Author's Note: And I'm back with an update for the birthday fic at last! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, you guys are awesomesauce and I don't deserve you – all the hearts.
۞ Part Two ۞
Dinner
They were nearly finished their meal before Hermione finally got up the nerve to break the heavy silence between them. She spoke quietly, with a hint of a squeak.
"Malfoy?"
No response. She fidgeted in her seat, thumb knocking back and forth over the lip of her wine glass. She peeked at him. Cleared her throat. But he had frozen when she had first spoken his name in a tiny, tentative voice, and now his pea-heaped fork hovered motionless in the air, clutched in white-knuckled fingers as he stared fixedly down at his dinner plate.
"Malfoy?"
Nothing happened except for an errant pea rolling off his fork, bouncing twice on the tablecloth and then careening onto the floor beneath the table. Hermione took a deep breath and forged on.
"I apologise for what I said earlier, at lunch. I didn't mean that - I wasn't trying to... Well, what I'm trying to say is that the past is the past, and I don't…hold it against you."
Malfoy's fork lowered swiftly but gently to his plate, the peas spilling off it as Hermione barrelled through what was possibly the most incoherent attempt at apology she had ever made. His mouth tightened and he ducked his head slightly, but still didn't look at her or say a single thing to defuse the moment, and almost involuntarily Hermione kept babbling her apologies, cringing inside.
"I certainly didn't intend to upset y-" she began to finish the excruciating apology, and Malfoy's head snapping up silenced her as he directed a vehement glare at her. Hermione bit her lip and looked away. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to remind him of how suddenly vulnerable he'd been in front of her, how starkly distressed he had appeared.
"Don't mention it, Granger," he said, rough and sharp at once. "It's fine."
"Ah, good, I –" Hermione started with a sigh, only for Malfoy to interrupt.
"No. Really. Don't mention it." Malfoy's mouth pulled downwards. "Ever."
Hermione swallowed and bit her lip again, nodding quickly. Conversation buzzed all around them, but they sat inside an awkward two-person bubble of deathly silence. She dredged her brain searching for something – anything! – to break the silence between them, but came up with absolutely nothing.
Her gaze skittered from where it had been resting, flicking up to skid over Malfoy's face, which was set in a frown as he began to eat again. She smiled tentatively at him – nervous and awkward, the muscles around her mouth feeling stiff, and he took notice of it, unguarded surprise erasing the hard, scowling edges from his expression. The smile he returned to her after a puzzled moment was an uncertain, lopsided affair – and close-lipped, presumably because his mouth was stuffed with peas – but Hermione counted it as a definite victory.
"So, I never got an answer about why you like science fiction," she began, pushing the last of her food about her plate with fidgety little pokes, watching Malfoy from the corner of her eye. He arched a brow – god he was efficient at being scathing – and methodically chewed and swallowed before answering her. Hermione waited impatiently, listening to the background noise of other conversations and cutlery clinking on plates.
"I read Muggle science fiction novels –" Malfoy began, his eyes lifting to hers, cool grey and sooty-lashed. "– Because they're what my parole Auror recommended I read."
"…Oh." Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I…see." The blatant reminder that his trial had resulted in a 'guilty' verdict, and a year of house arrest before being released on parole, made her insides feel all strange and sickly squirmy, and the power of speech abandoned her. Malfoy smirked, the bastard, as she stared at him helplessly, at a loss for words.
"No, seriously, Granger, I did start reading sci-fi because it was strongly recommended to me as part of my…" He paused and actually looked a little uncomfortable himself now. Good. "…Rehabilitation. But I kept reading it because I enjoy it. Muggles are so…inventive."
"Hmmph." Hermione wasn't impressed, and her snort expressed that eloquently. Inventive, he said, as if Muggles were trained chimps and he was condescendingly surprised at what they could accomplish.
"Salazar's sake, Granger, why do you have to take everything I say the wrong way?"
She shot him a look, prim and disbelievingly snarky at once. "You actually have to ask me that again, Malfoy? You're sure you want to ask me that?"
"Fine, fine. I was a bastard to you, and now you despise me. Fair enough," Malfoy said shortly, all lines of tension under the perfectly-tailored drape of his teaching robe, shoulders stiffening and chin ducking – drawing in on himself visibly. As if he was shielding himself from the brunt of her words. "But if despising me is what you want to do, then please for the love of Merlin, stop blowing hot and bloody cold with me. I haven't the time, or the inclination, to deal with your mood swings."
Hermione flinched back in her chair as Malfoy turned his face away. Christ, what was wrong with her? If he had always said things the wrong way in the past, she had taken over that role now. She felt terrible as she stared at the taut line of his mouth, the way his lips pressed so tightly together and trembled just faintly. She berated herself mentally, and then offered them both a dignified way out.
"I'm sorry, Malfoy. That was unfair of me. And, I – don't despise you." She was almost certain that was true as she eyed the lines of strain carved around his mouth, and the way his eyebrows were scrunched down in a way that was amazingly expressive and read: miserable. "Will you tell me what you do mean by 'inventive'? Please? I promise I shan't snap your head off again."
"The Wizarding World is all about tradition," Malfoy said quietly, not looking at her, and Hermione's shoulders slumped slightly as she released a breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding. "It's about clinging to the past, to the time when we were great. Greater than we are now, anyway. That's part of what – what –" He struggled, throat working as he tried to get the name out – his cheeks going ashen while the tips of his ears flushed red – and finally gave up. "– What you-know-who wanted – to obliterate all the Muggleborns and blood traitors that represented what he thought of as the Wizarding World's decline. The slow decay, the tainting slide from greatness."
Hermione nodded encouragingly as Malfoy shot a cautious sideways glance at her. "Go on." She was fascinated, hearing him talk as if to himself about this; musing aloud, hesitant and thoughtful as he shaped the words.
"But one of my parole Aurors told me that the clinging to tradition wasactually the problem. That the Wizarding World, for all its magical power, was busy stagnating and declining – while Muggles, despite their lack of magic, were using their vision and inventiveness to claw their way forward." Malfoy still refused to look at Hermione, and now the flush of red on his ears was spreading as though he were embarrassed to be telling her this. "He told me to compare wizarding fiction to Muggle science fiction." Malfoy fiddled with his napkin. "The Muggle interest in reaching out and grasping at even just an idea of the future is so different to wizarding fiction. That's all about the past; retellings of the old tales and legends, or of modern-day wizards and witches travelling back to the past."
"The Wizarding World is hopelessly old-fashioned," Hermione agreed mildly. "Although to be fair, the Muggle world does have a whole genre of historical fiction."
"It's not the only genre though," Malfoy pointed out, finally glancing at her for the first time since he'd started talking, his cheeks still flushed pinker than usual.
"No, that's true of course," Hermione said, and Merlin's pants, was she having a genuinely civil conversation with Draco Malfoy, wherein they were actually agreeing with each other? She pinched her thigh discreetly, and it hurt. Not a dream, then. Malfoy was talking and she shook herself and paid attention.
" – Not just fiction. Technology-wise, Muggles far outstrip the wizarding world already. Muggles could even possibly use technology to beat magic. Bullets travel faster than spells, after all."
"Really?"
"Well yes, Granger. Or did you think you would be able to dodge bullets as easily as you can dodge spells? No. As humorous as it would be to watch I wouldn't recommend you try it, because you would fail." Malfoy's expression was smug, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at him with a sarky sneer.
"Anyway, it sounds absolutely ridiculous, I am aware of that –" he said self-deprecatingly. "– But science fiction novels were the catalyst that brought me to the eventual realization that Muggles aren't lesser because of their lack of magic. Because they're not lesser, just different – wizards may have magic, but Muggles have science and technology. And where technology can only advance as the understanding of the science behind it develops, magic can't, not in the same way. Or if it can, the Wizarding World has lost the knowledge of how to advance it to any meaningful degree. So Muggles don't need magic."
"And besides, 'any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,'" Hermione ventured brightly, quoting Clarke, and Malfoy flashed even white teeth in a lopsided grin.
"Exactly, Granger."
"So we should have just owled Voldemort a selection of science fiction novels, then, and maybe a maybe a few non-fiction books on science and technology, and the whole war might have been avoided?" she asked Malfoy as she returned his grin, trying to politely ignore the way he flinched at Voldemort's name on her lips – his whole self shrank and blanched at the name, his cool eyes filling with fear and his lips whitening as he pressed them closed for a brief moment. Then he cleared his throat and summoned a faint, wry smile, the fear well-disguised, if not banished.
"No. I'm rather sure that beneath the blood-purity obsession, he was just utterly power-mad and bent on world domination. Giving him respect for Muggle science would have only given him ideas. You-know-who with an interest in nuclear weaponry…?" Malfoy was teasing her, Hermione was sure of it, friendliness lurking behind his slightly condescending tone.
"Oh my god. Not a good thing," she granted him lightly, and then at an embarrassed loss for anything to say, tapped her glass with her wand, filling it with icy water and taking a sip. The chilled water slid down her throat, cooling the slight heat of embarrassed awkwardness that suffused her for some reason. She sighed and pressed the glass to her cheeks, the condensation delicious on her skin. She pretended – probably not well – that she didn't notice Malfoy's sharp gaze still resting on her, and that it didn't make her feel all itchy and stifled in her own skin. Slytherin indeed; there was nothing sneaky about the way he seemed to be almost assessing her, Merlin knew why though. Perhaps he was – justifiably – wondering if she was going to turn prickly and contemptuous at him again.
Then: "What do you prefer to read?" Malfoy inquired a moment later, with an attempt at diffidence that failed terribly.
Hermione smirked.
"Historical fiction." She didn't see any need to add that it was actually historical romantic fiction that was her guilty pleasure.
"Really?" he grilled her with a tone of amused disbelief, and she shrugged a shoulder, tucking a wave of hair behind her ear as she nodded.
"Really, Malfoy," she assured him, and then turned her attention back to the remnants of her meal, leaving him to stare at her with a strange expression that bordered on fascination.
Hermione and Neville left the Hall together after the meal's end, having gotten caught up in avid conversation over dessert about whether non-magical plants with medicinal qualities might have valuable applications in the Wizarding World. Hermione was absorbed in the topic, gesticulating expansively as she argued her point, keeping absently in step with Neville. A billow of black robes whisked closely past her, and she glanced up to see Malfoy retreating down the corridor; heading in the direction of the Muggle Studies classroom with his white-blonde hair catching flickers and flares of the torchlight. Her gaze stayed on him even as she kept talking.
"Hermione," Neville interrupted as soon as Malfoy was out of earshot, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her over a pace to stand by the wall, students filing past them now. Hermione broke off her monologue and stared at her friend, puzzled by the shocked disbelief that saturated his tone. "Hermione, did you just have a civil conversation with Malfoy at dinner?"
"I…I suppose I did," she said with a vague smile, feeling somewhat surprised by that herself now that she thought about it, and more than a little pleased. "I did," she repeated, beaming at Neville. "Go me. Anyway," she began again, as she started off towards her rooms, Neville falling in at her side – his rooms were in the same direction as hers. "I wonder if you could infuse non-magical plants with magic by…"
Breakfast
Hermione smiled at both Neville and Malfoy as she slipped into her seat, hands smoothing over her hair and trying to tuck wayward, fluffy strands of it back into the bun she had it twisted into, secured by a Muggle pen thrust through the knot.
"Good morning," she greeted cheerily.
"Morning, Hermione," Neville beamed the endearing smile that had made him one of the most attainable bachelors in Wizarding Britain until he'd finally gotten up the courage to ask Hannah out, and took a great mouthful of porridge. She settled her robes about her neatly and poured a cup of fresh, delicious coffee, inwardly half-waiting for Malfoy to acknowledge her. They were officially capable of friendliness now, and managed to exchange pleasantries at most mealtimes…along with the occasional bit of snark.
"You're in a good mood," Malfoy said at last in a sleep-soaked, drawly sort of voice, and mortifyingly Hermione's breath caught and stomach flipped at the husky, sleepy sound of him – before she looked over and reminded herself that ew, it was Malfoy. Leaning back in his seat with his impossibly long legs stretched out beneath the table and his teacup cradled between both hands, hair mussed in a way that made him look younger than he was, his grey eyes tired but friendly. Perhaps she should take Ginny up on her offer of setting Hermione up on a blind date. It had been far, far too long if Malfoy's morning voice was even vaguely appealing. Even if it had been…she shook herself briskly.
"I am." Hermione reached for her usual selection of fresh fruit, burying it all beneath generous dollops of Greek honey yoghurt, pausing in the burying long enough to flash a brief, excited smile at Malfoy. "Only a week of term left and then it's the holidays."
"Hah." His lips curved up in lazy amusement. "I thought you loved school, Granger."
"Well…I did – do... I've just found that teaching classes is much more stressful than attending them, and dear Godric, I need a break before I snap and murder the little idiots." She groaned and jabbed at a chunk of something hidden by yoghurt, warming to her rant. "I understand now why Snape was such a complete and utter bastard. I sympathise with him. With Snape. God, that's unnatural. But the flagrant idiocy of some of them…honestly, I don't how they remember to breathe, let alone use magic."
"I feel your pain," Malfoy said, as Hermione discovered the mysterious yoghurt-covered chunk was – mmm, persimmon. "Although I didn't think I'd ever hear you calling a dead war hero unflattering names." Hermione stared at him, forgetting to chew her persimmon in her embarrassed horror, mouth hanging ajar. Malfoy reached out and nudged it shut with a finger on the underside of her chin, and she flinched away, scrubbing at where he'd touched. The skin tingled irritatingly. She chewed and swallowed hastily enough to near choke, while he watched her with an arch, smug amusement.
"Shut up Malfoy!" Hermione got out as fast as possible, and he chuckled at her. Her cheeks flamed up. "Snape might have been a war hero, but he was still a horrid teacher." She glared at Malfoy. "You're just trying to embarrass me."
"Succeeding in embarrassing you," he corrected and she made an inarticulate growl of frustration. He tapped her fist with light fingers and a wry look, and she relaxed the death grip she hadn't realised she'd had on her fork. "Calm down, Granger. I'm only teasing. Snape was a right bastard, when he wanted to be."
"Just not to you," she mumbled low enough that she didn't think he could hear – it still irritated her that Malfoy had essentially gotten a free pass with Snape throughout most of their time at school. Then louder and a rather indignant: "At any rate, you git, I'm looking forward to some time to relax without classes to teach, which was why I was in a good mood before you ruined it."
He snorted very softly and she pinned a Glare of Death – scrunched brows and sternly pursed lips – on him, and watched his lips twitch and curve and break into a completely involuntary smile. "Sorry, Granger. Very rude of me."
"Hmmph." She stuck her nose up in the air and turned her attention to her breakfast, prim and haughty. She ignored the highly-entertained way Malfoy was watching her and chuckling, as he drank his tea with perfect poise, and she accidentally dribbled out some yoghurt as a grape tried to go down her throat whole and murder her. Life wasn't fair.
Lunch
"So, where are you heading off to?" Malfoy asked Hermione as she waved a last goodbye to Neville, who was going to Hannah's for the holidays, and then taking the witch to his Gran's for Christmas. She suspected Neville might be planning to pop the question, and had wished him luck and given him a tight hug when he'd left. She glanced up at Malfoy, startled by his sudden appearance at her side. He wasn't in teacher's robes now that school was over, but dark dress trousers, and white oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. Her eyes went immediately to the faded Mark there on the pale skin of his arm, before she forced her gaze up to his eyes, which had gone sharp and horrified, as though he'd only just realised his Mark was on display. Hermione shrugged and made herself smile at him, taking great effort to keep her tone normal.
"Lunch, I suppose."
"You're not going away for the holdiays?" he asked, trying to sound normal, his voice tight with strain, but shot through with genuine surprise that she wouldn't be in great demand. Hermione shook her head, and then sighed and winced at him as he fumbled at his sleeves, a pang of sympathy rising up in her.
"No, not really. And for Merlin's sake, just leave it, Malfoy," she ordered as if she were Mrs Weasley bossing the children around, slapping at the hand Malfoy was trying to unroll his stubborn sleeve with, without even thinking twice about it. "I've seen it now, and it's not like I didn't know it was there." He ignored her and she had to actually grab his hand – her fingers curling around his warm ones – and yank it down. "Honestly, you're just being irritating. Leave it."
For a wonder, he actually did as she said. He stood there staring at her – in her jeans and stripy jersey with her teacher's robes open over top – looking nervous and bristly enough that she thought anything she said might set him off into a retreat or a snit, but he left his sleeve rolled up. His hand rhythmically made a fist and relaxed at his side over and over again, but she tried not to look at his arm and he forced a small smirk onto his lips.
"Not going off to spend Christmas at the Weasleys'?" There was a bite to his tone as he asked it, which Hermione ignored as she began in the direction of the Great Hall.
"Come on, Malfoy. Lunch." She looked up at Malfoy as he fell into pace beside her and stuffed his hand into his pocket in a way that tucked his arm to his body and hid the Mark. "And yes, actually, I will be seeing the Weasleys' for Christmas; I just won't be staying with them throughout the hols. I'll be staying here."
"What about your parents?"
"They're away on a cruise, this year." She felt her chest knot up slightly but kept her tone even and casual. "They never could quite forgive me for altering their memories, especially considering there were a lot that couldn't be – couldn't be restored."
"I'm sorry," Malfoy offered quietly and Hermione waved off his apology as they meandered up the length of the Hall.
"It's fine. Things are…improving. But at any rate, staying with them was out, and the Burrow's so crowded and Ron always tries it on with me at least once, so I thought I'd just stay here. Enjoy the peace and quiet." She grinned and warmth suffused her at the thought of Christmas Day at the chaotic Burrow, filled with people and love and madness, and of Ron's firewhiskey-induced attempts to flirt with her even though they both knew it'd never work out. It was nice for a day, but no more than that.
"What about you? Are you going home?" she asked without thinking, and then remembered it was Malfoy, who lived in the Manor that she'd had nightmares about up until a few years ago, who had a Death Eater father that Hermione did not think was truly repentant, and did she really want to know what he was doing?
"I…yes, but just for Christmas day. Rather like you, the places available to me over the holidays are unfortunately less appealing than remaining at Hogwarts," he said stiffly as they rounded the High Table and took their seats, smiling and nodding to the few remaining teachers.
"Isn't that just wonderfully depressing," Hermione answered, deliberately perky and too-bright, trying not to think of the Manor. Malfoy rolled his eyes, and harrumphed quietly to himself, fiddling with his left rolled up sleeve now. She beamed at him as she poured a tall glass of pumpkin juice, determined to be friendly and festive and distract herself from the depression that always surrounded the topic of her parents. "Well, at least we have each other, Malfoy."
"Salazar save me."
Dinner
"So what did you like most about living in the Muggle world?" Hermione asked, raising a curious and slightly worried brow at Malfoy, who had so far drunk four large glasses of faerie wine with his dinner. She was rather concerned he might fall down if he stood. It was four days after end of term and the atmosphere was oddly peaceful and festive, the Hall bright with touches of Christmassy festooning. Apart from Minerva, Sinestra, and Karl Milngavie, no other teachers were present at the High Table this evening, and the students' table were nearly empty with only fifteen having remained this year. Malfoy shrugged, and scowled at his dinner plate; most of his meal finished.
"My father refusing to lower himself to contacting me by Muggle means? It was rather nice, not having him constantly in my ear about–" He swore a quiet fuck under his breath, cutting himself off rather belatedly and setting his wine glass back on the table, cheeks flushing. Hermione watched him with great interest. So, he wasn't on good terms with his father, then? She wasn't surprised, considering how much Malfoy seemed to have changed.
"The cinema. I liked the cinema," Malfoy began again, over-loudly, the lines of his face shaped with awkwardness. Hermione decided to be kind and not pick at him this evening; he looked so embarrassed and annoyed with himself. "Muggle films were very appealing. We don't have anything even close to that in the Wizarding World, after all. Television, too, but the films were more exciting. The – the big screen and all."
"What sort of films?"
"I liked the Lord of the Rings trilogy. They were…quite good, although not as good as the books. Tolkien was –"
"A squib? Yes, I know that, Malfoy," she interrupted with an eye roll – perhaps she'd drunk a little too much tonight too. But it had only been two – no, maybe three – no…two glasses? She gave up on her calculations and smiled at Malfoy, pushing away her dinner plate and resting her chin in her hand. "What else did you like that you've seen recently?" Hermione had no idea what sort of movies Malfoy would like. It could be anything.
"I haven't been to the cinema lately, but I liked Kung Fu Hustle. Sin City. Er… Batman Begins, I thought was all right but not brilliant. War of the Worlds was watchable, although the main actor looked like he needs damn good hexing." He paused and his eyes hazed over as he thought. Then: "Serenity. That was extremely entertaining."
"Ahh." Hermione's cousin Sarah was utterly mad for Serenity, and the show it had originated from, Firefly. Called herself a Browncoat, and protested television networks to get the show back on air or some such. Hermione had quite enjoyed the show herself, though not as much as Sarah. "And did the scope and vision of the Muggles who wrote the story interest you?" she queried, her tipsiness making her pert and pointed, and Malfoy laughed, the sound soft and shapeless with drink.
"It did, Granger. Very much so. And the themes behind it, the messages to it, were…thought-provoking." His hand strayed out and caught up his wineglass again, and he sipped at it unconsciously. "And you? What do you like?"
"I prefer books, to be honest. I don't go to films usually. But I saw the new version of Pride and Prejudice last year, which was quite good. Oh, and I went to see that Star Wars movie with Harry and Ron, when it came out."
"Revenge of the Sith?" Malfoy asked, an expression of distaste on his face at the mention of Harry and Ron, shifting to sprawl sideways in his seat so that he faced Hermione, ignoring the dishes of dessert that appeared on the table. She didn't, loading up her bowl with trifle, and blue jelly that was twinkling at her like starlight.
"Revenge of the Sith, yes, that was it. They basically dragged me along to see it. It was all right, I suppose. The main character was really rather fit, at least up until he was crawling away from the lava at the end there, with all his limbs hacked off, and horribly burnt and…" Hermione wrinkled her nose at her trifle. Suddenly she wasn't so hungry.
"Ew, Granger," Malfoy said very seriously, although his eyes were light and happy. "Ew."
Breakfast
Hermione ate a very small breakfast on Christmas Day; Mrs Weasley always prepared a feast, and pushed food on everyone like she did knitted sweaters and love. Hermione always felt like she left five pounds heavier than when she'd arrived. She was up bright and early, as this year she'd offered to help Mrs Weasley with the cooking, and the Great Hall was quiet and empty. She frowned to herself, looking down into her lap at the bright paper wrapping up the small gift she had for Malfoy. Hermione had been hoping he might rise early as well, but it looked like she would have to either leave the gift on his seat for him to discover, or give it to him tomorrow. She felt a bit stupid getting him anything at all, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do, even if he would probably scoff at it.
It was the thought that counted, right?
Hermione decided to seek Malfoy out and give the present to him tonight, if he was back from the Manor before bedtime. A sense of trepidation burgeoned in her at the idea of visiting Malfoy in his rooms, and she clutched a hand tightly around her token present as she drank down the remains of her coffee. As she stood however, she heard footsteps echoing in the Hall and looked up to see Malfoy approaching the High Table. Oh…good. She smiled and lifted a hand in a stupid little half-wave of acknowledgement, walking around the table to meet him.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione," Malfoy said with a smile as he stopped a pace in front of her, neat but casual in dark dress trousers and a charcoal knit jersey, a pale blue-grey oxford shirt visible beneath the jersey at collar and cuffs. He looked…nice. Handsome, just as she had thought when she'd first seen him at the feast at the start of the year. Only now his personality wasn't ruining it, and… She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her breath had tightened and her palms had started sweating when he'd said Hermione like that. She thought that maybe they were friends? They must be, for him to use her first name. But…
"Hermione?"
"Merry Christmas," she said, and without thinking, hugged him. She stepped forward and put her arms around him for a brief, tight embrace – and he went stiff as a damn plank and his breath rushed in sharply. Hermione could have died. This was Malfoy and whether he'd called her by her first name or not, they probably weren't close enough to merit hugs, not even two-a-penny Christmas hugs. But then the tension ran out of him, and his hand came up and patted her clumsily between her shoulder blades as he leant into her just a little. He was warm and solid against her, and smelt of expensive cologne, and her fingers tightened on his back, his chin bumped against her forehead, and her insides felt quite warm and contented. For a moment, the awkwardness went away.
But unfortunately almost as soon as the awkwardness went they were detaching themselves from each other, which was awkward in its own way. She was flushing pink and berating herself for hugging him and fumbling with his present, when he thrust something into her field of vision. A crisp white Muggle envelope.
"I – I –" Malfoy began with even more awkwardness – because they didn't have enough of that already – and colour came flooding into his cheeks. "I got you this, for Christmas. It's…nothing, really. I just…well…"
"I got you a present too," Hermione interrupted with a smile, relief suffusing her at the knowledge that he obviously thought presents were appropriate. She shoved the package at him, swapping the crumpled-Santa-covered-wrapping-papered package for the expensive-looking envelope, sliding her finger along inside the fold of it to tear it open.
"Oh my god." She stared at the slip of paper she'd pulled out of the envelope, eyes wide. A voucher to a Muggle hairdresser. "Oh my god. Malfoy!" She stared up at him as he stared bemusedly down at the knitted cap she'd made him, which was barely misshapen at all, and a very nice Slytherin green. "Oh my god, Malfoy, this says 'a – a – a pampering experience valued at five hundred pounds.'" He blinked at her and shifted uncertainly on his feet, hand crumpling nervously around the knitted cap.
"Is that…a problem?"
"Five hundred pounds, Malfoy! That's – that's – I can't accept it, it's too much!"
His face fell and Hermione huffed annoyance.
"Seriously, Malfoy, that's – I just – all I did was knit you a hat! I can't –"
"Oh, it's a hat," Malfoy mumbled under his breath, his voice full of dawning comprehension and relief as he turned the knitted cap over and squinted at it.
"Malfoy!" she screeched, not sure if she was more upset over the fact that Malfoy thought it was all right to spend five hundred bloody pounds on her, or that he hadn't known her painstakingly knitted hat was indeed a hat.
"I love it!" he rushed before she could really get going, his face all muddled with nervousness and stifled amusement, pulling the cap down onto his head, and…oh wow. Oh. Wow. Hermione's mouth snapped shut and she tilted her head to one side, needing a moment to really fully take him in. The cap itself was a little knobbly if she was honest, and not at all the sort of thing she would have pictured Draco Malfoy in, but… Oh Merlin's pants, he looked utterly bloody adorable, which was not a word she would ever have thought she'd use in regards to Malfoy. Somehow the – all right, clearly homemade – knit cap actually worked with Malfoy's casually stylish clothes, although how, Hermione had no idea. She crossed her arms over her chest, rocked her weight back on one foot, and grinned at him.
"Perfect! …But I still can't accept the voucher, um…Draco. It's too much, honestly. I'd feel bad."
"Please take it. I wouldn't have given it to you if I didn't want to. And it's not like I don't have the money." Malfoy was pleading and earnest in his bright knit cap, the wrapping paper decorated with skating Santas crinkling quietly up in one long-fingered hand, his eyes wide and beseeching, clear starbursts of greys. "I want you to have it. Besides –" And he reached out and tugged gently on a lock of her long, admittedly rather untamed hair, which spilled down over her shoulders. Her scalp tingled in a nice way. "– You need a good hair stylist."
"I –" Hermione wasn't sure whether to be offended, oddly complimented, or just hugely, hugely appreciative. She stared down at the voucher again, and temptation tugged at her as she imagined what kind of pampering £500 would pay for. Certainly a lot more than the usual plain trim she got from the cheap wizarding salon down Diagon Alley. "I – thank you, Draco. I appreciate it. It's very…thoughtful." It felt strange to call him by his first name, but he was calling her Hermione, and besides, it seemed a little odd to call someone who'd gifted you £500 by their surname. "I just wish I'd gotten you something…more." Her hand-knitted cap seemed a very poor present indeed, in comparison to his.
"No. I like it. A lot. I'm – I'm going to wear it today, in fact."
She raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"No, honestly I do like it, and I will wear it. It's very…cosy. You – did you make it yourself?" Malfoy asked, lifting his fingers to touch the soft wool.
She scuffed the toe of her sneaker on the stone floor. "Yeah."
"You used to knit things for the house elves," he said, and she gave a muffled little laugh.
"I did. How did you know I knitted them myself?" A smile caught at the corners of her lips. Malfoy shrugged loosely, and then looked over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps – no doubt the students that remained at school were coming in for breakfast. The moment suddenly felt strained, as though they both want to finish the conversation before they were interrupted by clattering, chattering students, who would probably read things into this that weren't there at all.
"For months you were dragging knitting needles and wool with you everywhere you went, Hermione. I couldn't help noticing, could I?" He bit his lip, and took a step back, toward his seat at the table as the sound of footsteps neared.
"I should probably go… I promised Molly Weasley I'd help her with the cooking and she wanted me there early…" she said reluctantly. He bobbed a little nod of agreement, hands shoved in his pockets and the atmosphere awkward once more. "Thank you again for the voucher, Draco. I hope you have a lovely day with your …family."
"Have…fun at the Weasleys," Malfoy answered her with equal awkwardness, and as she turned away she saw him reach up to touch the cap again, an odd gentleness in the skim of his long, elegant fingers over the pompom.
"Father is going to kill me," Hermione heard him mumble ruefully, in a voice too low for him to have meant her to hear it, as he tugged the cap lower over his ears. She tucked the Muggle hairdresser's voucher in her deep cardigan pocket and grinned to herself, feeling absurdly pleased as she left the Hall to use the private floo in her rooms.
Author's Note: Please review! Reviews are like marmalade on toast to me – heavenly! I swear to god I am going to keep this fic under 20,000 words as requested, so there's only one more chapter to go after this…and maybe a teeny, tiny epilogue… I'm not sure yet. Feed the muse with marmalade reviews :D
Housekeeping notes: As I noted on my last update of The Just World Fallacy, I'm going through The Risk-Reward Ratio and all my other Dramione fics, doing much-needed edits – fixing formatting issues, and proofreading to catch and sort out all the continuity issues, and grammar/typos/missing words and all that. Eventually I'll start replacing the chapters already on here with the new-improved versions, although I probably won't do that until I've finished The Just World Fallacy.
I'll also be putting up shiny pdfs for download too (in fact I've already put up an – unedited – pdf of What He Requires), which that will be linked to on my author profile, and available at Facebook dot com /theriskrewardratio
In pdf format, The Risk'verse will be reformatted into four fics as follows:
"Gravitation" - [Law III: To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction: or the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts.]
"The Risk-Reward Ratio" - [Relationship of substantial reward corresponding to the amount of risk taken; mathematically represented by dividing the expected return by the standard deviation.]
"The Just World Fallacy" (incomplete) - [The cognitive bias that a person's actions always bring morally fair and fitting consequences to that person, so that all noble actions are eventually rewarded and all evil actions are eventually punished.]
"Axiom" (planned) - [1. A self-evident or universally recognized truth; a maxim: "Equity will not suffer a wrong to be without a remedy." 2. An established rule, principle, or law. 3. A self-evident principle or one that is accepted as true without proof as the basis for argument; a postulate.]
See you next chapter, my lovelies xx