A/N: This was written as a thank you to all my wonderful FF friends. Whether you are a fellow writer or a reader, please know that each one of you have impacted my life. I appreciate all of you and hope you have a wonderful Christmas / Holiday Season.
The Magi's Gifts
Part I: Gold
Gold: A precious metal, highly malleable, not subject to corrosion. A standard to guarantee value.
Holiday Season, 1998
Hermione used to love trips into town. She loved window shopping, going to the theatre, eating in the markets. Even the occasional ice-skating was fun, particularly when she'd go with Harry. But now that she and her parents were back from Australia in time for the first holiday season after the war…..now she dreaded what she would see. If it wasn't for it being the quickest route to her new apprenticeship at St. Mungo's, she would avoid that section of London. Historic buildings lay open, half demolished. Streets with bits of broken brick remained unswept, lamp posts were destroyed, their lights tumbling midway, being kept from crashing to the ground by tangled wires eerily resembling a woman's knotted hair. Muggle London had not escaped the consequences of the recent wizarding war. Not understanding the real cause of the destruction, they'd labeled it acts of terrorism. Which was true enough, she supposed.
A week after she started her job, Hermione saw something that tore at her heart. As she picked her way through the uneven sidewalk, ahead on the other side of the street was an unkempt young man. His pale blonde hair looked like it had recently been cut by someone who had absolutely no idea how to use scissors. His expensive black Italian suit had been replaced by a cheap muggle hoodie that had seen too much service and not enough washings. His normally pale face was pink, chafed by the cold winds. A cigarette hung from his mouth; Hermione guessed he was trying to derive warmth from it.
Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, heir to the ancient and noble house of Malfoy was destitute. Just like the other wizards who were standing around him. Nearly all the Slytherins from her year who had survived the war were there.
At the trials following the war, Lucius Malfoy had been given a life sentence to Azkaban. Both Draco and his mother had been acquitted. But punishment still came. Once home, they found out they had not a knut or sickle to their name. The Dark Lord had threatened Lucius. His wealth or his blood. At first Lucius balked, but a swift Crucio brought him to his knees.
Looking down at the blonde death eater, Voldemort said, "You should know better than to argue." Then he asked , Lucius…..am I truly your Lord?"
Draco's father dared not raise his head to look him in the eye. Keeping his face pointed downward, he mumbled, " Yes…..my Lord."
Voldemort smirked, his snake-like face contorting into a grotesque mask. "Then why do you resist giving? Offerings befitting a Lord are only appropriate. I remember the Muggle Christmas story where the first enchanters, the Magi, gave gold, frankincense and myrrh to one they called the King of Kings." He paused, then asked, "Am I your King, Lucius?"
At first Draco's father said nothing. But when Voldemort told him Nagini had not been fed that day, he shivered and agreed the Dark Lord was indeed his king.
Voldemort smiled cruelly. "Then there should be no further protests about you gifting me your gold. Surely you can do as well as as our ancient ancestors, can't you?"
The Malfoys were not the only house to have turned over their vaults to keep them and their loved ones from being killed. Voldemort had stolen the assets of nearly every pureblood family, and true to his nature and pattern, had hidden it in a place that would be almost impossible to find.
Draco begged the ministry for help in searching for their stolen riches. He knew the potions his mother now needed were expensive. He also wanted to help his equally penniless friends. To his surprise, Kingsley ordered search parties to help them. They and the ministry workers left no stone unturned, exploring every magical community and countryside in England and Scotland. But it had done no good. Eventually, Draco and others like him gave up.
Then an even greater disaster befell the former Slytherin. One night an explosive fire erupted in their home. They realized too late it was fiendfyre. The blaze originated in the bedroom where Voldemort had slept. Draco never found the cause of the cursed fire, but he had his suspicions. He barely got his mother out in time. The house elves that were not killed by the fire fled. When morning came, the massive manor was no more. Ash and smoke was all that was left of their ancestral estate. Only a tiny cottage on the edge of their property remained. Generations ago it had been the home of a muggle gardener. It was where Draco and Narcissa had no choice but to now live.
He couldn't get a well-paying job in wizarding London, as he'd not taken his Newts. What could he do to earn enough money to pay for the medicine Narcissa desperately needed? He could think of nothing, until one night, after seeing his mother nearly cough her lungs out, he had an idea. He shuddered thinking of it, but he'd run out of options.
He took to the streets of Muggle London. Hermione knew the bravery it required for Draco and the others like him to seek employment in a totally alien environment. One time she'd gone to market and seen Theo Nott sweeping up the trash muggles had dropped. Another time, she accidentally ran upon Gregory Goyle begging a grocer to let him work a day in exchange for food. And Draco. She saw him the most. She told herself that his blonde hair made him more noticeable, but the truth was Hermione's heart cried out in sympathy for him more acutely than the others. She didn't know why. Seeing him do the most menial of labor. Watching his proud shoulders slump in defeat. One day she met her mother at a tea room. A boy was cleaning the table next to theirs. His motions caught her eye, and in looking over she saw it was Draco. Hermione watched in helpless pity as he wiped the table down for the next guests. One of the cups slipped his grip; the tea that had still been in it splashed on his face. She winced as a streak of brown sprayed across his nose. The dull listless way he wiped it from his face broke her. A small whimper of empathy escaped. Hearing the sound, Draco looked over. Grey eyes stared into brown. In the small space of that moment, Draco's expression revealed his suffering. His pain. Hermione's breath caught in a queer little whimper. Then a stoic, unfeeling mask covered his hurt. His attention turned back to his task. Her gaze following the direction of his, she looked down to see how raw his hands were, no doubt from dishwashing duty. Abruptly standing up, she surprised her mother by asking to leave immediately, while doing her best to hold back tears.
When she got home, Hermione went to her room and let them all out. That night she cried herself to sleep. In her dreams, Draco had taken her place and was the one being tortured by Bellatrix.
And just like he'd done when it had been her, she stood off to the side watching while he screamed and writhed on the floor. While doing nothing to help.
A few days passed. Hermione saw Draco once or twice. But with each sighting, it was clear he was becoming worse. Thinner. Sadder. Hopeless.
Finally, Hermione had enough. She talked to Harry and Ron. To her surprise, they'd already heard about their former classmates' predicament. A rage began to build in her against her two best friends. How could they have known and not done something about it? She had only been home a few weeks and her heart was broken. Then she found they'd only heard about it. They hadn't actually seen it.
Well, she would change that.
When Hermione took Ron and Harry into the part of town she daily traversed, they saw for themselves how bleak their former classmates' lives had become.
Harry grimaced guiltily at the sight, but Ron watched with tears in his eyes. He could relate to it more than Harry could. Although those before him had jeered at his family's lack of coin, the youngest son of Arthur and Molly Weasley couldn't find it in him to gloat at this sudden turnabout of positions.
"Poor souls," he murmured.
Harry's frown deepened. "What can we do? I doubt they'd take charity from us. Especially Draco."
"I think you'd be surprised at what Draco would accept," Hermione said softly. Looking at her two friends, she said, "I've kept my eye on him, you know. When I'd pass by, I mean. He….well, all of them actually…..are beggars. Think how you would feel if it was us instead?"
"I doubt they'd be worrying about us, 'Mione."
Ron, ignoring Harry, kept staring at the blonde. A stubborn tear stayed on his lashes, refusing to fall off. He asked Hermione, "What did you have in mind?"
She didn't understand Harry's reluctance, but was secretly pleased with Ron's attitude. He might be a hothead, but Ron did have a good heart. As to Harry…..well, she would just have to talk to him. Thankfully, he usually listened to her.
Putting an arm around both her friends, Hermione pulled them close and began to outline her plan.
Once Hermione shared her ideas with Ron and Harry, she set her sights next on Molly and her own mother and father. She knew if she had their support, all would go well. She visted the Burrow first. It hadn't taken much for Molly's mother heart to swell with pity for the lot of them.
"Oh….those poor dears!" she murmured solicitously. "I feel so ashamed….I knew they'd lost money, but I didn't know it was that bad," she confessed while shaking her head. "The Daily Prophet should have reported it."
"Mum….seriously? When has the Prophet ever helped anyone? They've always been more a gossip rag than anything else."
"Or a propaganda machine," added Hermione. "But that's beside the point. Now that we know, will you help us, Molly?"
"Of course, dear. And Arthur may be able to do something, too. At the very least, he can talk with the Minister. Maybe they could come up with something that would enable those children to get a decent job, anyway."
Hermione smiled, relieved. Then she bit her lip. Next stop was her parents. With them, it could go either way.
"Let me see if I have this right…...You want your mother and I to help a group of magical bullies? Teens who supported that madman you fought?" Dr. John Granger looked over his reading glasses at his daughter, staring at her as if he could see right down into her soul. It reminded Hermione of Professor Dumbledore and those omniscient looks he used to give.
"Er…..yes, Sir." In spite of being a war hero, Hermione squirmed under her father's intense gaze.
"Why?"
That question came from her mother, Jean. Hermione paused; how could she express it best?
"Because it's the right thing to do. It's not because it's convenient; it's certainly not reciprocal to how they treated us in the past….it may not be even wanted….for all I know, they may throw our gesture back in our faces….but it's right that we should try. Besides….." she looked pleadingly at her parents, "It's Christmas. I wouldn't be able to enjoy the holiday, much less live with myself if I didn't try to do something."
Her parents turned and looked at each other. Fluent at eye communication, they knew what the other was thinking.
"Very well, " John finally said. He let out a longsuffering sigh. "I supposed there's no point in arguing. I know you're just as stubborn as your mother."
In her excitement, Hermione bounced on the sofa like a little girl. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Mum and Dad." Then she gave them both a kiss and hug. Before she scampered up the stairs to her room, her mother called out. "Darling, how many should we be expecting?"
Hermione paused on the stair. "Oh! For that part of it, only one. Maybe two if she's well enough to come."
"Oh, that's right, I remember you saying that now. This Durgo and his mother…...will we need to prepare more wizardy-type foods for them? Or will they eat what we do?"
"If it's as bad as Hermione said, I doubt they'll be picky, Jean," said John.
"It's Draco, Mum, not Durgo. And Dad's right. Just cook what you would normally make. It'll be fine."
Everything had been done. All had worked together to make Christmas Eve a night to remember for the impoverished teens. Molly's magical needles had clacked day and night, busily making the warm sweaters she planned to give out to all her guests. In the kitchen, she'd spelled the pots, pans and utensils to work together to make the traditional Christmas dinner, albeit a day early. In the oven, the Beef Wellington the Grangers sent over for the occasion was emitting a delicious aroma. Chickens were roasting over a spit, the slow rotation in opposition to a nearby fast-stirring spoon as it whipped up some dressing to go over a spinach salad. Parsnips and carrots were reflecting the candlelight, the honey glaze on them causing the roasted vegetables to shine. The smell of fresh bread was making Hermione's stomach growl. For dessert, a luscious and rich Christmas pudding stood waiting with a bowl of brandy sauce as its accompaniment. Standing beside the punch bowl, Hermione ladled some eggnog into a cup and put it into the cold hands of Pansy Parkinson. The witch pulled her shawl more tightly against her skinny shoulders. She'd kept the expensive wrap, but had sold off everything else of value that had been hers. People had bought them at a fraction of their worth, as the only families who could have afforded the original prices were in the same boat as she. Her mother had initially protested, outraged at the indignity, but hunger had finally changed the older witch's mind. Soon, it wasn't just Pansy who sold, bartered or begged. Posy Parkinson found out her empty stomach had a greater influence on her actions than did her pride.
"Here you go," said Hermione kindly.
"Oh, Merlin," Pansy groaned as she closed her eyes, savoring the taste of the rich drink.
Hermione turned her head before Pansy could see the tears of sadness in them. Hermione knew it would likely offend her. Despite their misfortunes, the Slytherins did not want to be pitied. When she'd approached Draco the day after things had been settled with Molly, she found him to be very suspicious of her motives.
"Why are you here, Granger?" he would have snarled if he'd been less cold and tired. "Come to gloat?"
Hermione looked at the others, just as cold and wary as their Slytherin Prince.
"No," she said gently. "I've come to apologize. To ask for your forgiveness."
Hermione would have laughed at the expression of shock on Draco's face if they had still been at school.
"My…...my forgiveness?" he asked incredulously.
Hermione nodded. "Yes. You see, I've not been back long. After the war, I went to Australia to fetch my parents and restore their memories," she babbled nervously. "I didn't get any news from here while we were there…...I didn't know…..didn't realize…" she began to fumble for words.
Draco's open expression became shuttered. "Didn't know what had befallen your enemies, is that what you're trying to get out?" Looking over his shoulder to Theo and Gregory, he said, " We're saved now, mates. Saint Granger has come to rescue us." Turning back to Hermione, whose mouth had dropped open in surprise at the venom in his voice, he sneered, "Well? What's the catch?"
"What?" She couldn't believe this was the same Draco she'd seen at the restaurant. There, he'd been filled with silent despair. This Draco was a fighting one, full of fire.
"The catch. Come on Granger, you're not that slow. The pound of flesh you're going to demand from us."
Hermione's mouth snapped shut. She almost felt like turning around and leaving them to shiver and freeze, but then she saw it. The look of misery she'd seen before flashed for a second in Draco's eyes. He thought she was leaving. The mocking anger had only been a shield. A protective stance to guard against another disappointment.
Bolstered by that tiny insight, Hermione swallowed her pride and said softly, "There is no catch. I wanted to invite you and your friends over to the Burrow for Christmas Eve." Looking straight into his eyes, she added, "Please come. Ron and his brothers are at work as we speak, spelling the house with enlargement charms. If it hadn't been for that, he'd have come with me to invite you. The war is over. The Christmas season is a wonderful time to start anew. I'm willing to make friends if you are." Then she held out her arm, hoping Draco would take her hand.
He had made up his mind to reject her offer, not wanting to be Miss Goody-Two-Shoes' next charity project when he saw the scar on her arm.
How had he forgotten that?
It had been one of the worst nights of his life. Seeing that scar and remembering what Hermione had gone through, Draco changed his mind. She wasn't like those condescending muggles who wouldn't know adversity if it bit them in their entitled arses. She knew what it was like to suffer. Granger understood.
Slowly taking her hand, he held it tightly. Draco marveled at the softness of it. "When should we be there?"
Hermione's face broke out in a wreath of smiles, but her voice remained calm and controlled when she replied, "Six in the evening." Addressing the others behind him, she said, "You are all welcome. I hope to see you there."
Taking a sip of eggnog from her own cup, Hermione sighed in satisfaction as she looked around the room.
They'd all come.
000
Part II: Frankincense
Frankincense: An essential oil believed to have healing properties
Christmas Eve / Christmas Day, 1998
Hermione watched Draco, a growing grin on her face. He'd just escaped Molly's clutches. Hermione began to giggle. She was willing to bet Draco had never had any experience receiving the type of bear hugs Molly gave out.
"Feeling loved?" she chuckled as he walked up to her.
"And a bit mauled, to be honest." He tried to smooth down his hair. Hermione ached to help him. Due to the poor trim he probably did himself, his former silky strands were now spiked worse than Harry's had ever been. "But….Mrs. Weasley…...she's a very kind woman, isn't she?"
Gone was the suspicious, hardened Draco. The sad, despairing Draco was also a no-show. The one who had come that night was polite. Rather quiet. But still with a touch of his dry, snarky wit, even when his eyes shone suspiciously. Hermione was glad life hadn't snuffed it out him completely. She found herself quite liking this version of him.
"Molly is the quintessential mother. Before you leave tonight, she'll have given you a nickname and a batch of scrummy fudge to carry home."
"I'm just happy for the jumper," he said, referring to the bulky package he'd shrunk to fit in his pocket. Draco was secretly relieved it didn't have a D on the front of it. Thankfully, Molly had realized the group coming that night would probably have more conservative tastes, so she kept their sweaters simple. Draco's had been knitted with a navy yarn. Hermione had to admit the dark blue would enhance his already handsome coloring. To Draco's delight, the sweater was thick and warm. Just like the shawl Molly had knitted for Narcissa. It took all Draco had not to break down and cry when Molly said while giving him the package for his mum, "I'm so sorry she wasn't feeling strong enough to come. But I understand. Crowds can wear one out. Since she couldn't be with us, I've made a rich broth from the beef stock and I've spelled it to stay hot. I've got a nice little basket all packed for Narcissa. There's fresh bread and jams and the broth…..and what am I forgetting? Oh, yes. Some fresh cheese from Mr. Griggs down the lane. And I've several tins of Earl Grey tea in there for her, too. And some of my home-made potions. I may not be a healer, but I've learned how to treat illnesses with the tribe I have. These should do nicely for her."
Draco had been overcome with Molly's kindness. A son of hers was killed in the war. She should hate him and his mother. Why did she care? He didn't understand it. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Weasley. I don't…..I don't what to say…."
Molly's face softened at the look on Draco's face. Cupping his cheek, she said, " You don't have to say anything. Your face is very expressive, dear. I know what you're thinking. Yes…...I lost my dear Fred. But you've had losses, too, Draco. If…..if you're willing, I'll try to help fill the place of all you lost. And you can help fill the place of mine."
That did it. Draco choked out a strange-sounding little sob. That was when Molly wrapped him up in a bear hug. "There, there, my boy. Everything will be better now. You'll see."
Hermione deliberately overlooked the tell-tale redness at the end of Draco's nose; she knew Molly had a way of making one's emotions come to the surface. She was glad Draco had warmed up to the matronly witch. Molly would see to it that he and his mother would be cared for from now on.
"I'm thankful for what she sent to Mother. Do…..do you think it would be bad form if I left early? I want to see if Mother will eat some broth before she goes to bed."
"I don't think it will be a problem. But before you go…...a moment, please." Hermione reached out and took Draco's arm. He looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. "Yes?"
"I wanted to invite you for Christmas….to come to my home and celebrate it with me and my parents…..that is, if you wouldn't mind spending Christmas with muggles."
Draco hesitated. "I….I appreciate the gesture, Grang….uh, Hermione. But I shouldn't leave my…"
"Your mother is, of course, invited, too," she said quickly. "That is, if she feels up to it."
Something passed over Draco's features. Hermione didn't know exactly how to interpret it, but then it was gone. "Oh. Then..thank you. Yes, we would be pleased to come. If you're sure your parents won't mind."
"No, not at all. They'll be delighted." Which may have not been the exact truth, but Hermione wasn't going to be bothered about telling a little white lie if it was for a good cause. Then she gave him directions to her home. Right before he left, he turned around and said, "See you tomorrow."
Hermione nodded and waved good-bye. "Tomorrow."
The doorbell to the Granger home rang promptly at noon on Christmas day. Dr. Granger opened the door to see a young man supporting a frail, but still comely older woman.
"You must be Draco. And you dear lady, must be his mother. Welcome to our home. I'm Jonathan Granger, but just call me John. Hermione and my wife Jean are in the kitchen. Please…...come in."
Dr. Granger opened the door wide to let the two pass. He noticed how gentle Draco was with his mother and was secretly pleased. No man who attended to their mother that tenderly could be a bad egg.
As they walked into the first muggle home they'd ever been in, Draco couldn't help but be impressed. The grand homes along the Thames in Maidenhead were not as opulent as the manor had been, but they were beautiful in their own right. The Granger's home boasted of an easy and comfortable elegance. Situated prettily on the banks of the river, the country home had gardens that Draco could tell would burst with color when in season. Inside, the house was classic and British to the core. Yet, the strange electronic appliances told Draco the Grangers were at home with the latest in muggle technology.
Helping his mother to a plush armchair, he followed Dr. Granger into the kitchen. There, Hermione and her mother were lifting pans out of the oven. He watched as Hermione, in a pretty little apron, filled the gravy bowl and brought the cranberry sauce out of the cooling device he'd learned was called a refrigerator.
When she saw Draco, she smiled, a big genuine smile that made Draco's stomach feel funny. Like he was hungry, but he knew he was used to that feeling by now. This was different. Strange but nice.
"Happy Christmas, Draco."
"Happy Christmas," he returned.
Hermione wasted no time introducing her mother to him. Before long, all the food was set on the dining room table. Dr. Granger helped Draco guide his mother to where she would sit. Then after everyone else had taken their places around the table, John held out his hands. Jean and Hermione took one while holding out one of theirs to Draco and his mother. Narcissa looked helplessly at her son, her uncertainty furrowing her brow. Draco was also confused; was this a Muggle ritual? Should they participate in it? Or would that be improper?
Seeing his puzzled frown, Jean said, "We always hold hands while saying grace."
Ah. Draco had heard of that before. Muggle prayer. He and his mother took the proffered hands; Narcissa holding on to Jean's hand while Draco took Hermione's. Again, he marveled at the softness of her hand and how it fit perfectly in his.
Bowing his head, John said, "Bless this food, Oh Lord, and may we be always grateful. Amen."
"Amen."
Draco looked over at the witch sitting beside him after hearing her repeat the ending of the prayer. Curious, he dared to ask, "Hermione…..what does amen mean?"
She smiled at him and whispered, "So be it. Kind of like so mote it be."
All through the meal, Draco watched at the easy relationship the Grangers had with each other. He was surprised to find out that Jean, Hermione's mother, was a dentist, too. He looked at his mother. He wondered what she thought of the equality Jean and John shared. He knew in his home, his father had been dominant. Would things have turned out differently for them if Narcissa had had equal say in their life?
"What was your father's profession, Draco?" asked Jean. Hermione had already told her parents of Lucius' fate, so they delicately avoided any talk of his current state.
"Um….my father used to manage our money…..before the Dark….er….before it was stolen. So, that option is no longer available for me."
John felt a tremendous pity for the former wealthy young man who now was thrust into such an unknown and distressing position. But he felt the last thing Draco needed was pity, so he said in as cheery a voice as possible, "You will be able to forge a brand new path that will be just yours, then. What are your interests?"
Draco stammered, "I….I always liked potions. I fancied being a potioneer when I was younger. Er…..," he looked to Hermione for help. "I don't know what the equivalent of that would be in your world….."
"Something like being a chemist, Dad," she said quickly.
"That's a wonderful aspiration," said Jean. "How does one go about becoming that in the wizarding world?"
Draco scratched the back of his neck. The uneven cut of his hair made it itchy. "Normally, one would first take their Newts. Then they would go into an apprenticeship with a master potioneer. But Hogwarts won't be open to students for years, I imagine….and in the meantime, I don't see anyone willing to take me into an apprenticeship."
"Whyever not?" again, this came from Jean. "Hermione has one."
Hermione's face blushed red. Draco looked down at his lap. Narcissa said resignedly, "Our world has never been kind to losers, Dr. Granger."
Jean put down her fork. Her face glowed with righteous zeal. Draco saw where Hermione had gotten her passion for justice. "Poppycock! Surely something could be done? Draco is the same age as Hermione. He's just a lad and they should…."
"Yes. They should. But they won't. Not until new laws are made." Narcissa smiled sadly. "Some would call what we've been through karma."
"What if Draco went to a muggle university…..would your world accept that as qualification for a job?" That question came from John.
Hermione answered that one. "No. They won't. Which is totally unfair, but there you have it….."
Jean looked at her husband. Watching Hermione's parents engage in a silent exchange, Draco wondered if muggles practiced a type of legilimency. He wished he knew what they were saying to each other.
Finally, Jean took Narcissa's hand. "I can't pretend to understand your world," she said. "It seems like a hard, cruel place to live. Like what happened to you…."
Jean knew she had to tread lightly there, but felt it must be said. "In our world, there are programs in place to help those in need. I don't understand how your world can turn a blind eye to suffering."
Tears glimmered in the older witch's eyes. "I'm afraid the wizarding world is sadly inept when it comes to having the gift of empathy. I was like that, I'm sorry to say. But now...now I understand. And if I get well, I promise to do all I can to change my world. We might not have our fortune anymore, but the name Malfoy still carries weight. Perhaps I can right some of the wrongs my husband and I committed."
"Draco…..," John looked at the young man. Would he resent him for what he was about to offer? "I know this isn't what you want to do with your life….but until you can sit your exams, you are more than welcome to come work for me and Jean. I can train you. You can help us at the office. It would give you a steady income. What do you say?"
Draco swallowed hard. He looked at his mother. His younger self would have sneered and said something hateful. Accept a handout from a filthy muggle? But he knew better now. To have a job? One that would be in a warm office and away from the harsh elements? Something other than menial, back-breaking tasks? To work for people who actually cared?"
"I….I…..of course, Dr. Granger. Thank you. I appreciate it."
John smiled. "Good. That's sorted, then."
Hermione smiled, relieved. "Draco….I'm going to be studying for my Newts at home. If you want, maybe you could come home with Mum and Dad some nights after work and have supper with us. Afterward….maybe we could go over things together? Maybe quiz each other. I find a study partner helps."
He nodded, amazed at the generosity the Granger family had shown him. Right then he had an epiphany. Hermione Granger, the muggle-born witch who had been the main target of his bullying throughout his years at Hogwarts, had been the driving force in the sudden reversal of his fortunes. The phrase, "a kiss for a blow" came to his mind. The girl he'd mocked and persecuted had opened the doors to give him a hope for a better future for him and his mother. How could he ever repay her? The answer was easy.
He couldn't.
"Thank you…..Hermione."
Narcissa smiled during the exchange. She could ignore the pain and fevers now. No matter what happened to her, Draco once again had the opportunity to dream, thanks to a compassionate Muggle family.
000
Part III: Myrrh
Myrrh: A sweet and fragrant perfume
Christmas Eve, 1999
The assembly was the same. Same group, same faces. But oh, what a difference a year had made. Narcissa was presiding over the punch bowl this year. She still wasn't completely well, but had made much progress in her condition, thanks to the muggle doctors the Grangers had taken her to see. Tuberculosis had sounded more like a plant than a disease to her, but the doctors had been able to give her medications and breathing treatments that caused great improvement to her lungs.
In the kitchen, Molly found George and Pansy snogging in the pantry. Shooing them out into the living room, she smiled to herself. The newly engaged couple brought joy to her heart. A year ago, George approached Pansy and offered her a job at his shop; it didn't take long for his lonely heart to warm to the grateful girl. They began to date and at Halloween, George gave Pansy a ring. He'd won the stuffy Posy Parkinson's heart by how well he treated her daughter. Still a proud one, the matriarch boasted to her friends, "Of course, he's a pureblood, but even if he hadn't been, I would have approved of the match. I tell you what…..that gifted young man is going places. And Pansy will help him get there."
Theo Nott was standing in front of the fireplace, telling a joke to Ron and Gregory. In the spring, the male Weasleys had stood before the Wizengamot to ask for aid for the unfortunate sons and daughters of the former death eaters. They explained their plight to the group of older wizards and witches. Ron especially was effective in relaying the dismay he'd felt at seeing his former classmates suffer while no one in their society bothered to care. Their plea was heard. By mid-summer, tax incentives were given to businesses that hired the bankrupt teens. Theo was given an internship at the Ministry with the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries. Gregory was employed at Fortescue's ice cream parlor.
Draco now had an apprenticeship with St. Mungo's. He loved his new job, especially since he worked only two doors down from where Hermione was, but he missed John and Jean. Not that he didn't get to see them often, though. He'd worked as an assistant for the two dentists until the St. Mungo's job became available. Two nights a week, he'd gone home with them to study with Hermione. John and Jean grinned at each other when they'd caught the two of them kissing on Valentine's Day. They'd found Hermione perched on top of Draco's lap, both of them hugging the other tightly as they snogged away, their books and parchment scattered on the coffee table before them. Also on the table was a small vase with the most exquisite flower Jean had ever seen. It had to have been a magical variety.
"I knew it," Jean whispered. "I knew our Hermione would fall for him."
"I think it was the other way around," murmured John. "But whatever. They make a good-looking couple, don't they?"
Jean's face was positively gleeful. "That means we'll have good-looking grandchildren to look forward to."
"Very true. But don't rush them, love. Let them have their youth. Heaven knows, they didn't have one before."
Only one person from the previous Christmas Eve dinner was missing that year. The day after May Day, Harry Potter had taken a leave of absence from his job with the Auror department. A week later, he'd left his home and presumably, England. Hermione and Ron's heart had been heavy with disappointment. Why had he left? Was it because of the Slytherins? Could he not accept them? He seemed to have had. It didn't make sense. Harry had vanished without a trace, without a word.
Without a good-bye.
"Do you know why he left, 'Mione?" Ron had asked her one day when they met for lunch.
"No….I don't. I don't like it. It's not like him to go off without a word."
Ron thought back to the time Harry had tried to sneak out of the Burrow to go off Horcrux hunting by himself. "Well….." he drawled, "actually, it is like him. Blooming idiot, that martyr complex is getting old."
Hermione laughed at the peevish expression on Ron's face. "So…..you think he went away...not because he couldn't accept the others, but because of…..?"
Ron looked thoughtful. "I dunno. But I imagine wherever Harry is, he's trying to help."
That night, Harry's chair was left empty, while his place at the table was set. "Just in case he gets to come," Molly had said when asked why she was keeping it open. "Harry knows I want all my children home for Christmas. That includes him."
Together once more, the group of wizards and witches toasted to the new couples, new positions, new hopes. All gifts that had been the byproduct of love, which as Arthur said in his toast, was the true magic of the season.
Just as Molly was passing out the Christmas pudding, the fireplace roared with green flames. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister of Magic, stepped out. Behind him, came another. It was Harry. He looked disheveled, cold, and hungry. And badly in need of a shave. But he had an enormous smile on his face.
"Harry! Mate!" Ron, the first one to get to him, cried out in relief at seeing his best friend. Hermione was not far behind him.
"Harry James Potter! Where have you been? Don't you ever vanish like that again!" she fussed and cried as she gave him a fierce hug.
Once he was free from his friends' clutches, he said, I'll tell you everything. But can I eat something first? I'm famished."
Everyone responded to that. Harry was hustled into his chair. Molly didn't bother to ask him what he wanted; instead, she began to pile mounds of his favorite foods upon his plate.
Taking a big gulp of the butterbeer that was offered him, Harry began to dig in. Draco watched, filled with curiosity; what had Harry been up to for the past several months?
"Harry, would you like for me to tell them what you've been doing this year?" Kingsley asked with a deep, calm voice.
"Go ahead," he indicated by waving a chicken leg before he took another bite out of it.
The Minister nodded. "Several months ago, Harry came to me asking for a temporary leave from his job. He asked because he wanted to see if he could trace where Voldemort had hidden the gold he'd stolen from his followers.
"But….we had already looked for it," said Draco, his arm around Hermione. "We couldn't find it."
"Yes…..those were the very same words I said to Mr. Potter," Kingsley said, smiling. "But he convinced me to give it one more try."
"Why?" That came from Gregory.
Harry shrugged at the question. "It wasn't right what had been done to you. And…..it wasn't right that I hadn't helped earlier. I wanted to fix that."
"No offense, Potter…..but what made you think you could find it when no one else could?" The question came from Gregory.
Harry grinned. "Well….I figured if anyone knew how Voldemort thought it would be me, since I'd had him in my head all my life."
Theo gave Kingsley a hopeful look. "So the fact that the two of you are here now must mean….."
The minister nodded, his kufi slipping a bit. "Yes. Mr. Potter was successful. He found Voldemort's cache."
For a moment, there was silence. Then around the table, pandemonium broke out.
"What? You mean, we'll get our galleons back?" asked Gregory.
"Your money and any other valuables that were taken from you. It's all being returned to your vaults as we speak," confirmed Kingsley. "The goblins at Gringotts can detect the magical signature of a house on every item belonging to it. They'll have no problem sorting it all out."
Once again, silence filled the room. No one knew what to say.
Harry took his last bite of food, now full. Wiping his face, he said, "I'm sorry it took me so long."
George tucked Pansy under his arm. "Just wait until your mom finds out."
Pansy sighed as she snuggled up closer. "I'm tempted not to tell her."
"Scared she'll revert back to how she used to be?" asked Theo.
"How we all used to be," corrected Draco. "But please God, never again."
"I'm not worried. You've more than proven yourself," Hermione said, looking up at him with such trust and devotion that Harry was visibly moved by the sight.
"So…..was it hard to find? I imagine it must have been, since you were gone so long," Ron said to Harry.
"Well, that's just it. "I couldn't find it. Not at first. Finally, I decided I needed some clues. So, I went to see your father, Draco. He gave me the lead I needed to figure the rest of it out."
Harry stood up then and fished for something in his pocket. Pulling it out, he held the item out to Draco. It was a ring. "Your father asked me to give this to you the next time I saw you. He said you would want it."
Draco's eyes had gotten large, but he took the ring from Harry. "Thank you."
Afterwards, Harry excused himself to get cleaned up a bit. While he was gone, Draco spoke to Hermione. "Love…..this changes everything now."
She looked up at him, a confused look on her face. "What do you mean?"
Draco, disregarding the others around them, cupped her face with his hand. "Hermione, I've wanted to ask for your hand in marriage for months now. But I didn't see how we could afford it. But now…"
Hermione blushed. Now. What a suddenly wonderful word. Now, there were no encumbrances to their marrying.
"Now…?" she prompted, her voice sounding hopeful. And scared. And….excited.
"Would you now make me the happiest man on earth? Please say yes," he whispered.
"Yes!" she squealed, too excited to stay quiet. Draco bent his head down so he could claim her lips with his. They forgot about everyone in the room until they began to hear wolf whistles.
"Whoa…...that's some show you're putting on, you two," teased George.
"Gah…...can't you go upstairs or something?" whined Theo.
"She said yes to marrying me, you prat!" Draco pulled away from the kiss to shout, so happy in his joy, he didn't care who heard him.
"Oh, my lambs…..finally!" said Narcissa, moving over to give each of them a kiss and hug. Then she said, "Well? What are you waiting for? Aren't you going to give it to her?"
"Give me what?" asked Hermione.
"The ring Mr. Potter gave Draco. It's the Malfoy betrothal ring. lt's worn by every Malfoy father to hold in keeping until such time the firstborn son decides on the witch he wants to marry."
"How did….how did Father know?" asked Draco.
Narcissa gave her son a pointed look. "Did you think I wouldn't tell your father about you and Hermione? I write to him regularly. Now quit dawdling, or I'm going to put the ring on her finger myself!"
Of course, everyone laughed at that. Draco reddened, but taking Hermione's hand, placed the ring on her hand. He watched as the band reshaped itself to fit Hermione's dainty finger. All the witches crowded around the couple, trying to get a glimpse of the now changed ring.
"Mum! This calls for champagne!" said Ron.
Soon, everyone raised a glass to toast the newly engaged couple. When Harry finally made it back down, clean from his shower, he heard the happy congratulations going on in the kitchen. Peeking in, he saw to whom the well-wishes were going. Hermione and Draco.
So it was an engagement ring! I thought so.
Before he could shut the door, George started singing Joy to the World. Draco laughed at something Hermione said and kissed her tenderly in front of everyone.
Harry stepped back out into the empty living room.
Joy to the World.
Joy.
He felt it.
I wanted this little story to demonstrate the power of One. Because of one woman's caring heart, many lives were touched and changed. Including hers.
Do you ever feel like you're shouting in a storm? Can anyone really hear you? Can one little match light the way? Can just one person make a difference?
The answer is yes. Oh my, yes.