/
She'd recognized the Vanishing Cabinet right away, connected it to its twin at Borgin and Burkes. Suddenly, the conversation she, Harry, and Ron had overheard between Borgin and Malfoy that day in Knockturn Alley made sense.
Hermione had her theories, and she suspected Nott did too, but neither could be positive exactly what Malfoy planned to do once the Vanishing Cabinet was repaired.
IF we can repair it, Hermione repeatedly corrected herself.
She leaned on this as a crutch— she didn't know for sure why Malfoy wanted it repaired, and she planned to use this information— or rather, this lack of information— to justify her decision to help them, should it ever come to that.
And she certainly hoped it never came to that.
Hermione knew that she was being naive, and rash, but for some reason, she couldn't even force herself to care enough to do anything but help them.
She had her doubts, and her regrets, and they were deep: she shouldn't be helping; she should've told Harry and Ron; she should alert Mr. Weasley and the Order, or Tonks at the very least; she should tell McGonagall and Dumbledore immediately.
But Hermione could not ignore the fact that her desire to help was so much stronger than any of her fears or doubts.
I'm trying to save his life, and his mother's… and who knows who else's. It was almost a little mantra she'd started repeating over and over as if to convince herself she was doing the right thing.
Keep your enemies close— the more I know, the better I'll be able to help… and then I'll be able to stop Malfoy from doing whatever he's planning…
She figured she might even be able to figure out how to fix the cabinet on her own, before Malfoy and Nott could. Then she would refrain from telling them, instead choosing to bring the information to Dumbledore instead.
"Where did you get all these books?" Hermione asked Nott, in awe as she scanned the enormous pile of rare and ancient tomes in what had become his and Draco's little study in the Room of Hidden Things. "Not in the library… and not in here, surely…"
"Greystoke Castle," Theo explained simply, as if this were a common fact.
"Greystoke…?"
"My house," Theo explained simply.
"Of course you live in a castle," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she carefully turned the page of a text that looked as old as Hogwarts itself. "But you actually refer to it that way?"
Malfoy snorted.
"Oh, and 'The Burrow' is so much better. At least mine and Draco's don't make it sound like we live with a bunch of rodents."
"You bring up a good point, Theo. We can't deny the Burrow's got one good thing going for it— it's certainly aptly named."
"Shut up," Hermione snapped, her eyes never leaving the page opened before her.
"You also bring up a good point, Granger. I should have a look around here for books that might be helpful. Who knows what kind of material people have hidden in here over the years," Theo looked around the room as if he were seeing it for the first time. He wandered off, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.
Draco flipped through the book in front of him, unable to focus his attention enough to actually read anything.
He'd had some pretty awful ideas over the years, the Inquisitorial Squad was proof enough of that, but this one took the proverbial cake— and it's a fucking enormous cake… thirty layers of buttercream, at least, Theo's voice chimed in his mind.
This is a horrible, horrible idea, Draco thought as he stared at Hermione in consternation, as if he could simply will her away.
He'd told Theo so too, albeit with different words, what felt like countless times over the past twenty-four hours, even though he had reluctantly agreed to let Granger help….
Not that Theo really gave me any choice, Draco mused in annoyance.
It was a small consolation, but he figured he'd be able to wipe Hermione's memory, if it came to that. He'd had plenty of practice with Crabbe and Goyle this term, and, much to his pleasure, he'd gotten the hang of it pretty quickly.
Draco watched Hermione's face in silence as she turned the page with obvious reverence. His attention traveled from her eyes— focused in concentration— to her lips— slightly parted— to her fingers. He remembered the way her hand had felt in his after their confrontation with McLaggen… warm and soft and trusting.
He was sure she had trusted him last night, perhaps for the first time. He'd recognized it in her eyes, and had been drawn to the sight. Infuriatingly, he longed to see it again.
I'm going to get us all killed…
Draco wished Hermione had refused to help. Part of him even wished she had gone and told Potter and Dumbledore… and yet…
"How are your arms?" The words tumbled from his lips.
Hermione looked up in alarm. It was one thing for Malfoy to save her from McLaggen, which, she figured, had only been a side-effect of him using it as his opportunity to hex the git. Regardless, it was another thing entirely to casually inquire after her well-being.
"Why?" She asked suspiciously.
"Forget I asked, Granger," he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning angrily into his chair.
She tilted her head, observing him.
"They're fine… better than McLaggen's head this morning, I can tell you that."
Draco couldn't help but smirk.
"Wish I'd broken his nose too… and his legs… and—"
"Thank you," Hermione interrupted. "For asking… and for helping me last night."
Warmth coursed through Draco, unbidden.
No, he told himself as he tore his eyes away from her. No.
"I should be thanking you— gave me the perfect opportunity to give that prat what he deserves."
I was right, Hermione thought joylessly, suddenly feeling a bit put-out. He only cares that he got a chance to hex McLaggen.
She returned her attention to her book.
"Well—?" Draco asked expectantly, after a few minutes of studying her in silence as she read.
"Well what?" Hermione asked sweetly without looking up.
Draco sighed, "So this is my life now… suppose it's better than being dead—"
"Oi!" Theo called from somewhere in the room, "I've found a stash of sherry! And it's really good sherry, too!"
"On second thought…" Draco added in exasperation.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh out loud, and Draco could not contain his reluctant smile at the sound, and sight, of it.
"If you're asking if I think I can help, my answer is yes… but it's going to take time."
Draco frowned.
"We don't have time."
"Look— Malfoy…"
"No."
"You don't even know what I'm going to say!" exclaimed Hermione.
"Yes he does!" Theo called from parts unknown.
"Yes, I do," Draco echoed. "You're going to tell me to let Snape help me… yes, I know you overheard our little conversation," he added, seeing her expression of surprise. "Or you're going to tell me to go to Dumbledore, or some other arse. You're going to tell me I don't have to do this."
They stared at one another in equal stubbornness.
"You don't have to do this alone—"
"I meant what I said to Snape last night, Granger. The bastard might've made an Unbreakable Vow, and maybe it really was to protect me… but—"
"Maybe—" she tried again.
"No," Draco affirmed with cold resolution.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, her expression as stern as Draco's.
"You're as bad as Harry."
"Draco's much, much worse, I can assure you," Theo said, reappearing in their study area. He cleared a space on the expansive mahogany table they used for their research to make room for the sherry he'd found.
Draco balked and glanced wearily at the gold necklace glinting from Hermione's collar. "Don't compare me to that speckled git."
"Listen you two. We'll do plenty of research this week, without classes and speckled gits and greasy professors to get in our way. But let's also not forget it's bloody Christmas… and Merlin knows I could use some time off," Theo announced, uncorking a bottle of sherry to take in its aroma.
"Our holiday starts the day after tomorrow— sundown, Christmas Eve. You can join me, or you can bugger off."
Hermione and Draco's eyes met in silent, and reluctant, agreement.
"You'll join us, won't you, Granger? No need to lock yourself up in that haughty tower all alone."
/
Hermione had managed to accurately translate more ancient Runes in two days than Theo and Draco had in two months.
"It's promising," Theo explained to Draco, who still took every opportunity to remind him what a horrendous idea it had been to involve Hermione.
"Lot of good it will do once she runs off and tells Potter… which she will."
"She's not going to tell him," Theo said for what he was sure was the hundredth time as they made their way back to the Room of Hidden Things. It was Christmas Eve, and the light outside the frosty castle windows was rapidly receding.
"How can you possibly know that? What if she already wrote to him—"
Theo sighed heavily. Dealing with Draco and Hermione's stubbornness individually was one thing, but he quickly learned that their combined stubbornness was wholly another. Plus, Theo was quick to admit, the strange tension that pushed and pulled and often exploded between the pair was driving him a bit barmy; after spending two whole days locked up in the same room with them, teaching trolls the ballet no longer seemed all that outlandish.
"I'm not talking about this anymore. Look—" Theo pointed outside the window. The sun was but a sliver on the snowy horizon. "Sundown. Christmas Eve. My holiday starts now. You can choose to enjoy yourself a bit or—" He paused as he spotted Hermione waiting for them outside the Room of Hidden Things, a cauldron in her arms.
"—Granger! You decided to join us after all," Theo exclaimed, shooting Draco a pointed look.
"Nott," she replied dryly. She barely glanced at Draco.
"Is that a cauldron full of hot, strong love— my favorite Celestina Warbeck classic, by the way, take note— or is that mulled wine I smell?"
"Are you already drunk?" Hermione asked, thinking perhaps she should've listened to her better judgement and stayed in Gryffindor Tower. But the thought of spending Christmas all alone was just too much to bear.
"I wish!" Theo announced. "But I certainly plan to be as soon as possible," he winked at her as they entered the vast, cluttered room. "You dressed up, Granger. For us? How sweet."
Hermione looked down at her dark green dress (which, she now noted with dismay, was nearly the same color Malfoy's robes had been at Slughorn's party), suddenly self-conscious. Her choice in clothing was not nearly as formal as what she'd worn to Slughorn's party, but she wouldn't deny she'd chosen her dress with purpose.
She and her parents always put a bit more effort into their attire on Christmas Eve. She smiled at the thought of her dad's brown leather loafers, the ones he painstakingly polished each Christmas Eve morning. She missed her parents dearly, and wondered what on earth she'd done to end up spending her Christmas with Malfoy and Nott.
You chose this, a voice reminded her as she and Malfoy followed Nott through the room.
Oh… right.
Hermione noted that Theo and Draco had also dressed for the occasion, although, she admitted, they always seemed to be dressed more formally than the other students in the castle. Irritably, she wondered how Draco always managed to look so put together; his clothes always seemed to be tailored just right, elongating his legs and highlighting the lean muscles in his chest and arms.
He glanced in her direction and she felt her cheeks warm. She shook her head and tried to divert her attention elsewhere.
As Theo led them through the narrow passageways of hidden things, Draco tried and failed to deny his wholehearted approval of Hermione's choice in attire. His fingertips tingled with the irritating urge to reach out to touch the soft, velvety fabric of her dress.
As they rounded a towering corinthian column wrapped in variously colored scarves, Hermione's jaw dropped; three shimmering place settings had been meticulously laid out on a small table, the surface of which was otherwise completely covered with warm, flickering candles and boughs of holly and pine. A large Christmas tree stood beside the table, spectacularly decorated in silver and gold.
"Sprock!" Nott called, and Hermione looked to Malfoy in confusion.
Draco merely took his spot at the table and busied himself with a Christmas cracker as if he were sitting down to any old meal in the Great Hall.
"He's got to be around here somewhere…" Theo mumbled.
"Yes, Master Theodore?"
Hermione nearly dropped her cauldron of mulled wine in shock as a house-elf appeared at Theo's elbow, as if out of thin air.
The elf was undoubtedly very old, his wrinkles and sparse tuft of gray hair rather prominent, but his gait was surprisingly spry. The tiniest pair of glasses Hermione had ever seen graced the long bridge of his nose. She wondered darkly if Sprock had been one of the survivors at Greystoke Castle after Theo's father had discovered his son had been freeing them.
"Sprock, meet Hermione Granger. Granger— this is Sprock. He's in charge of managing Greystoke Castle while I'm away—"
"While you're away?" Draco mumbled. "More like all the time."
"—and Sprock, you remember my dear prat of a friend Draco—?"
Draco saluted in unimpressed silence from across the room, and Sprock returned the greeting with a curt, silent bow.
"Ah, yes, young Master Malfoy… this prat Sprock of course knows better than he would like," the elf replied smoothly.
Draco scowled and Theo smirked. Hermione tried not to gape.
The elf then turned to Hermione, scrutinizing her in such a way that reminded her oddly of Nott.
"Sprock, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said in earnest, smiling.
Sprock's grin spread slowly across his wrinkled face.
"Sprock sees not all of your friends are as disrespectful as some," he said, and Hermione did not miss the very pointed glance he shot Malfoy's way.
Malfoy's really got a way of making an impression wherever he goes… she thought, trying not to laugh.
Malfoy pretended not to notice, and Theo's smirk only widened.
"Well done, Master Theodore."
Hermione beamed at the compliment.
"Did you set this up, Sprock?" she asked, realization dawning on her. "It's beautiful."
Sprock bowed low, much lower than he had for Malfoy. "You are too kind. And please, Miss, let Sprock take your cauldron."
"Oh— be careful, it's very hot… and thank you," Hermione smiled gratefully as Sprock gratefully received the cauldron of mulled wine and made a spot for it on the table, making sure to glare at Malfoy as he did so.
Hermione neared the Christmas tree to appreciate its trimmings more fully, taking a deep, slow breath of pine and cinnamon. It was the loveliest decorated tree she had ever seen— even more fine than the towering pines in the Great Hall. It glimmered and hummed with perfectly coordinated silver and gold baubles; twinkling lights of various sizes glowed warmly from every crevice.
She felt tears well in the corners of her eyes; she missed her parents, and Harry and Ron, and the Weasleys. She imagined them all now, sitting by the fire at the Burrow without her, and she pictured her parents at home, sipping the same mulled wine they'd sent her— the very same she'd emptied into the cauldron to share with Malfoy and Nott— and her heart ached.
She couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever get to spend Christmas with them again, if perhaps this would be her last Christmas.
Sprock busied himself setting a string quartet and piano forte into motion with a snap of his fingers, and the room resonated with the gentle, dulcet sounds of Christmas songs.
Theo eagerly popped open a bottle of the sherry he'd found. "I know sherry's customary for dessert— but Merlin, it's Christmas."
Draco ignored Theo. His thoughts strayed far from the anger and doubt that had plagued him the last few days as he watched Hermione with curiosity and admiration. It was odd to see another witch or wizard be as respectful to a house elf as Theo, and, as painful as it was to admit it, he recognized that it was even more rare to see a sight as captivating as the one of Hermione standing by the tree, her golden brown eyes and hair capturing the warm glow of the twinkling baubles and lights.
His heart ached; he missed home. Growing up, Christmas at Malfoy Manor had always been a spectacle, a show of wealth and status, which Draco had never really minded. In fact, he wouldn't deny he'd relished it, but in truth, his most cherished moments were late Christmas Eve nights, which his mother had always set aside just for the three of them— he and his father on their best behavior for her— those rare evenings had been special, and warm… they'd been a family then.
Noting his friend's trance, Theo coughed, and Draco quickly looked away.
"Miss Granger, would you please join Master Theodore and Master Malfoy for dinner?"
"Oh—" She hastily wiped at her eyes. "Of course."
Sprock pulled out her chair, then tucked it behind her as she sat down. Hermione was reminded of the way Nott had done the same for her at one of Slughorn's suppers. If someone had told her then that she'd be spending Christmas with Nott and Malfoy, she would've certainly told them to bugger off.
Sprock served them each a glass of mulled wine before she even had a chance to serve it herself.
"It's from my parents," she explained simply, smiling as she took a sip of the familiar, warming beverage her mother made each Christmas.
"Sprock does not recognize the vintage, it neither seems elf- nor wizard-made."
"Granger's parents are Muggles," Theo explained plainly, and Sprock's eyes widened.
Hermione swallowed nervously, thinking of Kreacher's prejudice against Muggle-borns like herself. She hoped Sprock would not react similarly to this information.
"Master Nott Senior must never know— imagine his face if he discovered even a drop of Muggle wine had graced his crystal… or that a Muggle-born witch ate from his fine china…" Sprock and Theo's eyes met in silence. A tense moment passed before they simultaneously burst into raucous laughter.
Hermione glanced at Malfoy in alarm. Malfoy gave her an unamused gesture that told Hermione he was used to this sort of thing.
"Oh— it hurts!" Theo announced, gasping for breath through his laughter. "I'd pay a thousand, no— ten thousand galleons to see that!"
"Master Theodore, Sprock speaks out of turn, please forgive an old elf…"
"Bah!" Theo said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Sorry, Granger… just having a laugh."
"Yes, Miss Granger, Sprock meant no disrespect, no… this elf does not share the same prejudices as his more senior master, oh, no…"
"Oh, er—" Hermione sputtered, beyond surprised at Nott and Sprock's relationship, even though she knew Theo had led a freedom crusade in his home when he was only eight. He showed more respect for Sprock than Harry and Ron had ever seemed to manage for Dobby, and most certainly more than they'd ever showed Kreacher.
"Can we eat now? I'm starving."
Theo, Sprock, and Hermione all glared at Draco with matching scowls.
"Sometimes Sprock does wonder about you, young Master Malfoy…"
"You and me both, Sprock," Theo added.
"Sorry," Draco mumbled as he took a sip of mulled wine. He mused it was both powerful and warm, not unlike the girl who'd brought it.
"Perhaps young Master Malfoy should spend more time with Miss Granger—"
Theo choked on his drink.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Hermione hid her smirk behind her glass.
"Dinner is served," Sprock announced smoothly, undeterred, and a veritable feast appeared before them.
"Won't you join us, Sprock?" Hermione asked as Theo and Draco wasted no time serving themselves.
Sprock chuckled, "Oh no, Miss Granger, but this elf appreciates the thought. There is much for Sprock to do at home. Master Theodore, it has been a pleasure, as always. Enjoy… and happy Christmas."
The elf disappeared with a 'pop.'
"Well, you made his Christmas, Granger."
"Me?" Hermione asked incredulously as she helped herself to yorkshire pudding.
"The elf loves flattery," Draco explained simply. "It's why he can't stand me."
"He appreciates respect, Malfoy— and a little thing called common decency…" Theo finished the last bit of sherry in his glass before switching to Hermione's mulled wine.
"Nott, you know that's a completely foreign concept for him—" she added with a coy grin.
Theo again coughed on his drink in amusement and Malfoy shot her a scathing look.
"You see, Granger, Master Theodore here was all but raised by Sprock and his legion of house elves—"
"It certainly explains your behavior—" Hermione interjected.
Draco laughed out loud and Theo scowled.
"I meant it as a good thing—" Hermione exclaimed. "You respect Sprock. And why shouldn't you? Just because he's a house-elf?"
Theo nodded in satisfaction, grinning smugly at Draco.
"Most pureblood families are downright bigoted and cruel toward house elves," Theo explained matter-of-factly. "Exhibit 'A' for arsehole here," he nodded his head toward Draco.
Hermione immediately remembered the way Sirius had treated Kreacher.
Kreacher wasn't necessarily kind, and the elf had inherited prejudices of his own, but she'd witnessed Sirius display an unfounded, often outright cruelty, toward the elf more than once. Ron, too ha made it clear he considered elves lesser beings.
"I know. It's one of the reasons I started S.P.E.W."
There was a clatter as Theo and Draco dropped their cutlery to stare open-mouthed at Hermione in concern.
"Spew?" Draco asked.
"Yes. Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I started it in fourth year after I saw how unjustly house-elves were treated at the Quidditch World Cup."
Draco shook his head in disbelief and smirked lopsidedly with reluctant amusement. First Theo, now Granger. Where am I? He wondered. And what did I do to deserve this?
"Look," Theo said as he took a bite of mashed potato, "I'm all for the— what did you call it?— the promotion of elfish welfare… but S.P.E.W.? Really, Granger? You racked that big brain of yours, and the best you came up with was spew…? The action I experience every time I see Weasley's stupid face, or when I'm forced to listen to you and Draco argue?"
She smiled reluctantly, "Well… yes. If you think of a better name, you get back to me. Perhaps you can ask for Sprock's input."
Draco held back a laugh and Theo scowled.
The rest of dinner was spent in a spirited, and undeniably comical, debate concerning the magical powers of house-elves, the mulled wine disappearing rapidly, only to be replaced again and again with more mulled wine of a different variety, no doubt thanks to Sprock.
They savored Christmas pudding, the most delicious treacle tarts Hermione had ever eaten, and the sherry Theo had found over a few rounds of Exploding Snap and one rather heated game of Gobbstones that ended with Theo dangling mid-air from his ankle, shouting obscenities at Draco, who stood on the floor below, bent over in laughter.
Hermione wasn't sure if it was the wine or something more, but she was startled to find that she was not only enjoying herself, but she rather felt like she was spending Christmas Eve with friends…
Hermione also found herself unable to tear her eyes away from Draco's confident, handsome grin more than once, including now, as he at last unceremoniously lowered Theo to the ground.
Definitely too much wine, she thought, tearing her eyes away.
"How about a tune, Draco? It wouldn't be Christmas without it," Theo proclaimed after he had righted himself and poured himself another glass of sherry.
Draco frowned. He'd spied the piano in the Room of Hidden things countless times now, even sat with his fingertips upon the keys, but the thought of playing was just too painful.
He shook his head, hiding his pained expression as he took a sip from his glass.
Hermione looked between them both, surprised into silence by this new information.
"C'mon, mate, a few carols. You would keep the gift of my voice from Granger like that? And on Christmas?"
"I'm sparing her the agony of your voice."
Hermione laughed quietly and Theo grinned.
"I'd like to hear you play… I'm having a hard time believing it," Hermione said, grinning.
"You've got to play now, Draco, that sounds like a challenge to me," replied Theo, winking at Hermione.
Draco sighed heavily and sat himself in front of the piano, taking over for Sprock's enchantment. He was no master, but he certainly considered himself proficient, even if he'd been playing less and less the last few years. He couldn't deny his urge to play, even now, when the thought of Christmas at the Manor— of his mother— was so painful.
As promised, Theo accompanied Draco's playing with his own unabashed caroling.
Hermione hummed or sang along in places (or gasped for breaths between laughter at the rather unique flourishes in Theo's vocal performance).
Draco too eventually found himself smiling, caught up in the moment and the joy he felt with his hands on the keys once more. He even joined in a chorus or two.
Hermione felt like she was caught in the middle of some absurd, yet strangely wonderful, dream.
Draco's eyes strayed again and again to Hermione's bright smile and the rosy glow of her cheeks, and he felt as though he'd gotten the chance to live someone else's life for a night— a freer, happier one. For the first time in a long time, he felt at ease just being himself.
He was quite sure he was well and drunk now.
"A lot of pureblood families go on and on about how they despise anything Muggle," Theo explained, his cheeks flushed from drink, as Draco took a break from playing. "But for some bloody reason we just can't get enough of their Christmas carols and classical instruments."
Hermione was not shocked to hear this information, it seemed to be the familiar sort of pureblood hypocrisy she'd witnessed many times before, but she could not get over her surprise at Malfoy's adeptness behind the keys.
"Scoot over," she announced, and sat beside Draco on the narrow bench, the wine and sherry definitely giving a boost to her confidence.
Draco regarded her with curious surprise, one eyebrow raised.
"What—?" She smirked. "You think you're the only one who knows how to play?"
It wasn't a complete lie; she had taken lessons as a girl.
"Well, if you insist, Granger. Do you know 'In the Bleak Midwinter?'" Draco asked as Theo poured Ogden's Special Reserve— courtesy of Sprock— into his waiting lowball glass.
"Of course," Hermione replied. It was one of her favorites. "I might be a little rusty though," she admitted.
Truthfully, it'd been years since she'd last played it, and in reality, her piano playing was in fact entirely limited to only the most familiar Christmas carols.
But he doesn't know that, she considered with a smirk.
Theo sighed, shaking his head. He'd heard Draco play the familiar carol at Malfoy Manor at Christmastime nearly every year they'd been alive. He was almost certain it was Narcissa's favorite.
If he wants to torture himself, so be it, Theo thought just before he tapped his glass against Draco's and they downed their Ogden's in unison.
Draco smirked as he turned to face Hermione again. Piano lessons had been forced upon him from the age of three.
But she doesn't know that.
"We'll manage," he replied cooly.
Theo settled into a cushy high-backed chair with yet another glass of Ogden's as Draco began the slow, familiar tune. Hermione followed suit, her fingers gentle and a bit unsure on the keys. Seemingly of its own volition, one of the violins Sprock had animated sprung back to life in accompaniment.
Draco and Hermione sang the poignant melody together— their voices soft and tentative yet surprisingly complimentary:
"In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago."
As if on cue, a light snow began to fall inside the room, forming a shimmering cloud of reflected golden light over Draco and Hermione.
Theo watched in awed silence, mesmerized, as if he were in the middle of some fevered dream. He listened to Draco and Hermione find their stride together.
"Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss."
Theo felt a growing constriction around his heart and lungs and could watch no longer. He wordlessly rose from his seat, glass in hand, and wandered drunkenly through the passageways of hidden things.
Draco and Hermione's duet faded into a haunting echo, and, with a tightness in his chest, he knew the events of this night would likewise remain hidden.
"What can I give you,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what can I give you,
Give my heart."
Even as their voices faded and their fingers left the keys to stillness, the charmed violin continued on, soft and low and stirring.
Draco and Hermione's eyes found one another's; light gray and golden brown.
They were defenseless. Every skill and strategy Draco had learned from his Occlumency lessons vanished, and every protective wall Hermione had built up in her mind and around her heart crumbled.
All the painful memories they had of each other suddenly seemed so very, very long ago— from a different life. The world and the war beyond the halo of falling snow disappeared for a moment, and they saw each other, understood one another, truly, as they were now, for the first time.
"You shouldn't be here," Draco whispered so quietly that if Hermione hadn't seen his lips moving she couldn't have been sure he'd spoken anything at all.
"Neither should you," she breathed. "But we are."
The violin floated to the floor, its song complete. They gazed at each other in silence, the lightly falling snow catching in their hair and eyelashes.
Out of the silence, at least a dozen clocks, out of sync, tolled midnight.
/
/
A/N: This may be my favorite chapter of this fic, even though it took me the longest to write and edit. Thank you so much for reading! A special thanks to those who take the time to review, your thoughts mean so much to me!