Tis the Season

Notes/Warning: Originally posted to the Live Journal community Dramionedrabbles, 12 Days of Christmas Challenge. Prompt: season.

Two weeks before Christmas, Hermione Malfoy-Granger rolled over in bed and tried to go back to sleep. Shut up!, she thought. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Stupid lists. They never listened to her. She pulled Draco’s pillow over her head in an effort to block out their persistent and annoying cries for attention. Just one little Incendio, she tempted herself, no one would ever know. Her usually buoyant Christmas spirit had totally deserted her this year. All of the children had other plans for the holidays, as did most of her friends and extended family. The lists on her desk seemed like a lot of make-work with very little reward. Hermione Malfoy-Granger, she scolded herself, the reward is in the doing!

There were a few tasks she was looking forward to completing; she loved knitting with Molly and Ginny, she adored making crafts with the children at the shelter, she counted on those messily scrawled tasks penned by her husband. Over the years, Hermione had left more room on her lists for DaM’s suggestions. He had added items onto the holiday lists at first, but had soon graduated to starting lists himself as well. On DaM’s lists, the first assignment was always “snog Draco”, but frequently included such onerous chores as: smile for Draco, remember to breathe, hug the children, sing a song, wear the gloves, look at our tree, and catch snowflakes. She sighed, wishing all other lists to perdition. Tis the season, she thought morosely.

Draco sat by the fire in his study, trying to identify the unsettled sensation that had been nagging at him since he woke up that morning. Was he unhappy the children weren’t coming home for Christmas? Yes. But that wasn’t it, he was still feeling unsettled. Did he forget to buy his wife that last little perfect gift? No. He bought the self-sticking parchment yesterday. He smiled distractedly. Hermione was always complaining about her lists disappearing, now… A-ha! Moh had not been by for a snog yet this morning. He frowned. She was always up by this hour. She had usually visited his study three or four times before now; once or twice claiming he forgot to write “snuggle with Draco by the fire” or another equally pleasant diversion he hadn’t dreamed up. Thinking back, Draco realized Moh had been avoiding her lists and his! for days. Silly little love probably convinced herself she couldn’t start his list until hers were finished, and he would bet his favorite lacy teddy that there wasn’t much on her lists Moh wanted to do. Draco saw only one possible solution. Time to brave the lioness in her den.

Mere moments later, Draco stood over his marital bed, gazing at his sleeping wife. Well, this was unexpected. Girded for battle, he was at a loss until he spied the lists obscuring Hermione’s writing desk. With well-practiced stealth, he soundlessly shuffled through them, leaving only the messily green inked papers behind and left their suite, having not disturbed Moh in the slightest. There was more than one way to skin a cat.

When Hermione appeared in the dining room for lunch three hours later, finally awakened by her insistent stomach, she found her husband standing by her chair, smiling impishly. If she had been less hungry, she would have gone on guard instantly. As it was, DaM’s countenance didn’t register until she was seated and looking at her plate. Instead of Mrs. Clemson’s delectable shepherd’s pie, Hermione was confronted with a thick stack of lists. Her loud groan rivaled the rumble of her tummy. Her evil mate had the audacity to chuckle. She would have shot him the glare of death, but was distracted by the stack of papers. They looked different, no longer pristine. Well, pristine except for Draco’s additions. Hermione shuffled through them, gob smacked. Except for the tasks messily scrawled in green ink and one or two neatly penned items here and there, all her favorite things to do, each entry had been crossed through. She set the lists down and looked up at her self-satisfied husband.

“I really am very hungry,” she said. “Please tell me this is not a mirage.”

“It is not a mirage,” he dutifully replied. “Mrs. Clemson, Mipsy and I all wished you to have a happy holiday this year. We realize under normal circumstances doing all of this,” he gestured at the stack, “is what makes you happy. But things aren’t normal this year, are they, Moh?”

She stood up, pushed Draco into her chair and perched on his lap. Wrapping her arms around him, she replied, “No. But you always make me happy, DaM. You have been exceedingly sneaky and clever today. I think I might wear the gloves tonight.”

“If you must, you must,” he sighed. “It would complete this list.” He plucked a paper from the pile and tore it in half.