Hey guys!
Here's another chapter for you guys! Thank you to all the readers and reviewers for taking the time and following this story! I see you and appreciate you 3
This is where the story starts to get its M rating.
Until next time! Enjoy and please let me know your thoughts!
Kiwi 3
Hanging the last stocking on the mantel's rough stone over the roaring fireplace, Hermione tied her hair up in a top knot and walked back to her favourite recliner. Picking up her needle, she resumed knitting, her fingers moving in an exacting routine.
Hermione hadn't given up on the hands-on hobby she had started when she was 14. The only thing she changed was the recipients, and now she could proudly say that she mastered the art of knitting without the use of magic. The way the knitting needle would meet the red woollen yarn brought warmth to her heart, as if these two objects were having a conversation of their own and Hermione was but a mediator, ready to jump in if the debate got tangled up. Her brows furrowed, pulling her from the rhythm as a single thread tugged at her fingers. Looking down, she saw Crookshanks playing with the ball of yarn.
"Crooks! Could you please not do that?" She picked up a ball from her woven basket tucked beside her chair and threw blue yarn further into the room in a bid to distract her familiar. Crookshanks eyed the ball as it stopped in a lonely corner of the living room and walked slowly in the opposite direction and out of the room.
Shaking her head, she set her needles down at the foot of her chair and tucked her feet under her. She took a small sip of the homemade mulled wine and sank deeper into the comfy chair. A contented hum escaped her as she licked her lips, the residue of the semi-sweet spices of cinnamon and nutmeg were balanced perfectly- by the bitterness of the cloves. She could no longer postpone her tedious ritual of selecting the perfect Christmas gifts for her friends and family.
Although the yearly task took time, Hermione prided herself in getting meaningful gifts to those closest to her and wouldn't skimp on her process this year. Dragging her notebook over to her folded knees, Hermione began to list her friends and acquaintances out. Some people, like Hagrid, were already sorted out—after Luna sorted out the proper license, they were gifting him a baby Hippogriff egg from a local herd Luna supervised.
Colleagues and former professors were also easy. Her pen sliced a line across the page as she clumped them together—this group would get a set of sweets and heartfelt cards, gifts she could easily acquire when she went into Diagon.
"Harry?" She called, interrupting Harry in the kitchen. The door opened and the soft scents of his cooking overlapped and intertwined with the notes of mulled wine she had made almost an hour ago.
"Yes," she heard him before she saw him. Her head quirked to the side as she heard his footsteps as they padded against the wooden floor towards her. He appeared in the doorway, tucking his wand away now that he could hold the door open in a Molly-knit jumper and holding a platter of cold cuts, cheese and fruits. He placed it on the table in front of her, a bright smile on his face as if he had done something wonderful for her, and fell into the opposite sofa.
"What would you like for Christmas this year?" She tapped her pen on her chin.
"Whatever you like Hermione, you know I'm not that fussy when it comes to gifts." He took the glass she had set aside for him and took a sip of the warm drink.
"Merlin, this is so good. Why do you only make it around the holidays?" Raising his brows, a mock pout on his lips, Harry gave her an earnest expression.
"Oh no, none of that. It's tradition and I want to keep it that way. It would lose its meaning if I did it more often. Enjoy it while it lasts." She shrugged.
"Fine," he clipped, "There's this book—-"
"Harry! I'm being serious. You know I take this task seriously." She scowled.
"No, no, honestly, there's this book I've been meaning to get my hands on called The Tackeful Edge. Supposedly it has advanced text of realistic tactical options for defeating violent offenders in life-threatening situations; it could be useful for work." He smiled smugly at her.
"Oh, that's actually a useful handbook to have," she looked down and scribbled the title on her notebook. "What do you think Ginny and Ron would like?" She had a few ideas of what to get them, but she wanted to see if Harry would mention some of the things she had thought of buying. Not looking at Harry, her pen hovered atop her page ready to write down a few ideas.
Smiling wistfully, she wondered how Malfoy was finding the latest book she had sent him. It was one of her favourites and hoped he would enjoy it just as much as she did.
Skimming down the list of names, she wondered if she should give Malfoy something he would enjoy for the holidays. A flutter of guilt consumed her, mind drifting to the thoughts of him not getting anything except from his mother. Would it be appropriate for her to gift Malfoy something? He was a friend now and not a mere penpal. She scribbled down an M a few lines underneath Hagrids to think on him later.
Fortunately, Harry cleared his throat, pulling her back from her thoughts before she dove right into the abyss of Really Bad Ideas.
"Hmm," her cheeks burned at the shame of being caught not listening.
"I said, Ron would appreciate either that Appleby's signature cologne or box seats to Portugal's national game next year. You could either do another broom polishing kit for Ginny or she was mentioning something about a new muscle focused spa in Ireland you two could go to." He squinted his eyes back at Hermione. "You know Hermione, I've noticed you've been—-" Harry pursed his lips, "—daydreaming a lot lately. Should I be worried? Is everything alright with you?"
"Yes." She winced at her sharp response. "I promise you, Harry, everything is perfectly fine. I just got lost in thought on what I'll be getting the rest of the group." She shifted in her seat, making sure her notebook slid off her knees and armrest to fall onto the soft carpet. Harry stood to reach for it to hand it back, taking a quick glance at her list and pausing.
"Who's M?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.
"Give it here. It's none of your business," she jolted from her seat.
Backing away slowly, a playful grin spread over Harry's face. "Oh, but it is my business."
"Harry! Give it back," she whined but couldn't stop the giggle bubbling in her chest. Harry took off running up the stairs, stopping when he reached the stop. "Make me." He held up his arms in a victory V.
Shaking her head, she calmly collected her knitting equipment and laughed as she made her way up the stairs. Calmly, Hermione took her wand from the back of her jeans and sent Harry a perfect Petrificus Totalus, hitting him square in the chest.
She casually reached where Harry stood frozen, pinching her notebook from his grip and tutted over Harry's immobilised body.
"And you call yourself an Auror? I sure hope that book helps you, you seem to really need it. Goodnight Harry," she sang, strolling into her room. She flicked her wand to unbind her friend and locked the door behind her. She could hear a slight mutter of not fair as she turned to head to her bathroom.
Her body froze for a moment when a flash of movement caught her eyes from the window. She moved her head to the side to check the hour. It was 10 PM. Wrinkling her brows, she dropped her knitted blanket on top of her bed and moved to open the window to allow the bird entry.
"Aconite, it's quite late, isn't it?" The bird ignored her and flew to land on her desk, his talons softly clicking on the wooden desk and dropping an envelope.
"So soon?" She had just sent her last letter to Malfoy a few days ago but brushed the thought away as the excitement of what he had to say of the new book she sent him took over.
Grabbing the envelope and moving towards her bed, she tore it open and eagerly started to read.
Granger,
Thank you so much for your latest recommendation. I devoured the story almost immediately, and I'm sure you were eagerly waiting for my review. This has been one of my favourites by far, and I will make sure I have a personal copy sent to the Malfoy Library.
The author of this book had to have an imaginative mind to create such a masterpiece. How long do you think the author took to create this dramatic story? I think what captivated me the most, beyond the details, was the style in which she wrote it. I didn't once feel like a reader but as if I was in Gilead with them, suffering, trying to survive, and begging to escape.
I was completely absorbed into this oddly quiet dystopian reality. There is something about the tone of Atwood's novels that worked into my heart like a perfectly sharpened knife, quietly, richly. And the drama that was always just bubbling under the surface of the prose. Everything is subtle, and everything is powerful. I couldn't help but think how easily this dystopian world could have been our reality had the dark won. It gives me chills at the mere thought of it.
I know that there are a million ways one can interpret this book, so hopefully you don't hold my thoughts against me. It was full of sensitive topics but I have to address the more glaring issues first. I found it extremely unfair that women were treated this horribly.
They were treated as if they were nothing more than child bearers, no emphasis on their impact on future generations nor independence to act as the gifts they were. Perhaps the worst of it was when it dawned on me that somehow, somewhere, there are still those that practice these kinds of traditions.
Perhaps, this can be an excellent recommendation to those men in hopes that they can see how horrific this lifestyle is from a woman's point of view.
Salazar, I admire women for their strength—especially yours.
I think it takes strength and resilience to face adversity and be prepared to make an extreme decision to protect those you love—like the decision you made for your parent's safety. I hope you find comfort in the thought that I see you as a witch in league above the rest, and I am certain you are looked up to and respected by those around you. I will not fish for more information on the matter, but just know that I will never assume you reacted irrationally because that would not be the Granger I have grown to know.
Again, I must reiterate that I think I made one of the best decisions in letting you handle my reading list. And I'm also sorry to say that you will forever be the one I will come to for book recommendations.
I'll be hanging on to this book too. If you have any more, please send them my way. I hope you are having a wonderful day wherever you are while reading this.
D.M.
Looking away from the letter, she was startled to see Aconite had followed her to bed and sat comfortably on her duvet, his eyes squinting lazily as if drifting off to sleep.
"Oh, but of course. Sorry I forgot to give you something." She extended her arm to her side table and extracted a few treats she's been saving for moments like these.
Biting down on her lips, she wondered aloud, "Would you wait while I write this letter? I know it's late and you have a long way back, but I won't be long." Hermione silently accio'd parchment and pen to her and grabbed her latest book to write on. Muttering a soft 'protego' to protect its outer binding, Hermione shuffled to sit upright and rubbing the sleep off her eyes. With a light hum, she started jotting a response back.
Malfoy,
I'm glad to know that you liked the book I sent you. To be honest, I was worried you wouldn't like it.
I am more than happy to handle your reading list. It would be my pleasure to recommend only the best. And I'm also delighted that you're enjoying these muggle fictions I'm sending your way. I have been enjoying our discussions on theories and opinions.
Yes, I agree with you that you said that there are still those who practice such traditions in the world. From a muggle perspective, it saddens me that there are parts of this world that practice such barbaric rituals when there are laws put in place that prevent such an act. I also don't get why they're still practising it.
But that's the thing. This is a cautionary tale of what might happen if we ignore the erosion of democratic and social freedoms, thereby enabling a right-wing Christian theocracy to take over. The author perfectly captures the resigned bleakness of such a subjugated existence. Yet, this is more of a reality to some parts of the world than a "might happen" scenario.
The first time I read this, I admit I was a bit younger than I should have been and the grander meaning of this reality hadn't yet set in. I suppose muggle history and novels such as these equipped me from a very young age to fight against the injustice that I see. Those who stay silent and all that.
I am flattered that you would perceive me as a strong woman. Like I said, it is no secret that I carry myself with a certain quiet strength that has been bred from books and survival as a child in an adults war. Sometimes, however, it is nice to hear that you are seen from someone new. So thank you.
A soft 'hoo' broke her concentration. She put her pen down and rested one hand under her chin while she examined the bird.
"It is awfully curious that you keep bringing me his letters, Acotine."
'Hoo, hoo'
Laughing, she stroked his soft feathers up and down his back, the bird seemingly liking her touch as his eyes fluttered shut.
"I like you though, so it's okay. I think we've come a long way since our first meeting." She pecked Acotine's small head gently and gave him an extra snack. She picked up her pen to resume her writing.
I had to stop for a moment. This owl that more often than not delivered your letters was just watching me write and I had to pause to give him a snack. I've been saving treats for him whenever he comes here to deliver your letters. This reminds me that he can be fussy with what I give him, so I'll be doing some research on what owls actually enjoy to eat.
I'm not sure if you ever get to meet the owls that deliver your correspondence, but he's the same owl I was concerned about when I fed him a slice of fresh apple pie. It's quite curious that he only ever comes at night; I don't know what owls deliver your letters during my work days. But nonetheless, I've become quite fond of him. His grey eyes are hauntingly beautiful, Malfoy, and don't get me started on his well-groomed, white feathers. Tease me if you like, but he somewhat reminds me of you with your slick white hair.
I also named him. He seems to have taken well to the name Aconite. I don't know what I was thinking when I called him that, but it was in the heat of the moment. Quite frankly, I did know what I was thinking. You had just finished mailing me a letter full of vitriol, so of course the owl had to be named after a rare yet poisonous plant that is best harvested at night.
I have plenty to do before the upcoming holidays, and I'm rushing to get them done. The thought of starting my Christmas shopping seems daunting, but at the same time, it's one of the activities I do very much enjoy. I'm looking forward to a few days off where I don't have to do much except eat and spend time with people I care about.
I am sorry if that sounds selfish, I am certain your holidays are much bleaker, and I do wish you had some warmth to see you through it.
Hermione.
P.S. You never told me what you wanted for Christmas. I see you dodging the question, Draco Malfoy. I shall expect an answer in your next response.
She bit her lip as she summoned a rich green envelope. Folding the parchment into neat thirds, she carefully licked the envelope and handed it over to the snowy owl. Hermione laughed as he took off immediately, not even giving her a moment for a final pat of his soft feathers.
Hermione was eating lunch in her office when she next received Draco's letter. Aconite nowhere in sight, but it was just as well as she scarcely had enough time to devour her soup and read the short missive.
Granger,
Might I remind you that I haven't had my hair pushed back like that since third year. It hurts to know that you haven't paid much attention to my ever-changing hairstyles throughout the years. I shouldn't be surprised though, should I? I mean, is it safe for you to bring up adolescent hairstyles, Granger? You who had to have been too busy mastering magic to tame that mane? Say, Granger, do you even own a comb? I didn't think it was a magical item, but perhaps Muggles just haven't managed to maintain hair the way your magical brethren have. Does Aconite bypass a perch and land on your hair, mistaking it for its nest?
In hindsight, eating a liquid while reading anything from him was probably a poor idea. She ended up having to dry off quite a few documents before she could get back to his words. How this man made her laugh this hard without even being in the same room was something Hermione had no desire to further investigate. For now she was just thankful for the brief respite from the research and the dry writing she had been working on for the past week.
I jest of course. I may not be many things but I have always had a knack for details. Some details I didn't even think I was absorbing until I have had nothing but time to contemplate all I remembered from my time at Hogwarts. I remember when your hair calmed down, perhaps around the same time you gained more surety of yourself. I remember how focused you were on other things than looks but that didn't stop you from being the envy of so many of your female classmates. I even remember the horrible amortentia activity in sixth year. It was still early on in the year where the magnitude of my task was more like a loose noose than a tight cord of despair. Do you remember what you smelled? I do.
Hermione hadn't laughed as she had in the previous paragraph. No, instead her spoon had stopped mid-air between bowl and lips as she reread his commentary with wide eyes. She wasn't blushing, the heat suffusing her skin was surely due to her steaming squash soup, she was simply frozen because Hermione didn't know what to think. Her initial thought was to feel uncomfortable. He had watched her afterall enough to know these things, but hadn't she, too, seen him in between moments of research, essays, and adventure? Blowing out a deep breath, telling herself she'd address this later, she continued on as if his flirting hadn't just caused her a minor aneurysm.
Anyway, I think Aconite must like you if it allows you to call him by that name. If I was him, I would have attacked my displeasure at such an insult. Sadly, I also would never have named such a noble animal such a name. I'd do his station justice; he is delivering my letters at least some of the time afterall—a worthy feat if I ever saw one.
Lastly, I don't need anything for Christmas, the knowledge that you will be happy and around the people who love you is all I can ask for.
D.M.
P.S. You mention his eyes quite a bit, Granger. Do you have a thing for grey eyes?
/||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\
Malfoy,
Why do you do this? Why do you have to pick on me while you're miles away. You're infuriating. Of course I remember the ever-changing hairstyles you went through. My favourite would have to be the time when your hair billowed ungelled in the wind as I slapped you. Mmmm, good times. If only we could have an encore. Perhaps then you'd learn to test at your own risk.
I cannot believe that a man as self-focused as you were in Hogwarts would remember something as innocuous as my amortentia. That's all I will say in regards to that matter.
Hermione.
P.S. What an odd question; it's an animal. But, I mean, they are beautiful. If only you could see what I can, you'd understand.
/||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\
As her pen signed her name with a light flourish on the latest Ministry document, she could finally look at the time. She had fifteen minutes before she was due at the Leaky so she could floo to Hogsmead and meet up with Ron—a face she hadn't seen in months one on one. Stretching her arms over her head Hermione smiled, excited to get the rest of her gifts checked off her list. She hoped Ron was aware their lunch would second as gift shopping.
Shuffling her notes she caught sight of an old note that had been sitting in her personal bin for quite some time.
Malfoy — Archives; Forewarned is forearmed, Hermione.
Hermione's amusement dropped. She had written this after her first letter from Draco. However, between the failed proposal and the rapid back and forth after her response with him, she had quickly forgotten her own instructions. Did she want to pull his file now? What would it tell her that she didn't already know or better yet couldn't simply ask him directly? She could have justified this months ago, but now? What if he found out? What if Harry did?
Tapping her hands on her paper-filled desk, mind running through their recent friendship, she slowly made up her mind. She had left this note for herself for a reason. Hermione wasn't a betting witch, preferring instead facts and data to back up her decisions and this was no different. What a person says and what they have done could be so varied and it was her duty to stay informed. No one liked to be blindsided after all.
So without giving it a second thought, she organised her desk as much as she needed to, grabbed her coat and bag, knowing she'd have to rush straight to Hogsmeade now that she'd wasted five minutes thinking this over, and rounded her desk. She should have just enough time to sneak into the Archives and pull his file.
Two steps away from her door however a familiar tapping noise froze her in place.
"Merlin," Hermione gripped the thin chain around her neck, heart-pounding, and a small part of her wondered if this was a sign that she should not in fact go down there. Looking over her shoulder, irritation bubbled in her chest at being delayed now that her conscience had been sufficiently muffled. She eyed the source of her distraction furtively and trudged over the window, allowing the large tawny owl inside. So annoyed at the bird's timing, Hermione dug up and provided it with half a treat, slamming her window shut as it flew out almost as quickly as it had come in.
Her irritation ebbed away, making way for that inner voice once again as she took in the name of the sender.
"Draco Malfoy, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to keep me from something. Self-preservation even when you have no idea what I am up to," Hermione tsked as she settled into her guest seat and allowed her eyes to roam over his words.
Granger,
Touché.
It's fun to see you riled up. It brings me great pleasure that I haven't lost my touch.
I am not willing to let this conversation end here. You smelled, parchment, freshly mowed grass, and if memory serves me right, something about the weaslebee's...hair?. Tell me I'm wrong. I know you won't remember mine; you were so focused on the red oaf.
D.M.
P.S. I believe you. Grey has a certain appeal to me. I myself prefer a darker shade, maybe a chocolate brown, like my favourite candy caramel cobwebs.
A loud knock on her door disrupted her second read-through of his letter, and she sucked her cheeks in, attempting and failing to calm the wide grin on her face.
She breathed heavily through her nose. What was it with today and interruptions?
"I'm not available," she stated loudly, grumbling at the oddity that her assistant would allow someone through when he knew she was heading out.
Another set of knocks, more insistent this time and her annoyance grow into indignation at their presumption.
Squaring her shoulders she flicked her fingers, unlocking and opening the door. "I said—-"
"I know, Ms Granger—"
"Hermione, Silvanus, Hermione," Hermione interrupted her assistant. She appreciated his formal demeanour but really they had been working together for years now.
"Hermione, you have five minutes before you are due to meet Mr Weasley. I wanted to make sure you hadn't gotten lost in that Muggleborn Outreach Project." Hermione managed a tight smile as she refolded the letter and discreetly pushed it back into the envelope.
"I am afraid I have one more stop to make before I can head out. If Ron contacts the main floo please let him know I am running late but will be there." She didn't give Silvanus a moment more to respond as she rounded her desk and strode determinately to the Auror Archives at the end of the hall. She didn't need to know what that file said to determine if he was trustworthy. Rather it was time to see just what the Ministry had on him.
With her head held high and shoulders back she pushed open the creaky wooden door and was immediately welcomed by the smell of decaying paper and reheated coffee in the empty room. Letting out a sigh of relief that she didn't see anyone else, Hermione headed to the section that held prisoner details. Sending one final look over her shoulder, Hermione opened and closed drawers until she thought she found the appropriate section and flicked her small fingers through the folders. She only stopped when she found what she was looking for: Draco L. Malfoy.
Her fingers pinched just to the right of his name for a moment longer, warring with herself before finally plucking it out of the sea of manilla. Clicking the cabinet closed quietly with her elbow, Hermione began flicking through the papers stuffed inside, eyes flying over the information detailed within.
/||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\
Name: Malfoy, Draco Lucius Date of Birth: 5 June 1980
Charges:
Use of an Unforgivable Curse (documented)'
Conspiracy to Commit Murder (see Snape, Severus (Murder) i523368);
Accessory to Murder (see Malfoy, L.A. (same charges) i885327);
Fighting as an Enemy Combatant.
Sentence: 5 years in Azkaban.
Additional Information: Sentenced reduced from life sentence due to the following :-
Extenuating circumstances of age and blackmail (threats of harm to defendant and parents, specifically mother Narcissa Malfoy Black).
Testimonies of Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger documented in their files
Sufficient votes that minor at the time was not acting of sound mind.
Defendant did not plead either way—no chance of parole.
Discharge date: 1 September 2003
She clicked her tongue as she reread his charges. Her vision blurred at the injustice. She had seen enough of these files and their contents to know he was lacking in sufficient evidence to have approved his sentence. It had been an emotional vote and nothing more and just like she had been riled up four years ago, she felt that same frustration well in her gut. However, this time it was swallowed up by sadness. Sadness because she knew the man behind the page and they had more than enough reason to exonerate him from his charges. Her eyes were pulled away from his name by movement in the corner of the page caught.
There he was. His silver-grey eyes looking straight into her. Hermione's breath caught as she lightly moved her fingers over his white blond hair—strands dishevelled and falling over his brow—down his gaunt cheek and his protruding jaw. His expression was understandably bleak, but she could barely rip her gaze away from his eyes no matter that they were shadowed by deep dark circles so prominent against his marble-like skin.
This was what she saw the day the Wizengamot read his sentence; this was the image she had of him in her mind, no matter how much she tried to imagine him differently, the past four years. Tracing his fringe once again, she felt her gut tighten at the broken look she was just seeing in his eyes—she'd never make the mistake of not noticing again.
Hermione caught herself when she felt moisture escape her eyes. At that moment, she realised how shallow her breathing had gotten and she hurriedly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she continued to flip through his file. However, after the first page, it became readily apparent that it was mostly Azkaban notes on behaviour, schedule changes, and his healer notes. This was a line Hermione was unwilling to cross; privacy was important to her and healer notes should be just that.
With a heaviness in her heart, she put the folder back in the filing cabinet and moved towards the door when a soft body collided with hers, pushing her back a few steps.
"Hermione—-" Harry questioned as he held her in his outstretched arms, eyes scanning her no doubt blotchy eyes. "What's wrong? What are you doing here?"
"We live in an unjust world, Harry. I'm okay though. I was just overdue on prisoner file review as I track upcoming inmate releases and sentencing. I also needed to document any changes specific to the various reforms." She puffed up her chest, back straightening as she said this, always proud when it came to her hard work.
Harry nodded slowly, expression tight, and the silence stretched on for what felt like hours.
Deciding to break eye contact, she took a deep, pained breath moving around Harry, "Well, if you'll excuse me, Ron will be waiting for me. Remember, I told you we were getting lunch in Hogsmeade..." Hermione's voice tapered off when she realised Harry wasn't alone, just then noticing a man hidden behind her surprisingly bulky friend. Her brain halted, all previous anguish was momentarily forgotten as she took in the addition to their conversation. He was handsome, with deep wavy, brown hair, neatly trimmed on the sides and looser on the top and his tanned complexion complimented his light green eyes.
Not missing a beat, the stranger stuck out a hand, "Hello, I'm Pascual Perez."
"H-Hermione Granger," she stuttered back, taking his and shifting at his gentle hold and brilliant smile.
"Hermione, this is our newest Auror. He's a transfer from southern Spain and just graduated from our accelerated Auror program. He will be joining us next week," Harry said, laughter in his voice from the way Hermione was obviously reacting to the newest Auror.
"Right, well, it was nice to meet you," she smiled at the both of them before continuing her journey back to the entrance. The moment the wooden door clicked shut behind her light green eyes were forgotten and replaced by broken, endless grey; endless and beautifully stormy grey.
Stretching her shoulders out as she grabbed her belongings from Silvanus, Hermione worked hard to shake off the turmoil his file had caused. She was going to see Ron, and she was more excited than she could say. She loved that even after all this time he still made time for her when he was in town, sometimes more often than with Harry.
By the time Hermione stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, her spirits had lifted and she was ready for her extended lunch.
Draco uncovered his eyes from beneath his thin cover at the sound of stormy waters of the ocean crashing thunderously on the stone fortress. The powerful winds were whistling through the window. It didn't take long for Draco's eyes adjusted to the dark, gloomy room.
The corners of his lips quirked into a slight smile as the last residue of his dream slipped his mind like sand through a sieve. The only reminder of what he saw behind his lids was the tightness in his pants.
He remembered falling asleep with the image of her biting down on her soft lips and the sight of her pink tongue darting out to lick the envelope. Without giving it a moment's thought, his hand unceremoniously drifted down his abdomen, fingers straying under the waistband of his garbs, as he replayed the motion of her tongue over and over on a loop.
The moment his fingers latched around his warm cock, he groaned. For months he had been noble in his own mind and strayed from giving into what he wanted her to do with that tongue, but just as his regular thoughts strayed to her, so did his lustful cravings.
He could taste her freshly washed vanilla skin under his tongue as he licked up her collarbone, his hand tightening around his shaft, and sucked in a deep breath as his fingers twisted over the sensitive skin just under his tip. He wanted to moan her name as his forefinger and thumb collected the come from his leaking tip but instead he used his other hand to cover his mouth.
His tongue was swiping up her neck, licking up each drop of water he had seen the first night he saw her. His hand moved faster over himself and he wished he could have better felt the way her warm lips kissed the top of Aconite's head. He groaned deep in his chest as he remembered the way she would pet him from tip to base, imaging her hand was in place of his, her small fingers barely gripping around his shaft.
She would go slow at first, surely. Not because of inexperience, which he didn't want to consider at this moment, but because like him she'd want to learn every bump, every vein, every spot on his cock that would make him gasp, suck in breath, or bite his lip to stay silent.
He was breathing heavily against his hand and his bed creaked lowly as his hips moved with him, imaging her towel dropping, imaging her bouncing breasts as she rode him, imaging the way her heat would so perfectly encompass his own. And fuck, he would devour the hardened nipples as she presented them to him like she had her apple pie. He would lick around the tips, ensuring her areolas were perfectly taut, before lightly gliding his teeth over her. She would gasp, just like he was and her pussy would clench around him deliciously at the added sensation.
Draco's hand tightened, and his other hand dropped, legs spreading, as he shifted to lightly massage his balls. She would touch him there too. Her hair, sticking to her skin from their exertions would fondle, massage, and lavish attention to every part of him as he writhed beneath her. At her mercy, because that's what she was, his goddess in every way and just as his hand moved so fast he feared the guards would hear him jacking off to her in his mind, he came. Throwing his head into his threadbare pillow, Draco whispered her name, like a prayer, as if she was his salvation.
He could still smell her, still imagine her laying on top of him, breathing heavily, her hair in his face, his hands gliding along her back, promising she'd never be alone again, ensuring she was taken care of in every way.
Draco smiled, pushing away all shame he would have previously felt for this. Because he had needed that. It was Christmas after all.
Sluggishly, Draco slowly shifted out of bed, careful not to spread his release any more than it already had. Normally this alone would put him firmly in the Scrooge category, but today it represented a step of acceptance he had been avoiding. He wanted her, in more than just memories, to banish the bad, but in all aspects of his life. Carefully he washed himself off in the sink, performing his morning ablutions and grabbed the fresh prison suit. He knew he'd be taken to shower soon but didn't want to sit around in his own release any longer than necessary.
He tried to scrub out the come that had landed on his pants, preferring to leave them wet rather than stained.
A soft smile still in place, Draco moved back to the edge of his cell, picked up his food tray and dropped it on his desk with a soft clatter. Even his breakfast looked more appealing than usual. Draco picked up a warm slice of buttered whole wheat bread, dipped it in the yellow yolk and took a large gulp of sweet pumpkin juice, humming softly to himself.
The telltale sound of August's shoes clicking against the stone floor had Draco abruptly standing up and meeting his friend. He eagerly coiled his hands around the cold bars awaiting his letter from Granger.
"Well, well, someone woke up on the right side of the bed." August nodded.
"It's the holidays, August. It's also my last one here." Draco gave a nonchalant half-shrug.
"Right you are, Malfoy. Happy Holidays."
"Happy Christmas." Draco tapped his feet against the floor, getting slightly impatient with the small talk.
"Any plans for today?"
"Oh you know, after meeting my mother, I have to get ready for the Christmas Gala she'll be hosting just like old times," he deadpanned.
Laughing, August slid his hands inside his leather bag and retrieved a brown parcel.
Eyeing the parcel, Draco leaned forward and raised his brows, "Who's this from?" he asked, knowing that the Ministry went through almost all the letters and parcels passed onto the inmates.
"From a—" August pulled the parcel back just enough to see the name better, "—Offred." He shrugged.
Offred? Draco was perplexed. He had never heard of anyone with that name before. He personally didn't know anyone who shared that last name. Unless it was...but no, why would she change her name?
Cutting his eyes back to August, he asked, "These were examined by the Ministry beforehand?"
"Yes, of course. It's nothing harmful Malfoy. I wouldn't be standing here giving it to you if it was."
"Right, thank you, August. Have a good day with the family." Draco forced a smile.
When August's steps were far enough away, Draco cautiously moved to his bed. He didn't know why but there was a knot in his stomach as he stared at the parcel. Shifting it in his hands, he felt a small envelope slide against his thumb and turned it over. With a crease between his eyes Draco opened it and found out who the mysterious sender could be.
/||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\
Malfoy,
Happy Christmas!
Please don't be upset! I know you've mentioned not wanting anything from me, but I was out shopping for all my friends and couldn't pass up on the perfect present for you when I saw it. Please don't send it back. I will be upset.
I hope you find it warm and to your liking. Although the larger gift was made without magic, I managed to weave in a few low-level self-sustaining charms throughout. I wonder if you can identify them all?
I wish you a pleasant day, Malfoy. It's your last Christmas being there. You won't have to experience it ever again. Perhaps next year we can celebrate it together, or at least see each other? I'd love to add another friend to the guest list. I know this time next year you'd only be a free man for almost three months, and it may be too soon, but hopefully. I just don't want to see you shutting yourself out of the world once you're finally free.
As I mentioned before, my day will be filled at the Burrow for brunch and raucous misbehaviour by the Weasley siblings, I'm sure. It would be nice to have another calming presence by my side in the future, but I digress. After that I'm having tea with your Aunt Andromeda and Harry will be spending time with his Godson, Teddy. I love spending time with Andy, she is such a steady presence in my life after the war, but also it's a way for her to have a break from that energetic child. You should see the way Teddy squeals when Harry and I come around. It's endearing. Harry wanted to spend some time with his Godson.
Do you ever want children? After this is all said and done?
I am looking forward to hearing from you soon!
Offred.
/||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\
Draco tapped the letter to his knee a few times, trying not to overthink her words too much. She was making future plans with him already, but she was also very clearly identifying him as a friend. The last thing he wanted to do was misconstrue her intentions for more than friendly. Merlin, if she wrote friend one more time, Draco was going to combust.
Finally setting the letter aside, Draco felt around for an opening in the wrapping. The package felt stuffed to the brim with whatever lay just underneath. Finally snagging on a small separation of paper, Draco's fingers fumbled as he ripped the packaging open and an extensive collection of his favourite chocolates and candy spilt onto his lap and bed. Draco bit his lip, again trying not to overthink this, she had done this for everyone, and all of her friends probably got just as much attention via her presents. She seemed like the sort to care deeply about gift-giving.
Still, Draco couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. She had been to Honeydukes and remembered his favourites, favourites he had mentioned in passing once. Carefully, Draco scooped up the Acid Pops, Caramel Cobwebs, Chocoballs and Chocolate Cauldron's, a huff of laughter leaving him when he noticed she had sent him her favourites as well—Sugar Quill Lollipops.
Carefully, reverently, Draco placed them on his desk for later. Once he was certain he'd gathered all the treats, he finished ripping the rest of the paper apart.
"Granger…" his voice shook with tears at the rest of the gift. He held his breath until he felt lightheaded as he stared down at the thick, fuzzy wool blanket, trying not to cry. It was scarlet red—Gryffindor red, his internal thoughts screamed—and even without extending it, he could feel the warmth that it generated.
He brought the offending cloth up to his nose and inhaled deeply. He almost whimpered because just as he suspected, it was infused with Granger's scent. A burst of vanilla with light undertones of peach assaulted his senses, and he shoved his nose back into it, eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears at bay.
Why would she do this? Did she extend this level of tenderness to all her friends?
Draco certainly didn't feel he deserved her kindness in any way.
He was so confused, and Draco hated being confused. With a groan, he threw the blanket atop his bed as if burned and ran his hands repeatedly through his hair as he paced his small cell. He didn't know he was lost in the mess of his mind but the next thing he knew, another guard was opening his cell and escorting him to the showers. He passed his bed in three easy strides without looking at the blanket.
Under the weak lukewarm water, his mind was still racing. Draco's skin prickled with irritation as he considered what Granger was playing at. She was definitely sending him mixed messages, because there was no way he was making this up. He was self-serving first and foremost and would never have started this if it hadn't been for her. Yet Granger called him a friend but sent the package under an anonymous name. Was she ashamed of him? Did she not want anyone knowing she was talking to him? Perhaps it was less deep than that. Perhaps the muggle-born was simply enjoying having a man with his sole focus on her, and it was finally getting to real, so she was putting up boundaries that ruined his desires, his plans, his dreams.
And why would she write another name on the package and not explain herself? Was it a joke she thought he'd find funny, naming herself after the oppressed narrator of Handmaid's Tale? Or was it because she truly didn't want to be seen associating on such a special day with the likes of a prisoner. As he dragged his fingers through his hair, squeezing out the shampoo, he considered perhaps sending books to an inmate on innocuous days of the month were easier, less personal than Christmas.
His nose flared as he aggressively scrubbed his body until he was sore and red. If she was ashamed of him, why would she assume that they would be hanging out by next year? If she didn't want to write to him, she didn't have to open that door to him. She initiated this, she kept sending him books, she was asking personal questions, and she sent him these gifts when he explicitly told her not to.
Turning the tap off and drying himself with the scratchy towel, he slipped back into that morning's prison garb. The faded stripes hanging loosely off his torso as he slipped the bottoms back on before following the guard back to his cell.
Draco subtly flinched as the door banged shut behind him, no matter how long he'd been there that sound always threw him. His hands clenched to his sides as he resolutely avoided his bed, instead sitting on his desk chair and trying to control his racing heart. But how do you control fiendfyre when it starts to spread?
You didn't and Draco had to accept that he was hurt.
His lip curled into a sneer when he looked over his shoulder at the friendly gift that witch had sent. His eyes narrowed on it, imaging she was sitting there receiving all his ire.
Draco barely noticed the wood complaining as he pushed closer to his bed, grabbed the blanket quickly and shoved it under his bed.
Out of sight, out of mind.
And just as he had convinced himself that that was the right thing to do, the visitation guard approached. That's what he needed right now, a distraction. He was going to see his mother, it was a special day, and that was what he needed to focus on. It was perfect.
"You have an hour." The guard's voice was bored as Draco walked past him.
Draco scoffed as if anything had fucking changed.
Stepping into the room, Draco was ready to breathe a sigh of relief at the very normal, very expected visage of his always put together mother when he noticed another person in the room with her. He clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides as he took in the only other person who had been given express orders to stay away.
Theo.
He approached the square table that stood between him and them slowly, his feet felt like they were hit with an impedimenta, each step harder than the last. His eyes briefly caught Theo's green ones, and he examined the pained smile he threw Dracos way.
"Draco darling, I've missed you. Happy Christmas." She hugged him tightly, having come around the table at Draco's slow approach. Forgetting Theo for a moment, he let his head drop to her shoulder, luxuriating in the feeling of human contact, of his mother's touch, for a moment longer. Salazar knew it wouldn't happen again for another month. Her hug was a warm barrier of protection and it helped slow his racing heart. He breathed her in, gardenias and jasmine hoping to overpower the vanilla etched into his skin, and cleared his throat. He didn't trust his voice to speak, lest he shows Theo any signs of weakness until his pulse calmed and his fists relaxed.
"Mother, Happy Christmas," Draco replied, extracting himself from his mothers embrace, and walked to stand next to Theo and extended his hand towards him.
"Nott."
Theo eyed Dracos extended hand for a second before shoving it to the side and pulling him into a hug that knocked the hair out of his lungs, "Draco." And his shoulders shook against the embrace of his oldest friend.
/||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\ /||\\
Later that night, Draco's teeth were chattering painfully against each other. He was curled into a tight ball, wrists linked at his ankles, and head almost tucked into his knees so that the thin material would cover his entire body. The blanket aside from being no more than a flimsy piece of covering was also too short for him. If he stretched out, his feet would turn blue from the frigid December winter storm outside his window. If he tried to cover his feet, he was then inviting winter's icy clutches to attempt to dig into his chest, clogging his lungs, and freeze his bones. h
After tossing and turning all night, he huffed at himself. He had the perfect solution at his fingertips, why was he suffering any more than he had to in this Merlin forsaken place. So, with a scowl affixed permanently on his face, Draco dipped his hand under his bed, pulled the thick red blanket out of its own prison, and covered himself with the thick red-knit spread. The blanket was large enough to cover his entire body comfortably, instantly heating him up and feeling his muscles relax in turn. He released a long, heavy sigh as the smell of Granger assaulted his nostrils, infuriating him further.
"Out of sight, out of mind, my fucking arse."
He turned to his side and fell into a deep comfortable sleep, his mind wandering involuntarily back to chocolate brown eyes.