Chapter 22- Christmas Eve

-

"Rise and shine, darlin'!"

Ignoring the lunatic who had rudely interrupted her sleep, Luna rolled onto her stomach and pulled a pillow over her head. Immediately, the covers were cruelly pulled away, leaving the girl shivering, but determined not to give in to the fiend's cruel demand.

Her unprotected foot held in a firm grip, one by one each toe was waggled as the maniac sang in an off-key bass, "Rise and shine, Daddy's little baby...rise and shine, Daddy's little girl."

"Aaahhh...!"

Booming laughter filled the room. The man who 'murdered sleep' said, "Last chance, sweetheart. Get up now, or no more Mr. Nice Guy."

"Never!" The moment Luna groggily shouted her defiance of inhumane awakenings, she knew she had made a grave error. The grip on her foot tightened as the fingers ruthlessly tickled her sole until she gasped, "All right, all right, I'm up, I'm up!"

Luna sat up and glared at her father after glancing at the clock. "Why did you wake me up? My alarm won't go off for another hour. Can't you make your own breakfast for once? Let me go back to sleep?"

'Lunatic Larry' grinned at his daughter. "Sorry, darlin', no can do. We have to be at the office in an hour and a half. The PR people have planned some tomfool, Christmas Eve Bring your brat to Breakfast thing. Everyone who's connected to the London office is dragging their poor kids out to eat food they probably won't like and get a tour they don't want, so we can snap a few pictures and put the story in tomorrow's paper to show the world we have heart."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't make you go, but that witch who's editing the Non-Prophet is bringing her spawn to that rag's Kiddie Christmas Brunch, and I can't have her saying I don't care about family, or getting a scoop on me. So up and at 'em, Princess."

Flopping back against her pillows, she closed her eyes and groaned. "Fine. Forfeit me to the circulation gods. I resign myself to my grim fate. Just give me an hour to drag myself into the shower and get dressed. Should I wear sacrificial white?"

"Thanks for the offer, but only your presence, not your blood is needed today. Anything you wear, as long as it's photogenic, is fine with me."

Throwing a pillow at her father's back, Luna watched him turn, catch it, and zip it back to her before shutting the door behind him. As the soft material whooshed against the side of her head, she was grateful she had not thrown the clock.

-

Walking serenely beside her father inside the enormous building housing the 'heart and guts' of The Quibbler, Luna was besieged by several reporters and staff who came up to tell her how much she'd grown, how pretty she was, and how great it was to see her. All the fawning made her rather ill.

Her father said, "Frustrated Brown-Nosers. I don't put up with that arse kissing crap, so they hope you'll go for it and reward their toadying when you run the place one day."

This was not the time to tell her father she had no interest in following in his colourful footsteps. Luna smiled weakly and allowed her dad to steer her to his office, where a group of men and their children awaited.

Once inside, she smiled at the various department heads that she recognised from company parties in the past. The head of advertising's daughter, Grace, was a third year Gryffindor. Luna spent several minutes chatting with the girl and found she had a keen interest in Muggle music. The girl's green eyes grew large as she suddenly quit trying to explain how Muggle 'see-dees' worked like Orpheus Orbs. Instead, she stared at someone behind the Luna and then smiled. "Isn't that your boyfriend?"

Luna turned and stared. It wasn't her boyfriend. Not that she had a boyfriend. Harry was just a friend that she wanted to be her boyfriend if he ever got round to wanting her to be his girlfriend.

Was she babbling to herself? Better than to Wesley Roberts, who stood smiling in that annoyingly appealing way that flashed his too-white teeth and too-cute dimples.

He said, in that merry voice that today irritated her as much as it attracted, "Hello, Luna."

Steeling herself to be brusque and uninterested, she replied, "Hello, Wesley."

Ack! That was breathy, not brusque! Had her good sense gone on holiday too?

Attempting to be nonchalant, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Lips that were incredibly—none of her concern—curved upwards. "My father works here. Head of the PR department. Feel free to tell him off for dragging us out of bed at an ungodly hour. Merlin knows I did."

Abruptly deciding that blaming Wesley for being handsome and charming was unfair, and if Blaise could ignore occasional urges to be friends with Malfoy, then she could certainly do the same with Roberts, Luna relaxed. She looked over at the wizard talking with her father.

He wasn't fat and bald liked she'd hoped, but an older, still incredibly attractive version of Wesley. It was very lowering to know Roberts would be just as gorgeous in the future. The man looked their way and smiled, waving for them to come over. Saying goodbye to Grace, Luna followed Wesley.

Her father said, "Roberts here claims a picture of us and our kids eating together is just the sort of tosh readers want to see, so let's go get it over with, shall we?"

Wesley's father looked slightly taken aback. It was amusing for Luna to see a man who obviously relied on his personality to influence people deal with an employer who only cared about what someone said, and not how they said it.

The group walked down to the cafeteria, chose their breakfasts. Dutifully, they sat at a table where they could be photographed with the rest of the 'happy families' in the background.

Luna noticed that both Roberts picked bacon and eggs while she and her father chose porridge and fruit. Wesley's bacon smelled good. He noticed her interest. Lifting a piece, he offered it to her with a smile.

A flash went off, but Luna didn't notice. She was too busy trying to keep herself from taking what he offered...and she did not mean bacon. Shaking her head with a smile she knew showed her regret more than she'd like, Luna heard Wesley's father's proposal and stared, disbelieving.

Her father laughed uproariously. "That's the best idea I've heard all week. Luna, honey, you'll be perfect. It's for a good cause, and young Wesley here is agreeable, so I'll get back to running the paper and let the PR guru give you the details. I'll try to come see you in action, sweetheart, but in case I don't make it down, tell me all about it when you're done."

Winking, the whirlwind hurried off to ensure his beloved paper was running smooth as usual. The daughter he left behind glanced from one mischievously grinning Roberts to the other. "Tell me you're joking. I can take a joke. You don't really expect me to dress up and be a...."

They grinned. She sighed.

-

"Look, Mum, that's Father Christmas' helper!"

Cringing inwardly as the little boy tugged the short skirt of her green velvet dress in a bid for her attention, Luna straightened her cap and heard the bell on the end jingle. Pasting a smile on her face, she drifted to the front of the line that had formed and uttered the words Mr. Roberts had advised she say, "Father Christmas is ready to see you now, if you'll follow me."

She led the boy to where Wesley waited. The Father Christmas Appearance Charm only had two flaws—Roberts' eyes were still impishly blue, and he kept those distracting dimples. Wesley did his best to sound 'hearty', but his amusement came through loud and clear to his 'helper'.

"Ho-Ho.... Who have we here?"

The little boy who sat on a red velvet covered knee looked up with round blue eyes and stuck a finger in his nose. In a high, strange voice, the tyke said, "My name's Ralph. I have a cat named Mittens."

A white eyebrow rose as Father Christmas replied, "That's...interesting. What would you like for Christmas, Ralphie?"

"My nose makes its own bubble gum."

Father Christmas and his helper exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Wesley tried again. "Present. Christmas. What-do-you-want?"

"Paste."

"Okay...paste...I'll make a note of that, Ralph." Giving the weird kid a not-so-gentle nudge, Wesley said, "Run along, and Happy Christmas."

As the boy walked away, he said with an eerie smile, "I love paste. It sticks things together and it's yummy."

For the next hour, the children were normal, with blessedly routine questions and requests for Jolly Old St. Nick. Wesley and Luna were beginning to relax when a boy with protuberant dark eyes behind thick glasses looked hesitantly around before sitting gingerly on Father Christmas' knee. He informed them that his name was Milhouse, and he wanted a new Magic Eight Ball.

Two sets of blue eyes flickered to each other then looked warily at the boy. Wesley asked what was wrong with the ball currently clasped in the nervous child's hands.

"My old one is broken. It only says 'All signs point to yes.' Like when I ask if Nelson is going to punch me or steal my lunch money or if Lisa will always think I'm a dork. I'll show you." Shaking the ball, Milhouse intoned, "Will I get a new Magic Eight Ball for Christmas?"

Wesley's voice quivered with laughter, as he read aloud, "Outlook not so good."

Without another word, the child hopped down and slumped out of the room.

Immediately, another boy swaggered into the chamber, stating he had tired of waiting for the elf chick to get her bum in gear and take him to Father Christmas. Wesley tried to reprimand the child, but was interrupted. "Uh huh, sure, whatever. Let's get this over with." Hopping onto the velvet lap, he smirked. "Hey jelly-belly, what's shakin', man?"

Looking ready to dump the little blighter on his arse, Wesley gritted, "What's your name?"

"I'm Bartholomew. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Father Christmas, and bad language puts bad boys on the naughty list."

The incorrigible brat laughed. "Oh yeah? We'll just see about that. I'm only doing this 'cause my mum made me. I know there's only one old guy who brings me presents, and his name isn't Father Christmas."

The pair watched in silence as the boy slid down and strutted out. After a moment, Wesley grinned. "I didn't know Professor Snape had a child."

Luna giggled.

The rest of their time flew by. After the line had closed and only Father Christmas and his helper remained, Wesley countered the Appearance Charm and became someone much too attractive dressed as St. Nick.

Smilingly, he pulled Luna onto his lap and asked, "What do you want for Christmas, little girl?"

She could not answer.

A couple of months ago, she would have said a boy with emerald eyes. Now she was confused. She still wanted Harry, didn't she? Maybe she dreamed about someone else, and noticed far too often, in far too much detail, how attractive Wes—that person was—but that didn't mean anything, did it?

Scrambling off his lap, Luna smiled sadly at the boy who looked so understanding it made her throat hurt. She shook her head. Softly, she whispered, "Happy Christmas," and rushed to change and find her father, and hopefully some peace on earth.

"Boot Hill."

Still giggling over the name of the home, Blaise stepped out of the fireplace and into Terry's arms. Lowering her basket onto the hearth, she threw her arms around her boyfriend and returned his kiss.

It had only been a few days since she'd touched him, but it had seemed so much longer. Talking to him in the mirror every day had been wonderful, and she knew all sorts of lovely things about him now, but she had longed for this. Longed to feel his lips, and hands, and body and experience the physical, as well as emotional, connection.

Deep-blue eyes gleamed as Terry watched her rapidly undo the tiny hooks from the eyes on her cropped cardigan. "Did that jumper shrink?"

She tried to say with a straight face, "It's the fashion, and I'm wearing a camisole under it. See?" Taking off her cardigan, she dropped it onto the basket. Terry pulled her toward the sofa. She teased, "Didn't your mother ever tell you that you see with your eyes and not your hands?"

"No."

Threading her fingers through the long, silky hair that she loved so much, Blaise lowered her mouth to his. "Good."

How smart he was to suggest she arrive early and spend the hour before the family started the day 'catching up' with him. She needed to know, did he still like it when she gently tugged on his bottom lip and then sucked it?

The groan he gave told her he did...how nice. Her giggles when he softly blew on her neck reassured him she still enjoyed that as well. Terry kissed her abdomen while she caressed his hair. Blaise thought it was funny how people said knowledge was power when it was really pleasure.

She froze when a feminine voice said, "David...your brother's in here...with his girlfriend."

Terry sat up and tugged into place his jumper while Blaise pulled down the white camisole, and quickly hooked up the soft raspberry coloured cardigan over it. Standing, she moved to her boyfriend's side. He smiled down at her as he finger-combed his hair, introduced her to his brother's girlfriend Angie, and reintroduced his brother David.

Smiling as though she and Terry had been drinking tea instead of making out, Blaise shook hands. Following Terry to the kitchen, she drank in all the details of his home. It was almost as homey as The Burrow, but much tidier and filled with a mix of modern and antique furniture.

The Victorian parlour looked very pretty and uncomfortable. Blaise much preferred the lounge with the comfortable sofa. The kitchen was warm, with a fire burning in a small fireplace in a brick wall. The large worktable island, with its racks of pots and herbs dangling from it indicated someone enjoyed cooking the non-magical way.

"What's in the basket?"

Blaise noted how curiously Angie looked at the large hamper Terry placed on the table and smiled. "Breakfast. Would you like to help unpack it?"

The other woman eagerly lifted the lid and withdrew item after item.

Smiling feebly when Terry laughed to see the whole ham Slinky had included along with the assortment of quiches, scones, jams, homemade bread, muffins, and tray of fruit in the enchanted basket, Blaise said faintly, "I was hungry?"

"Good morning, boys, what's for...breakfast." Mr. Boot came into the room and stared at the table. His blue gaze twinkled. "I see what's for breakfast, and lunch too. Thank you, Blaise."

Mrs. Boot came in and politely seconded her husband before heading for the coffee pot.

Watching everyone bustle around opening cupboards, and drawers for plates and glasses, cutlery and linens, Blaise thought it must be nice to have a family like this. She tried to help by storing the empty basket under the worktable, out of the way. Straightening, she met Terry's gaze. He gave her a promising look before he resumed setting the long farm table at the far end of the kitchen.

It reminded her of what the girl who had sold her the denims said about the trousers. She giggled inwardly. Well, if it was true that each raspberry painted squiggle on the back pockets was an invitation to grab her arse, she would be more than happy to have Terry take her up on it.

Over breakfast, Blaise learned that the other brother was sleeping off a late night, and that the rest of the family would start arriving shortly before dinner that evening. After helping clear up the dishes--something that seemed to shock Terry's mum—Blaise borrowed a jacket and followed her boyfriend outside.

He was supposed to give her a tour of the place, but David and Angie decided to come along and take over, which was annoying. Did they really think she gave a rat's arse about the microbiology of apple juice?

During David's painfully comprehensive tour of the winery, the younger couple began to find little ways to entertain themselves. As Angie hung on every word detailing the cider making process, Terry proved that he could indeed slide his hand into his girlfriend's tight back pockets.

While acting fascinated by the machinery that pressed the apples, Blaise slipped her hand under Terry's jumper and spelled out words on his bare back with her finger. She was amazed by his brilliance as he correctly guessed 'I luv you', 'u r so hot' and 'kiss me.'

Using the pretext of showing Blaise the stack of wooden barrels used to store the juice that would convert to cider; Terry fulfilled her request by kissing her. Thankfully, after that the tour was over, since David didn't want to let them sample any of the country wines, and the groves in winter weren't exactly scenic.

The couple wandered around Ottery St. Catchpole, had tea, and returned to help the family make ham sandwiches to accompany a potato soup for lunch. Afterwards, Terry took her upstairs to see his room.

Blaise enjoyed touching all his childhood mementos. She duly admired the shell collection, stamp collection, coin collection, wizard card collection, Quidditch player card collection, and Superwizard action figures. Terry's overflowing bookshelves were scanned and a certain book of poetry picked up and exclaimed over.

"You told me the book was your mother's, but it says right here 'To Terry, Love, Mum'!"

Smiling at his embarrassment and at how fine he looked sitting on the wide windowsill with the sun highlighting red glints in his brown hair, Blaise sat on the end of his double bed. She said, "I looked up some Shakespeare just for you. As You Like It, Act IV, Scene I." Leaning back, she quoted huskily, "Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now?"

The body and mouth covering hers gave the answer. After thoroughly wooing her with kisses and caresses, Terry snuggled against her back. He talked quietly about his favourite Christmases growing up and listened to hers. They both put cookies high on the list of must-have traditions, and they agreed they were a perfect match. She liked to make cookies and he liked to eat them.

 Eventually, their eyes grew heavy, and they fell asleep.

"Hey David, who's the bird Terry's sleeping with?"

For a disoriented moment, Blaise thought she was in Draco's bed and Crabbe and Goyle were staring down at her. Then she realised that she was at Terry's...in his bed...and his two brothers were staring down at her.

Sleepily, she noticed that Barry, with his over-muscular body and extremely short hair was even less handsome than David was. His smile wasn't nearly as nice either. In fact, he was leering as if she were naked instead of fully dressed. She didn't like the look, or him either.

In the doorway, Angie said, "I'm going home to change. It's already six and your grandmother just Flooed in. I'll see you at dinner in a couple of hours, Blaise. I'll bring your earring."

Blaise returned Angie's wave and shifted to face Terry. "Baby, it's time to wake up."

Barry snorted. "Baby! Merlin, David, our ickle brother's got a girlfriend who calls him baby!"

Terry told his siblings, without taking his gaze off her, "Get out of my room. We'll see you downstairs."

Snickering over 'Baby-Terrykins acting macho', Barry left.

David said apologetically before he followed, "He barged in here after I told him Terry was sleeping. I know Barry's a little rough around the edges, Blaise, but he's okay. See you later."

"Is he really okay?" she asked her boyfriend when his brother left them alone.

"Are Crabbe and Goyle okay?"

"Yeah, after you get to know them...for a few years."

Terry laughed.

Blaise decided to give him something to laugh about and tickled him until he begged for mercy, which she gave, along with several long kisses.

Terry eventually levered himself up off the bed and promised to keep his brothers downstairs while she took a quick shower and changed for dinner. Looking in his wardrobe for something to wear, he looked down and saw a present.

Picking it up, he smiled, and handed her a tiny box he brought down from the top shelf. "Are we exchanging presents early?"

When she nodded, he tore open the wrapping. Inside the box was a book, Quidditch Strategy Secrets on top of a cashmere jumper the exact shade of his eyes.

"I guess you wouldn't be my girlfriend if you didn't pick my clothes."

Happily accepting his kiss and his thanks, Blaise said the jumper was really a present to herself, because she would be able to see him, and run her hands all over him wearing it. He seemed to like that explanation, kissing her breathless.

His present to her was a silver, Victorian-era Celtic love-knot ring. Picking it up, Terry slid it on the ring finger of her right hand, saying, "I didn't have a lot of money left after I picked out your locket, but the lady at the Silver Sixpence said she had something she thought you'd like. The knot is called a lover's knot, because it links separate paths into one."

"I love it...I love you." Several deep, sweet, kisses later, she pushed Terry out the room with his arms full of clothes and walked over to his closet. Drinky and Minky, the most fabulous house elves in the world, had delivered her dress and makeup kit as promised.

Blaise took a quick shower and applied just the right amount of shadow and liner to create a lightly made up, 'good girl you can bring home to mother' image. She smiled sweetly at her reflection. Immediately afterwards, a wicked grin transformed her features. She made a mental note--sweet smile for parents and family, wicked smile for Terry.

Slipping the dress on, Blaise was glad she had gone back for the pretty dress she rejected that day she shopped with Luna. The beaded lace slip dress was a true red that simply shouted Happy Christmas. The white gold and ruby earrings Draco had given her looked wonderful with the locket and her adorable new ring.

Realising that she was gushing like a Hufflepuff, and not caring one bit, Blaise made a last-minute decision to change her gloss for a 'can't kiss off' red lipstick that made her mouth go from sweet to sexy. She went downstairs humming a Christmas carol.

In the doorway to the lounge, she froze. Terry was talking to an older man, looking extremely handsome and elegant in his cashmere jumper and black trousers.

Everyone else in the room, however, dressed casually. The family wore jumpers with Father Christmas, reindeer, snowmen, and sequins with denims, khakis, and corduroys. A couple of older women were wearing tweed.

Trying not to hyperventilate or resort to the Zabini family cure-all, alcohol and lots of it, Blaise caught Terry's eye and tried to smile. He moved toward her with a grin that made her wish they were someplace far, far, away...where her only problem was deciding whether to kiss him before or after she ripped off his jumper.

Pretending she was a Borgia ancestress, who didn't care what people said because those who crossed her had a funny way of getting 'stomach upsets' and dying painful deaths, Blaise glided into the room and acted like she didn't notice conversations halting as the Boot family stared en masse at the girl who made the word overdressed an understatement.

"You look beautiful."

If Terry thought so, that was all that mattered. He curved an arm around her waist and led her over to the white haired man he had been talking to before.

"Grandfather, this is my girlfriend, Blaise Zabini."

"Nice to meet you, Blaise. You wouldn't be related to Enrique Zabini would you?"

Her eyes flickered to her boyfriend. He would have told her if her father had run his grandfather out of business...wouldn't he? She smiled sweetly into faded blue eyes and said, "Yes, he's my father."

"Good wizard chess player. A group of us old gaffers play in the park across from one of your father's shops, and every now and then he comes over and gives us a run for our money. Tell him the 'tough old Boot' wishes him a Happy Christmas, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

The rest of the evening blurred into one meet and greet after another. It seemed all Terry's relatives wanted to say hello and look her over.

Only brother Barry was truly offensive. The arrogant prat, who laboured under the delusion that being a pro Quidditch player made him irresistible, tried to chat her up while Terry helped his mother bring up a few more bottles of wine after dinner. Ignoring the attempts to stare down her dress, his offers to show her his room, and his bat, Blaise pulled his great-auntie into the conversation and left the pair discussing the dear woman's many ailments.

Escaping down a corridor, she heard a pair of voices discussing...her. Mrs. Boot was trying to talk some sense into her son. Why didn't he pick a nice Ravenclaw girl to go with instead of a Slytherin? The list why he shouldn't be with Blaise was long and depressingly accurate.

So much for my attempt to seem like an average girl from a nice, normal family, she thought.

Terry said, "Leave off, Mother. I don't want to hear another word. I don't care how much money she has or what her family's like. I only care about Blaise."

Quickly retracing her steps, the girl who stood out like an exotic bird amongst ravens met Terry as though she were just leaving the lounge. Telling herself that she couldn't care less if his mum approved, Blaise smiled wickedly.

The rest of the evening, she lured her boyfriend from one ball of mistletoe to another, running her hands all over his new jumper, uncaring what anyone else might think. The taste of Terry's lips and the feel of his firm muscles under soft cashmere was all she needed for a Happy Christmas.

G, Have yourself a merry little Christmas. B

Staring down at the note in her hand, Ginny decided that the next time she saw Zabini, she was hugging the girl, whether the Slytherin liked it or not. Blaise had bought the second unmemorable potion and memory enhancer to ensure that her mate Draco was happy, but the clothes she kept sending were another story.

Ginny was aware that her boyfriend didn't give a damn what she wore, but she did. Blaise instinctively knew it, and continually did something about it while acting like it was nothing at all.

The vial of memory enhancer she had swallowed a moment ago had been delivered with an outfit Ginny would have chosen herself, if she had her own vault at Gringotts. Admiring her reflection in the full-length mirror that hung on the inside door of the wardrobe, Ginny ran a hand over the deep V-neck stretch cashmere jumper.

The tomato red colour was perfect with her vibrant hair. The espresso shade she lined her eyes with matched the trousers that looked and felt so good. Brushing her hair, the girl, whose freckles had inspired her boyfriend to try to give her a kiss for each one, wondered if it was wrong to like nice things so much. Ginny figured her appreciation of fine things included Malfoy, and if wanting him was wrong, she didn't want to be right.

The phrase was straight out of one of her dad's oldies songs and she sang to herself as she walked downstairs. "If loving you is wrong, I don't want to be right."

Halting at the bottom of the stairs, Ginny realised why she sang that song with such conviction.

"Are you all right?"

Ron's concern snapped her out of the daze she'd been in. She didn't even know how long she'd been standing there, staring at nothing, while her whole world tilted and spun out of control. She tried to smile. "I think I need something to eat. I've got low blood sugar or something."

Her brother followed her into the kitchen. Harry was already at the table, being force-fed another helping of porridge. Molly didn't coerce overtly, but her motherly concern for his health worked like a charm to make sure Harry stuffed himself at every meal. The poor boy would look like his cousin Dudley if he lived at The Burrow full time.

When she sat at the table with a piece of toast and glass of juice for breakfast, Ginny became aware that everyone was staring at her. Calmly, she continued eating her toast.

"Is that another outfit from the best mate of my favourite Slytherin?"

Meeting the gaze of The-Boy-Who-Needed-Lessons if he wanted to sneer even half as effectively as Draco did, Ginny nodded. Once upon a time, that disapproving look from Harry would have made her rush off to her room for a good cry. Now she just wanted cry 'good gods, get over it!'

Allowing the flow of censure from Harry and Ron to wash over her, Ginny wondered what Draco was doing now. She smiled at the thought of him getting dressed to meet her. Surprisingly, her mother halted their blathering.

"I don't agree with the boys. I think Blaise is a girl who gives things because it is how she shows she cares. That is the way she was raised. Her family is very different from ours, dear, and I believe that allowing her to give is a gift too...of friendship."

"I still say she's trying to buy Ginny's friendship."

"Then where's my mink coat and diamond necklace, brother dear."

Molly Weasley held up her hands. "That's quite enough. Agree to disagree, you two. Charlie should be home by lunch, and Bill and the twins will be Flooing over sometime this morning. I do not want any bickering to spoil our time together. So get along...and remember, birds in their little nest agree."

Mum's oft-used saying caused Ron and Ginny to laugh at Harry's look of befuddlement. He was probably imagining seven little red birds squabbling over worms in a nest.

Privately, Ginny didn't care if they agreed or not, as long as she didn't get pecked to death.

"Care to help me conjure a fruitcake, dear?"

Responding to her mother's inquiring gaze, bright hair shook wildly. "No way, Mum. Remember last year? I think Dad's still using that disaster as a doorstop in his office."

Patiently allowing her mum to run through her 'girls need domestic skills to be proper wives one day' admonition, Ginny smiled when Ron joked, "You'd better hope Ginny's husband has a house-elf, Mum, because I'm afraid she's a hopeless case."

"Then you help, Ron, since you're ace at conjuring. What a good husband you'll make a career-girl someday."

Her brother's fair skin flushed the colour of her jumper.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, mate, put your wife to work so you can stay home and play with the kids."

Reluctantly smiling at their teasing, Ron stood and took his plate and glass to the sink, where he used his wand to clean and put away his and the rest of the dishes stacked in the deep farmhouse basin. Ginny thought Harry was right. Ronald would make a great househusband. Especially if he had a wife...like Hermione...who was bound to be a Healer or Professor. Of course, he would have to kiss her first, and only Merlin knew if that would ever happen.

Standing and rinsing her glass in the sink, her eyes drifted to the window, where her attention became riveted by the sight of Draco exiting her father's workshop at the far end of the garden. Casually removing her cloak from a peg by the back door, Ginny wished everyone joy of cooking and said she was going for a walk.

Unconsciously, she walked faster and faster as she moved to meet the boy strolling toward her. Her eyes drank in every feature, so classically perfect it almost hurt to look at him. Leading Draco away from the house, Ginny's lips curved as she walked to a large tree and started climbing the rungs magically affixed to the trunk.

At the top, she climbed into the tree house and leaned out the square 'window' to the left of the 'door.' She called down to the boy staring at her in disbelief, "Come up and play with me." She conjured a blue fire in a large tin to warm the 'house' her father and elder brothers had built when she was still too small to climb.

Draco joined her in the cosy space. She moved into his arms.  

Sinking her fingers into the white-blond hair she never tired of touching, her lips returned her boyfriend's hungry kiss, but her eyes refused to close. They wanted to gaze adoringly at the long, thick lashes, the pale hair and skin that were so beautiful she knew no other boy could ever hope to compete.

How ironic. Draco had infuriated her for so long by acting as if he was the only boy in the world who mattered, and now he was the only boy in the world that mattered—to her. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Rain-cloud coloured eyes opened and smiled into hers. "Can't even take your eyes off me for a snog, can you Red?"

Afraid she would start confessing feelings that would kill her if he didn't return them, Ginny closed her eyes and tried to tell him how she felt with one kiss after another. Pressing him down onto the wooden floor, she unfastened his coat and slipped her hands inside, needing to touch him, show him how much she wanted and....

Long fingers captured hers and gently pried them off his body. Sitting up, Draco moved to sit against the opposite wall. She stared at the muscles of his chest in shock. Had she undone all those buttons?

"Don't look like that, Ginny. You missed me. I missed you too. We got a little carried away, showing it, that's all. I'm not complaining. I just don't want you to think that's all I'm after."

Clear grey eyes searched her face. Somehow, she knew he wanted reassurance that their relationship was more than physical on her part too. Did he wonder if any girl except Blaise could ever care about him for anything else, see more in him than a rich boy with a beautiful body to use for however long it lasted?

 Her smile wobbled. "It wasn't like...that...with anyone else. I never cared...so much...that I wanted to...you know...get carried away."

A smile of angelic sweetness lit the face that tugged her heart and caused tears to spill. Gentle fingertips wiped them away as he teased, "Girls have cried when I told them I didn't care, but you're the first to cry because I do, Red."

Knowing that her smile was so wide her cheeks couldn't stretch one more millimetre, Ginny leaned forward and buttoned up the black shirt she'd undone—after running her hand over his gorgeous skin one last time.

Smirking, Draco pushed a strand of fiery hair behind her ear and stood up to tuck his shirt back in. He pulled her to her feet and hugged her so tight her eyes got misty.

She extinguished the warming fire. "Come on. Let's get out of here before we get carried away again."

Back on the ground, Ginny smiled as Draco dropped down beside her with cat-like grace. Holding his hand, she drew him toward the house. Halfway across the yard, he stopped in his tracks. "Are you sure you want me to hang around your family? I know they won't remember I'm there, but still...a Malfoy amongst Weasleys. Will the world end?"

The back door opened.

"Ginny, what are you doing out there? Fred and George have just arrived. Don't stand around. Come in out of the cold!"

Saying she would be right in, Ginny waited for the door to close before she turned around to press a quick kiss to Draco's cheek. What she had planned to say playfully came out passionately. "The world can't end...it's just beginning." Reminding herself that the twins would tease her forever about snogging an 'imaginary boyfriend', Ginny walked backwards to the door. "You heard my mother. Don't just stand there. Come in out of the cold!"

Draco gave her a look that warmed her to the tips of her toes and followed her inside.

Hastily moving out of the path of a pack of Weasels once he and Ginny entered the ramshackle abode, Draco's lip curled as he watched them surround her. They endangered her back with spine-cracking hugs and marred her cheeks with slobbery kisses. He vowed to wash her face before his lips touched her skin again.

Ginny kept looking his way, making sure the crowd of redheads didn't remember him. Draco concealed his dislike of her family. It wasn't her fault that her brothers were wankers and her friend Potty the biggest wanker of them all.

Assessing the kitchen he was currently trapped in, Draco admitted...privately...that for a hovel, it was adequately warm and seemed to be functional. The scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and other spices drew his gaze to a box on the counter. Walking over, he idly lifted the lid and recognised the cookies Zabini and Lovegood had made on Yule.

Apparently, the family was fond of gingerbread men. There was only one left. Picking up the gingerbread, Malfoy smirked at the black icing hair and green eyes before biting off its head. Mmmm, mmmm, Blaise sure made a damn fine cookie. Coolly tossing the headless gingerbread man back into the box, Draco flicked the lid back on and glanced at Red.

The girly-locked brother with the earring was telling her all about something and hogging her attention. Pursing his lips, Draco reached into the icebox and grabbed a butterbeer. Whacking the cap off against the counter edge made a nice, loud noise that had the gormless weasels startling before wondering what the blazes had made the sound. Their sister tried not to smile as she looked at the culprit. He gazed innocently back.

Ginny laughed and told the gits who clustered about her, "Let's go into the lounge and wait for Charlie."

Everyone except Potter trailed after her like gambolling puppies. The Boy-Who-Would-Regret-It if he laid one finger on Ginevra Weasley looked around the kitchen as though he had forgotten something. Shrugging, his archenemy turned to leave.

Draco slammed the empty butterbeer bottle down on the table and stepped back. Potty swung around and stared. The look of baffled confusion on Wonder-Boy's face at seeing the bottle that had materialised out of 'thin air' was quite amusing. He was considering making the bottle 'disappear' when the twins sidled back into the room.

One of them, who cared which one, smiled. "Hey, Harry, want to see a picture?"

Merlin, was Perfect Potter going to look at something dirty? This he had to see. Strolling around the back of the trio, Draco looked over a hunched shoulder to view the photograph being held by a gaping boy whose eyes really did resemble a pickled toad's.

Draco's own jaw dropped as he watched Professor Lorelei dance with the twins, spinning to sway with one and then the other. The picture was taken at some ball and the woman dressed as some kind of goddess. Shrewd grey eyes noticed Potty's fixed stare and slight flush. The twins noted it too. Their laughter filled the kitchen.

Ginny came to see what the lack-wits, still drooling over a siren, were up to and inquired with a nervous look toward her un-remembered boyfriend, "What's going on in here?"

Grinning at the lucky girl, who didn't have to worry, because Potty was too busy being hot for teacher, Draco pointed to the photo and swayed a bit to hint what the picture showed. Ginny blinked, but didn't respond to her brother's assurance that they were just talking. She was watching him move.

Impulsively, Draco added some motions to his private exhibition that had Red gasping that she had a bit of a headache and needed to go to her room. She turned and bolted. He was right behind her. Bounding up stairs that looked as though they would fall any moment, but felt sturdy, Draco followed Ginny into her room.

He didn't get a chance to even glance around before she was dragging off his coat and pressing him back against the door. Kissing her, he couldn't help chuckling when she moaned.

Deciding he had better distract his girl before he had to fight for his virtue, Draco clasped her hand in his, slid a hand around her waist, and danced her around the room. After a few minutes, she leaned back to look into his face as he swung her around in a waltz modified when necessary to avoid heavy furniture.

Brown eyes narrowed as she asked, "Are you part Veela?"

"Are you implying I'm irresistible when I'm dancing?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Damn."

They were laughing together when a knock sounded at the door.

"Are you all right, Ginny? Your brothers say you have a headache."

Hurriedly snatching up his coat and stuffing it into the wardrobe, Ginny opened the door and smiled weakly at her mother, the adorable little liar. "I'll be fine after I lie down for a while, Mum."

Smiling tenderly, the woman stroked her daughter's cheek. "Take a rest, dear. I'll send Ron up when Charlie arrives."

After she closed the door, the girl turned to watch him nosing around her space, picking up this and that and casually opening a drawer, before saying tartly, "I don't have a diary, so stop fingering my knickers."

Huffily, he shut the drawer and jumped onto the bed, looking at the cheeky girl through his thick lashes and using the Malfoy come-and-get-me stare. Ginny blushed and held out for an impressive ten seconds before giving in.

Content to lie gazing into his favourite colour eyes, his own slowly closed.

A sharp rap on the door jerked him awake. Ginny laughed as she called out to Weasel that she would be right down. Kissing him softly, she told him he looked like the sweetest angel while sleeping, and he had better act like one for the rest of the day—no more naughty tricks. He pretended to pout, which made her giggle.

Observing the Weasleys together, Draco realised that one brother was absent. Percy the Prat, as he had always called the former Head Boy, never showed, and was never mentioned. How interesting. Even the supposedly perfect family had a skeleton or two jiggling in a closet.

He drifted around the house and watched the siblings decorate a tree. He and Blaise had put up theirs the day after they arrived—neither had the patience to wait until Christmas Eve. This tree wasn't as magnificent an evergreen as the one in the Manor, or decked out with antique and bejewelled ornaments, but Draco imagined it was festive enough.

Picking up a small silver oval, grey eyes studied the face of the fourth year girl smiling at him from the tiny frame. Covertly, he slid it into his pocket.

Lunch was...an experience. Red was terribly distracted by his walking around and picking things off the table to eat. He knew his behaviour qualified as naughty, but what was he supposed to do, starve?

Perhaps replacing the chocolate chip cookie on Potter's plate with the headless gingerbread man was rather childish, but Ginny did giggle madly. The sound was just as satisfying as the taste of the stolen cookie.

Hovering behind his girlfriend and sneaking a drink from her glass, Draco decided he had an opportunity that was too good to waste. He bent and blew gently. Ginny gasped and covered her ear. Encouraged, his fingers were given leave to trace her features and her lips. The vixen nipped at him before the redhead blathering on and on about dragons broke off to give her a perplexed look.

After that, poor Red was forced to sit and endure his teasing touches and stolen kisses. Prudently moving out of reach when her narrowed eyes promised retaliation, Draco stood behind her doubly bothersome brothers.

One said to the other, "Our Ginny's been squirming rather a lot, George. Reminds me of when she was little and didn't want to run to the loo because she was afraid she'd miss something."

"What do you suppose has put the ants in her pants now, Fred?"

"Dunno, let's ask. Hey, Ginny, what's up?"

White-blond eyebrows rose along with two sets of red. What would the pink-cheeked girl say? Stiffly, she rose and took her plate to the sink before telling the group watching her curiously, "I'm going for a walk. I'm feeling...restless...from being cooped up inside."

Draco's smile of anticipation turned into a frown as the band of Weasels decided that a game of Quidditch was just what their favourite girl needed. Smirking like a Slytherin, the fiery wench agreed to the idea, which ruined his plans and made him...restless.

Adopting a bored expression, the boy unmemorable to everyone but the girl waving cheekily as she pranced out the door waited until the room was empty before bounding upstairs to retrieve his coat.

Pacing the perimeter of the Quidditch field, he watched Ginny through Omnioculars taken from her dresser, along with a ribbon that joined the picture in his pocket. Draco grudgingly admitted that although his Red was the best, each Weasley male and Potter was more than competent on a broom.

He snorted. It was compensation for the lack of looks, charm, and personality, he expected. Remembering his ride with the only Weasley worth knowing, white teeth flashed in a wolfish grin.

"What's the wicked smile for?"

Draco looked at the girl who had flown over to see him. "I was thinking of our broom ride together. Want another go?"

"Yes, but I can't. Mum's promised we'd go carolling at the Old Wizards' Home."

"Say your headache's returned and stay home...with me."

Regretfully, she shook her head. "I wish I could, but I won't be gone long."

Draco roamed the house after the group had piled into their enchanted Muggle vehicle and driven off. Charlie had some interesting dragon hide clothing, and Bill's letters from Fleur were...flowery. The twins' gear included some itching powder. Suddenly feeling as though it truly was 'the season to be jolly,' Draco sprinkled some on their sheets.

Upstairs, where Potty was apparently sleeping on a cot across from Weasel, Draco sneered at the Chudley Cannons poster on the wall. He looked around. In Potter's bag, he found a book on Seeker strategy, and underneath some Muggle-y clothing, he found a journal.

Sitting on the floor, he opened to a random page.

Malfoy the amazing bouncing ferret was the funniest thing I ever saw. Ron says he's fixed the image in his memory forever.

Tempted to rip the page out, Draco restrained himself and turned to another entry.

I had the pleasure of watching Malfoy get punched today. He cried like a little girl. It was brilliant.

Scowling, Draco flipped the stupid pages until he found the latest entry.

Had the mistletoe dream again last night. First, I was kissing Luna, then Ginny, then L. Wish I knew what the hell it was supposed to mean. Ron gave me a weird look this morning. Hope I didn't moan or say anything.

Tucking the journal back under the clothes, Draco rose to his feet and left the chamber. Back inside his girlfriend's room, the disturbed boy sat on the window seat and looked out. He wasn't jealous because Potter had kissed Ginny in a bloody dream. He was offended. How dare Potty dream about L after he'd kissed the prettiest girl in school?

His lips curved with reluctant humour at the thought of how Snape would react to his least favourite student's dreams about his favourite professor. Perhaps ensuring the man find out should be one of his New Year's Resolutions. Smiling even more as he saw Ginny returning to the house, Draco pounced on her the moment she entered and kissed her until she was breathless.

When he let her up for air, she opened a drawer and handed him a box.

Genuinely surprised by the small gift, Draco said, "You just gave me a present on Yule. I didn't expect another."

"Well, you're getting one anyway. Open."

Winking at the girl who made bossy sexy, he opened the box and stared. It was a Quicksilver Snitch. Brown eyes watched his face uncertainly. They lit up at his pleased grin.

"Merlin, Red, its perfect." He chuckled and pulled a small box out of his jacket. It was her turn to be surprised. After she removed the silver ring set with an unusual stone, he slid it on her finger. "I knew if I gave you more emeralds, you'd never wear it, so I got something you can say you got from Luna or Blaise. It's a mood ring. Maybe it will help me be a better boyfriend. See, its changing colours...so all I have to do is act accordingly."

Lowering his mouth to hers, giving Ginny what she wanted, was all he needed to make Christmas merry and bright.

Hours later at Malfoy Manor, Draco sat in the lounge sipping champagne and staring at the magnificent Christmas tree illuminated by hundreds of tiny magicked candles. His day with Ginny had showed him two things. She cared about him deeply—and she loved her family.

The Weasley Clan was incredibly close. All day long, he'd watched them interact. Playing, squabbling and so damned happy, he didn't blame Potty for hanging round all the time. Unfortunately, that closeness meant that it was going to be almost impossible to get Red to tell her Gryffindor family about her Slytherin boyfriend. If he tried to force her, Ginny might do what she'd done before, break things off and break his....

"Hi."

Blaise stood in the doorway, very sexy in her little red dress, and very sad. He poured another glass of champagne and handed it to her as she sat down, slipped off her heels, and curled up on the sofa beside him.

Looking as though she'd had a few drinks already, his mate drank the entire flute in one long swallow and held out the glass for a refill. "Drinky told me Father owled. Seems he won't be coming for Christmas. Goblins are striking at the mines of Moria and Belrog, the devil in charge, will only deal with the great Zabini. Mum's passed out upstairs, but I don't know if she'd care anyway."

She downed another glass of champagne. As he tilted the bottle for her third round, and his sixth, he asked, "Is that what's driving you to drink?"

A wry smile flashed. "I tried so hard to be sweet, fit in, but...I thought changing for dinner meant dressing up and everyone else was in reindeer jumpers and tweed."

"Bet Tarzan didn't mind."

The corners of her lips turned up, then downward. "No, he was great. It's just...I overheard his mum telling him all the reasons he should go with any girl but me. Even though Terry told her to leave off, it really...so I...." The girl grabbed the bottle and poured another round.

This was serious. He had to know. "What'd you do, mate?"

Fortified with liquid courage, miserable dark eyes met his sympathetic ones. "I shocked the family by kissing Terry under every bloody ball of mistletoe there was, which turned into heavy snogging and groping. His great-auntie saw him...well...let's just say it's a good thing there was a Healer in the house."

Merlin, he didn't feel so wretched now. His misery liked the company. Draco laughed without mirth. "Ginny's great too, but her family is so close I don't know if she'll ever be able to tell them about us or if she'll ever care about me the way...." He lifted his glass. "That's a damn depressing thought, mate. Will you drink to that?"

Blaise's glass wavered unsteadily as she held it up for another refill and tapped the flute against his. "To Slytherins with rotten parents, who love people whose families don' love us. May they have a best mate to get them through the night so they can plan for a Happy New Year."

"Are we going to have a Happy New Year?"

Plastered Lady Macbeth was an excellent look for Blaise, who was looking drowsy, drunk, and dangerous all at the same time. "Don' you worry, Baby Boy, we'll find a way—or make one."

Unaccountably cheered, Draco stretched out on the enormous sofa and pulled the now slumbering girl over to rest against him. The twinkling candles blurred as his lashes fluttered down and he whispered, "Happy Christmas."