The Great Hall was bustling. It was the last day that everyone would be eating breakfast together before the long holiday break, and it was apparent that they wanted to enjoy the morning with their friends before parting ways. Words like "Christmas" and "mum" and "presents" filled the cinnamon-scented air—words that reminded Hermione how lonely her holiday was sure to be.
"I'm surprised to see you here," Ginny said, sitting across from her.
"I was hungry."
In truth, she was positively ravenous, and the way she mauled her pumpkin scone was proof.
The redhead was clearly hungry too, as she was smothering a slice of toast with baked beans. "I guess I thought you'd hole up in your dormitory for a while—after the way you left yesterday and all."
Quietly, Hermione took another pumpkin scone from the nearby platter. If she spoke, she might have revealed too much about the previous evening, and that was not a conversation she wanted to have right before Ginny went back to the Burrow, where she would surely tell Harry every detail.
"Those bloody chits wouldn't even let it go once you were gone, either. After you left, they went in on Malfoy...as if that would accomplish anything." Ginny sucked some tomato sauce from her thumb. "He left maybe five minutes after you."
"Did he really?"
Her voice cracked, but Ginny did not seem to notice.
"Yeah. I wasn't sure why he even showed up, honestly." Ginny took a large bite. With her mouth full of beans and toast, she added, "It's not like anyone talks to him other than you."
Hermione knew that her cheeks had to be the color of her friend's hair. Her face was impossibly hot, and before she could stop herself, she asked, "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"You meet with him every weekend still, don't you? For Slughorn?"
"Oh..." Hermione trailed off. She sunk her teeth into the scone, partially because she was hungry and partially to ease her nerves. "Yes, I er—I still have to meet with him. Not that I want to or anything. Slughorn sort of forces me—well, forces the both of us."
"Right—and I'm pretty sure nobody else talks to him," Ginny replied, obviously confused by Hermione's outburst. "I mean, I've seen people call him a git here and there, but that doesn't count, really."
"That much is to be expected after what he did," Hermione said, straightening her posture. She cleared her throat. "So you'll be leaving for the Burrow tomorrow?"
Ginny nodded. "Yeah. You're still welcome to come, you know. Harry and my mum would love to see you."
"As lovely as that sounds," Hermione said, thinking of a face that deserved every bit of her magic, "I think I'll be better off in the castle this year."
"Better off than facing my brother, you mean."
Hermione glowered at her.
"You know he's being a prat. As soon as he sees you, he'll get over himself and he'll be trying to get back on your good side. All I'm saying is that you could make him squirm, and that—" Ginny emphasized the word by stabbing the air with her fork. "—could be quite funny."
"If I show up, that gives him hope," Hermione said, pointedly.
"Well, you want him back in the long run, don't you? I thought that's part of why you were so mopey."
The redhead had always been straightforward, but Hermione could not believe she had the gall to make such an assumption. Months had passed since she spoke to Ron Weasley, and after those months, she could not stand the idea of looking at him, let alone spend the holiday with him.
"Ronald has proven time and time again that he wants me only when it's convenient for him. I'm not going to give him the chance to prove it again."
"That's it, then," Ginny said, disbelievingly. "You're actually done with him?"
Hermione gave a stiff nod. "Yes."
"Then why does it matter if you come back to the Burrow or not?"
With a final bite of her second scone, Hermione admitted, "Because I don't want to change my mind."
As Hermione trudged through the snow, she was beginning to regret not moving their meeting to the library. In the distance, Hagrid's hut puffed black smoke, a stark contrast to the frost coating the trees and the snowballs flying through the air. Beside the hut, however, was someone that blended in too well. If she had not been looking for him, she may not have seen him, for he was just as fair as the falling flakes.
Among the frolicking youths, he was an enigma.
"It's cold," he said with a smirk.
"Don't start with that today," Hermione groaned, teeth chattering. She was acutely aware of the searing glares upon her. "Let's just go."
The wind carried whispers and at least one insult their way. Hermione ignored them and slipped between the heavy conifers, her unlikely companion much closer to her side than usual.
"I hope Slughorn doesn't expect us to do this all year," she muttered, hugging herself for warmth.
As soon as the words slipped past her lips, she wished she could take them back. Malfoy, whether she liked it or not, was a new and unexpected form of normalcy, and she was nearly sorry to see him leave for France.
"Make better marks, then," he spat, speeding past her.
His body warmth was gone, and she cast a silent charm upon herself to combat the frigidity until they found their place in the Forbidden Forest.
"Bloody snow," he was muttering under his breath when Hermione finally reached the clearing. Using a Fire-Making Spell, he melted a sheet of ice from the large boulder.
Hermione thought him to be clever, as she was merely going to kick the snow away from her patch of ground. Instead, she cast the same spell that he did and sunk into the warm, wet soil. A drying spell would have made her sitting place much cozier, but she did not feel like admitting her shortsightedness, so she endured the offputting squish of the mud on her bottom.
"I have a feeling we won't do much on our first day back." She fished through her satchel until she found her Potions textbook. "Slughorn will be too caught up in how the Tattings and the Twitts celebrate Christmas."
"Don't put your Galleons in one cauldron, Granger."
"Of course not. I was only saying it's a probability," she said, flipping to the eighteenth chapter.
Malfoy did not respond. Instead, he pulled out his Potions textbook as well. His Arithmancy book was nowhere to be seen, though Hermione assumed he had it with him. His schoolbag looked too heavy to only be carrying Exceptional Potions for Exemplary Students.
"I took some notes on this chapter," Hermione informed him, skimming through the text. "I thought it was interesting how the puffskein hair changes color when it comes in contact with the goat's milk... I've never heard of anything having that reaction to a dairy product before..."
"Mmm, right," he hummed. His eyes did not meet hers as he asked, "So how long should you heat the goat's milk before you add the puffskein hair?"
Hermione drew her brows together and started flipping through the useless pages that contained more drivel than information. "Erm—I—I'm not sure..." She could not remember there being so many paragraphs in the introduction. "It's mentioned in the directions..."
"Yes, that is how directions work."
She glared at him. "How is it that we had a perfectly decent walk yesterday and today you're acting like a complete git?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Malfoy said, lowly, burying his face in his book.
"You do know what I'm talking about. You're just being difficult."
"Maybe you should've brought Weaslette along to keep the peace, then," he growled, "or maybe you should get even further up Slughorn's arse so he'll let us off."
"So that's what this is about," Hermione inhaled. "You're upset that I told Ginny not to let me drink with you again."
"I'm not upset about anything. I'm only making suggestions, Granger—suggestions you have no business disagreeing with since they were your idea."
"If you say so." Pointing at the instruction in the textbook, she added, "It's three and a half minutes, by the way."
"What?"
He had been somewhere else again. Hermione knew the look on his face, because she had seen it many times—in him, in her, in Harry. Harry had noticed it too. Back in their sixth year, he often gestured the blond, rambling on about the Slytherin's distracted nature and how he was certain that, despite Malfoy's age, he had taken the Dark Mark. Hermione felt ill thinking about that year. Never did she forget what he had done, but it was often easy to let it slip into the background.
"Erm—the goat's milk." The past was consuming her again. All she could do was shake her head and press on. "You're supposed to heat it for three and a half minutes."
His steel pools were burning a hole right through her. He knew she was panicking.
"That's right."
Then, without another word, he reached into his schoolbag and pulled out his Arithmancy book. Hermione quietly sucked down the cold winter air as visions of war flooded her memories, her eyes fixed upon him as he silently began to study.
With each page he turned, she felt a little less anxious. When his long fingers finally stopped turning and traveled to his chin, she revisited a recollection she had not thought about since summertime—one she had shrugged off as a small fight, but now, it mattered so much more than she ever thought it would.
"Can't believe Harry testified for that prat," Ron had complained, collapsing onto his bed.
"Well," Hermione started, fearing the redhead's reaction, "he was sort of a victim himself, wasn't he? I can't imagine what it'd be like to have Voldemort threatening my parents."
"If my dad was Lucius Malfoy, I'd be glad if Voldemort killed him!"
Hermione shook her head and sat by his feet. The ancient mattress creaked beneath her weight. "You can't say that, Ronald. Things aren't always so black and white."
"And some things are! After all he did to you? To Madam Rosmerta and Katie Bell? He deserves to rot in Azkaban and so do both of his horrible parents."
"Well, that isn't happening. Harry testified and justice took its course. That's all there is to it."
"Justice," he scoffed. "Justice would be the Killing Curse."
"Ronald!"
"Oh, come off it, Hermione. I'm not the only one that thinks as much!"
"I don't care what anyone else thinks! It doesn't make it any less barbaric!"
"So you're on his side then," Ron said, darkly, "again."
He didn't mean Malfoy.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I think Harry was right to do what he did."
"Figures."
He rolled onto his side so he was no longer facing her.
"Are you actually mad at me for not wanting to have someone killed?"
Ron said nothing, and she shook her head.
"You're impossible." She stood up and stomped to the door. "I'll be downstairs if you decide to grow up."
He never apologized. The argument simply faded away, a ghost amongst their daily routine.
She never realized how relevant it would become.
As she continued to watch Malfoy, she wondered if she knew him better back then than she thought she did. His pale brows were knit together as he read the chapter for Arithmancy, noticeably confused and eager to learn; Hermione imagined she looked similar when she was trying to learn something she did not understand. It was in the details that she found their infinitesimal similarities.
"Malfoy?"
His head did not move, but his eyes did.
"What?"
"I just—I just wanted to apologize," she said, not entirely sure why she was sorry, but very sure that she was, "if I said anything that made you feel—I don't know—er—unwelcome..."
"I don't know what you're on about, Granger," he said, quickly looking down at his book.
Hermione's stomach sank. She did not say anything, but turned her attention back to Potions. They studied quietly like that for a long while.
Once the hour was up, Malfoy was the one to break the silence.
"We should walk back."
Hermione nodded and collected her things. They started towards the trail when she said, "We should probably meet again before classes. Maybe that Sunday after you get back? Maybe two in the afternoon—so you have time to settle in."
"Yeah, fine." He was walking slowly again, keeping her pace.
Together they walked, but they said nothing. Only when they reached Hagrid's hut did they see the many students running amok, and Hermione realized it was probably best that they separated. Wordlessly, they split off, but Hermione only made it a few feet.
"Malfoy?"
He rounded and raised his eyebrows.
She gave him a small smile. "Have a happy Christmas, okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah, you do the same, Granger. Don't fuss when the elves try and feed you."
Then, he began walking back to the castle. Hermione, however, found herself glued to the same spot she was in. Her knees were shaking, and she was afraid she knew exactly why.
