Rotten
Rainbow lights hung in all their splendor, strung in a spiral on a great pine tree in the center of the ballroom. Wreaths and garland, holly and bobbles; the room—the entire house—was snug in the spirit of Christmas. Even Draco Malfoy, the home's owner, was in a somewhat cheerful mood. His wife of only three months, however, couldn't have been more unhappy.
"Hermione?" he called, searching around the corners of the bookshelves in their library. He found her soon enough, sitting in a stiff wooden chair in the farthest corner of the room, a stack of tattered books at her side. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "It's Christmas Eve."
Only after she looked up, did he realize she'd been crying. Her chocolate brown eyes were rimmed so red she would have fit perfectly with the colors of the ballroom.
"They're not worth it," he tried to reason, but that only seemed to upset her more. Succumbing to his husband duties, Draco kneeled down and pressed Hermione in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. His arms could only barely reach around her, her belly having grown considerably as it made room for their child within.
In the end, he convinced her to follow him to the kitchen for a warm glass of eggnog. She choked it down as best she could, trying her damnedest to smile at his kindness. After all, it wasn't everyday Draco Malfoy treated her this way. Not to say he didn't love her—of course he did—but he would always be a little rough around the edges, a little cold, and very much distant. But then that's the man she'd fallen in love with. No matter how hard she tried not to.
Flashback:
Six Months Ago:
"What do you mean you're having dinner with Malfoy!" Harry's voice could have shattered the glass of wine she held. Beside her Ginny looked terrified—she had never seen her boyfriend become so angry so fast. And never at Hermione. And at Harry's side, Ron couldn't even look her in the face. He was disgusted and hurt.
"He's a changed man, Harry," Hermione tried to reason.
It had been so many years since the war. Wounds were healed, grudges put to rest, and lives had gone back to normal. And even after all the good Draco had done to make up for his mistakes, Harry and many others still despised him to the marrow of their bones. At work, they wouldn't look at him, only addressing him when their job called for it. Hermione, and sometimes Ginny, seemed to be the only ones willing to converse with him without being forced. And, therefore, they were usually the ones who were asked to work with him. Gradually, over the years, they'd become acquaintances, then friends. The three of them hung out occasionally outside the office, yet not without Harry and Ron putting in their two cents and advising the girls that they would be waiting up for their return. Once they had been five minutes late—next thing they knew, the boys were at the pub with Draco pinned beneath them. After that, Ginny stopped going out with them.
"He's a Death Eater, Hermione!"
"He was a Death Eater. Was!"
"How could you do this to us?" Ron demanded, stepping forward. "It's one thing to have a drink with a co-worker, but to date a Malfoy? Who are you?"
"Ron, don't be so ridiculous. How can you judge him so rashly? When was the last time he gave you reason to hate him? Huh? For the past eight years he has been nothing but loyal to us, Ron! His testimony in court is the reason Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix received the Dementor's Kiss! He's rounded up dozens of rouge Death Eaters! He saved Lupin's life! He saved my life! And if that's not good enough for you two, then to hell with the both of you!"
Neither of them said a word.
"Harry!" Ginny cried angrily. "Say something!"
"Get out of my house, Hermione."
End Flashback:
When the doorbell rang at quarter to eight, Draco left Hermione in the east living room. Ginny was there, as she'd promised. Hermione had no hope left to believe she'd convinced Harry and Ron to join her.
As she awaited their return, her eyes caught sight of an enchanted picture on the coffee table. It was of her and Draco's wedding—three months ago tomorrow. In it she was smiling, though every now and then her photographed-self would frown for an instant and look around to see if anyone saw her demeanor slip. At her right stood Draco, dressed in a marvelously flattering black tux. Ginny stood to her left, her Maid of Honor, and one of a handful of people who actually showed up for the ceremony. Harry and Ron had returned her invitation, have torn them to pieces.
Setting the picture down, she turned towards the roaring fire, suppressing her tears. Ginny didn't need to see her cry. Again. She'd done enough of that to last ten lifetimes.
Flashback:
"What happened?" Draco asked, his concern getting the better of him. He's arrived at her flat at seven, as planned, only to have the door opened to a sobbing woman with streaks of mascara running down her face.
"H-H-Harry and…and R-Ron," was all she could squeeze out.
Needless to say, they didn't make their reservations for dinner. They spent most of the evening in her kitchen over mugs of tea, Draco trying his best to comfort her, though doing a lousy job considering he had no training in that particular area of human interaction.
"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow at work," Hermione said when eleven rolled around and he announced he should get going. "Sorry I ruined our date." Her eyes were only slightly less puffy than they'd been when he arrived. "Too bad I can't make it up to you."
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.
"Surely you don't want to go out again."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Three Months Later:
Hermione stood crying on Draco's front porch, soon to be their front porch. She'd been standing there for a good ten minutes before she plucked up the nerve to knock. And, when she did, her fiancé looked murderous.
"What did they do now?" he hissed, fed up with how they treated their supposed best friend. Since they'd been dating, she and the boys had gone back and forth between friendship and estrangement. Some days they spoke, others they tore each other apart. More often than not, Hermione ended up crying in his arms.
"They said they won't come to the wedding," she said, her voice clear and understandable, even if it was drowning in tears.
"Hermione, would you look at yourself?" he sighed, pulling her to him. "They make you miserable. I won't have a wife who cries all the time." He'd meant it to be a sort of joke, but it only worsened the situation.
"What am I supposed to do, Draco? They hate you."
"I'm well aware of how they feel about me. The point is how they feel about you. If you three are friends, then it's high time they started treating you as such."
"They're only concerned—"
"They're bitter and vengeful and jealous," he scoffed. "Are they truly worth all this?"
She nodded into his chest.
"Hermione." His voice was suddenly grave. She didn't dare lift her head. "If marrying me is only going to make things worse, then maybe we shouldn't—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Draco Malfoy," she said through her teeth, suddenly fiery with anger. "I love you, damn it. And nothing those boys say can change my mind, understand me? If anyone should step aside, it's them."
Her last attempt at reconciliation was the day she sent out their wedding invitations. They hadn't so much as glanced at each other since.
End Flashback:
"Happy Christmas," Ginny said, her voice preceding her body as she floated into the room, draped in a gorgeous yellow dress that looked strangely like the one she'd worn as her Maid of Honor, only longer.
"Happy Christmas, Gin," Hermione answered, standing to embrace her friend.
"Draco tells me you've been sour all day. Maybe my gift will cheer you up."
Ginny handed her a large box in lilac paper. Hermione smiled meekly and opened it, confused at its contents.
"But this is a veil," she said, staring at the sheer white fabric. "It's…it's my veil."
Not a moment later Draco swept into the room, dressed to the ears in a tux. He was carrying what looked oddly like her wedding gown.
"What's going on?"
"We decided you update that picture," Ginny said, pointing with her wand to the photo Hermione had been upset by only minutes before. It shattered into a hundred pieces, the image bursting in flames. Hermione would have screamed, had she had the voice to do so. But, as it so happened, the second Ginny destroyed their wedding picture, the two most unlikely people entered the room, wearing much the same thing as Draco.
"H-Harry?" she gasped when her voice found its way back into her throat. "Ron?"
"Can you ever forgive us?" Harry asked, coming right up to her and taking her hands.
"Yeah," Ron said. "We were rotten gits. And we're sorry."
"I…I…What made you change your mind?" she whispered, too overwhelmed to think of anything to say. She had every right to slap them both and demand they leave—she wanted to do neither. She was too happy to see them, too stunned.
"Your husband," Harry said, gesturing towards Draco, who, despite the twitch in his lip aimed at her friends, was smiling.
"It turns out he's alright," Ron said.
"He told us that before you got married he offered to break off the engagement until we 'grew up' and accepted your relationship. And because you obviously declined, we realized what he must mean to you, Hermione. We're sorry we hurt you."
"I should string you up by your ankles," she said, cracking a smile. "But, seeing as it's Christmas, I'll wait until after the holidays to punish you."
"Hurry up," Draco grunted from the other side of the room, holding out her dress. "Let's get this damn picture done. This suit is intolerable."
"I know," Hermione cooed, coming up to him and taking the dress off his hands. But she left, she wrapped one arm around his neck, giving him a much-deserved passionate kiss. "But you'd wear it until the end of time if I asked you to."
To Harry and Ron's surprise, Draco replied with: "I know," and kissed her on the nose.
I don't know what possessed me to write a Christmas-themed oneshot, but there you have it.
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Note: My other stories at still being worked on. Have no fear!