A/N: This story was originally written for the "Mistletoe and Mayhem" challenge on OWL. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: All of the characters and settings in this story belong to J.K. Rowling and not to me.

'O Christmas Tree'

Hermione sighed, and pressed her nose up against the glass pane. The snow falling softly outside the window would normally have inspired her to poetic flights of fancy, but today she was too tired, and too depressed, for the white landscape to have any effect. Leaving her chilly post, she walked over to the small sofa in front of the fire and dropped down.

With the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters over now for months, Hermione had anticipated a return to something akin to normalcy, but the wizarding world was taking longer than expected to recover from the extensive war. They were still reeling from the number of dead and injured, the number of families torn apart, businesses destroyed, and the Ministry in shambles.

A number of what Hermione termed "refugees" had taken up residence in Grimmauld Place. People at loose ends, unable yet to resume their lives, and with ties to the Order, were staying there. It was being run as a boarding house.

She sighed again. She was running it. Not exactly the brilliant career she'd always envisioned for herself, but in these times, any employment was valued. She kept the books, collected the rent, and pooled monetary resources with those who could contribute to keep everyone fed. She'd been given carte blanche by Harry to decide who could stay, how much to charge, and he'd left a large deposit in Gringott's to which she had access for repairs and emergencies.

The snowstorm was increasing in intensity, and the room was getting dimmer as the light was blocked. Hermione leaned back, and stared at the ceiling, as if expecting some revelation to be inscribed upon it. Harry… he was out with a group of 'special forces,' hunting for Death Eaters. It had become his obsession, and she feared that he was turning into another Mad-Eye Moody, ready to spend the rest of his life in pursuit of those who'd murdered his best friend, among so many others. Having set Hermione up with a livelihood and relative security, Harry felt he'd done what was required, and he'd made little attempt to contact her since.

The door creaked open, and Ginny Weasley looked in at her. "How many for dinner tonight, Hermione?" Ginny managed the kitchen, and had a unique talent for being able to stretch their foodstuffs.

Taking a moment to run a quick mental census of the current residents, she answered, "Ten, at least… possibly eleven, if Remus makes it through this storm."

Ginny shook her head. "If he does make it, that'll be twelve. Neville got back this afternoon." She paused, "He's found a job at a Muggle nursery. It doesn't pay much, but… every little bit helps." Just before leaving, she stuck her head back in. "By the way, it's stew again tonight, but I've managed to get some fresh bread."

"Thanks, Ginny. You're a marvel." The door shut quietly.

Harry had never resumed his short relationship with Ginny, and Hermione was certain that she'd accepted the fact that he never would. Determined to make a new life for herself, Ginny had come to Grimmauld Place intending a temporary stay. Instead, she'd remained as Hermione's assistant, finding a challenge in meeting the needs of so many people, and finding a friend… a good friend, in Neville. Once burned… twice shy… and Ginny was not in a hurry. But Hermione couldn't help but hope that the two of them would find a future together.

As for herself, Hermione wasn't holding her breath. Twenty years old, running a decrepit boarding house full of misfits… nothing ahead held much promise. Most days, she managed to keep her spirits up, but tonight she wanted nothing more than to stay in the dim parlor and hide.

The door creaked again. Hermione didn't bother to look up; it was the summons to dinner. But the door closed softly, and a voice she'd come to regard as an irritant at best, and her penance in life at worst, spoke up.

"Sulking, Granger?"

Her sigh was louder this time. "Go away, Malfoy. I'm not interested in entertaining you."

He didn't leave. Instead, he dropped down on the couch next to her. "Ooh, we are in a ugly mood tonight. Why don't you tell me all about it?"

He wasn't being sympathetic; he never was. He'd poke fun at her, and harass her for her Muggle ways, and then ignore her for days on end. Why he stayed at Grimmauld Place… she didn't really understand it. He'd given them a cock-and-bull story about hating the Manor now, and having become accustomed to living with Order members during the war, after he'd changed sides, of course. What was true and what wasn't… well, she couldn't be sure, so she'd taken his word at face value, and Malfoy had become a boarder. Now she turned and gave him her best 'don't-mess-with-your-landlady' look.

"I'm serious. I'd like to be alone."

His customary smirk disappeared. "This isn't like you, Granger. What's going on?"

"Nothing… at least, nothing you'd understand."

"Try me. I can do 'understanding.' It's part of my charm." He grinned at her, then tried to arrange his face in a look of intense sympathy, and failed miserably.

Hermione couldn't help herself. She laughed. "Oh, stop it. You're hopeless."

The smirk was back, very satisfied. "That's better. Now, out with it. What's eating you?"

Perhaps telling him would be easier than getting him to leave. "It's the 24th of December, Malfoy."

"I see," Draco said, although his expression told her that he didn't. "Erm… your birthday?"

"You're being rather obtuse. It's Christmas Eve, and tomorrow is Christmas. I miss my family, my friends… my life! There are no celebrations planned; everyone is so concerned with day-to-day survival, that no one remembers… happiness." Her voice trailed off, and she turned away from him, afraid of what he might see in her eyes.

"It might surprise you, but I do understand, Granger. You're haunted tonight, by the Ghost of Christmas Past."

She didn't speak for a moment, afraid that tears were too near. Finally, she nodded. "I am. I think about Christmas with my parents, how magical it all was."

Draco's look was one of disbelief. "Magical? Granger, you lived with Muggle parents. There couldn't have been any magic involved."

"Oh, but there was! Hiding gifts, the house smelling of baking all the time, decorating the tree…"

"I know what you mean. Elves everywhere, hanging greenery, polishing the ballroom floor until it was like glass, all the finest wizards and witches arriving in their most elaborate clothes and jewels, my mother and father looking like royalty…"

"I don't think our Christmases had much in common, Malfoy."

He raised an eyebrow. "First of all, Granger, it was Yule. We didn't celebrate Christmas."

"But you did get presents, didn't you?"

"Of course. I knew every year what I was getting, and it was always the finest, and the newest, and the most expensive of whatever was prized that year. When the guests came, our gifts would be on display. Father never missed a chance to reinforce the fact that we were Malfoys, and that the Malfoys were the elite of wizarding society." By the time he'd finished the sentence, Draco's voice sounded hard, and bitter. "And I'd be dressed up like some bloody heir to the throne, and as much on display as the gifts."

"I'm sorry." Hermione was dismayed by the unhappiness on his face.

"Don't be!" Malfoy snapped. "I have no desire to be pitied by you!"

She blinked back tears. Malfoy made no attempt to leave, and the silence stretched between them, uncomfortably. She started to speak, softly, attempting to dispel the awkward feeling.

"We never had very elaborate gifts. Just a few, and I'd hunt and hunt to find the perfect thing for each of them. My father loved books, and Mum loved supplies for her projects… the garden, her photography, her needlework. Every year we'd give each other an ornament, and our tree was always loaded. We used to joke about running out of tree, because…" All of a sudden, her throat seized up, and a few tears slipped out.

"Hell, Granger, we're getting maudlin. Come on, I've got an idea." He stood up and drew his wand, and Hermione watched him warily. "Let's make a Muggle Christmas."

She drew in her breath, sharply. "Of course! We'll set up a tree in here, with lights and everything, and have a real celebration tomorrow." She came up off the sofa so fast, that she stumbled, and Draco had to catch her arm to steady her. "Oh, sorry," she was blushing, and annoyed because she didn't know why. "Let's get started."

"First, the tree." Draco picked up a large, limp-looking house plant, and set it in the corner, moving the surrounding furniture several feet away from it. With a muttered spell and a careful incantation, he transfigured it into a tree. And not just any tree… a spruce that stood nine feet tall and was perfectly proportioned. It was covered with decorations and ornaments, all perfectly orchestrated and coordinated, in shades of green and silver.

"That's not a Christmas tree," Hermione protested. "It's a… a Slytherin tree."

"And why not?" Malfoy asked, with a smirk. "It's perfect."

"You said that we'd have a Muggle Christmas. And for that, we need a Muggle tree." Hermione pulled her own wand, and seconds later the tree was bare.

"Rather mundane looking, I think," Draco commented. "And what are all these?"

He nudged the nearest of a group of boxes with his foot.

"Ornaments. You don't just conjure a tree, you have to decorate it."

"By hand?" Draco looked at her, incredulously.

"Yes, by hand, Malfoy. That's part of the fun." Hermione pulled the lid off the nearest box. "Ornaments are supposed to mean something, invoke a memory, or a feeling, or represent something important to you. Then you look at them every year and you remember while you decorate the tree."

"If you say so," Draco said. "What do we do?"

"Take an ornament, add the hook, and decide where you want to hang it."

"Granger, in case you haven't noticed, that is nine feet of tree. We're supposed to cover the whole thing? It'll take hours."

"It will," Hermione agreed. "And we're working through dinner, so I guess we'd better have something to sustain us."

She snapped her fingers, and a house-elf appeared. Dobby had given her his whole-hearted allegiance, and was an indispensable aid in running the establishment. He steadfastly refused any pay, insisting that he'd bind himself to her household before taking anything from her, when she was caring for so many. Hermione was just as adamant that he remain free, and they'd compromised by carefully avoiding the subject of wages from then on.

She made her request, and he returned shortly, with a plate of sandwiches, and a pitcher of punch. Pouring a glass for herself and Malfoy, she handed him his glass before tasting her own.

"Oh, my! That is really strong," she gasped. Taking another sip, she laughed, and said, "We'd better do the top of the tree first, Malfoy. Too much of this and neither one of us will be able to manage a ladder."

Pulling out an ornament shaped like a grandfather clock, Hermione placed it on the highest branch she could reach. Draco hadn't moved, and she turned to see him holding an ornament in his hand, staring at it in disbelief.

"This is my first broom, Granger. The first one I ever flew on… and the first one I ever fell off of." He was looking at her strangely. "How'd you do this?"

"I cast a Requirement spell when I conjured the boxes. It acts rather like the Room of Requirement, so that my ornaments would mean something to me, and yours would, too… mean something to you, I mean."

"Bloody fantastic," Draco muttered. He was pulling one ornament after another out of the box, exclaiming over them.

Hermione did the same, and between sips of punch, they shared with each other what the ornaments signified in their lives, what events they represented, what treasured memories they recalled . The tree was rapidly filling with decoration, and finally Draco attempted to set a silver star on the top of the tree, only to lose his footing. Swearing, he slid down the ladder, landing in an empty box. Shaken loose by the commotion, a large gold ribbon slid off the tree and landed on his head.

Bursting into giggles, Hermione nearly upset her glass. "Just what I always wanted to find under my tree… Draco Malfoy, for Christmas!" His disgruntled look only made her laugh harder. "I must say, you look very attractive, all decorated for the holiday."

Draco made no attempt to get out of the box. "If I'm decorated, then you should be, too." He pointed a finger at her. "C'mon, get in the spirit, Granger."

Still giggling, Hermione reached up and pulled her earrings out of her ears, dropping them in her pocket. From another box, she produced a pair of Christmas balls, one red and one green. Adding hooks, and with painstaking care, she hung one from each ear. "There, Malfoy. Now, I'm ready!"

He made one unsuccessful attempt to climb out of the box. "Gi'me a hand, Granger."

Hermione offered him her hand, and then both hands, and pulled. Not only did she pull him out of the box, but off his feet. Draco staggered, crashed into her, and they landed in a heap on the floor, Draco on top of her.

It took a moment to catch their breaths. Draco smirked at her, and Hermione found herself feeling breathless again. Carefully, she lifted a hand, touching her fingers to his cheek. He slid his hands up under her back, and settled her into his arms.

"Know something, Granger?" His grey eyes were so close. "I think I like this Muggle tradition."

She slid her hand up behind his head, and gently pulled him down. The feel of his arms around her, the feel of his lips… Hermione sighed.

"Happy Yule, Draco."

They kissed again. "Merry Christmas, Hermione."

It was several minutes before she remembered the others in the house who were supposed to be sharing this with them.

"Draco, shouldn't we call the others?"

He shook his head, and grinned down at her. "They can't come in until morning." He pulled his wand, sent a quick locking spell at the door, and leaned down to kiss her again.