Sometime during the night of Christmas Eve, Draco Malfoy woke to a long-forgotten smell that made home a little more worth coming home to: his mother's hot cocoa. He knew as his eyelids fluttered open that he would find a very specific scene awaiting him downstairs in the kitchen. His elegant mother would be swathed in a silk robe, golden-white hair spilling over her shoulders. There would be two mugs on the table, one for each of them, filled with a rich, almost bitter chocolate dappled lightly with cinnamon and topped with froth. The chocolate was her own concoction; it was the one thing she would not allow the house-elves to prepare for her. Draco never knew quite where she had picked up the knack, but these midnight treats were comparable to any rich sweet he'd ever tasted, and wealth had denied him none.

He descended the stairs and ambled to the kitchen, blond hair mussed awkwardly from sleep, and smirked winsomely as Narcissa looked up at him. "Waiting up for Father Christmas, are we, Mother?"

Narcissa offered the ghost of a grin. "Only to make certain he leaves my son the very best gift. Come, sit down. I want to talk to you while your father is asleep."

"I thought you might," Draco admitted, taking the chair across from her and reaching for his mug. "Did you get my note?"

"I did." Narcissa took a slow sip, never taking her icy eyes from their locked position with his. "Draco… please tell me you haven't done what I think you've done. Tell me you haven't started fancying some… well, someone unworthy of you."

"You mean a Mudblood, Mother?" Draco grumbled, rolling his eyes. "If that's what you mean, just say it."

"Draco!" she scolded, putting her mug down. "There is no need for that kind of language."

Draco made a face. "You can't tell me that word never gets used in this house. I'm certain Father uses it at least ten times a day."

Narcissa sighed deeply, finally looking away. "Perhaps so, but you are not your father."

"No. I'm not," Draco hastily agreed. "And if you don't want me to end up like him, maybe you shouldn't be so quick to agree with the way he thinks."

Narcissa met his gaze again with that peculiar look in her eye. He bit the bullet and took a deep drink of cocoa. Draco knew she was about to give him one of her rehearsed 'pureblood obligation' speeches, which no doubt she'd had drilled into her head by that dear old harridan Grandmother Black a thousand times before dutifully marrying Lucius Malfoy.

"Draco, we belong to the upper echelon of wizarding society, and with our privilege comes responsibility. Some middle- and lower-class wizards have intermarried with Muggles, it's true; this has to be, or magical blood would have died out almost entirely. But pure wizarding blood will always set us above others, Draco. We have to set an example."

"For whom are we setting this exalted example, Mother?" Draco scoffed. "Those middle- and lower-class wizards you were just talking about, who live their lives as they please anyway? Do you think they care one bit how we live our lives, as long as it doesn't affect them?"

"Draco -"

"No, Mother, let me finish. You did what was expected of you by your family, and how have you been rewarded? You're not happy. I know you and Father don't love each other; at least not now, if you ever really did. Why are you pushing me so hard toward a life that will probably end in making me miserable, too? Is that what you want for me?"

"I want what is best for you." She glanced around as though uncertain; her voice dropped to scarcely above a whisper, and only then continued. "I understand your feelings; I too felt trapped by my circumstances when I was your age. But Draco, you know whose house you live in. You know what he expects of you… and of me. I personally disagree with your choice; I would prefer you be seen socially with a nice pureblood witch. But my opinion is nothing next to his. Draco, if he were ever to find out that you liked this girl…"

"Hermione, Mother," Draco quietly informed her, gripping his mug a little tightly. "Her name is Hermione Granger."

"I remember that name," Narcissa realized with a start. "You mentioned her before, didn't you? She was the one who -" Her voice caught. "Yes, I do remember."

Draco hung his head. Lucius had not minced words about his disappointment, making Draco ashamed of the fact that "a girl of no wizarding family" had been first in her class and not him in his first year. It was because of her success and his failure that her name had been brought up - because of her that his father knew it was time to begin the relentless indoctrination of pureblood superiority which had only progressed over the past year and a half. It seemed ironic that it was she would be the thorn in Lucius's side to prove his theory wrong in two ways: that a Mudblood could be more intelligent than a pureblood, and that the first could be desirable to the latter.

He suddenly recalled that day in Diagon Alley at the beginning of second year, when he'd been watching her from the balcony in the bookstore. Why had she caught his gaze? It couldn't have been for hatred or resentment; Potter was a much more likely target for those emotions, and he had also been within view. And the way his father had approached her, almost ignoring Potter as easily as he had… Draco struggled to remember his exact words. "And you must be… Miss Granger. Oh yes, Draco's told me all about you. And your parents."

Oh, Merlin. Draco felt that he was going to be sick. Father knew. Even then, he could see it, before I ever did. If I couldn't hide my feelings then when I wasn't even aware of them… how will I ever keep this secret from him now?

There was a pregnant pause as Narcissa watched the emotions roil inside her son. At length, she continued. "Draco, listen to me very carefully. If Lucius were ever to discover your feelings for this girl, it would put her in great danger. I do not know… what he would do to you."

"I know." His insides were still shaking. He knows, he knows... even if he doesn't know, he suspects...

"You haven't thought this through," Narcissa inveigled him in his dismay, reaching out to take his hands in hers, "not really. I know how much you want this, but Draco, it simply cannot be. For her sake as much as yours, you have to put an end to it. Now, before it goes any further."

Draco's head jerked up, offended and hurt at the suggestion, but his countenance changed as soon as he felt her hands trembling in his grasp. "Mother…"

Silver tears were sliding down Narcissa's narrow cheekbones. "Please, Draco, listen to reason. Think of me. What would I do if something happened to you? You're all I have."

Something in Draco's heart fractured. He'd been ready to defend his feelings for Hermione, to say that he'd done all he could to keep it secret so Lucius's precious 'Malfoy name' wouldn't get sullied, but it was a rare moment indeed when Narcissa's cold front melted enough for her to show emotion, let alone cry. Feeling secure in the knowledge that his father was asleep and wouldn't be privy to the sight of them actually letting down their guard, Draco rose from his chair and went to her, holding his mother close as she wept. "It's all right, Mother. Everything's going to be all right, I promise."

Somewhere close within the manor, there was a rough exhale, and a door softly, almost imperceptibly was shut.

ooo LL ooo

Hermione curled up in the window seat and cuddled into her warm robe. She placed one hand against the frozen glass, peering out over the pristine, white-blanketed Hogwarts grounds, where the sun was just beginning to rise. Here it is. Christmas morning. It's so beautiful outside…

Her other hand impulsively grazed the heart pendant Malfoy had given her. I really do miss Mum and Dad. I hate that I couldn't be with them, but I know Harry needed us to stay, and he's like family to me too. She bit her lip, remembering the other loved one she was missing on Christmas morning. I wonder what Draco's doing. I do hope everything's all right…

"Mrow?" Crookshanks mewed at the lovelorn Gryffindor with his squashed orange face.

"Come here, Crookshanks." Hermione pulled the cat into her lap, where he began to purr contentedly. He even stopped chasing the bit of tinsel she had given him to play with. Retrieving it from the floor, Hermione wound it round his neck, then began to pet him absentmindedly. "It's lonely in here, isn't it, Crookshanks, with all the other girls gone? Why don't we go and see Harry, hmm?"

Hermione donned her dressing-gown and whisked a reluctantly-woken Crookshanks down the stairs to find Harry and Ron already digging into their presents. The two excitedly related that Harry had been gifted with an extraordinary broom, without any clue as to who had sent it.

Hermione reflexively flinched. Her keen wits instantly surmised that this might be a trap. Inwardly, she supposed that the Firebolt could be from Sirius Black. If he'd earned Harry's parents' trust, he must be quite clever - ingenious enough to find just such a tempting Trojan Horse. Wasn't it common knowledge that Harry was a gifted Seeker, and needed a broom? Sirius Black had been sighted not far from Hogsmeade. Couldn't he have heard this bit of news and played it to his advantage, thinking in his time of need Harry might use the broom without question?

But the boys wouldn't hear a word against the magnificent Firebolt, no matter how well-meant. They even seemed upset with her for doubting the gift's authenticity. Why do they have to be so infuriating? she testily wondered. Well, they may not listen to me, but I know someone they will have to listen to, whether they want to or not. And with that thought she relaxed, knowing Harry would have to realize she only had his best interests at heart, and that her quick thinking would keep him safe from harm.

But I stayed to give Harry good company and friendship at Christmas, so I at least need to get along with the boys, even if I think they're wrong. She was doing her best not to be offended and had just succeeded in regaining some of her cheer when Crookshanks began chasing Scabbers again, which naturally ended in yet another row with Ron. Angry with him for being so ridiculous about the stupid rat, which had probably outlived all its relatives anyway, Hermione did as Ron requested and locked Crookshanks in her room, but only for Harry's sake. Christmas or not, she'd nearly had enough of Ronald Weasley's bad attitude towards both her and her cat, and so remained unapologetically bitter towards him for the rest of the morning. After all, you'd think Ron would be more concerned over Harry's life and my friendship than a broom or a rat!

Apparently not, her conscience commented smugly as she departed to get ready for lunch, and Ron had yet to apologize or even seem contrite.

After her shower she brushed her hair slowly, daydreaming. She fingered the heart pendant, the jewels warmed by her skin, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Hermione did a double-take. Is that really me? It was the same Hermione in the looking-glass that she had always known, but this girl was more radiant, more confident, more alive somehow. A tinkly sort of laugh escaped her throat. This must have been what Mum was talking about. She said you glow when you fancy someone and they fancy you back. I used to think it was just one of those silly romantic things she said - but no. She was absolutely right. She eyed her reflection approvingly, smiling at how the necklace's simple touch of elegance seemed to complement her newfound confidence. It was an amazing discovery for Hermione Granger; never in her life had had the lonesome bookish girl believed herself to be the least bit pretty, until now.

Thank you, Malfoy. This really is the best Christmas present I could ever have asked for… and it's one you don't even know you've given me.

Later she rejoined the boys, silently daring them to question the presence of the heart pendant, which she now wore openly over her jumper. But they didn't. I suppose they must think it was a present from Mum and Dad, Hermione thought, shrugging it off. If they've even noticed it at all. That wouldn't surprise me. These are the same two who didn't see the trapdoor Fluffy was guarding first year… ugh. Boys. Always oblivious.

But why do I care if they see it? Hermione suddenly pondered. I've been scared to death Ginny or Ron would get too close to the truth all year, and now I'm practically parading Draco's present to me, hoping the boys will notice. What's wrong with me? And then it struck her head like a cartoon anvil. I want them to see that I'm taken. That someone could actually want me as a girl and not just a walking, talking cheat-sheet. That… that Malfoy wants me in a way they would never think to... That my supposed enemy saw the good in me more easily than my supposed best friends…

Oh! Dumb, dumb, dumb Hermione! You can't let that show; what are you thinking? Get a hold of yourself… Honestly, Hermione, you really have to pull yourself together; it's Malfoy's neck and the end of your friendship with Harry and Ron if you fall apart now…

Unconscious of her inner dialogue, Harry leaned over to Ron and whispered, "Hermione's being a little odd over there. Do you think she's all right?"

"As much as usual," Ron murmured back, shaking his head. Hermione's mouth moved as though she was talking to herself, utterly unaware of their presence. "I've said it before and I'll say it again - she's mental, that one. Absolutely mental."

ooo LL ooo

Severus Snape sat at the smaller table Dumbledore had set up for Christmas dinner, staring blankly at his empty plate. He and the other professors who usually remained at Hogwarts for the holidays were awaiting the arrival of the few students who had elected to stay. The others, of course, were engaged in pleasant conversation and general merriment; he, of course, stayed silent and was expected to take no part in it. That's how it had always been. Snape was especially glad of that this year, as that disastrous day in Diagon Alley kept replaying in his mind at the most inopportune moments. He wanted nothing more than to sit and to sulk in his moroseness until supper, and then to escape to his dungeon and be alone.

Christmas being a time of goodwill, he had sent Hestia a peace offering, though he knew no gift or apology could undo the damage his rejection had done. It seemed almost inconceivable that the young witch could sincerely want him, yet he had watched as her heart cracked like a fragile porcelain figurine beneath a hammer's hard stroke. Even still, she had behaved as no other witch in England would have done. Hestia's overwhelming kindness in the face of her disappointment was astonishing; anyone else would have slapped or cursed him, rather than kissed his cheek and wished him well. Her response had almost made him regret his choice to push her away, even if it had been for her own good.

But what could I have said that would have made her understand? She is naive as a babe, trusting and gentle; she knows only goodness; she has never glimpsed true evil. How could I have explained to her all the darkness of my past, the shadows lurking in my memories that, had I not trained my mind diligently, would have long since driven me mad? I thought once I could love, until... No, I will not dwell on the past. Whatever pain I inflicted was necessary. I will not resurrect this wretched heart of mine only to kill it a second time. And I will not damn hers by attaching it to mine.

His head jerked up as he saw Harry Potter approaching, flanked by his faithful friends. Snape's dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the Boy Who Lived. Fitting title indeed, he thought spitefully, I only hope he honors the gift of that life. It was dearly bought. His gaze merely flickered over Arthur Weasley's son, who seemed nearly as unpromising a wizard as Neville Longbottom. Both living proof that the Dark Lord is clearly mistaken about the superiority of pureblooded wizards, Snape reasoned snidely. That Muggleborn girl Granger has more talent than both of them put together, and then some. I -

Snape's breath caught as he examined Hermione Granger more closely. She had obviously taken greater pains with her appearance than usual, as her hair seemed a little less frazzled and was caught up in a clasp, but that was not what drew Snape's attention. A jeweled pendant hung from her neck - a single heart of emeralds and rubies - catching the glow of the fairy-lights that decorated the Great Hall with a singular brilliance. With the force of an arrow, a pain ripped through his heart, driving all other thoughts from his mind. No. It cannot be…

"Cracker?" Dumbledore was offering, holding the favor out to him with a smile.

That brought him back to his senses for the moment, and though with a glare, he took the other end. When it revealed another of his shames - the dreaded vulture's hat that his boggart double had worn thanks to that rotten Longbottom - Snape stared daggers at it. Have you no mercy?! he thought angrily, knowing full well that Dumbledore could hear his every thought. Didn't you just see -

I did, Dumbledore replied into his mind as easily as though they were conversing aloud, but I had to do something to distract you. You must compose yourself, Severus. I've seen many a Muggle necklace that resembles the one I saw in your memory. It was probably a gift from her parents. Truly, I do not think it is that one.

Yes, Headmaster. Snape's inner voice sounded dubious.

Dumbledore merrily put the vulture's hat on his own head, outwardly showing no sign of their mental tête-à-tête. All seemed forgotten as far as the headmaster was concerned by the time McGonagall and Trelawney had their banter over prophecies and mad axe-men, but Snape's heart, the heart he had thought dead and withered inside until very recently, still felt as though it were in a grinder.

ooo LL ooo

Far away, a small crowd of children was tugging at Hestia Jones, chasing her around a sparkling decorated tree and tattered shreds of paper and open boxes, begging her to sing the song.

"No!" she cried, laughing shrilly. She collapsed on the couch and was instantly pounced upon. "No! I've already sung it five times and I tell you, I'll not do it again!"

"Oh, come on, one more time!" Among them, her nephew Henry's face was especially pleading. "Pleeeeeease!!"

"Ugh! Fine, one more time. The first one that asks after that, Aunt Hesty's gonna jinx." She held out her wand threateningly and made a sour face that only succeeded in being hilarious. "All right, here we go."

And with a voice sweet as her nature, which made it all the more wrong, Hestia began to sing with the kids chiming in, "Grandma got run over by a reindeer, walking home from our house Christmas Eve…"

"Oh, Merlin, not that awful Muggle song again," said Debra, shaking her head at her husband Trevor as they set the table in the next room for supper. The other adult members of the family were upstairs either napping or dressing. "Can't you do anything with that sister of yours?"

Trevor might have replied, had not two owls carrying a cheerfully-wrapped gift box soared down onto the porch just beyond the kitchen door. "I'll get it," he offered, glad to be away from his wife's griping. He had to shake off the snow from his shoes as he came inside. Before Debra could even open her mouth to ask, he called out for Hestia.

"Yeah?" she replied, appearing in the doorway with a false set of antlers on her head, obviously props to make the ridiculous song even funnier. The children were gathered like a human hoop-skirt around her person.

"For you," Trevor replied, handing his sister the red-wrapped gift with a silver bow.

"Me? Who'd get me anything?" Hestia removed the antlers and raised a quizzical eyebrow as she took the package in her little hands and studied it, finding no mention of the sender.

"Hey, we got you presents!" her golden-curled niece Jenny pouted defensively.

"I meant besides you, goofy," Hestia chuckled, affectionately petting her head. "Huh. I guess I should open it."

"That's generally what one does with presents," Debra said scathingly from the kitchen.

Hestia stuck out her tongue at the kitchen doorway, not caring if Debra could see her. "Okay, well, let's see what the mysterious Owly Claus has brought me this year! Who wants to bet it's a lump of coal, huh?" Making a facetious face, she tore into the shiny scarlet wrapping and, with a gasp, removed a pair of lilac gloves made of the softest, warmest material she'd ever felt. "But… who…" Removing the gloves from the box, she found that a note had been tucked inside, nearly hidden in the wrapping paper.

"Can I see?" Jenny asked, taking the box and rubbing her face against the gloves. "Ooh, they're so soft! Whoever got you these must really like you."

Beside her, Henry's lip curled in horror. "Oh, ew! Don't tell me it's from who I think!"

But Hestia wasn't listening. Heart burning in her chest, she read the note she had found.

In case you ever forget the Ignito Epidermis charm, you might need these. Consider this a peace offering from one who hopes you can forgive me and, perhaps, think of me as a friend. Wishing you all the best, and Happy Christmas.

S.S.

ooo LL ooo

"You did what?" Hermione mimicked, doing her best impression of Ron for Crookshanks. In her own voice she replied, "Possibly saved Harry's life, not that you care."

"Mrow?" Crookshanks mewed, cocking his furry head to one side.

"Yes. That's pretty much how it went," Hermione fumed, standing and folding her arms as she proceeded to pace about the empty dormitory with only the bandy-legged cat for company. "Those two are way out of line. How can they be so stupid about this?"

Sadly, Crookshanks had no brilliant counsel to offer on the subject.

In her heart, Hermione knew she was perfectly justified in telling McGonagall about the Firebolt, and that McGonagall was being sensible in testing it for jinxes. The boys would get over it when they realized the depth of her concern. And if not… "If not, they must not be such true friends after all," she sniffed, sincerely hoping that was not the case.

Flouncing onto her bed, Hermione picked up her quill and began writing furiously in her journal. It was going to be a long, lonely holiday.

ooo LL ooo

Dumbledore went to his Pensieve, studying the swirling patterns of memories collected. At length he found the one he was looking for - a memory he had viewed many times over, but needed to see again just to make certain of something. He immersed himself in the electric blue of the memory, going back to the past, whirling round as though in a twister until the memory began…

The park was beautiful that day; the rolling slopes were green, the water shimmered in the sunlight, and swans were swimming on the lake. He found her alone by a tree, reading: a young lady with red hair, legs curled underneath, absorbed in her book. He took a few steps closer, then called her name. "Lily."

At the sound of the deep timbred voice, Lily Evans looked up. "Sniv-I mean, Severus." She caught her lip in her teeth, aware that he'd noticed she almost slipped into calling him by one of James's names for him, and not at all one he liked. "Sorry. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he began tentatively, "about a matter of some importance to me. I was hoping I'd find you here." The younger version of Severus Snape had a look on his face that would seem strange there now; he was almost buoyant.

"Well, here I am." Lily smiled. "Sit down; I could use a break from reading anyway."

Severus did so, then picked up the book and turned it in his hands. "Charms for Advanced Wizarding Levels. Well, I'm impressed. Out of Hogwarts all this time, and you're still studying."

"If you don't use it, you lose it," Lily replied, repeating something her Muggle mother had said. "So, what's on your mind?"

"First, let me ask you a question… do you consider me a friend?"

Lily shrugged. "Well, yes. I know we can't be the best of chums since you and James don't exactly get on well together, but I've always thought of you as a friend. When you'd let me."

Snape smiled softly at that, remembering that once in his embarrassment he'd called her a Mudblood and made her think he hated her; oh, how far that was from the truth. "I was a boy then. Children grow up."

"I know. Severus, have you ever thought about being a parent?"

Snape had nearly lost his composure at that. "I… I confess, I have not."

"I think I'd like to be a mother." Lily's eyes grew dreamy. "Maybe someday. Oh, but I forgot, we were talking about you! You were going to tell me something."

Snape's heart had almost visibly caught in his chest. Had she been insinuating that she'd like to have a child with him? "I was. This may not be the best place or time, but I feel as though I'll explode if I don't at least try to say it. Lily, I think of you as a friend too… but not only as a friend."

Lily's face changed; her smile was gone. "Severus, what are you saying?"

"You're the only real friend I've ever had. Everyone else, your circle of close friends certainly included, has either made sport of me or despised me; but never you. You showed me kindness when I had started to believe there was none in the world, and I came to think very highly of you for it. To… to care for you." His hands fumbled inside his robes, withdrawing a little box. He opened it, revealing a simple but tasteful necklace, a golden chain with a heart pendant of rubies and emeralds. "This is for you. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to, but I want you to have it, so you'll always know how highly I think of you."

"It's beautiful," Lily admitted, staring at it instead of him, "and thoughtful as well. I'm touched, Severus; for your kind words as much as this. But… I can't accept it."

Snape pursed his lips. "You think your boyfriend Potter won't like my giving you a gift?"

Lily shook her head sadly. "I think my fiancée, James Potter, will think you're trying to romance me and come after you."

"Fiancée?" His voice almost cracked.

Lily nodded. "I'm so sorry, Severus." She handed back the necklace, closing her hands around his as he took it. "Truly, I didn't know. I never meant to hurt you. I… I hope we can still be friends."

Dumbledore had seen more than enough. The elderly wizard withdrew from the Pensieve, shaking his bearded head. So… Hermione Granger really does have the jewel that was meant for Lily Potter. Strange turn of events indeed. But how could she have come by it? And of even more concern… what will poor Severus do when he discovers that it really is the necklace he thought?

ooo LL ooo

A/N: I know the books have no precedent for a mental conversation like Snape and Dumbledore's, but I figured two of the most accomplished wizarding minds in the field of Legilimency and nonverbal spell usage would have no problem hearing thoughts if someone else didn't block them.