Disclaimer: All to the magician herself, J.K. Rowling
A/N: OMG guys please keep reviewing it makes me so happy to read all your comments.! I promise they'll be more blushes and winks in future chapters
This is fact not fiction
For
the first time in years
A Lack of Color- Death Cab For Cutie
Hermione wrapped herself with the thick red and yellow blanket. Even though the fire was blazing in the fireplace in her common room, she was still freezing. Earlier that day she had drank hot chocolate with Draco. Never in a million years would she have thought to have an intellectual conversation with the Slytherin prat himself. Over gooey chocoltate chip cookies and countless cups of hot cocoa, they discussed everything from Hogwarts, A History to Hermione gently explaining what "internet" was to a confused Draco. She wrinkled her face when Draco had asked if they're "wizard porn" included in the internet. Hermione had simply answered,
"Just ask Harry."
Patrolling duties had been canceled that night due to the fact that many first and second years were spending the night in Hogsmede with Professor Flitwick. It was a special consideration due to the fact that only up until your third year you could take field trips to Hogsmeade. The whole castle was nearly empty. All the seventh year students had gone home for the holidays, leaving all the large oak tables in the Great Hall empty. Hermione was still sad that she could not spend the holidays with her parents. She had received a letter earlier that day from them, asking them if maybe she would consider changing her mind about joining her Aunt Mildred. Again, Hermione refused.
Spending the holidays with her Aunt Mildred meant hearing her criticize her about being a witch and shaming the family name. Instead, Hermione was actually enjoying spending all her free time with Draco. The only thing that she didn't like was the upset feeling she got in her stomach she got when she thought what would happen if Ron and Harry found out that she was frolicking with they're most hated enemy.
A very loud slamming at the door interrupted Hermione's thoughts.
Draco came in fuming and stomping the snow from his dark black jacket.
"Bloody fucking hell" she heard him murmur under his breath.
He was holding a cream-colored letter and pacing back and forth in front of her. She raised an eyebrow "What's wrong?" she asked simply. For a moment, she though the old Malfoy was back. His features softned as he sat down by Hermione and handed her the letter. In very neat writing, and with the Malfoy crest on the top of the page, Hermione knew that Malfoy's mother had written to him.
Dearest Draco,
I would like to ask you if you would like to spend the remainder of the holidays in Oxford shire. You may bring along a friend if you desire.
Much hugs and kisses,
Mum.
"Is it so bad that your Mum wants to see you for the holidays?" she asked.
Draco sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "You don't understand Granger, going back to the Malfoy manor would be hell for me. It has been every time I try going back home, Last time I went home for the holidays was when I was fourteen, and all I got as a gift was a crucio punishment from my father." He replied in a bitter tone
Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry, I didn't know your father abused you."
Draco looked at her. "He doesn't abuse me, its just that when he gets upset he can be a complete arse hole.
Hermione gave him a firm look, "Draco, if he uses the crucio punishment on you, you can report in to the Ministry ."
Draco let out a laugh "Granger, my father has all sorts of contacts in the Ministry, they'd never believe that the high and powerful Lucius abused his soon, plus he's in Azkaban, so he can't hurt me now." He said softly.
"Granger, can I ask you a favor?"
Hermione looked alarmed. "What kind of favor?"
"Can you please come with me to Oxfordshire?" he asked.
Hermione couldn't believe her ears. Draco Malfoy was nearly begging her to go. And the sad expression in his eyes made her change her mind.
Hermione nodded, and softly took his hands and wrapped them around her own.