Pet Names

Notes/Warning: Implied sexual scenarios. Adult language. Takes place 1 year after It's a Gift. Originally posted to the Live Journal community Dramionedrabbles, 12 Days of Christmas Challenge. Prompt: snowman.

Hermione Granger and Ginny Potter were sitting on the couch in the living room of what used to be Hermione’s flat. As organized as the soon-to-be Mrs. Malfoy was, she had been met and defeated by a craftier foe, and now an avalanche of paper goods in shades of ice blue and cream covered everything in a thick blanket that would give house-elves nightmares. Hermione had not seen Crookshanks for days, though the food in his bowl regularly disappeared. Once, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a giant mass of iridescent curling ribbon sprout legs and attack the paper afghan covering her reading chair.

“Well,” said Ginny, tying an ice blue ribbon in a bow around a parchment scroll, “That’s the last of the programs.” The bride-to-be said nothing. She appeared to be in a trance. “Hermione?”

“Hmmm... what?” Hermione focused on the basket of scrolls Ginny was waving under her nose. “Ginny. Two ceremonies. Two receptions. Whose insane idea was that?”

“The Moms',” her matron of honor replied by rote. She could go on the road with it, this routine she had down pat.

“Why am I doing this again?”

“If not two of everything, half of the family would be left out," Ginny said automatically. “They would kill you if you didn’t.”

“I could always leave the country.”

“And the man you love, adore and can’t live without?” Ginny’s voice was monotone. She was a supportive friend, but this was getting old.

‘He’d pack the bags and pick out our aliases.”

“You wouldn’t get to wear that dress.”

Hermione bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears. “There is that.”

She had to admit, as reasons went, it was very pathetic and girlie but she adored that dress. In that dress, Hermione Jane Granger, Muggleborn swot, was transformed into a fairy princess. It was precisely because she wasn’t a girlie kind of woman that the dress had seduced her so easily. It was the only piece of clothing in existence that made her feel the way that Draco did when he looked at her. She could hardly wait to see his reaction as she walked down the aisle. She was even considering an Obliviate to experience it again at the second ceremony. She gave Ginny a hug.

“Thanks for helping, Gin.”

Ginny smiled. “No problem, hon. How about some wine before… ” At a loud crack, both women jumped, and a ball of curling ribbon dove under the couch.

“Granger, we can’t get married.” Draco ran his hands through his already extremely mussed hair.

Hermione gaped at him. Ginny squeezed her hand and quietly popped out of sight.

“I know, I know. Two ceremonies. Two receptions.” He gestured at the paper avalanche. “The Whomping Willow’s worst nightmare. Enough crab legs to keep the Giant Squid happy for a year.” Hermione was entirely sure the Squid was vegetarian, but as Draco had not memorized Hogwarts: A History, he rambled on, blithely unaware. “The thing is, we don’t have nicknames.”

“Nicknames?” she managed to splutter.

“Yes. Nicknames. Pet names. Terms of endearment. Daphne and Blaise have several, despite seeing each other about four hours out of a week and arguing for three-and-a-half of them. We're getting married, Granger. In seven days. On New Year's Eve. How can we be a true couple without pet names for each other?” He paused for breath.

“Is that all?”

It was his turn to gape. All? All! What if not having nicknames set off a karma-induced chain of events, in which Draco ended up Hermioneless and homeless in an alley, clutching a broken paddleball toy and a thermos? His fiancée broke in on his dramatic moment.

“Well, we’ll just have to think of some.”

She was brilliant. He loved her.

“You’re brilliant. I love you.”

“I know, snugglebunny.”

“Ugh. Sweet lips.”

“Honeybunch.”

“Hot buns.”

“Babycakes.”

“Silky melons.”

“Pervy tongue.”

“I’ve got it,” he cried. “Curly-haired Snitch.”

“… ”

“Because I loved catching the Snitch in school, and I love catching you now.”

“You can’t, Malfoy.”

“Why not?” he asked, regarding her innocently.

“It’s very close to a certain Muggle euphemism.”

“Which Muggle euphemism would that be?” he inquired.

She blushed.

“Oh… oh… is this a see you next Tuesday euphemism?”

Hermione spluttered, “Where did you hear that, Draco?”

“Potter charmed Goyle’s telly to receive American broadcasts, so that we all could watch some prize fight.” He explained, “Sex and the City came on after.” Hermione gave him an odd look. “What? Potter told us a bunch of you ladies cackle and drink while watching it at his house every week. We were curious. Besides, Goyle fancies Stanford, and a mate supports his mate’s lifestyle choices, even if that mate is a little fuzzy on the concept of fictional programming.”

“Which character do you fancy, Draco?” She asked curiously. She was rather fond of Mr. Big, herself.

“Charlotte. Big brown eyes. Rule abiding, prim and proper. Very charming and intelligent. Those classy conservative suits. All that satin and lace underneath.” His eyes bored into hers. “I think I have a type.”

“Dam.”

“I’m good. I know.”

“No.” she said, tracing the letters in the air with her wand. “D a m. Dangerously amorous man.”

“I like it,” he smirked, capitalizing the M with a wave of his wand. “My middle name is Abraxis, did you know?" He tilted his head to the side, contemplating her. “Mi one. My one. My own.” His voice drops. “My mantra, when I’m inside you.” His gaze hot, he traced an M, then an o in the air. “My own heart.” An h joined the sparkly script.

“Moh,” she whispered.

“Moh,” he repeated huskily and threw her over his shoulder. He headed for her bedroom, lightly smacking the image of Frosty on her derriere. “Nice snowman boxers, Moh. Very enticing.”

A/N: Hermione's Dress

Exquisitely beaded Cynthia C gown with dropped waist and full tulle skirt.