Author's Note: This is a one-shot written for Sarea Okelani’s “The Feast” contest (2nd place). I've written a companion fic for this one, which is basically the same story, but from Draco's POV. It's in beta at the moment, and I'll probably post it under another title since this one can stand on its own.

Many thanks to my beta, silverfangs, who is always there to assure me that I am not stupid. And kisses to annamissperfect, for offering to beta even when it’s the Christmas season. Most importantly, a big thank you to Sarea Okelani for organising the contest. It’s been great fun. :D


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Twelve Days To Christmas

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When Ginny Weasley received the letter of invitation from the International Association of Quidditch to join the British team in the upcoming World Cup, she was ecstatic. She dreamed images of herself in her favourite winter cloak, beaming happily in one of the most romantic cities in the world, counting the days she would land her hands on the trophy bestowed by the most prestigious international Quidditch competition. Never did she expect herself to be sulking in her apartment, all alone in a foreign land, aching all over and missing her mother’s chicken soup with eggs.

Dear Hermione (and Harry, I know you’d be reading),

Paris is lovely. The winter isn’t as cold as it is in England. I miss everyone so much. I miss the noise (I never thought I’d be saying this!) and I miss the pranks and the children and the fireplace and the kitchen and oh, everything! I guess that says so much about my trying to be an independent young lady of the modern ages. I’m not complaining, though. This is truly a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I know you (that’s you, Harry!) would be here if not for the fact that you’ve taken a year off to enjoy your family life (I hate you, Harry.).

Training started right away. Literally! I was barely able to orientate myself after the floo (international flooing, my god!) and the next thing I knew, I had been whipped off to the training ground, and Aladair Maddok is a nightmare! But it isn’t as nightmarish as the next thing I’m going to tell you. Guess who is the other Seeker employed to represent Britain? Guess who? Draco Malfoy! It’s all your fault, Harry! If you were here, I wouldn’t be here. Or he wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be stuck with that nasty git all day, seven days a week, for the next three months! As if it wasn’t enough that he used to bully me in school.

I think he never forgot that hex I threw at him fifth year. And now we are vying for the Seeker position, things are positively ugly. I keep having nightmares that he is going to poison me during lunch, or knock me off my broom, or burn down my apartment (Did I mention he lives next door? Argh!). But I’m not going to settle for reserve Seeker. I’ve come so far, and I’m going to be the youngest female Seeker in the decade to represent Britain for the World Cup.

Don’t mention Malfoy to my brothers though, especially Ron. He’s going to be hopping mad if he knows Malfoy lives next door. I’m not entirely sure if it’s my bad karma or his, but we’ve been stuck together since I arrive in Paris. I mean, there’s fourteen of us here, but I keep getting seated with him just because we play the same position and are supposed to eat, drink, breathe the Seeker Mantra together. Why didn’t it occur to the coach that we are enemies? We are vying for the same position for gods’ sake! So why are we expected to cooperate and train together and try to improve each other’s skills? Helping him to improve his skills is the last thing I would want to do, and I dare say he feels the same way.

Anyhow, I’ll stop complaining about Malfoy now. God knows a whole roll of parchment wouldn’t be enough. I’ll write again soon, and until then, take care and miss me.

Missing the both of you,

Ginny

~*~

“Morning, Ginny.”

“Mooorning,” Ginny replied, yawning. “Oliver.”

“Bad night?” Oliver Woods, one of the Keepers on the team, asked.

“Yes,” Ginny replied. “I kept tossing and turning thinking that someone is going to attack me in the middle of the night.”

Oliver laughed as they walked alongside to the cafeteria. “No luck with the transfer request?”

“No, and the world is a hopeless place,” Ginny replied. “Seriously, it sucks so much. Out of so many of us, why am I the one stuck with Malfoy in the same building? Why do the rest of you get to stay elsewhere, far away from that git?”

“You know how it is with the accommodations,” Oliver said earnestly. “It’s not easy arranging the lodging at short notice. I think we should consider ourselves lucky that none of us has to share an apartment with anyone else.”

“I’d rather share if anyone would have me,” Ginny said, dragging her feet and broom. “It’s enough to face Draco Malfoy all my waking hours. You’d think I could at least have a break at night. The thought that he is just next-door is just, argh! I have to time when I put my rubbish out and collect my take-in so that I don’t see him, but you know what? I always see him. Gods.”

“I’d have you if you like.”

“You have extra room?” Ginny asked hopefully.

“Nope,” Oliver answered as he held the cafeteria door for Ginny. “But I have a handy couch.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said as she passed the door. “But I can’t have you on the couch. It’s …”

“Who says anything about me on the couch?” Oliver replied. “I was thinking you could have the couch.”

“Oh, damn it, here I thought you were the perfect gentleman,” Ginny said and smacked Oliver on the arm.

“Ow!” Oliver rubbed his arm, a wry smile on his face. “I supposed that means I have to let you have my bed?”

Ginny laughed as they picked a table and sat down. “You serious about letting me stay with you?”

“Why not?” Oliver shrugged. “So long as you don’t let your brothers know. And of course, you can’t let the coach …”

“Let the coach what?” a voice bellowed behind them.

“Good morning, coach!” the two of them shouted, their hearts knocking against their ribs painfully. They somehow managed not to fall off their seats.

Aladair Maddok was one of the most famous Quidditch players in British history. A Chaser with a Muggle sports fascination, Aladair Maddok won the British and Irish League thirty-two times, and the European Champions twice while he was with the Montrose Magpies. Ginny Weasley used to idolise him and treated him as her role model. But that was until she met him in person.

The real Aladair Maddok was an eighty-five year old who did not look a day over forty. Blessed with remarkably handsome features and a good built from years of Quidditch training, he was the kind of man Ginny would have a crush on if not for his legendary loud voice and bad temper. If anyone thought Professor Snape was bad, they hadn’t met Aladair Maddok.

“I believe my instructions were clear!” Aladair yelled into their ears, causing them to wince involuntarily. “You will stick with the accommodation you were given, and if you can’t get along with your neighbours, then learn to get along with your neighbours like grown ups! Am I understood?”

“Yes!” Ginny and Oliver answered, both on their feet, feeling like students again.

“Good!” Aladair yelled. “Now, good morning!” he said and strode off.

~*~

Dear Mum and Dad,

Everything is going on well. I go to training every morning, come home in the evening, bath, eat, and sleep like the good girl I am. There are the occasional events I have to attend, like the Charity Gala and several other merchandise-endorsement parties, but they are not too bad; boring, but the food’s good. I wish I could be home though; the festive season always puts me in this clingy mood, and I haven’t been away during Christmas ever! So to make my Christmas less lonely, could you please send me the recipe for your famous chicken soup with eggs garnished with all your mummy love, mum? I think if I can make my kitchen smell like home, perhaps I won’t feel as lonely.

I’ll write again soon. Convey my best wishes to everyone at home. I miss all of you.

Love,

Your Not So Little Ginny

Ginny sighed as she folded the parchment carefully, rolled it and secured it firmly with a ribbon. It was true that she was doing fine in Paris, although she might have painted a rosier picture than it really was. But there was no use writing home upsetting news. Her family did not need to know how tiring her trainings were, how tyrannical her coach was, and how she was stuck with Draco Malfoy as her partner for every public functions she had to attend.

~*~

“Good morning, Weasley.”

“Good morning, Malfoy.”

“Do that again!” Aladair yelled.

“Good morning, Weasley!”

“Good morning, Malfoy!”

“Again!” Aladair yelled. “And don’t sound like you are being forced to be civil!”

“Good morning, Weasley,” Draco Malfoy said again, and actually managed to sound earnest this time.

Ginny decided that for the sake of ending this bizarre morning ritual, she should probably comply as well.

“Good morning, Malfoy,” she said as pleasantly as she could. “Had a good night?”

“Yes,” Draco dragged the words out of his teeth. “Thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome,” Ginny said and resisted brushing off the goose bumps on her arms.

“Good! That’s the way team-mates are supposed to be like! Now back to your laps! And don’t go off leaving your partner behind, Malfoy! Stick together or I’ll do that by force!”

~*~

“Hundred forty-five, hundred forty-six, hundred forty-seven, hundred forty-eight,” Ginny counted as she held Draco Malfoy’s feet. “Can you hurry up? I’m tired and I want to go home.”

“Shut it, Weasley,” Draco Malfoy answered as he did his sit-up. “No one ask you to open your mouth.”

“I open my mouth when I damn please, thank you,” she retorted and shifted to kneel on his feet before she straightened her back.

“Weasley, my feet!” Draco winced as Ginny deliberately dug into his feet with her knees.

“What?” she replied, feigning an innocent look.

“Fuck you, Weasley.”

“Hmm, what?” Ginny asked as she leaned forward, balancing herself with her palms on his knees. “Can’t hear you.”

“I. Said. Fuck. You. Ow!” Draco exclaimed as he knocked his head against Ginny’s while he was coming up.

“Ow!” Ginny cried.

“What kind of an idiot puts her head so close!” Draco yelled, rubbing the throbbing ache at his forehead.

“Who are you calling an idiot, you idiot!” Ginny retorted, glaring daggers at her partner as she massaged the bruise on her head. He sure hit her hard.

“You, Weasley. There aren’t that many idiots running around,” Draco replied. “All apparently concentrated in your household.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Ginny said heatedly. “At least I have a household to speak of!”

It was a cruel thing to say, and usually Ginny Weasley would be not so intentionally hurtful. But the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Draco Malfoy was the only remaining member of his line. Both his parents were killed during the war, and as rumours had it, he was briefly admitted into St. Mungo’s, devastated and unable to accept the fact that his family was wiped out by people they called friends. Ginny was not entirely sure if the rumours were true because Malfoy did not seemed to have changed a single bit since their schooldays, except perhaps quieter. If he had become a loony, Ginny thought he might be a bit more bearable, and possibly, become a better person, like Lockhart did.

Draco Malfoy vanished without a trace after the war ended the year she graduated, and Ginny would have forgotten about his existence if he had not returned to the limelight, five years later, as the star Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons. He made the headlines of every Wizarding newspapers after his first match. There were reports of his rising star and popularity, and his status as England’s youngest and richest bachelor after he had successfully secured his family inheritance hitherto held frozen by the Ministry. There was, however, no mention of his family’s past association with the dark side. It was as if his life before his reappearance had not taken place at all. Ginny had her suspicions that it had something to do with his wealth. Money did make the world go round.

Since then, they had been meeting head-on during the British and Irish league. Sometimes Ginny caught the Snitch, sometimes Draco did. The last time she counted, Draco Malfoy was one up and she was determined that this would not last for long because she was going to be Seeker for Britain and Draco Malfoy was going to take the cold seat on the bench.

“Careful with your filthy mouth, Weasley,” Draco hissed, his words laced with rancour. “Don’t think I won’t hit you because you are a woman.”

Ginny resisted the urge to apologise for her cruel words. Draco Malfoy required none of her sympathy and she was not inclined to give any, where it was not deserved.

“I don’t doubt that, Malfoy,” Ginny said instead. “Hitting women is exactly the kind of thing your family does all the time, as we all well know.”

“Enough, Weasley!” Draco yelled and shoved her off. Caught by surprise, Ginny landed on her bum and winced.

“You sodding piece of pathetic …” Ginny started and trailed off, too angry to form a complete sentence. Instead, she swatted Draco with her towel. It was not a very impressive move, but at least, it did induce slight pain.

“What, you,” Draco sputtered and swatted Ginny with his own towel.

“Ow! How dare you!” she screamed. Draco Malfoy was no real gentleman. He used all his might when he swatted her.

“Bastard!” She swatted him again. He tried to guard his face. The towel hit his arm.

“Bitch!” He returned the gesture.

“Wanker!”

“Whore!”

“Dragon dung!”

“Bubotuber!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too!”

~*~

“Good day, Malfoy!”

“Good day, Weasley!”

“Good day, Malfoy!”

“Good day, Weas-weas-ah-choo!-weasley!”

They continued to chant as they ran around the pitch in the dark cold night.

“Anyone still want to fuck anyone else?” Aladair asked. His loud voice echoed and engulfed the stadium. Ginny was glad that no one else was there to hear that. The words could be easily misconstrued.

“No!”

It was probably the only time they had agreed on an issue in public.

A chill ran up Ginny’s spine as she ran, and she shivered, sniffing and rubbing her nose with the back of her sleeve. At least, they got to wear tracksuits to run. That was the extent of Aladair’s mercy.

“I expected better from the both of you!” Aladair went on. “You are both what? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-six!” Draco shouted.

“Twenty-six!” Aladair echoed. “And you were swatting the young lady with your towel?”

“She started it, sir!”

“Not my idea of maturity, Miss Weasley!”

“He pushed me!”

“I didn’t!”

“You did!”

“Enough!” Aladair yelled. He let the silence stretched for effect before he continued. “The two of you are specially selected to represent your country, not to come here to swat towels! Twenty more laps! And no running off without your partner, Malfoy! I’m warning you! Stay together. You fight together, you get punished together, and no one is getting off early without the other! I don’t care what it is between you two but when you join the team, you are a team, and when you come under me, you jolly well listen to me or out you go! There are plenty of people waiting to get in line for your positions! I don’t need you! At all!”

Draco mustered all his energy to keep a straight face. If it were not for the chance to play in the World Cup, he would have walked out long ago. Ginny bit down her lip as she ran, gasping for breath, glaring at the grass in front of her.

“I know you two don’t like each other,” Aladair continued. “It’s as obvious as dancing pixies! But you know what? I don’t give a bloody damn about it! I also know that the two of you think you are competing against each other for the Seeker position. But you know what? That’s not the way to think. You are a team and the only competition there is would be against the other teams! Not within your own! I would not tolerate internal rivalry! Bad blood is bad news! What do you think the other teams would think when they hear about my two Seekers lashing out at each other, huh? How do you think it would look when it comes out in the tabloids, huh? Imbeciles! Never grown a bloody brain-cell, have you?”

Ginny was losing her breath. Aladair’s words sounded like bees buzzing at her ears. Despite that, she knew he must be lecturing them, and that could not be good. She shifted a hand to her side, breathing in big mouthful of air, but her heart continued to drum forcefully inside her ribcage, like a bead in a rattle, out of control. Finally, her legs gave way and she tripped. She fell ungracefully, kneeling on the field, her palms dug into the wet cold mud, drawing in painful breaths. She blinked the salty sweat from her eyes and tried to stand up, but she could not lift her suddenly heavy body off the ground. Aladair was still yelling, but she could not hear him clearly.

Must be scolding me for being weak. A woman. Weak, she thought. She wanted to prove him wrong, desperately. But she was too tired, and her body ached, and she needed water and air and her bed, and she needed the will to not cry. Merlin, the last thing she needed was to cry with an audience.

She drew a shaky breath and dragged herself to sit upright on her legs, a hand on her lap. Her vision was blurred with tears threatening to fall, and for some reason, the harder she tried to contain her tears, the bigger the urge to bawl. Fred and George and Ron were right. She was just a baby, and would always be a baby. And she would never make England’s youngest female Seeker in a decade.

She was so busy imagining her inevitable failure that she did not hear the faint running footsteps coming back towards her until a strong hand caught her elbow, and in one smooth movement, pulled her to a standing position.

“Get a grip, Weasley!” Draco hissed and shook her hard before he dragged her off in a slow jog, which she eventually worked up to a run again. Only then did he let her go.

In a moment of temporary insanity, she was immensely grateful, so much that she actually wanted to hug him and squeeze. But as her mind cleared, ten minutes later, she realised that he wanted to get home too, and he could not if she did not catch up with him. She felt decidedly less grateful afterwards.

That early morning, at two o’clock, they walked home together in silence, and she did not thank him.

~*~

“Weasley.”

“Malfoy.”

“Letters?”

“Ah huh.”

“Going to be late.”

“Right,” Ginny said and carelessly put away the letter she was reading. When Draco opened the door in the lobby, a strong gust of wind blew the parchment out of her pocket and across the street.

In an uncharacteristic move (or perhaps, it was only his reflex response), Draco went after the parchment. Ginny stood at the door and watched him bend over to pick up the parchment. She caught him stealing a glimpse, but she could not be bothered. She doubted he would find it interesting at all. The chilly wind blew again and Ginny wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, and adjusted her scarf as she tipped her face to look at the skies. The early morning focused upward with a feeling of lift toward the stars. A sill of silver pushed above the horizon. She was alone on the deserted street in a foreign land, at an ungodly hour, and she had not eaten anything since lunch the day before because she did not have the time to stock up her kitchen. She felt like crying again. Her life sucked.

Draco made his way back, his black cloak billowing behind him as he walked. When he neared Ginny, he stretched out the hand holding the parchment, silent, and she took the letter back.

CHICKEN SOUP WITH EGGS

* One whole chicken

* 1 gallon water (enough to cover chicken, so make sure you get a big enough pot, dear.)

* 1 onion cut in quarters (wet the onions first so it won’t irritate the eyes.)

* 3 garlic cloves

* 1 inch of ginger root shredded

* 2 teaspoons salt (it’s the smaller one.)

* 1 pound new potatoes

* 4 large carrots cut in one inch slices

* 2 stalks celery cut in one inch slices

* 1 can baby corn

* 1 egg

1. Combine chicken, water, onion, garlic, ginger, and salt in a large stock pot and bring to a boil. (Crockpot can be used but the time’s longer)

2. Simmer for 30 minutes to 1 hour skimming off oil and fat as needed (or you can put a freezing spell on it after everything is cooked, and scrap off the hardened top layer).

3. Test chicken with a fork to determine when it is tender and fully cooked.

3. Remove the chicken and shred it, removing bones, fat, skin, and gristle.

4. Strain chicken broth.

5. Add vegetables and chicken meat to chicken broth and bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes or until potatoes are done. Put out the fire and crack an egg into the pot, and swirl it with the ladle.

There you have it, darling.

Love,

Mum

“Thanks,” she said and pocketed the parchment.

Draco made some noncommittal noise and walked off. Ginny followed. They walked alongside in silence. Ginny took the time to observe the sights. The pavements glistened, wet from the downpour that had been showering since they got home a few hours earlier. As they walked, the sounds of their boots squeaked loudly in the quiet street. When the horse carriages ran over puddles of rainwater on the road, they splashed noisily. The wheels turned and rocked against the stone pavements, making low, repetitive grunts, as if they were protesting against something and no one was answering them. The occasional whips lashed and broke the ambience of the cool, silent morning. The horses neighed.

The sounds of a lonely city echoed in Ginny’s ears. It was too different from noisy Ottery St. Catchpole, and too much for her to take.

She tried to hold herself together.

Then her stomach rumbled and reminded her of her hunger. It was the last straw.

She cried.

At first, Draco pretended not to notice, and Ginny tried to weep quietly. Then, he started to fidget. He made excessive movements, turning his head here and there, pretending to notice that the walls along the streets were interesting expressions of art. But another minute later, he could no longer bear it.

“Gods, Weasley, are you crying?”

It was a stupid question. She refused to dignify it with an answer.

“Stop it, Weasley,” Draco went on to say. “People are looking.”

“There aren’t any people,” she cried out resentfully. “There’s only me stuck with you, and the bloody horses, and …”

“And the coachmen,” he chipped in. “I think they would appreciate it if you acknowledge their existence.”

It was the most he had ever said to her since they started training, and it was possibly even more than he had ever said to her when they were in school.

“Shut up.”

“I would,” he said, “if you stop sobbing like I’ve done something to you.”

“Well, you have!” she replied, agitated. “You always have. First year in school, you mocked my family’s state of poverty, and my hand-me-downs, and my second-hand books. Then, second year, you did that awful Valentine prank and embarrassed me in front of Harry. And third year, you … you …”

“I what?”

Ginny paused and sniffed, catching her breath.

“I forgot.”

Draco handed her a handkerchief. She blew her nose noisily.

“Third year I called you a fat weasel,” Draco supplied the information helpfully.

“But I wasn’t fat!” she cried. “And I’m not a weasel!”

“I hate to ask you this, Weasley,” Draco said, keeping a straight face. “But are you having your period?”

“What?” Ginny was outraged. “How dare you! Why not you just repeat yourself loudly this time because I think that old man across the street might have missed it!”

“You mean, missed his?”

Oh god, she was not going to laugh at that. Draco Malfoy just made a joke, which warranted that pigs could fly and cows could sing, but she refused to laugh.

She ended up laughing anyway.

There she was, under the dark Paris skies, half-sobbing, half-giggling into Draco Malfoy’s handkerchief and she could not decide which was worse. Sobbing and giggling were the last things she would want to perform in front of a family enemy.

“Holy Merlin, you are a mad woman. I knew it ran in the family.”

All right, that was it. Ginny sprang round and poked a finger into his chest.

“You leave my family out of this,” she warned, rubbing away the last traces of tears from her eyes with her free hand, sniffing like a little girl, which rendered her words none too threatening. In the cold morning air, her cheeks were flushed, her hair was wild, and her tear-stained face glimmered under the moonlight, her huge eyes blinking.

Draco looked at her strangely, an unreadable expression on his face, and to her surprise, he laughed.

“What?” she demanded, and resisted the impulse to laugh with him.

“Your face,” he managed to say.

“My face – hup! What?” she exclaimed.

It made him laugh even harder.

“Pathetic, Weasley.”

“I am not - hup! - pathetic!”

“You’re hiccupping.”

“I am - hup!- not!” She glared.

“Your say, Weasley,” he replied and strolled off in his irritating Malfoy-manner. “Hurry up, or we’ll miss breakfast and I won’t catch you when you fall off your broom.”

“You wouldn’t - hup! - dare,” she said. “Not when Aladair has his say.”

“Screw Aladair.”

“You - hup! - wouldn’t dare - hup! - say - hup! - that to him - hup!” she replied.

“Shut it, Weasley. Your hiccupping is very irritating.”

“Make me,” she said, punctuating her line with a hiccup.

“Silencio,” he uttered, after which he immediately followed up with a Binding charm on Ginny’s hands, effectively stopping her from getting her wand.

“You asked for it, Weasley,” Draco said and smirked before he steered her toward the training ground.

For the rest of the day, he did not mention anything about what happened that morning. He did not taunt her and he did not tell anyone else about the embarrassing incident.

Basically, he had conveniently forgotten about it.

That day, Ginny felt the first trace of camaraderie with Draco Malfoy.

~*~

On her sixth day in Paris, Ginny realised she had settled comfortably into a routine that involved Draco Malfoy. Every morning at six-thirty, she would meet him at the lobby and they would walk to the training ground together. Sometimes, they stopped by a café and ordered lattes, and other times, they grabbed some ice-cream, even when they were not supposed to. Ice-cream was among the list of food they were ordered not to consume in the following six months because it was believed to affect a sportsperson’s stamina, but they had an unspoken agreement to keep it a secret, and so far, none had shown sign of betrayal.

They sat together at meals as it was required of them right from the start, but it was different somehow. Their conversation remained largely work-related, with the occasional digression about what to eat for dinner, but things were starting to feel less formal and more like a natural part of life in Paris. They also did not argue as much, though when they did, the magnitude of the clashes remained much the same. And like the previous times, they received punishments after trainings, after which they would walk home together in silence and shared resentment.

By the end of the week, Aladair ordered them to exchange notes. He was surprised that they did not sabotage each other’s notes. Ginny’s notes for Draco were detailed, and came with careful sketching to illustrate her points. Draco’s notes on Ginny’s progress and weaknesses were candid, neatly written, and he did not make comments that were beyond his professional responsibility to note.

Draco did, however, supply snarky remarks when they went through their notes verbally on their way home.

Ginny, by now, had become immunised to his taunts. And as she soon learnt, when she ceased to be upset by his hurtful remarks, he would start to feel unsettled and silly, and stopped being nasty altogether.

It was then that Ginny believed she had discovered the key to Draco Malfoy’s psyche.

They stopped by their favourite café opposite the building they lived in, and continued to talk about the notes they had written for each other over cups of latte.

After coffee, they bought a cup of sundae. The idea was that if they shared the sundae, they halved their guilt.

That night, they acted like two professional Quidditch players who were on the same side, up against the other International teams for the upcoming World Cup.

~*~

On Monday, they had their first day off. The team arranged to meet up for a tour around the city. Draco declined to go at first, and Ginny really could not care less. But despite the company of her fabulous team-mates – all lovelier than Draco could ever hope to be – she could not help the strange feeling that she had misplaced something, and by noon, she had to return to where they lived, and knocked on Draco’s door.

When he opened the door and saw who it was, his eyes went wide, stretched beyond the point Ginny thought was ever possible. Without a word, she marched into his apartment, picked up his cloak from the stand, and dragged him out of the house by force. He put up a struggle, and at one point, clung onto the doorframe. She started a din. Their neighbours came out of their houses to see what was going on, and Draco gave in.

The group of them visited the Notre-Dame Cathedral and the Musee De La Musique among other famous sights. They also went to the marketplaces, tasted the local delicacies and bought trinkets to send home to their loved ones. Draco did not buy anything, but he followed the group around without complaint. Out of habit, the two Seekers stuck together throughout the day. And when Ginny fell asleep on his shoulder during the train ride, Draco did not move, and let her be.

That night, they took a photograph together at the Eiffel Tower, with their team-mates.

~*~

Dear Fred and George,

Thank you for the Christmas recipes you’ve so kindly sent me, but I doubt they are really edible, thank you very much. I would also appreciate it if you stop sending me random products from your company (without the instruction manuals, as I believe is a deliberate oversight on your part) and scare the living daylights out of me as I would really rather not scream like a hyena in the middle of the night, and had my neighbour come over to see if I’ve finally gone mad. I do not appreciate being ridiculed by the stuck-up neighbour before bedtime, thank you again.

Not missing the two of you at all,

Ginny Weasley

~*~

The next day, there was heavy rain, but training continued as usual. Ginny waited at the lobby with an umbrella. Draco was late. She tried not to be worried about him. He was old enough to take care of himself, and unless he had fallen into the toilet bowl, he would not need any help. Ginny waited. He came down ten minutes later, dark circles under his eyes, his nose red and runny. His eyes were two slits barely opened, and Ginny resisted the impulse to mother him.

“Weasley,” he croaked and sniffed.

“Malfoy,” Ginny said. “You look like a carriage just ran you over.”

“Sod off,” he answered, coughed, and made to push his way passed Ginny to get to the door.

She caught him at the elbow, tipping her face up to his.

“It’s bloody raining,” she said, frowning, “and you are going out there without an umbrella?”

“It’s raining?” he asked wonderingly.

“Yes,” she snapped impatiently. “For Merlin’s sake, don’t report to training when you are sick! You are going to spread your disease to everyone on the team!”

“You mean I’m going to spread the disease to you,” he sniffed and turned.

“Hey,” she called, “where are you going?”

“Get a bloody umbrella as you’ve so helpfully suggested!”

“For goodness sake, Malfoy, we’re late!”

“You said to get an umbrella!”

“I have an umbrella!” she snapped again, holding her umbrella up and pointing it at him.

“Then say so!” he snapped back and snatched the umbrella from her. “Now go!” he ordered and pushed the door open for her.

“Don’t order me around, it’s my umbrella!”

“Late! Out!”

“Are you that lazy to form a complete sentence?”

“Out!”

She stepped out of the building resentfully. The rain was splashing against the pavement, wetting her shoes. Draco opened the umbrella. He stared at it for a moment, and turned to glare at Ginny.

“You are apparently too poor to afford a proper umbrella?” he sneered.

The umbrella was white, and shaped in a perfect cup shape. It was also small. Ginny thought it looked cute.

“It is a pretty umbrella,” she insisted and returned his glare.

“Woman,” Draco muttered under his breath, and checked his watch briefly. He clicked his tongue once, looked at Ginny, then at the umbrella, swore, and steered Ginny off under their small umbrella. They stuck close together as they ran across streets, his arm over her shoulders and her arm over his back. Rainwater splashed about them when their feet landed in the puddles. And despite all the effort, they were still soaked, each on one side, when they reached the Apparition point. They continued to bicker until Aladair appeared and screamed at them.

That night, after Aladair let them off early because of the bad weather, Ginny made her mum’s chicken soup with eggs and left it outside Draco Malfoy’s apartment.

~*~

On Wednesday morning, Ginny nearly tripped over the empty pot left outside her door.

“Draco Malfoy!” she screamed and waited. There was no response.

She went over and knocked on his door. “Malfoy!” she yelled. “Oei! Open up!” She stopped when she got tired of knocking, and stood glaring at his door, a hand on her hip, her foot tapping against the shiny wooden floor.

She refused to get worried.

“Malfoy?” she called again, and knocked, pressing her ear against the door. “Malfoy?”

There was no response.

She panicked.

She went back to her apartment and flooed Draco. It took five minutes of constant screaming to get him to answer her. When he finally came into view in the fireplace, she screamed at him some more. He did not look like he cared, which infuriated her further. When she finally got into his apartment, she picked up the nearest item and flung it at him.

Later, she could never remember what it was that she threw at him, except that it sounded expensive.

He ducked, and glared at her murderously. She flooed a Healer. Then, she flooed Aladair. Aladair refused to let her stay home. He said Malfoy could take care of himself. She very much doubted that.

She walked along the street of Paris alone that day, downcast. At training, she could not function properly. Everything was out of sync.

In the end, Aladair let her off an hour early, and she rushed home to make another pot of chicken soup for Draco.

~*~

Thursday was Christmas Eve, and Ginny’s eleventh night in Paris.

“So how are you doing, dear? You look so tired,” Molly Weasley commented worriedly. The flames in the fireplace glowed golden red, framing her mother’s face in a light halo. Ginny smiled and hugged her pillow, brushing her face against the soft fabric. It was the closest thing that smelled like home.

“I’m all right, mum, don’t worry,” she said and tried to sound chirpy. The truth was, she was still homesick, and there was no cure for homesickness except home, which was still two and a half months away.

“Are you sure, my dear?” Molly cooed. “We all missed you so much.”

“I miss you too,” Ginny answered, smiling.

“You were never away from home for so long,” Molly continued. When Ginny thought about it later, she realised it was not entirely true. She did attend Hogwarts for seven years, and was away from home for the most of it. “And so far away! Why couldn’t they let you home for Christmas? Christmas isn’t what it is without families!”

“I know,” she said, and sighed. “But I have a benefit to attend tomorrow night, and I can’t Apparate back and forth in this state. I’ll be half in Alaska and half in Casablanca. And the international floo … you know how the traffic is at this time. And let’s not talk about broom.”

“I understand,” her mother replied sadly. “But it’s Christmas and I don’t like the idea of you – Algernon Brian Weasley! What do you think you are doing! Get off that – John! Get off that – oh, Bill! Couldn’t you, yes, thank you!” Ginny could hear the noise of the children running around in the Burrow, screeching and laughing, and her brothers’ voices overlapping in the background.

“Oh, where was I, dear? Oh, I remember. I don’t like the idea of you being alone for Christmas,” Molly said, dapping a handkerchief at the corner of her eyes. “My poor dear.” Arthur Weasley patted his wife’s shoulder gently, and gave Ginny a wry smile.

“Oh yes, you poor dear,” another voice chipped in. It was Fred. “Our ickle Ginikins lonely in Paris, hmm?”

"Lonely in Paris!" George announced. "Our sister is lonely in Paris, you heard that?"

Ginny made faces at them.

“You are not getting Christmas presents this year, I’m telling ya,” Ron shouted in the background. The fireplace was too small for everyone to squeeze in, and one side of his face popped in and out of view. “That’s for not being here in person for Christmas!”

“Ron!” her mother reprimanded.

“But, but…” a small child’s voice stammered. “I sent you presents, Aunt Ginny. I did! You will have presents for Christmas! You will!”

“Aw, Erica!” Ginny cooed. She felt like reaching into the fireplace to hug her little niece, but she could not. She blinked back the tears.

“Ah, Merry Christmas, my sister-missing-in-action!” It was Charlie. She smiled.

“Not in another few hours,” she replied. Charlie waved his hand carelessly. As far as the occupants of the Burrow were concerned, it was already Christmas.

“Merry Christmas!” More people had arrived at the Burrow.

“Harry! Hermione!” Ginny shouted, and in her excitement, nearly dropped into her fireplace.

“Ginny!”

Ginny and Hermione screamed with joy.

“Oh my god, it’s really you!” Hermione squealed.

“Yes, it’s really me,” Ginny answered. “I’m celebrating Christmas with my fireplace.”

“Ginny!”

“Seriously, it’s bizarre,” Ginny said, making a face. “It’s all noisy over at your side, and my side is only noisy because it’s noisy at your side. It’s pathetic.”

“No, it’s not,” Hermione said kindly.

“You know it is,” Ginny replied. “Where’s your husband? Let me put all the blame on him.”

“Did I hear blame on me?” Harry’s face came into view.

Ginny smiled. “Yeah, you! You got me into this.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t,” Harry replied, wrapping his arms around Hermione, their faces leaning against each other’s, happiness evident on their faces. “Your great display of Seeker supremacy got you into it. Definitely not me.”

“Yes, go on,” Ginny said, grinning, “flattery will get you everywhere.”

They laughed heartily.

“So how’s old Aladair Maddok?” Harry asked. Aladair Maddok and Harry were team-mates on Montrose Magpies.

“Healthy and barking loud,” Ginny replied. Harry gave her a wry smile.

“Training’s tough, huh?”

“You bet.”

“We missed you,” Hermione said, stroking Harry’s arm.

“Say no more,” Ginny replied, “or I will start bawling like the baby I am.”

“Awwwwwww!” the twins teased.

“Oh, shut up, you two!”

“We would, but we gotta tell ya, we’re going to start dinner now,” the twins said in unison.

“Right, go on, and leave me alone,” Ginny whined.

“Whining no longer works when you’ve past five, my dear sister,” Fred said. “Besides, it has never worked on us. We’ll see ya later,” George said and cut off the floo network.

And like water seeping through an opened palm, the merry noise drained out. All that was left in Ginny’s apartment was silence.

She got up from the carpeted floor and stretched before heading to the kitchen to check on her ham loaf.

The recipe was stuck on one of the kitchen cabinets, secured with a Sticking charm.

SPICED HAM LOAF (12 servings)

* 1 pound ground ham

* 1 1/2 pounds lean ground beef

* 1 egg

* 1 cup milk

* 1 cup bread crumbs

* 1/2 teaspoon salt

* ground black pepper to taste

* 1/2 cup packed brown sugar

* 1/2 cup water

* 1 teaspoon ground mustard

* 1/4 cup distilled white vinegar

1. Combine ham, beef, egg, milk, bread crumbs, salt, and pepper. Form into loaf. Place in a casserole dish.

2. Combine brown sugar, water, mustard, and vinegar in a small saucepan over medium high heat. Bring to boil, and boil for 10 minutes. Pour over loaf.

3. Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) until done, about 1 hour, basting occasionally.

Ginny had revised the recipe to make ham loaf for four. It would last her through the night and the whole of Christmas day. After checking on the ham loaf and deciding that it would need another half hour, she turned her attention to the mashed potatoes. The mashed potatoes were prepared in advance, and after removing the Freezing charm, she spread the potato mixture into the prepared baking dish, and set it to bake. She prepared to wash the utensils.

The doorbell rang.

“Coming!” she yelled from the kitchen, dried her hands, and hurried to the door.

“Malfoy,” she said, looking at the man at her door, a pot in his hands.

“Weasley,” he said. “Your pot.”

“I know,” she said and reached for the pot. And nearly dropped it if Draco had not move in quick enough to help her with it.

“Merlin, I swear it wasn’t this heavy when I pass it to you yesterday!” she exclaimed.

“It’s not,” he answered.

“What did you do to my pot?” Ginny eyed him suspiciously.

By way of explanation, he lifted the lid.

Ginny smelled roasted turkey. And chestnuts.

“There are also puddings,” Draco said and gestured vaguely in the direction of his apartment.

“You cook?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“I bought them.”

“Ah,” Ginny reacted with feeling. “That sounds about right,” she continued, and felt relieved. She wasn’t sure if she could handle it if Draco could stuff turkey and she couldn’t. That would be a world gone very wrong.

Without meaning to, Ginny had left an awkward silence stretching between them. When she realised it, she quickly responded.

“You want to come in?” she asked.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. Ginny held the door. He carried the pot to her kitchen.

“Spiced ham loaf?” he said, peering at the parchment on the cabinet. “You cooked?” It was his turn to look incredulous.

“Hey, I made you the chicken soup,” she retorted.

“I thought that’s about the only thing you can manage,” he said.

“Now, Malfoy, listen,” Ginny said and folded her arms, leaning against the kitchen entrance, irritated, but not in a bad way. “It’s Christmas, and I don’t want to be nasty during festive season. So just stuff whatever nasty things you have to say and keep it till next Monday.”

“Your say,” he replied, left the pot sitting on the table, and went back for the puddings.

When he came back, he had a bottle of red wine in his hand. Ginny whipped it out of his hand immediately.

“You can’t drink this. You just recovered.”

“And I supposed you are going to snatch that away and give it to Weasley?” he said unhappily.

“You mean Ron?”

“Yes,” he said through his teeth. “I don’t know that many Weasleys.”

Ginny waved her hand dismissively, and put the bottle away.

“You can have it back later,” she said, and left him with no room for argument.

Draco waited for Ginny to finish her cooking, and they ate together in companionable silence, listening to the Christmas carols on the Wireless. When they finished, Draco offered to wash up, which Ginny thought was a cue for another pig to start flying, and she left him to it, and went out to get them ice-cream.

For the next hour, they lazed on the sofa by the fireplace, ate ice-cream, flipped through some Quidditch magazines, and talked about people they both knew. Mostly they gossiped about fellow Quidditch players, compared the teams, and complained about needless public functions they were required to attend.

Ginny realised they had more in common than she had previously assumed.

“I thought you would like the functions,” Ginny said. “You were quite the attention whore in school. And no,” she stopped him before he became defensive, “I’m not saying this to spite you or anything, it being Christmas and all. It’s just the truth.”

“People change,” was all he said.

“I don’t see much, frankly,” she commented.

He shrugged.

“Except you’ve gotten taller, and frankly, less pointy-looking …”

“And you are less freckly-looking,” he cut in. “But sadly, not any taller.”

“Hey,” she protested half-heartedly, and poked his leg with her toe. “No being nasty. It’s Christmas.”

“I’m not being nasty. It’s true.”

“Can I ask you something, Malfoy?” she asked softly, stirring the melted ice-cream in her cup.

“That depends on what it is,” he answered.

“Where did you go … you know, those five years?” she asked, curious.

He stirred his own cup of ice-cream and thought for a while.

“They say I went to St. Mungo’s, didn’t they?” he finally said.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“I didn’t,” he said.

“So where did you go?”

“Switzerland,” he answered simply. “They have a lot of mountains.”

Ginny could not decide if he was being serious.

“You went to live in the mountains?” she asked, arching her eyebrows.

“Yes,” he replied. “In a house on a mountain.”

“I see.”

“What? You think I went to live in a cave?”

“Who knows what goes on in your teeny-weeny malfunctioning brain?”

“Hey, I thought it’s Christmas,” he said, though he did not sound offended.

“Right, sorry,” she said and smiled, showing her dimples.

They fell silent for a while, watching the logs burned in the fireplace. The sounds of children singing Christmas carols down the street filled the background, and Ginny was soon blissfully drowsy.

“Do you miss your family?” Draco asked suddenly.

Ginny blinked and looked at Draco carefully.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Why?”

“Well,” he replied. “You look a serious case of homesickness.”

“Right,” she responded and continued without thinking, “and you don’t miss yours.”

She regretted the moment the words came out of her mouth. The air around them shifted, and Draco’s expression closed off.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to sound that way. I mean …”

“Forget it, Weasley,” he said and took a sip of water. “And for the sake of correcting the statement, yes, I do miss my parents.”

That moment, in the warm living room surrounded by faint Christmas sounds and fairy lights, Ginny felt an unexpected gush of sympathy for Draco. The intensity of it washed over her, like a wave sweeping ashore. All of a sudden, Draco felt more like a friend than just the mere colleague who shared her passion in Quidditch and the neighbour whom she shared her sundaes with. They were both at the same place in life, lonely people in a foreign land, separated from their families, and still barely grown into themselves.

For once, Ginny saw Draco as an ordinary person like herself, and she thought, perhaps, they could grow to understand each other, and really be friends.

“How’s it like being alone?” she asked.

“It’s not that bad,” Draco said, forcing a laugh to mask the awkwardness he felt. He gnawed his inner cheek as he continued, “You don’t have to answer to anyone when you get home late, and you don’t need to shop for Christmas presents or worry that there isn’t enough food for the party. And you don’t even need to get a Christmas tree. Economical, really. It’s easy to get used to it.”

“Yup,” she replied and played along. “Sounds like you are better at it than I am. I’m still trying to get used to it. And even when I’m alone, I still need to have my Christmas tree,” she said and pointed at the tree in her living room, decorated with gold and silver patterned ribbons, little gold bells, multi-coloured candies, and glittery fairy lights.

“I saw,” he said, nodding. “Nice.”

“Thank you,” she answered. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked as she got up.

“No, thanks,” he said, handling her his empty cup. “And thank you for the soup.”

“A bit of a delayed response, but you’re welcome,” she said pleasantly and headed for the kitchen.

When she returned, they went back to Quidditch and the silliness of The Broomstick Boys (latest pop sensation in Britain), closing off all talks about families and Draco’s past.

~*~

They were listening to the Weird Sisters Greatest Hits when the fire in the fireplace boomed and flared and the floo network became connected. It startled them and they nearly fell off the sofa.

Many things happened at once.

A wild troop of owls came crashing in through the windows.

Presents rained from the ceiling.

Parcels exploded into confetti, and little snow angels danced in the air, singing.

Noise flooded her apartment.

Paris sounded like Ottery St. Catchpole.

“Merry Christmas!” Many voices erupted from her fireplace. She whirled round and looked at the clock. It was one minute passed midnight.

“Merry Christmas!” she squealed and jumped on her sofa. It took her a moment to notice that Draco looked positively dumbstruck.

“Merry Christmas,” he said absent-mindedly as he inched further away from the fireplace. “You have a lot of presents,” he continued, brushing off the gift boxes that had landed on his person.

“Whoops, sorry,” she said and helped him out of the pile of presents he was buried in.

“Ginny,” a voice started hesitantly from the fireplace. “Is that Malfoy I see there in your living room?”

“Er,” Ginny trailed off, unsure of what to say when she saw the expression on her brothers’ faces. “Erm, yes. He lives next door.”

“He lives next door?” Ron exclaimed, horrified.

“I live next door,” Draco confirmed.

“Yes, he lives next door,” Ginny repeated stupidly.

“He lives next door?” Ron shouted this time, visibly outraged.

“Yes, I believe we’ve already established that,” Draco answered, irritated. “Almost ten years, and you are still as slow, Weasley.”

“No one asked for your opinion, Malfoy!” Ron barked.

“Sod off, Weasley,” Draco replied.

“You, sod off!” Ron warned.

“Ron!”

“Ginny, I’m not done with you yet,” Ron said.

“Oh, please!” Ginny snapped. “It’s Christmas and –”

“I don’t care if it’s fuckin – Ow, mum!”

“Not in front of the children!”

“But, mum –”

“Can I do my panto now?” another voice overlapped. “Is Aunt Ginny seeing us? Aunt Gin?”

A small face popped into view. Draco found himself looking at a miniature Ginny Weasley.

“Yes, dear, I’m right here,” Ginny said, relieved that children had come to the rescue. “Now Ron, shove off. I want to watch the little ones’ panto!”

“I’m not finished yet!”

“But I want to show my panto now!” Erica looked like she was about to cry.

Ron was dragged away by force.

The children cheered and danced into view.

“Is that your friend, Aunt Ginny?” little Erica Weasley asked.

“Yes,” Ginny answered smilingly. “And he loves panto.”

“You do?” Bill’s youngest daughter asked, her wide eyes beaming.

Draco was caught off guard. When he did not answer, the little girl continued to beam at him. It made him decidedly nervous.

“Yes, you do,” Ginny cued him.

“Er, yes,” Draco answered distractedly. “She looks just like you,” he commented, looking at the two redheads.

“Yes, she does,” Ginny sighed happily and sat down to watch her nephews and nieces perform their songs and dances for her, long-distance-style.

That morning, Draco celebrated Christmas with Ginny Weasley and her family via the fireplace. It was the first time he had celebrated Christmas in years.

~*~

“Somehow, it is a tad unfair that a person your size should get a Christmas bundle that size,” Draco commented the next day when he invited himself over to Ginny’s to help her finish the food package her mother had sent her.

“What can I say?” she replied, picking up the used present wrappers and stacking her gifts neatly near the Christmas tree. “I am too loveable a bundle of joy for my family and friends to resist,” she said and turned around to strike a pose. “In short, I am popular.”

Draco snorted and turned his face away.

“So, how about you?” Ginny asked, leaning over the counter. “I expect you would have piles of presents from fans. What was it they said in The Witch Weekly? ‘Cutest Man in England Whom All Women Wished to Marry’. Or was it ‘richest’?” she said, and batted her eyelashes at him playfully.

“Fan mails go to my manager,” he answered plainly, finishing up his lunch.

“Oh poor dear, he must be busy wondering why half the women in England are mooning over you,” she said jokingly. “Venice is not sinking, I tell you. England is.”

“Sod off, Weasley,” Draco said and wiped his mouth before he stood up. “I’m getting out of your hair.”

“Hey, wait a second!” Ginny called and ran off.

When she reappeared again, she held out a gift box for Draco.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, and shrugged lightly.

“Thank you,” he said, looking awkward as he took the gift quietly.

“Now you can go,” she said and opened the door for him.

He did not leave immediately. He stood just outside her door, looking abstractly upwards before he turned his face towards his apartment and back again. Ginny was not sure what he was looking for, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

“What?” she asked. “Did you forget something?”

Draco shifted his Christmas present from one hand to the other, and shrugged.

“Yeah,” he answered finally. “I think I’ve forgotten to give you something.”

“Ah,” she replied. “And here I thought you wouldn’t have gotten me anything,” she joked. “Looks like I’ve really misjudged you, Malfoy.”

Draco’s mouth curved into a lopsided grin. Ginny waited. He did not move.

“So?” Ginny asked, gesturing dramatically. “Where is it?”

“There,” he said and pointed a finger at the ceiling.

“Where?” she asked, puzzled, and tipped her face up, following the line of his hand to look at what he was pointing at.

“Mistletoe.”

She blinked, confused. “I have no mistle -”

The next thing she knew, he bent and kissed her full on the mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Weasley,” he said and left.

Ginny stood at the door, a dazed look on her face. She touched her fingers to her lips.

When she recovered, she went over and knocked at his door.

“That was cheap, Malfoy,” she said when he answered the door.

“It’s the thought that counts,” he said.

“It doesn’t count very much when it’s not done properly,” she said. She was not entirely sure what she meant by that – not done properly as in it was not a proper present, or that it was not a proper kiss? Surely she did not mean the latter. Before she could decide, Draco took interpretation into his own hands.

“Your say,” he answered, and under the mistletoe at his door, he kissed her again. This time, he kissed her properly.

Later that night, they were photographed together – just the two of them – at the Christmas Benefit. The picture showed them holding hands and dropping donations into the charity box together. It appeared on the Sports Section of The Daily Prophet the next day.

It was 25th December 2007. Nobody ever forgot that Christmas. It caused the biggest commotion ever known in the Weasley family.

And Draco never told anyone he had placed the sprig of mistletoe above his door on purpose. It was a secret he intended to bring to his grave.


xxxXXXxxx


References

The recipes mentioned in this fic are not mine. They can be found on the following websites:

http://christmas.allrecipes.com/az/SpicedHamLoaf.asp

http://www.worldfamousrecipes.com/chicken-soup-recipes.html

Information on Aladair Maddok obtained from The Harry Potter Lexicon.