Author's Note: This piece was written for the D/Hr Advent 2018; my prompt was A Christmas Carol. I hope you enjoy.
Much love to Kyonomiko and Labelladone x, for being my alpha and beta, respectively, on this piece. Thank you to those who nominated me, and a huge thanks to the advent mods and admins for their efforts in putting on such a lovely and well-organized fest!
Happy holidays everyone, however you celebrate.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.
Hermione gazed out across her last Brisbane sunset. A sense of anticipation mingled with the melancholy settling in the pit of her stomach as she considered all she was about to leave behind.
It had been almost two years since she had finished her NEWTs and moved from London to Brisbane, in search of something that was never to be. Two years of struggle and heartbreak – reckless decisions and new beginnings.
Her purpose had been twofold: to restore her parents' memories of her; and the pursuit of a mastery.
The mastery, she'd accomplished.
Because as her efforts with her parents grew futile, Hermione had buried herself in her work as a means to push back the devastation. It was not as simple, it had become apparent, to restore memories, as it was to take them away. She completed her potions mastery with one of the most revered potioneers in the world in a little over a year and a half.
The achievement had felt empty without her parents to share in her triumph.
They were so near, yet so far. And as every healer she'd spoken to the world across had agreed, there was to be no happy ending here in Brisbane for the Grangers.
Her gaze followed the middle-aged couple drifting through the park in one another's arms – her brilliant smile and his wild curls – and Hermione swallowed a bitter sob.
"Be well," she whispered to herself, tears sliding down her cheeks as she slipped a hand into the pocket of her jumper and grasped the Portkey within.
"This is the last of them," Hermione said as she levitated two crates of potions into the waiting arms of Healer Layton.
The man shifted under the weight of the glass vials and grinned. "You've outdone yourself, as usual, Hermione."
She shrugged, even as the corners of her lips tugged up with a smile. "It keeps me busy."
And it did – St Mungo's was her most consistent and lucrative client, despite the fact that she offered the hospital a significant discount on medicinal potions. It was the least she could do, given how accommodating they had been while she'd attempted to restore herself to her parents' memories.
She had approached the hospital shortly after opening her apothecary in London, a little over six months prior. They had been in dire need of a proper supplier – and now it was all she could do to keep their weekly orders filled.
Healer Layton chuckled and shook his head. "I imagine your friends wish you were brewing less! But we certainly appreciate your hard work. Just one less headache around here."
Hermione's smile faltered even as she forced the brightness to stay in her eyes. "My friends are fine. I guarantee they don't miss me that much."
She couldn't remember the last time Harry, Ron or anyone really had owled her – but to be fair, Hermione hadn't had much to say to them either since she had returned from Brisbane with the failures of her past heavy on her shoulders.
"Oh," Layton said, placing the crates on the floor just past the doorway. "Before you go – I had an interesting conversation about you the other day."
Hermione raised a brow as she turned back to face the Healer. "Oh, really?"
"There was a young man in the other day asking about our potions requirements and I told him we're well looked after – but he was looking to pursue a mastery. I recommended he stop by your apothecary," Layton said with a shrug. "Seemed friendly enough and I thought it couldn't hurt. If you're not looking for an apprentice – well, no harm done, yeah?"
"Yeah," Hermione agreed with a smile. "Thanks for the recommendation, Healer Layton. To be honest, I could use a second set of hands most days."
"Great." He flashed her a wide grin of white teeth; she swallowed and glanced away. "Take care, Hermione."
"Thanks," she breathed. "Same to you, Healer Layton. See you again next week."
Steeling herself, she Apparated back to the shop.
"You have got to be kidding me." She stared, wide-eyed at the would-be potions apprentice who had walked in the front door of her apothecary. Hesitant grey eyes stared back. "Not a chance."
A scowl darkened Draco Malfoy's face as his posture sagged. "I didn't know this was your apothecary."
"It is," Hermione snipped. "And I'll not have you do your level best to drive it into the ground." She felt her lip curl as she stared at the sour reminder of her past, in the flesh. "Good luck finding a master willing to work with you. Why has it even taken you so long anyway?"
Malfoy ground his teeth and shrugged. "I missed eighth year due to being trapped in a holding cell in Azkaban awaiting trial. I had to finish my NEWTs after the fact."
Hermione blinked; she vaguely recalled hearing of such a thing but she'd been buried in her own grief by that point. She waved a dismissive hand. "Regardless, I'm surprised you'd even think to come looking here."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You're the only Potions Master in England willing to take on an apprentice. I'm a good potioneer, Granger. And from what I hear, you could use the help. All I ask is that you sign off on my mastery when it's complete, and you'll hardly notice me."
"Why do you even need a job, Malfoy?" She raised a brow and levelled him with a glare.
He stared hard. "The Ministry seized the Manor, and claimed most of the accounts in restitution after father went to Azkaban."
"I see," she clipped; Hermione shook her head and made to turn off. He didn't deserve her time or her pity.
"And besides," Malfoy said, stopping her in her tracks. He swallowed, a furrow to his brow. "I'm… trying to make amends. New beginnings, and all that."
Hermione opened her mouth to tell him off, when she allowed his words to sink in for a moment. She snapped her mouth shut with a huff.
"I'll believe that when I see it. I'll give you one shot, Malfoy," she hissed. "And by Merlin, if you so much as call me one nasty, prejudiced thing –"
He held up his hands. "I swear, Granger."
She stared at him for a long moment, fidgeting with a beaker in her hands. "Come on, then. I'll need the help with winter coming on."
Taking Malfoy on as an apprentice turned out to be a better decision than she had feared. He was diligent, hard-working, and capable. Each day, she would draft up a list of the potions they were to prepare, and he would go about his portion without complaint.
She still didn't trust him further than she could throw him – and she didn't know whether she believed in the new leaf he had claimed to have turned – but he was good help to have around.
They rarely spoke. It was a frequent occurrence that they would go days without a word exchanged. But the silence was companionable enough, she supposed. She preferred silence to incessant chatter.
But when he did speak…
"Big plans this weekend, Granger?" he drawled, his voice soft as he leaned against the workbench, three cauldrons stirring themselves behind him.
Hermione blinked at him. "What's this weekend?"
"Nothing." Malfoy shrugged. "Just making conversation."
"Oh." She pursed her lips, her eyes scanning a list of inventory she would need to order. "No, nothing. I might start the next batch of Wolfsbane."
He chuckled and his lips tugged into a hint of a grin. "Why am I not surprised?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped, eyes narrowing.
"It didn't mean anything, Granger," Malfoy said with a sigh, turning back to his potions. "I only meant, you work all the time. When do you take time to have fun? You know, social things?"
Hermione clicked her tongue and added Powdered Moonstone to her inventory list. "I don't indulge in very many social pursuits."
And it was true – her work kept her busy, and for the most part, happy as well. She didn't need to waste time on inconsequential things like drinking Firewhisky at the Leaky every Tuesday evening. She frowned at the thought. Harry had stopped inviting her a month ago, anyway.
"That's fine," Malfoy said with a shrug, and fell silent.
Hermione sighed and set her list down, feeling obliged to reciprocate. "And what are you doing this weekend?"
Malfoy had begun slicing a root, his movements precise and meticulous. She could always count on him for excellent quality, and if it weren't for most everything else about him, she might have liked to keep him on at the apothecary after his apprenticeship was complete.
He halted, glancing up. "I'll probably get a drink or two with Theo." He scraped the root into one of his cauldrons; it flashed and hissed. "Nothing you'd find interesting, I'm sure."
Hermione swallowed, shifting on her feet. "Well, have fun."
Malfoy stared at her, hesitant, for a moment. His blond fringe fell into his eyes and he shook it away. "I'd invite you along, if you want –"
"No," she said, averting her gaze to her list. "That's fine." He turned back to his work with a shrug, and she added a hasty, "Thank you for the invitation."
"Good work, Malfoy," Hermione said, as they'd finished loading the last of the shipment for that week, a day early, despite the increase in seasonal illnesses as winter set in. They'd be able to produce some additional potions to keep as inventory for the apothecary.
"Thanks," he said with a grin, turning to her. There was a flush to his cheeks from the draft creeping through the open back door. "I like that we supply St Mungo's. It feels… more significant, somehow."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, casting him a glance. "That's why they're our main client. I felt the same way when I first approached them."
Malfoy nodded, preparing the shipment for transfer. He had offered to deliver the last few orders to St Mungo's himself, and Hermione had been glad to accept the help. "Look, Granger, before I go –"
Hermione turned to face him, her brows raised. "Yes?"
"I was wondering whether I could take a few days off for Christmas?" he asked, his grey eyes wide. "I know we're busy, what with the cold weather and all, but I thought since we finished this shipment early –"
"No," Hermione clipped, frowning. "I'm going to need your help with the next shipment." She shook her head. "We're too busy right now; I can't manage this all on my own."
"I get that," Malfoy began, his brow furrowed. "But my mother and I –"
"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Hermione said, "but I need you to work over the holidays."
"Don't you have plans for Christmas?" he asked, scowling. "You can't tell me you're honestly going to work straight through."
"Yes," Hermione said through gritted teeth, "I am going to be working." She brandished the order from St Mungo's, the longest yet. "These potions aren't going to brew themselves!"
"You aren't taking even one day off," he deadpanned; Hermione could see the frustration rising in him and felt her own grow as well.
"No," she snapped. "I'm not."
Christmas had been a time for family – her parents were lost to her. A time for friends – and hers hadn't reached out in months. She had nowhere to go, no one with whom to celebrate the holidays. So what else would she be doing? She swallowed against the flood of anguish that threatened to reach the surface.
Malfoy opened his mouth to argue, and Hermione held up a hand. "If you don't show up for work, Malfoy, consider my support of your mastery revoked."
He gaped, shaking his head in disbelief. He hissed, "What the hell happened to you, Granger." Then running a hand through his hair, he drew his wand and initiated the transport of the potions, slamming the door shut behind him.
Hermione clenched her arms around herself and released a long, shuddering breath, feeling her eyes sting with disappointment.
Malfoy didn't return after delivering the shipment to the hospital.
Hermione stayed late at the apothecary, cleaning and organizing and all manner of needless, redundant tasks. She and Malfoy were both careful to clean up after themselves daily.
But she couldn't quite shake the unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Malfoy had been working hard, and maybe he deserved a few days off – but they needed to get these potions done, and Hermione was only one person. She had come to depend on his assistance, and he knew just as well as she did that the sick patients of St Mungo's would still remain so over Christmas.
She tried to begin a fresh brew but her hands were shaking and her eyes were burning with fatigue. Giving up, she finally Apparated home to her cold, lonely flat.
She brewed a pot of tea and settled into her armchair, tucked beneath a blanket. It was two days until Christmas – and she would be doing her best to forget all about it.
Hermione tossed and turned that night, finding sleep to be elusive and what little she did manage was restless and wearying. She blinked awake, rubbing at her still tired eyes, and leapt up.
Her parents stood at the foot of her bed, their hands clasped and smiles on their faces.
"Mum?" she asked, tears springing to her eyes. "Dad? How is this –"
"Hermione," her mum said, raising a hand.
And Hermione's heart sank like a stone to the bottom of her stomach. There was a hollow quality to her mother's voice – and their colouring was off, too. Apparitions, or dream visions, then.
"Why are you here?" Hermione asked, donning a dressing gown.
Her dad's warm smile grew with a tilt of his head, and choking on a sob, Hermione reached out for him, her hand passing through.
"We've come with a reminder, my dove," her father said, and the endearment caused a wave of despair to shudder through her body. "A reminder of the things that were once important to you."
"What do you mean?" she gasped, swiping at her tears.
"See for yourself," her mum whispered, waving a hand.
The world began to disintegrate and swirl before her, into a collection of pictures and shadows that twisted into a story.
On a sharp intake of breath, Hermione recognized herself as a child, laughing and smiling as she tore into the gift wrap on a present; her parents watched on with brilliant smiles, sipping their morning coffee. The gift was a play tea set – tears flowed from Hermione's eyes as she saw the young girl leap from the floor to embrace her parents.
Hermione remembered that tea set – she'd had many tea parties with her dolls and stuffed animals, when the other kids at school began to shun her for being strange.
The scene shifted and flowed; it was the first Christmas she'd stayed at Hogwarts, with Harry and Ron. They grinned and laughed as they walked and threw snow at one another. Then later, as they sat around the fire, they all wore the hand-knitted jumpers Molly Weasley had made every year.
A laugh escaped with a sob as Hermione watched the scene.
She turned to the visions of her parents, who were gazing as the scene unfolded, nostalgic smiles on their faces.
"You loved Christmas more than any other holiday," her mother said.
"And not for the gifts," her father carried on, "but for the giving spirit. You always said it was the most beautiful time of year to be a human being."
"I did," Hermione gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. The scene began to swirl and twist again; her head snapped to face her parents, as she asked, "What now?"
But her parents simply stared, their smiles faltering.
The scene rematerialized and Hermione swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. Harry, Ron, Ginny and George sat around in the living room of the Burrow, laughing and regaling one another with stories as they played Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap.
She reached for them, but let her hand drop. They had stopped asking her to join them because she had never said yes since returning from Australia. The tears of longing for her childhood turned to ones of despair at the loss of her closest friends. Molly and Arthur walked in, carrying trays of cocoa and goodies, and a cheer went up through the room.
"No more," Hermione whispered, shaking her head. "I don't want to see anymore."
Another room – another family. This one took Hermione a moment to realize it was Narcissa Malfoy, seated with Andromeda Tonks. A small boy of three or four sat bouncing on the couch, a wide grin upon his face and his hair bright turquoise.
"When is Draco coming?" he exclaimed, beside himself with excitement.
Hermione watched as Narcissa and Andromeda exchanged a look. Andromeda soothed, "Soon. Very soon."
"Teddy Lupin," Hermione breathed, a chill sweeping through her body. Malfoy was his cousin – he and Narcissa were Andromeda's and Teddy's only remaining family. "He needs to –" she choked, cutting herself off. She had demanded he come in to work. She had threatened the status of his mastery.
"Please," she choked, imploring the visages of her parents. "I get it –"
"There's more," her mother said, frowning. "You must let people into your life, Hermione, before it's too late."
"Too late," she gasped, eyes wide as she scene began to whirl and shift again.
It was her, only she was older; her hair was greying, frown lines prominent on her aging face. She stood before the apothecary and it was decrepit, the windows boarded up; a sign across the door announced it to be Vacant.
The apothecary where she spent so much time, and she worked so hard.
Hermione shook her head, blinking, as the old woman made her way down the street, tension in her stiff joints from long hours over a cauldron. Her clothes were old and tattered. It wasn't the success Hermione had envisioned for her career. And the woman was all alone.
The scene followed as the woman walked down the street; another apothecary stood close by, vibrant and busy, customers flowing in and out. A cheerful man – he was aging but there were still hints of blond in his otherwise silver-flecked hair – walked out with a wave and a grin at the employees and customers.
He caught the stare of the woman and his brow furrowed, his smile twisting into a frown.
"Granger," he greeted, "alright?"
"Alright," the woman agreed, her voice soft and tired.
His step faltered, even as he gave her a nod. "Happy Christmas, Granger."
The woman didn't respond. Hermione could see the desperation in those brown eyes, the same ones she wore – the deep well of despair and longing.
Then the older man was at home, grinning as he was surrounded by family and a loving wife, sharing gifts, stories, and a slice of pie.
Tears streamed down Hermione's cheeks in earnest, and she didn't have the energy to speak as she witnessed what might be her future – if she continued on as she was.
"Is that going to happen?" she whispered, too ashamed to meet her parents' gazes.
"It is one possible option," her father exclaimed, his voice gentle, but it made her sting with humiliation. "But it isn't too late. This path is not certain."
"It can't be," she breathed. "It won't – I swear it –"
"That is up to you," Hermione's mum whispered, as she began to fade back into the darkness with her dad. "We always wanted the best for you, Hermione…"
And they were gone – Hermione gasped into the darkness, clutching her arms as tears poured from her eyes and her body was wracked with heaving, unconsoled sobs.
Hermione startled awake, blinking into focus. She'd had such a vivid dream; her blood coursed through her veins and her body thrummed with adrenaline.
She shook her head at the memories of the dream as they settled, heavy, at the front of her mind. She gasped, "They can't be real."
Hermione leapt from bed in a panic, dressed as quickly as she could manage and was out the door. It was Christmas Eve, but she wouldn't be opening the apothecary yet. She would have to catch Malfoy – she needed to let him know he could have the time off –
He opened the door, rubbing at a bleary eye with one hand when she pounded on the front door of his flat. He still wore pyjama pants and a white t-shirt; his hair was disheveled at odd angles.
"Granger?" he asked, blinking at her. "I haven't slept in."
"No, you haven't," she rushed. "Malfoy, don't come in today. Or tomorrow. Hell, take the day after as well. The potions will wait a few days, yeah?"
He carded a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed with consternation as he stared at her. "Okay?" He scratched the back of his neck. "This is a sudden change from yesterday, Granger."
"Yesterday," she breathed, "I needed a reminder of what was most important. And what's most important is that you spend Christmas with your family."
His lips pressed into a thin line and the tension sank from his shoulders. "Thank you, Granger. I really appreciate that." He lifted a hand, as if to reach out to her, but let it fall down by his side instead. "We'll get back in the shop after Christmas and make sure everything's done in time, I promise."
Hermione nodded, offering him a grin.
"Have you got plans, then?" Malfoy asked, folding his arms as he leaned against the threshold of his doorway. "For Christmas?"
Hermione steeled herself with another sharp nod. "I think I have somewhere I can go today."
"Good," he said, his lips curved into a wry smile. "I'll see you in a few days then. Happy Christmas, Granger."
She hesitated, her heart stalling for a moment as his words rang familiar. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy."
Hermione clutched a bottle of wine to her side as she forced a bright smile to her face, and knocked on the front door of The Burrow.
The door opened to an incredulous and gaping Harry Potter, followed by a wide-eyed Ron Weasley.
"Hi," she breathed, making to offer the bottle of wine. It nearly slipped from her hand as she found herself enveloped in the twin hugs of her two oldest friends. Tears broke from the corners of her eyes as she was ushered into the sitting room to a chorus of delight from the Weasley clan.
She sniffled, shoving the wine into Molly Weasley's welcoming arms as she sunk into the motherly embrace, feeling her tears pour into the older woman's dress.
"You're just in time, Hermione dear," Molly said, pulling back to hold Hermione at arm's length. "We're about to have Christmas Eve dinner!"
Hermione swiped at her eyes and felt a smile pull at her lips.
It was like nothing had ever changed.
"Granger."
Hermione glanced up, lost in the memories of her reconciliation with Harry and Ron the night before, a smile still lingering on her lips. She was glad she had gone to The Burrow – just to see her friends again, and the easy way they had accepted her back into the fold had been worth it.
"Malfoy." She frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"I somehow knew I'd find you here," he said with a grin, sinking into the seat beside her in the brewing room of the apothecary. "Did you have a nice time last night?"
"I really did," she said, smiling as she met his gaze. "It was… nice to see my friends again, after so long."
"I imagine it was." There was something soft in his tone, something of which Hermione felt undeserving.
"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said, "that I told you I needed you to work on Christmas. I guess… I was projecting my own insecurities on you, and –"
"Granger," he said, shaking his head. "It's fine." His lips tugged into that smirk from when he was younger and something in his gaze caused her stomach to stir. "And what are you doing today for Christmas dinner?"
Hermione smiled. "I had a lovely meal last night. I thought I would just –"
"Wrong," he breathed, a tilt to his head. "You aren't working. If you don't already have plans, you're coming with me. In fact, Mother and Andromeda insist upon it."
"What?" she blinked, staring at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, they've invited you. I'm delivering the invitation."
"Why?" Hermione breathed, her brow furrowing.
Malfoy leaned forward, picking her hand up from where it laid on her lap. "Because I wanted you to come."
A breath hitched in her throat as she met his gaze. His thumb grazed the back of her hand and her mouth was dry. She didn't know that Malfoy had ever touched her.
"You gave me a chance, Granger – albeit grudgingly – when no one else would," he said with a soft chuckle.
She realized, with startling clarity, "You deserved it, Malfoy. You've worked hard. And I can see, now, the efforts you've made to improve your life."
His smile was coy as his fingers slipped between hers, his hand warm and reassuring. She gave his hand a tentative squeeze in return and his grin widened. "So you'll come?"
"Yes," Hermione conceded, catching her lower lip between her teeth.
"Excellent," Malfoy said, rising to his feet and tugging her up as well. She stumbled to her feet in front of him; he reached up with his other hand and tucked a curl behind her ear. "Maybe tomorrow, you'll indulge me in that drink."
She held his grey gaze with a smile. "That would be alright."
"Be careful, Granger," he muttered in a low voice, "because if I get you, I might not want to let you go. We'll be running this apothecary together someday when we're old and grey."
A tight breath of relief escaped her lips; his eyes wove a tale of hope and life – and love.
"That sounds just perfect."