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It was the alarm spell that woke Hermione; even muffled by her pillow, the insistent vibrating of her wand was difficult to ignore. Scrabbling beneath her pillow, Hermione grabbed her wand, grateful when the buzzing stopped at her touch, and lit the tip so she could read the elaborate analogue clock beside her bed. Eleven o’clock. Sighing, she scrubbed a hand over her face and slid out of bed.
Wrapped in a warm robe, Hermione shuffled downstairs in slippers charmed for silence. As irritated as she was to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, Hermione had to smile at the sight greeting her as she carefully opened the living room door.
‘Are we really doing this again, Malfoy?’ she asked, lounging against the door frame as Draco spun around from his crouch in front of the immense Christmas tree in their living room.
‘How did you know?’ Draco asked, trying not to look guilty, despite the gold ribbon dangling tellingly from one hand.
‘Oh, Malfoy,’ Hermione scolded affectionately, ‘you didn’t even check for alarm spells?’
‘Of course not!’ Draco cried. ‘Who sets alarm spells on Christmas presents?’
‘Who sneaks down at night to open their presents early?’ Hermione countered.
Draco laughed. ‘Um, everyone!’
‘Everyone younger than ten, maybe,’ Hermione retorted. ‘It’s eleven o’clock, Malfoy, are you really telling me you couldn’t wait seven hours?’
‘Ten, Granger,’ Draco complained, dropping the bow onto the elegantly wrapped pile of presents behind him. ‘Someone insists on waiting until nine before getting up.’
‘Like we ever wait until nine, Malfoy,’ Hermione retorted. For various reasons, she had retained her maiden name when they had married three years ago, their affectionate use of each other’s surnames being at least one of the reasons. ‘Well,’ she said, gesturing grandly, ‘you’ve started, you may as well finish.’
Squinting suspiciously at her, Draco turned to face the pile of presents bearing his name. Retrieving his own wand from his robe pocket, he brandished it at the pile and silently cast an Unwrapping Charm. Ribbon slithered onto the floor as shiny paper fell away from its contents leaving Draco faced with a pile of plain brown boxes and a smug wife smothering her laughter. ‘What?’
‘Oh, Malfoy,’ Hermione managed to gasp, ‘how you underestimate me.’
‘Granger,’ Draco growled, stepping close to her.
Eyes sparkling, Hermione tipped her chin up to meet his stormy gaze. ‘They’re not here, Draco,’ she said quietly. ‘They’re nowhere near here.’
‘Where are they, witch?’ Draco asked, his warning tone belied by the wicked look in his eyes.
‘Hidden until tomorrow,’ Hermione replied.
‘And you won’t tell me where,’ Draco stated flatly.
‘Absolutely not,’ Hermione said, stepping away and turning back for the stairs. ‘Of course,’ she said, pausing on the bottom step to glance over at him, ‘you’re welcome to try to convince me otherwise.’
‘Oh, really?’ Draco asked, stepping towards her.
Hermione backed up a couple of steps. ‘I have to warn you,’ she cautioned, ‘I’ve been known to hold up very well under torture.’
Draco grinned rakishly. ‘I’ll just have to be...inventive, then won’t I?’
‘I guess so,’ Hermione said, smiling as she led Draco back to their bedroom.