The next day, Draco got up early. It was the first day of the Christmas holidays, and naturally he should be sleeping. But no. He had work to do.

He had chosen to stay at Hogwarts to work on the cabinet. Also, he had no interest in hanging out in the Manor, with its lack of father, terrified mother, and possibility of visits from the Dark Lord.

He was in the library an hour later. He was pouring over books on magical furniture.

You can always fix something, you can always change something, he thought.

He was decently impressed with the information the Hogwarts library actually had on magical furniture. He was able to deconstruct the cabinet piece by piece, learning about how all the layers of magic fit together. Then, with all that information in mind, he went and worked on the cabinet.

He did this for several days. He felt the cabinet improving. The apple he had sent over only had a chunk missing, instead of it being dead, like a bird he had tried.

He avoided all people. He barely even knew who had stayed at Hogwarts. He didn't mind though.

It's not like he wanted to see anyone.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Draco was sitting in the library again. He had a piece of parchment next to him, and was taking notes from Magical Mahogany: Wizarding Furniture and You when he heard footsteps approaching.

"…..can't decide what to get Albus. He always sends me a fruit basket."

"Well what does Albus like?"

It was Slughorn and Professor Vector.

Draco was at a table between the stacks of books. Slughorn and Vector sounded to be two or three shelves away. Draco put down his quill to listen.

Maybe this could benefit him.

"Well, knitting patterns," Slughorn replied. "Magical instruments, and the man has never said no to a good glass of mead. Ah! Mead. Perfect. I can just drop down to Hogsmeade. Rosemerta sells the most wonderful oak-matured mead."

"Well, Horace. You cannot say that you don't know Dumbledore."

"Yes. Well, if you work with the man for nearly fifty years, you are bound to pick up a tidbit or two. Have you found your book?"

The sound of rustling paper appeared. "Yes," replied Vector. "I just need to double check a concept. Poppy surely won't mind me borrowing it."

"Surely. Now, what must I buy for Professor Snape….."

The voices retreated. Draco was nearly shaking with excitement.

It was as if the angels of opportunity had dropped a neatly wrapped present into his lap.

He jumped up from the table, and put the books back. Reaching down into his pocket, he pulled out the fake galleon he had created months before. He held it in his hand and sent the message to his favourite barmaid in the village below.

Horace Slughorn will arrive at the Three Broomsticks some time before Christmas. He will ask for a bottle of oak-matured mead. You will sell him a poisoned bottle from poison I provide you.

The galleon burned in his hand, signaling that Rosmerta had received his message. He remembered something Granger had said a few days before about Filch not being able to recognize potions. Sneaking some poison into the castle shouldn't be a problem.

The bookworm was right. You should never give up.


He had had a fairly successful day, and it wasn't even noon yet. He gave himself the rest of the holidays off from the cabinet. With this luck, Dumbledore would be dead by Wednesday.

To give himself a break, he decided to actually have lunch in the Great Hall. He sauntered in, and was shocked at how little people were there.

That was to be expected. It was the same thing in third year. No one wanted their kids at school with a dangerous man on the loose. But this was ridiculous. There were two fourth year Slytherins, no Hufflepuffs, three Ravenclaws, and….

Granger?

But there was no mistaking that hair. The sole occupant of the Gryffindor table was indeed Hermione Granger. Not even Potter, parentless Potter, was there.

Why?

He almost headed over to ask her, but there were still other people there. No one could see him and Granger interacting cordially.

It didn't mean anything, but words were powerful, and they spread quickly.

No, he would wait.

He sat down at the table and dug into the mash and chicken in front of him. Delicious. He had forgotten what real food tasted like. He had been living of saltine crackers.

He ate solidly for about an hour and a half. When he looked up after his third piece of chocolate cake, he was the only student left in the Hall.

Which meant Granger had gone somewhere.

He stuffed the rest of the cake in his mouth, and headed off.

As he walked down the corridors, he thought to himself. If I was a lonely Gryffindor, where would I go?

Easy.

He found himself at the doors to the library. Opening them a crack, he saw Granger walk behind a bookcase.

Predictable.

He sauntered in. Madam Pince had her back turned, thank goodness. The teachers at Hogwarts were the biggest gossips in the school. If she saw him talking to Granger, he didn't know what would happen.

He walked over to the bookshelf she was behind. Turning the corner, he leaned on the mahogany shelf. She was skimming through a book that looked heavier than her.

"What bloody subject requires a book that large?" He wondered aloud.

She looked up. "Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

"Seriously. Is it Ancient Runes? I swear old people didn't know how to edit things down."

She set the book down. He checked out the cover. Arithmancy.

"I'm here for Christmas," she said promptly. "And you?"

"Same," he replied.

There was silence.

"Don't you have family or something to go to?" Draco asked.

"Well, I normally spend Christmas with Harry and Ron. But since Ron and I are still fighting, that's out of the picture. My family likes to ski during the Holidays, and I hate it, so I figured I'd stay here."

Draco blinked. "What in the name of Merlin is skiing?"

She chuckled. "I forgot wizards don't do it. Basically you stick long pieces of flat metal or woods on your feet, and slid down hills."

"In what world is that fun?"

"Not in mine," was her response. "That's why I'm not doing it. But the same could asked of you."

"That doesn't sound fun in my world either, Granger."

"No," she waved her hand dismissively. "Why are you here? You have family to go to."

"Not really. Half of my family is in Azkaban and the other half spends her days trembling."

"Ah," she responded. "I'm actually surprised that there are so little students who stayed."

"I'm not," Draco replied, sitting down with his back against the bookshelf. "Times like these are scary. Families want to be together. But in all reality, we're all probably safer at Hogwarts. There is no way to break in to the castle."

To Draco's regret.

"That's true," she conceded. "It's just a bit lonely. I'm the only Gryffindor."

"Surely Potter wouldn't leave you to fend for yourself. Isn't he all about family and love and never leaving someone behind?"

"He doesn't know I'm alone. He thinks I'm with my parents."

"And you lied because…."

"Because I didn't want Ron to know I was going to be alone."

"Ah yes. How's Weasel doing?"

She scoffed. "The same. He may be getting laid, but he's failing Transfiguration so that's reassuring."

He couldn't keep in the laugh. "Who ever thought Hermione Granger would have such a taste for revenge?"

She smirked. "You'd be surprised."

"Well, I'm going to try and stay on your good side."

She raised her eyebrows. "Since when have we been on each other's good sides?"

Draco realized what he had said. He didn't have an answer for her. Instead, he looked past her, to the falling snow outside the window.

"Tomorrow is Christmas," he said thoughtfully. He hadn't actually thought about it until that point.

"Gee thanks Malfoy. I'd forgotten," she muttered sarcastically.

He chuckled again. "Well, if you are going to be the only Gryffindor, why don't you have Christmas dinner with me?"

What. What had he just asked her.

She seemed to have a similar response. "What?"

"Yeah," Draco said slowly. "Why not? No one is here to judge either of us, and we can actually hold a conversation. I may not like you a lot, Granger, but I seem to enjoy talking to you."

She studied him. "Are you seriously asking me to have Christmas dinner with you?"

"Yeah, I am," he said with more confidence. "I can ask the House Elves to prepare us dinner in the kitchens. We can hang out down there without worry of anyone finding out. The golden duo would kill you, and I'd be castrated." Probably worse. "Come on, Granger, admit. You may dislike me but you like my company. Why else would you have spent hours talking to me on the night of Slughorn's party?"

"Fair point," she nodded. She looked him over for a minute. "Alright. I'll have Christmas Dinner with you."

Draco smiled. "Meet me in the kitchens at six. You know how to get down there right?"

She nodded. "Tickle the pear and what not."

"Perfect. I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

"I guess so," she responded, her head slightly titled, allowing for her hair to fall over her shoulder.

Draco made to leave, but before her did, turned back.

"And Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Wear something nice. If we're going to do this, we're going to do this with class."

She chuckled. "Wear something not black then, Malfoy."

"That's against my religion."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy."

"You too, Granger."


On Christmas Day 1996, Draco spent the day in the kitchens. He was dressed in his best black shirt and pants, and trying to get house elves to cook an individual meal for him and Granger. It worked, after a lot of asking. They were against it for some reason. But oh well, he had succeeded in the end.

At six aclock, Draco heard the kitchen door open.

"It's actually harder to get house elves to do things than I thought," said Draco as he turned around. But then his words trailed off.

Beauty is an interesting concept. And there is a huge difference between beauty and attractiveness. In Draco's opinion, attractiveness meant wanting to sleep with someone. Beauty meant that if you could stare at something for hours on end, you'd be perfectly content.

And that's what Draco thought of Hermione Granger the first and last time they would ever have dinner together.

She was wearing a flowing dress that ended at her knee. The top was black, but the bottom was a light pink. Her hair was curled around her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and sparkling.

It wasn't the dress that made Granger beautiful to Draco, though the dress was spectacular. It was the expression on her face. Draco could hardly read it, but he was drawn to it against his will, as if he was being pulled towards her.

She looked over at him, and chuckled. "I guess wearing anything other than black really is against your religion."

He shrugged. "At least I'm tolerant of the choices of other people."

She walked over to the table that Draco had prepared. He rushed up behind her and pulled out a chair.

She laughed. "A true bred gentleman."

He scoffed. "Say what you want about the Malfoys, but I did learn manners."

He sat down at the other end of the table. House elves rushed up with dishes of potatoes, ham, salad, rolls, and any other food you could imagine.

"How did you pull this off?" Granger asked curiously.

He shrugged. "I worked all day."

She widened her eyes. "Alright, let my rephrase. Why did you pull this off?"

He appraised her. "Because you are actually an excellent conversationalist, and I value that."

She looked at him, and picked up her goblet. A house elf had just filled it with pumpkin juice.

"Merry Christmas, Draco Malfoy," she pronounced.

He raised his goblet and clicked it to hers. "And to you as well, Hermione Granger."

She smiled, and Draco felt a shift.

In that moment, something had changed.

He just didn't know what it was yet.

They spent the rest of the holidays together. Draco even thought that maybe they were becoming friends. They met in the back of the library, told stories, talked about books.

It was incredible. Draco was close with Blaise, but he could never have conversations like this. Not about their lives. Not about serious things without life or death being involved. How he felt about things. It wasn't like he was telling Granger everything about him, but he had never opened up to someone like this.

At the back of his mind, Draco knew she was a mudblood. He knew their sort of friendship could not end well. But he didn't seem to care that much. Whenever he was with Granger, he forgot about the cabinet, and the Dark Lord, and everything on his plate. He let himself fall into arguments about house elf rights without thinking about anything else. He let himself tell stories about flying through the hills without resistance.

He let himself be Draco, without any of the Malfoy.

Draco spent the last day of 1996 with Hermione Granger. He spent it eating in the kitchens, he spent it debating in the library, he spent it exploring the castle.

And to think, he had once thought this girl was nothing more than a walking textbook. At this point in their relationship, he was sure he liked her as a person.

And it was confusing as fuck.

She was a mudblood. She was supposed to be an awful person, he was supposed to hate her.

But he didn't.

He liked spending time with her, arguing with her, chatting with her. He liked Hermione Granger.

And if he liked Hermione Granger, the most mudblood mudblood of all time, what did that mean about his task? About being a death eater? About his family, his values, how he was raised?

He didn't want to think about it.

Right now, he was content with sitting in the seventh floor corridor arguing about whether Dumbledore or Merlin would win in a duel.

"Come on, Granger. You just want to stand behind your saviour."

"Dumbledore is the greatest wizard the world has ever seen."

"But he's slowing down. Have you seen his hand?"

"Of course I have. He could still take down Merlin in a moment."

Draco scoffed. "But Merlin is the god of wizardy. If there was a man in the wizarding world, it would be Merlin."

She chuckled. "You just hate Dumbledore."

He could quiet for a moment. "Not really. I don't hate the man."

That was the first time he had ever said it aloud.

"Well, he would still win," said Granger.

He will always win, Draco thought to himself.

"What time is it?" asked Granger.

"About eleven thirty," replied Draco.

She gasped. "How have we been arguing for three hours?"

Draco shrugged. "That's what happens when you put two very intelligent people in an argument."

"Well, we've got thirty minutes until 1997. What do you want to do?"

Draco looked out the window. It was snowing lightly. "Let's go outside."

She raised an eyebrow. "Right now?"

"Yeah. Right now. Go get your coat, and meet me in the Entrance Courtyard. Watch out for Filch."

She nodded, and scrambled up. Draco headed to the dungeons, grabbed a thick coat, and headed to the Entrance Courtyard. He didn't see a single teacher on the way.

He walked into the Courtyard at 11:45 on December 31st 1996. Granger was already standing there, in a dark wool coat. The snow was falling lightly onto her hair.

"It's not too cold out," she said as he approached, his feet treading softly on the snow covered cobblestones.

"I like the cold," he replied, honestly. They began to walk out of the courtyard and down to the lake. "It refreshes me, wakes me up. I can feel it."

"I'm the opposite," she replied. "My favourite feeling in the world is walking out of the cold and into a warm room. Sometimes during the winter, Harry will make me a cup of hot cocoa for when I get back to the common room. I'm always out late in the library, which I'm pretty sure is secretly made of snow."

The two of them walked steadily down the grounds, towards the lake.

"Well that about sums us up, Granger," he said, more to himself than to her. "Fire and ice."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Do you remember that conversation we had about Much Ado About Nothing?" Granger asked.

Draco nodded. It was permanently engrained in his mind.

"I think I realized why Ron and I didn't work out, and why I don't really care, looking back on it."

"Oh?" Draco inquired. He'd thought she was still hung up over the Weasel.

"Passion," she said softly. "You said it yourself, that's what Beatrice and Benedict have. That's why they couls fall in love. They have passion. They feel. Ron and I were always arguing, but it wasn't passionate. It was annoying, it was draining. Ron and I have always been just there. Nothing more, nothing less. And I suppose you were right. I'd rather hate strongly than love weakly. It's the feeling that matters."

"Haven't you learned by now, Granger? I'm always right."

She laughed, like twinkling bells.

That's when a real bell filled the air. It was the clock in the courtyard chiming midnight.

It was a New Year. 1997.

The year he ruined his life forever.

Though, he didn't know it at the time.

He looked over at her. She was smiling tenderly. "What do you think, Granger?" Draco asked, smiling. "What do you think of 1997?"

She turned and looked up at him. "I think it's a little beautiful."

Her face broke into a smile, showing the dimples on her face. Her brown eyes were shining, almost sparkling in the moonlight. Draco looked at her, and the luminous face of a girl he had hated mere months before.

"So are you," he said, without even thinking. Her eyes popped open, but Draco didn't hesitate. Without restraint, without consideration, without realizing what he was doing, he leant down and kissed her.

He heard her make a little noise at the back of her throat. What was he doing? He shouldn't be doing this. This was wrong.

But he didn't care. It felt right. This felt right.

Her lips were soft and warm, a single spark in the coldness. He raised his hand, and brushed it against her face. She shivered against his hand, but she reciprocated. She was leaning into him, kissing him back.

He wrapped his hand in her hair. The other hand went around her waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, lifting herself up to reach him.

Draco did not understand. He didn't understand why he wanted to stay there forever. He didn't understand why her lips seemed to be his weakness. He didn't understand why kissing Hermione Granger made him feel more alive than he had in months.

She was making him feel.

And that was the most important thing.

On January 1st 1997, Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger for the first time. He kissed her in the grounds of Hogwarts school. He held her in his arms, and felt something. He felt a spark.

And a spark leads to a fire.

Granger pulled back first, unlooping her hands from around his neck.

"I don't know why I did that," she whispered.

"I don't know either," breathed Draco.

But as he looked down at her flushed face, he did know.

Because, as the two of them stood in the grounds of Hogwarts on New Years, Hermione Granger was just a little bit beautiful.

And he had felt it.