As a child, Draco loved Christmas; the snow, the food, the gifts, the merriment within the walls of the castle. But this year he was numb to the season. He took no joy in seeing the large decorated trees, nor the floating candlelights, or the holly and tinsel and mistletoe. These things, to him, were cold hands clutching at the heart of another life.
He had listed his latest achievements: he'd imperiused an innocent woman, he'd tried to kill a very old man, he had almost killed a young girl and just in the last twenty-four hours had decided to try his luck with poison.
Meanwhile, his father was sitting in a cell in Azkaban while his mother was alone, hostage, to the Dark Lord.
The sounds of raucous laughter and music echoed throughout the corridors of Hogwarts. Draco could hear the festivities as he was making his way toward the Room of Requirement, propelled there by his nightmares and by the Dark Mark, which had begun to burn.
He had left the Slytherin common room a little while after Blaise and Pansy had left for Slughorn's party. Theo, who was with the Greengrass sisters, was in the middle of a rather vicious tournament of exploding snap where the loser had to take a drink of Firewhiskey. It was easy for Draco to slip out unnoticed. The only problem was that Crabbe and Goyle had been given detention tonight. He wasn't particularly worried about needing them though, he figured everyone would be busy at the party.
He was wrong.
"Oh dear," smiled Argus Filch with wicked glee. "We are in trouble."
"I was just on my way to Slughorn's Christmas party," he lied quickly.
Grinning, he tugged roughly on Draco's ear. "Let me escort you then."
"Let go of me squib!" he yelled, knowing the game was up. Much to Draco's embarrassment, he was dragged to the party and outed in front of all the other guests, including Snape.
"All right, I wasn't invited!" admitted Draco, pulling himself free of Filch's grip. He was furious with the damn squib for having caught him. "I was trying to gate crash," he lied. "Happy?"
"No, I'm not!" said Filch, who was, in fact, looking extremely pleased with himself. Draco saw the caretaker's face fall when Slughorn, who had gotten into the Christmas spirit —or perhaps the Christmas wine — waved it all off and said he could stay.
Brilliant, just bloody brilliant.
"Thank you, Professor," smiled Draco with as much feeling as he could fake. I don't want to be here, he thought. I have to get back to the cabinet!
"It's nothing, nothing," Slughorn said waving away his thanks. "I did know your grandfather, after all…"
As Draco was replying, he spotted, from the far corner of his eye, Pansy, and — "He always spoke very highly of you, sir—" Was that Granger she was speaking to? "— said you were the best potion-maker he'd ever known."
He saw Pansy stride off. Granger looked faint.
Fuck.
"I'd like a word with you, Draco," Snape said suddenly.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He followed Snape out wordlessly, ignoring the swelling ache spreading through his left forearm.
He didn't know how much more he could take...
Hermione watched Pansy walk away. Slughorn's office was beginning to feel small and suffocating. She ran outside unable to think with all the fairy lights and noise. Her Gryffindor bravery was failing her and she couldn't face going back inside. She was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need to speak to Draco Malfoy if only to hear the word Mudblood spat disdainfully from his lips.
She thought about sending him a message, asking him to meet her using the Protean-charmed coin on her bracelet but then put that idea aside for a better one.
As she walked through the portrait of the Fat Lady, she cast a disillusionment charm on herself. Opening the door to the boy's dormitory without any repercussions, she was thankful that they didn't have the same spells placed on theirs.
Everyone seemed to either be at the party or fast asleep. She tip-toed to Harry's trunk where he kept the Marauders Map. Accio Marauders Map. The map flew into her hand. She tucked it under her arm and left in a hurry. It's not as if Harry would miss it.
Besides she'd return it tomorrow...
Stepping out into the corridor she held her wand to it.
I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.
Oh, how true that statement was right now. She searched for Malfoy.
That's odd. She assumed she'd find him in the Slytherin common room but he was in the boy's bathroom.
Mischief managed.
As she neared the door to the bathroom, she decided it'd be best to remove the disillusionment charm. She didn't want to get hexed by a startled Slytherin.
Hermione took a steadying breath. I'm not afraid, she told herself. I'm not afraid.
To her surprise, the door was left slightly ajar. As she pushed it open Hermione found Malfoy huddled up on the floor, his back against the bathroom wall with his head in his hands, crying.
Moaning Myrtle, who was floating near him, saw her first. "Something's wrong, but he won't tell me," she whined.
His head snapped up, his wand drawn pointing straight at Hermione. She instinctively stepped back and raised her hands as if he were holding a loaded gun.
Draco sniffed, his eyes red and his cheeks wet. He didn't look threatening, he looked pathetic.
She slowly lowered her arms.
Despite all the horrible things he'd said to her, she couldn't help but pity him. She thought back to what she'd heard Dumbledore say to Mrs Weasley. She supposed it was easier to forgive others for being wrong and Malfoy was wrong. Everything about him was wrong — now, more than ever.
"Myrtle, is it alright if you give us a little space?" asked Hermione in a quiet whisper that made the ghost leave without so much as a wail.
She stepped forward and knelt down in front of him. The tip of his wand almost touching the tip of her nose. Draco was watching her movements fearfully. She raised her hand and gently lowered his wand to the ground.
He allowed it.
"Draco," she whispered. "What's wrong—?" Hermione's words died on her lips. The left sleeve of his white shirt was splotched with blood. She knew, without asking, without needing to wonder, in her gut, what it was. His eyes followed her gaze and rested there, letting the truth lie between them.
Harry had been right all along...
Hermione pursed her lips and put her hand in her robes to take out her wand. Draco flinched and had his pointing at her again. She visibly swallowed, retracting her hand from the warm folds with slow movements.
Pointing to his sleeve she cast a cleansing spell.
"Tergeo."
Draco blinked watching the blood disappear.
Then he was crying again, a slow trail of tears.
She moved to sit next to him, leaving a space between them. She didn't know how much time passed just sitting there. After a while he wiped his face quickly, evidently embarrassed, and Hermione couldn't imagine how in the middle of all of this he could be worried about how he looked. Then he stood up and offered his hand to her. She took it without hesitation.
They walked back in complete silence and she was frightfully aware that they were still holding hands. It was strange but she was scared to let go. Then they came to a crossroads. She needed to go up to the Tower and he needed to go down to the dungeons. Neither able to follow the other.
She watched as he took her wrist, the one wrapped in thin gold chain and brushed his lips against it. He raised his eyes and his grey-blue irises bore into hers.
"Goodnight Hermione," he said.
"Goodnight Draco."