Author's Note: Originally written for D/Hr Advent 2021 fest on AO3
Snow seeped through Draco's trousers, Auror uniforms evidently not designed to withstand such extremes. Just his bloody luck. Surrounded by knee-high snow in the middle of an Anti-Apparition region and they hadn't even managed to capture Augustus Rookwood.
Yet that wasn't the worst part.
Draco shoved his wand into its holster, officially out of Charms to rid them of this nightmare.
"Remind me the benefit of having you on this mission if you can't counteract the spellwork of a former Unspeakable?"
If directed at the snow, Granger's glare might have proved useful at setting it aflame. "The Dark Magic involved here is not part of my expertise."
"My point exactly."
Weeks of tracking Rookwood's location had resulted in disaster. They anticipated that a Christmas Eve attack would catch him unsuspected, but the evasive wizard had dodged their offensives before detonating a magical avalanche. In the resulting chaos, they'd lost their Portkeys and once again let Rookwood escape.
Now, they were stranded. In the French Alps. With nothing but their wits and their wands.
"I saw a cabin on our way up," Granger said. "We'll head there while we determine how to return home."
She started down the mountain before Draco could grunt agreement. The faster they got away from each other, the better.
Their trek was soundtracked by boots sludging through snow and Granger monologuing a plan. Draco didn't interrupt and she didn't pause for input. Months of partnering had taught him that—as annoying as it was—she processed everything orally, and she had learned that he'd make his opinion clear if he objected.
When the lamp-lit cabin appeared, Draco couldn't care less that it was Muggle. It was warm and dry and came with the hope that he'd soon be out of this mess.
His feet sang with relief when they trudged onto the front stoop. That relief promptly ceased when chilled fingers intertwined with his.
"What do you think you're—"
"Take my hand," Granger hissed.
He tore himself free. "I'm already lacking body heat and don't need you furthering that problem."
"We are two strangers approaching a cabin on Christmas Eve—"
"Not a chance."
"—who will be received more kindly—"
"There is no way."
"—if we're a couple."
Draco scornfully laughed. "And at no point did you find it pertinent to mention this plan?"
Her cold-bitten complexion flushed pinker. "Your sole contribution was griping about wet socks!"
"A problem that would have been eliminated if—"
The door opened, and Granger reseized Draco's hand before he could protest again. An elderly woman with powder white hair stood before them, eyes lit up in shock.
"Oh mon Dieu! Entrez. Vous devez avoir froid, mes chéris!"
Draco dropped Granger's hold the second they crossed the threshold. Warmth returned to his fingertips, all while the woman kept talking.
"Êtes-vous perdus? Je ne pensais pas que quelqu'un d'autre se trouvait dans ces parties des montagnes. Oh, cette terreur d'avalanche! Il n'y en a pas eu depuis vingt ans!"
Granger stood silent in the entry, and Draco inwardly groaned.
"Merci pour votre hospitalité, mais vous devrez pardonner à ma— petite amie," he managed with a minimal frown despite just calling Granger his fucking 'girlfriend.' "Elle ne parle pas francais."
Granger turned to him in surprise. Was it really that unbelievable that Draco spoke fluent French?
"Ah, British?" The woman scanned their uniforms but did not question the presumably strange outfits. "Let me find you something to change into. You look freezing."
"We hate to intrude on Christmas Eve, but we only need to use your phone," Granger said while clearly shivering under her Unspeakable uniform. "Then we should be on our way."
"In this snow?" The woman looked aghast. "No, no, you stay in our guest room."
The woman proceeded upstairs and Draco shot Granger a glare. "I don't intend on spending the night."
"Nor do I," Granger snapped below her breath. "Breakfast at the Burrow starts as soon as they wake up, and I'd prefer not to miss Molly's Christmas loaf before Ron devours the whole thing."
She pushed past him, and Draco glared as she disappeared up the stairs. Christmas with the Weasleys? He could hardly imagine a less desirable holiday—besides his current situation, of course. But that was the life Granger had chosen when she started dating one of those Ginger fools.
After regaining his composure, Draco found the guest room, but froze before entering.
"Absolutely not."
Granger stood at the corner of a solitary twin bed. "We're not sleeping here anyway."
"As if that wasn't certain before, this just confirmed it."
"Oh, yes, because the single bed was the breaking point," she sarcastically bit out. "Don't worry your little spoiled self. Once I call Harry, he'll get us a Portkey."
Draco grumbled. "Saint Potter always there to save the—"
"Unless you have a different suggestion?"
If he had a better idea, Draco would have already said so. But he didn't have any connections left in France, Patronus messages wouldn't travel as far as England, the closest Apparition point was miles away, and he sure as hell didn't know how to train a wild owl to deliver a letter.
A knock interrupted the squabble and the woman returned with a pile of clothes.
"Here, darlings. Get into something dry."
Granger smiled. "Thanks, Marie."
Of course Granger remembered to ask the woman her name. If his mother was still alive, she would scold Draco for such bad manners.
"If you need anything, my husband and I are down the hall," Marie said with unwarranted kindness. "Rest. You're lucky to have survived that avalanche."
"Merci." Draco forced a smile before Marie left them alone again.
His frown quickly returned. The dry clothes consisted of a hideous plaid pyjama set and a floral nightgown. Twisting his wand, Draco cast a Hot Air Charm on his uniform. He had no intention of wearing anything so plebeian.
While Granger tapped numbers on the Muggle telephone, Draco surveyed the room: a centuries-old desk, framed artwork of snow-capped mountains, a bookshelf filled with needlepoint hoop designs. He might've considered the place quaintly cosy if not stuck here with Hermione fucking Granger.
"No. No, no, no!"
Granger's cry filled the room, and his trance broke.
"What's wrong now?"
"The landlines are down."
"Which means you couldn't—"
"Reach Harry."
"Because of the—"
"Avalanche."
"Then we'll ask Marie to drive us—"
"Muggle roads are surely blocked."
"What if we—"
"Walk?"
"Are you incapable of letting me finish a single thought?" Draco snapped, and a crimson flush tainted her cheeks.
"Sorry, I— get impatient," Granger faltered, glancing down at her snow-soaked boots. "Especially when I've already reached a conclusion."
Never had Draco heard Granger openly admit one of her flaws—of which he could surely list plenty. But for once in his life, Draco held them in. For as much as he wanted to continue debating, Draco knew there was only one option left. This late at night, at these temperatures, they wouldn't make it ten minutes before needing to turn back.
"Face it, Malfoy. We're stuck."
Forget Azkaban. Draco was going to Avada Rookwood the next time he spotted that rotten wizard.
He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but the next words fell past his lips before he could stop himself.
"We're getting you to the Ginger Den tomorrow, even if you miss that breakfast Christmas loaf," Draco said, no trace of sarcasm or animosity in his tone. "You'll spend the day with your precious Weasel. Promise."
Granger blinked in confusion but he didn't linger to hear her bafflement that Draco Malfoy was capable of doing something for someone other than himself. As little as he thought of the Weasel clan, it sure beat his Christmas plans. And if he did this one nice thing for Granger, maybe he could stand being in the same room as her without the niggling reminder of everything he had done to her in their past.
In the confinement of the attached bathroom, Draco stared at the mirror.
One night. That's all he had to survive. Then, he could trudge through that snow and get them back to England, regardless of what it took.
By the time he returned to the guest room, Granger had dried her uniform, now sitting cross-legged on the bedspread covered in parchments. Draco picked one up: a map of known Death Eater congregation points in Western Europe.
"You managed to retain the copies of our research but couldn't keep your Portkey secure?"
Granger glared upward, head cocked. "Remind me where your Portkey is?"
Curse it. Draco had walked right into that.
He supposed he should be grateful. At least this gave them something to do.
Draco shifted the parchments and sat opposite her.
"Show me what you've got."
The time passed quickly, the moon rising higher as he and Granger exchanged theories about where Rookwood may be heading.
"Are there any Lestrange family members left in Paris who would help him?"
"The French Rosiers claim they cut ties with Dark allegiances, but he may still contact them."
"Perhaps Rookwood plans to cross into Switzerland?"
Ideas flowed between them, all nebulous theories that could become leads but for now remained pure conjecture. They continued to hypothesise, minutes bleeding into one another, until a knock resonated on the door.
"Hermione? Draco?"
Draco was so startled by Marie's voice—Had Granger really provided her with his given name?—that he hadn't thought to spell the door locked before Granger did.
"One minute!" she called then whispered to Draco, "Hurry. Change into the pyjamas. She won't believe our uniforms dried this fast without magic."
They didn't have time to argue.
Backs turned to one another, Draco yanked on the terrible plaid pyjama set. To make matters worse, Marie's husband must have been shorter than him, for the bottoms exposed around five inches of his ankles. Add it to the list of joys this wonderful Christmas Eve.
Granger shuffled the parchments onto the desk before opening the door.
"Sorry, we weren't expecting you to return tonight," Granger greeted her. "We were just—"
"Not a worry, dear. I remember being young and in love." She winked, clearly assuming a vastly different reason he and Granger needed an extra minute of privacy.
Draco did not want to think about that. He did not.
"I thought you might like something to warm you up," Marie said, lifting a tray of two hot chocolate mugs with candy canes curled over the brim. She handed one to Granger, then Draco. "How long have you been together?"
"Two years."
"Four months."
Fuck.
His mind worked swiftly.
"Dating for two years but engaged for four months." He wandlessly conjured a ring on Granger's left hand. "Why don't you show her, sweetheart?"
Marie glowed at the sight of the glittering diamond, thankfully distracting her from Granger's startlement.
"Gorgeous! You're a lucky lady."
"The luckiest," Granger said, staring at Draco with a lifted brow.
If she had a problem, Granger could deal with it herself. This facade was her idea.
When Marie stopped gushing, Draco expected that to be the last of it, but her gaze shifted to the desk.
"What are those?"
In a wordless flash, Granger transformed the parchments to magazines.
"Just some wedding planning."
"Tonight?" Marie snatched the magazines. "You should be enjoying your first engaged Christmas, you cute young things. I'll give these back tomorrow."
Marie was out the door before either could object.
Great. Now what were they supposed to do with all this time together?
The second Marie was gone, Granger removed the ring without sparing it another glance. If anything, she should be grateful to have worn a diamond like that—even as brief as it had been. Merlin knew Weasley couldn't afford anything half that size. The least she could do was acknowledge the skill it required to conjure such an item wandlessly.
"Four months of collaborating and I think this is the most you and I have spoken about something not work-related."
The remark caught him off-guard. "As if we have anything else to discuss?"
She shrugged, idly swirling her candy cane. "We've known each other over half our lives."
"So what? You expect me to stay up drinking hot chocolate while we reminisce about the good old days?" Draco sneered.
"Come on, Malfoy." She settled on the corner of the bed. "It wasn't all bad."
He gave her a withering stare. "Our entire childhoods were dictated by war."
"Not all of it."
Draco didn't deign that comment with a response.
She rested her mug on the nightstand and sighed. "Then we'll discuss work. Why did you become an Auror?"
Fucking Salazar, she was persistent. But as much as he wanted to ignore the question, Draco knew Granger wouldn't stop until she got her way.
He slumped into the desk chair with a groan. "I needed a job after the Ministry seized the Manor and we donated every remaining Knut to pay our endless moral debt to society."
"Yes, I'm aware of what happened to your family, but why an Auror?" Granger insisted. "You could have been anything."
His obvious surprise turned her cheeks pink.
"'Anything?'" Draco raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"
Her blush deepened. "Don't make me say it."
"You're the one who insisted on this topic."
"Fine! You're a smart and talented wizard. There, happy?"
He grinned. "Depends. Can I have that in writing?"
"Oh, shove off!" Granger cried, and for the first time in his life, Draco heard Granger snicker because of something he had said.
It wasn't an unpleasant sound.
She brushed past the tease with a scoot closer.
"Now it's your turn."
"To do what?"
"Aren't you going to ask why I became an Unspeakable?"
Draco scoffed. "Do you really expect me to ask such an inane question?"
"That's not very—"
"You're predictable, Granger."
Confusion replaced her displeasure. "Excuse me?"
"You're predictable," Draco repeated. "You were tired of regurgitating what you read in books and needed something new. Everyone expected you to continue crusading for house-elf rights, become an Auror like Potter, or teach at Hogwarts. But none of that excited you. Yet after years as an Unspeakable, your Gryffindor quest for good wasn't satisfied, so when Robards approached with an opportunity to collaborate with the Aurors, you seized that chance—even if it meant working with me."
Granger stared at him in shock while Draco took a blasé sip of hot chocolate.
"We may not have been friends, but that doesn't mean I don't know you."
Instead of protesting, Granger sat up straighter. "In that case, two can play this game," she retorted. "You've always had this thing with Harry. A superiority complex you never grew out of. It infuriated you that Harry was offered an Auror position without finishing Hogwarts, so you set out to prove that you could be an Auror too."
Heat scorched Draco's cheeks, her certitude inciting him more than anything. "You sure do think you know everything, don't you?"
"I'd be more impressed if you told me something I didn't know, especially about you."
She folded her arms with a huff, clearly not expecting him to take the bait, which made her incredulous expression all the more satisfying when he did.
"I originally wanted to be a Chaser."
Granger startled at the revelation and stared at him for two full blinks before reality caught up.
"I suppose it's not that surprising you only became a Seeker to more directly oppose Harry."
Draco scowled. "Not to break this image you've maintained of me, but I actually became a Seeker because it was the only open position."
"Couldn't leverage more of Daddy's Galleons to get the position you really wanted?"
The rebuke hit like a Bludger—an internal blow that must have been so apparent that Granger quickly backtracked.
"Sorry, I— I pushed too far."
Granger was apologising? To him? Merlin, in what twisted world did she think she had anything to apologise for when he'd never uttered those same five letters to her?
Guilt and shame washed over him and Draco deflated—defences already down at the sentiments she'd unknowingly stirred.
He breathed in deep. "No, just— Mentions of my father are difficult."
"I—"
"Don't try to tell me how horrible he is," Draco snapped. "He's in Azkaban where he belongs. Where all Death Eaters should be."
"You were a Death Eater."
"I was a child."
"We all were."
A heavy weight solidified inside his chest. "And some of us will spend the rest of our lives trying to repent for those years."
Draco stared out the window, unable to look at her when he said it. It wasn't an apology, but perhaps it was the closest he'd ever manage.
"You got it wrong earlier. The reason I joined the Aurors." He forced a swallow, the weight in his chest now Quaffle-sized. "Locking up the wizards I spent my childhood supporting is the only way I can truly pay my debts."
The subsequent silence felt deafening compared to the pound within him. Finally, she broke the stillness.
"I respected you when Harry said you were joining the Aurors," Granger said, words just as low as his had been. "It takes real perseverance to graduate from the training program—not to mention how difficult it must have been for you to be accepted."
"I applied four times before I got an interview," Draco admitted, the memory of rejection still sore. "But I was done with people telling me who I had to be. This time, I was going to prove that I could be whatever I wanted—even when the odds were against me."
Only then did Draco look at her, a glint of newfound respect in her gaze.
"You're doing a good job."
Draco grimaced. "I let Rookwood get away again."
"We let Rookwood get away again."
As if that made him feel better. Five years after the war, a Death Eater was still on the run. He doubted this weight would vanish until Draco finally brought him in.
The melancholy hung inside his chest until Granger illuminated in a way that Draco knew only happened when she got an idea.
"Maybe we haven't been successful because we don't properly communicate," she said. "We're good at research and planning, but our teamwork could stand considerable improvement."
"And you think talking is going to fix that?"
"It's a start."
Normally, Draco would have scorned the idea, but with nothing better to do, talking couldn't hurt.
"Fine. What do you want to know?"
It began with the basics: what they wanted to be when they were younger, favourite school subject, hobbies. Slowly, however, the conversation shifted. Most of what Granger shared once again fell into the range of "predictable," but other things surprised him. Like how the Sunday Prophet's Ancient Runes puzzle was the highlight of both their weekends and that they felt similar pressure to succeed being only children.
Swottiness aside, it turned out that Hermione Granger wasn't so terrible. Dare he say it, Draco was enjoying the conversation.
"What's your most embarrassing Hogwarts story?"
Draco narrowed his gaze. " I'm not willingly giving you potential blackmail material."
She snickered. "Yet you expect me to trust you in the field?"
"This constitutes a completely different kind of—"
"During second year, I accidentally used cat hair in a Polyjuice Potion, landing me in the Hospital Wing for two months."
"Merlin!" Draco rattled in disbelief. "That's the reason you were— Wait… what were you using Polyjuice for in second year?"
Her cheeks grew rosy. "I can't tell you."
"And yet you expect me to trust you in the field?"
She smacked his shoulder and Draco laughed.
"Do not throw my words back at me!" she snapped, but a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. "Now tell me yours before I hex it out of you!"
Draco wasn't willing to gamble whether she was joking. He knew what that witch was capable of.
Scattered memories came to mind—the Hippogriff rejection of 1993, the Mustelidae That Shall Not Be Named incident of 1994—but Granger had witnessed them both. Racking his brain for something good, he landed on a different memory. "Fourth year, I set out to make my acquaintance with all the Durmstrang students, particularly this one cute seventh year who, in all my brilliant glory, I assumed was entertaining my company for more than just my familial name, until two weeks before Christmas…"
"Don't tell me you—"
"Oh, yes, I asked her to the Yule Ball," Draco groaned. "But what's worse is that I did so over breakfast, at which point she rejected me in front of half my house."
Granger's clasped hand did little to block her sniggers. "That's what you get for asking her out so publicly."
"I thought she'd say yes."
"And that's what you get for being so arrogant."
"Yes, well, Pansy was more than happy to go with me instead," Draco said, not willing to linger on that detail. "Still turned out to be a perfectly good evening."
Granger snorted. "At least one of us enjoyed that night."
"Viktor Krum not all he's cracked up to be?"
"More like Ron being a jerk."
Memories of that night flashed before him, trying to remember anything about Weasley. But all Draco could recall was when Granger entered the Great Hall. Try as he might, Draco had been incapable of forming a single negative thought. In fact, the only resonating notion was that there must be something wrong with him for thinking a Muggle-born was pretty.
Evidently, Draco must not have been alone in thinking Granger looked beautiful—except that person had let his jealousy manifest.
Weasley.
That sorry excuse of a wizard.
Granger's current boyfriend.
And who Draco had promised she'd get back to for Christmas.
Suddenly, he was no longer in the mood to chat.
"We should go to bed," he said, prematurely ending the best conversation he'd ever had with Granger. "We'll need to get up with the sun."
Disappointment dimmed her expression. She probably thought this was the last time he'd be nice to her. Draco wasn't sure she was wrong.
He grabbed a pillow off the bed and dropped it on the floor, Granger staring at him throughout.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" he asked. "I'm sleeping on the floor."
"Don't be absurd," she instantly countered. "We have a long hike tomorrow. Neither of us can go into it with a sore back."
She left no room for objection.
Which was how Draco found himself in a dark bedroom, under the covers and not alone.
He stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Fuck this guest room, fuck this tiny bed, fuck everything. How could he sleep when Hermione Granger was right next to him?
The weight in his chest returned, obstructing his lungs with every inhale. In, out. In, out. He tried to breathe past it, tried to pretend it wasn't there, but it wouldn't budge.
Here he was, lying beside Granger, all because the witch had insisted. The floor would have assuredly been more comfortable than this. Than having to endure the witch he was brought up to hate trusting him enough to sleep next to her when she was wandless. All while he had never mustered the words he should have said years ago.
The hourglass of avoidance ran dry.
Draco cleared his throat, voice already close to cracking.
"I've never told you how sorry I am for everything."
Granger shifted, lips parted as she faced him. "You don't need to—"
"I do," he said. "You deserve more than a simple apology. You're a good witch. I never should have questioned otherwise."
"Thank you," she whispered, just when Draco thought the length of her silence might kill him. "But an apology was never necessary. What you've done with the Aurors speaks volumes. I wouldn't be working with you if I thought otherwise." Moonlight illuminated her soft smile. "Besides, you're not so bad when you open up."
Ease flooded through every cell in his system. "You either, Granger."
They stared at each other for several long moments, seconds ticking on like the beats inside Draco's chest. As he continued to stare at Granger, brown eyes glistening back, a traitorous thought wondered what it would be like to close the distance between them and press his lips to hers.
Then he remembered Weasley.
Draco turned the other way, facing the wall.
"We need to sleep."
No other words passed between them. Not a protest. Not an agreement. But the seconds ticked on—and Draco could tell Granger was having an equally difficult time falling asleep.
...
A low rumble emitted from Draco as he slowly regained consciousness. Comfy bed, warm sheets, soft skin…
Draco startled awake, prying himself away from Granger's slumbering form.
At some point during the night, their bodies must have subconsciously gravitated towards one another. It wasn't his fault. The bed was just small.
But that wasn't his greatest concern.
A tightness strained between his thighs, tenting his pyjamas, and Draco jumped out of bed.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He could not be hard around Granger.
Draco rushed into the bathroom and twisted on the shower, standing under the cold water. Five, ten, fifteen minutes. He lost track of time. All he knew was that his cock was stiff and he couldn't wank to thoughts of the witch that had aroused him.
Any witch could have caused this. It was only morning wood—morning wood that was taking abnormally long to sate today.
Today.
Christmas.
That killed his boner.
Tension finally relieved, Draco hopped out of the shower. He needed to get Granger to the Burrow like he promised. Then, he could proceed with his day, pretending like the past 12 hours hadn't happened.
Draco dressed in his Auror uniform before stepping back into the guest room where Granger was now awake, alight with excitement. For a fleeting moment, he brightened at the thought that Granger was this happy to see him, but that fantasy crumbled when he noticed the ripped tennis ball.
"Look! The Ministry reported that we didn't return with our Portkeys and contacted Harry who sent an owl with this," she beamed. "It activates in twenty minutes and will take us to the Burrow."
This should be a good thing. They were returning to England and Draco didn't have to walk through any snow to make it happen. Yet he couldn't mask the disappointment that sprouted within. Part of him had grown not to hate the idea of spending Christmas morning with Granger—even if just briefly.
They said goodbye to Marie and walked far enough away from the cabin so they wouldn't be spotted when the Portkey activated. The ground was hard when they landed, not a speck of snow in sight.
Granger wasted no time heading towards the rickety home. "This way. We can enter through the garden then you can Floo to wherever you're celebrating."
Draco didn't mention that his only plan was to go to his flat where his likely only present was a letter from his father that Draco would spend all day debating whether to open.
Granger, unlike him, had a happy holiday planned, and Draco wouldn't take that from her.
He stopped before reaching the door.
"Actually, I'll Apparate from here," Draco said, fighting the clench behind his ribcage. "Enjoy Christmas with your boyfriend."
He hardly took one step away before Granger seized his hand.
"With my— Malfoy, Ron and I broke up three months ago." Her eyes scanned his face, a mixture of confusion and clarity. "But they still invited me to Christmas since the Weasleys know they're the closest thing I have to family after I Obliviated my parents during the war."
Draco gawked at her. "But you never—"
"I make a point not to discuss my personal life at work."
"Then what do you consider last night?"
"Two friends talking."
"Friends?"
She flushed. "If that's okay with you."
Draco tried imagining a world in which that would be okay, but he couldn't fathom it.
"I'm sorry, Granger, but you and I were never meant to be friends."
"Oh." A crestfallen expression cloaked her features. "Then, um, I'll see you at work." She hesitated for a moment then pecked his cheek. "Happy Christmas, Draco."
She turned away faster than the kiss had lasted, but Draco pulled her back, this time, capturing her lips with his.
Heat blossomed through the connection, warming him more than a dozen of Marie's hot chocolates. Now that he knew kissing her could be more than a fleeting fantasy, Draco didn't want to let go. To his great relief, Granger sank into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her lips closer, until the kiss ended far too soon.
"But you said—"
"I said we couldn't be friends." Draco grinned. "But if we're going to become a better team, more time together is necessary."
Granger bit her lower lip. "Not as friends?"
"We'll see where it goes."
His tease made her brighten and Draco couldn't help but grin wider.
She glanced over her shoulder at the awaiting Burrow. "Do you want to come inside? I'm sure Molly wouldn't mind one more guest."
For a moment, Draco considered, but ultimately shook away the invitation. "Enjoy Christmas with your Weasels. But maybe we can spend a different holiday together. Say, New Year's?"
Granger beamed. "That sounds perfect."
As Draco Apparated, he did so with a smile and a plan already percolating. He had always heard the French Alps were gorgeous on New Year's. Fireworks over the mountain peaks, easy access to the best champagne. Even the amount of snow wasn't bad when one was prepared for it. And this time, Draco would make sure to arrange for a cabin all to themselves.
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