Work Text:
Snook Trail, Clinton, Montana, United States December 24, 2015
The station identifier played after a Jason Aldean song, followed by the young female deejay who pulled the short straw to work this evening. “One Oh Seven, The Ranch. Montana Country!” “Good evening everybody, Kate Greer with you through the overnight this Christmas Eve. Yes, I’ll look out for Santa. Speaking of, we’re starting another thirty minutes of pure country with a holiday classic about the need to look both ways for that big sleigh of his! That red light coming towards you just may be Rudolph himself. It’s ‘Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer,’ on Missoula’s home for pure country music, One Oh Seven The Ranch!” The song started without much preamble, the lyrics being sung right away.
In a cabin surrounded by a thick blanket of snow, with more on the way, Draco and Hermione laid in front of a roaring fire on the comforter borrowed from the second bedroom of this two-bedroom cabin.
They spent last week in Cleveland (okay, Mayfield Heights), Ohio at a conference about the integration of the muggle and magical worlds. Initially dismayed at the Cleveland weather forecasters predicting a brown and green Christmas, Hermione was surprised upon entering Draco’s room to see him looking for private jets to fly them to somewhere with snow. Her planned protest was silenced when he flashed a Coutts Card.
“I…how…They issue these cards to the bloody Firm!”
“I’m just that rich, love,” he replied, with a quick peck on her lips. “Now, I looked at the weather, and Montana or Colorado are our best bets.”
“Are you thinking a cabin?”
“Yeah, someplace with a fireplace that we can lie in front of, preferably naked.”
She wrapped her arms around him from behind, looking at the screen of his laptop. “Montana. Aspen’s going to be packed to the gills, and they don’t do secluded, romantic cabins. If we’re going to go somewhere for a White Christmas, I want a log cabin with the least number of people around us.”
The decision was made, Draco getting a jet, and finding a cabin in Clinton, a town southeast of Missoula. The drive down exceeded Hermione’s expectations, with the foothills of the Bitterroot Mountains covered with snow, looking like the Almighty dropped spoonfuls of vanilla frosting all around them.
And so they laid, listening to an off-color Christmas Carol from the Seventies, with Hermione holding a pie iron in the fire, attempting to make s’mores to go with their spiked hot chocolates. The TV was turned to HBO, with Die Hard currently playing. Hermione knew she would get tired of Draco working “I have a machine gun, ho,ho, ho” into every conversation, but she would put on a brave face for him. After the bad guys blew up the APC, and the helicopter, they both cheered when John McClane shoved Hans “He kinda looks like Snape” Gruber off of Nakatomi Plaza. As the ending credits rolled, Draco turned onto his side, facing Hermione.
“Merry Christmas, Hermione.”
“Merry Christmas, Draco.” They shared a long kiss, tasting the mix of chocolate, marshmallow, graham cracker, and Woodford Double Oaked on each other’s tongues. After they came up for air, Draco announced “I have something for you.”
“You didn’t need to, love. I mean, you chartered a bloody Gulfstream to get us here, that had to be what, sixty thousand quid? You already gave me a White Christmas.”
“No, I’m actually kind of serious, we’ll need to sit up for this.”
Hermione, in a bathrobe, sat up against the couch, somewhat confused, as Draco, clad only in pajama pants, walked off into the bedroom. He returned after a few moments, appearing to hold something in his right hand. Her pulse quickened as she put two and two together and stood up.
“Why do I have the feeling I’m going to have to stand for this? Oh Christ.” Her hands flew up to her face, tears forming uncommanded, as Draco knelt on one knee.
“Bear with me, Malfoys don’t do sappy declarations.” She rolled her eyes. He chuckled. “Hermione, I love you. Remember when I said you were the only one for me?” She nodded, afraid to speak should a teary sob substitute itself for “yes.” “I meant it. I want to be your partner, at work and at home. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He opened a small velvet box, revealing a petite silver ring, with a solitaire diamond flanked by sapphires of the deepest blue. “Hermione Jane Granger, will you marry me?”
Through a microburst of tears, she managed to nod furiously and croak out “Yes! Yes, put on the ring before I change my mind, you prat!” He took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. He stood up and took her in a tight embrace, as she stared at the ring, still dumbfounded. Finally, she cradled his face in her hands. “I love you.” Her lips crashed against his, the kiss filled with passion and every emotion she felt at that moment. They came up for air, when she stepped out of his embrace. “I know it kind of pales in comparison, but Merry Christmas, Mr. Malfoy.” She undid the knot keeping the bathrobe fastened around her. Shaking it off, she let it fall to the ground, revealing her in a lacy camisole and matching panties, both in the reddest of reds. “Unwrap your fiancée and show her how much you love her.” She struck a pose, showing off the lingerie that appeared to be painted on. Draco stalked over to her, took her in his arms with enough force to make her gasp, and kissed her, causing her to make delicious noises when his tongue slipped inside and plundered her mouth. They sank back down to the comforter-cum-love nest, and spent the night showing how much they loved each other.