Song Suggestion: Two Feet- "I feel Like I'm Drowning"

On updating: please don't PM me and threaten to not read unless I update faster. It won't work. Promise. I write in my minimal spare time. This is pure love, and I think two weeks is a fast turnaround, considering each chapter is 3-5,000 words. My only payment is reviews. And I have to say I have the BEST reviewers in the fandom! You guys rock. Seriously, some of y'all write paragraphs. And I read them over and over for inspiration. Just please understand I can only write/edit at a certain pace. XOXO

Christmas Presents

Hermione

Hermione sat with Ginny and Neville on the train back to King's Cross Station. She dreaded the destination, because there would be no one there to greet her.

When Neville began to snore softly, face planted into the fogged glass next to his head, Ginny leaned over and laid her head on Hermione's shoulder.

"I hate telling you this." Ginny heaved a sigh, and Hermione's stomach clenched bracing for the bad news. "But my mum said you can't come to the burrow for Christmas like we planned. Supposedly, it would put Ickle Ronniekins in distress. I tried to change her mind, but you know how she gets."

Hermione expected this. Mrs. Weasley always slightly disliked her. Even when they were all friends. In fourth year, when Skeeter put out the article about Harry and her, the Weasley matriarch turned frosty without even proof it was true. And now with Harry dead and Ron hating her…

Hermione didn't want to put herself in that awkward position anyway.

She just dreaded the upcoming loneliness.

"It's fine, Gin, really. Don't stress about it."

Ginny hands balled into fists.

"It's just makes me so—"

"It's fine. I promise. I think I need some time alone with my parents."

Ginny swallowed, but she nodded and looked away.

"We'll still come up and visit… me and Charlie. George too, if he's feeling up to it."

There was so much loss this Christmas. Almost too much. Harry. Fred. Lupin. Tonks. The wounds festered, still unhealed. Maybe they'd never heal. At least, not into what it was before. The world changed around her, and she wasn't sure where she fit into it anymore.

Hermione

Hermione got up to go find the trolley. She desperately wanted a chocolate frog before being stuck in the muggle world.

On the way down the swaying hallway, a hand shot out and dragged her into a bathroom stall.

She almost screamed but a hand covered her lips before it could escape.

"Shh," Malfoy soothed in the darkness while the hard lines of his body pressed against hers.

His hand released her mouth but lingered on her neck.

"I could kill you for scaring me like that." Hermione reached over and flicked on the light. Draco squinted his eyes with the brightness. "How long have you been waiting here?"

"Longer than I'd like, but it was the only way to get ahold of you." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the memory vial. It sparkled in the light, swirling against the glass. "I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."

It looked exactly like the replica she'd left in the chest. Something burst in her, heart galloping. She always knew Draco could make the right choice, in the end.

And this time it was for her.

It almost made her feel guilty for taking the original memory.

She grasped the vial, their fingers brushing over each other. Just the simple touch of flesh against flesh almost made her melt into him. She put the glass vial into her purse, right next to the real memory she had extracted earlier.

"How do I know this is real?" Afterall, she tricked him. She wouldn't put it passed him to do the same to her, no matter if her heart began to hold secret hopes.

"Because I'm compelled by the bet." He rolled his eyes. "I'd be permanently bald if I dared mess with the terms. You did win it, by the way. So even if I wanted to be a cad, I couldn't be."

Hermione reviewed the bet in her mind, going over the details, trying to see if see if there were any loopholes. She didn't discover anything, but the review did remind her of one fact.

"What about my one hundred galleons?" Hermione held out her hand. She was only half-joking. "You need to pay up."

"Are you sure you don't want an exchange instead?"

He pushed her against the wall, pulling her legs up and around his hips in one smooth movement.

"We're on the train. In the bathroom. I hardly think this is the appropriate place to—" She gave a small gasp when his hand began popping the snaps on her shirt, opening them one at a time, while his lips grazed her collarbone, dipping lower. Her hands went around to the back of his head, threading her fingers through his silky stands.

"Don't tell me the perfect Gryffindor is finally afraid of something?"

"Draco," she said, voice husky. "Someone could hear us."

Draco took a moment to silence the room.

"Not anymore."

"What if I want the galleons instead?"

"You should never play bets with a Slytherin." He nipped at the breast that bulged out her bra. "Didn't someone warn you of that? I said I would give you the galleons, I never said when I would. I need some reason for you to come stalk me in the dungeons again." His hand found the apex of her skirt, nails brushing over the cloth covering her. "Because, after three weeks a part, I intend to place you right back in my bed."

"Maybe next time it can be my bed."

His eyebrows rose in delighted surprise.

"It can be anywhere, anytime you want, love." His fingers pushed aside the flimsy cotton underwear and slid inside her. She gasped, unable to conceal the instant pleasure. "But right now, I need a taste to get me through the winter hols."

The room charged with her magic, rattling the lights as they unbuckled and shoved the remaining clothing out of the way and fucked hard against the wall. It was frantic and hurried. Her hands went to his back, scratching down the expensive cloth of his shirt as if to rip it off. Their lips found each other during the middle. She had never felt so close to somebody. So complete with him inside her. They didn't finish the kiss until they both shattered, groaning into each other's mouths. It left them sweaty and panting, foreheads pressed together.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he said in the hazy aftermath, before straightening his appearance and leaving the compartment with Hermione panting against the wall.

What have I gotten myself into? She thought it would be a one-time thing, a release of tension. But now she worried she miscalculated because having sex with Draco only dragged her further into the murky lake. If she didn't get out soon, she was afraid she'd sink straight to the bottom.

Hermione

Ginny, George, and Charlie visited two days before. There was laughter in her old childhood home, briefly brightening a space now filled with cobwebs, the ghosts of her parents walking around the shadows. When they departed, it left her nothing to focus on but her grief.

Today was Christmas. She wished to be anywhere else, but like a dutiful daughter she sat in a squeaky leather chair, watching a machine make soft beeps and wobbly lines of her parents' heartbeats.

They woke up occasionally, according to their head nurse at St. Mungos, which was why the room was outfitted to look like a muggle hospital. Fake lines and beeping machines decorated the space. The first time they woke up, they nearly hurt themselves in distress. This was the best way to accommodate them, everyone agreed. At least until they healed.

If they ever healed, that is.

She hated being here. Hated staring at them. The steady rise and fall of their chest. The constant fake beeping. Her parents lived, but they might as well be dead.

The week after the war ended, she went searching for her parents in Australia. To her ultimate horror, they had been institutionalized. Gone mad, the muggles believed. Ranting and raving on the streets.

Where did I go wrong? The brightest witch of her age, and she still couldn't manage a correct Obliviate. The healer explained she went too far. Tricking a brain into forgetting little things was easy. But a daughter? Someone their lives pivoted around for most their lives? It was like ripping their souls in two, shredding their minds into something resembling ground beef.

Hermione almost didn't survive the weeks after finding her parents, unable to eat or drink for days. She erased their memories to save her lives. But now, as she watched them wither away, she wondered if it had been worth it.

The wizarding world functioned much like its muggle counterpart. Healthcare was essentially free for all. But there was only one wizard in the world with the skill to potentially heal her parents—a man named Bingley—and he required a king's ransom, the type of money only purebloods could afford. Not to mention, he was a well-known bigot who refused to work on muggleborns, let alone muggles.

Hermione squeezed her mother's hand, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. The guilt stole the breath from her lungs, eviscerating her soul until she couldn't stand it anymore.

She fled the room, nearly tripping over a nurse on the way out.

Hermione

Hermione walked into the cemetery. It didn't take long to find Harry's grave. The ministry spared no expense burying him next to his parents. Today was the first time she saw the headstone and she found it disgustingly gaudy. Nothing about it showed Harry's personality.

Hermione sat cross-legged on the grass and traced the path of letters etched into the stone.

"Merry Christmas, Harry." She kissed the top of the headstone, wishing it was his forehead. "What am I going to do without you? I feel like the world has gone mad. You'd make sense of it. I just know you would." Her breath hitched upward. "Why did your bloody luck have to run out?"

She curled up in the grass, letting herself cry for the first time all break, feeling utterly alone.

So wrapped in her grief, she didn't hear the person approach, until a branch snapped near her head.

She bounced on her feet, wand in hand.

The Death Eater stood a few feet from Harry's grave, green eyes peeking out from behind his silver mask. He had both his hands up, showing he held no wand and posed no threat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you, but I suppose I should pay my respects." He stared at the head stone, at the flowers decorating it, enchanted so they'd never die. "The ministry only understood the threat the dark lord posed on an abstract level. They never had to see the torture. The blood. The—" He sucked in a breath as if the memory caused acute pain. "Always thought I hated the bloke, like I'd been told to."

There was a time she dreamed of the Death Eater somehow being Harry. But she knew better. Harry's eyes were a lighter shade of green, like spring grass. His were deeper. Dark moss in a forest. Lichen growing on a tree.

"What changed?"

"I realized Potter was the only one that could pull me out of that house of horrors."

"How did you find me?" Hermione asked.

"You're not as cautious with your movements as you should be. Rosewood is still out there, along with a few loose death eaters."

He almost sounded concerned, worried, which was ridiculous given the costume he wore. Shouldn't he hate everything about her?

"Why would you care?"

He shrugged. "The reasons are a little complex, which reminds me of why I came."

His hand entered the side of his robe and exited with a tiny black box in the palm of his hand. On the top was a sloppily wrapped bow, as if he had attempted it himself.

Hermione took a step back, unsure of his motives, but the Death Eater raised his free hand as if she was a wild animal about to bolt.

"I was just wanting to give you something. Nothing else, I swear." He leaned down and placed the black box on the cemetery grass and then backed away.

"That's not some object that will melt my skin or entrap my soul, is it?"

She could have sworn he just rolled his eyes.

"What would be the fucking point of that? If I wanted to kill you, I'm sure I'd choose a less conspicuous way. Test it, if you want."

Hermione sent a spell that could detect dark magic. The air above the black box glowed blue, showing it to be safe.

"So… it's a Christmas present?" The words felt funny coming out of her mouth. "Why would you give me a present."

"It was something given to me long ago, and now I'm giving it to you. I hope you'll wear it, though I understand if you don't."

"Will I ever figure out who you are?"

He looked away towards the exit of the cemetery.

"You don't want to know. Trust me. It's better if you never do. I just… I just wanted to give this to you, that's all. Maybe one day you'll understand."

Hermione watched as the Death Eater turned and walked to the gates of the cemetery and then disappeared. Only then did she walk over to the black box and pick it up. She tugged on the bow until it unraveled and twirled back to the earth.

Despite the spell finding no dark magic, she lifted her wand in preparation.

She flipped open the lid to find a simple necklace—an infinity loop hung on a silver chain. The brassy sheen told Hermione both that it was fake metal and of muggle origin. It looked like some cheap trinket she'd win out of a gumball machine.

Hermione stared at the necklace for several long minutes trying to work out in her mind why the Death Eater would give her a muggle necklace. It only deepened the mystery around the figure.

After determining it contained no spells or charms, she unclasped it and hung it around her neck. For some odd reason, it brought her comfort.

Draco

Draco walked into his father's cell. It was made to look like his study back home, except with a plush bed in the corner. The enchanted walls hosted glowing torches and wooden mahogany paneling, the portraits of his ancestors glared back at him, assessing him with cold grey eyes. Real books lined the shelves, most of them dealing with wizarding law and customs.

"Your creature comforts are impressive."

Lucius Malfoy looked up from his chair, letting his reading glasses perch on the bottom of his nose. His cane leaned against the other side of the leather chair. He didn't get up to greet his son; instead, he sneered contemptuously as if annoyed by the interruption of his reading.

"They even let you keep your wand." Draco nodded at the cane.

"Indeed," his father drawled. "Though it's blunted to simple spells. It would be atrocious to chain me here on outlandish charges without letting me keep some fraction of my magic."

He closed the book and set it on a side table and then took off the reading glasses, folded them and set them aside. Lucius placed the heel of his shoe on his knee.

"Sit, Draco." He snapped his fingers, and an elf popped into view burdened under a gigantic tray filled with biscuits and goblin made china. "We have much to discuss."

"No merry Christmas? We do still celebrate that, right?"

Lucius gave an all-suffering sigh.

"Don't be facetious, Draco. You aren't five years, and I don't need to coddle you. Or do you still want a toy broom?"

Draco grit his teeth. There was no dealing with his father in this mood. He sank into the plush leather chair across from his father and accepted the cup of tea from the elf and a biscuit.

His father watched him with narrowed eyes as he took a small sip, looking over the china and meeting his glare. He knew this dance well enough. His father was an archer aiming his bow waiting for the correct moment to loosen his grip.

"I'm going to need you to retrieve the memory," he said finally.

"There's no way around Granger's wards." Draco bit into the biscuit, refusing to let a single crumble dirty his robes.

Lucius set his teacup down and gripped the silver snake head on the end of his cane.

"Then entice her."

Draco quirked a grin on accident, saying more truth in a few movements in his lips than any sentence.

"Working on it, but she's dreadfully prude and self-righteous."

Lucius gave a shrewd look. He leaned the slightest bit forward, so that his long blond hair brushed over his shoulder.

"Not in that way, Draco… though I do not care how you retrieve it." He reached into the side of his robes and extracted a small roll of parchment from the pocket "Maybe I can help."

The paper unfurled, revealing several pages of documents, and sitting on top was a photograph… a muggle photograph, the people looking frozen in time.

Draco leaned forward and grabbed the papers and photo and held it up to the light. He'd recognize that bushy hair from anywhere. A young Granger stood by a tall, slightly balding man and diminutive mousy woman. Hermione resembled neither of her parents very much, though they all three had the same large smile.

"And just what exactly are you insinuating with this?" He placed the parchment and photo in the pocket of his robe. And then he did something he'd never done for. He leaned forward, matching his father's stance. "I'm not threatening her parents. That part of my life is over. They may be muggles, but they don't deserve the torment."

Lucius picked the teacup up and drank a small sip and then set it down.

"Whatever you may think of me, I'm not a brute. I've never desired to kill muggles. There are less messy ways to deal with their kind." He motioned at where Draco had the parchment hidden away. "I taught you long ago the easiest way to control people is by giving them things they can't refuse. They'll willingly walk the direction you desire with the right incentive. Fear is an easy shackle to dismantle. The Dark Lord would have done well to understand this."

"So what exactly is it that Hermione Granger would want so badly she'd shed her ideals?" He gave a small laugh at the back of his throat. "Because I'm not sure you've ever met someone you couldn't control, but Granger just might be it."

Lucius reached into his robe and withdrew a second photo and threw it at Draco. It fluttered into his lap, aided by magic. He picked it up, placing it in the light. This photo was magical, but the people in the photo still didn't move. Granger's parents were side by side in medical beds. Muggle equipment surrounded them, but he doubted it did anything because in the corner stood a healer with a familiar logo on her white robes.

"Her parents are in St. Mungos?"

His father nodded. "For the last six months."

Draco's heart sank at the sight. All this time, and Granger never said a thing. He wondered at how she stood under the weight of grief.

"Why?"

"The little mudblood attempted to alter their memories herself to keep them safe from the Dark Lord. Shrewd of her to do, but ruthless. Erasing their memories in that fashion by an inexperienced hand shredded their minds."

Draco flinched at both the slur towards Hermione and the realization of what Granger did. He wondered how she had the courage to stick the wands to their head, fully understanding they'd never recognize her again in their lifetimes. Granger didn't expect it to be reversed, but he doubted she thought it would leave them mad and comatose.

"So they won't ever be normal?" Draco asked. He wondered if his father caught the concern in his voice.

"Not without the right doctor."

"Mr. Bingley," Draco answered, remembering the time he met the renowned healer at one of his mother's many parties. "But he would never work on muggles."

"It just so happens he owes me a favor." Lucius leaned back and let go of his cane, looking completely comfortable in his environment. "I want you to offer her the one thing the idealistic fool would never refuse. Mr. Bingley has already assured me he can heal them."

Draco's whole body froze. His father discovered Granger's weakness a lot faster than he did. It wasn't jewels, or money, or influence, or power. It wasn't a position in the ministry, or legislation to help the fucking house elves. Nothing else would entice Granger to budge her stance.

But this… her parents' memories? He suspected she'd do a great deal to fix their minds. He held a weapon in his pocket. One that could hurt her or heal her. And the most dangerous thing about the situation was his father knew. It was an extra tightrope he now must walk.

"This just might work," Draco said and stood up. He set his tea on the tray and walked to the door. He didn't want to spend another second in his father's presence. But before he could exit, his father clicked his cane against the floor.

"Have your fun, Draco," his father warned. "But always remember your duty is to your family. Consider this my Christmas present to you. You'll find it more useful than the newest broom, I'm sure… Because if you play this right, she'll be clay in your hands to do with as you wish."

Draco didn't even turn around to see his father's face as he exited the cell. It slammed magically behind him. He walked down the hallway as if a centaur chased him, heart beating furiously.

His father, through his network of spies, knew about Granger and him. He didn't know how much he knew, or if he knew how deep and unhealthy it went. All Draco knew for sure was that his father just gave him his blessing to be with Granger… if he could control her.