Tracey had reached a new level of pathetic three weeks before the Christmas break, when Draco found her having a (scheduled, naturally) breakdown in an empty classroom and pulled her into a brief, awkward hug.

"Ugh, Greengrass is having such an influence on you," Tracey told him.

"I know. I'd do whatever she wanted at this point. It's horrifying. Should have seen it coming though; you know she gives tutorials on her famous "Five Point Plan For Getting Anything You Desire" to the first-years now? ABCDE-"

"-Allure, Bribe, Cry, Demand, Extort," Tracey rattled off. They shared a small smile.

"I'm posh, by the way. In the Muggle world," she blurted out after the silence grew too uncomfortable for her. "After I...took my leave as it were, they devoted themselves to their careers. My parents have rather boring jobs to us, but the salaries are very good. Better than the Davises, who were solidly middle class despite grander aspirations."

"That's a relief."

"Also, I'm one-quarter Welsh, who knew."

"Well that does it. I can no longer associate with the likes of you, Trace."

That got some real laughter out of her, but it soon died down.

"My parents bought me a Muggle car, just because I asked for it. Took it out by myself, got on the M4. Drove for miles, no regard for the speed limit. Nearly crashed the thing. And they weren't even that angry. Salazar, can you imagine how your father would have reacted had you done whatever the Wizarding equivalent of that is?"

He grimaced, then hesitated before he let the words tumble out. "I'd be more frightened by what the Davises would have done."

"No, don't you apologise. It's the truth. I refuse to sugarcoat it."

He nodded, his eyes understanding. But Tracey couldn't stand to look so weak in front of him, so she gave an excuse about needing to revise for Transfiguration that very minute.

She was reaching for the door handle, when it instead opened from the other side. Hannah Abbott gave a little "oop" of surprise, and Tracey swore internally because she knew her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying. The last thing she wanted right now was Hufflepuff intervention.

"Alright, Da-sorry-Wilson, Malfoy," the girl said tentatively.

The two Slytherins nodded in response.

"Wish the holidays would get here sooner, feels like it's dragging. Planning on staying here over Christmas?"

Draco snorted. "We'll be here, but Tracey doesn't do Christmas."

"What? You must be having me on."

"No," Tracey said. "What's the point? It takes me all of five seconds to open an envelope with a Gringotts deposit slip for my personal account. Ha, won't even be getting that this year, though."

Hannah looked as if someone had told her that her cat had just died.

Draco looked at his watch, "I'll see you later, Trace. Good luck," he said to Hannah on his way out.

"I thought you spent the summer with your birth parents," the Hufflepuff said.

"I did. I just...may have told them that it was mandatory to stay at school for Christmas break."

"But why?"

"Because I hate seeing them all sappy, and I hate how people get all childish about an arbitrary day of the year, and I hate thinking about the Davises. So I bloody hate Christmas."

"Okay, I don't know much about you snakes, but I know this can't be a Slytherin thing. I remember how excited Daphne used to get."

"It's not, it's a Tracey thing. I'm sure some of my mates will participate in the festivities ," she said like the word was causing a bad taste in her mouth. "I'll have a long lie-in and probably abuse some substances heavily, and that's about it."

"You've never wanted to have a real Christmas?"

Merlin, what was with these Hufflepuffs and their perpetual eagerness and optimism?

"No, thank you," Tracey said testily. "And I don't want to argue about this with you."

"Oh, Tracey," Hannah said, the empathy radiating off of her and making Tracey extremely uncomfortable. "I see your sadness when you think no one else is looking."

"Then I really have been slipping up lately."

"Was it that bad all the time, with your parents? Like you said on the first day back at school?"

"Don't pity me when I've shown nothing but hatred towards you and your mates."

"Forgiveness isn't yours to give, Tracey. Stop deflecting."

Tracey paused, trying to find the words. "Listen, you have to understand pureblood culture, alright? I thought it was more universal, but Longbottom showed me otherwise. I suppose it's really a pureblood supremacist thing. In nearly all the families I grew up around, backchat earned you a Stinging Hex, or a smack across the face. Some parents, like mine, were stricter than others. It's just how it is. You people are being far too dramatic about it."

"I don't care how it's been justified; it's not right."

"Salazar, you sound like Astoria. Go whinge to her about it. I'm busy," Tracey said dismissively, then stormed out of the classroom.

That's when it started, Tracey realised later. The badgers probably began plotting as soon as Hannah spilled her guts to the others in her year. Conspiracies were part of the Slytherin brand, for Merlin's sake. It would bother her for years that she hadn't caught on sooner.

Anyway, the first incident occurred when Justin Finch-Fletchley approached her at the Slytherin table during breakfast. "Wassup, my Mudblood," he greeted her in a bad American accent, and handed her a mug of steaming hot chocolate, whipped cream piled high and adorned with sparkling hundreds-and-thousands as well as red and green syrups. Astoria was practically falling over in laughter, while Draco lifted a hand to cover his eyes in an expression of vicarious embarrassment. Tracey was told her own expression was priceless.

"Swear you'll never say that again," she said flatly. Then due to an inexplicable lack of restraint, she took a sip. "Not bad," she proclaimed.

Justin looked slightly dejected until Blaise announced loudly, "Tracey just said that garishly decorated hot chocolate was 'not bad,' can you believe it? I think I'll buy a lottery ticket today!" The Slytherins laughed, and Pansy seemed like she was actually considering it for a moment. Tracey noticed that Justin sent his table a fist pump of excitement on his way back.

Then Hannah Abbott plunked down next to her in the upper-years' common room during a free period with more of that hot chocolate and offered to paint her fingernails. Tracey studied the bottle of emerald green nail polish and deemed it "acceptable." Hannah blabbed on about random topics the whole time, but she wasn't nearly as insufferable as Tracey had expected her to be. The Slytherin ice queen found herself smiling around non-Housemates throughout the day. Odd.

Ernie Macmillan was next up. Tracey had been taking pains to avoid him in the castle. He had gotten it particularly bad from the Carrows, while she had coolly watched. He was born into a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, and yet he stood up for the Muggleborns despite the beatings. Stood up for her , although no one had any idea at the time. And there he was, a year later, bringing her tea with the right amount of milk and helping her with a Muggle Studies essay. Ernie was patient with her, making sure she understood the concepts. He listened to her tell a few stories about her dad, because that boy truly liked Muggles rather than simply not wanting to wipe them off the face of the earth. Tracey had been classifying her birth parents as different, because they were hers, while still holding onto less than charitable views about the majority of Muggles. But Ernie had never even met her dad. Tracey's essay came back with full marks.

At this point, Tracey had figured out that the Hufflepuffs had taken her case on. They were always saying hello to her in the hallways and starting to be slightly warmer than merely civil to her Slytherin mates when they were around her. So she knew who would come next, and it caused her anxiety, despite that being another of the things Tracey didn't do .

She had begun to fancy Megan Jones in fourth year. Megan went to the States to visit her Muggle cousins over summer hols and came back with loads of pop culture knowledge, breasts, a new haircut, and an abundance of confidence. Tracey noticed all of it. But not only was Megan a Hufflepuff, she was a fucking half-blood. She should be disgusted by her, not thinking about the two of them alone in an empty hallway, or worse, in Tracey's bed. These feelings were unnatural and shameful. So she focused her efforts on despising the rest of the impure masses even more.

Megan offered her a special blend of herbal tea that was supposed to boost her spirits or whatever, and Merlin damn it, it was really good from the first sip. They struck up a conversation, and then Megan did something Tracey had pictured in her head for years. She asked her to go to Hogsmeade with her. No, this couldn't be real. This had to be a trick.

"Right, very funny, now go laugh about this with your mates."

"I'm not joking."

"You. Want to go to Hogsmeade. With me. Like...like a date."

"Would you say yes if I did?" Megan's eyes were earnest, and Tracey's heart was racing. She smoothed her skirt with slightly shaking hands.

"Honestly, what do you all want from me? Why do you keep acting in such a bizarre manner and offering me hot beverages? Why would you ask me out? Why would you want anything to do with me?"

"You're clever, and I've wanted to tell you that you were pretty for awhile," she said. "I want to get to know you, if you'll let me."

"I don't even know who I am anymore," Tracey said, her voice breaking. "You know what Mother's specialty was? Propaganda. She spent hundreds of hours writing thousands of words about how half-bloods and Muggle-borns were inferior, defective, worthless. While the whole time, she knew the truth about me. While she watched me learn to hate, learn to torment others for their supposed deficiencies. Can't even look at myself in the mirror some days."

"I see you," Megan said softly, and took her hand.

Their gazes met, and Tracey leaned in, Megan following suit. Her lips crashed against Tracey's, and it was perfect. Until Tracey gave into heaving sobs, burying her head into the other girl's shoulder. Megan held her, like she was something valuable. Special.

"I hadn't planned the first kiss to go like that," Tracey said apologetically, when she was done crying.

"It's a good reason to practise some more," Megan replied.

"I'm beginning to appreciate the Hufflepuff work ethic," said Tracey, moving in to kiss her again.

Pansy found them still snogging twenty minutes later. "I really should buy a lottery ticket today," she remarked. "Well done, Jones, excellent choice. But if you hurt her I will kill you."

"This is going to ruin your day, but you no longer intimidate me, Parkinson."

"Wow, you Hufflepuffs have developed quite the rebellious streak. I approve." Tracey knew she was speaking more broadly about the situation, and all of it made her ridiculously happy.

So Tracey went on that date, and she started saying hello back to the Hufflepuffs in the halls. She even joined them for breakfast one morning.

The night before the train left, the four Hufflepuffs cornered Tracey with wrapped presents. She blinked rapidly, eyes misty.

"Don't expect this to become a habit," she advised them sharply. Then she gave each one of them a quick hug, thanking them for the gifts.

She would still probably spend the twenty-fifth sleeping, reading a good Auror novel, and getting wasted in the Slytherin dorms. But maybe Christmas was something Tracey Wilson could do.

Maybe Tracey could do a lot more than she used to believe she could.