Hermione was lying to her parents more than ever now about the wizarding world and the dangerous political path it was spiralling towards. There were plenty of good reasons not to tell them the truth – they would undoubtedly try to stop her from returning, and in the process draw attention to themselves. Then they would be a target for all sorts of terrible things: Death Eaters who would torture them for information or take them hostage, or just attack them to send a message to muggleborns. But a small part of her felt very guilty for misleading them when they were already so blind to the wizarding world. It wasn't right that the best way to protect them was to keep them in the dark, but there wasn't any other choice.

They bought her lie about a hair straightening incident gone awry almost as well as Harry did, and for Christmas her parents paid for a hair braiding appointment in addition to a pile of books, saying now she could avoid the temptation to straighten it and hurt herself again. Her new hairstyle was also useful for covering up the scar Malfoy had left across her scalp. Hermione didn't dare try any muggle treatments for it after seeing what happened to Mr Weasley's snake bite last holidays, and she couldn't try any magical remedies in a muggle residence. By the time she got back to Hogwarts it would probably have half-healed by itself and be too late to try anything to lessen the scarring, which was showing up as a bright white line down her scalp and back. 'At least it's cooler than Ron's tentacle scars,' she thought, though it couldn't hold a candle to Harry's Voldemort-destroying lightning scar.

Amongst the variety of muggle technology and holiday comforts, Hermione was able to forget about Voldemort and Malfoy and Ron and everything magical. She had almost managed to completely forget that the problems of the magical world would not leave her alone. But, curled up on the couch with tea and a novel while some cheesy holiday movie played on the TV, it intruded into her family home.

"Oh! Oh, Hermione, there's an owl here for you," her mum called out from the kitchen, and a wave of fear made it hard to breathe. This time last year an owl had turned up to say Mr Weasley had been almost fatally attacked defending against Voldemort – it probably wasn't good news.

She tried to look unconcerned as she followed her mother's voice into the kitchen. An owl as black as night perched calmly on the sink taps, the letter it carried getting covered in soap bubbles from her mother's dish washing. "Thanks, mum," Hermione said, untying the letter. "Do we have any milk or something? I don't know how far it will have flown."

"Of course. Should I close the window? Should it stay the night?" Hermione felt bad as she saw how worried her mother was, out of her element and probably thinking that her daughter was going to leave for some emergency like she did last year.

"Yes, let's close the window. I'll see what this says first." She found some fruitcake and milk and the sooty owl had a miniature Christmas feast while Hermione opened the letter, not recognising the handwriting – another bad omen.

Granger,

I don't know how to start this letter. It will probably be surprising and awkward regardless of what I say so I'll just get to the point. Thank you for helping me the other night. You appear to be well-practiced at stopping temporary bouts of insanity, but I won't ask questions if you would be kind enough to do the same.

I'm writing to ask you a favour. I'm not familiar with the spells you used, and I'm sure you can appreciate I'm very interested in learning them. If you would write back with the relevant charms, I would be grateful. It would be best for both of us if you kept words vague and did not mention names.

Your least favourite drinking buddy

"It's not bad news, is it?" her mother asked nervously, and Hermione suddenly remembered she was in the room too.

"No, it's – it's fine, it's just a friend," she replied, immediately reflecting that that was one of the bigger lies she had ever told her parents. No, not bad news – a Christmas miracle, one free request of a Death Eater. Not that he had put it into his letter, but Malfoy was obviously desperate if he had come to her, polite and begging for her help. Some things she couldn't ask for; he wouldn't be ready to give her important information at this point. Some sort of favour she could put in place now and reliably call in later would be ideal. Ever the eager student, she was a bit excited to have an interesting project to work on.

More difficult would be her immediate reply. Hermione picked up her tea and the letter, and held her other arm out to the dark owl. "I have to look something up and reply to this, so I'll be in my room," she said. Her mother still looked uneasy, so she elaborated. "My Ancient Runes friend is doing some translation work over the break and had some questions they wanted to run by me."

Her mother's face relaxed, but she looked a little suspicious. "Why aren't you doing the translation work if they're coming to you for questions?" she asked.

"I'm doing extra credit in Potions, not Ancient Runes. And we always peer review difficult parts in Ancient Runes, it's not a big deal," Hermione made up, and her mother finally seemed satisfied, nodding, and turning back to her washing up.

The owl looked at her like it knew she was lying, and Hermione gave it a comfy pillow bed in the corner of her bedroom where it couldn't continue to give her scolding looks like it had learned them from Harry. The first hour's research confirmed what she already suspected: it was possible to make a binding promise with someone, on pain of death.

Hermione wasn't sure whether Malfoy would agree to it – he might not think her help was worth such a costly promise. On the other hand, based on how he looked when she left him at the Slytherin common room, he appeared to be a dead man walking anyway. There was no guarantee he would stay alive long enough for her to extract any favours from him – but this was probably the best option available.

Malfoy wasn't just asking for her spellwork help though – he wanted her silence, and possibly wanted someone who knew about this that didn't judge him. The wizarding world was still in the dark ages regarding health problems, particularly mental health. Ironically, some muggle sympathy and understanding might be very worthwhile to her troubled, bigoted bully.

Several hours and cups of tea replaced with gin and tonic later, Hermione looked at her draft response.

To my unfortunate drinking buddy,

I admit it was quite surprising to hear from you. Don't worry about the other night, I'm glad I could help.

I actually have more information about your situation that I think you would be interested in. And I can tell you all of the useful charms I know. In return, I have a favour to ask of my own. I think it would be best to discuss this after the break.

By the way, though your curses are interesting, they are also difficult to heal, and my friends are getting suspicious I am wandering around the school picking fights. It would be good if you could use something less permanent, if you want to hex me in future.

Your least favourite study buddy

"It'll do," Hermione said aloud, and turned the light off to fall into bed. The owl flapping around her room woke her up early in the morning, and she was able to send her reply and try to put the whole thing out of her mind and enjoy Christmas with her parents.