made him think of two people who were clearly comfortable and in-tune with one another.
They seemed to perfectly know and understand each other and he was not blind; he had noticed the passion between them, either when they fought or they simply gazed at each other from across the room. He saw the sparks and knew that it would take very little to ignite them into a full-blown flame.
They would make an adorable couple.
"No magic on the tree," Hermione reminded Draco as they moved from the kitchen, tugging the young Creevey boy from his fantasies.
"Technically, we already used magic on the tree," Draco pointed out; "we levitated it here and used magic to put it in the magical holder than magically refills with water every day."
"I've never heard someone use the word 'magic' so often in a single sentence." She rolled her eyes as she pulled out boxes of various ornaments.
"I was hoping to prove a point," Draco added, sitting down on the floor beside her to open a long strand of garland and untangle it. "Gold and silver garland for the tree?"
"Seeing as we used all of the red and green for the room, I suppose that we have no choice." Hermione stood up, carefully placing the box on the table. "Now, I would assume that the garland goes on first..."
"I think you put the lights on first," piped up Dennis. "I...I think that's how my dad used to do it..." he stammered as Draco turned to glare at him.
"I think he's right," Hermione added before Draco could say something harsh to the poor boy. "It makes a little bit more sense."
"How so? By covering the lights with the garland?" Draco asked, unable to find the logic in it.
"How about this," Hermione suggested, "we do the same thing that we did with the rest of the room; wrap the lights and garland together and put them on the tree like that. How does that sound?"
"Makes a lot more sense than what both of you just said," he snorted, tugging over the light bulbs to begin the long process of twining them around the garland. While doing so, he lit them – With a touch of the wand, you can make the whole room glow! – and proceeded to find any faulty ones.
Hermione bit back any crude or sarcastic remark she had wanted to say and grabbed the silver garland, twining the second string of bulbs around it.
The procedure did not take as long as they thought it would; having done it already quite a bit, they had gotten the hang of things and had developed their own techniques to make it go faster. Within minutes they were wrapping the garland-bulbs strings around the tree, the lights blinking on and off every few seconds in their faces. Draco nearly got annoyed enough to knock down the tree when he was stuck behind it for a good two minutes, face plastered to the blinking bulbs as Hermione moved to shift the tree so that the blond could get out.
"It could have been worse," Hermione pointed out as Draco ranted and raved.
"Please explain," Draco replied sardonically, not in the mood to deal with her chastising and pleased tone.
"At least you're not epileptic."
"And what does that have to do with anything?" he cried, ready to pick up the nearest ball and toss it at the nearest head.
"People with epilepsy have a tendency to have seizures when they stare at flashing lights for a while, like strobe lights. So, let's be thankful that you are not severely epileptic and did not have a seizure while stuck behind the Christmas tree." She suddenly demonstrated a smirk that made Draco feel just slightly proud. He felt like he had taught her to smirk in that way. "Although...I suppose I wouldn't have to hear your bitching if you'd had a seizure."
"You're a bitch," he growled.
"And you are the result of crossbreeding ferrets and cockroaches," she replied with a smile. "Here, you take this pack and I'll take this one. We'll start from the top down."
Draco turned to Dennis, who was currently fighting back fits of laughter, and glared at the younger boy. "You laugh at a single one of her remarks; I will personally remove every little masculine bit of you. Understood?"
Dennis let out a little squeak of fear and nodded furiously, gulping down any laughter caught in his throat. "Y...yes."
"Draco, you really are a prat. Don't threaten the poor boy like that," Hermione sighed, not even glancing in their direction; she had heard every word.
"I refuse to let some little Gryffindork laugh at me while you attempt to insult me," Draco replied, moving over to hang bulbs on the opposite side of the tree.
"Let him laugh a little bit; there's no harm in that. Here, just so you don't whine," she turned her head to look at Dennis, "if Malfoy here says something funny, even if it's an insult directed towards me, you can laugh. There," she turned back to the tree and Draco, "happy?"
"I suppose," he grumbled, reaching up to hang a silver-laced purple ball near the top of the tree.
The rest of the decoration went on in silence, the twosome hanging the ornaments strategically around the tree to make it look decorated by not overcrowded. It soon began to glimmer and glow on its own account, with help from the fireplace's warm glow, and it transformed from a simple pine tree to a beautiful, shimmering one.
As each ball was hung, Hermione felt her Christmas spirit increase tenfold, grasping tightly around her heart as flutters of joy flitted about in her stomach. She felt her body relax, even though she was so close to Draco, and she felt at ease and almost as home.
The scene was picture perfect and every second was captured on Dennis's camera. The couple hung every bulb; Hermione gnawing on her lip as she thought, Draco simply leaning over and placing a ball wherever he wished. Dennis stood back and took photograph after photograph, watching the scene slowly unfold until he saw more sparks in the air.
He saw how relaxed and comfortable they were, witnessed their easy interactions and understanding of each other. He watched and thought, 'They look like they've been married for years.'
To him, they were perfection. If one had a flaw, the other made up for it. Watching them decorate was like watching a kind of mating dance or ritual, they moved in unison, each pausing for the right amount of time before they hung a ball. Every glance made was one filled with passion but masked just enough so that the other did not see it.
But Dennis saw everything.
Everything was going on perfectly until...
Crash. Tinkle.
"Shit!"
"Wow, Granger, you swore!"
"Shut your mouth, Malfoy."
Draco looked around the tree to find Hermione standing on one foot, hopping her way back to the sofa to examine her right foot. Glancing down, Draco saw the shards of a broken ball strewn about the ground and he looked over to the woman. "Good job, Granger, break a bloody ball. At least I'm not the one who paid for them."
"Shove it, Malfoy," she replied sharply, sitting down and lifting her bare foot to examine it for any scrapes or cuts.
"Did it land on your foot or did you step on it?" Draco asked, leaning down to pick up another ball to hang.
"More or less on it," she replied, rubbing the top where she was sure she would get a bruise. "But I stepped on a few pieces, so I want to make sure I'm not cut."
"This is why you should wear socks or slippers when hanging stuff made of glass," Draco chastised.
"Sod off, Malfoy. This is the first time I've every broken an ornament so don't start acting all righteous." She pulled out her wand, cleaning and healing the very small cut under her big toe.
"And I haven't broken a single one so far," he reminded her. "And, I'm wearing slippers in case one does break."
"I didn't even know you had slippers." She stood up, summoning her slippers from her bedroom.
Draco lifted a foot, showing off fuzzy green slippers. "They're fuzzy and green," he said with a grin. "Blaise first enchanted them to look and hiss like snakes but I got annoyed with them hissing all night long, so I disenchanted them."
Hermione grabbed hers from the air and plopped them on the ground to slide her feet into them.
Draco arched a brow at her. "Leopard print? To be honest, I never would've thought of you as an animal print kind of girl."
"Gag gift from a Muggle friend. She thought I needed something with a little pizzazz in my wardrobe. I also have zebra and tiger prints."
"With little bows on the top," he added with a grin. "Isn't that cute?"
"Be careful Draco or I'm going to magic those glass shards into your arse. Let's see you smiling then," she threatened, lifting her wand with the actual intent to clean and repair.
Rolling his eyes, the blond went back to hanging his ornaments. Hermione then fixed and cleaned the ball, hanging back in its spot. Once every one was hung, they stood back to look at their handiwork.
"I'll admit, I might have enjoyed decorating with you, Granger," Draco muttered, keeping his voice low enough so that Dennis couldn't overhear.
She smiled, keeping her sight focused on the tree. "And I might have enjoyed decorating with you, Malfoy. You did a lovely job."
Just as the awkwardness began to creep in, both beginning to shift uncomfortably as they stood next to each other in front of the fireplace, Hermione stepped forward and clapped her hands.
"All right, one more thing to do, or, well, two, and then we're done!" She moved over to the bag and pulled out a rectangular box, from which she pulled out a glass angel. The long skirts were painted white and its long blonde hair seemed to glow on its own accord. The halo hung without strings or attachments and the beautiful face painted on looked almost realistic.
"An angel? What are we supposed to do with that?"
She turned to Draco and handed the glass sculpture to him. "You put it on top of the tree. It's tradition to put either an angel or a star on the top of Christmas trees. I haven't done any research, but I'll assume that the angel represents the angels coming down from heaven to announce Jesus Christ's birth, and the star is the one the Wise Kings followed to reach Bethlehem."
"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about but I'll assume you want me to hang the damn thing," Draco muttered, summoning the step ladder to him. "On the top, right?"
"Yes," she replied, moving back to watch him place the angel on the tree. "I labeled a branch earlier; there will be a small red mark on it. There's a hole on the bottom so you can slide the angel onto the branch. And don't drop it."
"Don't worry, Granger, I've got it," he replied, reaching up to gingerly place the angel on the top of the tree.
Hermione watched him with arms crossed, feeling the strangely familiar sensation of butterflies in her stomach grow with every second. Her eyes roamed over his body, trailing up his long legs to his muscular back, finally reaching the golden locks on the back of his head. She felt fire slowly spread through her body, igniting every organ, every nerve ending, until her body was suffused in a warm glow.
She felt a smile slowly tug at her lips as her cheeks blushed red, her heart slowly beginning to pound in her chest as the fire turned to liquid heat in her abdomen. Swallowing thickly, she was grateful for the sound of Dennis's camera clicking away. It pulled her back to the present and she quickly averted her eyes.
"There."
Her gaze was suddenly pulled back to him and she felt her lips curl into a broad smile. The second the angel had touched the tree, it had lit up. The wings on her back slowly unfurled, glowing brightly in the room. The room lit up with blinking lights and the glow of the angel.
Her eyes fell on Draco's face, lit by the angel, softened by the light and glow. She saw the way his eyes shimmered in the light, how his lips turned upwards in a boyish grin as he saw, for the first time in his life, an angel lit on the top of a Christmas tree.
He turned and grinned at her and she smiled back, feeling the blush and odd sensations return to her body as she felt his gaze burning her.
Dennis smiled broadly as he captured every second on camera, bathing in the love and passion that slowly filled the air.
It was so unbelievably perfect.