Christmas in Your Eyes
Hermione Granger sighed as she stared out of the window. Soft snowflakes fell lightly, magically down to the ground far below. Her view went from the snowflakes outside the glass to her faint reflection. What had she grown to be? A girl of seventeen years, she was tall and thin, chocolate curls and cinnamon eyes. Nothing special. And yet. . . she wished she was. She'd dreamed of being famous, being beautiful and intelligent. Well, she was one of those things. Intelligent. But she was too intelligent to be the way she wanted. She wanted to be like Lavender Brown, who'd grown to be beautiful, smart, and talented with her feet. She could dance exceptionally well and she was on her way to her a Magical dance college. All Hermione was on her way to was a future of books. And probably teaching.
Hermione's vision faded back to the snowflakes. Tiny and silvery, each one different. Just like people. Everyone was different. But all the snowflakes were beautiful. Not all people were. Lie, Hermione thought. Everyone was beautiful. Everyone was gorgeous in their own way. But, of course, everyone only saw the physical features of a person. Hermione sighed again, supposing she was lucky to have been blessed with her looks. At least she was somewhat pretty. Hermione almost laughed. She was the only one that thought that. She had to be. One boyfriend, Viktor Krum. And she was not especially proud of that.
But something cought her eye. Dark, it was. Hunter green. A cloak. A person. Walking. It was walking towards the forest, and it's steps were misjudged. It's feet fell through the snow in some spots and the black pants the person wore were coated with white snow. Hermione's brows furrowed. In all her seven years at Hogwarts, no one had been brave enough to go in the tail-end of a blizzard. And it was Christmas night. Who else was missing the feast? She had stayed back, not wanting to share in the beginning of the cheer that would be at the table with her friends. She was sick of listening to endless talk about Quidditch, arguments about what skirt looked better with what shirt, who's hair looked better in that bun, or which kind of potatoes tasted better — sweet or mashed?
Hermione stood and turned quickly, running up to her dormitory to fetch her gold and burgundy cloak and boots. She fastened her cloak, slipped on her boots, and grabbed her scarf. She knew she was stupid for going out in the skirt she'd worn for it being Christmas day, but she still went down to the front doors, creeping past the Great Hall in hopes of being ignored.
Her boots crunched the snow and her long socks ( which Ginny had insisted be pulled up to her knees where only part of her thighs would be visible due to the short, black plaid skirt ) were soaked. But Hermione followed the faint footsteps in the snow. The figure she had seen was not in view anymore, but she'd find him. She kept walking, but before long, she'd end up running. She trudged through the snow, her lips trembling, her whole body shivering with cold as the snow falling came down harder.
Hermione reached the forest in time and trudged in between the trees, following the footsteps she could still barely see. She meandered after the footsteps, which were becoming harder to see. She kept her head down, the snow burning her skin as it hit her. She cursed herself. Why are you even out here? Are you crazy? Hermione scolded silently. Yes!
She tripped over a branch as she was lost in her thoughts and came crashing down on her hands and knees. She slid in the snow, some, and ended up knocking into a loarge clump of snow. Having hit that snow, she tilted to the right and teetered. But, without warning, a gust of wind blew up and she tipped, coming to roll down a terrible hill, hitting rocks and sorts on her way down. A piercing scream filled the air.
Hermione coughed and shivered as she came to a stop, pushing herself up on her hands. Her black gloves were soaked and her fingers were chilled to ice, numb, hard to move. She looked down at her legs. Almost a pale blue in the sopping socks, a nice cut lingered on her right thigh, blood soaking the snow beneath her. Hermione didn't care. She stood, figuring it was too cold to care. She was determined to find the person she had seen!
She stood, her breathing strained, her limbs numb. She shivered violently and found she could not keep moving. She could not keep moving through the woods. She whimpeed. She couldn't make it back, she knew she couldn't get back without some kind of warming spell. She searched her pockets for her wand. She looked up on the hill, knowing it had been in her pocket. She remembered her gloved fingers slipping it between the folds of her cloak's inside pocket. If it was on the hill, it was not visible.
A crunch. A branch snapping. Then nothing. Hermione tried to move quickly, tried to turn quickly, to see if she could see the one she heard. And out of nowhere, it was in front of her, a wand squarely on her chest, the hand unwavering. Such steady, gloved hands. Not even trembling. She let her eyes move from the hand holding the wand that could blast her away with the right wording. Up the black sleeve, a bit of a green cloak still lingering near the shoulder. The green cloak. Her eyes moved to the face. Alabaster skin set over the sharpest cheekbones Hermione had ever seen. Silver eyes told her the boy was forcing his hand to stay still, the strain, the weakness she saw in the swirling color. Blonde bangs draped in his face, the silver color going amazingly well with his skin tone.
"What do you want?" The voice that she had heard so many times, being so cruel, teasing her about everything from her teeth to her intelligence was still bitter and cold. But it was different. Something was missing. . .The want; the need to hurt her feelings was not there. His voice was weak, seemingly about to break.
"I —" Hermione cleared her throat, finding her voice cracked in the cold air that stung her lungs. "I saw you, up in the tower, and I wondered why —"
"Why I was not at the feast with the other few that stayed behind for their last Christmas at Hogwarts? Why would you wonder such a thing? Did not you know it was only me?" Hermione faltered. His voice was still cold. But there was still something there that drew her to him in a way that she could not explain to herself. He had something about him that made her feel less superior. His wand had been lowered.
"No, I did not know it was you." Hermione left her explanation at that, shivering, but hardening her expression to defiance. His eyes moved over her, over her short skirt, over her soaked socks and the gash on her leg.
"How did you do that?" He said, motioning with his eyes to the bleeding cut. Hermione glanced down, hating the look of the cold, red blood staining her socks. Forbodding leaked into her stomach, the nasty, disgusted, hopeless feeling she'd felt all year. The fear, knowing he was coming, knowing it was coming, knowing he was always watching her, her and the boy she stood talking with. Knowing that it was being planned; the way it tainted the school's spirit, ruined the happy holiday, the sick feeling it gave to her mouth.
"I fell. . .down the hill." Hermione struggled to speak. Not again. She closed her eyes, ducking her head, her curls falling over her creme face. She pressed her eyes shut fiercly, swallowing the lump in her throat. Everytime she thought about it. . .
"You fell?" Hermione looked up into Draco Malfoy's silver eyes, the shine there unnatural. She nodded, trying to shove her previous thoughts of what would happen soon out of her clouded mind. Draco moved toward her, kneeling in the snow to inspect her leg. He removed a glove deftly and ran his warm fingers over the cold blood that lingered on her flesh and dampened her sock. A chill ran up her spine at the warmth of his touch upon her near-frost bitten skin. "You're cold."
Hermione licked her lips before she spoke. " I know." Draco gave her a glare as he stood, but it was not the same. Nothing was the same. Draco's slivery eyes bore into hers and she found she did not know what to say.
"Let's go back." Draco stated, as if it were more of a command than a suggestion, walking around her. Hermione turned to look after him, his steps faltered as the ground rose steeply. His gaze turned to meet hers.
"No. Tell me why you were out here. Why are you missing the feast?" The forest's gentle setting seemed to set this as a play, making everything seem perfect; the fieryness in Draco and the determination in Hermione. Draco shook his head, his bangs dusting over his face.
"It's nothing. Not that I'd tell it to you, anyway."
"Draco Lucious Malfoy, tell me!" Hermione said, as if saying his name in front of the command would make him listen.
"No."
"Yes!" Draco whirled on her, grabbing her wrist and pulling it high above his head to bring her face close to his, all in seconds with the deftness of someone who did this often.
"No." His voice was quiet, aggresive, but quiet. Hermione knew that anyone else would have backed down and did as he said. No. She would not be scared off.
"Yes." Draco's eyes narrowed further than they were, sharpening the silver irises to steel. The wind blew Hermione's curls back violently, snowlfakes stinging her cheeks. But she did not care.
"Why?" Draco's voice was but a mere whisper, hard to hear in the wind as it was. Almost inaudible. Almost.
"I want to know. . .You're missing the last Christmas feast at Hogwarts as I am. Why?" Hermione's voice was as calm as his, but a note higher, easier to hear. Draco released her hand, turned from her, and shook his head.
"I know things. . .Things that even Dumbledore does not know. Things about what is going to be happening. Things that bring the tears to your eyes and give you that sick, cold, empty feeling in your soul. I know things. . ." Hermione listened intently, her chin tilted high, her lips trembling in the cold, although she barely noticed anymore. Hermione took the steps to be directly behind him, the steps that would bring her cheek against his shoulder blades.
"Go on. . ." Draco shivered. He could feel the cold of her skin through his cloak and thin shirt. The frozen flesh that was so perfect. . .
"I don't want to know them. I want to be normal. I want to be Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, people who don't know these things. You, I wish I was you. . .He's going to come and get me tomorrow and drag me into a room when Dumbledore will not know. He will plant disgusting, nasty, cruel thoughts in my mind; he will try to convince me that it is what I was born to do, that I am the only one who can do it. . .And I am. I was born to do it; that was the only reason I was born at all. Was to go through with this plan, to finish it. I am the one in Hogwarts. I know you know something's going to happen. I watched your face when you thought about it. I saw the cold fear that grabbed you. I know if I go through with this, I'll hate myself forever for it." Draco's voice was void of emotion, as was his face. Hermion's hands rested against his back as he spoke, but one slipped around to his stomach, resting across there. "I don't want to. . .He's going to have me go through with it. . .And then I'll die. Everyone will hate me. . .I don't want . . . "
"Draco?" Hermione's voice was a whisper, given a minute or so after he'd stopped speaking. He did not answer, but Hermione went on anyway. "Relax. . .Just ask for help."
"I don't ask for help."
"But you need it. . .You need it a lot. You need someone to help you plan something out; you need someone who can get your father in a place where he can be caught and never harm you again. . ."
"You don't understand. No one understands."
"Then explain it, Draco. . .Explain it to me. I want to know." Hermione knew she was digging deep, into a place she never even imagined she would get close to in this boy.
"He. . .He's in. . .in my head. He could know what I'm thinking at any time. . .But I never think about this. Just today. . . Because it's Christmas. At Hogwarts, I don't even feel safe anymore. . ." Hermione moved around to face him, not moving away from him, though, as if if she did, he might fade away.
"I won't let anything happen to you. . ."
"You can't stop him. . ."
"You just asked for my help. I will succeed. I won't let anything happen to you. . ." On the inside, Hermione was amazed. The surprise at having this revealed to her was chilling her, through and through. She never even knew that Draco Malfoy had problems, had such close connections. . . Now she did. Now she had to help him. Now, she had to offer him what she could. . .She felt his cold skin, took his hand in hers. She brought a finger to her lips, gently, pressing her cool lips to the skin, her warm breath melting the cold in his blood.
Draco didn't understand how she could want to help him. He was so cruel, teasing her. And now she was kissing his fingers. . . He realized what he had been missing.; what having friends and being able to rely on someone was like. The blood in his fingers suddenly sprang to life and he felt like he was real again. He wasn't just a shadow, a pawn in a game that would and already had, kill people he had seen and not even known. This girl was offering him her help, herself as a sanctuary, somewhere; someone to run to. He couldn't let this slip through his fingers. . .
The fingers Hermione had been kissing now came to the side of her face, brushing a stray chocolate curl away. "Thank you. . ." Draco's voice was a whisper that would soon be gone as his lips met with hers. Her eyes fell shut, soft lashes laying against creme skin. She reminded Draco of candy, sweets, sugar. She reminded him of a little girl with her soft curls and deep eyes. She reminded him of everything he ever wanted.
Hermione pulled her lips away and opened her eyes to look at him. In a whirl, his wand was back out. First, finding Hermione's wand in the snow upon the hill as she requested, and then bringing his broom to them. He flew her up out of the woods and up into the snowy gray sky.
Hermione's hair whipped and Draco spun just before he did a circle, heading toward the window he knew was Hermione's dorm. He hovered next to it, opened it for her, and set her upon it' ledge. Hermione looked like she might cry. Before any words were spoken, Draco put a warming spell on her. Hermione didn't need it. She smiled at him, faintly. Something was there, something that had always been there, but she had never noticed. Something she desperately found she'd been longing to find in someone for the longest time.
"Goodnight, Draco." Hermione stated softly, a faint smile still on her lips. Draco smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching, hinting that he was smiling. He leaned up and pressed his lips to hers a second time that night, a hand resting on her leg, the one with the cut. After he pulled away, he smiled.
"Goodnight Hermione." And he was gone, off into the night. The snow would keep falling, the moon would keep shining, the stars would keep twinkling; Hermione's hair would remain wet, as would her gloves, cloak, and boots. But Hermione's leg would no longer have a cut, and that sock would no longer be drenched in that cold blood.
Hermione sat down to write a poem, to let out her feelings, to let herself know what that feeling in her chest was. She smiled as she finished the short poem, setting it on the dresser. There was part of his Christmas present already.
Christmas in Your Eyes
You're standing in front of me,
Your eyes are on my face.
You're smiling faintly in the
moon's light of lace.
You hint at everything you want,
let me know you have a wish.
Let me tell you what mine is
so I can get it off my list.
I want to see the Christmas
in your eyes, I know it's there.
I want to feel your hand in mine,
I want to know how much you care.
I know you're not an angel,
But you'd never lie.
I know you know what I want:
The Chrismas in your eyes.
The End