Oh but isn’t Christmas the most wonderful time of the year?

It surely was for the hundreds of thousands of little boys and girls who would journey back home for Christmas. Handing tickets far too big for their hands to train keepers who nodded their hats deliberately, for an excited squeal.

However Last Christmas, at Malfoy Manor, their celebration was rather dull; no young Malfoy boy running to his mother’s room to excitedly open presents on her bed. No other families came around with their own offspring, for a lush dinner and endless time to play.

This Christmas would be different though, Mr Malfoy swore it.

So you braved the bitter coach ride, all alone in your best dress with your cloak over your shoulders and your soft velvet gloves unused on your lap. You twirled the pressed curls of your hair your maid had done herself last night. You’d travelled through the night, a young girl, off to see her best friend.

You hadn’t seen Draco in a whole two years.

You’d been sent off to Beauxbatons for your first year, and had come out of your second a lady. A prim, proper, excellent witch of a young lady.

As the carriage jolted suddenly on the cobblestone, you dropped your fingers from toying with your curls, to sit properly, neatly in your lap. You slipped on your gloves and peered at your expression in the fogged up glass.

The carriage stopped outside the monster of a school, similar to Beauxbatons in which it was a castle, why there was no doubt about it, there were so many towers, tall and imposing twirling spires up to reach into the clouds themselves. You didn’t let yourself marvel for too long. You stepped out of the carriage with the footman’s helping hand.

Your newest evening slippers - the ones you’d been told explicitly not to wear, were instantly dampened by the snow, and your toes took the brunt of the impact. You’d cast a spell to dry them later.

You carefully walked over the blanket of snow and frost over the cobblestones until you saw a group of boys, much taller than you were. Before you could ask one of them if they’d seen a certain Malfoy boy, someone said your name.

Your head of carefully kept curls whirled around to the grand staircase before the entrance of the castle. Atop, and briefly making his way down was Draco.

He almost wasn’t himself!

He’d grown several inches so he was at least six foot and a quarter. His hair was no longer gelled, and fell perfectly over his forehead in a neat yet ruffled way. His boyish features had morphed into ones of an aristocratic man. One you very suddenly felt hot and bothered about.

His broadened shoulders filled his formal jacket, and his shoes were still polished to a shine - at least that hadn’t changed.

“Draco.” You said softly, not above a whisper as the name was stolen from your lips. You blinked a few times, subconsciously fluttering your lashes, lips parted. You closed them, looking down for a moment before back up.

“You look well.” He started, an echo of a smile on his face, but not quite.

Well. Well. Was that a good thing? Or was he just being polite?

“And you.” You returned, cheeks warming but you looked away.

You were tugged back to face him by the barest brush of his thumb on your cheeks. A moment later you were embracing, your face against his chest, and his arms firm around your waist, as his hand cupped the back of your head.

He said something unintelligible against your hair but you didn’t hear him. Instead you closed your eyes and relished in his embrace, his scent, just him.

“We should be off.” The carriage driver called. “Or it’ll be late back!”

Draco glared coldly at the man, “A moment.” He snapped, and ran a reverent hand down the side of your face, smoothing your hair.