Draco was seething. His blood was boiling so vigorously in his veins he wouldn't be half surprised to see steam coming out of his ears.
Weasley had gone too far.
He'd crossed the line.
He'd crossed the line by even showing his ugly face at Hermione's Charity Ball. All her hard work, all her planning and excitement. Wasted. And after the day she'd had.
Weasley was dead.
As if she could re his mind, Hermione sat up from where her head had been resting in the joint of his shoulder and said sternly, "Draco, I hope you're not contemplating doing something not only unnecessary, but stupid."
"It's not stupid if it's deserved," he pointed out to her.
"Joking, aside, it's not worth it. He's not worth it. I just have to have faith that Ron will realize just what hole he's fallen down, and be their to support him once he gets his head out if his backside."
Draco snickered, then grew serious. "You amaze me," he said, somewhat breathlessly.
Hermione frowned. "Why?" she sarcastically drawled.
He rolled his eyes. "Because Ron humiliated you, yet you still want to be there for him. If it was me, I'd cut all ties with him, permanently, and make fun of him behind his back. Perhaps make a statue of him and degrade it with scandalous graffiti."
"You wouldn't," Hermione said in a tone of unwavering faith.
"Just because you're so above petty things like revenge doesn't mean I can't get them for you on your behalf. Or at least my behalf, though I suppose I should be grateful that he didn't make any ferret jokes."
Hermione smiled. "At least there's that."
Ginny and George Weasley came storming up to their table, each ranting to the other about the incident to have transpired.
"I can't believe he did that," Ginny was saying as she plopped down in the chair opposite Hermione's, guzzling a glass of champagne and setting it on the table with a decided smack, the force of it making the glass centerpiece rattle. "Actually, I can quite believe he did that, but Morgana I can't believe he did it in public, at the Wizarding Winter Charity Ball, of all places. Both Kingsley and McGonagall were no less than ten feet away! What did he expect, a marching band and confetti strewn in his wake? An ice statue carved in his honour doing some simpering pose? And what he said," Ginny thundered.
George came over, a comforting hand braced in his sister's shoulder. For someone who in Draco's mind was always cheerful, his face was uncharacteristically solemn. "What he said was horrible, and cruel, and about twelve kinds of stupid. But after our fight a few months back, I'm not surprised."
Hermione practically fell out of her chair. "You two were in a fight? Physically? When? And how comes no one told me?" she demanded, arms folded over her chest in annoyance. His best friend really didn't like being kept in the dark, especially when it came to people she cared about.
"Like I said, a few months ago, I ran into him while on a date with Angelina. He was also on a date. He accused me of spying on him, since now, according to Ron, going to a club that me and Fred told him about is spying on him. We got into an argument that escalated very quickly, punches were exchanged. Repeatedly. At multiple locations. His date even fixed him up, poor witch. Then after we git into it again, and the rather expert through of cutlery, we sat down and had a chat. I thought he'd made some progress, but then that article came out and it made him worse. Jealous, possessive. He hardly even comes to dinner anymore. On time, he was so drunk that I had to apparate him back to the Leaky before mum saw. It would have broken her heart."
All the air seemed to go out of Hermione, forehead slumping onto the table. Trying to give her space, Draco inched back, but she gripped his hand under the table, tough as steel. He didn't let go.
"I'm sorry," she said into the tablecloth.
"What are you sorry for," the two Weasley's said in unison.
Hermione raised her head. "Sorry that I made things worse. That I started them, really. Maybe I overreacted, that day on the beach. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed for him to talk about the War, pushed him into feelings he wasn't ready for yet."
Ginny moved a plate out of the way so that she could look Hermione in the eye. "This is not your fault. None of it. Not a single thing. He cheated on you, and you took the moral high ground, even after all he'd put you through. When Harry came home, he was the same. But he reached out. Just little things at first, but those little things were important. But those fort few weeks, he went about in a daze, and I knew he couldn't keep it in forever. So I pushed -i lie to think gently nudged- him, because Harry wasn't raised tos hare how he felt with others, didn't want to be a burden. So I had to push, to get him out if that toxic mindset. And he's getting there. But Ron... I think it's shame, and guilt, and thinking we will somehow look at him differently if he's vulnerable like that. But what he doesn't realize, what he can't see, I that when we look at him now, we don't see a brother. We see someone who's hurting, and can't deal with that pain, so-"
"They're directing that pain outwards, inflicting it in others because he wants us to feel what he's going through," Hermione finished.
Draco raised a brow.
"What? I wanted to be a psychologist for a week when I was younger!" she defended.
"Exactly," George chipped in. "But what can we do about that? Apart from drugging him with Veritaserum and making him tell us what's going on, he's as tight as a Gringotts vault."
"Good analogy," Ginny smirked.
"Metaphor," Draco and Hermione said at the same time. They both smiled.
Merlin, he was so dead. He really had it had for her. Even when she was sassy. Especially when she was sassy.
"Literary devices aside, I don't think there's much we can do. Did you know about this Chudley thing?" Hermione asked.
George shook his head, but Ginny nodded in confirmation. "He told mum last week, who told me. She didn't think he would go, and I didn't think he would, either. Why would he leave?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said a voice from the other end of the table.
All three of them craned their heads. Sitting there, smiling like a green, eccentric woodnymph, was Luna. "He can't get away from his problems emotionally, so he's trying to get away from them physically. But ghosts aren't limited to area codes; they can haunt you anywhere."
"Great insight, Luna," Hermione chuckled. "Creepy, but insightful."
"I like psychology, too. How people think. It's fascinating how the human brain processes things, isn't it? Selective memory and temporal lobes and the hippocampus and all that."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. Whatever she was looking for, she eventually spotted. He could practically hear the cogs moving in her brain. Her attention returned to the table, and Draco decided it wasn't his business to ask.
Luna got up from the table in a swirl of gauzy skirts. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go see how intoxicated I can get Blaise to be in front to me. I'm really sorry, Hermione. I know how much you loved him."
She smiled sadly. "Yes, Luna, I did. But that was a long time ago. I made peace with my feelings and can only hope Ron does the same."
George got up as well. "I better get going; it's Christmas Eve tomorrow and I need to get the shop ready for all the last minute witches and wizards." He dropped a kiss on Hermione's head in a brotherly gesture that made Hermione smile. He was glad that she had friends like that in her life, who would drop everything for her, would take her side even if it hurt Ron, because they believed it was the right thing to do.
"Chin up, kiddo. Plenty more Snitches in the sea."
"It's fish, George, plenty more fish in the sea."
"Now I remember why I didn't ask you to come work for me," he said, giving his sister a hug. "Give Harry my best," he told her.
"You'll see him tomorrow," Ginny said with an exasperated laugh.
"True, but that's only if you're not busy under the mistletoe," he grinned and left before his sister could punch him.
"Speaking of which, I think it's time I left too," said Ginny with a yawn. "I was up since six getting the bloody streamers on the ceiling."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help," Hermione replied.
"Merlin, woman, stop apologizing for everything." Her face turned contemplative, as if a thought had just struck her. "You could come stay at the Burrow," she offered.
Draco turned to Hermione, gauging her reaction. "I can't yet, Gin. Not until I figure things out. I love the house, and I love all of you, but-"
"But Ron's all over it, I get it. But it's still your house too. Mum's still git your stocking from the last year. Supposedly Ron tried to get her to throw it out after the Prophet but she wouldn't let him. You know how much Molly loves you."
"But Ron is still her son, and I doubt that he won't at least drop by, even if it's only for an hour or two. You deserve to have that time with."
"As you say. Merry Christmas, the both of you," Ginny softly replied, seeping back into the crowd. She was caught up almost instantly by Harry, who shared a deep look with Hermione. Draco supposed, that after nearly eight years of friendship, sometimes words weren't necessary.
The two were gone in a blink.
Then his mother descended on the table, pulling Hermione out if her seat and into her arms as if she weighed nothing. "Oh, you sweet girl. What a vicious thing to do. If you want, I'm sure I could find some dark hole at the Ministry to put him in. Perhaps organizing paperwork or fetching tea, if it suits you."
Draco started at his mother's casual reminder of her deep, and most likely nefarious, connections.
But Hermione didn't seem to particularly care. She laughed, of all things, and sat back down beside him. "That won't be necessary," she told her. "Ronald has gotten an offer to play with the Chudley Cannons next season; they were his favourite team, growing up. His room was just an orange blur, he had so much Cannon memorabilia."
Narcissa took her hand. "Speaking of rooms, I don't believe I know what your Christmas plans are, dear."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "I was going to stay with my parents, but since that is no longer an option, I suppose I'll just remain here. Although everyone else is going home, and those that do still will mostly likely hound me with incessant questions about Ron and my parents..."
Narcissa clapped her hands. "Then it's settled. You can come stay with myself and Draco for Christmas. We'd love to have you, and there's someone I want you both to meet."
Draco's mind churned at his mother's cryptic remark but kept silent. He knew what Hermione was going to say before she even took a breath to speak.
"Narcissa, I can't possibly also that of you. This is your first Christmas together, and I don't want to take away from that. And I have to stay for the announcement of the total and to clean up and to out the decorations away and clean the tables and put everything back in order," she blurted in a rush. As if she was trying to stop herself from saying yes, giving herself reasons why she couldn't, shouldn't, accept this offer of hep.
"But do you want to?" his mother pressed.
"I'd love to spend Christmas with you," she admitted with a faint blush, as if embarrassed at that emission of weakness.
"Then that's settled. Draco, go get Hermione's things; I need to have word with the Headmistress." Narcissa left the table in a swish of silk.
Draco got up from the table, only now realizing that for the duration of the conversation, he had not let go of her hand, could still feel the warmth of her palm dancing along his.
Hermione lept to her feet, swaying slightly in her heels. Draco came to her aid, steadying her as she looked at him with wide eyes. "I can go get my things," she told him sharply. "Having an emotionally taxing verbal sparring match does not hinder my capability of walking up the stairs and getting a few trunks. Plus Crookshanks may honestly try to maul you to death if you pick him up."
"Fine," he relented. "But I'm carrying your stuff for you. You can take the ginger killing machine. Honestly, why couldn't you have picked something non-lethal, like a toad or a mouse or something," Draco muttered as they slipped, unnoticed, out the door. It seemed everyone else had similar ideas, do most of the guests were leaving, walking out into the night past the Apparition point McGonagall had installed, just for the night, only accessible by guests. Even though they were meant to be at peace, the witch would take no chances with her students, and Draco respected that.
Draco trailer behind Hermione as he made his way up the unfamiliar staircases to the Gryffindor common room. He was struck by the memory from summer, of him collecting her belongings from the Burrow. It's seemed Hermione was reminiscing to as she turned to him, dress sighing softly against the stone floor, and queried, "Are you really going to brave the actual lions den for me, yet again, when you don't have to?"
In answer, he wedged himself between her and the door, an immovable pillar of stone, customary smirk in place.
"A simple yes would have sufficed," she muttered as she forced him out the way. "Mischievous Mistletoe," she said clearly, and the door swung open onto a blazing fire and unoccupied room. Good.
Draco went in after her, long legs eating up the distance. "I'll only be a minute," she said, and made her way up the stairs. Draco flung himself onti the couch, loosening his tie as he stared into the flickering embers.
Well, tonight had been interesting.
He'd not only been insulted by Weasley, but had been defended by Hermione Granger, had danced with her and felt so at ease, like that was exactly where he was supposed to be. Or maybe that was just him being a romantic idiot. He looked up the stairs, thinking.
He couldn't tell her.
At least, not know, when she had enough to sort out.
And to be honest, Draco wasn't ready to tell her yet. And it wasn't about her not feeling the same, no, it was about whether he was ready to tell her. He'd made considerable progress over the last few months, yes, but he still awoke from vivid nightmares twice a week, still jolted sometimes when Theo clapped him on the back. When a start spell shot past him. And if she did truly feel anything romantic towards him... Draco wanted to feel like he could deal with that appropriately.
He was healing, yes, but there were parts of him still jagged, still raw, and he did not want her to cut herself on them. He would not hurt her like that.
So he'd wait.
Wait until he'd spoken to his father, until he'd sorted out this thing with Blaise. Although, from what he'd seen of Luna's conversation with him, maybe he should leave that to the Ravenclaw.
"Draco?"
He turned around, head tilted back over the worn couch. Not like the Slytherin one, the leather so polished and squeaky it felt like lounging on a burly squid.
Hermione had somehow found the time to change, although she still had on the necklace, the one he had seen in his mother's jewelry box on more than one occasion. In her three-quarter length navy blouse and jeans, she was just as beautiful. Upon seeing Draco, Crookshanks growled, hackles rising.
"Shush, you," she reprimanded, putting the cat-carrier by her feet. "Were you lost in though?" she asked with a light laugh, leaning against the rolled arm beside him.
"Something like that," was all he said. Hermione shoved a folded bundle into his chest: his robes. He ran a finger over the silky material, tracing the delicate embroidery around the lapel, which she had smoothed out. "Is that everything?"
"It is. Most of its books," she told him as he shrunk the four cases and put them in his pocket. He handed her the robes. "It's going to be cold, and they look better on you, anywhere. It's best if we don't keep my mother waiting."
He offered his arm, ever the gentleman.
"Shall we?"
After seeing this room, Hermione knew she could die happy.
It was, of course, the private library of Narcissa Malfoy, and every wall was glorious. At least two stories, if not three, every book neat and precise, not a single speck of dust lingered on any spine or space below it, the ladders to the upper levels polished to a reddish-brown gleam.
It was perfect.
"Please don't tell me you're crying."
Until Draco decided to open his mouth.
"Don't ruin the moment," she scolded in a whisper, as befitting a church. But a library was her church, in a way. A sanctuary where she connec Ted with something greater than herself: knowledge.
Draco put his hands up in surrender. "Apologies, milady."
Her heart thumped but she ignored it.
"I'm glad you like it," Narcissa said from the doorway. "It's yours to use whenever you wish."
Merlin, she was actually going to cry if they kept this up.
"Shall I show you to your room? Draco, be a dear and fetch me some tea, would you?" his mother asked, turning from the room.
Draco gaped, obviously not used to playing butler. Hermione tried to contain her laugh, but she couldn't help it, and let out a soft giggle.
Draco glared murder at her but did as he was told.
Hermione followed behind Narcissa on the stairs, letting herself adjust to the house. So at odds with the formality of the Manor. This place felt lived in. This place felt like a home.
Narcissa opened a door on the left, and Hermione stared at the gorgeous bedspread, the delicate sky-blue wallpaper, the dresser accented in gold and shades of pink and pearl, the embroidered rug by the pale marble fireplace. Even the screen in front of it was designed with stained glass wildflowers, from poppies to irises to daises and sweet peas.
It was gorgeous, and it struck her suddenly, who's house she was in. How different they were to each other.
"Narcissa, are you sure about this? It seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble when I could just stay at Hogwarts" Hermione asked.
"Hermione," Narcissa began, turning the girl to face her, "it's no trouble. After all you've done for me and Draco these past few months, the least I can do is offer you a place to stay in your time of need. You have been brave for so very long, done what no adult could do, and I will not turn my back on you. It's Christmas, and i want you here. And I know Draco does too. Always."
Hermione let out a long breath. "Okay."
"Good. The room has an en-suite for all your needs. Draco's room is down the hall, third door on the right. Mine is the level above. If you need anything, please let me or Draco know. Since Draco also told me of your beliefs in regards House Elves and their treatment, I thought it best you know that I no longer keep any here, but those that did work for me have good homes with good treatment. And rights."
"Thank you," Hermione said, touched to her core. "I appreciate you telling me that."
"It's the least I could do. I'll leave you to your rest. Good night, Hermione."
Narcissa was almost at the bottom of the stairs when she turned, hand braced on the rail. "I never wished to have a daughter, was glad when Draco was born. After my sister, going through what I believed at the time to be a betrayal, I was glad. But I think, I think I would not have minded, if they had been like you."
And with that, she left.
Hermione at down on the bed, marvelling at it's softness. Even her own bed at home and not been nearly so luxurious.
Stripping down into a thick T-shirt and shorts, Hermione pulled out the pins still in her hair, not even bothering to brush her teeth. Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers up to her chin. It was only after a moment that she allowed the tears to fall.
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Can I just say, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews I got for the previous chapter, they were a delight to read. To give you guys a sneak peak, the next chapter will be the promised Neville chapter. Get your tissues ready.
Until next time.
With love, Temperance Cain