Christmas Eve

Malfoy Enterprises

'Bah! Humbugs!'

Draco Malfoy, CEO of Malfoy Enterprises, spat the offending sweet out. It arced through the air and landed on his office floor, where it rolled to a sticky stop by his desk.

'Who the hell put humbugs in my sweetie jar?' he roared at his hapless Administrative Assistant, who was cowering behind his many files and parchments. 'I hate humbugs!'

'S-sorry, sir, I'll swap them out for Nougat Chunks right away,' Ron Weasley stuttered, using his files like a shield.

'See that you do.' Draco strode around his massive desk to his chair, sat upon it regally and folded his hands on top of the spotless desktop. He then held out one of those hands, and Ron placed a rolled parchment on it. Draco spread the parchment out on top of his desk, picked up a wizarding magnifying glass, and scrutinised the figures.

After a few minutes, he realised that Ron was still in his office. Draco rolled his eyes and sighed.

'You're dismissed, Weasley. You don't have to wait for me to tell you.'

'Yes sir, thank you sir. Except – um, the office staff wanted to know if it was okay if they, er, went home a little early this evening?' Ron's stammering question was most aptly accompanied by his knocking knees.

'Leave early?' Draco blustered. The very nerve! 'Isn't it enough that I give you people jobs and pay you a salary?' he snapped. 'Now you want time off?'

'Yes sir, we're very grateful for being employed, sir, but we do so very much hope you'll grant one hour off for us on this special day.'

Draco was already bored with the conversation. Nose to the parchment, he muttered 'What's so special about this day?'

'It – it's Christmas Eve, sir. Didn't you get the memo from Human and Creature Resources?'

Draco sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand. Why the Wizarding world goes all doollally about a Muggle religious celebration was beyond him. But at least it made for good retail sales. Almost made up for the fact that none of his shops could open on Christmas Day, damn them all to hell.

'All right, fine. You may all leave one hour early.'

Ron leapt for joy. 'Oh, thank you, kind and benevolent sir!' he gushed.

Draco, feeling uncomfortable at this revolting display of positivity, waved his hand at the exit. 'Go!' he ordered. 'And I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening!'

'Yes, sir!' And Ron skedaddled, desperate to get the news out to his colleagues before old Misery-Arse could change his mind.

Draco worked long into the evening in his cavernous office, counting numbers, screwing up his face and thinking about how to make more money so that he could have more numbers to count.

Eventually, with a crick in his neck, he stood up and summoned his cloak. Time to head home to Malfoy Manor, where he rattled around the rooms like a pinball – all empty and echoey since his father and mother passed away.

And then she left him.

Taking his heart and soul with her.

Hardening his jaw, he opened his office door, only to discover that someone had stuck a memo to the other side. Irritated, he ripped it off the door and glanced at it.

Dear sir, it started in Ron's nearly illegible scrawl:

Just as we were leaving, a tall chap dressed in a black cloak and carrying a gardening implement, for some reason, stopped by. We initially thought he was trying to get a refund for his garden tool, but it turned out he wanted to speak to you. But since you gave orders not to be disturbed, I insisted that he leave a message instead.

He said to tell you that tonight you'll be visited by three ghosts, representing the spirits of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come. And that if you don't change your horrid, miserly ways, you'll regret it. He sounded a bit barmy, if you ask me. Not sure someone so crackers should be wandering the streets carrying a sharp garden tool. But there you go. It's probably a load of cobblers, but he was very insistent that you get the message.

Merry Christmas, sir!

Ron Weasley, your Administrative Assistant.

Rolling his eyes, Draco crumpled up the note and shoved it in his pocket.

He was surrounded by idiots.

Malfoy Manor

Draco's footsteps echoed on the cold marble as he stepped out of Malfoy Manor's Floo. On cue, Sprigg, his unfathomably-aged house elf, popped into view, holding a silver tray, on which a healthy snifter of Firewhisky sat. Draco silently swapped his cloak for the drink and headed through the dimly-lit lobby to his study, which was illuminated only by the fire in the stark room's massive fireplace.

He slumped into his austere green wingback chair, knocked the Firewhisky back in one go and stared at the flames.

Occasionally, the ancient retainer tried to tempt him with some food, despite knowing it was futile. The only time Draco would speak or move was to require more Firewhisky or drink more Firewhisky.

As Sprigg said goodnight to his taciturn master, he popped sadly back to his quarters, rueing - for the millionth time - the day when the last shred of light in the young man's soul was extinguished forever.

The day Madame Hermione left.

Later that night

Like most late evenings when he sought answers at the bottom of a Firewhisky bottle, he didn't remember how he got to bed. But he was certainly nude and horizontal when he slowly became aware of another nude and horizontal body lying next to his. Soft, warm, and possessing breasts.

His eyes flew open. That shouldn't be.

Not a single woman had dared to darken his boudoir in all the time since Hermione...

He turned his head and yelped when he encountered the sleepy, silvery eyes of a beautiful, wraith-like woman who'd stretched herself across most of his torso, a hip, thigh and rapidly-becoming-interested cock.

'Hello,' she smiled. She snuggled into him, her thigh massaging life into a much-unwanted erection.

Draco sat up, dislodging the blonde-haired interloper so that she sprawled daintily across his bed. 'Who the fucking hell are you?' he gasped.

But even as those words left his mouth, slow recognition took hold. 'Hang on, you're that daft girl that went to Hogwarts, right? Looney Someone?'

She smiled and held out her hand. 'I go by Luna, these days,' she said. 'Do people still call you Draco?'

He blinked. People called him 'Sir,' 'Malfoy' and 'Master.' He hadn't heard the name 'Draco' in some time.

Dazedly, he shook her hand before realizing how ridiculous it was that he was shaking hands with a naked alumnus in his bed.

'Luna,' he said in a voice he reserved for the spectacularly dumb, 'why are you in my bed, naked? Not to mention how did you get into my manor?'

'Oh,' she said, faintly surprised and not the slightest bit worried about the gorgeous expanse of flesh she had on full display, 'I was told you'd received the memo.'

'Memo?' Draco repeated, clutching his hair.

'Yes! Derek, our oracle, said he dictated one to your Administrative Assistant earlier this evening to let you know we'd be visiting. I'm the Spirit of Christmas Past.'

Draco was starting to feel like he was having an out-of-body experience. Also, he was trying to ignore a most inconveniently-burgeoning erection. Luna, on the other hand, was keeping a keen eye on it.

'Derek... the bloke with the cloak and sharp garden tool?' he asked.

'The very one!' Luna beamed. 'Oh, he does so love his scythe. Takes it everywhere.'

Draco peered closer at Luna and gave her arm an experimental prod with a finger. She seemed corporeal enough. 'You can't be a spirit,' he said flatly. 'Your body has, er, substance.'

'Thank you,' Luna blushed. 'I do try to work out. It's hard to find the time, though. Who knew you'd be so busy when you're dead?'

'Yes, well, one has to make time,' Draco lectured before running Luna's last sentence through his head again. 'Y-you're dead?' he yelped.

'Uh-huh,' she replied absent-mindedly. She was still watching the Draco's cock increase in size, an unfortunate side-effect of the nearness of naked boobs. 'At least a year ago now. My house collapsed.'

Draco raked his mind, searching for any ounce of recognition that this information wrought. But to be honest, he only ever read financial broadsheets these days.

'Well,' he started, trying to think of something appropriate to say, 'you look good.'

'Really?' Luna's eyes lit up.

'Argh! Get off me, woman!' Draco nimbly leapt out of the way of Luna's gymnastic pounce, designed to land smack dab on top of his traitorous cock.

Luna retreated to the other side of the bed to lick her metaphorical wounds.

'Well, if you're the Spirit of Christmas Past, why are you in my bed?' Draco demanded.

'Well, you looked so nice and warm in your bed, I thought I'd grab a quick kip before we set off on your intrepid journey of painful self-discovery and misery.' She pouted. 'I've been haunting people all day, you know! Not everyone dances to your merry tune, you know.'

Draco had nothing to say to that.

'Well,' she sighed, looking at an imaginary watch on her wrist, 'might as well get it over with. Take my hand.'

'Wait!' Draco yelped. 'Don't I get to put some clothes on, at least?'

'Why?' Luna asked, confused. 'No-one's going to see you. Except me. And I've seen it.' She craned her neck to get a better look at his arse.

Draco thought that would have been ample reason enough, but Luna did not tarry, and took a firm grip of his hand. Without a word of warning, the eerily similar-looking couple wafted up to the ceiling of his bedroom. They passed though the ceiling as if it was nothing but candy-floss, popped out of the manor's roof, and soared into the dark, chilly night.

Well, thought a terrified Draco, as he held onto Luna's hand with a death grip. That took care of the erection.