Hermione awoke to the sound of chirping. Full on, Cinderella-style chirping of happy birds waking up with the sun. On any other day, it may have been sweet. This morning, however, it was the definition of annoying. But that wasn't the birds' fault. No, it was because she'd cried herself to sleep, and now had a pounding headache, her eyes were puffier than a life jacket and as red as a fire engine. So, all in all, Hermione Granger was fantastic.
Draco's sarcasm was most certainly rubbing off on her.
Figuring that lying in bed was too pathetic to contemplate, Hermione pulled back the covers, yelping as a cold breeze immediately assaulted her bare legs. She'd gotten too used to her common rooms Warming charms. Feet landing on soft carpet, Hermione made the bed, going the extra length and fluffing the pillows. Standing there, satin pillowcase still warm under her fingertips, Hermione simply stood there, unsure as she had not been since before the War, had not allowed herself to be.
Her life was such a mess. How she she gone from worrying about N.E.W.T.S to her parents disowning her for the time being, having an ultimate blowout with Ron, in front of everyone, and waking up in the private residence of Narcissa Malfoy in such a short time?
Because she was human, and life was unpredictable, and nothing was ever fair. Or so something like that.
God, it was too early to be so maudlin.
Needing a menial gas to occupy herself with, Hermione began the process of sorting out her luggage and finding homes for everything, if only for the time being. It would take getting used to, she knew, being in this house. Living here, with Draco only down the hall.
Draco. Merlin, what was she going to say to him? What if he'd changed his mind, realized her life was too crazy and walk away, like any rational person should. And Draco was nothing if not rational. She didn't know what she'd do if he decided that. It would most likely break her, break what little of herself had not been damaged in one way or another. He'd become the glue that kept her together, her friend through every up and down. She hadn't been very fair to him, Hermione realized. He already had so much on his plate, too much; how could she forgive herself for needlessly adding to it?
Maybe her Christmas present would make up for some of it.
Christmas.
Hermione did the maths.
Today was Christmas Eve. She'd almost forgotten.
She wondered what her parents were doing.
Probably at work, she reckoned. They always took turns doing the holiday shift. She wondered who's turn it was.
Hermione shook he head, mentally berating herself. That didn't matter now. None of what had happened yesterday mattered at this very moment. All Hermione had to focus on was taking care of herself, having a nice holiday with Draco and Narcissa, and see how many of the lady's books she could read before going back to Hogwarts. She was hoping for at least half.
Hermione rummaged in her trunk, looking for her most presentable clothes; she didn't want to feel underdressed standing next to Narcissa. Settling on a heavy-knit white top, black leggings, trusty green cardigan and Converse, Hermione surveryed her room as she had not been able to the previous night, taking it all in.
She started off with the fireplace, and the ornate golden clock she had not noticed ticking down the time. The base of the face had a rotating dial, so that depending on the time of day, it was either a sun or a moon. It was currently a blazing sun in front of a cloudless blue enamel sky. Hermione had always been fascinated by clocks, their beautiful workings and intricate mechanisms. She'd always found the tradition of passing on watches when a wizard turned seventeen to be endearing, a reminder that no matter the time of day or night, your family would always be there for you.
Until they weren't.
Hermione moved on to the cherry-wood writing desk in front of a pair of enormous bay windows, the legs painted with curling pink blossoms. The top was sparse: a few glass paperweights filled with coloured sand that moved when Hermione shook them, a few pots of ink, and a few quills. Then there was the masterpiece: two ivory bookends, one of the goddess Diana, the other of Persephone, love of Hades, God of the Underworld. Hermione had always liked their story, herself, of a love to change the world. Had always hoped she'd find it one day.
Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. But the pair of figurines still made her smile. Narcissa had chosen everything with such care, such an eye for detail, for lounging and peaceful afternoons. It was what, perhaps, Hermione's own room would look like, when she got her own place, when she finally settled on a path.
But now was not the time for that. Deciding that she'd spent enough time snooping, Hermione briskly finger-combed her hair into a presentable status and made her way out if the room, casting a Silencing charm on her shoes as she did so -she always hated hearing clomping about on the stairs, especially at such an early hour, and she didn't feel like alerting the entire house to her presence just yet.
Using the bathroom -which was indeed as opulent as the rest of the house- Hermione made her way to the first floor. Nose picking up the smell of food, she followed it into what she assumed was the kitchen.
Hermione stopped dead.
Standing before the stove, flour in his hair, a platoon of kitchen utensils spread out before him that he most certainly didn't know how to use, was Draco Malfoy.
Hermione looked at the ingredients on the counter.
Draco Malfoy was making pancakes.
Draco Lucius Malfoy was making pancakes, the Muggle way.
Hermione burst out laughing.
Draco barked a curse, spinning around, spatula dripping batter onto the floor. "Merlin, Granger, I know you were once a cat for an hour, but there's really no need to use such feline quiet to sneak up on the poor chap who's trying to make you breakfast.
Hermione's heart melted. "You did all this for me?" she asked with quiet awe.
"Of course. You once mentioned how the Hogwarts ones weren't as good as the ones you used to have when you were a kid, so this was my way of cheering you up, and broadening my culinary skills. Which," he mused, "on further reflection, could be in need of some fine tuning."
Hermione chuckled. "You can't be perfect at everything, Draco. And the Hogwarts ones do indeed have too much butter. I'll help with the batter, you can help with the toppings. Sound like a plan?"
"It does indeed."
Draco rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. The Dark Mark was still visible, like a trace of a scar, on his forearm. He only did that around her. Hermione rolled up her own sleeves over her cardigan, as she did only when she was around him, her own scar even more apparent. They both had scars, and both only let them truly show around each other. They were so close, and she was thankful every day for it.
Hermione got on batter, showing Draco when to flip, when to adjust the heat, and how to get them onto a plate without dropping them. Draco listened, ever the attentive student, while he cut up strawberries with methodical precision, each slice perfectly uniform. Only Draco would care about uniform strawberries this early in the morning. Or in general.
Laying the pancakes on the table, Hermione drew a smiley face with syrup, using a piece of strawberry as the nose. "How original of you, Hermione," Draco scoffed. Hermione just laughed, brushing off some of the flour from the crown of his head, fingers running through the fine strands. She could of sworn Draco leaned into her touch, and she could of sworn that she let him.
Hermione stepped back, suddenly very focused on making tea. She boiled the water, muscle memory doing the work for her as her mind swirled. What was up with her crossing boundaries? Her and Draco were just friends. Nothing more. Ever. Ever, ever, ever.
Right?
Turning back to the table, Hermione found Draco already halfway through his stack of pancakes, generous heaping of syrup.
"Too much sugar will rot your teeth," she chirped as she stirred sugar into her tea, milk into his.
"Really?" he purred. "I spend plenty of time with you, and my teeth seem to be fine."
"Ha! Wow, you're so funny."
Hermione didn't see Draco's slight frown. "Much like clowns and pets wearing stupid outfits, I aim to amuse."
"Of course you do," Hermione said, sitting across from him and digging into her own stack, sugar be damned. She snuck a strawberry off his plate, Draco's startled, "Oi! I was about to eat that!" making it all the sweeter.
Pancakes consumed and teacups drained to the dregs, the two sat there in companionable silence.
Draco stood up, coming over to lean against the head of the table, arms folded across his chest, face unreadable. "About last night, what you said... well, I just wanted to thank you. I can only imagine how hard it was for you."
Hermione got up, stacking the plates, cups dangling from her fingers. "It was nothing," she dismissed, heading for the sink.
Draco put a tentative hand on her elbow, not wanting to trap her but urging her to listen. "it wasn't nothing to me. My whole life, I've never really had anyone in my corner, anyone who would fight for me, except maybe my mother. But Ron, he was your best friend for years, your ties to him are stronger than they are to me, yet you still chose to stick by me. I'm just saying... I'm grateful."
Hermione put the crockery in the sink, running the water slowly so that he could hear her clearly as she said, "Do not think, for a single moment, that I would ever pick Ron over you. Ever. And not just if he was wrong about something, or if he was cruel or being just a general bastard. You are my best friend, and no one and nothing's ever going to change that. So of course I'll stand up for you, of course I'm in your corner. There's no where else I'd rather be when you need me, and I'm so sorry it's taken you this long to hear that. To feel like you deserveto here that. I care about you very much, and I promise you, I'm not going anywhere.
"And you're right, it was hard for me, but I'm used to Ron humiliating me in public. And despite my words last night, I do want him to get better, to find out who he wants to be. But right now, I can't be a part of that; I have to think of myself, just for a little while."
Hermione rinsed the tea from the cups and turned off the tap. "Today's Christmas Eve," she told him.
"Yes, I'm aware of what day it is, Hermione," Draco said, voice laced with a teasing note.
"You know what's happening today."
Draco nodded.
"If you want to talk about it, I'm here. If you're not ready too, I could always use some help with recommendations on your mother's collection."
He laughed, eyes lighting up when they had lost some of their spark at the mention of Lucius. "Only you would want to dive into a pile of books to recover from a really horrible day, Granger."
"I'm sure I'm not the only one, but yes, that was the general idea."
Draco made for the door, but he turned around to face her as he said, "While I appreciate the offer, I think this is something I have to deal with on my own. But thank you, Hermione. Sincerely."
Hermione grinned, wrapping him in a hug. "Always."
"So, I suppose you somehow know then?" Draco asked as he strolled into his mother's parlour, face as blank as possible. He didn't want to show his emotions just yet.
"Know what, darling?" his mother asked, the portrait if feigned innocence, setting down her china teacup without spilling a drop.
"Know how I feel about Hermione? Or did you spend ten minutes straightening cushions just for fun?" Draco elaborated, sitting across from her in an upholstered cream armchair, ankle resting on a knee.
"Having feelings for someone is nothing to be ashamed about, Draco," Narcissa said smoothly. A non-answer if there ever was one.
"Do you love her?" his mother asked.
Draco practically fell out of his chair. "What? No! Really? What makes you ask that?"
Narcissa's eyes danced. "No reason," she replied, taking a sip of her tea.
"No," Draco clarified. "I just... like her."
"I see."
"See what?" he practically growled. Why, for once in his life, could his mother just give him a straight answer? It was infuriating.
"You may forget, Draco, that I was once young and proud, like you. I know what it's like to have feelings for someone and be unsure how to express those feelings, since you do not want to be hurt."
"You mean father."
"I do, indeed, mean Lucius. I always felt something for him, long before we were married. He never even looked at me twice. And I know you have always had feelings for Hermione."
"No, mother, I have not. This is a recent development."
Narcissa laughed. "Recent? Recent? My dear boy, you have been vexed by Hermione Granger since the day you met her. She challenged you like no no else else ever had. She still does. I think you have always 'liked' her, deep down somewhere, but he because of your unbringing, because we taught you to be ashamed of such a feeling, you let that turn into hate. And we did not stop you. I did not stop you. So, if we're going to talk about this, let's be honest, Draco. Now, why did you come to me about this?"
"Because I don't know what to do," he said, head resting on his fist.
"About?" she prompted.
"About everything! It's not like I can exactly tell her. She just wants to be friends."
"And you know that how? Have you actually told her how you feel?"
"How could I? Mother, I can't just go up to her and say, 'Hi, Hermione, I really like you. Will you have dinner with me?' or something. She'd laugh in my face. And if she didn't, it would only make things awkward between is when she inevitably said no. I'd rather have her in my life as a friend than not at all. I don't want to hurt her, not after everything she's been through. Look at her and Weasley: they were best friends, they tried to be together and it ended up with him going to America with his tail between his legs and her nursing a broken heart. It's not fair to dump something like that on her."
"Oh, Draco, you've really down it this time, haven't you?" murmured Narcissa, brushing off her skirt and coming to rest her hand on his shoulder. Draco looked up at her, eyes wide and unsure. "What should I do, mum?" he whispered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd called her that: not since he was a toddler, perhaps, before Lucius had told him Malfoy's did not going to their mother's skirts, did not need that sort of comfort, or they would never be respectable men of the wizarding world.
"There are no guarantees in this life, Draco. Despite what happened between myself and Lucius, I am still grateful that I had love in my life, whatever it's form. And I want you to be happy. I want you to heal and go on to do incredible things, whatever you want those things to be. And one does not live life alone, and I could think of no better person for you to spend yours with than Hermione. But that is up to her. All I can advise is that you wait, and you'll know when to tell her how you feel. You'll know it in your heart."
"Thank you," Draco rasped, tears in his eyes.
"You're very welcome. It's almost nine. Your father will be calling at three. I'll be in the study if you need me."
Narcissa left, kissing the top of Draco's head as she picked up her tea.
Draco simply sat in the chair, running his fingers over the fabric as his mind buzzed and began to spin in a thousand directions.
Feeling the need for a distraction, Draco headed for his bedroom. He'd almost hit the stairs when he turned, light from an open door catching his eye. Backing up a few steps, Draco saw Hermione on the floor by on eof the bookcases, cardigan flung on a chair, grinning as she made another neat pile of books. Sitting like that, crossed-legged and happy, he could see the girl she had been, before all this darkness had touched her life. He probably saw more if that person than anybody else, and although it touched him that she let he guard down for him, Draco still worried that she needed the rest of her friends. Perhaps he took advantage of her sometimes. Perhaps he'd have to let her go.
Or he could just keep staring at her like she was the only star in the sky. Which was totally healthy and non-creepy.
Draco carried on to his room, smile still in place as scanned in own shelf, picked up a book, and let his mind drift.
Hermione looked up when the clock struck half two. She'd grabbed a solitary lunch a few hours ago, careful not to get any crumbs anywhere she simultaneously read and eat.
Half an hour until Lucius came calling.
Draco crossed the hallway, hand in his pocket, not even glancing at her. Her heart ached to see him like that, so helpless as he had never been when she used to know him. But she hadn't known the real him, the boy behind the sneering, cruel mask. The one who could make her life when she felt like crying. Who could talk to about anything and she'd still hang on to his every word. Who's mere presence in a room made her feel braver, made her feel like she could do anything, face any challenge, so long as he was with her. Who's every smile at her made her feel seen, as she had not felt with Ron.
Merlin, what was wrong with her head today?
Scrambling up, the blood rushed to her limbs as Hermione snatched a scrap of parchment and hastily scribbled on it. Draco was about to turn a corner. Hermione was out the door and levitating it into his pocket within a heartbeat.
Draco disappeared out of sight.
Hopefully, her little peace of courage would help him remember his own.
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Happy Saturday! Can I just say, this was so fun to write for you guys. As special thank you to my best friend, you know who you are, who made this chapter so much better with her fluff suggestions. Now it's time to thank all of you, for all the incredible reviews you've been leaving. I'm truly blessed to have such lovely people reading my story.
To all my American readers: Happy 4th of July for tomorrow! Stay safe and enjoy the fireworks.
The next chapter will continue straight on, and the ending will be very special. It's something I've been waiting since February to write, and it was the first scene to ever form in my mind. And yes, it's super fluffy, and will be a perfect balance to the tyrant that is Lucius Malfoy. Let's just hope he doesn't say anything too nasty.
I'm joking. I'm not going easy on you guys.
Until next time.
All my love, Temperance Cain
