It wasn't a perfect substitute, but the celebration with Draco's mother had proven to be a much-needed balm for the family-shaped hole in her heart. And they were one now, weren't they? A family?

The thought had Hermione verklempt long after they bid Narcissa farewell; she clung to Draco's coat sleeve as they left the hospital, his fingers gripped between hers. She wanted to cry… twelve years worth of sorrow in exchange for one somewhat normal Christmas… complete with family drama and delights. And a person with whom to weather them.

He had given her a real Christmas.

Draco had kissed her in front of the floo, in front of a host of giggling nurses, and she could not have cared less.

When they arrived back at Hermione's flat, it was nearly time to leave again for dinner. The time had gotten away from them. It didn't matter, really . Their time was their own and a forgotten reservation would mean little for their ability to enjoy the night, but the twitch of an old cat's tail from beneath the sofa seemed to indicate that they had been missed, and that a feeding was nigh.

"There you are, old man!" she exclaimed to her old cat. "Sorry we've been away from home all day." Hermione picked Crookshanks up from beneath the sofa and used his tiny cat paw to wave hello to the new man.

Well, her home. She knew he felt like a bit of an interloper in her tiny flat. They hadn't set their living arrangements as such; he had suggested they return to Oxford after the first of the year so she could get her belongings packed, but they couldn't bear being apart for longer than a few hours, so… he just was going to stay there in her flat… all the while keeping his clothing at the hotel? They had some arrangements to sort out. Maybe take a solitary hour here or there, so they wouldn't tire of each other. In the meantime...

" This is Crookshanks," Hermione said, balancing her fuzzy companion in her arms. He looked like a miniature lion who had been electrocuted on a low voltage for the span of fifty years. Draco stood back a respectable distance and bowed.

"Sir, it is my distinct pleasure," Draco said. Crookshanks hissed. "Now, now," Draco chuckled. "I'm in your abode, dear chap, we'll play by your rules. I'll go no closer."

"I'll just feed him," Hermione said with a laugh. She disappeared into her bedroom with the fuzzy creature and Draco observed the various magnets and photographs on her refrigerator. The corner of a white envelope peeked just over the top of the door. Draco reached up for it. It was the letter from the Burrow that had arrived in the morning.

He shucked off his coat and laid it over a kitchen chair, pocketing the letter in the back of his trousers. Hermione padded into the kitchen in her fuzzy slippers. "The beast is content," she said.

"I am, you're right," he said with a wink.

"Not you," she said, poking him in the chest. "But I'm glad."

"I am quite at my leisure," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "And please remember when I say this next sentence that I absolutely adore you and today has been perfect."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. " What? "

Draco reached into his back pocket and pulled out the letter. "You ought to read this," he said. She closed her eyes.

"I so don't want to do that," she said. "I'm so mad, I could scream"

"I know, and I'm not at all discounting that," he said, "but I don't want you to finish out the year estranged from your dearest friends because they were-"

"Morons!" she exclaimed.

"...I was going to say 'mistaken', but yes," he said. He held out the envelope and she sat on a kitchen chair in a huff. She ripped it open so violently she nearly ripped it in half. Draco stifled a laugh at her dramatic pout.

The letter read as such:

Dear Hermione and Draco-

I'm sure an apology will mean very little to you now that the damage has been done, but I wanted to extend one to you anyway on behalf of my entire family.

We collectively behaved in a way that is unbecoming of ones who have survived great turmoil and lost people whom we love-and of people who love you, Hermione. Draco Malfoy knows the pain the war wrought better than anyone. When he was a guest in our home, we made ourselves look no better than what we were wordlessly accusing him of being.

I am so sorry. His welcome should not have been conditional on any recommendation other than the fact that you, Hermione, invited him. Your love should have been enough for us, as it has always been. I'm sorry that you were upset.

Please accept this letter as both an apology and an invitation for yourselves on any future occasion that we might be brought together. We could not be happier for the two of you. There is nobody else who deserves happiness like you.

Humbly yours,

Arthur Weasley and the Weasley family

Hermione huffed. She handed the letter over to Draco and fanned her face. She was angry and flushed. Draco nodded as he read. "This is very thoughtful," he said.

"I don't like it," she grumbled, hugging her arms around her waist. "'I'm sorry you were upset' is not an apology!" She stood and threw her hands up in exasperation.

"He means well," he said.

"Draco," she said, grabbing his face. "I need him to own the fact that they acted hurtfully. Me being upset was a result of that. I was upset because of the way they all treated you. Not because I chose to be upset."

"I know," he said, grasping her wrist and rubbing it gently. "The fact that you care so much… about my feelings… it's really touching."

"I never want you to feel that way again," she said. "They have to know that they hurt us both." She brushed his cheekbone with her thumb. She looked ready to cry, so Draco kissed her gently.

"Thank you," he said.

"Please," Hermione begged. "Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum."

He folded the note up and handed it back to her. "What are you going to write back?"

"Don't know," she said. "I haven't decided how long to be upset about it."

"Well," he said, kissing her cheek. "Let me know what you decide." He looked at his watch. "Oh dear. I'd better run. I'll be back soon, alright? Like an hour or so."

Draco left her to her own devices to get ready for dinner, while he popped back to his hotel room to freshen up and change his clothing. Hermione went through her closet while she pondered the letter.

What in Merlin's name had gone wrong on Christmas Eve? Why were they so reticent to include him after all this time? Especially since he had come with her. It's not like he had just randomly appeared on their doorstep-for Merlin's sake, were the publicly-circulated photos of her snogging his face off not enough to convince them that he had changed? Or did they think that she was divorced from all logic?

She ran her fingers over the shoulders of the tops in her closet. What the hell does one wear to a nice Christmas dinner when one's date is Witch Weekly's most celebrated snappy dresser? Rude man, with his velvet and silk and cashmere. Why couldn't he just wear some polyester or a polo shirt? Now she was mad at him. Too gods-be-damned good-looking. How dare he!

Hermione huffed. "Obviously he's a good person!" she breathed, hand settling over black straps. "Bloody Weasley pride." She pulled the garment from her closet. Would he like her in a dress, or… ought she wear trousers and look sensible? Hermione pulled a one-piece romper out of the closet and held it up. It was cute, and blue always suited her… No, he had emphasized nice , so. Fancy? Did she own anything truly fancy? She returned the romper to its place and sorted through more garments, settling back on her one dress-a black a-line dress with a nipped-in waist. She had several years worth of fancy dress costumes in the back of her wardrobe, but this black dress was the most formal dress she owned. It would have to do.

She slipped on the dress and sighed at herself in the mirror. It would do. With a few additions… 'gods, who has the time for all this?' she thought, rifling through her drawers for suitable accessories.

She clicked to the loo in her black flats once she had talked herself out of hiding beneath her quilt and pretending she didn't own anything nice . She scowled at herself in the mirror.

How could she ever go back to The Burrow, now that she and Draco had decided to remain married? Would every visit be tainted from then on? What had she done, bringing him there? He didn't deserve that. She would spend as long as it took to make sure he believed her. If she never had to see him look that sad again, it would be too soon. She decided in that moment that she would reply to the letter, but she would take a few days and draw it out, for the sake of keeping them on edge. And then she could really consider what she needed to say.

Now for her hair… she applied a cream that Molly Weasley had made for her, which was meant to smooth out her voluminous curls into uniform ringlets. It didn't work quite that well, but it at least kept the frizz down. But should it be up? She pulled it half up and turned to the side. Yes, up was the way. It showed off her neck. Did he like her neck? He had a very nice neck himself-

"Lovely girl, we're going to miss our reservation," he called, knocking on the bathroom door. Hermione jumped and brushed on some mascara. Why was she so bloody nervous? By Draco's standards, this was like any other dinner reservation. It was admittedly easy for him to be fancy. He was fancy by design. He could wear a suit made of burlap and be accepted at any high-end restaurant. She didn't feel fancy, or lovely for that matter.

"I don't look fancy enough," she called, pulling at her dress. She would be sure to grab an embroidered velvet jacket she had found in her favorite charity shop to complete the look. It wasn't too strange with the shoulder pads removed and it least the fabric seemed sumptuous.

"Let me see you," he said gently. Hermione opened the door a crack. Her hair was pulled up into a bun with curls spilling out of it. She had on a pair of green earrings of her own, as well as black nylons and low black shoes. His face cracked into a huge smile. He held out his hands to her. "You're perfect," he said. Hermione set her hands in his and smiled bashfully. Her heart leapt into her throat.

"I'm not," she said. "I don't own anything fancy! If I had known you'd wanted a formal dinner-"

"Love, I just want to go out to Christmas dinner with you," he said, clasping her face in his hands. "There's no need to fret over formality."

Hermione sighed. "But you always look so good and I… I feel like an acorn."

"You're beautiful, Hermione. But if it would make you feel better to go in pyjamas, I'll do it," he said.

"No-ugh! You don't understand and I don't know how to put it into words," she sighed. Draco kissed her forehead.

"You're right," he said. His stomach growled and Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "I'm obviously too hungry to try to convince you how lovely you are, right now. Let's pick this up later, when I can properly list out all your best qualities." He held out his arm to her. "I shall need at least three hours to list them all, supposing we don't take a break."

"Fine," she said. "But I'm going to be a grump all night." Draco patted her hand.

Draco whisked Hermione off out her front door ( with the vintage velvet coat) and down the block to a little restaurant he had looked up nearby. It really wasn't anything fancy, but it was nice-Italian, lots of candles, good wine. Draco looked at her longer than usual for the whole meal; his prolonged eye contact seemed to be daring her to renew her protestations, but he kept tracing the inside of her wrist with his fingers and offering her more wine, and she remembered how very nice he was to look at.

When they were finished, Draco paid the bill, even though Hermione asked to split it ("My money is your money, now,," he said, which made her sigh and roll her eyes). She had mostly shaken off her dull mood. Then, he made a suggestion that made her wonder.

"Do you want to stay at The Waldorf, tonight?" he asked as they walked towards her flat. Hermione looked up at him with hooded eyes. "As a last Christmas treat."

"Um… I don't know," she said. "I've never stayed in a hotel like that before."

"There's a really large bed," he said, "so you can be a starfish and you won't even know I'm there." He smiled innocently at her. Hermione pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders. "Or I'll sleep on the sofa and you can sleep like a queen."

"Well," she began, "I suppose that would be nice. For one night."

"I'll even draw you a bath," he suggested.

She groaned. "Oh, that sounds like heaven! Why do you do this to me?"

"One of these days I'm going to sorely disappoint you," he laughed. "I have to collect all my good works points now."

"Ten points to Slytherin for being a damnably thoughtful man."

"Now, hang on-we're in a house together now, so I don't want to collect for Slytherin… what could our house be called?"

"Who's our founder, then?" she laughed.

"I guess it's you!" He touched her nose and she laughed.

"Fine, but I don't want to name it after me."

They arrived at her front doormat and she turned the key to let them in. The oldest cat in England wandered into the living room after enjoying his dinner, sat on the mat before the hearth, and mewed forcefully.

"Crookshanks, it is!" Draco laughed.

"Ten more points to Crookshanks , then, for that revelation."

Hermione packed a small overnight bag, with pyjamas and an outfit for the next day, when they would do (Draco promised) absolutely nothing. She left the master of the house a bowl heaping with kibble and a goblet of water. He mewed his approval before they left.

They arrived at the Waldorf via bus, which it turned out Draco had never tried… anywhere he had needed to go in London prior to Hermione, he either walked to or he hailed a cab. She felt quite self-conscious walking through the lobby with him, especially considering he was a long-term guest… had he ever taken someone else there, she wondered?

It didn't really matter, now. She meant it, even as she thought it. He was allowed to have had a rich life prior to her influence in it. And hopefully richer still as the year turned over and made way for fresh experiences.

"Should I change my name?" Hermione asked as they waited for the elevator. A bell boy had been dispatched to fetch a nice bottle of wine, after being introduced to Mister Malfoy's wife by the concierge… who had acted delighted, but yet somehow unsurprised. Hermione wondered how many conversations Draco had had with the concierge over the course of six months. He probably knew a great deal about Draco, now.

Hermione yawned. They were arm-in-arm and she had the scarf she had sworn not to wear draped over her shoulders. Turns out she looked ravishing in green, and Draco had told her so immediately.

"Wouldn't that feel very permanent?" he asked. "A legal name change and all that, the paperwork. I think we'd have to announce it in the papers or something."

She shrugged. "I'm toying with the idea of permanence," she said.

"Well, I don't know," he said. "I think 'Hermione Granger, Lady Malfoy' sounds quite dignified."

She winced and Draco chuckled at the look on her face. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about the title…" she said. "And I had to hear about it from your mother ."

"Too gauche? Should I change my name?" he asked. "I would gladly take Granger."

"No," she said. "You're Malfoy to me. I don't want you any other way."

He nudged her with his hip. "And you're my Granger."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Maybe I'll hyphenate."

"Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger," the concierge said. "This way, please."

"That settles that." Hermione said. "I like our names one right after the other."

They rode up to the fifth floor in silence-Draco with his hands in his coat pockets, Hermione with her arm through his and her head on his shoulder. He was angled towards her, lips a hare's breath from her forehead.

He let her into the room with a flick of his key card and pointed to a chair upon which she could deposit her dufflebag. Then, he went into the loo without her and she took in the room on her own. It was stark-mostly white walls with small black accents. He was a tidy person, so none of his belongings were strewn about, despite the fact that he had been living there for six months. But one sleek green tartan jacket was draped over the back of a wingback chair, and she felt at once the spirit of him in it. She really… adored that spirit. A sense of recognition for beautiful things, for not wanting to disturb them and yet indulge in his own definition of beauty. Her heart leapt into her throat. The faucet started in the bathroom. She turned to see him leaning out of the room.

"I have salts, love-do you want lavender for your bath?" he asked.

She could have swooned. "I would," she said softly. He grinned.

"I knew it." He disappeared again. Hermione sat on the bed, a massive four-posted King thing. She felt a sense of utter shock, really.

How… how did she wind up here? In a very expensive hotel room… rented out by a man she had despised as a child… who now looked at her like she was made of marzipan and chocolate, and kissed her like he might die without her… wasn't it all a dream?

She settled into a massive jacuzzi tub laden with bubbles, a glass of wine perched on the edge, and a very handsome fellow sat in his pyjamas beside her. He had given her privacy to get into the bath, but come in when she had asked. He was very respectful, not pushy at all… he just wanted to be near her and give her comfort.

They still had so much to learn about one another. Likes. Dislikes, pet-peeves-joys, dreams. Hopes. Goals… so much beyond liking each other.

"Do you want to have children?" she asked, flicking a small bubble off of her knee.

"Might do. With the right partner." He peered at her out of the corner of his eye and winked. "Do you?"

She sighed. "Yes. Against my better judgment," she said. "They would never be able to know my parents, and I do not feel in the least equipped to raise tiny human beings… but…" Hermione sighted and sank further into the bubbles.

Draco said nothing. He merely bobbed his head lightly.

"But I think I need it. For my own family identity…" she was nearly buried in bubbles, except for her forehead and eyes. Draco glanced at her.

"You know," he said, clearing his throat, "I never did think I could have one. A family." He looked down at his glass of wine-a cabernet that he had specially requested for them, something french and bold and soothing and all-together brain-numbing. "But every day this week, I have woken up and experienced something that I want to teach someone else to appreciate… like muggle Christmas, for example. I knew Christmas was delightful before , especially when you get a tree decorated by goblins and presents made of actual charms, but there is so much more to a holiday when it is devoted to gathering together. And a child would do that for me… or a wife," he said, holding out a hand to her. Hermione took it, even though her hand was wet and bubble-laden. He squeezed so tightly. "Hermione… I'm so worried that you'll wake up tomorrow and realize you've made the wrong choice," he admitted. "I've spent the last week in a state of total…" the word escaped him and he shrugged.

"Bafflement?" Hermione offered.

Draco squeezed her hand again. "Yes." He looked at her pointedly. "You are so much more than I could ever have dreamed. And frankly, until I ran into you, I thought I didn't deserve it."

"Why did you sign that marriage contract, Draco? It could have ruined your life," Hermione asked softly. She held his hand to her chest; his sleeve was getting damp, but he allowed her to clutch it tightly.

" This wasn't possible in my mind," he said. "I was completely isolated from anyone other than my parents' inner circle, I didn't have any concept of hiring a lawyer or protecting my own interests. My choices were few. My inheritance was all I had."

"You don't have anything now," she said sadly. She felt his loss acutely. A man without a home to return to.

Draco laced her fingers with his. "This," he said firmly, "is not nothing ." He pulled himself up to the side of the tub and leaned over to her. "You are my world, now."

"Draco," she breathed, but he kissed her before she could say any more. Hermione reached up and cupped the nape of his neck. He worried her top lip as the steam of the water curled around their joined faces, intensified by the heat between them. Hermione leaned up and pressed her chest to his clothed torso, while he wrapped his other arm around her naked waist. He lost his balance and splashed into the bath over her, but she didn't care; Hermione merely made way for his fully-clothed body in the water beside her by flipping him beneath her and straddling him in the water.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back. "I don't deserve you," he breathed against her lips. Hermione stopped abruptly. She sat back, grasping his hands where the had come to rest between her waist and her arse, fully bold in her nakedness. "I don't deserve your intimate trust."

"Let's get one thing very clear," she said breathlessly. "You deserve to be intimate with someone who will do so in tenderness."

Draco pulled her down so she was snuggled against the full length of his body. "Would you?" he asked her.

"I will," she said. Hermione kissed his jaw, then his earlobe, then his cheekbone. Then, she showed him in no uncertain terms that he was worthy of being intimate with a trustworthy partner.

It was the best Christmas either of them could remember.