Title: Fa-Lalala
Summary: He should be paying attention to her, but he's quickly distracted. Because while she's yelling at him, she just so happens to be doing it in her knickers and bra. - How Draco and Hermione celebrate Christmas Eve through the years.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The song belongs to Lady GaGa.
Word count: 2945
Warnings: Language, some sexual content


The only place you'll wanna be
Is underneath my Christmas tree

It's the first year in longer than Draco can remember that he hasn't gone home for the holidays. He tells his parents he needs the time to study for his N.E.W.T.s. At Hogwarts, he complains loudly and obnoxiously about how his parents want some sort of romantic getaway and how it leaves him trapped there during the break. They all believe him, of course. He is Draco Malfoy, after all, and lying has always been one of his many (many, many) talents. Everyone accepts his stories and believes him to be a thoughtful, selfless student-slash-son.

(Which amuses the hell out of him, because thoughtful and selfless are two words that should never be associated with Draco Malfoy. He's a first rate selfish, arrogant git and he'll be the first to admit it.)

What the fools don't realize, however, is that because Hermione Granger is Head Girl she and Head Boy Potty receive their own living quarters. But Potter is gone for the break and it's something Draco (naturally being the conniving, selfish prat that he is) plans on taking full advantage of it.

She organizes some sort of evening for them. He isn't told what exactly is in store, only to arrive promptly at eleven o'clock on Christmas Eve. Only Draco has this horrible habit of arriving (fashionably, he always stresses, fashionably) late and it's nearly eleven thirty by the time he actually does. And Merlin's beard, is she furious.

She yells things, threatens him in ways he would rather not admit. He should be scared, terrified really, because an angry Hermione is never a good thing. This is going to end badly, he knows, and he really should be paying attention to her or something, but he is quickly distracted. Because, you see, while she is yelling and threatening him and all, she just so happens to be doing it in her knickers and bra, and only in her knickers and bra.

And, honestly, Draco shouldn't be held accountable for his actions anymore.

At some point she ends up in front of him, her face tinted red and her eyes on fire. And while she's yelling and threatening (Merlin, she never stops), she reaches her hand out and actually jabs his chest with her finger. Granted this would normally infuriate him to no end, but now is most certainly not this normal situation and he's more than aware of how little her green (green!) bra leaves to the imagination.

"Granger." He says in a voice huskier than usual.

"What?" She snaps.

He grabs her by the waist and presses her against him. "Stop talking." His mouth captures hers before she has the chance to do anything else. Needless to say, Hermione doesn't complain again for the rest of the night.

Merlin, Draco loves Christmas.

It's their first Christmas Eve in their own flat and they have no special plans.

Ginny tells Hermione that she's mad. It's a first, Ginny explains, it's something special and it deserves special attention. Hermione thinks that's rubbish; just because it's slightly different from the others does not necessarily mean anything.

It isn't the first Christmas she's spent with Draco, it's not even the second or third, it's their fifth. They have celebrated in his old flat, with their friends, and in every other way imaginable. So this year, she resolves to have a simple Christmas Eve with just the two of them. Draco even agrees with her; although she suspects that that might be because he's still a spoiled child and wants to open his presents the moment the clock strikes twelve. She never allows him to open them any sooner.

They're curled up on the sofa watching her favourite Christmas films on the telly (something she did not have to fight tooth and nail to bring; for someone raised with such pureblood ideals, Draco adores Muggle technology) when Hermione feels him move ever so slightly. His hand slides onto her lap and his fingers dance along her pyjama bottoms.

"Behave." She attempts to hiss. It gets mixed with her giggles, however, and comes out a rather strange sound.

He smirks, because he has never been one to behave and the next thing she knows, he has pulled her up onto his lap. She smacks him playfully and an attempt to wiggle away, but he wraps an arm around her waist and holds her in place. His other hand dances along the hem of her pyjamas, teasing her skin.

"The movie, Draco." She stifles a moan as his hand moves dangerously close.

"I am watching, Hermione." He mumbles, his warm breath dancing against her ear. "It's about the green bloke and how he wants to steal Christmas."

She shudders. "The Grinch. His name is Grinch – oh!"

He says something else, but she can't be bothered to know what, because he's finally found his target and she's realized that there are far better ways they could be spending their time. Besides, they can always watch the film next year.

That year, Hermione lets Draco have one of his Christmas presents a little early.

...

One year she sets up some sort of scavenger hunt for him. She thinks that it's fun, spontaneous, romantic even. Draco fucking hates it.

It's cold and snowing and she sends him all across bloody London. He can't even skip out because she tells him that if he doesn't finish it, he won't get his Christmas prize (and Merlin, Draco loves prizes). So he does it – he complains while he does (loudly and obnoxiously, just in case there's a doubt in anyone's mind), but he does it. He travels through the entire sodding city, following each one of her ridiculous clues until he realises that the final destination is back in their bedroom.

Merlin's beard, is he pissed when he realises that.

"Is this some sort of joke?" He growls, slamming the door behind him. "You had me travel all across this damned city just to have me return here?"

Hermione rolls her eyes at him. "Oh quit being so dramatic, Draco."

"Dramatic? It's bloody freezing out there, Granger! I could have frozen to death. Is that what you want? Never in my life have I – oof!"

He doesn't get much further than that before she grows bored of his complaints. She pushes him down (and quite aggressively at that) onto the bed and climbs on top of him. It's only then that he notices that her (normally ridiculously bushy hair) has been tamed down to soft curls and that she's actually wearing make-up. But most importantly he realises what she's wearing: a silky silver night robe and a pair of lacy black knickers.

"Draco." She all but purrs.

"What?" He snaps back. With how she's straddling him, he knows it's obvious to her that he's far from annoyed now, but damn it, he will not go down without a fight.

"Stop talking." Her mouth captures his before he can protest.

It's quite some time before Draco says anything else.

...

The first Christmas they spent together, contrary to common belief, wasn't at Hogwarts during their final year. No, no other soul knew, but their first was the year before, during the war.

Somehow she had separated from Harry and Ron. There had been an ambush, she had been injured, and had no choice but to leave them. She wasn't sure where exactly she had apparated to, but, regardless, it did take long for him to find her.

She had honestly thought she was going to die then. She was defenceless, too weak to even properly defend herself. She wouldn't have blamed him either; they were in a war, after all, and she was the enemy. But much to her surprise, he didn't. He did the exact opposite instead, and attempted to heal her wounds so that she could leave sooner.

"Send you to the Dark Lord?" His laughter was bitter when she asked. "Why? So that when you escape, as you always somehow manage to, I can get the blame? Yeah right, Granger."

To this day, Hermione still isn't sure whether he had been telling the truth or not.

That night, for some reason she still doesn't understand, she stayed with him. She trusted him more so than she should have. Maybe it was because she realized that he was just as frightened as she was or that he didn't want this war anymore than she did. Because she realized that it was killing their side, killing him, as much as it was her.

They both needed this; both needed to see something beautiful in the midst of all the darkness. It wasn't sweet or romantic. They weren't happy or in love; they were beaten, broken, and sick of the pain. Her most vivid memory wasn't the sex, but rather the feel of the icy air against her skin when she slipped away, hours later.

He held her after they finished, as if they were a normal couple, happy and in love. Somewhere in between that and her leaving, when he must have that she was asleep, she remembers him stroking her hair. "Merry Christmas." He had mumbled as the clock chimed somewhere behind them. "Merry Christmas ... Hermione."

Maybe, just maybe, that had been the moment she started falling for him.

She left while he was asleep. And even though he was on the other side, even though he was supposed to be her enemy, it felt wrong to leave him alone and without a goodbye, so she wrote him a note. It was neither long nor heartfelt, but she still likes to think she said everything she needed to.

Merry Christmas, Draco. Stay safe. – H.

Later, months after the war ended and peace had just begun to settle in, he showed her it to her. For a reason he still refuses to tell her, he kept her little, simple Christmas note. That was the moment she think she knew they were meant to be together.

So every year, to commemorate the night they found one another during the war, they take extra care to celebrate Christmas Eve properly.

...

Draco and Hermione spend their first Christmas Eve as husband and wife at the Manor, although most certainly not by choice, mind you. Every year his parents hold some sort of function for Christmas and for the past few years Draco has been fortunate enough to be able to avoid them. This year, however, he is a married wizard and everything is different. He surprises everyone when he agrees with his parents.

They are Malfoys now, he explains to Hermione, and need to be more serious. The gala is an important tradition for the Malfoy family. This year they are going to have a dignified Christmas Eve. They are too old and cannot be playing such silly games.

And that, Draco realises when she appears in a rather sexy green dress, was the wrong thing to tell her. Because you never tell Hermione that she cannot do something.

They spend quite a bit of the event separated. She joins his mother as hostess, mingling and mixing with guests. She listens to a few of their stories, undoubtedly returning the favour with some quote from one of her awful books. He knows this, because although he spends his time acting as the host with his father, he watches her the entire time. (Subtly, of course, he isn't some sort of Barbarian; he isn't Weasley, after all.)

He corners her fifteen minutes before midnight. He excuses himself to the random witch whose name he can't be bothered to remember at the moment, before he steals his wife away for a dance. The song is some slowed down version of Deck the Halls and she leans her chest against his, while her fingers tease at his neck.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione." He mumbles his groan.

She smiles oh-so-innocently at him. "Yes, Draco darling?"

Bloody minx, he wants to say. He knows better, however. "Let's go. Now." He says instead.

"Oh? I could have sworn you said we were too old to be playing such silly games. What about your dignified Christmas?"

"Fuck dignity."

A smirk tugs at her lips and it takes all his will power to not take her right then and there, everyone else be damned. She leans up and presses a hungry kiss against his lips. It's nothing more than a tease, however, and she pulls back before he can even respond.

"I'll race you there." She laughs in a way that resembles Christmas bells before she slips through the crowd. Draco smirks and follows her.

You'd have to be mad to let her go, after all.

...

When she's five years old, Stella tells Hermione that all she wants for Christmas is to spend Christmas Eve with her Mummy and Daddy. That's all it takes for Hermione to put her foot down and tell Narcissa that until their daughter is old enough to attend the Malfoy Christmas Eve Events, she and Draco will not be attending. Not that it takes very much convincing; for all their Malfoy stubbornness, Lucius and Narcissa love their granddaughter too much to ever tell her no. There's a reason Draco had been a spoiled child growing up. (Not that he isn't still one, but that's beside the point.)

That year, Stella tells Draco and her that she's going to stay awake long enough to see Santa Clause. She doesn't make it, of course, seeing as she's so excited that she burns all her energy out before it even reaches ten o'clock. At ten thirty, Hermione tucks her sleeping daughter into bed. And by eleven, it's Draco's turn.

He pins her beneath him with one hand, while the other slides the bottom of her nightdress up. Not that she really notices, because his kisses are moving south from her neck. Her fingers curl against his back and a gasp escapes her lips when he mouth finds her chest. She doesn't have to see him to see the smirk that is no doubt growing.

A knock comes from the door before anything else can happen. "Mummy, Daddy, get up! It's not midnight yet!" Stella cries from the other side of the door.

Hermione's eyes widen and she wiggles away from Draco. She adjusts her nightdress and smoothes down her hair. She hears him groan and has to fight back a giggle before she peaks the door open. "Darling, it's late. You should be in bed."

"I can't, Mummy." Stella shakes her head, tossing her blonde hair around. "If I do that, then I won't be able to see Santa Clause!"

"But love, he won't come if you're awake." Draco says, finally moving from the bed to the doorway. "And he'll know you're awake because, you see, Santa is a rather brilliant fellow."

She crosses her arms. "I don't believe you." She says in a way that reminds Hermione so much of Draco that she doesn't know whether to laugh or groan in frustration. "Besides, I'm not tired." Stella says, but then yawns.

Hermione smiles. "What if I read you a bedtime story? Then you can be asleep in time for Santa Clause to come."

Stella pauses, as if she's considering a rather serious issue. "Can Daddy read it to me instead?"

"Of course, darling." Hermione answers before Draco has the chance to. "Go and pick one out. He'll come in just a minute." Stella grins and runs off, too excited for another word. She's always been a daddy's girl, after all.

Draco's glaring at her by the time she shuts the door. "What the hell, woman?"

Hermione rolls her eyes and returns to their bed. "It's just a story, Draco. It will only take you a few minutes."

He follows her. "She's too old for a bloody bed time story."

"She's five." She reminds him. "That's not too old."

"It most certainly is! I will not have – wait." Draco stops his ramble. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Hermione doesn't answer him, not with words at least. Instead, she pulls him down onto the bed and rolls over on top of him. (She's always been known to want to be in control, after all, and this is certainly no exception.) She kisses his throat and then his chin, before finally his mouth. Her fingers dance against his chest and he moans against her mouth. She smirks and moves off of him.

"Now go." She orders him, straightening her nightdress once again. "Stella will have picked out her story by now."

Draco's stares at her, his face morphing from shock to anger. "What the fuck?" He growls, standing up. "You can't just do that and expect to be done." He grabs her by the waist and pulls her against him.

Hermione stifles a gasp when he finds that spot on her neck again. "No, Draco." She puts her hand on his chest, pushing him away from her. "Not until Stella is asleep."

His eyes narrow. "Hermione."

"No." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Now go."

"But – "

"Go!" She snaps. He glares at her one more time before turning away. She sits back on the edge of the bed. "Oh, and Draco?" She smirks.

"What now?" He snaps back.

"Do hurry. I am waiting, after all."

She doesn't think she has ever seen Draco in such a hurry to read bedtime story before.

Oh how Hermione loves Christmas.

...

Light me up, put me on top
Let's fa-lalalalalalala
Christmas Tree by Lady GaGa ft. Space Cowboy


Note: So after I wrote my HHr Christmas fic, one of my roommates played this song. At first I was going to try to write a smut-esc fic, but then it turned into fluff, but then I wrote that one scene during the war, so I'm not really sure what to call this. Haha. I just thought it would be something cute to do. Hope you guys enjoyed. Sorry for any mistakes, this fic wasn't beta-ed.

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

Review, please.