AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Again, below is the LONG-VERSION of the same story as you just read in Chapter 1. This was the story as it was intended to be read. I hope you like all the extra content. Leave me a review and let me know, yeah?

LIAR, LIAR (long version)

BY RZZMG

1 December, 2023 (Friday afternoon)

A midget in an elf costume was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her desk waiting for her when Hermione returned from lunch.

She stopped, blinked twice, and realized this wasn't some sort of freak hallucinatory image conjured by an odd case of indigestion. There really was a very small man – no taller than three feet from the tips of his pointy, green elf shoes to the top of his pointy, green elf hat – waiting for her in her office. He was dressed in an emerald-coloured Santa suit, sporting a pair of red and white candy-striped stockings that sparkled with what looked like glitter, but was actually a really nifty enchantment instead (Rose, she knew, would kill to own a pair of those).

"Hello," the minikin jovially greeted her, stretching out and hopping off the desk. He approached her and gave a military-style salute. "My name is Basil JollyBells. I'm your friendly, seasonal Mistletoe elf. My holiday cheer services have been procured on your behalf, Ms. Hermione Jean Granger."

"Holiday cheer services?" she asked, feeling dread crawl up her spine and threaten to vomit from her mouth.

The elf nodded, the little red pom at the top of his hat bouncing merrily along in agreement. "Yes, Ms. Granger. Apparently, you've lost your Christmas spirit. I'm the elf, assigned to your case."

"Case?"

Merlin's toes, she was starting to sound just like her ex-husband, Ron – speaking in one-word sentences.

"Ms. Granger?" the elf faltered, his smile dropping into a curious frown. "You are Ms. Hermione Jean Granger, are you not?" he asked, scratching the side of his head.

Having clearly heard his purpose, Hermione made an on-the-spot executive decision in that moment.

LIE NUMBER ONE: "INCORRECT ADDRESSEE – RETURN TO SENDER."

"No, sorry, you've got the wrong person, Mr. JellyBelly," she shook her head, opening the door to her office and waving her arm to usher him out. "Ms. Granger quit last month. She no longer works at the Ministry. I'm her replacement, Penelope Clearwater."

Why not? She'd used the name before to get out of a tight pickle...

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time," she stated, trying to look tragically apologetic. "You should go back to your employer and tell them the news that she's moved on. Perhaps they can locate her new place of employment."

The elf put a hand over his surprised, little mouth. "It's JollyBells. Basil JollyBells. And she quit, you say?"

Hermione solemnly nodded. "Afraid so. She and her superiors didn't see eye-to-eye on a new piece of legislation."

The elf took off his hat, wiped his brow with a kerchief from his pocket, and bowed to her. "In that case, I am very sorry to have interrupted you, Ms. Clearwater. My sincerest apologies. I'll just be..." He headed for the door.

She watched the dismayed little elf walk out, returning his wishes for a good afternoon.

Once he had left, she shut the door, locked it, charmed it with every known privacy spell she could think of, and burst into laughter.

She moved to her desk, pulled out a piece of parchment and her quill, and wrote a note to the suspected culprit behind this hoax:

Dear Harry,

A holiday cheer elf? Really? That's the best you and that gumpy excuse for an ex of mine could come up with for this December's holiday prank? How droll.

Just so you're aware, I sent the little fellow packing: addressee unknown – return to sender. He should be knocking on your door in, oh, several seconds, I believe. Enjoy returning his fee. Couldn't have been cheap.

Love,

The Smartest Witch of Her Age

P.S. Are you and Ginny coming to dinner this Sunday? I was thinking of making liver and onions.

Folding the Interdepartmental Note up into a paper airplane shape, she sent it off with a flick of her wand.

Half an hour later, she received a return note.

Dear Girl Who Likes To Boast,

Don't know what you're talking about. Ron and I haven't had time to come up with your yearly Christmas prank because of work. Sorry, wasn't us. Still, sounds like a banger. Might borrow the idea to send to Percy, the world's drippiest wet blanket.

Love,

The Boy Who Kicked Dark Lord Arse

P.S. Dinner sounds great! We'll bring a fava bean salad and a bottle of Chianti.

Disappointed that she'd guessed wrong, she spent the rest of the afternoon finishing up her paperwork, and contemplating who might have been behind the irritating practical joke if it wasn't her best friend and her idiot ex-husband.

X~~~~~X

4 December, 2023 (Monday morning)

The elf was back - and he didn't look jolly in the least.

Hermione quickly shut her office door and watched as the little, green man jumped out of the guest chair and crossed over to her. He reached into his inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a picture. He then compared it to her, frowning.

"You are Ms. Hermione Jean Granger," he contested her previous claim of the other day. "This picture from my employer proves it. You lied."

Hermione attempted to keep her features and voice sincere, despite wanting to erupt into giggles on the spot. "Yes, I'm very sorry for that. You see, I thought you were sent to me as a practical joke by my two best friends, so I thought I'd play one back on them by... well, fibbing to you. It seems I was incorrect, and I apologize for causing you any small amount of inconvenience, Mr. HollyBalls."

The elf huffed, shoving the picture of her back into the pocket from whence it had come. "It's JollyBells, Ms. Granger. Yes, well, now that we've settled that, I suppose we can get back to working your case..."

"About that," Hermione stalled him.

LIE NUMBER TWO: "YOU WERE RECALLED THIS MORNING."

"I've spoken with your employer. We've come to an agreement to terminate the contract," she bald-faced lied. "In short – no pun intended - you're being recalled."

The elf assessed her through shrewd, narrowed eyes. "Ah, so you spoke with my Mistress, then?"

With as innocent an expression as possible, Hermione nodded. "Oh, yes, she was quite agreeable."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "My employer isn't female."

Hermione felt her stomach drop a notch. "The wife of your employer, I meant."

The elf gave her a shrewd smirk, and folded his arms over his chest. "And who would that be, precisely, Ms. Granger?"

Sweat was beginning to form above her top lip, in that irritating spot that itched right under her nose. "Why, George Weasley, of course," she stammered, praying she'd guessed right this time.

The elf shook his head, settling back on his heels. "Cold, and getting colder all the time."

"Bill," she corrected herself with a fake laugh. "Oh, silly me, Mr. Dill, but I meant Arthur Weasley."

The elf's smirk grew wider. "It's Basil, not Dill. And you're North Pole frigid - as icy as the berg that sunk the Titanic, Ms. Granger. I'm afraid I don't believe you in the least regarding your knowledge of my employer's identity, hence I believe you're... fibbing... again." He uncrossed his arms and reached into that inner pocket of his green velvet jacket again, this time pulling out a rolled-up scroll the size of her forearm. "Now, I have a contract to fulfill, so shall we go over the details so we can get this over with?"

He headed back over to her desk, this time parking his tiny bum in her seat, and began reading off his Terms of Service agreement.

Bugger, just what she needed: an elf skilled in interpreting legal jargon.

X~~~~~X

4 December, 2023 (Monday night)

Dear Mum and Dad,

How are you? I'm sorry I haven't called in two weeks, but I'm tackling a new project at work, and it's extremely time-consuming. I'm late at the office most nights. That's a poor excuse, I know, but it's, sadly, the truth. I will attempt to do better in the near future!

I have an odd question for you: did either of you, perchance and with the help of a wizard or witch in your acquaintance, manage to procure on my behalf the services of one Mr. Basil JollyBells, a Mistletoe elf? It's the oddest thing, but he appeared in my office on the first of December, insisting that he'd been hired to bring me back my lost Christmas cheer. He refuses to divulge the name of his employer, and I cannot magically force him to either break the contract or tell me the identity of the man or woman who hired him so I can request they call him off. It wouldn't happen to have been either of you that engaged his services, would it?

If so, although I greatly appreciate the gesture, I really think it would be best to terminate your agreement with him. I'm much too busy this month for his silliness.

Vid-call me tonight, if you have time, so we can discuss it.

Love to you both,

Your Hermione

Post-Script: The elf also has a rather expensive addiction for real Belgian hot cocoa with refined marshmallows. He's literally eating into my savings with his sugar habit! HELP!

X~~~~~X

4 December, 2023 (Monday night)

"I'm sorry, darling, it wasn't your father or me. Of that, I can assure you."

Hermione slumped back into the cushions of her sofa in disappointment, her Muggle cell-pad-smart-tablet showing her mother's lined face upon the high-resolution screen. The woman looked completely bewildered by the mystery of the Mistletoe elf.

"I mean, who would do such a... a horrible thing," her mum asked, exasperated, "setting a cheerleading elf on you?"

She laughed at her mother's soured expression. The woman had ever been the well-mannered, conservative type, and the idea of being put upon by anyone – especially in jest – didn't sit well with Geraldine Granger.

If it hadn't been for Harry, Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys, and more recently Pansy in her life, she was sure she'd have turned out equally as severe. Thank goodness her friends all had a sillier side that they weren't afraid to show on occasion, as it helped to coax hers out to play every once in a while.

"It's all right, mum. I'll find my practical joker soon. In answer to your earlier question, yes, you can expect Rose, Hugo, and me for dinner on Christmas."

"Excellent, darling," her mother sounded properly enthused. "We've missed you. It's been... well, we haven't been together as a family since Easter!"

"Can't wait to see you, mum. I've missed you, too. Well, thanks again for not having any part in the 'elf fiasco'. I swear, I'm going to hex whoever is involved!" She gave her mum a wry smile. "I suppose it was daft that I even suspected you and dad of something this outrageous."

Mrs. Granger sniffed, turning her nose up a bit. "Well, of course it was, dear. You know your father doesn't have a sense of humour."

X~~~~~X

6 December, 2023 (Wednesday afternoon)

For two blasted days, she'd been compelled to kiss strange men as a result of that blighting Mistletoe elf and his buggering contract, and Hermione was beginning to become quite vexed (not to mentioned, quite chapped on the lips) by the unwanted experiences. Plus, she was feeling rather tart-y over the whole thing.

The contents of the awful contract that currently held her in sway, and that had been read aloud to her on Monday, had been quite specific... and utterly loathsome: the elf's job was to get her to snog every available bachelor - within a certain age range, and whom she was not related to - that she came across from now until Christmas, in the hopes that doing so would return her Christmas cheer to her. The magic of the contract seemed to comprehend who was too old (over forty-four years, her current age), and too young (under seventeen, the age of adulthood in wizarding Britain), as well as who was married, spoken for in a commitment, and homosexual. All of those were right out. Everyone else, however, was apparently fair game - even the ugly, the fashion-challenged, and those with foul breath.

Dandruff Man hadn't been a picnic either.

And then there was the guy whose mouth reached the level of her navel! She'd offered JollyBells a swap on that one, telling him they would probably be a more comfortable fit, but the elf merely gave her a lewd waggle of his eyebrows and glibly replied, "Short people can reach the really important places better, you know."

If that wasn't bad enough, he always had some obnoxious, rolling commentary on how she was doing the kissing thing all wrong:

"Too chaste. What are you his grandmother?"

"His lips are as big as a horse's, madam – how could you possibly not want to suck on them!"

"They say that slipping someone the tongue is an art. If such is the case, your technique resembles a Jackson Pollock, Ms. Granger."

Unwilling to be bullied into being cheerful or enjoying snogging a lot of strange men, Hermione had used her vast knowledge and honed skills to attempt to get her out of her current fix.

She'd first tried to free the elf from his service by destroying his contract, but that elegantly rolled piece of parchment had proved more indestructible than a horcrux. She'd then given him clothes, wondering if his liberty was based upon such a thing, since the word 'elf' was in his name (although there was no relation to house-elves, whatsoever, he informed her), but he'd simply put the new pair of socks on and thanked her for them. She'd tried to banish him with a Greater Magick Circle, which he'd laughed at, saying the released energy tickled when she'd spoken the incantation. Even stuffing the little blighter into her bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm on it had proved fruitless, as he'd simply reappeared before her a moment after she'd pulled the drawstring closed.

It turned out that she couldn't get away from him, either. A Metaphysical Sticking Charm connected the little guy to her magical aura, guaranteeing that if she tried to run, Apparate, or Portkey away from him, he'd go along for the ride. She'd attempted to magically jump several times, and even once to lose him in a crowd, but every single time, he showed up a moment behind, right at her side. The only times she was allowed some privacy was in the loo and in her bed at night.

Clearly, some very strong, possibly old, and quite bizarre magic was at work to protect the elf and assure he could not be prevented from his job. Her powers appeared to be useless against its might.

In desperation, she had asked an Unspeakable down in the Department of Mysteries for help. The dark-robed man had taken one look at the elf, paled, and spun on his heel, racing away, refusing to even turn to look back when she'd called after him.

"What are you, JollyHells - an evil, little gremlin in disguise?" she asked the elf at her side, suddenly suspicious.

Her diminutive companion rocked back and forth on his heels, hands behind his back, staring up at her with a happy expression, not in the least bit insulted. "It's JollyBells, Ms. Granger. And no, I'm not evil at all! I bat for the opposite team, in fact."

"Right, so if you're not a bad guy, then what are you? You're a mischievous creature that has something to do with mistletoe... Oh, my God, Nutmeg - you're a Nargle! Luna was right – you guys do exist!"

The elf looked at her as if she'd just said the queerest thing in the world. "It's Basil, not Nutmeg. And no, I'm not a Nargle. I'm a Mistletoe elf."

"But the description fits!" she insisted.

He began walking towards the end of the corridor - right towards a wizard who looked very lost, and was obviously seeking help. "Sorry, but you're totally off. A Nargle is much smaller, and more troublesome than mischievous - world of difference there." He pointed at the man in front of him and turned to look over his shoulder at her. "Shouldn't you be kissing him?"

Before she could stop them, her feet began moving of their own accord right towards the poor, unsuspecting man in question. "Oh, holy-hells!" she swore as she sauntered up to the bloke and reached up to capture his cheeks. "Sorry about this!" she quickly apologized as her lips moved in on him.

X~~~~~X

7 December, 2023 (Thursday morning)

An idea occurred to her this morning as she'd walked through the lobby of the Ministry (after being forced by that blighting elf to kiss three completely strange men, and throw a donation of all of her spare change into the Squib Orphan Charity Box – something she hadn't done in a couple of years) and noted that the Yule decorations weren't up yet. Someone on the holiday planning committee was lax in their duties this year. That could be worked to her advantage...

She tapped the edge of her quill against her hot cocoa mug, as if something important had just occurred to her. "Christmas?" she asked the little elf, opening her eyes wide and blinking in false confusion. "You said you were sent to me as a Christmas gift, right?"

Warily, the Mistletoe elf nodded.

LIE NUMBER THREE: "CHRISTMAS? BUT THAT'S MONTHS AWAY!"

"But, it's October!" she pronounced. "You shouldn't have come to me for another two months, Mr. HellyJells!"

For a moment, the elf's brow lowered in confusion as he seemed to buy the fib...

...and then Ginny Weasley walked into her office wearing a Santa Hat, humming "Deck the Halls".

Shite.

"Morning!" her chirpy friend announced, shutting the door behind her. "Did you notice that the decorating committee is late this year? I'd have thought they'd have picked a tree by now for the lobby, wouldn't you?"

As she turned, it was clear from her surprised expression that she only then noticed Hermione wasn't alone.

"Oh, sorry," Gin stepped back a pace. "I didn't know you had company, 'Mione. I'd only come to invite you to go Christmas shopping with Harry and I this weekend."

Double shite.

The gig was blown.

She glared at her friend's inopportune timing and big mouth.

"Again, it's JollyBells. Jolly. Bells. Say it with me," the Mistletoe elf wagged a finger at her, tsk-ing and grinning. "And really, Ms. Granger you should stop fighting all of this so hard – both the contract and correctly saying my last name."

"Never," she vowed under her breath.

There was no surrender in war!

X~~~~~X

7 December, 2023 (Thursday night)

Dear Bill,

You're toast if it was you who sicced this blighting Mistletoe elf on me! He's an absolute pest!

Going to tell on you to your mother,

Hermione

P.S. Seriously, tell your mum I'm taking up her offer, and will be there on the 17th for her girls-only shopping trip. Thanks!

X~~~~~X

9 December, 2023 (Saturday morning)

Sorry, 'Mione, but it wasn't me, luv. I asked everyone in the family if they'd done it, but it was denials all around. I believe them, too – they all seemed shocked by the news. Maybe one of your co-workers?

Luck in hunting them down and having their kidneys for dinner,

Bill

P.S. Mum cried with happiness. Seems she's missed you at the gift buying extravaganza for the last few years. Good to have you back!

X~~~~~X

9 December, 2023 (Saturday afternoon)

Hermione finished manually washing her dishes from lunch, and was drying and putting them away when a new idea took root in her head for how she might get rid of the annoying elf that was her constant thorn in the buttocks these days.

LIE NUMBER FOUR: "CATS EAT ELVES."

"I was thinking of getting a new companion. I'd wanted a cat, but... perhaps a full-blooded Kneazle this time. What do you think, Mr. BellyJells?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw the elf's legs stop swinging and he turned to look at her, his eyes wide. He'd been perched on her kitchen counter all morning, watching her eat and go about her chores. "It's JollyBells. And a cat, you say? Is... is that so? Why?" He seemed decidedly uncomfortable all of the sudden.

A-ha! She'd guessed right. Most of the smaller order of magical creatures didn't like Kneazles, for they had all of the hunting instinct of a regular house cat, only magnified because of their intelligence. And, they had a habit of snarking back at house-elves. She'd assumed it would be even worse for Mistletoe elves, just by virtue of their vast vocabulary.

Solemnly, she nodded. "Oh, yes. You see, I had a half-Kneazle when I was a younger witch, and when he died, I told myself 'no more pets!' Recently, though, I've been thinking that I'd rather fancy another." She put the dish in her hand away in the cupboard where it belonged. "I think I'll take a trip to Diagon Alley today to look for one."

The elf looked sincerely uneasy. "Um, well, if it'll get you out of the house and into the Christmas shopping spirit-"

She shook her head. "Oh, no, nothing like that, Barberry. I merely want a new familiar. I think it's high time."

JollyBells squirmed. "It's Basil. Are we leaving right away?"

"Yes," she nodded, taking her apron off and folding it up, deciding to see the bluff through.

"You wouldn't want to wait a few weeks to think such a large decision thorough, then?"

She firmly shook her head. "No, I think a new cat right about now might do me some good." Maybe the elf would get so spooked while in Magical Menagerie that he buggered off. "Let me just get my coat and wand."

"Uh, great," the elf replied.

He sounded as if the idea were the furthest thing from, however.

X~~~~~X

9 December, 2023 (Saturday night)

Blast it all, that effing elf had hit it off right away with the Kneazle she'd picked out. In fact, she'd been unsuccessful in getting the two of them to shut up all afternoon. They yapped away as if they were the oldest of friends.

It was horrible to think it, but Hermione sort-of hoped that her license to own the animal was accidentally revoked in some freak Ministry mishap, and the animal – who had introduced himself as "Mr. Starling" – had to be returned to the shoppe from whence he came.

"So, then I said to the fellow, 'But you're hat's on sideways!'" The elf came to the end of his joke, and he and Mr. Starling erupted into laughter.

"Brilliant," the Kneazle congratulated, his lion-like tail swishing across the bare floor of the living room. He and his companion were perched against some throw pillows in front of the hearth, enjoying the warmth of the evening fire. "His hat..." He snickered and rolled his eyes. "Humans!"

"Ahem," Hermione cleared her throat, wanting to remind her new familiar that he was the property of one of those squishy bags of bones that he was so casually insulting.

As if he'd been reminded of her presence, the Kneazle stretched lazily on his cushion and yawned. "Oh, Hermione? Would you be so good as to bring Mr. JollyBells-"

"Basil," the elf interrupted. "Please call me Basil. Or JB. That's what my boss calls me."

The Kneazle nodded. "Of course." He turned back to his owner. "Could you bring Basil and me something to drink? I'm particularly parched. Some warm milk, perhaps? How about you, JB?"

The elf threw her a sly grin. "I'd love some Belgian hot cocoa with my favourite marshmallows – you know the ones. That is, if it wouldn't be too inconvenient. Oooh, and with a peppermint stick in it, if you have one! It would so remind me of home. I do miss it." He batted his eyelashes at her and gave her a big, fecking grin. "You're always such a wonderful hostess, Ms. Granger. I'm so lucky to have gotten this assignment!"

Worded just that way, Hermione didn't want to see impolite in front of her new familiar. "Of course, Fennel," she replied through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. "I'll be right back."

"It's Basil, Ms. Granger," he reminded her for the umpteenth time.

She merely stared down at him through murderous eyes from her higher position. "Of course is it. Silly of me to keep forgetting."

"It's all right," the elf granted with a negligent wave over his shoulder. "I understand that the memory is the first thing to go as you age."

Seething in frustration, she went into the kitchen and began preparing the beverages, muttering under her breath the entire time. "I can't believe he said that! My memory is perfectly fine!" It took her a moment to recall where she'd put Crookshanks' old drinking bowl. When she dug it out of the back of her cupboard, she held it up triumphantly. "See?"

Using her wand, she magically summoned the milk from the fridge, poured it into the saucer, and heated it up. "And that little pipsqueak stole my familiar! He's turned my Kneazle into a feline version of David Horton!"

The kettle for the hot water went off and she poured it into a mug, added the cocoa, and stirred. Banging about the kitchen, she looked for a tin of holiday candies, but there were none. Then she remembered that she hadn't truly celebrated Christmas here at her home for the past three years (preferring to go to her parents' home, or to the Potter's residence), so there wouldn't be holiday candy to be found anyway.

What she did find at the top of her cupboard, on the highest shelf, was an unopened bottle of Peppermint Schnapps instead.

Huh. It was funny, but she couldn't recall how such a thing had come to be there, as she didn't remember ever buying it. Perhaps a friend had gifted it to her for her housewarming three years back, when she'd moved out of the home she and Ron had shared and into this cottage.

Oh, well, it didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. What was important was what she could do with it!

With a grin worthy of The Grinch, she opened the cap and poured a good portion of the liquor into the elf's drink, stirring it up with her wand. Just for kicks, she did the same to her own hot cocoa mug.

So cheerful did she feel just then at the thought of the little elf heaving that smug look off his face later in the loo, that she began singing a made-up song to the tune of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree":

"Drinking around the Christmas tree,
Let the Christmas drunkard through...
Later you'll do some vomiting,
And your arms will hug the loo...

You will get an upset stomach feeling
when you taste,
liquor through your nose, oh golly!
Deck the halls with boughs of holly."

Putting the saucer and the mugs on a tray, she headed back into the living room, all smiles.

"Were you actually singing a Christmas tune, Ms. Granger?" the elf asked, seemingly surprised.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, Mr. HollyJolly, I was."

"It's JollyBells," he reminded her without losing his good humour or missing a beat.

Lifting her tray, she brought it over to the pair of troublemakers. "Here you are, Mr. Starling." She put the saucer down on the floor before him. "And for you, Bergamot." She handed him off his mug. "I'm afraid there were no peppermint sticks left, but I found a wee nip of something peppermint tasting that I think you'll like just as much." She winked at him.

"It's Basil," he sighed, and accepted the mug. "Thank you for your gracious hospitality. I'll be sure to let my boss know once the assignment ends and I return home."

Hermione stood to her full height once more, and gave them both another phony smile before resuming her spot on the sofa to enjoy her own drink. "Be sure you do that."

X~~~~~X

10 December, 2023 (Saturday night)

"I'm telling you, he's... he's inhuman!" she whispered in a harsh voice through her cell-pad-smart-pad to Harry. They were on voice-only, as he was too cheap to upgrade to the video conferencing model. "The alcohol and sugar combination didn't even faze him, and he finished off the whole bottle of Schnapps with four glasses of hot cocoa! He should have been bouncing off the walls and vomiting his guts out all over the tile."

Through the speaker, she heard Harry sigh. "Well, of course he's not human, 'Mione – he's a Mistletoe elf. According to the Unspeakables I spoke with, they crave sugar, but it doesn't affect them aside from making them happier. And they're immune to alcohol. It just turns into more sugar in their systems."

"That's just not fair!" she hissed. "I can't even make him pass out! I've tried everything I can think of: alcohol, lacing his food with Xanax, and even intentionally passing too much gas around him. Nothing works!"

Harry paused and cleared his throat. "Maybe T.M.I. there, you know? And hey, are you talking to me from inside a bathroom? The echo is horrid."

"Sorry, but it's the only place he won't follow me. It's the only privacy I'm allowed." She sighed. "Harry, do you have any idea how crazy he's making me? I haven't been alone except to use the loo or the shower since this whole thing began. Why won't he just sod off?"

Ginny's voice came through then, chuckling. "Apparently, no vibrating wand makes Hermione a very cranky woman."

"Ewww!" both Hermione and Harry said at the same time.

"Do be serious, Gin," she chastised her friend. "This isn't a joke."

Her friend laughed. "I know, but it's sort of ironic, don't you think? You've been in a cranky mood since... well, you know. All the elf is really trying to get you to do is smile and enjoy Christmas again. Is that such a bad thing?"

"The worst," she growled. "I wish to be left alone."

"You're starting to sound a lot like that Scrooge fellow," Harry snickered.

She tsked. "Potter, don't make me reach through the smart pad and strangle you. You try having a freaky, little green man following you around for days or weeks, making you kiss everything on two legs that's male and available. It's positively nauseating!"

"Oh, you're exaggerating, 'Mione. Surely there's been one good snog come out of all of this?" Gin asked.

"Not yet, and not likely," Hermione stubbornly countered. "I've had my One Great Love in life - and he turned out to be a wart-infected frog. I'm not interested in kissing anymore pond scum, thank you very much. Besides, a Prince in disguise out there waiting to help me regain my lost affection for Christmas is as realistic as Santa Claus. They don't exist in real life."

"Yes, Ms. Granger," the elf persistently shouted through the loo door. "They do. You just have to have a little faith. Your Prince will come along, eventually."

"That's... that's just... Oh, bah, humbug!" she shouted back, and Harry and Ginny – having heard Basil's pronouncement and Hermione's reaction – burst into laughter through the phone.

X~~~~~X

11 December, 2023 (Monday evening)

This morning, she'd snogged five men on her way into the office, including her boss, who'd just come back in from being in Germany arguing a case with the European foreign Ministry. She'd nearly lost her job for harassment over that one. Thankfully, all she'd had to do was point to the Mistletoe elf standing nearby, and her boss' eyes widened with recognition.

"Mistletoe elf, hmm?" he rhetorically asked her. "Bad luck, ol' girl. Marge in Accounting received one as a gift a few years back. Nothing but trouble, that one was."

"Tell me about it," she sighed and glared over at her petite companion. "What did she do to finally get rid of it?"

He smirked and leaned back against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "She kissed every eligible man in the entire Ministry until she found the one fellow that made her toes curl. Married him, she did, living happily-ever-after. Good luck there, old girl!"

After that, Hermione had placed a piece of Muggle duct tape over her mouth...

...which she'd summarily been compelled to rip off after stumbling into her childhood rival, Draco Malfoy, in the M.L.E. Main Office just before lunch time. Not only had she been made to kiss the handsome, recently widowed wizard against her will (okay, it hadn't been that bad an experience... quite good in fact, if she had to be honest, as Malfoy had gotten right into it with her, snogging back with some serious skill. And that cologne he'd been wearing... Merlin, he'd smelled fantastic!), but she'd gotten a bad case of lip rash as a result of tearing the tape away. And she'd had to suffer the man's infuriating smirk afterwards as she'd tried to explain and apologize. Thank goodness he hadn't seemed too upset by her forwardness.

Now, as she and the elf that was the bane of her existence sat in the living room of her cottage - she sipping wine after dinner, he once again before the fire, enjoying a mug of Belgian hot cocoa with marshmallows, and sitting comfortably next to Mr. Starling, who was lapping at his favourite evening treat of a warm bowl of milk - her slightly inebriated mind came up with any old excuse it could to get her out of the contract.

"You know, I have a heart condition," she stated.

It was sort-of the truth – she'd been heart-broken by Ron's mid-life crisis (read: her catching him red-handed "seeing to" a young, blonde thing in the back supply room of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes three Christmases ago, which had led to their divorce).

The elf looked over his shoulder at her. "Is that so?"

LIE NUMBER FIVE: "MY DOCTOR SAYS KISSING CAN LEAD TO DEATH."

Hermione nodded very sincerely. "Oh, yes. Too much stress and I could fall over just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Being forced to kiss all these people... you could be the cause of my death, you know."

Mr. Starling blinked up at her, and then sauntered across the carpet towards her. In a graceful leap, he was in her lap and nuzzling against her. His big paws kneaded at her lap, the nails careful to grip only the flannel of her pyjama bottoms and not skin. After a moment of this bizarre behaviour, he remarked, "The old ticker sounds perfectly healthy to me!"

Hermione scowled and tried to push him off her lap. He landed with poise, and gave her a very cat-like smirk before heading back to his abandoned pillow before the fire, tail swishing back and forth in success.

JollyBells glanced at her for a long while, silent, continuing to cool his cocoa with short puffs of air.

"I could drop over dead, or have a stroke and be put into a coma," she tried again, uneasy in the elf's lack of a response. "The doctor says I'm too high-strung as it is. This is serious. I'm sure there must be a clause somewhere in that contract of yours about release of service for health-related issues?"

The Mistletoe elf snorted. "Did you know that I've been doing some research on your background when you're asleep?"

Her eyes flared with shock, and she put the half-glass of wine down on a side table. "You what? You've invaded my privacy?"

He gave her a full-mouthed, unapologetic grin. "I know why your heart is really bad, Ms. Granger, so it's no use fibbing to me anymore. You're angry and hurt by what that pudge of an ex-husband of yours did to you this time three years back."

She glared at him. "You have no right-!"

"Therefore, it seems to me," the elf continued, talking right over her, "that the major hurdle standing in the way of you ever enjoying Christmas merriment again is disconnecting that event from this particular season. Therefore, if I can make you unafraid of another relationship with a man, especially now when the season's in full-swing, I'm sure you'll get over your hang-ups and return to loving Christmas as usual."

He sipped his cocoa as she reeled from that, and then followed it up with another zinger.

"You should know that I have never once, in one-hundred and thirty-three cases, failed to do as I've been contracted by my employer, Ms. Granger," he informed her in a very no-nonsense tone, "and I don't intend on breaking that record now. Losing the office betting pool, and looking bad to my boss is not on my list of things to do this year. So, you'll have to resolve yourself to the idea that I will help you win back your holiday cheer."

She stared, agog, at him. "You'd willingly put my life at risk for a job – and a bet?"

He nodded, taking another sip.

"You're going to force me to keep up this ridiculous and humiliating behaviour, aren't you?"

Again, he nodded, completely confident.

"I hate you," she huffed, unable to invent a good enough come-back as the wine was now going straight to her head.

The elf nonchalantly shrugged, and turned back to staring into the fire. "All of my clients say that at first. You'll change your tune to something happier soon enough. They all do."

Mr. Starling purred in agreement, snuggling down against his pillow. Both he and the elf kept their backs to her.

X~~~~~X

12 December, 2023 (Tuesday morning)

Dear Pansy,

You wouldn't happen to know anything about a Mistletoe elf hired on my behalf to bring me my lost Christmas cheer, would you? If you hear anything around, I'd appreciate it. This joke's lost its humour.

Your friend,

Hermione

P.S. Molly Weasley is having a girls-only shopping trip for the holiday on the 17th. It's an open invite to all witches. Want to come and keep me sane?

X~~~~~X

12 December, 2023 (Tuesday night)

Dearest Hermione,

I don't know of anyone who would do something so insensitive. Don't let this get you down, lady! You've got enough cheer for all of us combined.

Love, your friend,

Pansy

P.S. A shopping trip? You don't need to ask twice - see you there!

P.S.S. My darling husband, Blaise, tells me that you and his best friend – a certain blond wizard of both of our acquaintance - had an interesting run-in at the Ministry. I expect details, witch!

X~~~~~X

13 December, 2023 (Wednesday afternoon)

Hermione arrived in her office after lunch to find a bouquet of white roses, tied off with a silver and green silk ribbon, laid rather romantically across her chair. Pleasantly surprised, she reached out the snag the card to read who had sent her such a lovely and unexpected gift.

Granger,

I've read somewhere that it's proper custom to wait three days after finding interest in a witch to call upon her for the first time. Do you consider two and a half days "close enough," or can we dispense with stifling social protocol, and skip right to the part where I ask you to dinner on Friday night?

~ Draco Malfoy

The note slipped from between her numb fingers, landing on the floor. The elf picked it up, read it, whistled with joy, and hopped up on her desk with an agility she didn't think he'd had in him. "Wonderful! Your first official date in three years," he pronounced, showing great enthusiasm on her behalf. "That's the ticket to fighting off those holiday blues!"

"Malfoy wants to date me?"

For some reason, she just couldn't wrap her head around the idea.

Sure, he'd changed a lot over the last twenty-five years, regaining respectability, becoming an honest business man, and no longer espousing anything having to do with blood status in the open. She knew him through their occasional interactions and from word-of-mouth from her daughter (who was Scorpius' best friend), Harry (who had developed a friendship with the man over Quidditch, as their annually rented boxes for the English National Team's home games were always next to each other), and Pansy (who was Malfoy's best female friend, and Hermione's newest girl friend), that Draco was a loving father and had been a doting, loyal husband to Astoria, even up to the day her illness claimed her.

And okay, he was still quite attractive for a man in his early forties, with only the hint of a widow's peak and few lines to mar the naughty, boyish smirk he'd thrown her way. He'd filled out as he'd grown up and aged, giving him a strikingly handsome face, and his milk-white skin had been replaced with a healthy glow from a fading summer tan. He still dressed with impeccable taste and in the finest cut robes, but he wore them now like it was simply the requirements of fashion, not his due or to boast of his wealth. And, yes, all right - the kiss that had been forced upon both of them had positively sizzled. Still...

That annoying elf clapped his hands together and rubbed them with anticipation. "So, I'll go ahead and send off your confirmation to the young sir." Shutting his eyes, he scrunched his face up with intense concentration and opened his palms, face up, as if he were sending wishes off into the air.

"You look like you're attempting to have a cosmic bowel movement," she snarked, not liking his involvement in this situation one bit.

With a quick flick of her wand, she transfigured her Muggle pencil cup into a glass vase, and with an Aguamenti Charm, she filled it with water. Picking up the flowers, she pulled the ribbon off and set it aside, and then used her wand to clip the stems. "What if I hadn't wanted to go?" she stubbornly asked the elf. "You just took the decision out of my hands – again. I'm beginning to find this whole thing seriously annoying."

The elf dropped his Buddha-At-Rest post and grinned at her. "Come on, I saw you snooker each other. You both liked it."

"Snooker? What are you, twelve-years old?"

The elf laughed. "Well, as a matter of a fact-"

She held a hand up. "I don't want to know. You and me... we're not getting that close."

The jolly smile left the elf's face and he sighed. "You know, I'm just here to make you smile. Why are you so dead-set against the idea? Don't you feel you deserve happiness, too? You're a good person, Ms. Granger. You work hard. You're attractive and have great teeth. You donate to charity, recycle your garbage, call you mum more than once a month, and take excellent care of your home. You have a respectable position at the Ministry, have a good slew of friends, and your children love you. What's so wrong with you that you can't accept that you deserve to find joy and love in your heart again?"

Hermione opened her mouth, shut it, and thought on what the elf had said.

Godric, she had been sabotaging her own happiness for the past three years, hadn't she? Ron's cheating had broken something in her, and she hadn't even noticed it. Worse, she'd let him make her afraid of putting her heart back on the line. She'd let him ruin her love of Christmas.

Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away, busying herself with arranging the roses she'd received and struggling to regain control of her emotions. As she calmed down, she made the decision to take back control of her life.

"All right, you little emotional pot-stirrer, I will see Malfoy this Friday evening," she agreed. "I'll be nicely-behaved. I'll buy a new dress and put all my effort into it."

The elf nodded enthusiastically, clapping his hands.

"But," she made the important caveat, "you are not coming with me on this date, and that's not negotiable. I'm forty-four years old, fought against the darkest wizard in the history of our times, have maneuvered around the political maze of the Ministry for over twenty years of my career, married a Weasley, and given birth to two children. I think I'm more than qualified to handle proper dating etiquette - and all without the advice of a third-party with a smart mouth, thank you very much."

The elf pursed his lips together. "You promise to give the date your best effort? No dodging out on him? No phantom stomach pains? No emergency need to get home to floss your cat's teeth before his bedtime?"

Hermione turned to him and met his eye. With a sigh, she nodded. "Agreed. I'll make the best of it. But if he gets obnoxious, grabby, or says something insulting, I'm on the first Knight Bus home."

The elf nodded back. "All right, then you won't see hide or hair of me, I promise. I hope your date is fun and brings you some good cheer."

Truthfully, she just hoped the date wasn't a disaster.

X~~~~~X

15 December, 2023 (Friday afternoon)

He was wearing that cologne again.

Founders, help her.

She'd been forced to sit across from Malfoy at the dinner table for the last two hours, as they'd slowly enjoyed the eight course meal he'd ordered up at the fancy French restaurant – in Paris, no less – and try to block the fragrance out so she could concentrate on the conversation. To her surprise, they'd had an amicable, intelligent discussion about her work, his work, the state of the Ministry, her new pet Kneazle, and how she'd gotten mixed up with a Mistletoe elf in the first place. Malfoy – Draco, he'd requested she call him – had been courteous, demonstrated excellent table manners, and was a good listener. He also had wise opinions on the subject matter.

All except where the elf was concerned. Her date seemed to find the little git's meddling in her life as something of an amusement.

"I certainly didn't mind his interference Monday afternoon," he murmured in a sultry tone, staring at her through a smoky, mischievous gaze. That slow, seductive smirk crawled back up his left cheek. "Did you, Hermione?"

The way he said her name made her heart pound.

She reached for her cup of coffee and took a sip to whet her palette. "Where did you say you planned to take me after this?" she asked, hoping to distract him.

His smirk widened as he recognized her tactic. "It's a surprise. You'll like it, though. Trust me."

He was right – she'd loved his idea.

"Biblioteca di Magia!" she sighed with pleasure, recognizing the place from the pictures she'd seen of it in books. "The Library of Magic in Rome! I've always wanted to come here! It's been on my list of top twenty places to visit before I die."

"I know," he stated with a teensy bit of smugness. "I asked around."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "Have you and Harry been conspiring again?" He had the good grace not to deny it, merely giving her a guilty smile. "I swear you two are rubbing off on each other over the years. He's more Slytherin every time I turn around."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione chose not to respond, focusing on the wonderful gift before her instead. It wouldn't do to point out their differences, not when they were having... well, a lot of fun, actually.

The library, she noted only then, was abandoned. But then, it would be at this time of night, wouldn't it? That meant Malfoy had obviously arranged for them to have a private tour of the place. She wondered how much something like that had set him back; probably a lot of Galleons. She couldn't help but be impressed; Ron had balked at spending any of his wealth – acquired after the war from paid public appearances, and after he'd left the Aurors to return to Weasley's Wizards Wheezes, his investment in the company, which had gone international – on holidays or dates for them after year three of their relationship. This was a treat for her starved senses, honestly.

"I've read that this library has an original tenth century copy of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes in Old English under a Stasis spell," she said, for lack of anything else.

To her surprise, Malfoy took her elbow and led her right to it, as it lay displayed out on a stand in one corner of the room.

"Oh, my God!" she breathed in a whisper. To her amazement, tears filled her eyes. "This book was instrumental in Beedle the Bard's storytelling. He wrote his Tales after reading it. It's believed the book-"

"Inspired not only him, but the Peverell brothers that he wrote about in The Tale of the Three Brothers. The rumour is they used this book to create the Deathly Hallows," Draco finished for her, when she paused to wipe at her eyes with a handkerchief from her purse. "I know. I researched it after..." He left the thought hanging, but it was clear he meant to say, "after the war."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, but his concentration was fixed on the book. "The Tales helped us figure out why Voldemort was after the Elder Wand, and why it didn't recognize him as its master."

Malfoy's lips twisted with wry humour. "Potter told me. Funny how the bloody thing was mine for almost a full year and I didn't even know it."

"It's a good thing you didn't. If the Dark Lord had known..."

A poignant silence stretched between them.

She turned back to the book. "I'm glad you didn't know," she reiterated, thinking of all of the things that might have changed had he been armed with such knowledge. Perhaps Draco might have used the Elder Wand to kill Voldemort, but then if he had, he would have eventually been murdered by someone else, for that was the cursed legacy of the wand. Or worse, Voldemort might have been able to extract the knowledge from Draco's mind using Legilimency, and simply put the wand in the seventeen-year old wizard's hand and cast an Avada upon him. If that had happened, Harry would have lost, and the world would be a much different place.

As she considered it, Draco's death during the war would have been a rather significant event. Aside from the millions of Galleons in charitable donations he'd made on behalf of his family over the last twenty-five years (money that had helped rebuild after the war, and give various causes opportunities they may never have had otherwise), and the fact that his family's apothecary company was one of the largest employers of wizards and witches outside the English Ministry, if Draco had died as a teenager, Scorpius would probably not exist. Rose and Albus then wouldn't have had a best friend in the Malfoy heir - and that particular triangle of friendship had gone a long way over the years in overturning a lot of the old, lingering blood purity issues espoused by some in their society, giving their children's generation a fresh start.

She could take it one step further even: that freedom from bigotry that their children enjoyed had also allowed members of her generation to put aside old differences as well. For instance, as an adult woman, she'd befriended Pansy Zabini (nee Parkinson). Harry had buried the hatchet with Draco and they were now Quidditch mates. And now here she was on a date with the man who had been her greatest child rival, contemplating what his kiss had tasted like and wondering if it would be the same the second time around.

All of it seemed nothing short of miraculous – and all because Malfoy hadn't discovered his mastery of the Elder Wand during the war.

As if sensing her thoughts, her companion put a warm hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad I didn't know, either."

After they'd spent some time wandering the library, talking and discovering all of the old things that the place had to offer, he took her home to discover new things... like dizzying kisses at her door, that his brand of cologne had just become her favourite smell in the whole world, and that there existed between her and her former childhood rival a sizzling chemistry that couldn't be denied.

X~~~~~X

16 December, 2023 (Saturday early morning)

"So, how went the date?"

Busying herself around her kitchen, preparing her morning coffee and a tin of muffins for the oven, Hermione attempted to ignore the persistent annoyance in her life.

"Come, come... do tell, Ms. Granger!" Basil insisted. "It was fun to get all dressed up and enjoy the company of a man again, yes?"

She internally grouched at the elf's unrelenting nosiness. Well, of course had been fun. She wasn't going to inform him of that, though, and give him the satisfaction of saying, "I told you so."

LIE NUMBER SIX: "THE DATING SCENE SUCKS."

"I had a horrible time, if you must know, Mr. BellyHolls," she lied. "It was dreadfully dull. The food was terrible and the conversation inane. Bluntly: I don't think I'm cut out for dating at my age. Best to chalk the whole thing up to a lesson learned for all of us, and go back to your boss with the news that the contract can't be fulfilled under such conditions."

The elf laughed... and laughed... and laughed at that.

"Jolly. Bells," he stammered around his giggling amusement. "And, really, you expect me to believe that the meal in that five-star rated restaurant in Paris was substandard, that visiting the library of your dreams was a bore, and that the snog you two shared at the door in the end was the worst experience of your life?"

She whirled on the little man, angered. "You were spying on me?"

He waved her off, all the while continuing to chortle. "You saw neither hide nor hair of me, as promised."

"You... you..." For once, she was at a loss for words. With a shriek of frustration, she picked up her stainless steel coffee spoon and hurled it at the elf. He didn't even raise a hand or offer a counter spell; the utensil simply stopped in mid-air and hovered there under the power of some unknown magic. It dropped to the floor a second later, having caused no harm. "Ah!" she stomped her foot in frustration. "You're indestructible, too!"

The elf snorted and cackled. "I'm a Christmas elf – of the Mistletoe department, specifically. Not even your Voldemort could have harmed me. I'm old magick."

Mr. Starling sauntered into the kitchen just then. "I say, what's all the claptrap about? Oh, Hermione! Up already? I heard your date went well, my mistress. So pleased. Where's my milk?"

She rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air in surrender.

"So, when the owl arrives later this morning with the note telling you what a wonderful time your Mr. Malfoy had, and how he'd like to take you out again soon, shall I respond for you in the affirmative?" the elf snickered.

"No," she firmly replied, pointing a warning finger at him. "You stay out of it, Blackwort!"

"It's Basil. You're just going to say 'yes' anyway," he predicted.

Just to spite him, she shook her head and sniffed. "No, I think not."

"Stubborn," Mr. Starling observed.

The elf threw her a knowing grin. "She's a marshmallow for him already. Watch and see."

Hermione harrumphed, and pulled her muffins out of the oven.

X~~~~~X

16 December, 2023 (Saturday late morning)

Draco's note and another bouquet of roses – pink this time - delivered via owl, arrived at her window just before the noontime hour.

Hermione,

I wished to communicate once more how thoroughly I enjoyed last night. Our time together was an absolute delight. You are a remarkable woman – so filled with passion, so intelligent, so lovely, and absolutely radiant in red.

My interest in you has only been further warmed. I'd enjoy another opportunity to take pleasure in your company soon. Please owl back as to when your schedule is cleared for several hours, if you find your curiosity similarly... aroused.

~ Draco

As she penned a response, she kept her writing hidden behind her hand, not wanting to give that stupidly grinning elf any more ammunition. When she'd finished, she folded the paper, gave Malfoy's Eagle owl a treat, and gave it the note to take back to its Master, sending it on its way.

As she watched it wing off into the sky, she was keenly aware of the elf at her back, and his smuggy smugness. "Oh, do shut up," she groused.

"Didn't say a thing," he cheerfully replied. "I was just heading back into the kitchen anyway to look for the marshmallows. Seems I drank up all the ones in my cocoa." He began humming, "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" as he headed into the next room.

Hermione couldn't help the smile that fought its way over her lips.

X~~~~~X

17 December, 2023 (Sunday late afternoon)

"My feet are killing me!" Hermione groaned, pulling off her boots. She'd worn the ones with the attractive heel, not wanting to appear unfashionable in front of any of her ex-Family-In-Law members, not to mention Ginny, her daughter Lily, Rose, and Pansy. Now, she regretted being a slave to fashion.

"You looked nice though," her companion elf commented. "I particularly liked how the shoes coordinated with outfit – even if it did take you two hours and trying on a dozen pairs to decide upon them."

She ignored him, dropping her holiday shopping bags off in the living room and moving to the kitchen. "I'm making hot cocoa. You want some?"

The elf was at her side like a panting animal in the next minute. "You have to ask?"

"Mr. Starling? Milk, I take it?" she hollered across the cottage, knowing her familiar was probably curled up on her bed, where he favoured going to nap.

"MEEE-OW!" he called out. "Sounds wonderful, Hermione!"

Once the drinks were ready, she headed back into the living room. "Come and get it!" she called out.

Her two companions were there in a flash.

Sipping her hot beverage, she decided to go through her shopping bags and separate everything out. She'd gotten her entire list done in one afternoon – and this time, she hadn't even had a list or been prepared in advance what to buy for each friend and family member. She'd 'taken a walk on the wild side' (as Basil had deemed it) and purchased things on the spot that she felt best personified each person on her list.

There was a crinkling noise off to her left, and when she looked, the elf's legs were sticking out of one bag, as he reached in and drew out the wrapping paper and ribbon she'd purchased that day as well. "Well, let's get cracking!"

The three of them spent the remainder of the evening and night wrapping gifts before the fire, enjoying their warm drinks, and saying very little. Hermione had to admit, it was rather nice.

X~~~~~X

21 December, 2023 (Thursday afternoon)

Almost seven days had passed since Hermione's date with Malfoy, and there had been no word from him.

Her return note to him on Saturday had let him know that she'd been interested in seeing him again, too, and she'd given some dates that she knew were open in her schedule for them to consider for a second date. He hadn't replied. She'd sent a second note just two days ago, beginning with some light 'how are you?' banter and ending on a 'hope to hear from you soon' note, but still, there was no reply.

She's often heard the advice that stated that three days was the traditional amount of time a person should wait to hear from a new potential. After that, the consensus was that the non-responsive party was ignoring you on purpose, anticipating that you'd take the hint and go away. At five days, Hermione was now ready to call her vigil quits.

Perhaps she'd come off too strong in her letters, or seemed too desperate? She'd been very careful of her wording in both communications, but Draco had been a Slytherin, so perhaps he'd read something more from her letters than she'd intended. Some men, she knew, didn't like aggressive women, and Hermione was known for her take-charge attitude about most things. She might very well have turned him off without realising it.

Wouldn't that just be ironic: the one man in the universe she shouldn't be attracted to, but unfathomably was, had decided he didn't want her after all.

Gads, it was enough to make a woman tear her hair out!

Thank the Fates the stupid elf's contract stated that once she'd kissed the same chap twice, the spell broke and she was no longer required to snog out with complete strangers. No more awkward, sloppy kisses with disgusting, unseemly men. If only she'd known that earlier, she could have gotten rid of Mr. JollyBells weeks ago!

Unfortunately, the contract wasn't complete just because one part of it had been fulfilled. She still hadn't found her lost Christmas cheer – which was the whole point behind this ridiculous exercise. And now with Malfoy's uncanny silence and her own doubts creeping in, she was beginning to lose whatever good feelings she'd managed to achieve, and was back to dwelling in the blues.

She turned to the elf, who was sitting in the chair across her desk from her, reading the latest gossip in Witch Weekly.

LIE NUMBER SEVEN: "I'VE DECIDED TO ENTER A CONVENT."

"I've decided: I'm quitting this life, and taking Holy Orders as soon as possible," she announced.

"Is that so?" he unconcernedly asked, his eyes never lifting from its perusal of the article he was reading.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I think it's for the best, all around. Besides, then I could get a haircut that doesn't cost an arm and a leg."

Basil folded up the magazine and looked at her with a frustrated sigh. "If you'd just let me go check and see what's keeping him from replying-"

"Absolutely not!" She slammed her hand down on the desk.

Mr. Starling appeared in a crack of lightning. "She still being stubborn?" When he noticed her gaping at him in surprise – who knew a Kneazle could do that? – he merely shrugged. "Magical creature, remember?"

"Sure. Why the hell not?" she laughed somewhat maniacally, feeling her mind an inch away from cracking. "I've already pinned to my side a Mistletoe elf that can stop kitchen utensils like something out of 'The Matrix', and who appears to be immune to murdering, so why not a cat that can Apparate at will, too?"

"Kneazle, not cat," Mr. Starling primly corrected her. "And of course my kind can Apparate around! How else are we supposed to get past closed doors?" He held up one giant, orange paw. "No thumbs to turn knobs, remember?"

She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and put her fingers against her temples, rubbing to stave off a headache. "Of course! How utterly foolish of me."

"So, she's still refusing to let you go find out what's happened to her beau?" the cat reiterated the question to the elf. He huffed. "Obstinate female."

"I am not pigheaded," she persisted.

"Are, too," her familiar countered.

"Are not."

"Are, too."

"Are not."

The elf sighed. "Children, please."

She slammed her fist down again on the desk again. "In any case, I will not send you off to tattle and ask him why he refuses to return my letters. I won't appear pathetic or desperate – especially not to the likes of Mister Draco Malfoy!"

The elf cleared his throat and tugged at his collar to loosen it a bit. "Technically, it's his Lordship, Draco Malfoy. He's an Earl."

Hermione's eyes nearly popped from their sockets and she shot to her feet with surprise. "WHAT?"

Basil waved the fact aside. "It's an old ancestral title with no real significance-"

"Bloody hell," she interrupted him, slumping back into her chair. "No wonder he was so caught up on blood lineage as a child." She bitterly huffed. "It's brainwashed into him at every angle – not just in the magical sense, but socially, too. A pureblood Earl. Just perfect."

"Why should it matter?" JollyBells asked. "He's still the same man you went out on a rather nice date with last week."

Hermione wanted to cry. She really did. "No wonder he hasn't contacted me. I bet that awful father of his put pressure on him to stop seeing me. Lucius Malfoy has never given up on the blood purity rhetoric, you know." She sighed. "So, it seems that it couldn't have worked even if we'd both wanted. He's from the peerage, and I'm... I'm just a Muggle-born commoner."

"Come now, you make it sound as if you're a slip of a female, worth nothing on her own, which we both know simply isn't true," Basil argued, standing up on his chair and putting his tiny hands on his small hips. "You're a powerful witch with an extraordinarily kind heart, Ms. Granger. You're the smartest magicial practitioner of your age, hands down. You've done more to overturn archaic laws that subjugated werewolf and women's rights in the wizarding world than anyone has in the history of the British Ministry. Besides, being of a solid working class family didn't stop that Kate woman from marrying the Muggle Prince back a dozen years or so ago. She's Queen Consort now."

She rubbed her temples again. "That's very kind of you to say, but none of it explains why he hasn't contacted me. The conclusion is obvious: he isn't interested, for whatever reason." Suddenly angry with having had her hopes raised only to be dashed once more, she turned to one of the stacks on her desk and began sorting through it. "The whole idea was barmy to begin with. I have more important things to do than to sit around and mope over a man. Now, if you two will excuse me."

The dismissal was blatant...

...and blatantly ignored, too. The elf and the Kneazle did not go away. They instead moved across the room to whisper to each other in secret. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Starling nod, and then with a 'pop,' he Disapparated.

The elf resumed his seat across from her, picking up the discarded magazine and began reading again. Annoyingly, he began humming, "Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!"

That night, fourteen inches of the good, white winter wonder fell on her cottage and she was snowed-in.

X~~~~~X

22 December, 2023 (Friday later afternoon)

Hermione was finishing up some paperwork in her office, the last on her floor to leave for the two week holiday, as the Ministry prepared to shut down until after the New Year.

"Can we go home yet?" the elf whined like a five-year old. "I want to help you put up your Christmas tree!"

LIE NUMBER EIGHT: "WHO NEEDS CHRISTMAS CHEER, ANYWAY?"

"I'm not bothering with any of that crike this year, Buttercup," Hermione announced, re-reading the same paragraph for the third time and still finding no flaw with it. She was stalling, she knew, but the idea of going home to an empty, cold house with only an annoying halfling for company turned her stomach (Mr. Starling hadn't been home since he'd left her office yesterday. JB assured her that her familiar was fine; her Kneazle was apparently running an errand for the elf's boss).

"It's Basil," he reminded her for the hundredth time. "And you are so. Don't even argue with me. My contract says I can rough you up over this one."

That made her put her quill and paper down. She looked at him over the rim of her reading glasses. "Are you looking to 'throw down' with me, little man?" she snarked, raising an eyebrow at his audacity. "I wouldn't advise it."

He gave her a challenging smirk and crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh? And you're going to beat me? Ha! Good one. Over the past several weeks, you've tried and failed at multiple attempts to misdirect me, run from me, lose me in the Christmas shopping rush, shove me into your charmed bag, hex me, toss me into a random Floo, drop me out a window, flush me down the bog, and murder me with flung kitchen utensils, too much sugar in my diet, and Peppermint Schnapps."

It was hard to keep her lips from twitching with humour. "I wondered where that bottle came from."

He smugly buffed his nails on his green jumper. "It's my favourite Muggle drink. I never leave home without it."

"You forgot my favourite attempt to rid myself of you," she stated, openly grinning now.

"You mean when you went around telling people that I was an escaped patient from the Janus Thickley Ward at St. Mungo's who'd accidentally magicked myself into a midget and as a result, began to believe myself something as mad as an actual Christmas elf?" he asked. "Yes, that was probably the cleverest performance I've witnessed in all my years. The iris-drop tears and the sobbing pleading on your knees for someone to take me back before I hurt" – he made quote marks in the air - "'another innocent child' was a nice touch, I have to admit."

That had been quite amusing, yes.

In fact, this past month with JollyBells had been the most fun she'd had in years. He'd challenged her intellect, forced her to snog a lot of men under the mistletoe, made her go on a fantasy date, caused her to have more frequent contact with friends and family, helped her pick out her new familiar, triggered her to reconnect with her childhood love of hot cocoa and marshmallows, made her donate to charity for the first time in years, assisted in wrapping the presents she'd purchased for her loved ones, and now was going to go home with her and help her put up her tree. In just a few short weeks, he'd caused her to... to...

... to enjoy the Christmas season again.

He recognized her epiphany when it happened, and dropped his arms, giving her a genuine smile. "Ah, there it is."

Tears flooded her eyes as she realized that for the first time in three years, she felt true joy and cheer in her heart – not just for Christmas, but for living again. She'd spent so much time hiding in the shadow of the raw, soul-crushing wound Ron had laid upon her when he'd left her for a younger woman that December, and now, it was as if the sun were shining brightly in her face once again. She'd finally discovered that everything had its proper season, including grief, and that now, hers had finally passed.

"You understand at last: Christmas isn't just a season for giving and getting presents, or filling our bellies with special dishes. It's a time to rediscover the real you. It's a time for reflection of what has come before, reconnection with those important to us today, and anticipation of what's to come – past, present, future," the elf said, appearing in a flash on the corner of her desk next to her. "The point behind it is to recognize the good things you have in your life, to remember that there have to be bad times to compare those good times to so you can see and know the difference, and make new memories filled with laughter and love now. It's important to appreciate what you've sacrificed and suffered to get here, but to put such experiences in their proper place and never let such things burden and spoil your heart – never let them rob you of your optimism and cheer." He put a hand on hers. "It's a holiday all about faith, hope, and love. What's there not to like about it?"

She broke into loud sobs and quickly dabbed at her runny nose with an emergency handkerchief that she kept inside her desk drawer. "Oh, I was horrible to you, wasn't I? And all you were trying to do was to make me see how rich my life truly was. I'm so, SO sorry!"

He patted her hand with affection. "That's all right, Hermione. Your skills at making hot cocoa more than made up for all of it. Besides," he gave her a playful grin, "I rather enjoyed the challenge given to me. Getting the most stubborn witch in an age to have fun... I won a pile of peppermint sticks in the office betting pool over it!"

X~~~~~X

23 December, 2023 (Saturday evening)

Hermione met Hugo and Rose at King's Cross Station, and brought them home to her decorated cottage. They gaped at the decorating that she and JollyBells had been up to since last night. Fairy Lights twinkled from the rafters of the ceiling and around the tree. Glass ornaments reflected their glimmering colours throughout the room. Handmade peppermint canes hung on branches, alongside magically-enchanted, never-melting icicles. Cinnamon-scented pinecones decorated the top of the mantle and sat in variously arranged potpourri bowls throughout the house. The family's homemade stockings hung down from the hearth, and a warm, merry fire blazed in its heart. Candles burned throughout the room. Lovely wrapped packages sat under the tree, awaiting their owners.

"Oh, mum," Rose gasped, tears filling her eyes. "You're celebrating Christmas again."

"I have someone I need to introduce you to," Hermione ushered the children in, and with a wave of her wand, sent their luggage to their rooms.

Needless to say, the children took to the Mistletoe elf the same as Mr. Starling had, and they became fast friends.

She worried, however, when midnight rolled around and her Kneazle still hadn't put in an appearance.

"Shall I go find him?" Basil offered.

Unable to speak for her worry, she simply nodded. With a snap of his fingers, JollyBells Disapparated.

For weeks she'd been trying to get rid of the elf, to no avail. Now that he was gone, it was funny, but she felt his loss and instantly missed him.

X~~~~~X

24 December, 2023 (Sunday morning)

"They took Scorpius out of school last Sunday," Rose informed her as they worked side-by-side on fixing breakfast, while Hugo lazily slept in. "Apparently, he had an acute appendicitis in the middle of the night, and had to be rushed to St. Mungo's. Then, when he was there recovering from surgery, he caught a case of Dragon Pox. Poor Scor! I've sent him loads of letters and his presents already through one of the school owls. I hope he gets well soon!"

Hermione looked up from cooking the eggs, gasping in shock. "Dragon Pox! But that's... goodness, that very dangerous!"

Rose nodded. "I heard his great-grandfather died of it. He was put in quarantine, along with his father, who got exposed when he went to visit him after the surgery."

Merlin! Draco had caught Dragon Pox, too? Well, that explained why she hadn't heard a word from the man. Dragon Pox took five days to ravage a person. It was an ugly disease, with scabs breaking out all over the body, and causing a very high fever in the patient that left them delirious for days. Malfoy might just now be getting over it.

"Can we check and see how he's doing today or tomorrow?" Rose asked, clearly worried.

"I'll Floo to St. Mungo's now and check up on their condition," Hermione offered. "Finish the eggs, will you? And get Hugo up and eating. You know how that boy is."

Within minutes, Hermione was in the foyer of the hospital, and asking after Draco's health. It seemed he was just being readied by the Healer to be discharged for home, having run the gamut and beaten his illness. She was given his room number and went up to visit.

Just as she reached the closed door, it opened and Malfoy stepped out. They nearly collided.

"I just heard this morning from Rose what happened," she quickly explained. "I was... worried. Are you all better now?"

There were some residual scabs showing just at his collar, and he looked wiped out, but thankfully, he hadn't been scarred by the illness. Clearly, he'd been allowed a shower as well, for he was clean, his hair still a bit damp, and he smelled of soap. His smile was slow and lazy, but genuine. "Much, thank you. I received your notes, but didn't break the fever until last night. I've just read them and was on my way to reply. I apologize for the unintentional delay."

She shook her head. "No need. I'm just... very thankful you're better. How's your son?"

"Fully recovered from his surgery and illness. He was sent home yesterday. My mother has been seeing to his care in my absence."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear that, truly."

Silence fell between them as they stared into each others' eyes, each seeming to wait for the other to make some sort of move.

"The Healer says I'm not contagious any longer," he finally broke the ice.

Hermione licked her lips. "Oh? That's... excellent news."

They moved towards each other at the same time, their arms coming about each other in natural harmony, their lips meeting in a kiss filled with fire and need.

Godric, he kissed like an angel and a devil rolled into one!

"I've been dreaming of doing this again with you for the last week," he finally admitted when they broke the snog for some air. "Well, in between the fevered hallucinations of giant orange cats and cheerful Christmas elves wearing green hats."

Hermione burst into laughter. "Sounds like you got the good potions."

He grinned and swooped in close for another kiss. "They were quite extraordinary, I assure you."

X~~~~~X

24 December, 2023 (Sunday afternoon)

JollyBells and Mr. Starling were sitting before the fireplace, talking with Rose and Hugo, when Hermione came home.

"Thank you for staying with him and helping to see him through," she whispered to her familiar and the elf. "I heard they'd almost lost him the night you" – she petted her Kneazle on the head – "went to see him, but that your presence calmed his convulsions."

"Yes, well, Kneazles and cats alike are known for radiating positive healing energies," Mr. Starling replied with a small measure of conceit, his purring loud as she continued to stroke his cheeks.

"And you," she turned to the elf, "made sure his fever broke so he could come home before Christmas, didn't you?"

Basil shrugged. "Couldn't have my record of successful cheer-giving blown by the man's death, now could I? My winning all those peppermint sticks was on the line!"

To both of their astonishment, Hermione reached out and hugged the little fellow. "Thank you, Basil JollyBells," she whispered in his ear. "For everything."

He hugged her back. "You're welcome, Hermione Granger. Happy Christmas."

X~~~~~X

25 December, 2023 (Monday morning)

Basil was gone when she awoke. He'd left her a note magically tacked to the mantle, however.

Dear Ms. Granger,

It is with the utmost pleasure that I, Basil JollyBells, do hereby certify that you have regained your lost Christmas cheer. My employment contract has been fulfilled, and as such, my services are no longer necessary.

Thank you for opening your home – and your heart – to me, and for providing me with wonderful hot cocoa and a new friend in Mr. Starling. I will never forget such kindness.

Blessings be upon your home now and always!

Cheerfully yours,

~ Basil

P.S. I've left you a small present under the tree.

Hermione searched and found the elf's gift: a frame magical photo of him and Mr. Starling in some place she didn't recognize throwing an arm each about the others' shoulder, smiling into the camera. In the background, there were other elves like Basil, some wearing party hats, others blowing party horns or throwing confetti. A Peppermint Schnapps bottle was passed into Basil's hand from someone off to the side, and he saluted the cameraman and took a big swig. Folded neatly on top of the photo was the dreaded contract that had started it all off.

With shaking hands, she unfolded it and read the name of the person who had employed Basil's services on her behalf. She read it again – twice more – just to be sure she'd gotten it right.

"Santa Claus?"

"What?" Hugo asked, sitting before the fire with his pile of packages, waiting on them to begin together.

She held the contract out to show her children. "According to this, Santa Claus hired Basil JollyBells to bring me Christmas cheer."

Ever the curious one, with her mother's penchant for understanding legal-eze, Rose came over and took the document from her mother's hand to read it. When she was done, she looked up at her. "See the seal on the bottom?" she pointed out, handing the parchment back. "It's notarized. Someone named 'Santa Claus' was legally allowed the sign this document."

Hermione frowned. "Yes, I saw that. It just seems... well, obviously he doesn't really exist. Someone must have changed their name to 'Santa Claus' to perpetrate this fraud. There's no other logical explanation." She looked again at the photo of Basil. "Because Mistletoe elves don't really exist, right? He was just a little man in a green suit."

Mr. Starling came into the room just then, stretching and yawning. "I apologize for being out all night, Hermione. I was invited to a little party up north." He yawned again, and put a paw over his mouth. "Oh, my! JB and his friends sure throw a smashing revel! I only came home a few hours ago." He grinned with a mouth full of sharp, white cat teeth. "I tell you: Christmas elves definitely know how to have a good time! I've been invited back next year by the Big Man himself."

"Big Man?" Rose asked, exchanging a look with her mother and brother.

Mr. Starling nodded, and headed into the kitchen towards where his food bowl was situated. "Why, Mr. Claus, of course. Jolly fellow, very round, wears red." He looked around the kitchen island at them. "Don't you just love his name?"

He disappeared as he ducked back around the counter, and the sound of cat kibble being crunched up was loud in the suddenly silent house.

"Well," Hermione finally broke the awkward moment. "Let's just get to opening gifts, shall we? We have Christmas lunch at the Weasleys to keep, and then tonight, we're going to Grandma and Grandpa Granger's for dinner."

"And then later tonight, you're meeting up with Mr. Malfoy for a little Christmas celebrating without the kids," Rose gave her a shrewd look. "Scorpius owl'd me last night with all the juicy gossip. Go mum!"

Blushing, Hermione stood up and put the photo of Basil and her familiar above the mantle in a place of prominence, the contract next to it. As soon as the stores reopened for business, she'd have them framed together and properly mounted on her wall, she decided. That way, she would never forget her new friend and the lessons he'd taught her this year.

"Pip pip! Ready you two?" she clapped her hands, turning back to her children and sitting on the couch. Having finished his meal, Mr. Starling came back in and jumped onto her lap, kneading and purring as he attempted to settle down across her thighs. She reached out and stroked his fine, orange fur. "Get set now," she coached the traditional signal to her kids. "And... go!"

Her children tore into their gifts, squealing in delight. Hermione watched their youthful, freckled faces light up with joy upon each gift's revelation, and knew a sense of peace that had been far-too-long absent from her life.

Yes, this scene would change in the coming years as Rose and Hugo both got older and moved away to have families of their own, but Hermione decided then and there that no matter what the future brought, she would never lose heart over it. Her Christmas cheer would see her through the changes of life.

~FIN~