Drarry One-Shots

xiii ~ Thanksgiving

I actually added this idea to my list of things to write months ago but yeah let's just pretend I planned it perfectly for Thanksgiving which is in a few days. (Happy Thanksgiving, if y'all celebrate it. If not, have a lovely last-Thursday-of-November.)

Writing that, I've just realized the British don't even CELEBRATE Thanksgiving oh god I feel so stupid. Whatever, this is already written.

* * *

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Harry says tentatively, his hand grasped around my own. "If you're not, we can just stay here at home."

I nod slowly with a worried expression as I adjust my already-done blonde hair. "I can do this," I say as we stand before a full-length mirror that hangs on the back of our bedroom door "I'll be fine."

"They're going to love you," the messy-haired brunette soothes. "They already know about us. We're past the hardest part. All we're doing is eating dinner and chatting about, 'kay? It'll be over before you know it."

Again, I nod and take a deep, calming, and slightly shaky breath. Before I know it, cold, late-fall air is nipping at my exposed skin as we've apparated in front of the towering, unstable-looking Burrow. I, raised in a mansion, look up at the building tentatively, unsure of what to think of its appearance and doing my best not to judge. Nervously, I look at my boyfriend for comfort. The Gryffindor smiles back reassuringly and begins to lead me inside.

Opening the creaky door, Harry and I step through the threshold and are immediately met with an array of enticing, hunger-inducing scents. I follow Harry through the cluttered but seemingly loving home towards the source of chatter. We come into a room I recognize as a dining room and kitchen. Before us sits a room full of red-headed wizards and witches I recognize as Weasleys (and, of course, Granger).

"Oh, Harry, dear!" the eldest woman says, apparently the mother and wife of the household—Molly, as I've heard. She stands up from her seat at the head of the table and rushes towards the man in question, her hands going to either side of his face. Harry blushes profusely as all eyes turn towards us. "And you must be Draco," the woman says fondly, turning towards my shrinking frame. "So good to officially meet you."

I bit of relief flushes over me and I let out a smile as one of the eight remaining Weasleys accepts me. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," I say politely, shaking the woman's soft hand as gently as I can.

"Oh, none of that, none of that," she mutters. "Call me Molly, dear. Here, come sit, come sit." Walking back to the table, she pulls out two chairs. I sit down in the one just left of Granger who smiles in a light, polite way that comes across as slightly forced. Harry sits beside me, and to the left of him sits Mrs. Weasley at the head of the table.

I do my best to look respectably at all of the table's occupants, praying to Merlin that they don't wholeheartedly despise me. "Uh, everyone, this is Draco," Harry says awkwardly, "my boyfriend."

"Well, Draco, you know Ron, Hermione, and George from school, of course," she says with a warm smile. "This is Arthur," she continues, gesturing to the older man opposite Harry. "That's Charlie and Bill, and his wife Fluer," the woman nods towards two men and a woman who meet my gaze. The men—apparently Bill and Charlie—wear almost identical expressions of minuscule smiles that are accompanied by a short nod. Fluer—who I recognize from the Triwizard Tournament so many years ago—wears a warm smile, almost like Mrs. Weasley's, but more wary. How did she end up marrying a Weasley, especially one that wasn't even a student at the time? Wasn't she supposed to go back to France? "and that's Percy," the woman finally finishes, interrupting my train of thought abruptly. My gaze lands on a man with short curls at the end of the table. He looks reserved and nods curtly at me. Curious as to why he's so different from the rest of the cheery Weasleys, I nod back.