Even after his startling realization about Hermione, it was harder for Draco to walk with her into the Great Hall than for him to take a stand to his father.
"I can't do it," he said, standing stiffly outside the doors.
"Don't be absurd. It's Christmas, and there's only one table, it'll be fine that we sit together."
"I know, but... It just isn't done this way."
"Damn how it's done, then," Hermione said with a smile. She firmly grabbed his hand, covered again by the long sleeve of his jumper, and dragged him into the hall.
"Hello, Harry," she said, approaching the table. "How's your day been?"
"Decent," he answered. He was wearing a Weasley jumper in a nice dark red, and had a pair of gloves and a scarf folded in his lap. "Thanks for the present, it matches Mrs. Weasley's perfectly."
"Hmm... that's quite a coincidence," Hermione said, grinning. She'd owled Mrs. Weasley and asked that their presents match. Molly had thought it was a lovely idea.
"Draco's sitting with us today," she added.
"Hm. Well... can't stop him, can I?" Harry replied. "Pass the potatoes, Malfoy?"
Draco picked up the huge golden bowl. "It's Draco," he said shortly.
"Yes, I'm aware of that," Harry answered stiffly, plopping a great dollop of mash on his plate.
Days passed after that fateful Christmas, that night Harry and Draco had promised Hermione a truce between them. Neither even half-way believed they would hold true to their pledge, but both vowed to never tell her about it.
The school term started once again, and with the insurgence of the rest of the school on the castle, Hermione and Draco's time together was cut short. Ron and Ginny were back from their holiday with Fred and George, and were slightly worn for the wear, but seemed happy.
"I think I'm never going to see Giselle again," Ron said, his voice free of regret.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Because, she's off and gotten engaged to that Quidditch bloke. To hell with her then, I say," he answered, gazing around the Great Hall that Tuesday morning.
"A few well played matches and you could get a Hogwarts girl," Harry said smiling. "They just need to notice you. Maybe if you make the winning play, it'll get you some attention?"
"Never worked for you, though, did it?" Ron joked.
The two boys scuffled over their toast, and it was then that Hermione slumped down next to Harry and stole a bit of his.
"Something wrong?" he asked, turning to her.
"No, nothing. Just tired, I suppose."
"You sure? This hasn't got anything to do with... you-know-who, has it?"
"Lord no! Why would Volde-- oh... you mean the other... ah." She paused. "This is stupid, we can't go on talking about him like this. You've got to tell Ron."
"I've got to tell him?" Harry asked incredulously. "This is your disaster. You tell him."
"I think I'll wait for a more opportune moment, shall I?"
"I think that's a good idea," Harry said, looking at Ron. He was thumbing through a notebook of old letters. "I think it's not a good time for him right now."
Hermione slumped down into a desk in Transfiguration, the desk directly next to Ron's, and touched his shoulder.
"Erm... Ron? Can I talk to you a moment?"
"You are talking to me," he said, stuffing a pile of papers into his bag.
"I mean that I have something to say..."
"You going to tell me about your secret affair?"
"My what?" Hermione asked, shocked.
"With Malfoy. Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not stupid, you know."
"No, but you certainly aren't observant!" she snapped back. She was so shocked, and more than that, she felt betrayed. Harry must have told him. "How did you know?"
"How didn't I? I've known since before I left for holiday. It's the way you look at him... the way he looks back. And the way Harry talks about the two of you... I know that he knows."
"Oh, of course he knows. I thought he'd take it well and you'd go mad." She paused, her faced showing her confusion. "I hate it when I'm wrong..."
"Well...you know what happens when you assume..." Ron said, a smile on his face.