Draco was trapped. Cornered. Pinned. Horrifyingly close to a gruesome demise.

Somehow, he'd never pictured his death as being at the hooves of a hoary beast, even with the continuous, and almost unanimous, dislike animals seemed to hold for him. But there he was, with no escape possible, and some sort of wide-hoofed, knobby-kneed monster hedging him against the Quidditch supply shed.

He wasn't quite sure how it had happened. One minute he'd been leisurely walking the length of the pitch, broom in hand, and the next he'd found himself backed into the wooden building by a stamping, snorting, hairy... thing.

It was heavy. And smelled a bit like wet socks and cabbage. And was currently leaning into his stomach, slowly pressing the breath out of him.

His wand was long gone, of course, dropped somewhere in the snowdrifts. He couldn't even hit the animal with his broom, since the hand clutching it was squashed painfully against his hipbone by the beast's shoulder. It was too small to be a cow, although it made a similar lowing sound. And even if it was a very small cow, which he highly doubted, Draco was acutely aware that cows, amongst a number of other wild and domesticated beasts, were not fond of him.

Snarling in a fit of fear inspired rage, he struggled briefly, shoving unsuccessfully against the creature's side, and hissed, "Get. Off. Get off, get off, get off!"

Draco froze as he felt vibrations shudder through its body. Was it hungry? It wasn't going to eat him, was it? The beast moaned again and Draco began to squirm in panic, sure that he was only minutes away from getting gored by the creature's impossibly sharp antlers - well, all right, they were rather dull, like the edge of a spoon; but spoon attacks, Draco knew, were nothing to be laughed about - and then ripped apart by its gnashing teeth. He felt something warm and wet on his right hand and glanced down in alarm, watching as its lolling pink tongue slowly licked the strip of skin between his robe sleeve and glove.

Draco, understandably, was afraid of cows. And Thestrals. And Blast-Ended Skrewts. And Graphorns. And leprechauns - although, really, who wasn't? But this was most obviously a different sort of beast all together. One set on stripping his skin from his body with its persistent, raspy tongue.

In the morning, he'd be found dead and skinless, a bloody pulp in the snow.

Then, as a crowning glory to his incredibly miserable day, it started snowing again - large, fluffy flakes that landed on his face, melting instantly against his warm skin and dripping annoyingly off the tip of his nose, dampening his hair and causing some strands to stick to his cheeks. It itched, really, and he couldn't even swipe the water away, what with one hand pinned to his body and the other being slowly licked to the bone.

He didn't know how long he stood there - it felt like hours and he was getting steadily colder, the animal's wet coat soaking the front of his robes - but, suddenly, he spotted a banner of red in the distance, flashing amidst the whirl of falling snow. A Weasley; it had to be. No one else sported that garish a ginger shade. The important thing, though, was that it was a Gryffindor, born and bred with reckless heroism.

He called out in a low rasp, and when the sound didn't incite the beast to attack, he shouted louder, "Weasley, over here!"

The flag of red paused and he breathed an audible sigh of relief. It was the first - and, he adamantly vowed, it would be the last - time he was happy, ecstatic even, to see a Weasley. He was even more relieved, really, to see it was the Weaslette who was making her way slowly towards him. Her brother was probably the one Gryffindor who'd have been tempted to ignore bravery and honor and let the beast eat him, since he tended to send the Weasel into a spasmodic fit of rage without even purposefully trying.

He chuckled a little at the thought.

Then promptly froze again, recalling he had two hundred plus pounds of shaggy, ice and snow encrusted, enraged beast pinning him against a wall.

"Weasley," he cried anxiously as the girl stopped and stared at him, open-mouthed. "Don't just stand there, gaping. Do something."

What she did, of course, was burst out laughing.

"I don't find this the least bit funny, Weasley. I'm being attacked!"

"Licked to death?" she giggled.

Draco glanced down at his arm, where the skin had gone past chapped and was rapidly being licked raw.

"Really, Malfoy," she said, her cheeks rosy from mirth as well as the cold, a light dusting of snowflakes coating her curls and cloak. "He seems to like you."

"Like me for dinner," he muttered. "I know it's incredibly hard for you to do, being a Weasley and all, but could you stop being an idiot and stun the beast?"

She arched a brow and sauntered forward, reaching out to scratch the hideous monster. "So pretty," she cooed, patting its head.

"Don't provoke it, Weasley," he said, his voice breaking as he warily eyed her hand.

"Hmmm..." She ran her palm over the animal's back. "It's quite peaceful, Malfoy; harmless. He's even got a collar." She leant closer to the creature, trailing a finger over the thick leather at its neck. "There's a name plate, too." She grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling. "Must be someone's pet."

"Pet?" he questioned with disgust.

"Cupid," Ginny continued. "How adorable! It looks a bit like a reindeer. I wonder..." She trailed off, cocking her head in thought as she gazed at the animal.

"I don't care if it's your mum, Weasley, I just want it off me." Bolstered by desperation, he gave one massive push and the animal shifted away for a split second before returning with a deep-seated sigh, leaning even more weight into his abdomen.

Spotting his abandoned wand half buried in the snow, Ginny bent over and picked it up. She smiled a small, devilish smile, fingering it idly, and murmured, "Looks as though I've got you at my mercy, Malfoy."

Malfoy growled absently, his eyes fixed intensely on the reindeer.

Dropping her arms to her sides, she sighed. "You're no fun at all when you're frightened out of your wits, you know." And, she added to herself, in his current wandless state, he could at least have the courtesy to be frightened of her.

"I'm not frightened," he said, then gasped as the animal swiveled its large head and looked up at him, its round brown eyes staring unblinkingly into his. He could see his death in those deceptively placid irises.

Weasley shook her head and grasped Cupid's collar. "Come on, boy," she coaxed softly, clucking her tongue. Slowly, Cupid took a step forward, easing some of his weight off of Draco. "That's it, love."

"Good Lord, Weasley," Draco spat out testily, "it's a ferocious beast. You don't have to be nice to it."

"Don't you know you can catch more flies with honey, Malfoy?" she quipped, a wicked smile stretching her red lips.

"I don't want any flies. I want--"

"Cupid off you. Yes, I know," she said resignedly. Cupid took another step towards her, then another, until finally Malfoy was free. She watched him take great gulping breaths of air, visibly sagging with relief. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Ginny cut him off. "No need for an insincere 'thank you,' Malfoy."

He scowled at her. "I was going," he sniffed disdainfully, "to ask for my wand back."

"By all means."

She released the slender piece of wood into his hand and he gave her a curt nod, not in the least embarrassed by what had transpired - truly - and then turned to walk away.

Ginny grinned as she watched Cupid, clearly smitten, trot after Malfoy, his broad hooves churning up the freshly fallen snow. Then, to her even greater amusement, the reindeer nudged him firmly in the middle of his back with his muzzle. Caught off guard, the push sent Malfoy sprawling forward, landing face down in the snow. Ginny's laughter rang clear as a bell over the pitch.

Draco rolled over with a moan, spotted Cupid's massive furry head looming above him, and froze. Those square, yellow teeth were dangerously close to his delicate, slender neck.

"He likes you," Weasley said as she reached his side. Cupid butted his nose into her hand, braying loudly, and then she dropped to her knees beside him. "Malfoy," she said softly.

He didn't move - couldn't really - his gaze locked on the animal that was chewing on the shoulder of Weasley's cloak. Sweet Merlin, it's eating the little Weasley! His eyes flickered over her briefly. "What?" he asked, sure she would start screaming at any moment, and then the beast would move on to him.

Tentatively, Ginny lifted her hand and brushed a stray blond lock off his pale forehead, gazing down into his widened gray eyes. He looked disheveled and vulnerable and so entirely un-Malfoy-like that she snatched her hand back with a gasp. Oh, she did not need a un-Malfoy-like Malfoy to dote on. It was already proving increasingly difficult to stay impartial to the Malfoy-like one.

"Malfoy," she said sternly, rising to her feet. "Cupid is not vicious. He is not going to bite you, dismember you, or eat you. Stop being a baby."

A flash of fire crossed his features and his eyes hardened. Good. That was better.

She offered him a hand up, but he ignored it, scowling at her as he struggled to his feet and dusted off his clothes with more force than was necessary. They stared at each other, eyes locked, and Ginny couldn't help the flush that rose to her cheeks. She hoped desperately that the chilly air disguised it as windburn. It would not be good for Malfoy to suspect she'd been having soft thoughts about him lately.

Draco dropped his gaze as Cupid stepped towards him. He involuntarily retreated, watching as the cold air condensed the reindeer's puffs of breaths, but Weasley reached out and caught his arm.

"He likes you," she reiterated, her firm hold urging Draco to keep still. Her hand slid down his arm, moving to grip the back of his gloved fingers, and, as Cupid took another step forward, she placed it on the animal's forehead. "See?"

As Cupid blinked up at Draco, rubbing his large, furry head into his palm, the fear in him melted almost as fast as it had crystallized. Weasley said it liked him. An animal liked him. It felt exceedingly strange, like the cockles of his heart were warming, and he wasn't at all sure that was a good thing.

"You know what he most likely is, don't you?" Weasley asked, grinning indulgently at him.

Draco arched a brow. "I thought we already established he's a reindeer."

Her grin spread wider. "But he's a bit small and his ears are a tad over-large. And look, he's practically smiling at you."

He did have a bit of a goofy look on his face. Draco straightened his back and sneered at her. "Are you insinuating," he drawled, "that there is something wrong with my reindeer?"

"Oh, so he's yours now, is he?"

Draco was just about ready to smack her - verbally, of course; even he wasn't enough of a cad to fell a girl, Weasley or no - for her infuriatingly smug grin, when a flurry of voices seemed to surround them all at once.

"... I told you, he's lost again."

"No, no. He knows exactly what he's doing."

"But he's been lost millions of times; you can't deny that. It's those bloody big ears of his, you know. They hear everything."

"Robbie's right. He could be miles away by now..."

"Could have been distracted by a voodoo chant in Haiti..."

"... Or that Snow Queen competition up in Nome. Loves the ladies, he does; can't say I blame him."

"He's more sense than that, Lars."

Ginny grabbed hold of Malfoy's arm. "What...?"

Quick as a cat, he slammed his palm over her mouth, his eyes widened with horror. "Leprechauns," he whispered.

Ginny grew quite horrified herself. A gaggle of little men, their bright green coats highly visible against the falling and fallen snow, were milling about the Quidditch pitch. Leprechauns, she knew, were not to be messed with.

"Look!" one of them cried, pointing in their direction.

Ginny's distressed squeak was muffled by Malfoy's leather encased hand, still plastered across her face.

"Run," he hissed in her ear, slipping his hand from her mouth and down to circle her wrist. As they turned to take off towards the castle, however, they found their way blocked by the amiable, furry form of Cupid the reindeer.

Malfoy hauled Ginny to the left, clearly intending to skirt the animal; only Cupid gave a soft snort and whirled to cut them off. Ginny pulled Malfoy back towards the right, but the reindeer moved too fast - or rather, he seemed to have taken a flying leap - and landed so abruptly in front of them that Ginny started in surprise and lost her balance, dragging Malfoy down with her.

Sprawled out in the cold snow, Ginny blinked up at the overcast sky and then shifted to look over at the fallen boy next to her. He had his eyes tightly closed and his pink lips pressed together in a grimace of pain.

"Malfoy?" Ginny shifted onto her knees, gazing down at him worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Are they still there?" he asked.

She glanced up at the rapidly approaching... men. "Erm..."

"Told you he's never wrong. Look at that... Perfect!" one shouted, grinning ear to ear as he stomped through the high drifts. The others were nodding happily, their stubby arms pumping as they picked their way towards them. "Icy Nordic looks, cut bone structure..."

Malfoy snapped upright, a growl at his lips. "Nordic? I'm French, you imbeciles."

Unperturbed, the leprechauns circled the pair of students; only, up close, Ginny didn't really think they looked like the evil Irish buggers. In fact, they seemed to be wearing a bit more red than was generally accepted by those folk. And their boots were decidedly pointy.

"Spot on, I'd say," another one said, and by the high-pitched voice - and lack of facial hair - Ginny surmised it was a female not-quite-leprechaun. "Her, too," she continued. "Look at all that red hair! Why, the missus had hair just like that, not forty years ago."

Ginny gave Malfoy a wary glance, but he still seemed rather put out about the Nordic comment, and was busy scowling down the offending little man. Turning back to the female sort-of-leprechaun, Ginny cleared her throat. "Excuse me," she said, "but could you please explain what's going on?"

"Why," she said with a surprised start, "Cupid's chosen you, he has. About time, too; the missus and mister are getting up in years, you know." She leaned in, conspiratorially, and whispered, "To be honest, we were losing hope. Never seen the beast so picky as he's been with this. Certainly wasn't in any hurry, I tell you." She beamed at her. "Oh, but it was worth the wait, I'm sure. Look at that mass of hair on you!"

Ginny was a bit taken aback at all the enthusiasm held for her hair, but she managed to give the squat woman a shaky smile.

And then she heard the bells. She'd know those bells anywhere. Cupid heard them, too, his head perking up and his tail giving a bit of a wag. Sleigh bells.

A small, red sleigh with a team of reindeer attached appeared out of the swirling snow, pulling to a stop in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. And, suddenly, it all snapped together. They weren't leprechauns. They were elves. Christmas elves, to be exact. She felt stupid, really, for not having realized it earlier. She'd had her suspicions, after all, about Cupid.

As slowly as possible, Ginny slid her wand out of her robes.

"Here now, miss," the lone female elf huffed, "there's no need of that. It won't work on us anyway, you know. Only Christmas magic works on us."

Great. Just fabulous. Ginny sighed and pocketed her wand.

"What, you're not even going to try and hex them, Weasley?" Malfoy drawled, brandishing his own wand.

"I wouldn't if I were you, Malfoy," she hissed at him. "You don't know what could happen." When Malfoy made no move to lower it, Ginny reached out and snatched it from him.

"Hey," he cried indignantly. "Give it back!"

Ginny sent him a warning look, and then addressed the elf again. "Er... madam..."

"Gretchen."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Me name's Gretchen, miss. And this here's Robbie and Lars, and over there yanking on Prancer's harness is Garth. Here now, Garth!" she yelled over to the small, towheaded man who, strangely enough, had a coal black crow perched on his shoulder. "Stop teasing Prancer!" Gretchen then pointed to the red-haired elves flanking Cupid and Malfoy and said, "Those two are Murphy and Billy. And then the one's got the reins is Martin. He don't much like being called Marty, see, so take care you don't."

Ginny nodded mutely, not sure if she should be angry or amused by the situation. A glance at Malfoy told her what emotion he'd chosen. Granted, a great deal of his anger seemed to be directed towards her, as he was still grumbling about her nicking his wand.

"I was wondering, Gretchen," Ginny said, having a terrible sneaking suspicion of what was going on, and desperately wanting the elf to prove her wrong. "You don't actually expect us," she motioned to Malfoy and herself, "to come with you now, do you?"

"Of course!" she cried, confirming Ginny's fears. "Why else would we have the team with us? Although, it's only the everyday sled, mind you. A bit bigger than the one the mister uses, to fit us lot in it, but not as grand."

She seemed to expect some sort of response about the fitness of the sleigh, so Ginny nodded enthusiastically and said, "Oh, it's a fine sled, of course."

Gretchen beamed at her.

"I'm not," Malfoy said through his teeth, finally seeming to catch on, "going anywhere with these lunatics."

Ginny clutched his upper arm and sent Gretchen a pained smile. "We'll need to write a note, though," she said. "Our classmates and teachers will wonder where we've gone."

"I said I wasn't--"

Ginny slapped her other hand over his mouth and leaned in close to his ear. "I really don't think we can get out of this, Malfoy," she whispered, "so we'll just cooperate, write a note to Harry and Ron, and they'll come rescue us, all right?"

Malfoy's eyes shot daggers, but he nodded and she released her hold on him. "Fine," he said, when her palm slipped from his lips. "But I'll write my own note."

She rolled her eyes. "Just so long as they know where we are."

"Everything all right, dears?" Gretchen asked, her eyes wide and, to Ginny, deceptively guileless. She made a mental note to keep close tabs on the sly elf.

"Yes," Malfoy said stiffly, looking ready to have an apoplexy at any moment. "Everything's fine."

And so they wrote their notes, sent off to the castle with Garth's pet crow, and allowed themselves to be herded into the small, red sleigh.

Not an hour later, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves sitting in Dumbledore's office, Ginny's missive in hand. It was rather a hard thing for them to believe, Ginny and Malfoy being spirited off to the North Pole, but, although Ginny definitely had the Weasley penchant for causing mischief and pulling tasteless pranks, this one seemed a bit more tasteless than usual. They were inclined to believe it was true.

However, their incredulity skyrocketed again when Pansy Parkinson, followed closely by her Head of House, burst into the office, her swollen and blotchy face testament to a recent and heavy crying jag.

She waved a piece of cream parchment in the air and shouted, "Draco's been kidnapped by a pack of deranged leprechauns!"

Dumbledore, the Gryffindors thought, laughed a little too gleefully.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ginny knew it was bad form to be amused by a fellow student's plight, especially one whom she confessed to having a slight, very slight, crush on. But Malfoy's expression, as the sly Gretchen perched herself on his knee - the sled was stuffed to the brim, after all - was enough to send her into spasms of laughter. Since she'd gained a good laugh at his expense earlier, though, she politely clamped down on her mirth and merely snickered.

Malfoy spent the entire flight glaring at her.

He didn't like the situation at all. He didn't like the stupid leprechaun - Christmas elf? Ha! - clutching his thigh. He didn't like the way the reindeer jostled the sleigh through the air, banging his bum unpleasantly on the hard bench beneath him. He didn't like that it was growing increasingly frigid, and that he could feel his nose and cheeks becoming ruddy in the biting wind - Malfoys simply did not get ruddy. Most of all, though, he didn't like the little Weasley, eyes glittering with laughter, somehow managing to look... well, pretty he supposed.

Oh, she would pay for making him think that. He wasn't quite sure how yet, but she would most definitely pay.

They traveled for hours through the air, the sky turning from gray to black and then, as they approached their destination, a fascinating shade of iridescent pink. It was the reflection of the Northern Lights on the snow.

Draco was surprised to find the town rather quaint, with rows upon rows of thatched-roofed cottages dotting the landscape, but it did next to nothing to improve his mood - he'd always preferred grandiose to quaint. Naturally. However, he was thankful it wasn't the sort of garish Christmas town he'd been imaging, with pulsing, blinding lights and high-pitched singing and the stench of good cheer. Bah, humbug.

Ginny, though, found herself somewhat let down. Everything looked so normal, if a tad under-sized. Snow blanketed the small houses, ribbons of smoke leaking from chubby chimney tops. Heavily laden evergreens towered over the squat buildings, and clustered particularly around a lodge-like dwelling in the center of the village. It was utterly too normal, too bland, for a Christmas town. Where was the cheery singing? The twinkling lights and red-berry holly? The beribboned mistletoe? Not that she needed the temptation of mistletoe anywhere near her with Malfoy in sight. That way spelled disaster.

Ushered quickly out of the sleigh - Draco permitted himself a small groan as he stretched out his kinks - they were led into the heart of town towards a reddish brown cabin, the elves chattering excitedly around them. More elves, their expressions disgustingly rosy, stepped out onto their respective front stoops and waved or called out to them or simply gave them wide-mouthed sappy smiles as they passed by. Draco's palm itched to grab his wand - which the little Weasley still held captive - and hex them all into chickens. Or mice. Or, better still, top hats. Top hats, after all, didn't make any sounds at all.

"Now then," Gretchen said as she opened the door to the cedar slatted - yes, definitely cedar, Draco sniffed; he absolutely hated cedar - cottage, and motioned them inside. "You both settle and make yourselves at home" - here, she giggled, and Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion - "and we'll just be on our way. Jed, he's newly gotten his license to officiate; he'll be over the moon about this, just wait!" She clapped her palms together once smartly, and then hustled out the door, pulling it firmly closed behind her.

Ginny thought the soft snick of the door locking was surely just her imagination. Surely.

"I fear these elves have lost their minds," Malfoy drawled, draping himself over a comfortably stuffed armchair.

Ginny tore her gaze away from the surely-not-locked door - surely, it wasn't! - and slowly walked over to where Malfoy was sitting. The cottage was small and spare, but cozy, and even though they'd both had to stoop to cross the threshold, the ceiling was high and arched and latticed with beams that thankfully started a good two feet above their heads.

Standing in front of the hearth - the fire crackling merrily and throwing warmth over her chilled skin - she placed her hands on her hips and stared down at him. "How can you be so calm?" she marveled. "Where's your rage; your indignation? They've locked us in!" Only, not really, her mind countered emphatically. Christmas elves couldn't be nearly that devious, could they?

"I'm tired," he said on a yawn. "And it smells like someone died in here."

Ginny cocked her head to the side, failing to see the correlation between those two statements. "But, aren't you the least bit worried about what's going on? You realize what this is all about, don't you?"

"We've been kidnapped by small, pointy-eared persons," he said absently, "supposedly of the Christmas elf variety."

"Malfoy," Ginny said, "they mean to marry us."

Malfoy lifted an incredulous brow.

"They mean to make us the new Mr. and Mrs. Claus," she went on.

A corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched.

Ginny tapped her foot impatiently. "Your evil core will melt into pudding, Malfoy. You'll be Father Christmas."

After a long, overly dramatic pause, he finally queried, "And you've jumped to this outlandishly stupid conclusion how exactly?"

"Well," Ginny bit her lip, "there's the fact that they're Christmas elves--"

"Still debatable, in my opinion."

She ignored him. "And they said Cupid's chosen us... and they forced us here... and Jed, officiating..." Ginny trailed off thoughtfully, then threw her hands up in disgust. "Really, Malfoy, it's obvious."

He leant his head back against the chair cushions, closing his eyes with a sigh. "I don't see how obvious it is, Weasley. However, I'm quite sure ceremonies of this sort are performed under the Christmas moon, with fuzzy bunnies, chubby-cheeked squirrels and large-eyed fawns in attendance; perhaps a lark or two for good measure. It's not even December yet," he concluded.

This made sense, of course, and Ginny found herself slightly mollified, if a little disturbed by the oddity of Malfoy spouting about fuzzy bunnies and large-eyed fawns. Only... "Malfoy," Ginny started in an alarmed whisper. "Malfoy," she said again, louder, when the boy didn't respond.

"What?" he replied testily, not bothering to lift his head from its weary position.

"Isn't it always Christmas in Christmas Town?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Omnioculars?"

"Check."

"I still don't see," Ron growled, standing toe to toe with Pansy in the inky darkness of pre-dawn, "why we're letting Parkinson here bring Zabini."

"And I don't see," Pansy tossed back, hooking her thumb over at Neville and Luna, "why those two dimwits are tagging along."

"Broomsticks?" Harry went on, ignoring the two quarrelling students.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes at them. "Check."

"Oh, I don't know," drawled Zabini, rocking back on his heels, "Longbottom might be a bit of a help, able to blend in with all those deranged leprechauns."

"Are you implying," Ron hissed, rounding on the other boy, "that Neville is short?"

Zabini knit his brows together in an incredulous frown and turned to look at the forgetful Gryffindor.

Ron glanced at Neville as well and was reminded, by the sight of him standing next to the beanpole-like Luna, that Neville had stopped growing around five foot five. "Never mind," Ron grumbled, and then stalked off to look over his broom.

"Matches?"

"Check."

"Rope?"

"Check."

Harry paused. "Why do we need rope, Hermione? Can't we just use binding spells?"

Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head. "Wand magic is useless where we're going."

"Really?" Zabini asked, clearly intrigued, "Scientifically or magically?"

"What?"

"The inhibitor," Zabini elaborated. "Is it from magical wards, or from the magnetic pull that's most likely enhanced so far north?"

Hermione was momentarily stunned by the Slytherin's thoughtful query. "Erm... I don't know," she managed. And, truly, she didn't.

"Really, Granger. I'd have thought you'd be on top of things like that."

Hermione huffed indignantly. "Father Christmas' Atlas of Christmas Town mentioned no reasons at all. I simply assumed--"

"Really, Granger," Zabini cut in. "You're off your game if you merely assumed."

The bushy-haired Gryffindor was caught between embarrassment and admiration. Blaise Zabini seemed to be a much more intelligent bloke than she'd... assumed. This threw him in a much more attractive light - he wasn't just a pretty face after all - and she graced him with a blinding smile.

He blinked, oddly disconcerted in the wake of her grin, and strolled over to stand beside Pansy, shooting Hermione a wary glance over his shoulder.

"Shovel?"

Back to task, Hermione hefted the plastic snow shovel and bent to attach it to Harry's broom. "Check."

"No, I mean, why do we need a shovel?" Harry asked, looking up from the list of supplies Hermione had written out.

"It pays to be prepared for every possible situation, Harry."

He couldn't honestly think of a possible situation that would include the necessity of a plastic shovel, but he simply nodded his head. "Can't we at least charm it smaller? It'll be awkward in flight."

"No," she said, tugging on the shovel stem to make sure it was secure. "We'd have no way of charming it to size once we got there."

Ron groaned. "This is going to be a disaster."

"I'm going to record the expedition," Luna offered to no one in particular, pulling out a large, bluish journal and a quill. "Father's taken an interest in Yetis."

Neville nodded politely at her, not entirely sure what the two of them were doing 'tagging along,' as Pansy had said, on the rescue mission. He certainly hadn't asked to come. He'd been quite cozy in the common room with his latest copy of Herbology Today when Ron had stomped over, grabbed his arm, and declared his expertise was needed to save Ginny. What sort of expertise he could offer, besides knowing the precise breed of nettle that created a star-like rash in the groin area, Neville didn't quite know.

And Luna... well, Luna, he supposed, could possibly be helpful with her total disregard... erm... completely unfocused ability... um, no, no, that wasn't right... total calmness - yes, that was it - in the face of adversary.

"All right, that's everything," Harry said, rolling up the parchment and tucking it into his knapsack. He eyed the seven brooms lined up along the ground, each of them burdened with sacks of supplies. He wondered if they would balk at flying with the extra awkward weight, and thought the four school brooms they'd nicked just might. And then another dismaying thought occurred to him. "Hermione, you don't suppose having no wand magic will effect the brooms, do you?"

Hermione shrugged. "There's no way of telling if it effects magical objects, or just objects that have been charmed, or any objects at all, really. I only know for sure that the act of performing magic is stemmed."

Pansy and Ron stopped arguing over their brooms and turned to stare at her. Neville shifted uncomfortably, wiping his forehead with his palm in a nervous gesture.

Only Luna and Zabini seemed unconcerned, the former keeping up the constant scratching of her quill across her journal, the latter with his nose dipped in Hermione's copy of Father Christmas' Atlas of Christmas Town.

Harry cleared his throat. "So, hypothetically, if our brooms were to fail...?"

"Well, we'd fall, of course."

"Really, Granger," Zabini said, lowering the book to glance over at her, "this sort of half-arsed research isn't like you at all."

"I haven't had much time, have I?" she retorted.

He shook his head. "At the very least, I'd have expected you to have thought up ways to prevent us from falling, should that event occur."

She glared at him. Really, his smarts didn't seem all that attractive anymore. "As a matter of fact, Zabini," she ground out, "I have."

Pansy, Ron and Neville let out a collective sigh of relief.

Hermione swung her knapsack from her shoulder and pulled out a cluster of tiny pouches. "Each of these," she explained as she handed one to each of the six students around her, "contains a very small amount of Christmas powder."

"Christmas powder?"

"Yes," she said, slipping her own pouch into the top pocket of her robes. "It's the base ingredient to the grain they feed flying reindeer."

Understanding dawned on Harry, and he asked with a kind of awe, "So we can fly with this?"

Ron seemed just as excited. "Can't we just use this, then, instead of broomsticks?"

Hermione shook her head. "For one thing, Ron, there isn't enough to carry us the whole way. Professor Snape gave us his entire store - not happily, I assure you - and so we'll have to make do with what we have. And for another, the only way to enter or leave Christmas Town is through Christmas magic."

"Erm... huh?"

"We'll need to take the powder anyway, whether we fall or not," Hermione continued, eyeing her broom suspiciously. She didn't exactly like flying to begin with, but flying on one of the school's temperamental broomsticks was always a gamble. "Otherwise, we won't be able to find the town."

"Second star to the right."

"What, Luna?" Hermione asked kindly, turning towards where the pale girl was crouched in the snow, hovering over her journal.

Luna glanced up and blinked slowly, as if clearing her irises of cobwebs. "Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning."

"Oh," Hermione said, nodding. "I see. Well, it isn't pixie dust, Luna, but excellent parallel." She gave Luna a grin, feeling it was important to encourage the Ravenclaw - however in the world had that happened? - to try her hand at normal conversations. She was getting quite a bit better, really; hadn't mentioned a Snorkack in days. And, truly, Yetis were well-recorded beasts: definitely a step up from Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

"So we really will get to fly without our brooms?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "In and out."

"This is brilliant," Ron exclaimed, smiling widely.

Pansy let out an impatient breath. "Are we ready, then?" she snapped.

"Nearly." Hermione checked her broom over one last time, making sure everything was secure, then glanced up to see that everyone else was doing the same. "We'll be in the air for hours," she stated calmly, even though inside she was a mess of nerves at the thought. "I'll signal everyone when it's time to use the powder. Remember not to use all of it," her gaze paused on Neville a moment and he blushed, "or else we won't be able to find our way back out."

"Sounds daunting, doesn't it," Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I still say all this preparation is a bit overboard. It's Christmas Town... How dangerous can it be?"

"Have you ever come across a Christmas elf before, Potter?" Zabini asked, already hovering comfortably on his broom.

Pansy, about to swing her leg over her broomstick, paused and shuddered delicately.

Ron and Neville both grimaced.

"What?" Harry queried, bouncing his gaze confusedly between the boys.

Zabini leaned forward, resting an elbow near the tip of his broom and cupping his chin in his palm. "Perpetual cheer, Potter."

"And shifty," Ron added emphatically. "Don't forget shifty, Zabini. Never trust an elf that can't look you in the eye."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "So they're cheerful and shifty?"

"Don't listen to them, Harry. Christmas elves are perfectly harmless," Hermione said, gingerly climbing aboard her broom. Although she couldn't help wondering about the fact that Harry, Luna and herself were the only ones who seemed not to quake at the thought of meeting Christmas elves head on - perhaps 'quake' wasn't the precise word to use for Zabini, though, as he was rather matter-of-fact about his dislike of them. Ultimately, she chalked it up to pure wizarding prejudice, and briefly pondered adding them to her S.P.E.W. campaign.

"Everyone ready?" she asked with a steadying breath, her fingers curled in a vice-like grip around the broom handle.

Heads nodded in the cold morning air, their breaths mingling as they gazed up at the orange horizon in anticipation. And then they were off, cloaks and robes billowing out behind them, flying swiftly in a somewhat ragged formation towards the second star on the right.

The edges of the Headmaster's office window were covered in ice and snow, the crystallized patterns snaking inward from the wooden frames. Snape and Dumbledore stood side by side, their stances identical, although their expressions were anything but.

"Oh, to be young again," Dumbledore sighed, grinning wide and just a bit wistfully as he watched the seven students disappear into the dawn.

Snape scowled at the pane.

Catching a glimpse of the professor's reflection, Dumbledore chuckled and clapped him companionably on the back. "Come now, Severus, it's not that bad."

"They'll most likely be killed this time, you know, or at the very least maimed beyond recognition." He allowed himself brief amusement at the thought before remembering two of his own students were in danger as well. "Christmas elves," he shook his head in disgust. "I can't help thinking there's an easier way to go about this." Snape arched a dark brow as he shifted to look at Dumbledore.

"And where's the fun in easy?" countered Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.

Snape ignored the Headmaster's teasing gaze and took a sip of his tea. "You've contacted him at least, I hope."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore mumbled amiably. "St. Nick's been apprised of the entire situation. There's nothing to worry about, Severus, nothing at all." He tilted his head back, idly humming a few bars of We Wish You a Merry Christmas. It'd always been one of his favourites.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ginny stretched awake languidly, snuggling into her warm blankets. She smiled slightly, recalling the night before, when Malfoy's ingrained sense of propriety had insisted she take the one and only bed, while he slept on the sofa in front of the fire. He hadn't been happy about it, of course, which made it all the sweeter to Ginny. He'd grumbled and scowled at her, complained and outright insulted her - of course - and wouldn't even hear of her taking the couch instead.

She sighed into her pillow, then flipped her covers off and slipped out of bed. When she glanced around for her clothes, though, she realized they were missing. She was sure she had piled them on the rug next to the bed - she'd never been a particularly neat witch - only now the only item left was a single white sock, peeping out from under the bed skirt.

"Malfoy," she shouted, slamming out of the bedroom.

"Mm...mph."

"Malfoy," she snapped again, standing over the lump of covers on the sofa. Only the tip of his head, a mess of silver locks spilling onto the cushions, was visible. She poked him viciously with her forefinger.

He growled menacingly and pulled the covers from his head. "Damn it, Weasley, what...?" He paused mid-sentence, mouth falling open as his gaze traveled the entire length of her body.

She glanced down at herself. Oh. That's right. She'd forgotten that she'd slept in only her underwear.

Malfoy swallowed hard. "Good God, Weasley, robes on you are positively criminal."

Ginny scowled and ripped his blankets off him, wrapping them around her barely clad form until only her head was uncovered. Someday, she was going to be mortally embarrassed about this incident, she knew. But at the moment, all she was worried about were those sneaky little elves and how they'd taken their clothes.

Although she did allow herself a minute to admire Malfoy's finely honed naked chest. It was a sight too good to pass up.

"Malfoy, my clothes are gone," she said finally.

"The elves are now my gods."

Ginny's hand shot out of the blanket folds and she hit him on the arm. "This is serious."

"Calm down, Weasley," he said, sitting up and yawning. "We can just transfig--"

"No, we can't," Ginny cut in. "We can't use our wands, remember?" They'd tried Alohomora on the locked door the night before and the tip of her wand had exploded.

Malfoy stretched, his lean muscles flexing in the firelight, and Ginny caught herself just before she sighed.

"Well, they can't mean for us to go traipsing about, nearly naked. Although I certainly don't have a problem with it." He gave her a playful leer. "Did you check the closets?"

She shook her head, and then rushed from the room. Or at as near a rush as she could manage without tripping over her blankets.

Draco found himself staring after her, the image of her spilling out of her demi-cup black bra burned into his brain. No, not burned. Seared.

Who would have thought she'd had all that covered up? All that pale skin and those legs... He'd always figured Granger for being the hidden jewel in Gryffindor - although he would rather be stabbed in the eye with a hot poker than admit he found her intellect sexy; as it was, he was tempted to slip into the kitchen for a spoon and carve out his slightly undersized heart for thinking the words 'hidden jewel' and 'Granger' in the same context. But the little Weasley was, well, he suspected pretty would no longer cover it.

"You won't believe this, Malfoy," Weasley shouted from the bedroom. She stepped into the doorframe and laughed, buttoning up a sheer white oxford - he could see the shadow of her bra through the thin fabric - and sporting a broomstick skirt that fell to her ankles in vertical red and green stripes. "Yours are even better."

A half-hour later he stood in front of the bedroom mirror, frowning down at his red brocade three-piece suit, complete with green velvet piping. "Horrid doesn't even begin to describe this."

"Red really isn't your color," Weasley agreed, chuckling.

He tugged on his waistcoat and twisted about to see the reflection of his back. "Cut is fine, but... I feel like a travelling broom salesman."

"You'd need a bowler hat for that."

His eyes widened. "You don't suppose...?"

With a mischievous grin, Weasley ran for the closet and threw open the door. "Aha," she cried, turning around with the matching red hat. "Oh, this is just too good. Put it on."

She pushed the hat into his hands and he scowled at her. "It'll mash my hair," he protested.

"No one's here to see but me, Malfoy. Please," she added, her eyes twinkling in that infernally pretty way that they twinkled. When they got out of this mess, she was going to rue the day she ever twinkled her eyes at Draco Malfoy - absolutely rue it.

"Fine," he grumbled, carefully placing the round brimmed hat on his head. He turned to the side, tipping his chin up and admiring his profile. "I don't look that bad in hats, do I?"

"You look smarmy."

"Smarmy?" Draco queried, slipping a hand into his waistcoat pocket, his other hand curling around the edge of the suit jacket. He had an odd craving for a pocket watch.

"Slick as a weasel," she added, nodding.

"Ferret," he countered automatically, then paused and glared at her.

Ginny ignored his glower and glanced down at her own clothing and then over at him. "We're like a pair of bookends," she commented.

"Mr. and Mrs. Claus," he murmured dryly, adjusting his hat to tilt over one eye.

"Oh, so you believe me now?"

"What I believe, Weasley," he said, "is that we are dealing with some highly disturbed elves. And now that we're properly attired," he smirked, "I say we figure out a way to escape their evil clutches."

"Now, Malfoy," Ginny admonished. "I wouldn't say they were evil. Just misguided."

Malfoy let out an impatient breath and took a few steps towards her. "Whatever they are, or are not, I doubt they have the approval of the real Father Christmas for this little escapade."

"Well, of course not. But how--" Her words were cut off by a pounding at the door, and both her and Malfoy froze in their tracks. "Who could it be?" Ginny whispered.

Malfoy shrugged, but his eyes were laced with apprehension.

The elves wouldn't knock, she knew, since they were the ones who'd locked them in. "Do you think it's Harry?"

"Only one way to find out." He strode into the living room, and crossed over to windows flanking the door.

Ginny hurried after him, her fingers worrying the buttons of her shirt, wondering briefly if it was a hungry Yeti, bent on having them for breakfast.

Leaning down, Malfoy surreptitiously lifted a corner of the window curtains. "Well, well, well."

"What?" Ginny hissed, tugging on his jacket and straining to see around him. "Who is it?"

"That traitor reindeer."

"Cupid?" She pushed Malfoy out of the way and insinuated herself between him and the window. "What's he... Oh!" Ginny watched as the reindeer backed up several steps, then trotted forward, ramming his rack into the wooden door.

She heard the cedar crack and splinter, but the door held firm.

"He's breaking down the door. Oh, what a good boy," she cooed approvingly.

"Regretting his underhanded deeds, I expect," Malfoy groused.

"He's a reindeer, Malfoy; I doubt he had any idea what was happening. He probably just didn't want you to leave him."

Cupid rammed the door again and the tip of an antler presented in the scarred wood.

"Well, he's a bit slow on the uptake, then, isn't he? We obviously didn't want to get kidnapped and locked up in a pint-sized cottage. And here he is, a day later, finally figuring it all out?"

"He's a reindeer, Malfoy," she repeated, shifting to frown up at him. He was awfully close to her, though, his mouth mere millimeters from her nose, and with a small squeak she turned back around to stare out the window. Only now she was gazing blindly out into the snow, her body sensitized to the fact that she was snuggled up close to his chest.

There was another loud thump and the door splintered in half, hanging dejectedly on its hinges. Cupid brayed when he spotted them and pulled his mouth back into his odd, goofy grin, obviously pleased with himself. He scrambled over the broken shards and blinked adoringly up at Malfoy and Ginny.

Ginny scratched his head while Malfoy glared at him. "Oh, come on, Malfoy." She rolled her eyes.

Malfoy sniffed indignantly, but reached out and patted Cupid, awkwardly praising him.

Cupid's eyes drifted shut, a look of pure bliss blossoming on his furry face. Ginny found herself wishing she were under Malfoy's hands as well. Which was an entirely inappropriate thought; especially considering what dire straits they were currently in.

"We should get moving before the elves come for us," Ginny said.

Malfoy agreed and gave Cupid one last half-affectionate pat - affection really wasn't a Malfoy's strong suit.

The midmorning sun gleamed down, the reflection of it in the snow almost blinding them as they climbed through the battered down door and into the village. The problem now, of course, was remaining inconspicuous. Which, considering their height and their brightly colored clothes, would most likely prove very nearly impossible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"All right there, Granger?"

Hermione threw Zabini a quick glance. "Fine."

He flew his broom closer to her side. "You sure? You've got the broom handle in a death grip, you know. I can't help but think you're a little tense."

"I'm fine," she said again.

"Hope you're not the self prophesising sort," he continued absently.

"What?" She was beginning to suspect Zabini's mind didn't exactly move in the proper linear channels.

He eyed her thoughtfully, then dropped his broom below her and came up on her other side. "You look as though your mind is screaming, I'm going to fall, just about every ten seconds. Can't be good for the psyche."

"I'm not thinking that at all," she retorted, unconsciously tightening her hold even more on the handle. No, what she was really thinking was, I'm surely going to lose my grip and die. Subtle differences, of course, but differences all the same.

He grinned at her, elaborating, "You know if you think you're going to fall, your chances of actually doing so are upped."

"Not helping, Zabini," she said through her teeth.

"But don't worry. I'd catch you if you did."

Hermione started in surprise, her grip loosening, and she nearly did fall. Zabini, Zabini had just said he would catch her. And with a straight face, too. Briefly, she forgot to be afraid and simply stared at him, incredulous.

"I'm an excellent flyer, and my reflexes are up to snuff, I assure you." He gave her a dimpled smile and zipped up and over to her other side. "See? No worries at all. You should relax."

What was he doing? Hermione was completely baffled by his behavior. Hadn't he just, mere hours before, run from her like a frightened poodle?

"Your grin's a bit scary, Granger," he said, as if reading her mind, "but I've rethought my position on you. The Christmas powder was ingenious."

Hermione hardly ever preened - preening was reserved for Malfoys and Parkinsons and, in some cases, Finnigans; Seamus could be shameless in that regard - but she allowed herself a small amount of happy bristling. It had been ingenious of her.

"What are you doing, Zabini?" Ron said sharply as he maneuvered his broom over to them.

"Seducing Granger," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Now?" Ron seemed slightly intrigued by the idea. "We're thousands of feet in the air. On brooms."

If Zabini were the brow-waggling sort, he certainly would have waggled them then. "Seems like the perfect place to me."

"She can't stomp off in an offended tizzy," Ron murmured to himself in wonder. "And she's sitting on a broom."

Hermione knew he could only be thinking about one girl. Anybody who fought as much as Pansy and Ron did had to be dying to get into each other's trousers. Really, they'd thought Ron was gay for the longest time, since it seemed as though he'd pounce on Malfoy with only the tiniest provocation.

Zabini, apparently, was of the same mind. "Careful, Weasley," he said in a half-bored tone. "That's my cousin you're thinking rude thoughts about."

"Pansy's your cousin?" he asked.

"Well, third cousin twice removed." He cocked his head in thought. "Actually, I don't think we're blood relations, which is good, really, since we dated for a few months in fourth year."

Hermione and Ron stared at him in silence.

"But you're not sure?" Hermione finally asked, nose crinkled in disgust.

"Purebloods can't be choosy, Granger." He sighed dramatically. "We're a dying breed."

"What am I, then?" Hermione huffed. "A momentary distraction?"

"I certainly can't take you home to Mother, now, can I?"

Ron, in an extremely wise move, hastily retreated.

Hermione flinched at the offhand insult and was completely embarrassed to find she had to blink away a few stray tears. "Keep your hands to yourself, Zabini," she said, thankful that her voice didn't break. "If I need saving, Harry will do it. He's the hero, you know."

Zabini seemed amused by her attempt at putting him in his place. "Really, Granger, I couldn't care one wit that you're a Muggle-born." He shrugged. "Mother would eat you alive, though."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"I suppose we could visit, though, if you insist."

"I don't want to meet your bloody mum, Zabini," she said, exasperated. "We're not even snogging."

He gave her a half-smirk, half-leer. "A tragedy I plan on rectifying as soon as possible."

Hermione snorted. "You're insane."

"No," Zabini countered. "I'm simply lusting after your fascinating brain."

It was the perfect remark, of course, and Hermione couldn't help melting a little inside. Zabini knew just what buttons to push. The bastard.

She was saved, however, from further banter by the faint chiming of her compass.

"What's that noise?" Zabini asked.

"My Christmas compass," she replied, pulling both the directional device and the pouch of Christmas powder out of her robes. "We're nearing the border." She lifted her voice to carry to the rest of the rescue team and said, "Everyone get ready. It's nearly time."

Gazing from her compass to the snow capped peaks below them, she shouted, "Now!" and tipped the pouch of powder up to her mouth just as the mountains gave way to a deep, sweeping valley.

It was a good thing, too, because she felt the jolt of the broom failing underneath her and a slight drop in height before the powder overtook her system. Every molecule was tingling, every nerve ending singing, as the air around her shimmered and sparkled. And then she saw it, just ahead of them. Christmas Town.

Harry spread out his arms and laughed into the wind. He'd always thought the greatest thrill in the world was flying his Firebolt, but this... this was ten times better. Keeping a firm grip on his broom with one hand, he somersaulted and dived and flipped over onto his back, pillowing his head with his hands.

"Harry," Hermione said sternly. "We haven't time for play."

"Hermione," Ron whined, his arms moving in a slightly awkward imitation of the breaststroke as he paddled over to her.

"I mean it, Ron. We have to find Ginny and Malfoy before anything happens to them."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "I thought you said the elves were harmless? Or are you worried that they'll kill each other?" he added with a grin.

Zabini whistled. "More likely the little Weasley will attempt to get her groove on."

Hermione shot him a dark look. She wasn't surprised that he knew, since it was fairly obvious to any observant fool - which fortunately left out Ron - but he certainly didn't have to announce it to the world. "Ixnay on the ushcray," she hissed.

"What on the what?" Ron scratched his head, his face screwed up in confusion.

"Really, Granger. Resorting to Pig Latin?" Zabini shook his head in mock disgust.

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Ginny has a crush on Malfoy?"

"What?" Ron's eyes went wide and incredulous.

"Time and place, Potter," Pansy muttered.

"Of course not," Hermione said quickly, narrowing her eyes at Zabini and Harry, daring them to say anything else about it. Before Ron could open his mouth to question further, Hermione pointed down to the village below. "Let's get organized, people. We'll land behind that stand of trees over there, right outside the town. Remember, it's imperative that we're not seen."

Neville took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out in a whoosh. He'd been getting a bit green around the gills from all the broom flying, and the powder hadn't helped in that respect. If anything, the flutters in his stomach had gotten worse. Not to mention the fact that he'd spilled half the pouch down his jumper and Hermione was going to kill him when she found out.

As the rest of the team twisted and swooped down towards the ground, Neville swallowed hard and followed, hoping desperately that he wouldn't vomit until his feet were firmly planted on the ground.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draco stared up at the large, forest green building and sighed. "Why are we here?"

Weasley shrugged. "Cupid must have a reason."

They'd followed the lovable traitor - no, not lovable; entirely the opposite of lovable, really, despite his soft brown eyes and large fuzzy ears - hoping he'd lead them to some sort of escape route. Only he'd led them here, to - if the childish scrawl across the door could be believed - Santa's Workshop. The reindeer was proving to be stupid as well as traitorous. "We're supposed to be avoiding the elves, Weasley. Not touring their factory."

Cupid let his breath out in a soft snort, giving Draco a fond glance, and then pawed at the wooden door with a heavy hoof.

It swung open almost immediately, strains of Christmas music spilling out into the open air, as well as a rhythmic hammering and sawing and constant stream of chatter. In the doorway looking down at them stood the fattest man Draco had ever seen. How on earth did he fit in a sleigh? For it was most definitely Father Christmas grinning widely at them, his cheeks rosy from mirth and his white beard tucked into the front of a green and gold apron.

"Ah, Draco and Ginny, welcome," he boomed, his voice a deep and melodious timbre. "Come in, come in, no need to stand shivering in the cold now, is there?" He stepped aside and motioned them past him, giving Cupid a friendly pat and a quick, "Off with you, now," that sent the reindeer trotting happily back down the lane.

Ginny shot Malfoy a wary glance, and was slightly startled to see him give her a small, reassuring smile. She smiled back, and his lips instantly dipped into a frown. Ginny suspected he'd had no idea he was being pleasant to her... it had been an automatic reaction. Which was actually quite touching when she thought about it.

Not seeing any other option, they let themselves be urged inside and down a tinselled corridor, Father Christmas lumbering behind them. The hallway opened up into a large, cavernous chamber, workbenches covering almost every inch of space. Elves of every shape and size were bent over the tables, tiny silver hammers flashing, their goggled faces so intent on their work that they didn't even notice when the three of them crossed the floor towards a door that had 'Santa's Office' painted on it in candy cane-striped letters.

The office itself was rather cozy, with an entire wall of windows that looked out onto the stark mountain range and an overstuffed couch angled towards the view. A bright red horseshoe shaped desk dominated the room, piled high with papers and what looked like dishes of candy and cookies.

"Now then," the jolly old man said as he sank down into his chair, the wood creaking ominously as he settled his bulk. "I believe some of my elves have been neck deep in mischief." His eyes danced, the blue alight with laughter that seemed vaguely reminiscent of Professor Dumbledore, and he chuckled gruffly.

"Mischief?" Malfoy sneered.

Father Christmas sighed. "Always happens this time of year; recruit my best nose to sniff out a replacement for the old man." He patted his overlarge tummy. "Think I can't handle the job ever since I started my second century in office."

"Best nose?" Ginny queried.

"Cupid can track a mouse for miles if need be. Never had a need of that, though," he said, scratching his beard idly, then beamed over at them. "Took a shine to you two, didn't he?"

Ginny found herself grinning back, his cheer infectious.

"I don't suppose," Malfoy drawled, tugging impatiently on his waistcoat, "we could hurry this interview along? I'd like to get home sometime before the New Year."

"Of course, of course. Now let me just find..." He flipped through a few files on his desk, murmuring to himself, and opened and closed a number of drawers before drawing out a rolled scroll with a loud, "Here we go." He winked at Ginny. "Have to check the lists, you know. Standard procedure."

Catching the heading 'Nice' on the parchment, Draco smirked. "I haven't been listed as nice since I was five and made Goyle lick a house-elf," he said smugly.

Father Christmas cleared his throat - good Lord, he even did that cheerfully - and said, "Ah, Ginny Weasley. Top of the list, of course."

"Of course," Draco echoed dryly. Where else would a Weasley be?

"And... well, look, you're nearing the middle, Draco."

"Nearing the middle?" Draco retorted, appalled. "Of the Nice List?" It was preposterous. A Malfoy? Nice? Draco narrowed his eyes, pinning them on the little Weasley. "This is entirely your fault."

"Mine?"

"Yes. You... you and your twinkling and smiling and nakedness," he was starting to rant now, and he balled his hands into fists.

Ginny, eyes wide, glanced over at Father Christmas. "I was not naked," she stated firmly.

The old man merely smiled and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach.

"And your stupid 'please' and 'thank you' and the sweet way you pout your lips and... what the devil are you doing wearing my coat?"

Confused, she glanced down at the red jacket he'd placed about her shoulders once he'd noticed her shivering in the cold mountain air.

"Give it here, Weasley." He held out his hand, tapping his foot impatiently.

Slowly, she peeled off the heavy brocade coat, revealing the thin white button down she wore beneath it, and he snatched it out of her hands.

He glared at her, his lips pressed together until they were thin pale lines. "Don't delude yourself for one minute, Weasley, that I'm nice. Naughty doesn't even begin to describe what I am. And sir," he turned to Father Christmas, "how the hell can Weasley wear those scraps of black lace and still be nice?" His voice had become slightly strained as he lifted a hand to wave at her chest. "It's obscene. And although I grant you they display her beautifully, I somehow doubt the validity of your lists. You need different lists, sir, because I am in no way nice. I'm not even pleasant. I'm not even semi-pleasant or nearly pleasant or even remotely close to Pleasant's cousin Civil."

Ginny blinked, wondering if anything Malfoy had just spouted had made any sense. Because it really didn't seem to. "Malfoy," she said cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said tightly, just before the wall of windows exploded inward and Neville Longbottom tumbled into the room, landing on his back at Malfoy's feet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"So you're telling me," Hermione said through her teeth, "that you all spilled your pouches of Christmas powder? All of it?"

"I didn't," Zabini offered, hands in his pockets.

Harry, Ron and Neville gave her sheepish looks.

Pansy was staring at her pouch in confusion. "I know I didn't spill it," she murmured, tipping the small, empty bag upside down and shaking it slightly.

Hermione turned to the lone Ravenclaw. "Luna?"

The pale girl lifted her pouch and smiled absently. "Half left."

"So," Hermione hissed. "We've got three halves to split between us. Well, it's just not going to work, is it?" She hooked her arms around her back and started pacing back and forth between the trees. "Nothing for it then, we're going to have to raid the stable."

"Raid the stable?"

"I'm not eating grain, Granger."

"I guess you'll just have to live here forever and ever, then," Hermione snapped. "You're in no position to complain, Parkinson, so you bloody well will eat grain if that's what we need to do."

Ron bit his lip. "Shouldn't we look for Ginny and Malfoy first?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, we've got to plan our escape route; make sure everything is in order. Otherwise, we might all end up being trapped and captured."

"It's Christmas Town," Harry emphasized. Why wasn't everyone getting that? He couldn't understand the need for such subterfuge and caution in a town that was created for the season of joy and happiness. Of celebration and cheer. Of giving and loving and…and Ginny had a crush on Malfoy. "We've got to get Ginny and Malfoy first."

"No," Hermione said sternly.

"Yes," Ron said, putting his foot firmly down, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione blinked owlishly at him. "What?"

"I think he's countermanding your orders, love," Zabini stage whispered.

She scowled at the Slytherin, and then turned to Ron again, staring at him silently for a few moments, studying his stubborn countenance. His face was surprisingly not flushed, nor did she detect any hint of uncertainty in his eyes. He seemed... masterful she supposed was the word.

Pansy heaved a heavy sigh and smiled wistfully at him.

Hermione finally gave in with a brisk nod, saying, "Fine, Ron, we'll do it your way," and softened her harsh tone with an approving grin. "Let's go find Ginny and Malfoy."

They left their hiding place in a copse just outside the village, keeping to the backs of the tiny cottages and the shadows of evergreens. The snow crunched lightly under their feet and fell to the ground in pings and an occasionally thump as the bright sun beat down on the laden trees. More than once, Neville yanked Luna out of the way of falling clumps of snow, the cold powder slipping under his own collar for all his efforts, and he was soaked and shivering by the time they left the cover of the trees and started inwards into the village.

As they neared the heart of town, Harry whispered, "It's seems deserted, doesn't it?"

"It's midmorning. Almost all the elves are probably working," Zabini said, tapping the cover of Father Christmas' Atlas to Christmas Town. Really, the book was proving extraordinarily handy.

"Where should we start looking?" Ron asked as they passed the stable. Which was just about when they encountered the reindeer, its large ears pricked up and stumpy tail wagging. It cocked its head and trotted close to them, stopping in front of Hermione.

"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing?" Hermione praised softly.

The reindeer shifted and bumped his nose against her tummy, moving to rub his shoulder along her body like an overgrown puppy.

"Certainly is affectionate," Zabini drawled.

"What's he doing?" Harry asked, watching as the reindeer licked Hermione's hand, and then bounded down the lane, glancing back with his large eyes imploring. He waggled his head and gave a deep bray, pawing at the ground impatiently.

Zabini rocked back on his heels. "Looks like he wants us to follow him."

As if he could understand him, the reindeer reared and stamped his front hooves into the packed snow of the well-trodden path, cantering away before making a sharp turn and trotting halfway back towards them, his breath puffing out in short snuffs.

"What is it, boy? You want us to follow?" Hermione asked anxiously as she hurried forward. "Is it Ginny and Malfoy? Are they in trouble?"

"Somehow I doubt he's going to answer, Granger."

Hermione glared at Zabini - she seemed to be doing a lot of that lately - and raced after the reindeer, taking for granted that the rest of the team would do the same. She came to a stop just as the reindeer disappeared behind a large wooden building, the shade of the forest green paint a perfect replica of the deep evergreens surrounding it. Her breath came out in short rasps and she pressed a palm to her heart, unused to the thin mountain air.

Ron and Harry and the others reached her, their own breathing laboured, and she pointed off to the side of the building. "He went that way."

When the seven students rounded the corner, the reindeer was nowhere to be seen. They could, however, hear angry shouting above them and they tipped their heads up in comical unison to the large window that lined almost the entire wall. None of them were tall enough to see through it, but they had no trouble identifying the voice. Malfoy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What? Longbottom?" Draco glanced down at the Gryffindor in confusion. Never in his life had he ever imagined being rescued by Longbottom. It was almost as insane as the idea of a Malfoy residing on the Nice List.

"Neville," Weasley cried, rushing over to the downed boy. Only she never reached him.

Out of nowhere, ropes snaked around her wrists and she was pulled roughly towards the broken windows, stumbling over the shards that carpeted the office's hardwood floors. And then hands were on her, an arm caught about her waist, and she was lifted so swiftly out of the opening that bile rose in her throat. She landed with a soft thump in the snow, the cold instantly seizing her entire body, and glanced up just in time to see Malfoy being hurtled over the sill by Harry, sitting atop Ron's shoulders.

Malfoy hit the snow on his hands and knees, an angry gasp torn from his throat. A furious fire lit his eyes as he turned to look at Ginny, curled on her side, and he reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "What the hell was that?" he snarled over at Harry.

Ginny shivered and unconsciously burrowed closer to Malfoy. Purely for warmth purposes, of course.

"All right down there?" Father Christmas chuckled, leaning out of his broken window.

"Um..." Neville, who'd managed to climb back outside with an amazing lack of fuss, shifted his weight back and forth on his feet.

"Fine," Ron shouted, his face red. "We're fine." His hands curled into fists and his eyes were glistening with barely suppressed rage. "Only get your goddamn claws off my sister, Malfoy."

Malfoy abruptly scrambled to his feet and Ginny slumped back into the snowdrift in surprise.

"Perhaps if you hadn't thrown her out a second story window..." Malfoy started menacingly.

"Stop!" Pansy yelped.

Both boys paused in the act of circling each other and glanced over to where Pansy was helping Ginny to her feet. Neither girl looked the least bit pleased.

"I say, Draco," Zabini stepped in between the four glaring students. "What are you wearing?"

Turning away from Ron, Malfoy growled and bent down to retrieve his hat, dusting off the red fabric and placing it carefully back on his head. "I'm wearing a suit, Blaise." Zabini grinned and opened his mouth to say more, but Malfoy cut a hand through the air and groused, "Not one word."

Ginny broke down and smiled. "He's awfully fond of his outfit, isn't he?"

This, of course, drew attention to Ginny's own Christmas themed attire, and spurred Ron into jumping forward with his cloak outstretched. "What happened to your clothes, Gin?"

"The elves stole them while we were sleeping," she replied, wrapping his warm cloak gratefully around her body.

His eyes nearly crossed. "What?"

"Oh, don't worry, Weasel," Malfoy drawled, walking over and draping an arm nonchalantly over her shoulders. "We weren't completely naked at the time."

Ron's face was rapidly turning purple, gurgling sounds flowing out of his parted lips.

"Her black lace underwear was entirely decent, I assure you," he continued, his eyes glinting with sharp amusement. "Although," he gazed at her speculatively, "I do wonder if she wears a size too small, you know, what with all that creamy flesh spilling--"

Draco was cut off by the Weasel's fist slamming painfully into his jaw. He stumbled back and shook his head, his mouth throbbing as he pressed his fingers against it.

The Weasel, nursing his split knuckles, grinned nastily at him.

With a haughty glare, the little Weasley quipped, "Well, you deserved it, you prat," but she took a step towards him and pried his fingers off the rapidly swelling bruise, clucking her tongue with slight concern.

Staring wide-eyed at the couple, Harry suddenly recalled that Ginny had a crush on Malfoy. "I think we should move on to the escape part of the plan," he said hastily. "Hermione?"

"Right, Harry," she nodded. "We still have to find a way to get out of here."

"I'm not eating grain," Pansy grumbled under her breath.

"Might I suggest," boomed Father Christmas' voice above them, "the use of my reindeer?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Since Rudolph was naturally a silly Muggle myth, they were one short. Ron couldn't have planned it better himself and was already rubbing his palms together in anticipation. But when he turned towards Pansy with a wicked grin, he spotted Malfoy hooking his leg over the back of a reindeer, Ginny already seated in front of him.

He growled absently and consoled himself with thoughts of beating Malfoy to a bloody pulp the minute his knuckles, which had swollen to nearly twice their normal size, were mended. Malfoy's face had felt like a slab of granite.

Ginny glanced over her shoulder at Malfoy, startled to see him straddling Cupid behind her. "Are you trying to give Ron a stroke?"

"That would be my main goal, yes," he replied calmly, cupping his hands on her hips.

His fingers burned into her hipbones and she stiffened her back. Well, that was just fine, wasn't it? "I'd appreciate it, Malfoy, if you didn't use me to piss off my brother."

"I would think you'd like feeling useful for once, Weasley."

Ginny clenched her teeth, her breath seeping out in a soft hiss. He was such a complete bastard; and Merlin knew why she wouldn't have it any other way.

Draco was surprised to feel her suddenly relax against him with a chuckle. At the very least, he'd been expecting harsh words, or perhaps angry tears. But no, instead she was laughing at him. When had he lost the upper hand in this relationship? In fact, when had the word 'relationship' ever entered into this farce of an adventure? Draco curled his lip back in disgust at the same time that he slipped his left hand over her abdomen, settling her more firmly into the cradle of his thighs.

"Here now. What's this?"

Nine heads swivelled to the open door of the barn.

"Gretchen," Ginny said in a horrified whisper. But it wasn't just Gretchen. It was Robbie and Lars and Murphy and Garth and Billy - and, good gods, was that Martin, too? - and five other short, stout elves in bright red and green coats. And they were all blocking the exit.

The eight reindeer and their riders crowded close together, eyes locked on the scowling Christmas elves. The reindeer bared their teeth and the elves hooked their elbows together, creating a living barrier across the barn door. With the students magically handicapped and the elves just tall enough to gnaw at their knees, it was rapidly shaping up to be a Mexican standoff.

Harry's mind went on autopilot, blinding him to all but the fight - good versus evil, light versus dark, righteous wizards and witches versus nefarious Christmas elves. He was just about to sacrifice himself, hurl his body at the elves in an effort to knock them aside so that the others could escape - after all, that's what heroes do - when a roar of such rage and craving rang through the air that it caused the building itself to quake in fear.

The headline in next month's issue of The Quibbler would read, "Yeti Eats Deranged Leprechauns And Saves Nine Students From Certain Death," which was surprisingly close to the truth. Although the only reason the Yeti hadn't attacked them as well was because Luna had calmly set the stable afire with the pack of matches Hermione had insisted they bring along. Apparently, the desire to flee from fire was stronger in the Yeti than its hunger for human flesh.

It was well past nightfall by the time the reindeer touched down on the grounds of Hogwarts, the crescent moon positioned high in the sky. It was clear and crisp and quiet and the students dismounted with barely a murmur to each other, beyond tired and reluctant to break the silent solitude of the snow-blanketed Quidditch pitch.

And so Ginny didn't say a word to Malfoy as they watched the reindeer bed down for the night under the Quidditch stands, pawing at the snow for tufts of bitter winter grass. Nor did she give him anything other than a nod goodnight as the pack of students split company to trudge off to their respective dormitories.

In the days that followed, Ginny learned that Neville had not purposely thrown himself through the window at Santa's Office, and that a large black crow had dive-bombed him while he was balanced precariously on Zabini's shoulders. She also learned of the Christmas powder and thanked Professor Snape accordingly. He was surprisingly civil to her, although it could have been because of the presence of the Headmaster and the fact that she'd thanked him in front of the Great Hall. She even thought she detected a hint of a blush at the gaunt hollows of his cheeks.

In the weeks that led up to the Christmas holidays, she had more than one opportunity to throw Malfoy a smouldering glance. However, he stubbornly refused to acknowledge them, and her, to the point where she found herself wishing desperately for a casually tossed insult, a sneer in her direction, or even an evil chuckle at her expense.

It didn't help, of course, that Hermione and Zabini seemed to be snogging in every possible nook and cranny of the castle. Or that she'd found Pansy and Ron snuggling in front of the Gryffindor common room fire three and a half times so far - she'd heard them once, and swivelled right around to stomp back up the dormitory stairs - and caught them cooing love words to each other in the halls between classes.

Ginny wasn't sure if Malfoy was remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas, but she felt as though something had to be done. The night before the holidays started, she snuck into the Owlery and grabbed Pig, tying a brightly wrapped package to his leg and sending him off with orders to find Malfoy.

The next afternoon, Ginny wished her busily packing dorm mates a Happy Christmas and went down to lunch to see that Malfoy had stayed as well, and that for the first time in weeks he looked her straight in the eye. However expressionless his face seemed, his gaze sent Ginny's heart tumbling about her ribcage, making her realize how bloody attached she'd become to the Slytherin.

Later, when she was huddled under her covers and nearly asleep, she heard a hard tapping at the window. It was an owl - a large, mottled owl with a sharp beak and even sharper eyes - and clutched in its talons was a bundled up red brocade suit jacket, pinned with a note that said, simply, Since we seem to be exchanging articles of clothing, although I hope you don't expect me to wear yours.

She smiled and hugged the coat to her chest.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Cupid had refused to return to the North Pole until the last possible minute, so Draco stood out at the cold pitch on Christmas Eve morning, watching the reindeer finally disappear into the sky. He felt an inexplicable ache at the animal's absence and once again cursed the little Weasley. She made him want more.

She made him think that having more wouldn't be such a terrible thing.

He spent the day brooding in his dorm room, avoiding Blaise's knowing smirks, and when he finally dressed for dinner, he did so with his usual care and ignored the faint traces of anxiety that skittered down his spine.

She was standing outside the Great Hall when he arrived; her back towards him as she stared at the doors, body tense and hands clenched. Her whip lean form was clad in the long green and red striped skirt and white Oxford, her mass of ginger hair caught in a single plait that rested between her shoulder blades.

"Weasley."

Ginny started at the sound of Malfoy's voice behind her and whirled around, the heel of her palm pressed to her heart. "Malfoy," she breathed. "You scared me."

His lips quirked up slightly as his gaze roved over her body. "You're not wearing my jacket."

"No," she said, taking a step towards him. She'd been anxious about seeing him, wondering… but he looked so pale and handsome, tugging absently on his red waistcoat. The round hat was tilted rakishly over his left eye and she took another step towards him, reaching out to skim her fingers over the brim. Cocking her head to the side, she grinned. "You're not wearing my bra."

He arched a brow. "Are you sure?"

She shook her head, chuckling, and dropped her hand to his cheek, the line of his jaw. "Smarmy git," she murmured fondly.

He grabbed her hand and lowered it from his face, tightening his hold over her fingers. "You deserve to be horsewhipped, you know."

"I do?"

He nodded slowly. "In the space of two days you managed to get me molested by a reindeer, kidnapped by elves, placed on Santa's Nice List, thrown out of a window by Potter, and nearly set aflame by a vacant-eyed Ravenclaw."

"Really, Malfoy?" she drawled. "All that was my fault?"

"Entirely."

She sighed, wiggling her fingers in his grip. "And to think I thought you were going to pledge your undying love for me tonight."

"Undying is such a strong sentiment, Weasley."

"I couldn't agree with you more."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "As long as we're on the same page."

"Oh, yes, definitely," she said, moving closer until her breasts were nearly touching his chest. She licked her lips and gave him a sly smile. "Seems a shame, though."

"What does?"

She sighed and turned her head to glance at the mistletoe above the doorway to the Great Hall. "A waste really." Flicking her eyes back up to his, she gave him a speculative look. "Unless..."

Malfoy took a step forward, his hands closing over her hips as he manoeuvred her back against the door. "Unless?" he whispered, one brow arched.

Her arms came up to wind about his neck, palms at his nape, urging his head lower. "This'll work just fine," she murmured, her lips ghosting his.

He held her tight, possessively, thumbs pressing into her hipbones and fingers splayed to hold her firmly in place. In contrast, his mouth was light and tentative on hers, as if he was delving into foreign territory. And, God, the sweetness completely undid Ginny. It was soft and undemanding, and entirely un-Malfoy-like, and she arched closer, sighing into his mouth.

When they pulled apart, Ginny, face flushed and eyes sparkling, grinned up at him. "Tonight, Mr. Malfoy," she stated confidently, "You're mine."

He smirked down at her. "Oh?"

She nodded. "And anyone who sees how we're dressed will know it, so there's no use in protesting."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said.

"No." She hooked her arm through his. "I didn't think you would."

 

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