Chapter Eleven

Two days later, Hermione received two letters. The first was from Ginny informing that the whole Weasley clan was baffled by her decision and that Mrs. Weasley was expecting her to go to the infirmary. The second was from Harry, informing her not to worry about Errol, that he had been found on the coast of Thurso. At the bottom of the very short inquiry was the question, "Malfoy?"

Hermione couldn't bring herself to write them, and she didn't know why. She dressed for the day and while she ignored the stares her dorm mates were throwing at her over their shoulders, she couldn't ignore the rest when she went down into the common room. Thankfully, Neville was waiting for her.

"Thought you'd need someone," he mumbled.

She couldn't express her gratitude. "I made a mess of things, haven't I?"

"Harry and Ron got into enough of it. It was your turn."

She laughed quietly, but she could feel the stares, the whispers that followed her. She always had sympathy for Harry, but then, walking those halls, she knew how he felt. She was on display, and it wasn't for being with a Slytherin, it was because he was a Malfoy. It was because they fought against each other in the war, and it didn't matter that they had switched sides, that Harry had excused him and his family. Draco and Hermione together were a taboo, and she wouldn't lower her head. No, she held it high.

About to take her seat next to Neville in the Great Hall she spotted Draco at the Slytherin table. Blaise Zabini was arguing with him, apparently refusing him a seat, and no one was offering. They all minded their own, some looked like they felt sorry for him, but they didn't offer any seats next to them either.

Hermione bit her lip in thought, and began gathering a plate of food, double scoops of everything she could reach, and two sets of silverware. Taking it, she nodded to a bid of a goodbye to Neville and the others who had stopped eating to watch her. She walked to the doors and caught Draco's eye.

Draco, who had gone red with anger, smiled. He shouldered his bag and they together left their housemates behind. She sat on the bottom step of the staircase setting her plate between them.

"We're not popular," Draco said in passing, taking a bite of egg.

"We are. If they spend their time talking about us, then that qualifies for popularity."

"Mother told me that too."

"If you gossip then you have no room in your head for studies."

He raised a quizzical pale brow, but said nothing. Although, when she chose a bit of assuage she saw out of her peripheral vision that he smiled.

"Hey." Neville was standing awkwardly with a plate balanced in one hand and his goblet in the other. "May I join you?"

Hermione took stock of Draco's expression, but he nodded to Neville. "Yeah," he said simply.

She didn't know where it was coming from, but they made space between them for her friend. While there was a silence, it was not at all the spark of intensity that would normally accompany such a group as them. It gave Hermione a sense that although she had indeed gotten herself in a mess, perhaps it wasn't as doomed as it appeared. Maybe her relationship with Draco would teach people that tolerance and understanding and change can happen. That hope was ever there.

When it was time for them to attend their classes, Hermione moved close to Draco, whispering in his ear, "what changed your mind?"

"You," he responded, not sparing her a glimpse.

From that moment forward months passed in moments. Moments stolen with Draco in Potions, after their duties as Prefects, and during their free periods. Moments of resting in the shade of the tree by the lake, feeding the squid large bits of their sandwiches. Moments of his hand holding hers, the spot below her ear he kissed, and the feel of his breath tickling her hair, his foot against hers in the library as they poured over books.

While she had great years with Harry and Ron, the time she had with Draco was precious and rare. It was the best time in her life.

When December came with its coats and gloves and lit fireplaces in the classrooms, everyone had grown used to seeing her and Draco. They were old news - and speaking of news, Hermione had none from the Weasley's, and very little from Harry. They were fading into memories themselves, and it made her sad, but she hid it from Draco. She didn't want him to think that she regretted him. That simply was not true.

Christmas neared and Hermione contemplated her parents offer to join them in Italy. They were going skiing at her favorite resort. Hermione was in the library, reading their letter over, thinking if she needed to use the extra hours perfecting her Transfiguration work when Draco came in, slamming the books he had in his arms on the table.

"Sh!" Madam Pince ordered.

Draco feigned temporary deafness as he slumped in his seat. "Got a letter from father."

That opening caught Hermione's attention. He usually opened with a complaint about an assignment, but never about his parents. "What did he say?"

"I'm to come home this Christmas, but..." He thought of whether to continue. "But 'without Potter's mudblood.'"

Nodding, she chose her Transfiguration book from the top of her heap bringing it in front of her. "I'm not surprised. People don't change their views of the world easily."

He shook his head. "You're amazing, Hermione. You should hate my father."

"I don't." Lucius Malfoy may have been an ill-informed, elitist git, but he was one who loved his son. Mr. Malfoy only wanted Draco to be safe, and so in his small mind, he thought he was keeping him from making the wrong choices.

"I'm staying here for the holidays."

"Draco -"

He held up his hand, leaning back, his seat on two legs, his foot nudging hers. "I've made up my mind. Father will be upset and mother will cry, but they'll see I know what I'm doing."

Hermione returned to writing her response to her parents.

Mom and Dad,

I hope you have fun, but this year I'm staying here at Hogwarts.

With Love From, Hermione

As she folded it, she said, "I'm staying too. We'll have Christmas together."

"Really?"

"Really. Exchanging gifts won't be necessary, of course."

"It better. I bought yours."

She sighed. "I have yours too."

His foot playfully pushed hers and she pushed back, and they chuckled.

"SH!" Madam Pince cried out.