On Boxing Day, while the adults were seeing Aunt Inez off at the train station, Hermione and the Malfoy brothers attended to their potion in the basement. It was a task Draco looked forward to, starved as he was for anything magical in a house, on a street where the only wizards were under-aged, away from school, and not permitted to use wands.
But today, the fun of it was gone. After a long night of agonizing over what cousin Tonks had said and shown him, the vacant gazes of Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville's melancholy face, and considering everything about his parents' holiday trip that didn't add up, Draco was tense. He was thinking about Azkaban, his wicked aunt, and whether she might come flying into the Grangers' kitchen to carry him off.
His tension wasn't quiet or brooding, but loud and pushy, demanding. After the four reagents of the day were added to the potion, the steaming liquid flickering through waves of colour changes in the cauldron, Draco insisted that Ronald - who was yawning after sharing a bed with restless Draco - take Hermione's shift with the clockwise stirring. She sat on the stool along the wall as Ronald stirred and Draco read aloud from parchments full of hand-scrawled instructions, pointing at a list as he checked it off.
"Look at it, Ronald. Tomorrow's reagents are numbers thirteen to sixteen: monarch butterfly slurry, jellied tickseed pollen, white currant root extract, and this one - listen, this one is crucial - crystallized rhubarb flower. If it goes wrong tomorrow, we may as well flush the whole batch down the drain," he said.
"Right, I'm looking," Ronald moaned. "If it's so important, just do it yourself, when the time comes. Why are you like this?"
"I fully intend to do it myself," Draco said, sorting the parchment back into a neat stack. "But what if something were to happen and I had to leave? Granger would have no one to help her if you weren't ready to step up."
Ronald muttered over the potion. "She wouldn't need any help. And you're not going anywhere."
"Yes, you're staying right here with us, aren't you Malfoy," Hermione said, not looking up from the book propped on her knees. It was from her mother's collection of novels, translated out of Italian, about monks solving a mystery in a secret, forbidden library. "Nothing is going to happen to you."
He heaved a deep sigh. "No one ever knows that for certain."
Before anyone could do any more moaning, Tim Granger's feet landed heavily on the stairs above their heads. "We're back, safe and sound," he announced, sniffing at the potioned air, frowning and not coming any further. "And we think something wizardly might be afoot. There's a fluffy, frantic bird pecking at the upstairs windows, and it won't be shooed away."
Ronald gasped. "Pig!"
"I beg your pardon, Ronald?" Tim blustered.
"Oh! No, sorry, Dr. Tim," he rushed to say. "That's what they call the bird. It belongs to my bio-family, so I reckon it's here for me."
Draco took the stirring rod from him and Ronald bolted up the stairs in high hopes of finding Pigwidgeon bearing a reply from Pansy Parkinson. Anything would be satisfactory - brilliant, actually. He'd never read a word she'd written, had no idea what her handwriting would look like. This was progress.
Would the ink be black or something with a little more flare? Of course, black was fine - better even, classic. Would she print her words straight and orderly, like Hermione did, or would they be all joined up, curving and slanting? And what if her reply wasn't just words, but something hand-drawn? Even if it was a small and simple design, like a cartoon heart, it was sure to be rich with meaning and feeling. A tiny black heart - could anything be more perfectly Pansy Parkinson than that?
He barged into Hermione's empty bedroom, threw the sash up, and reached into the cold air for the flapping, flittering bird on the sill…
With Ronald and Tim gone upstairs, Hermione came to stand close beside Draco. "You're not alright," she told him.
"Don't mother me, Granger," he said.
"Mothers aren't the only people capable of showing concern." She took the stirring rod from him, flipping the quarter-hourglass to begin timing the counter-clockwise turns. "I've seen you care for Ronald. I know you understand that."
"Yes, well, I don't want you to 'brother' me either," he said, wiping his hands. "Especially not when all I've done is conduct myself according to the established best practices of this field. As you well know, Granger, in Arsenius Jigger's preface on potioneering ethics, among the Five Fail-safes he lists training an alternate as - "
She had closed her hand on the front of his shirt and tugged him toward her, his face coming eagerly forward to meet hers and let her kiss him quiet. The swirling scrape of the stirring rod against the sides of the cauldron was the only sound until the seal between their mouths broke as he tilted away to catch his breath, and then back into her, seamlessly and sweetly. His movements matched hers even though he didn't touch her with his hands for fear of disrupting the rhythm of her stirring. They were a perfect pair when it came to this, and he returned her kiss as if soulmates might be real, his eyes shut, drawing in her scent, tasting her, her mouth the remedy, however temporary, for the empty sadness that had overtaken him since the last time they had stood here alone like this.
"You know the Five Fail-safes by heart," she purred into his face. "Aren't you gorgeous?"
For the first time that morning, he smiled.
"Now stop deflecting," Hermione said, letting go of his clothing, smoothing it against his chest with her palm. "Tell me what's got you so out of sorts. It's about your aunt, isn't it? You're preparing Ronald to help with the potion because you're afraid she might turn up and drag you off to her Death Eaters."
He sighed deeply. "Their movement has always fed off young people. Mother and father have worked hard to convince everyone Ronald isn't a real Malfoy, just an inconvenient Wizengamot sentence. When they're around their Death Eater friends, they keep him away and speak of him more like an overgrown pet than a son - like something not worth the movement's notice. It's bollocks, of course, but they're all so deranged when it comes to status they believe it."
He stood back, shivering. "But Aunt Bellla is close to Mother, hard to fool. I don't see how she could fail to sense how much our mother loves Ronald. And so I, the son they can't hide - I distract. Aunt Bella was standing at my mother's bedside when I was born. She'll think Death Eater status is part of my birthright, like fair hair and a knack for potions, and I should be honoured they've chosen me."
Hermione huffed. "Chosen you? Whatever she thinks, she can't just kidnap you."
"Can't she?" Draco planted both elbows on the top of the workbench and let his head fall into his hands, groaning faintly. "What do you know about her history with Longbottom's parents?"
Hermione hissed. "She incapacitated them with illegal curses during the war. That's why it's always his grandmother tending to Neville's business now. His parents' health is too delicate."
"Delicate," Draco echoed.
She frowned. "I don't know the details. But you say you saw them yesterday, at the hospital with your cousin. They're truly quite frail, aren't they?"
He blew out his breath, speaking quietly, miserably, as if confessing his own sins. "They're not just invalids. They're more like inmates. They haven't left the hospital in years - probably haven't worn shoes in over a decade. The ward they live on is locked. They don't speak. Their minds," he slipped an arm around her waist and rested his chin on the top of her head, "everything they might have ever known about each other, or their son, or the Five Failsafes, or anything they've ever read - it's all gone. Aunt Bella destroyed it."
Though she was standing over a hot cauldron, Hermione shuddered, nestling against him as she did. "Horrible. And Neville never says anything..." She stood silently for a moment, considering the catastrophe of a mind wiped blank. She shook herself. "But even if it was your aunt who did that, Malfoy, it was not you. Neville knows that. Everyone does."
He tipped his face to kiss the crown of her head. "It's not about the past. It's about the future. Dad - he doesn't want to be part of this any more. Pettigrew, Crouch, Dolohov, Aunt Bella and her mad husband - they were the ones out looking for You-know-who after he - uh - after Potter - um, lived."
At the mention of Harry, she stiffened in his arms, as she always did. But he held her closer this time, locking both arms around her waist now.
"Dad went into the war right out of school, but by the time it all ended, he had a wife and me. Then Ronald. He's not the same teenager who swore allegiance to You-know-who. In fact, by the time Potter started yelping about You-know-who being back, Dad would have been happy to just stay a snob, hoarding money and power, but not fighting. Especially when Diggory died - that was it. That changed everything for Dad, understanding that You-know-who was out to kill schoolboys, no matter what their status."
She turned, looking up at him, her stirring of the potion growing slow enough that he took it over. "That's impossible though. There's no such thing as neutral in this conflict, Draco. Not for Muggle-born me. And not for your mother, if she's indeed sheltering her criminal sister. Certainly not for your father with that Dark Mark still on his arm, even if he's only half-heartedly trying to appease his master by sending you to torment Harry and spy for Umbridge. And that means," she paused, her chin quivering, "that there can be no neutral for you either."
She raised her hands, cradling his jaws. "Draco," she said, "you need to decide where you're going to stand, and then you have to get up and move there. You can't stay where you are."
"I'm here with you now," he said, gripping her wrist in his free hand.
"And that's where I want you. But you can't be here for long unless you disavow your family's past, and their extremely dangerous present. I mean," she said as he turned his mouth toward her palm, "what Bellatrix Lestrange did to the Longbottoms when we were babies wasn't your fault. But what she does to people in the future, when you're almost grown, standing by and doing nothing to stop her - that will be your fault. And if I'm with you, it will be mine too. And I can't have that."
There were footsteps on the stairs, slow and shuffling, as if Aunt Inez was back. Hermione dropped her hands from Draco's face and they looked up to see Ronald slouching to sit on the stairs.
"It was just another owl from Molly Weasley," he said.
Hermione blinked, alarmed. "What's happened? Did Mr. Weasley take a turn for the worse?"
Ronald sighed. "No, he was discharged from St. Mungo's this morning. But they're staying in London a little longer, until his bandages come off. Harry is bored out of his mind, moody as you please, threatening to go off sulking to the Dursleys, driving everyone mad. So they're asking me to come spend the day with them tomorrow."
Hermione was puzzled. "Well, most of that sounds lovely. Why are you so glum about it?"
"I'm not," Ronald said, morose as ever. "I was just expecting - ah, leave it. What'll you two do tomorrow while I'm off with the Weasleys? All that time on your own. I shudder to think of it, really."
"Ronald, we're not together," Hermione blurted.
The stirring rod clattered against the side of the cauldron as Draco nearly dropped it. He chuckled miserably to himself as he caught it.
Ronald huffed. "Is that so? Could have fooled me. And Molly. And Ann."
"Well, there is something going on," Hermione admitted, unable to look at either of the brothers, watching the last of the sand in the quarter-hourglass run out instead. "But we haven't sorted it out yet. We need to talk more, plan - "
Ronald groaned. "Plan? No, that settles it. You're perfect for each other."
"Will you shut it?" she called over his voice. "And don't mention it to anyone while you're away tomorrow. No one. Especially not Harry."
Draco had wiped the stirring rod clean and set the lid on the top of the cauldron. "I need some air," he said, pushing past Hermione to get to the stairs.
"Malfoy," she called, trotting after him.
They didn't get far. Tim stopped them in the kitchen, just outside the basement door. "Good news, darling," he said, addressing Hermione. "The holiday ski trip we had to cancel when your uncle couldn't host Aunt Inez for Christmas has been saved! Reprieved! Rescheduled!"
"Do get on with it," Ann said, smirking at him over her tea.
"We've booked lift tickets for tomorrow, for all five of us. It won't be the Alps, but it's within driving distance of the city." Tim looked between the Malfoys' faces for some sign of recognition. Nothing.
Hermione leaped forward, taking her father's arm. "Brilliant, Dad. I'm sure the boys would be very excited, if they knew what skiing was."
"What? Wizards don't ski?" There was something in the way he said it that left Hermione convinced he already knew it.
"Not all of them, no. Not these two," she said. "But Ronald has to meet his bio-family across town tomorrow and won't be able to come. Draco will be happy to try skiing for the first time with us though, won't you Draco?"
"Er, yes. Yes," he said. "Of course. Delighted."
Tim looked him over from head to foot, humming. "First time skier. Yes, that'll do nicely."
"He's trying to kill ya, mate." This was what Ronald told Draco as they stood just outside the Grangers' front door, waiting for Fred and George to appear in a borrowed, semi-magical car to take Ronald away for the day. "Dr. Tim has sniffed out your sweetness for his little darling and now he's out to see you throw yourself off a mountain."
"Shut it," Draco said, bouncing to keep warm, scowling up the street.
"Ask her," Ronald said. "Ask Hermione if Muggles ever die skiing. I already asked and do you know what she said? Yes, close to fifty fatalities every single year."
"Well, not me," Draco said. "If I do get hurt, as long as Granger gets me to a proper hospital instead of some Muggle butcher I should do alright."
"You should be flattered Tim's trying to kill you, really," Ronald insisted. "It means he's worried you actually have a chance with her."
Draco growled from between tight, hard lips.
"Oh, here's the twins," Ronald said. "Give us a hug, brother, in case this is the last we ever see of each other."
"Get off me," Draco said, but he let Ronald maul him in a parting hug all the same.
The ride to the ski hill took two hours once they cleared the city limits. With two people in the backseat instead of three, it was much roomier - room they needed, dressed as they were in puffy, slippery, noisy clothing. The long, rigid bag Tim had Draco hold onto the top of the car while he strapped it down felt as if it contained a load of brooms. It boosted Draco's confidence somewhat. When Hermione had tried to explain skiing the night before, it had just sounded laughable. But if it was just brooms, how bad could it be?
Draco still wasn't sleeping well at night and he spent most of the car ride nodding off before twitching awake when he felt his head drifting toward Hermione's shoulder. Something told him Tim wouldn't like to peer into that little spy mirror suspended from the ceiling to see Hermione being used as a pillow.
She shook him awake when they came within sight of the ski hill. He sat up, rubbing at the spot on his forehead where the car window had chilled his skin. The ski hill was breathtaking, in its own odd way. It wasn't a mountain, just high, steep slopes groomed with snow, mechanical lines feeding tiny human forms up to the summit. Once at the top, the Muggles hopped off the line, balancing on what looked, sure enough, like a pair of broomsticks with the bristles knocked off, and tried to stay standing as they gathered speed down the hill.
"Do they ever take flight?" Draco asked, craning his neck to see to the top of the hill through the car window.
"At elite levels of competition, they certainly do," Tim beamed. "Not bad for - what is it they call us - not bad for Mumbles."
"Flight is not the point, Malfoy," Hermione whispered urgently to him as they got out of the car. "Do not attempt to fly. Do you hear me, Malfoy? This is all about enjoying some fresh air and exercise in spite of the cold by sliding in a safe, orderly, slightly exhilarating fashion. That is all."
He was hardly listening, coming up with new questions instead. "Why two broomsticks?" he pressed. "Do they need two to make up for not having magic?"
"For stars' sake, Malfoy, stop calling them broomsticks. Skis, alright? No magic, just science, finesse, excellent core strength."
"Core strength?"
"Yes," She braced his torso just below either side of his ribcage with each of her hands. "Strength and power in the central, most massive part of yourself."
All at once, she had his undivided attention for the first time since they'd arrived at the hill. He looked down at her hands, then her face, one of his eyebrows lifting, "My central, most massive - what?"
"Look, just follow the instructors' directions," she said, quickly dropping her hands away from him.
He was squinting at the hill, nodding, as if calculating. "I don't think I'll need two sticks. One should do it."
"Honestly, Malfoy, that's not how it works. You'll need - oh wait, I've got it," she said. "You'll want a snowboard, not skis."
Tim and Ann sailed up the chair lift in their matching ski jackets while Hermione stood tapping her toe in her clunky ski boot as best she could while making sure Draco attended the mandatory snowboarding lessons offered at the bottom of the hill.
"What about you? Where's your snowboard?" he asked her just before he followed the rest of the beginner boarders to the line for the lift.
"I don't snowboard. I ski, like a civilized person," she said as the boarders rolled their eyes, the instructor booing audibly. "And also, I hate all of this."
Draco laughed. "I knew it."
She hushed him. "Don't tell Mum and Dad. But I'd rather be at school studying for OWLs than be here right now. But Dad was so excited. It can't be helped. And since we're here, you may as well enjoy yourself if you can. It might be the best fun I've ever had at a ski hill," she smirked, "watching elegant rival house seeker Draco Malfoy falling on his arse for an afternoon."
He smirked back at her. "Nice, Granger. Go on and watch my arse to your heart's content."
With a quick wave, Draco was skating away, one foot strapped to his board, the other pushing off the snow. She tracked him all the way up the lift, until he was just a little green jacket dismounting at the top of the beginners' hill. As she watched him, Tim and Ann came curving to a stop at the foot of the expert run, side by side, synchronized as if coming to the end of a carefully choreographed routine.
"Draco pack it in already?" Tim called to her.
Hermione pointed to the summit. "No, he's there."
Together, they watched him pause to sight down the beginners' hill, crowded with children and people wobbling through slow-going snow plough formations. Instead of strapping in and pushing off into the thick of it, he skated on, making for the intermediate run.
"Of course," Hermione moaned. "Malfoy, no."
"It's not really his first time, darling. He's having us on," Tim said.
She shook her head. "No, Dad. He's not. His parents never taught him anything but ridiculously dangerous wizard sports. So he's just - he's just like this."
Ann was casting her eyes about for the first aid cabin. "Well, I suppose we'll sort it out once he lands. Alright, Draco," she said. "Let's see this."
Even from the bottom of the hill, Hermione could tell Draco had vaulted himself down the hill with a jump rather than a push. "No flight!" she called, as if he could hear.
He was hurtling down the slope, swinging his board from side to side, carving deep grooves into the snow with the edges of his board.
Tim uttered a quiet Muggle curse.
Ann whistled. "Hermione, darling," she said. "You are doomed."
Other skiers, alarmed at his speed, were turning to gawk at him, stopping to stay out of his way. It wasn't fast enough, and he sank lower over his feet, a speeding streak of flying snow and green nylon and a rented snowboard. As he got closer to the bottom, he stood up taller, caught sight of the Grangers in the mass of people and swerved toward them.
"How did he see us at that speed?" Tim said.
Everything had gone Draco's way during his first snowboard run - everything except stopping. He managed to turn to a stop before crashing into the Grangers but not without sending up a huge plume of powdery snow, coating their hair and faces.
He didn't expect it and fell back, sitting at their feet, stammering apologies. Tim and Ann were clearing the snow from their eyes, shaking it from their hair. But Hermione was stamping her feet and advancing on him, her curls coated in snow, yelling. "Of all the irresponsible, show off, maniacal foolishness - "
Tim gave Draco the end of his ski pole and let him pull himself back to standing.
He rose into a stream of scolding. "You had no business getting up to that kind of speed on your first run. You shouldn't have even been on that slope. You're a beginner, for stars' sake! Someone could have been hurt!"
"Now, Hermione darling," Tim was saying over her ranting. "We're all a little snowy, but no worse for wear. You alright, Draco?"
"Yeah, it's brilliant," he said. "Thank you so much for bringing me, Dr. Granger."
"Yes, well, you're welcome. See if you can get Hermione on the slope. She thinks we don't know she'd rather be reading." With that, the Grangers pushed themselves back toward the lift line.
Draco chuckled as he watched them go.
"What?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "Their matching uniforms. It's - a bit funny."
She swatted him through his thick layers of clothing. "Like your parents aren't mincing around with matching haircuts and dye jobs."
He tried his best to loom over her as he balanced on his snowboard. "Dye jobs?"
She tossed her head. "If you come for my parents, I come for yours. Now enough of your smugness. How did you do that? If you brought your wand up there we can expect a reprimand letter any moment."
He shrugged. "I did it exactly as you told me to. How did that go again - science, finesse, and," he patted his stomach, "excellent core strength? Honestly, it is a lot like riding a broom. Only, without using the hands. And who rides a broom without their hands better than a seeker?"
She sneered. "Always, always a quidditch thing."
"Looks like it," he said. "And that would explain why you hate it - "
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, that would explain a lot."
" - and why you can't take your eyes off me when I do it."
"Draco Malfoy, you conceited prat, you made such a show of yourself that everyone in this park was watching to see if you'd survive."
"Stop mean-mothering me and start nice-mothering me for a moment," he said, holding out both his hands. "Tow me over there. We need a moment before I go again."
Taking his hands, she brought him close enough to fall back onto a bench. He pulled off his helmet and flipped his hair. "I think I'm starting to get through to your dad. Am I Muggle tolerant enough for you yet?"
She folded her arms. "Tolerant is too much like neutral. And I've already told you, I need you to be more than neutral. I need you to be willing to fight for us."
He linked his arm through hers, groaning playfully and laying his head on her shoulder. "How do I do that, Granger? I swear, if there was an avalanche out here, right now, I would leap up and save your parents, under-aged spells flying."
"You would not."
"I would. And if I survived, there'd be a hearing, and I'd be punished, and become a disgrace to my family for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy for a pair of Muggles, but I would do it anyway."
She indulged in letting herself rest her head against his as they sat side by side. "I don't want that, Malfoy. I just want you to tell your family 'no' when they act like I don't have a right to exist."
"Then they'll go after Ronald," he said without hesitation. "I thought about it all last night, while I wasn't sleeping, after we talked in the basement. If I let Aunt Bella and the rest down, they'll come for Ronald. That's how badly they need someone inside Hogwarts. They've never said it in that many words, but I know they would."
"Ronald would tell them 'no'," Hermione said.
Draco raised his head. "You don't know that. You don't know what they're like - what HE is like. But it doesn't matter. Ronald will never have to make that choice. Not while I'm standing in their way."
He was looking into her face with a hardness that was both fiery and cold. He believed what he said. He meant it. And she had never thought of it.
He hooked his arm under her knees, turning her so she was sitting with her legs draped over his lap. "The best I can offer you," he said in a low, almost trembling voice, "is to work as some kind of double agent. keeping my place filled, but not quite the way they want me to. I think there's an adult we know who's doing the same thing."
Neither of them would dare say Snape's name aloud. It was as if speaking of what he did was the second most taboo thing either of them knew. When she nodded in recognition, it was almost imperceptible. "Yes, but he's miserable, and alone - that's no kind of life for you."
"He doesn't have to be alone," Draco said, the coldness giving way to warmth. "He chooses it to punish himself for Potter's parents. I have nothing like that in my past. And maybe I couldn't do it alone, but that doesn't mean I can't do it. If you help me keep it all straight, I can. I have to, or they'll ruin the best person I know, the person may parents have worked so hard to keep above all of this. They'll ruin Ronald." He tipped his forehead against the cushion of curly hair over her ear, speaking more quietly than ever. "Think about it, Hermione. Help me. Stay with me."
She turned and kissed his cheek as sweetly as she dared with her parents at large. "Think," she repeated. "Thinking is exactly what I need to do. Give me a little more time. And please," she added, "whatever you do, be careful. Don't act alone."
He nodded against her head. "Thank you. You're a good girl. Now get off me before you blow my cover."