AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was one of three "one-shots" that won a recent poll survey I put to the readership, asking them what Christmas-themed stories they wanted me to write for the holiday season (2010). Out of twelve options to choose from, the prompt that fans chose as their third favorite was: "FLUFFY/ROMANCE DRAMA genre - Mistletoe Silliness (Voldemort lost the war)". So, this story below fulfills that request (only it's turned into a short multi-part fic, instead of a one-shot), and is dedicated to all who participated in the poll! I hope this story meets with your approval!

STORY DETAILS: A Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger one-shot story. Story is novel compliant up until after the Final Battle of Hogwarts (May 2, 1998). From that day onward, it's an Alternate Universe (following the EWE [Epilogue? What Epilogue] format and characters are a little OCC [out of character] as a result of the plot). THIS IS A MYSTERY/ROMANTIC/DRAMA STORY.

TIMELINE: December, 2006

SUMMARY: Someone is having sport with Professors Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts with magical mistletoe. Who could be so devious and to what purpose? Christmas just got a whole lot more interesting…

RATING: NC-17 (M – including explicit consensual sex, profanity).

To see images I've chosen to represent the characters for this fanfic, go here: http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / A%20Mysterious%20Case%20of%20Mistletoe%20Fever (remove all spaces from that URL for it to load properly)



CHAPTER ONE: The First Kiss

Friday, December 1st, 2006

The first Hogwarts staff members to get caught under the enchanted mistletoe that year had been arguing over the disciplining of a student in the middle of a very busily-trafficked Third Floor corridor. Said student had taken the opportunity of the momentary distraction of his Professors' explosive quarrel to skedaddle away as fast as his little Slytherin feet could take him, as the thunderously-angry Heads of both his House and Gryffindor's shouted the roof down.

"Last time: he's from my House, I'll be the one to decide his punishment, Granger. Stick your bossy, busy-body nose out of it!" the Potions Master fumed at her, his eyes living storm clouds.

Hermione glared at Draco Malfoy, crossing her arms and tilting her head up to meet his eye, refusing to be cowed by her childhood rival's tempestuous countenance. He'd been pushing her buttons since he'd arrived on staff September the year before, but his antagonism had reached new heights this school year, as if he received some sort of sick, sadistic pleasure from resuming their former, equally-shared loathing, discounting the fact that they were now adult professionals forced to work together. It was as if the war and the years between were merely a skip of time to be discounted by him, the lessons learned from that dark time forgotten. She still didn't understand why he was behaving thusly, but Hermione Granger had never allowed herself to be cowed before (not by his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange under the Cruciatus Curse, and certainly not by her former husband, Ron Weasley, who had demanded she choose between becoming his personal baby-making factory over her career two years ago – which was precisely why he was her ex now), and she refused to be now by this ferret of a wizard – no matter how much taller and broader of shoulder than her he stood.

"Clever use of alliteration won't do you a lick of good in deciding the matter, Malfoy," she sniped back. "The fact is: your boy was leaving my classroom when he intentionally decided to trip up Melly Goodstone and send her flying into the corridor, so it's my jurisdiction, hence my discretion to mete out the detention." She boldly poked him in his rather solid chest, causing him to arch one, perfectly-shaped, dark gold eyebrow in surprise. "So bugger on back to the dungeons where you belong, blondie, and let me handle it as appropriate. Twenty points from Slytherin."

Right as he opened his mouth to argue the issue, a sprig of magical verdue crept downward between them, blossoming small white, unmistakable berries.

"Fuck," her counterpart swore the moment he recognized the danger, causing a gaggle of passing girls to break out into hysterical laughter.

"Language!" Hermione castigated him under her breath in a hiss, although secretly, she was in total agreement. She grabbed at the mistletoe and yanked even knowing the futility of the act (just in case there was an easy out), but the persistent weed remained firmly rooted in spot - as would they, until the requirements to break the spell were met. "So… um… this is certainly… awkward."

He indelicately snorted. "I think we can both agree that 'awkward' fails to adequately capture the gravity and horror of this situation fully," he murmured with resignation, running a hand through his short, platinum-blond bangs, causing them to stand on end. "This is nothing short of an unmitigated disaster, and you know it."

Just then, Neville Longbottom and Pomona Sprout (who shared the duties of teaching Herbology this year, as Pomona was finally retiring, and Neville, her former apprentice, was stepping into her shoes full-time) rounded the corner ahead. Hermione's friend raised his hand and waved a jovial 'hello'… until he noticed the mistletoe and who was standing directly under it. His hand fell, as did his smile. "Whoa, that's a bit of bad luck for you two," he evenly stated the obvious.

"You think?" Malfoy snarked, his temper getting the best of him again.

Clearing her throat, Hermione decided she'd had enough of this foolishness. Embarrassed to be caught in so compromising a position and with some small indignation to boot (she wasn't that bad to snog! Ron had certainly liked doing it with her well enough!), she grabbed a hold of Draco Malfoy's robed collar with a firm grip. "Well, I suppose there's nothing for it if we wish to get on with our day."

With that, she rather violently yanked him down and planted a quick smooch, giving him absolutely no time to debate the issue, or adequately to prepare himself for the experience. His hands never touched her, his body never pressed in; only the buzzing sensation of his soft, warm lips told Hermione that the experience hadn't been as unpleasant as she'd assumed it would be. She took further solace in the fact – not to mention a bit of smug satisfaction – that Malfoy seemed as astonished as she that neither of them had spontaneously combusted upon contact.

That done, she let him go, expecting to move along without delay.

Her feet refused her commands, however, the heavy-duty Sticking Charm keeping them firmly in place. "Oh, for Heaven's sake!" she growled, whipping out her wand and waving it about, trying every spell she could think of – including Incendio on the weed. No luck. It was as stubborn to destroy as a Horcrux!

Professor Sprout burst into giggles. "My dear, you're not the first to incorrectly believe that a simple peck would fulfill the mistletoe's requirements! A healthy snog's what's called for!" As she and Neville continued on down the hall to give their co-workers some privacy, she could be heard telling her apprentice her own tale of mistletoe trickery. "Why, I, myself, tried to escape Severus Snape in exactly the same manner about twenty years ago! Imagine my surprise when he…" They turned the corner and were gone.

As they were now firmly into the lunchtime hour, the corridor was cleared of students – which meant that she and Malfoy were alone. Oh, joy to the world!

"I suppose we'll have to do as the old fruit advises and try harder," her unwitting companion griped, his arms protectively folding over his chest.

Cheeks positively flaming, Hermione tried to gather her courage for a second attempt. "Okay, fine. Just… get it over with." Malfoy didn't move, however. Instead, he placidly smirked down at her, refusing to budge a sodding inch. "What? Did I not speak English clearly, or has the wool in your head finally spilled into your ears?" she bit, annoyed with the arrogant look on his weasely features.

He grinned wider, showing too many perfectly-white teeth for her comfort. "'Just get it over with.' Awfully passive words for a Gryffindor, especially one with a major war-pip on her collar. What, too much a prig to paw all over me twice in a row?"

Her jaw hit the floor. "You must be joking! First, I didn't paw you. Really, who would want to? Only desperate ninnies, surely. Second, I am not a prig! You're a foul git for even suggesting it. And third, I made the first move last time!"

The ferret's amusement was clearly piqued. "One, I bet I could make you want to paw me. Two, denial is the first stage. I suppose you can't help being priggish, though. No sex for two years will do that to a person. And three, you're saying it's my turn to kiss you? You're really giving me permission to put my lips on yours?"

Tired of this constant bickering, a headache beginning to form smack in the middle of her forehead, Hermione decided to ignore his run-of-the-mill, obnoxious jibes and concentrate on the issue, as she wanted to do nothing more than get away from him just then. Feigning disinterest to his final query, she casually shrugged. "We really have no choice in the matter, do we? And since I made the initial effort to get us out of this mess, well, it stands to reason that there's a natural, logical order to these sorts of things."

His arms slowly unfolded and to her alarm, he reached for her hips. His grin became positively, sinfully feral. "What sorts of things would that be, Granger?"

The bastard was playing with her like a cat toying with a bird. He knew perfectly well what they'd have to do to get out of this situation now, just as she did, and yet he expected her to say it aloud, to validate the fact that she had to allow him to snog her senseless.

The hell with that!

Remaining perfectly still, her eyes firmly fixed on the top button of his shirt, she allowed him to lean into her and willed herself not to care that she hadn't had a man this close to her since she and Ron split almost two years ago (as Malfoy had so gallingly pointed out, the arse). In fact, she decided she would close her eyes and pretend this was her ex, for that would be infinitely more preferred than reality.

Gentle fingers tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, refusing her the solace of internal fantasy to see her through this humiliation. "Why so scared?" he challenged in a low, coaxingly sensual tone. His knowing smirk quietly mocked. "Do I frighten you that much?"

Irate at such a ludicrous accusation, she opened her mouth to retort when, to her utmost consternation, her voice utterly failed. All of her bluster melted away as she realized how uncomfortably close he stood; she could practically count those long, thick lashes that were the same color as his brows, could clearly distinguish the mesmerizing ring of arctic white that surrounded the steel grey of his irises, and uneasily note the blatant lust shining in those same depths… Her heart suddenly took off in her chest, painfully slamming under her ribs.

"Do I?" he dared to probe in a whisper of breath that sailed along her lips. Their mouths barely touched, rasping velvety-smooth against each other. Oddly, she noted that he wasn't chapped, as Ron had often been, and that he smelled of sweet apples and darker, spicier herbs from his Potions cupboard.

Changing his voice's pitch, leveraging into her personal space, intimately aligning their bodies was, to Hermione's utmost surprise, enough to irrevocably alter the comfortable dynamics of her fifteen-year understanding of her feelings of loathing for this wizard. Prior to three minutes ago, she'd always known where to place Draco Malfoy in her thoughts: directly into the "do not touch – will bite" category. Now, though, she was finding it hard not to want him to bite her - and in a rather particular way.

Darn it all, he was right: she did want to paw him, and no sex for two years definitely did negative things to her (like make her want to paw him).

This time, when she swallowed, her discomfort was clearly audible. "No," she lied. The lack of conviction evident in her faint voice gave her up, much to her dismay. His pleased hum signifying his innate understanding of her fib only made her mortification worse.

He made his move then, and Hermione's whole body shook as he pulled her torso closer by curling about her waist with one, strong arm. His free hand smoothed over her jaw and into her hairline, to find a home amongst her curls, plunging in and possessively fisting a hunk. Tracing her lips with his, he shocked her when his tongue peeked out and followed the same path, traveling the seam of her mouth back and forth. "That's good," he murmured just before claiming her in a kiss that melted her into the floor.

It was pure, liquid fire; a heated waterfall of sensation cascaded through her, centered on their joined mouths. His magical energies caressed, teased, tempted her, guided by an awakening, strong desire. Her body instantly reacted, tightening and dampening in all the right places. Her bra was suddenly too tight, her nipples too sensitive, her lower lips throbbed once, twice... Terrified by her reaction, Hermione stayed stock-still.

"You have to kiss me back for the mistletoe to let us loose," he reminded her in that same, soft-spoken manner as he momentarily pulled away, his fingers working through her dark strands with encouraging fervency. "Come on, sweetness... If we're going to do this, we might as well do it," he wickedly cajoled, tenderly nipping her bottom lip. "Give it to me, Granger. Put me on my knees for you."

Quivering on the edge of madness, enticed by his delicious taste, his tangy scent, his empowering words and his clear desire for her pressing against her belly, she made the insane decision to jump into the reckless scorcher, desperate to enjoy this sort of intimacy again after so long without. Besides, it was only to break the spell, right? Shutting down the nagging voice of reason in her head, throwing her arms about his neck, she snogged Draco as breathlessly senseless as he did her, holding nothing of herself back for the first time in years.

With that, the enchantment was broken… although neither seemed to care or pay this little fact particular notice at that moment.

Roughly shoved up against the stone wall nearby, he was on her in a second, their bodies crushed together so close that there was no room for air or light to pass between them. He'd cushioned her head with the back of his hand to protect it from their violent collision with the solid surface, and his other hand had curved downward to cup one of her back cheeks taking the force there for her as well, but her shoulders met the barrier with a violent jolt. She gave only a small grunt in protest, before being forcibly compelled to ignore it in favor of Malfoy's attentions.

He kissed her as if it were the last chance to do so, grabbing a hold of her lips and not letting go. His tongue demanded entrance and required her full, untamed response once achieved – and she gave it, entwining them together in an erotic dance of wet, lush, drugging kisses. They both groaned as she shoved her fingers into his silky hairline and held on tight at the same time as his hand on her arse seductively massaged the tender flesh, and he evocatively ground his solid erection into her pelvis, rubbing up and down.

Honestly, it was the most intoxicating, all-enveloping snog she'd ever experienced. It giddily dissolved her protests, thrillingly smothered her common sense, and richly stimulated her sex-starved body. It made her brain shut down and her consciousness fly into the clouds. If it hadn't been for the half-hour bell tolling through the castle drawing her back into the reality of their circumstances, she was quite sure she'd have let her partner go even further right there in the middle of the corridor!

Pulling her mouth away, she released the death grip she'd maintained on him. "Wait, I-"

His lips moved to her neck instead, sought out and found her sensitive pulse and suckled for all he was worth, undaunted by her weak, mewling protests. She knew he was leaving a love bruise, knew she'd have to cover it up somehow from her students, knew she shouldn't even let him go this far, and yet…

Malfoy took a deep, calming breath, leaned away, placing space between them. His hands dropped away to rest instead on the wall behind her, caging her between, preventing her escape for a while longer. He stared at her through half-lidded, passion-glazed eyes. His kiss-swollen lips quite assuredly mimicked her own.

"Spell's broken," he informed her of the obvious.

She thickly swallowed, trying to whet her suddenly dry mouth. "Yes, I know." It was difficult to meet his eye, but even more difficult to look away.

A pause as his glance briefly flicked to the side of her neck. "I marked you."

She gave a small nod. "Yes, I know," she repeated.

His pelvis tilted in, touching down upon hers once more; the evidence of his desire was still very prominent. "I'm going to have you at some point, Granger."

Hermione's knees threatened to give out and she quaked, but she dug her nails into the solid, granite wall behind her and gathered her resolve. "No, you're not." That sounded at least marginally resistant, she was thankful to note.

A leisurely, dominant stroke of his covered cock against the front of her dress, right between the seam of her mound revealed the truth to both of them. Her knickers were positively soaked in the crotch. It was true that she had gone too long without a man riding her thighs, and it was hard to turn-off such a driving, biologic need... She unconsciously rubbed back against that tempting length.

An arrogant smirk crawled up the side of his cheek, and he bent his head to hers, hovering his mouth over her lips again. "Yes, I am," he confidently predicted, and closed the gap to capture another slow, lingering kiss, persuasively brushing against her pelvis once more.

When he pulled back and turned on his heel to walk away, making the corner without a glance over his shoulder, only then did Hermione allow herself to breathe. Stumbling to her empty Transfiguration classroom across the corridor, she hurried in, locked the door behind her, threw herself into her chair and bemoaned her situation.

She'd kissed him – more than kissed him! They'd practically dry humped right there in the hallway!

Worse, Draco Malfoy had just made a very clear claim upon her!

Touching her neck where she could feel the skin red-hot and a bit sore made her all too aware of the uncomfortable predicament between her thighs... With an hour before the next class arrived, she decided to immediately take care of her problem, hoping this burning need would go away once she found release. Slipping her hand up her dress and under her knicks, hidden from view under the desk (just in case), she did the unthinkable: she enthusiastically masturbated. Imagining blond hair slipping through her fingers, a taut, hard body thrusting away into her sopping, aching kitty, she came with a cry of his name on her lips in mere minutes – a first for her, who usually required a long session of foreplay.

After, as she calmed her racing heart and shaking limbs, waving a charm over herself to clean-up and cover the scent of her sex – positively scandalized by her wanton behavior - Hermione was forced to admit that she was dangerously attracted to Draco Malfoy, a man who had done nothing but antagonize her since the first moment they'd met, and whom she'd despised for all of her teenaged and adult life.

Was that twisted or what?

Bloody hell, she desperately needed to get laid.



War-pip = In the late 1700's-early 1800's, Napoleanic military were awarded 'pips' when they were accorded the next higher rank (which was usually a field commission, in battle). The pips were always placed on the collar of the formal coat.