A/N: Don't own Harry Potter, damn you.
Special Notes to Chapter 13 Reviewers:
Brit77: Thanks for such a sweet review!
PolandRox: Haha, okay. I'm Polish too. Go us!
DragonGirl81: Thanks so much for your review. I'm glad you like the story.
Cherbi161: The wait is over! Thanks for reviewing, as always.
Revenge: Boys are so bipolar. Thanks for reviewing!
Rilicious: Aww, what an awesome compliment. I love your story too! Write more, please.
Antanaqui: Thanks. I don't like things too sugary sweet. You have a pretty name, by the way.
Draco'sBlackRose: Yay Draco! I know, Narcissa isn't as crazy as we all think…
…
Hermione watched the snow hit the windshield haphazardly, the wipers smoothing them out only seconds later. She was snuggled up in the front seat of her mother's minivan, her knees tugged to her chest. Her mother had picked her up from King's Cross about a half-four before. They'd shared a hot chocolate at the train station and then Hermione and Mrs. Granger had started the drive home. Hermione hadn't told her mother about anything concerning Draco. She wasn't up to explaining why she was suddenly pseudo-dating the prat she'd complained about every summer vacation since first year. Hermione had chosen to skip the Yule Ball and return home for Christmas to save the trouble of either skipping out entirely or going with Draco.
"So, honey," Mrs. Granger started, clearing her throat, "Dad and I are so happy to have you at home for Christmas. We've invited the Taylor's over for Christmas Eve dinner." Hermione nodded. The Taylor's lived next to the Granger's. They were nice--a family of five, including the triplets, Jenny, Sarah, and Brian, a year younger than her.
"That should be fun." She couldn't stop thinking about the last time she'd seen Draco. He'd been so…gentle up in the Astronomy tower. The next morning she'd packed up and left without seeing Draco. She'd hoped to see him on the Hogwarts Express, assuming he was going home for the holiday, but she'd been so wrapped up controlling a rowdy group of first year boys, she hadn't had the chance.
"How are your friends, Harry and Ron?" Mrs. Granger asked quietly, seeming to contemplate her words greatly. She was one of those ladies who didn't speak much, but when she did, it meant something.
"They're good. Harry was made Quidditch captain. And Ron's still playing."
"Oh, that's nice." Hermione switched the radio on and soothing oldies filled the car. She glanced up into the rearview mirror, wiped at the smudge of black from her mascara, and leaned her head against the cool glass. She liked to be in cars. She'd gotten her license the summer before, but it was pretty useless. She took the tubes when she went around, anyway. However, she liked to be a passenger. She liked to feel safe, surrounded by fiberglass and a shiny black exterior as she hurtled at 65 mph.
Before long, they pulled into the long, stretching driveway of Huntington Circle, a short stretch of large, colonial-looking houses. The Granger home was of an ample size, beige with maroon trim. A neighbor boy was building a snowman in his yard, and the Granger's beagle, Sally, was frolicking in the snow-covered grass. Hermione clambered out of the car and dashed toward the panting dog, grinning.
"Sally!" The dog bounded up to her, pink tongue hanging out gleefully, and leaped into her arms. From the carrier in the backseat of the car, Hermione could hear the distinct hissing of Crookshanks. He'd never warmed up to Sally. Hermione pet Sally's silky ears for a few seconds, then realized how cold it was outside. She was clad in nothing more than jeans and a red cable knit sweater. She dashed back to the car, grabbed her trunks, and scurried inside the house.
The interior of the Granger home was much like their family, warm and welcoming. Dark, hardwood floors covered by bright, soft rugs and family pictures adorned each room. Hermione set her things at the foot of the staircase leading to the second floor and moved into the kitchen.
"I made cookies, your favorite," Mrs. Granger walked in, grinning, and pointed to the countertop. A fresh batch of sugar cookies sat in piles.
"Ooh.." Hermione made a beeline for the cookies, grabbing one and pressing it against her tongue. It was just as she was enjoying the remnants of her treat that a tapping sound at the window drew a frightened screech from Mrs. Granger. An owl was sitting at the windowsill, pecking it's beak against the glass.
"Oh," Mrs. Granger placed a hand over her chest, red-faced, "I will never get used to owls at the window. I always think a bird has knocked itself out on the glass." Hermione chuckled and opened the window. The shivering owl swooped in, landing on the tiled island. Hermione approached the owl. She didn't recognize it. But it didn't look like a school owl--it was far too groomed and sleek. She untied the black silk ribbon holding a bulky brown package to it's leg and handed a piece of her cookie to the owl. It greedily gulped it down. Slowly, Hermione tore into the crumpled paper. "What is it, honey?"
"I'm not sure…" Hermione pulled out two object. The first was a slightly crumpled red rose, the other, a letter sealed in green. "I'll be right back, mum." Hermione carried the two things close to her chest and went into the bathroom to be private. She sat on the toilet and tore open the letter. In dark, scrawling print, Draco had written her a letter.
Hermione,
I'm at home for the holidays. Fuck me. Come to Tynan's acceptance ball. I'd say please ,but I'm not one to beg. You know that. If you'll come, write back using my owl.
Draco
Hermione set the parchment on her lap, bewildered. She didn't have any parchment with her, so she drew an extra quill from her pocket and scrawled a reply beneath Draco's letter.
Draco
Thanks for the rose. It's a little crushed, but nice all the same. I'll go to the ball.
Hermione
She folded the letter up and walked out of the bathroom. Draco's owl was sitting patiently on the counter. She retied the parchment to it's leg and watched as the owl took flight out of the window. She needed to go to that ball--Draco would be in severe danger if she didn't.
"Honey?" Mrs. Granger re-entered the kitchen.
"Yeah?"
"Who was it?"
"A new friend from school. Can I go to a holiday party on New Year's Eve?"
"I don't see why not. Dad and I are going out anyway. You probably wouldn't like it. Just a bunch of old fogies sipping wine." Hermione chuckled.
"Thanks, mum. I'm going to go take a nap before dad gets home." Hermione nodded at her mother and retreated from the kitchen, looking forward to some alone time in her queen-sized bed.
…
Draco sank back into the plushy couch in the sitting room. His father was standing above him, sleek hair slicked back and eyes narrowed in on his son.
"You'll attend with manners, Draco. I don't want any of this wishy-washy bullshit you've been feeding me all year."
"Yes, father."
"Don't yes, father me, son. You'd do well to gain some respect around me." Draco groaned. His father had always been an asshole, but with his mum out of the picture, he'd become unbearable. "Go to your room and get ready for supper." Draco nodded, reluctant to take orders. However, having his life on the line, he bet it was a good idea to listen, if only a bit spiteful.
He stomped angrily through the halls of the manor, finally coming upon his room. Decorated in black and red, his room was the only sanctuary he'd had as a child. He collapsed onto his silky black comforter, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. Just as he was calming down, a faint knocking came at his door. It wasn't his father, he could tell. Lucius Malfoy barges. He doesn't knock gently.
"Come in." The door opened just a crack and then shut as a tiny house elf teetered in.
"Mail for you, Master Malfoy." The elf stuck out a hand accompanied by long, bony fingers, a letter set atop it. Draco took it.
"Thank you, Lolly."
"My pleasure." The house elf bowed, so low that her long nose touched the rug . Draco opened the letter. It was Hermione's response. He smiled. She would be at the ball. He pulled out some fresh parchment from the desk near his bed and scrawled a reply.
Meet me at Crossing's Restaurant near King's Cross on the 31st and 4pm. See you then.
me.
He wrote a couple more sentences, folded the letter, sealed it, and handed it to Lolly. "Have this sent to Miss Hermione Granger at once." She nodded, taking the letter, and scuttled out of the room without so much as a word.
….
Hermione awoke in her room without so much as a sound. Her room was dark, the sunlight that had been lighting it from the window had long faded. She walked up to her door, flicked the light switch, and then walked to her vanity mirror. She fixed her hair--the curls had bunched up around the crown as she napped--and put on some chap stick and then head downstairs.
"Hermione!" Mr. Granger boomed as she entered the living room.
"Dad!" Hermione jumped into her father's arm, smiling ear to ear.
"I got home about an hour ago, but your mum said you were passed out. How did you sleep?"
"Good--but I'm glad I woke up. I've missed you." She hugged him once again.
"So tell me," Mr. Granger began, leading Hermione into the dining room. "What have you been up to at that school of yours? Studying hard, I presume?"
"Of course, I've got NEWTS coming up." Mr. Granger tittered.
"I do love those names."
"They're acronyms, dad."
"I know. I just like them." Hermione laughed, comically rolling her eyes and sat down at the table. Mrs. Granger starting serving up the dinner of ham and stuffing. It was just at this inopportune moment that an owl swooped into the dining room, frightening Sally, and landed in Hermione's plate. She sighed.
"How did he get in?"
"I left the kitchen window open, sorry dear." Mrs. Granger apologized. Hermione shrugged and opened her letter.
Meet me at Crossing's Restaurant near King's Cross on the 31st and 4pm. See you then.
me.
p.s The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them while they're still alive. - Orlando A. Battista
Hermione smiled, gently folded the parchment and pressed it into her pocket. She could feel it's warmth burn into her skin beyond the fabric.
"A good letter, darling?" Mr. Granger, smiled and watched the owl fly away.
"Very good."