All characters belong to JK Rowling

All I want for Christmas is You


Anne M

Part I: A Partridge in a Pear Tree:

"What a git," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Hermione raised her head from her desk and questioned the man sitting at his desk on the other side of the room. Draco was reading a story in the Daily Prophet, and he proceeded to fold the paper in half, hit it on the side of the desk, and repeat his sentiment without explanation to the woman in the room.

"What a total, unmitigated git!" he barked louder.

"Don't put yourself down like that," Hermione said as a joke. She placed her quill back in the inkwell and stood to walk over to the other side of the room. Draco's eyes followed her. They always did. He found that he watched her all the time. He hated that.

She walked back to her desk and without preamble, without explanation, and without order, she held her hand out toward Draco, sat back down and said, "Let me see."

Draco opened the paper, tore out the page in question, and balled it in his fist before he threw it halfway across the room. It landed on Hermione's desk, but not before it thumped her on the chest. She rubbed her chest, even though it didn't hurt. Draco watched that little action intently, too. He had never wished to be a piece of rubbish more than when that little piece touched her chest.

She unfolded the paper, smoothed out the wrinkles, and perused the page. Then she saw the source of Draco's assessment. She made a funny face, balled the page back into its nice little ball, and tossed it over her shoulder. It missed the trash bin by a meter.

"I share your assessment," she began. "What a git. However, you mustn't let things like this get you down, Malfoy. It's almost Christmas time, so be happy."

Draco pointed to the paper on the floor and said, "But that wanker is marrying the woman I dated for two years! And he's doing it on New Years Eve, for Merlin's sake. I always wanted to get married on New Year's Eve!"

"Oh bollocks," Hermione snorted. "You never wanted to get married, hence the reason she's marrying him, not you. Do you really care?" She leaned her chin on one hand and stared at him with her big brown eyes.

Did he really care that his one time friend, Theo Nott, was marrying his one time favourite slag-slash-shag Pansy Parkinson? Not in the slightest. However, the first part of her sentence had a dash of falsehood in it. It wasn't that he never wanted to marry. He just never wanted to marry Pansy. "What would you know about it, Granger? You're all ensconced in your happy little romance with the red headed vermin known as Weaslebee. By this time next year you'll be married, and probably have ginger-haired triplets on the way, so keep your opinions to yourself."

She laughed and said, "This is why I love working with you, Malfoy. You're ever so much fun, especially in the mornings, and you brightening all my days with your happy disposition." She laughed again.

He loved when she laughed, and hence the problem. True, he could care less that Pansy and Theo were marrying. However, the thought of their upcoming nuptials only served to remind him that soon Granger and Weasley would wed, and that thought caused him true, literal pain, somewhere around the chest area, where he might or might not have a heart. "Shut it," he said, less than eloquently.

She had the gall to laugh a third time. She stood up and walked over to a file cabinet. She bent down to look in a middle drawer. Draco watched her as intently as ever, especially as she had a skirt on today, and when she bent down, he could see more of her legs. He loved watching her. He loved watching her move, he loved watching her walk, he loved the way she twirled her hair when she was reading, he loved the way she bit the end of a Muggle pen when she was writing her reports. He watched her all the time. Granger watching was one of his favourite pastimes. When he first started working with her at the Ministry, here in the Muggle Liaison department, he thought it would be hell.

Instead, the last year had been heaven. He had a massive crush on his former nemesis, only crush wasn't the right word. He thought he might love her. Who would have thought it possible? Once, just looking at her made him want to vomit. Now, looking at her made him want to do other bodily functions, and none of them had anything to do with vomiting. Heaven help him.

He moaned and closed his eyes.

Next thing he knew, she was behind his desk. He felt her before she even spoke. From behind his chair she said, "Are you really taking it that badly? I didn't even think you had dated Pansy in a long time."

Draco thought, 'let's play on her sympathies,' and said, "That doesn't mean I'm not missing what might have been, Granger. I know you think I'm a hardhearted prick, but I have feelings, too, you know?"

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt her hand on his shoulder. She rubbed her hand back and forth, before giving him a small pat. "I'm sorry, Draco. I know you have feelings. I know you're a changed man. I'm sorry if you're in pain." Then randomly she said, "Your sweater is very soft."

He looked over his shoulder at her, and said, "Your sweater looks soft, too." Damn, what a stupid thing to say.

But she smiled and said, "It should be soft, it cost an arm and a leg. It's cashmere, which I suspect yours is as well. Here, feel mine."

WHAT? He swiveled his chair to face her, his face a mask of confusion, however, many a fantasy had started with him in his chair, right here in this office, and with an innocent enough touch, so he reached out and felt the sleeve of her cranberry red sweater. It was soft. Was the skin underneath it as soft? He made a sick, sort of groan, dropped his hand, turned back to his desk and repeated, "What a git!" This time he was speaking of himself.

He looked back over his shoulder at her, when she didn't respond right away. She smiled at him, her hand going back to his shoulder. "Draco, would you like me to fix you up with someone? Perhaps that will make you feel better. I know a few smart, pretty girls that would like to go out with you."

Great…that's all he needed…a pity date from her. He winced, closed his eyes again, put his head on his desk, and groaned louder. Heaven help him, he was in love with Hermione Granger and she wanted to fix him up with some loser. In addition, her sweater was soft.

He almost jumped out of his skin when her other hand joined the first hand on the opposite shoulder. She began massaging them, almost absentmindedly. He couldn't bring his head up off the desk if he tried. He made a small whimpering noise instead.

"Is something else wrong, Draco? Are you sick or in pain?" she asked softly, her face coming down near his. He could even feel her breath against his cheek, and somehow her breath was even soft. He was in pain – pain of his own making. Pain brought from her nearness. Pain was a good word to describe his attraction to her, since she wasn't attracted to him.

"Pain," he managed to say. He must have moaned again, because the next thing he knew, one hand was in his hair. Gads…it felt wonderful. She stroked his short hair back and forth several times before she asked, "Is it something more than Pansy and Theo that's bothering you?"

"I think I'm coming down with that Hippogriff flu everyone's talking about," he lied. He kept his head down and his eyes closed.

"The Ministry would prefer us to call it that H2M2 flu, Draco, because they don't want to give Hippogriffs a bad rap," she reprimanded from her place behind his chair, one hand still rubbing his head.

"Oh yes, don't want to offend a bunch of ugly beasts, do we," he laboured. She felt his forehead as he rested it on his arms on his desk. He moaned louder.

"I think you might have a fever," she said.

His head popped right up from the desk. Did he?

He wasn't really sick, he was lying to her, but was he warm? Did he have a fever? He was highly susceptible to suggestions of illnesses. Whenever someone had an illness, Draco always thought he had it, too. If someone got ill eating something bad, Draco's stomach would hurt. If someone said he was coming down with a cold, he would feel one coming on, too. If they had a sore throat, his hurt. Once he even thought that he had endometriosis because of the symptoms he heard a woman in the office say that she had until Hermione informed him that only women had uteruses and ovaries.

So even though he had just made up the fact that he was coming down with the Hippogriff flu to cover for his pangs of pain coming from her touching him, if he had a fever, well, maybe he really was sick. He should go home. Perhaps she would take him home, because he was too sick to get there himself. Perhaps she would tuck him into bed, spoon-feed him some broth, and even give him a tepid bath to reduce his fever.

His errant thoughts were only making things worse.

"I really am ill," he said with a sigh as she continued to rub his hair, shoulders, and ahhh….she was touching his neck now. Who knew a neck was an erogenous zone? She stopped touching him, which he didn't like, so he popped his head back up and turned to look at her. She was frowning slightly.

"What?" he asked.

"I hate to think you'll be too sick to miss my Christmas party at the end of the month," she said. "I know it's still twelve days away, but listen, go home and rest, and perhaps you'll feel better by my party." She walked over and got his jacket, hat, and scarf. He remained sitting at his desk, but watched her when she came back to him, placed his scarf around his neck and his hat on his head.

She pulled on his hand to make him stand. He knew he was frowning, but only because he wasn't really sick and he didn't really want to leave her. They were the only two in the office today, and that might be nice. However, she began to help him in his jacket, one sleeve at a time. He didn't help at all.

She huffed and grunted, his arms not bending backwards the way she wanted them to, and said, "You're harder to dress than my dolls used to be. If I couldn't get their sleeves on, I would pop their arms off and they would go right in the sleeve. Then, I would pop them back into place later."

That wasn't a pleasant thought. He turned around, taking off his hat at the same time, and he hit her on the head with it. "Stop manhandling me, Granger. I'll put my coat on myself." He did just that, but then he walked over to the peg by the door, grabbed her coat, hat and scarf, threw them to her and said, "Come on. I know the cure to my ailment and it's not rest and relaxation. It's a day off from work. Come with me."

"Draco," she wailed, even when he placed her hat on her head and tugged it over her eyes, "I have so much work to do today, and by the way, I can't see."

He rolled the hat off her eyes; any excuse to touch her really. "Too bad. Your only assignment today is to take my mind off the upcoming marriage of Weasel….I mean Pansy and Nott." He had almost said, 'Weasel and you'! He helped her with her scarf and coat, (without removing any limbs) and then he retrieved her purse from her drawer and threw it at her.

She missed catching it by a kilometer!

"You aren't very coordinated, are you?" he laughed. She knelt down to pick up the purse and the contents and he did as well. Something rolled under his desk. They both reached blindly under the desk at the same time for the item. Her hand grasped the item first, so that when he reached for it, he grasped her hand AND the item.

Then they looked at each other at the same time and they both froze. He loved the way her hand felt under his. Her skin was so soft and warm. He loved the colour of her skin. Ivory. He even loved that word. Ivory. It flowed off his tongue, and swirled around his brain whenever he thought of her in nothing BUT her skin…ivory, ivory, ivory, ivory. His thumb rubbed back and forth across the top of her hand each time he thought of the word, 'ivory'.

He swallowed the lump that was in his throat. What to do, what to do? They were still basically on their knees, on the floor, holding hands. Yes, he should let go first, since his hand was trapping hers and the item, but he didn't want to let go.

She bit the corner of her lip. He knew that meant she was deep in silent contemplation. Did she feel the butterflies in her belly that he felt when they touched, or did she only feel the steady scratching of a hamster wheel with a vermin named Weasel was on it, (when Ron Weasley touched her)? He hated that git more than he hated Theo Nott!

"Draco?" she asked.


"We can't both pick up the pear at the same time," she finally stated.

It was a pear? Oh, so she HAD gotten his present. Had she read the note, too? He let go of her hand and the pear, and plopped down on his bum. He removed his scarf almost at the same time. She sat cross-legged in front of him, placed the pear in her lap, and took off her hat and scarf. He took them from her hands and placed them on top of the empty chair at his desk, along with his.

So they sat on the floor, his legs out in front of him, his back against the drawers of his desk, and she sat right beside him, her legs crossed, (she was wearing a pretty skirt, but it covered everything when she sat, much to his dismay) and she had a pear in her lap.

"Why did you have a pear in your purse?" he asked.

"Oh, it was on my desk this morning. I assumed you might have placed it here, but I guess not. I was going to have it for lunch. I love pears, but I get them so rarely," she replied.

He asked, "Why did you think it was from me? Was there a note?" He knew there was. The note only said, "On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree." He couldn't find a partridge, he didn't even really know what one was, and a whole tree wouldn't fit on her desk, but a pear did. Since there were twelve days until her party, he was going to give her one thing from that Muggle song each day to show her how he felt, since she was his true love.

She didn't answer right away, but when she did, she didn't mention the note. Instead, she said, "Well, you're the only other person in the office with me this morning, so I deduced it was you. If it wasn't, oh well."

Then, she did perhaps the singularly most erotic thing a woman had ever done before, at least in front of Draco Malfoy. She raised the pear to her lips, opened her mouth, and took a bite. He was mesmerized. The way her teeth sunk into the tender flesh of the fruit, the way some of the juice squirted out, and dripped down her chin. He had never wished to be a fruit before, (no, he saved being a fruit for Harry Potter) but damn, to be that effing pear.

He struggled out of his jacket, if only to place it over his lap to hide his erection. He reached over to her face in time to catch a very small drop of pear juice that threatened to fall off her face. He wiped his hand on his trouser leg. She held out the pear and said, "Sorry about that. Would you like a bite? It's really quite good."

"What?" he said with surprise. "Really, Granger! Are you trying to kill me?" The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them.

The smile faded from her lips. She said, "You don't have to act so disgusted. I don't have Mudblood germs, although I suppose with this flu going around, we shouldn't eat after each other, either. I'm sorry I offended you." She reached up, placed the pear on the corner of the desk, got to her knees, took off her coat, placed it on his chair, and then using the corner of the desk for purchase, she stood.

He looked up at her, then back down at her lovely legs, (did he mention her skin was ivory?) and then back up to her face before he hopped up as quickly as he could. She was about to take the pear off his desk, when once again, they both grabbed for it at the same time.

Also once again, she was a bit quicker, but only because he was a bit off his game due to her nearness. This time, he grabbed her wrist instead of the pear. She glared at him, confused he was sure, but he brought both their hands toward his mouth and he took a large bite of pear.

The sweet, but tangy flesh touching his palate mingled with the scent of the woman before him and he reveled in the aftershock. She merely stared at him, her expression unreadable. He kept her wrist tightly in his grasp, and brought her hand to his mouth for a second bite. He turned his head slightly this time, to get a better angle, but he felt one tooth slip against her finger.

He let go quickly, because an electrical current jumped from his tooth to his groin in one second flat. He continued to chew, a bit embarrassed, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand.

She reached up to his chin, and with her thumb, she removed some juice as she said, "Forgot some." She took another bite herself, but then turned away from him so quickly that he cursed himself for his stupidity.

Then he praised himself when she shucked the core in the rubbish bin, bent to retrieve her things, took his hand and said, "Let's take a day off work, Malfoy. I think it would do wonders for both of us, don't you agree?"

"Yes, I feel better already," he said with a smile.

End of Part One

A/N: This was just a little something I wrote on my lunch break during Black Friday at work. Now I guess I'll have to write something for each day of the song, won't I?