A/N: Hi all! This is essentially just a filler chapter to bring us up to Christmas, but I hope you enjoy! Thank you all for your reviews, you're so kind and it means so much that people enjoy this story :D Love, CrazyAsACupcake x

Hermione Granger couldn't seem to stop thinking.

She hadn't stopped thinking for two weeks.

Well, she was normally thinking – she was always thinking. But she was normally thinking about multiple different things. This time she was fixated on one topic and she couldn't stop.

For two weeks Hermione had thought of Malfoy.

She thought about how he smiles, how his hair falls in front of his eyes and how he (annoyingly) pushes back every time. She thought about how he smelled, his unique scent of French perfume and mint and green apples. They sat at the back of the room in Potions, barely speaking so as not to make Harry suspicious (though he was, anyway), and all she wanted was to lean and smell his robes, as weird as it sounds. It's a smell she wants to drown in.

It's a smell she didn't expect when they learnt about Amortentia. She had leaned in to smell the potion – the smell of what was most attractive to her – and it hit her like a punch to the gut. Or maybe she did expect it, and the complete realness took her off guard. When Slughorn asked her what the potion smelled like to her, she couldn't answer. She mumbled something about fresh cut grass and turned away from the table.

For two weeks she had been sneaking around – well, not sneaking – between lessons with Malfoy, spending hours in the library with him, walking around the grounds when they were certain they weren't going to be seen by Ron or Harry. Of course, he did disappear sometimes, but it didn't seem to bother her as much as it did the first few times. Now she knew that even if she didn't see him one day, she would see him the next.

She thought about secrets, and their consequences.

For two weeks she berated Harry for his continuing suspicions. At breakfast she would sit directly opposite from him so he couldn't glare at the Slytherin table. In the common room when they studied together she would keep him on track of his work. On a weekend she would force him to practice Quidditch or actually do his homework for once. The only time she couldn't control him was in their lessons, when she sat behind him or across the aisle from him, not next to him. She would see him turning, scowling, mumbling to Ron next to him who would grunt in response. In the end she gave up and let him believe his conspiracy theories. She knew Harry; he wouldn't act on them, at least not alone, and Ron didn't seem as interested in Malfoy as he did in trying to break up with Lavender.

Hermione thought he should just rip the plaster off and get it over with. Ron didn't want to be mean. Hermione called him a baby. Ron didn't speak to her for two days.

She thought that relationships – of any kind – shouldn't be so difficult.

The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff Quidditch match lasted for six hours on the last Sunday of November, but Hermione only stayed for four. She wasn't a huge fan of Quidditch, and she needed to do some serious work for Defence Against the Dark Arts. And, she really needed the toilet. Later, in the common room, Harry lays upside down in one of the plush chairs while she does her work, giving her a giddy play-by-play of the last two hours of the match, resulting in Ravenclaw's win. When her hand started to cramp from all of the writing, he took the quill from her and told her to go to bed.

She thought about how much easier it would be if she loved him, instead.

Not that she would call it love – though she should. She refers to it, in her head, as infatuation. Obsession. Relief.

As Christmas break crept ever closer she began to feel as though she had made a mistake. She knew that her parents, even if they had expressed some concerns, were going to be as nice and polite as possible. That's just how Grangers are. She didn't know what he would think of their house, or her mums cooking, or her movies that she had promised to show him. What he would think of their karaoke-and-board-games Christmas Eve tradition.

She thought about if he was using her.

The night before they got the train back to King's Cross, she cried into her pillow, her heaving breaths muffled by the fabric. She didn't know why she felt as though she was just breaking down into pieces. She felt like she was an idiot, though she couldn't understand why. She finally fell asleep at 4 o'clock, only to wake up an hour later.

She stands, running her fingers through her hair and wincing when they get caught on some tangled strands. She showers, then stares at herself in the mirror. There are large, dark circles around her eyes, and her skin looks pale, making her freckles stand out more. She tries smiling at herself but stops when she realises she looks, as her cousin would say, 'tapped'. She brushes her teeth twice, and gags as she tries brushing her tongue. She congratulates herself for not being sick in the sink.

After about a minute of thinking, she decides that she can't be bothered to dress nicely when she's going to sit on a train for seven hours. A pair of grey jogging bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt is the best she can come up with, with a purple jumper over the top. Instead of ankle socks, she pulls on some fluffy Mickey Mouse bed socks, and stuffs her now-too-thick feet into a pair of pink trainers. She makes her bed, her eyes lingering on Malfoy's jumper.

Normally, it gets folded and placed underneath her mattress. She gets it out and cuddles it when the nights get rough. She hasn't worn it since the day he took her flying. Today she shoves it into her bag.

She had packed a small suitcase the night before, one that she kept in her trunk for 'emergencies' – in case she ever became too overwhelmed and wanted to run back to her parents. In six years she hadn't needed it. Still, she puts it in her trunk anyway, just in case.

She leaves her suitcase on her bed to collect later, and goes to the common room to sit alone, in front of the fire, her hands clasped in front of her, her elbows resting on her legs. She rubs her face with both hands, trying to wake herself up. The common room is too quiet. She doesn't know why she got up so early when she won't be getting on the train until 11 o'clock. Her watch tells her it's 6:08, and she rests against the arm of the sofa. After almost falling asleep, she sits back up.

She stares at the wall, at the portraits. Most of them are still asleep, and she laughs. Even a painted person has a better nights sleep.

She contemplates going back upstairs, but she doesn't see the point. Ginny will be down at seven, so they can get breakfast together for the last time until January. She pulls her Arithmancy book from her bag and reads through it instead, her head feeling heavy and full.

Today is going to be a long day.

Draco Malfoy couldn't seem to pay attention.

He didn't normally pay attention, but this was a different type of not paying attention. His normal not paying attention consisted of leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, eyes unfocused as he faced the front of the room, the teacher's words going into his ears and swirling around his head, but overall not meaning anything.

For two weeks, instead of his normal not paying attention, his attention was on something else – or rather, someone else. In most lessons she was sat in front of him, her hair wild as she hunched over her parchment and scribbled in messy shorthand. He would sit there with his cheek resting on his hand, staring at the back of her head. The teacher's were essentially speaking in gibberish. All that was going through his mind were images – snapshots of her laughing or scowling or grinning. He got pulled up for not paying attention more than once.

He thought about her. And he thought about Pansy.

He broke up with Pansy in the week before Christmas. He decided it was best; even though she will always have her own special place in his heart, it wasn't enough. It wasn't what he wanted anymore. Blaise Zabini had stood leaning against the wall, hidden in the shadows, watching as Malfoy had told Pansy that he didn't love her. She took it rather well; she sniffled a little bit, but she just nodded and asked if they could still be friends. Of course, he had told her, and she held out her hand for him to shake. She asked him if there was someone else, that she wouldn't get mad or upset if there was. Of course not, he had told her, and he had shook her hand.

He could see Blaise over her shoulder, and he watched as his roommate pushed himself off from the wall and went into their dorm. He saw Blaise shaking his head before he shut the door.

The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff Quidditch match lasted for six hours, and Malfoy stayed the whole time. He leaned forward on the railing, his wrists crossed. He had bet a full box of Bertie Botts on Hufflepuff winning, and he wanted to see the full outcome. He always rooted for the Hufflepuffs (or Puffles, as he preferred to call them), and he didn't really know why. He assumes it's because he finds them slightly less annoying then the know-it-alls.

As Christmas break crept closer, Malfoy began to feel as though he'd made a mistake. He knew that the Grangers knew that he had been not so nice to Hermione in the past (fine, he had bullied her in the past), and he didn't know why exactly they had agreed to this in the first place. Perhaps they were just happy Hermione had made another friend, regardless of who it is. Perhaps they were going to interrogate and kill him. He knew they were dentists, and that sounded like a word Muggles might use for a contract-killer, or a torturer.

The night before he was supposed to get the train to King's Cross, Malfoy lay staring at the ceiling, his mouth feeling dry as he thought of how badly this could go. He didn't get any sleep at all, eventually pulling himself from the bed at quarter past six to get ready.

He gets dressed in black trousers and a grey dress shirt – might as well make a good first in-person impression. Maybe it would make up for the six years of stories. He makes his bed, then falls back on top of it, for a moment, before getting back up. He slips his feet into a pair of black dress shoes.

Malfoy doesn't own a suitcase, he owns a slightly smaller trunk that has his initials painted on the side, along with the Malfoy family crest. His clothes are folded neatly inside it, a mixture of formal and casual as he doesn't know what the Grangers dressed as, and he didn't want to stick out horribly. He supposes this is something he should've asked Hermione about.

He slips silently into the common room and flops into one of the armchairs, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. He leans his head backwards so, once again he is staring at the ceiling. He thinks about his Mother, and what she will be like over Christmas. Her present is arriving today – he asked her if she would be able to send it early, so as to not 'get lost with all of the Christmas traffic'. He didn't tell her the truth, obviously. He didn't want to lose the only family he had left.

At 7 o'clock, the door to the girls dorm opens, and Pansy emerges, yawning. When she sees him sat in the chair, she raises her hand, just a bit, then shoots past him. The entrance to the common room seals itself with a clunk behind her, and he sighs, running his hands through his hair and tugging on the ends gently.

What to do, what to do?

He heaves himself out of the chair and stretches, his fingers laced together and his arms over his head. His shoulders pop and he groans, letting his arms fall back to his sides, twisting from side to side to try and crack his back, too. It doesn't work, and so he leaves the common room feeling somewhat unsatisfied.

Today is going to be a long day.

Hermione goes down to breakfast at 7:30 because Ginny ended up waking up late ("Who cares, 'Mione, it's a Saturday!"). She ignores how Ron still hasn't broken up with Lavender, as she is once again latched onto his arm making sloppy kissing sounds at him as though he's a dog. She looks to Harry for help as they walk down the last staircase, but he is too caught in his own thoughts to notice her annoyed expression.

She thinks once again how much easier it would be if she could have liked Harry, instead. Or even Ron. But she can't bring herself to look at them as anything other than her brothers. Her family. She doesn't know what she would do if anything happened to either of them, regardless of how annoying they could be at times.

She doesn't want to think about anything happening to them.

But somehow, she can't help it. She assumes it's inevitable. She's heard the whispers around the school, from the Gryffindors and Slytherins, mostly. She was there, in the Department of Mysteries, when Sirius Black was killed. When the Death Eaters attacked. She was there when Voldemort arrived. She has seen Malfoy's Dark Mark with her own eyes, heard his mission from his own mouth.

There is going to be a war in their lifetime.

She can only pray that her boys survive it.

She is snapped out of her thoughts as they enter the Great Hall, hearing that chaotic mixture of laughter, snippets of conversation, shouting across tables. The sound that can only be replicated in a school dining hall. It's a sound that is welcoming, that tells you that no matter what is said, no one is going to be paying attention anyway. It reminds you that everyone around you has their own lives that they're dealing with. They aren't bothered with your problems, they have enough of their own. Most of the time, anyway.

"Are you sure you're not going to stay, 'Mione?" Harry asks as he sits down next to Ginny. Hermione notices he's sat on the side of the table that isn't facing the Slytherins, for once. Instead, she has somehow ended up facing them. She thinks that staring at Goyle's ugly face for all of breakfast will put her off her toast.

"I'm sure, Harry." She pours herself some water and takes a sip. "There's no way I can change it now, even if I wanted to stay."

"Well, we'll all miss you, won't we?" Harry asks the two Weasleys, who respond with either a grunt or an unenthusiastic yeah.

"Why aren't you all going to the Burrow this year, anyway?"

Ron answers this one through mouthfuls of cereal. "Mum and dad said that we're old enough to stay for Christmas, now, which is code for 'we've went away for two weeks and don't want to tell you'," he scoffs, shovelling another spoonful into his mouth. "Don't see how they can go away with everything that's currently going on."

"I'm sure that's nice for them; they never really get much time for themselves." She butters herself some toast, forcing herself to look at Harry and not past him.

Don't look for him. Don't be obvious. You'll see him, soon. Don't ruin this.

"You alright, Hermione?"

Ginny's voice snaps her back. She had been so focused on not looking at the table she had completely zoned out of the conversation. She hadn't eaten her toast, and had, apparently, been staring blankly at Harry for the past minute or so. She clears her throat, placing her toast back on her plate and wiping the crumbs from her fingertips.

"Yeah, sorry. Just got caught in my thoughts," she mumbles, taking another sip of water. When she looks back up, she looks between Harry and Ginny and sees him. He is leaned forward, resting on his elbows, smirking at something Theodore Nott has just said. She takes note of how he's dressed, suddenly feeling like a slob in her jogging bottoms.

"We were just saying it's a shame you're going to miss the Christmas feast."

"I'll be having my own Christmas feast, at home, with my parents. And it will be just as nice as the one here," she pauses, then laughs. "It'll probably be better, because I'll be eating it in my pyjamas."

Ginny laughs too, slathering jam onto a slice of toast. The jam drips from the knife onto the table. "You know what? I might come into the Hall in my pyjamas. It's not like there's any rules against it."

Harry shakes his head, smiling. "Just because there's no rules doesn't mean you can do it."

Hermione raises her brows at him, smirking. "Bit hypocritical there aren't you, Harry?"

Harry laughs, and flicks a large blob of jam at her. It lands just before it hits her plate.

"You got your finger all sticky for nothing," she laughs, then pretends to gag as Harry sticks his jam-coated finger into his mouth. "Harry!"

"It's just my finger, 'Mione."

"Don't suck on your finger at the table!"

Ginny elbows Harry and he pulls his finger from his mouth. "Stop winding her up."

Harry smirks. "Alright mum."

In response to Harry's quip, Ron makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds kind of like an eurlgh. The noise catches Ginny off guard and causes her to splutter while taking a drink of her water, which makes Harry laugh. Water drips from the end of Ginny's nose, and she coughs.

Harry only laughs louder as she begins repeating over and over: "My nose burns!" Hermione tries to stifle her own laughter as she searches for a tissue for Ginny to blow her nose with. Seamus holds one out for her from across the table, and she leans over to take it from him. Him and Dean politely pretend that Ginny isn't embarrassing herself, and continue their conversation.

Hermione hands Ginny the tissue, and as Ginny leans forward to blow her nose (while Harry smacks her on the back as she coughs) she makes eye contact with him. Malfoy, along with most students in the vicinity of the four, have turned to witness Ginny choking while Harry laughs. Malfoy smirks, which makes her lose it, and she starts laughing, too. He grins at her, but she forces herself to avert her eyes.

Ginny sits back up, blowing her nose once more and wiping under her eyes. She glares at the two of them. "Really? Laughing at me in my time of need? I could've died"

This is what makes Ron break, and he giggles into his bowl of cereal. "Really, Gin? Your 'time of need'?"

Then Harry starts, and Hermione quickly follows suit.

"Honestly!" Ginny shouts, throwing her hands in the air. "You're all children!"

"Lighten up, Ginny! It's Christmas!" Hermione reaches over and grabs Ginny's hands, waving them about. "It's the time to eat and be jolly!"

"Fine," Ginny rolls her eyes. "But I'd rather be jolly where we weren't being stared at by half of the school."

The boys, now having regained their composure, look around, and the students who had been watching quickly turn back to their exciting breakfasts. Ron lifts his bowl and slurps the dregs of his milk, then stands from the bench.

"Yeah, we can't waste all morning here," he bends and pinches Hermione's cheeks. "Not when ickle 'Mione-kins is leaving us soon."

"Ronald!" Hermione moans, slapping his hands away from her. "I need to get my things from the common room, anyway."

"Common room it is," Harry is already standing from the bench, and he helps Ginny out too. Both Hermione and Ginny give him a look. A look that says what on earth are you doing.

They walk down the aisles, avoiding chatting over the other students heads. They pass a fruit bowl and Hermione reaches out and grabs a green apple.

"Why always the green ones?" Harry asks, and she shrugs.

"I don't know. They just taste nicer."

He nods.

"Why?"

"You used to only eat the red ones."

She shrugs, looking at the apple in her hand. "There wasn't any red ones left a few weeks ago, so I just took the green one. And it's nicer."

They walk back to the common room in a little group, giggling together and acting like kids. Because that's what they are.

They're just children.

Hermione thinks about that as she eats her apple, watching Ron puffing his chest out and dancing on the stairs to make Ginny snort. They're growing up too fast.

They're being forced to grow up too fast.

When they reach the common room, she is left with the apple core between her fingers. She twists the stem, counting down the letters of the alphabet. The stem snaps on M, once again. She throws it into the bin in the corner of the common room.

They hang out for an hour, laying across the sofas, Ginny's feet in Ron's lap. Hermione leans her head onto Harry's shoulder and she smiles at her friends. Her family.

She makes a silent wish that nothing will happen to them, when the end comes.

The clock strikes ten and Hermione goes upstairs to get her suitcase, and when she comes down they walk to the Entrance Hall together. One by one they hug her, they wish her a Merry Christmas, they tell her they'll miss her.

"See you in two weeks," Harry mumbles into her hair as he hugs her one more time.

"See you in two weeks," Hermione repeats.

She doesn't know why it feels like there's a weight on her chest. For some reason, she feels as though this is going to be as good as it gets, with these three, for a while. She doesn't know what that means. She hopes that feeling is just nerves of being away from them.

She doesn't get to have her own carriage; some first year Ravenclaws jump in right before the carriage sets off. They aren't really a distraction, and from their lack of chatter she doesn't even think that they're friends, more like they saw that other people they knew would be going to the same place, and decided to go together rather than alone. She sits opposite them, her bag across her lap, her suitcase between her knees. Her leg is bouncing. She ignores it. When she looks behind them, she sees Draco Malfoy sat with Theo, Blaise, and Pansy, laughing. She ignores them

When they get to Hogsmeade station, she lets them climb out first then trails behind them. She feels stupid, pulling along her strawberry-patterned suitcase with it's broken wheel. The Ravenclaws are in awe of the train, and she passes them as she boards. She can hear Pansy's shrill laughter behind her and tries to block it out. She doesn't turn around.

The train is practically empty, and so she finds a compartment easily. She places her suitcase on the seat beside her and stretches, her arms over her head, her feet just touching the seat opposite. The winter sunlight is blinding as it reflects off the snow, and she pulls the curtain halfway across the window to try and block some of it out. In the corridor she sees the four Slytherins walking past, and Malfoy looks in and smirks at her. She smiles back, ever so slightly. When they pass, she stretches again, then curls her legs up underneath her, leaning her head against the window.

Hermione Granger is already asleep when the train lurches out of Hogsmeade station.

Draco Malfoy is sat with his arms crossed, watching his friends bicker about something or other that he hadn't been paying attention to. Pansy is pouting as Blaise tells her she's wrong. Theo is passed out in the corner, curled into a little ball, hugging his jumper to his chest. After about half an hour of watching them argue, he stands and excuses himself, walking back past all the compartments. Some first years practically jump out of his way and he smirks to himself, not sure whether he should be proud of this reputation. He finally finds her compartment, and slips silently inside.

She's asleep, and he chuckles to himself when he sees drool on her cheek. He decides not to wake her and instead falls into a seat near the compartments door. He crosses his legs, his left ankle resting on his knee, then leans back and crosses his arms. He watches the world go by, listens to the various noises of the train, and for the first time in two weeks Draco Malfoy is able to pay attention. He enjoys himself by watching the scenery, pointing things out to himself, playing games (find something blue, find something beginning with the letter 'B'), passing the time until half past 1, when the Trolley witch came around. When the Trolley witch opens the compartment door, Hermione finally stirs, stretching, then stopping when she sees Malfoy sat in the corner.

"Hi," she murmurs, wiping the wetness from her cheek, cringing to herself that he had seen her drooling on herself.

"Hi yourself," he grins, digging a handful of Galleons from his pocket. "Do you want anything?"

She shakes her head no, and he turns to the Trolley witch, who smiles at him.

"Can we have two pumpkin juices and two Cauldron Cakes, please?" The Trolley witch digs around on the trolley, handing him the Cakes. He tosses one to Hermione, and she nearly drops it.

The Trolley witch hands him the two bottles of pumpkin juice. "Would you like ice, dear?"

He looks towards Hermione, who shakes her head no. "No, thank you."

"Is that all?"

From the corner, Hermione mumbles something that sounds like mocolate bog.

"Can we have one Chocolate Frog, as well, please?"

As the Trolley witch hands him the Chocolate Frog, he gives her the handful of Galleons, receiving two back and a Sickle in change.

The Trolley witch shuts the door and continues on down the train.

"Catch." He tosses the Chocolate Frog to her – this one she doesn't drop – and opens his bottle of pumpkin juice, taking a long swig.

"How long have you been here?"

"About two hours. You're very peaceful when you're asleep."

She sneers at him, and he sneers back before laughing.

"I hate train rides." She fiddles with the packaging on the Chocolate Frog box, opening it slowly to grab the frog. One thing she was never able to get used to was the fact that the chocolate moved. She always felt bad eating them.

"Why?"

"There's another five hours to go before we get there. It's just rather boring." She looks at the card inside and sighs. Another Albus Dumbledore.

"So go back to sleep." He opens his Cauldron Cake, practically moaning after he bites into it. "These are my favourites."

"I'm not going back to sleep now that I know you're here!"

"Why not?"

"I don't want you staring at me while I'm sleeping, it's weird." The Chocolate Frog was starting to melt in her grip, but she couldn't bring herself to eat it as she felt it writhing in her hand. She always regretted getting them, but she always seemed to forget.

"Fine, don't sleep then," he shrugs, finishing his cauldron cake and wiping the crumbs from his fingers. He finally notices her lazy outfit. "Nice trousers, Granger."

Her cheeks heat up. "Bog off, Malfoy."

He shuffles across so that he's sat opposite her, holding out the second bottle of pumpkin juice, which she takes with the hand that is currently not covered in chocolate.

"Snap it in half."

"What?"

"If you snap it in half it stops moving. I hate biting into them when they're moving."

She loosens her grip slightly, and before the frog can escape, she snaps its head off. It still makes her feel queasy when it goes limp in her hand. She eats it nonetheless.

"I can't believe you didn't know to do that."

"I just normally wait until they get tired, or they melt."

"Well, now your hand is covered in half of it."

She rolls her eyes, and pulls her bag towards her with her free hand, rooting through it for a tissue. Malfoy sees a flash of green and smirks (why is he smirking so much today?).

"I knew you'd been sleeping in my jumper, Granger."

"I haven't, I sleep with it!" She snaps as she feels her cheeks growing warmer.

"Ooh, kinky!"

"Malfoy!"

"Relax, Granger, you know I'm only teasing." He yawns, putting his hands behind his head as he leans back in the seat. She finally finds a clean tissue and wipes her hand as best as she can. In the end she pulls her wand from its pocket in her bag, Scourgify-ing her hand.

"Aren't you always…" she mumbles, placing her wand back in her bag. When he doesn't immediately quip back at her she frowns and looks up.

Draco Malfoy is fast asleep.

She smiles to herself, shivering as the temperature drops. Outside, the sun is hidden by clouds as snow begins to flutter down past the window. Hermione takes his jumper and balls it up underneath her head. She thinks about seeing her parents, having fish and chips, going to the shop (who would be excited about going on a weekly shop?). She thinks about Malfoy, and how he hopefully finds their traditions charming and funny, and not dull and stupid. She thinks about Malfoy and the childish wonder he had the last time she talked about her favourite Muggle movies, and his new-found love of Polo mints.

She falls asleep thinking of Malfoy.