So. Hermione understood that the Malfoy heir apparent and his mother were on the Order’s side now and that, you know, they needed a place to stay since the manor was compromised and they were technically related to Sirius, but-but.

There really was something to be said for the halcyon days of when the appropriate reaction to bumping into Malfoy at Grimmauld Place was to hex the living daylights out of him.

Hermione scowled, and tried to pretend that all eyes in the room weren’t on them and the neatly tied bow of mistletoe dangling above the doorway.

Of all the stupid muggle traditions that wizards had to pick up…

“Well then,” Ginny said, clearly too amused for her own good, “get on with it.” Next to her, Ron watched goggle-eyed from the couch while Harry surreptitiously pretended that he was anywhere but here.

Malfoy glowered at the redhead, and the look was so reminiscent of his holier-than-thou attitude of Hogwarts-past that Hermione couldn't suppress a less than dainty snort.

At the noise, the blond looked down (when had he gotten so tall?). Their close proximity—his shoulders took up most of the doorway—literally forced him to look down his nose at her, and the expression was so reminiscent of itty-bitty first-year Draco that Hermione broke out into giggles.

His glower deepened. “Oh, so little miss know-it-all’s laughing at me now?”

She’d only just managed to stifle her giggles, a light retort on the tip of her tongue when Malfoy bent, and his lips were suddenly pressed against hers.

Oh, oh. Well.

Hermione’s eyes slid close without her consent at the gentle contact, shivering when large, warm hands planted themselves around her waist. Her own arms rose instinctively to clutch at Draco's sleeves.




“Hey, hey, that's enough. We’re still here you know?
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February 2012

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