On Christmas Eve, Ginny began to regret her hasty retreat to the Alps.
She woke up to an unfamiliar owl perched on her bedpost, blinking at her with the patience of a saint. The owl delivered Christmas cards from her family and a letter from her mother lamenting her absence at Christmas dinner later that night and breakfast the next morning.
Ginny could practically smell the honeyed-ham roasting in the oven and the ginger from the gingerbread biscuits her mother baked for the children to decorate (Ginny always snagged a handful before Victoire and Dominique consumed them all behind their parents’ backs). Her stomach grumbled just thinking about the meal she’d be missing and the one (or lack of one) she could look forward to. With Malfoy. Hopefully not with Malfoy.
Once her mouth began to water, Ginny stared suspiciously at her mother’s letter before she pressed her nose to the parchment and sniffed. With an aggravated growl, she tossed it aside and climbed out of bed. It was just like Molly to enchant her letter to emit comforting scents to entice Ginny to come home!
She shooed the owl out the window and hobbled over to the armchair by the fire to don her housecoat. As she’d told Malfoy the night before, her ankle had completely healed with Ginny’s spell, but it never hurt to be too careful, especially when her career was on the line.
Her mother meant well, and it wasn’t that Ginny didn’t miss her family, too, especially on the one holiday of the year when all of the Weasleys managed to gather together under the same roof. She’d seen Charlie, in town from Romania, for a brief moment before she’d whisked herself away to Switzerland. And even though Bill no longer worked in Egypt, Ginny’s travels with the Harpies hardly gave her any time to see him and Fleur and the children anymore.
But this trip wasn’t about her family. It was about Gwenog dressing her down in the locker room after their last match a week ago, making it more than obvious that their coach considered Ginny the reason for the team’s failure. It was about twenty-seven attempts at a goal and missing every single shot because the entire game Ginny’s mind had been on Harry and not on Quidditch. It was about Harry himself and how embarrassed he would have been to see her, how awkward the two of them would have been together, if they had had to endure each other’s company at the Burrow for Christmas.
She couldn’t ask Harry not to come over to celebrate. It wouldn’t have been fair to him as someone with no family of his own, and Ginny’s parents sincerely wanted him there. They wanted everyone there. But that just wasn’t going to work this year, so Ginny pre-emptively removed herself from the equation. That seemed to be the most fair solution.
In the kitchen, Malfoy stood next to a woman wearing a white uniform. She took notes on a clipboard as he recited a list to her, and it was only as Ginny drew nearer that she could understand his words.
“Pudding should be light and traditional, don’t you agree, Lina?”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.”
“There should be chocolate mousse, because I love chocolate, or an airy sponge cake, because who doesn’t love sponge cake? What would you recommend for a traditional Swiss Christmas pudding?”
The kitchen hand, Lina, looked up from her clipboard in thought.
“Gingerbread biscuits,” Ginny said automatically.
Lina and Malfoy looked at her, noticing her for the first time.
Ginny’s cheeks reddened at their inspection. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but now that she had.... “You have to have gingerbread biscuits at Christmas.”
Malfoy stared at her for a second longer before waving a hand dismissively at her. “Fine. Gingerbread biscuits, please, Lina, and whatever traditional Swiss dessert you like best.”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Dinner will be sent up at 7:00pm precisely.”
Now that Lina was leaving, the realization of what she and Malfoy were talking about finally sunk in, and Ginny couldn’t curb her annoyance at Malfoy’s gall to plan a Christmas dinner knowing that Ginny had nowhere else to go that evening. She had been hoping that she and Malfoy would just ignore any Christmas festivities altogether, since they certainly weren’t going to share their holiday joy with each other, even if Ginny had any joy to share. Malfoy planning a dinner party without consulting her first just blackened her opinion of him further, erasing whatever positive feelings his actions and their discussion after her skiing mishap yesterday had engendered in her.
Malfoy’s lips hovered on the verge of a smug smile. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Why do you say anything is the matter with me?”
“Your fists are clenched so tightly, I can see how white your knuckles are underneath all those freckles.”
“Oh?”
He came closer to her, and somehow Ginny hadn’t noticed how tall he was until he was right there in front of her. After four days of cohabiting and more than one nose-to-nose argument, it seemed strange that she hadn’t noticed how much he loomed over her until now.
“There’s no need to pretend you aren’t angry. It’s blazing in your eyes. It’s imprinted in your forehead—here.”
He swiped a finger across her brow, which was indeed creased with tension. Ginny tried to relax her face.
“When were you going to tell me you were planning a dinner party?”
“Is it a dinner party if only two people attend?”
Her eyes narrowed. “When were you going to tell me you were planning a dinner date?”
Malfoy’s eyebrows rose, but the smugness didn’t leave his near-smile. He stared at her, his eyes sparkling in interest. “Is that what I’ve done?”
“I just caught you in the act!”
“Would you still call it a dinner date if you were the one invited?”
“Invited! I—I—I wasn’t invited to anything!”
Malfoy’s head dropped, his voice lowering with it until he seemed to be sharing an intimate secret just with Ginny. “You didn’t give me a chance to, did you? I was waiting until the menu was prepared.”
Heat flashed through Ginny’s whole body, settling uncomfortably in her cheeks and ears. She took a step backward and tripped over Snowball on his way to investigate the hubbub in the kitchen, but she was prevented from falling when Malfoy grabbed her arm, steadying her.
“Don’t read too much into this. You’re the one who called it a date, not me. Just because I’m not home with my family doesn’t mean I’m not going to celebrate Christmas this year, and I’m certainly not going to let your presence stop me.”
He released her arm and headed for the stairs that would take him to his half of the cabin, Snowball jingling along behind him and meowing pitifully.
Ginny spun on her heel, and as the shock of Malfoy’s declaration began to wear off, outrage set in.
“I understand wanting to celebrate regardless, but why do I have to be there?” she asked his back.
Without stopping, he waved at her carelessly and called over his shoulder, “Maybe I’m infected with the Christmas spirit. See you at seven.”
Malfoy disappeared from view, and Ginny stomped back up to her room, grumbling about other things with which Malfoy was probably infected.
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