Current mood:	cheerful
Entry tags:	contributor: bonfoi, dec08, fandom: harry potter, prompt02, prompt06, prompt08, year: 2011

#8 ~ The Dunderhead's Miracle [PG] (RL/SS; HP/DM)
Title:

The Dunderhead’s Miracle 8

Author: bonfoi
Rating: PG
Pairing: Remus Lupin/Severus Snape; Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy; Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy
Summary: Rebuilding means forging new relationships…and rediscovering old ones. During the first Voldemort-free Christmas hols, two couples—one brand new, the other separated by time and distance—discover the joys of giving and receiving.
Challenge: adventdrabbles 2011: Day 8 ~ Caroling
Word Count: 936
Genre: Alternate Universe; EWE; Post-Second Voldemort War; Romance; Angst; Humor
Warnings: Original characters; Deathly Hallows, what Deathly Hallows? Bit of cussing
A/N: Catching up to my self-imposed posting schedule. There’s so much to read out there! I love this fandom!

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Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

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Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life.

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

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Narcissa Malfoy watched Draco and his affianced in her crystal ball as they wandered through the woods of the small garden. They were happy lads, kissing in the snow and laughing up at each other, but she could tell when they began talking about something different from the typical lover’s talk. Gloved hands described abstract shapes in the air as mittened ones waved whatever concerns aside.

She shook her head and waved her wand over the crystal ball, cancelling the observation spell. She wondered what they were speaking about, but she knew Draco would tell her in due course. Or so she hoped.

“Narcissa? My love, where are you?” Lucius called from the bottom of the stairs. Narcissa swept out of her sitting room to lean over the banister.

“I’m here, Lucius. What may I do for you?”

“That chocolate hazelnut torte from Confectionary Spells has arrived. There are also several tarts that you might like to try for the,” his mouth twisted a bit as he continued, “the betrothal party.” Lucius looked up at his wife, a moue of distaste on his face. “If only Potter had been a girl,” he mouthed. Narcissa shook her head and shushed him.

“Don’t be that way, dear. Draco is forging new paths. Potter is an excellent choice. It could be worse. We could be wishing a Greengrass or a Weasley congratulations on joining the family,” Narcissa said as she glided down the stairs.

Lucius shuddered, and then changed topics, slightly. “So, have you and Lupin decided on the main theme of the betrothal party? I saw books and bolts of fabric wafting through the house earlier.”

“Yes, dear. Remus and I coordinated the material of the chairs and the draperies with the icing of the cake. Then he showed me the kissing bough he’d made for Grimmauld Place. Truly a masterpiece of weaving. All that holly and mistletoe, it’s quite festive.” She stood on the bottom step and beckoned her husband closer so he could hear her say, “Reminds me of our first Christmas, Lucius. We picked your father’s kissing bough bare, didn’t we?”

Harry and Draco almost swallowed their tongues when they entered the main door. Lucius and Narcissa in a heated clench, his hand on her bottom, her hand in his trousers…. The two of them stepped back outside hastily, and then sharing a look, did the same thing, only in the vacant, private gazebo in the small garden.

~o~O~o~

With the breaking of the Fidelius Charm on No. 12 Grimmauld Place, the sounds of Muggle London could intrude even if the Muggles themselves still didn’t know the place existed in their midst.

Remus envied Harry and Draco’s romance, missing Severus as he did. He heard carolers serenading the houses on either side, their voices only slightly muted by the magical barrier that hid the house from their Muggle eyes. Thoughts of Severus, festive songs, the scent of someone roasting chestnuts…all of it weighed on Remus’ heart.

“Bloody hell!” he moaned as he scrubbed at his face with one hand. The other was clutched around Severus’ walking stick. The double-S pressed lightly against his palm, a faintly comforting touch. “Why the hell did you have to die and leave me alone, Severus?” Remus asked the empty room.

Kreacher popped in silently and padded close to Remus’ chair. He held a tray. “Tea and Mistress’ sorry juice,” he intoned solemnly. Cucumber sandwiches without crusts, gingerbread biscuits, and a steaming pot of tea with a matching cup and saucer sat next to a decanter of some dark, jewel-toned liquor in a decanter with a glass over the neck. “Whens mistress sad, she drank sorry juice and sang songs. You try.” Kreacher put the tray down on the table at Remus’ right hand and popped away silently.

“That was…unexpected,” Remus muttered as he reached for the decanter. Songs and sorry juice, eh? he thought silently. “If it was good enough for Mrs. Black, it should be good enough for me.” Remus poured two fingers of the liquor and sniffed the fumes coming from the bottleneck before corking the decanter. He toasted an invisible someone and tossed his drink back.

The liquor burned a trail of fire and ice all the way down to his stomach, curling and twisting around his insides until something seemed to ease inside. Remus coughed, slapped his own chest heartily with his free hand and choked out, “Smooooth.” Once he caught his breath, he poured another two fingers and sipped the liquor this time, the burn more of a warm glow.

The carolers began singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’—Severus’ favorite Christmas song for some reason—and Remus leaned his head back to listen, reminded of Severus’ smooth baritone.

"Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly."

The words of that particular verse echoed in Remus’ head and his eyes misted as he wished with all his heart that he could feel Severus’ heat staving off the ‘winter’s rage’.

“Damn it, Severus, what am I doing without you?” Remus asked aloud. When no one answered, he reached for a gingerbread biscuit, sniffing the rich aroma appreciatively, if drunkenly. When he bit into it, the flavors exploded on his tongue.

Remus held the biscuit in front of his face, blearily looking at where he’d bitten it. “Tastes likes something Mum used to make,” he muttered as he chewed.

To Be Continued

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~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.
Thank you for reading. ~~~