/
Consciousness prodded at Draco while his head throbbed against the inside of his eyelids. Through the discomfort came an overpowering warmth, however, an overwhelmingly pleasurable softness. Draco stirred and buried his head into his pillow, inhaling deeply, losing himself in a gentle floral scent that intermingled with a bit of pine and a familiar warmth…
"Morning, sunshine."
Draco winced at the unwelcome voice as it tore him away from his languid half-slumber.
He grudgingly blinked his eyes open against the morning light, and regretted to find Theo's smug expression swimming into view. Even the two steaming mugs of coffee grasped in each of his hands did not dull the ache of Draco's reluctant wakefulness.
"—fuck—" Draco croaked as he became conscious of his surroundings. He couldn't remember when exactly, but as he realized he was not in his dorm, he recalled that he'd fallen asleep in the Room of Hidden Things, atop an uneven pile of old feather mattresses.
He wiped at his eyes and looked down to find that his pillow, the one he'd lost himself within, had not been a pillow at all— but Granger's sweater.
He tossed it aside, as if it had burned him.
"Happy Christmas to you, too," Theo said, his smugness deepening at the sight of Draco's discomposure, and the placement of Hermione's sweater. "Sleep well?"
"Bugger off, Nott."
"Is that a way to talk to someone who brought you coffee? And on Christmas morning, too. Sprock was so right about your manners— but I hardly think spending more time with Granger's sweater is going to improve them…"
Draco sighed, too hungover for a witty retort. Wordlessly, he roughly grabbed one of the cups of coffee from Theo's hand. The aroma was sobering, but he was irritated to find that he much preferred the scent of Hermione's sweater.
He brought the cup to his lips, and nearly gagged as he took a sip.
"Ogden's—? Really, Theo? I think you might have a problem."
"Yeah, you took my cup— that's my problem," Theo announced as he switched mugs with Draco. He took a long, noisy sip of the spiked coffee, then made a sound of deep satisfaction. "Better than any sweater, I'll tell you that…"
Draco ignored him. "What did the elf make up for us this morning?"
"Oh, the usual…"
They made their way around a staggering wall of yellowed Daily Prophets and Witch Weekly magazines to the same table and Christmas tree that had been laid out by Sprock the night before, again finely decorated with warm flickering candles, boughs of holly and pine, and three pristine settings. The tree, too, was the same, save for the silver and gold-wrapped presents now adorning its base.
Draco saw Hermione already sitting at the table, sipping her own mug of coffee— he figured most likely sans Ogden's. Much to his irritation, her hair was tied up in a messy, infuriatingly charming knot, the gold flecks in her eyes directed in keen concentration on the book laid out before her.
"It's not polite to stare, Draco," Theo muttered knowingly before taking a seat at the table.
Draco had been staring. He blamed it on his still-recovering mental acuity, and hastily took the open seat across from Hermione.
Theo coughed and Hermione looked up from her book in alarm, clearly realizing only now that she was no longer alone.
"Oh—" she said, flustered. Hermione looked to Theo, then Draco, whose hair, she noted (much to her consternation), was tousled from sleep in an infuriatingly charming way. "Er— happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas," Draco mumbled, trying to keep himself busy with his steaming mug of coffee, which had thankfully just refilled itself.
"Well, it is a happy Christmas, indeed— I'd even call it a Christmas miracle. We've somehow managed not to kill each other after spending three whole days locked up in this room together."
Theo would never admit it, but it truly had been a happy Christmas for him, one of the best he'd had in a long time, maybe ever. He and his father never missed the Malfoys' grand Christmas Eve celebration, but— beyond his and Sprock's quick gift exchange in the kitchens of Greystoke Castle each Christmas night— the party at Malfoy Manor had always been the extent of the Nott family's celebration of the holiday— his father certainly disagreed with merry-making of any kind… unless it was of the Muggle-torturing variety, of course.
"Don't count your dragons before they hatch, Nott," Hermione said, glancing quickly at Draco before brining her mug to her lips.
"I've got to agree with you on this one, Granger," Draco added tiredly.
"See— we're even agreeing on things now, caroling together, and playing duets…"
Hermione and Draco's eyes met for an uncomfortable instant before they both looked hastily away.
"…lets owl Bathilda Bagshot, shall we? We're making history here…"
Draco and Hermione glared at him.
Theo grinned. "I wonder what's keeping Sprock this morning? I hope the ghoul that lives in one of the floos on the east wing isn't acting up again—"
As Hermione opened her mouth to make a witty retort about Theo's comically privileged concern, a feast materialized before them; plates piled high with eggs, bowls of perfectly proportioned slivers and slices of fruit, platters of rows of steaming bacon and sausage, and neat, tiered stacks of baked goods emanating the mouth-watering aromas of honey, cinnamon, and vanilla.
Hermione stared in disbelief. It was certainly a far cry from any Christmas breakfast she'd had before, whether with her parents or at the Burrow. And if this was Malfoy and Nott's sedated version of Christmas, she could hardly imagine what Christmas at Malfoy Manor and Greystoke Castle must be like.
"I know this is probably a pointless question, but do you two spend every Christmas so extravagantly?"
Draco and Theo looked to one another, grinning with equal amusement.
"Thinking you could get used to this, Granger?" Draco smirked lopsidedly as he pictured Hermione— messy bun, enormous book, steaming mug, and all— sharing Christmas morning with him at Malfoy Manor, opening presents beside the opulent, yet elegant tree in their drawing room. He felt his chest constrict with an odd mixture of a powerful sort of longing and a deep regret.
He shook his head internally; Draco reasoned he was definitely still drunk from last night… or he was losing his mind.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
It had all been a bit much— in both quality and quantity— from the decorations and the music to the food and the presents now under the tree. But she couldn't deny she was deeply curious… and she was even more reluctant to admit that their strange and unexpected Christmas had, in truth, been nothing short of wonderful.
"It's okay to admit it, Granger. You'd have to be mental not to appreciate the… er— elegance? opulence? Help me here, Draco—"
"It's called class, Granger," Draco replied, his tone unbothered. "And it's no wonder you're in awe of it— what a foreign concept for you."
Hermione glared at Draco, but found it very difficult to be upset as she took a bite of what was definitely the most delicious cinnamon bun she'd ever tasted.
"Here—" Theo announced as he got up from his seat and retrieved a gold-wrapped gift, only to place it in Hermione's lap. "Open something, before Draco ruins breakfast."
For some reason, Theo found he could not bear the thought of a conflict this morning.
Hermione was confused. She knew she had presents from her parents and the Weasleys waiting for her in Gryffindor Tower, but not in her wildest imagination did she ever consider she'd receive a Christmas gift from Theodore Nott.
She noted Malfoy too looked on with suspicion.
"From Sprock," Nott shrugged. "I told you he likes you."
Hermione slowly unwrapped the gift with deep curiosity and caution, as if it may attack her.
Draco was deeply intrigued, knowing it was highly unlikely Sprock alone had decided to give Hermione a Christmas gift; first, because the elf truly had no real possessions of his own, and secondly, he wouldn't be so bold as to give a gift to a witch or wizard without Theo's permission. He watched Hermione unwrap the gift out of the corner of his eye and saw a book emerge beneath the wrappings.
"'Magical and Muggle Confrontation and Concord,'" Hermione announced, her interest piqued as she ran her hand over the cover of what was clearly a very old book. "I've never heard of it."
"That's because it's banned by the Ministry," Theo explained as he munched on a bite of toast.
"Banned?" Hermione replied, now eying the book wearily, as if it might bite her.
"Why?" asked Draco.
"Because it tells the truth— the real truth— about Muggle and Wizarding confrontations and cooperation over the ages… and believe me, it rarely paints a pretty picture, especially for us magic folk— even the cooperation bits."
Hermione was shocked to imagine this particular book in Greystoke Castle, what she assumed was the generational home of a long-standing pureblood family. She reasoned Sprock must have kept his possession of such a book secret.
"Please tell Sprock I said thank you," Hermione said earnestly, truly looking forward to reading it. "I wish I had something to give him."
"The way you treated him was gift enough, believe me," Theo said. "Plus, he's been in quite good spirits lately… let's just say he's been living his best life since my father's been— er… preoccupied."
Draco barely refrained from rolling his eyes in annoyance.
He knew the book was not from Sprock at all, but from Theo— from Greystoke Castle's library— expansive as it was, it contained all sorts of reading material, banned and otherwise. Draco was certain it was a book Theo himself had read, and probably more than once.
The rest of breakfast was spent in relative quiet as they finished eating, Hermione flipping through her new book, Draco doing his best not to glance over at her each time she turned a page.
"I'll be back later this afternoon for more research," Hermione announced as their plates disappeared.
She rubbed her arms, a chill settling over her. She longed for the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. Plus, she had no desire to sit and watch Nott and Malfoy open their gifts; that was a line she didn't feel as though she was ready to cross… not without the help of some mulled wine or Ogden's, at any rate.
The past twenty-four hours have been strange enough, she mused as she again remembered the way she and Draco had— in the warm, inviting haze of intoxication— sat side-by-side in a sort of silent understanding after their piano duet, the way— together— their combined magic had made it snow.
Hermione remembered the sight of his light gray eyes, bright and clear, focused on her, unflinching.
She suddenly recognized she hadn't made anything easier for herself by agreeing to spend Christmas with Draco and Theo. She was beginning to wonder how she'd ever be able to deceive them, to spin the situation around, to gain control… and to make the right choices when the time came.
"Don't forget to check on Fe— the potion… on your way—" said Theo, only just catching his near slip.
Draco looked between Theo and Hermione with suspicion; he knew there was no way they were working on Draught of Living Death. With Theo and Hermione's skill, he was sure it would've been done already.
What potion could they possibly be making? He wondered in frustration.
"You don't need to remind me, Nott. How many times do I have to tell you?"Hermione asked rhetorically as she rose from her seat.
"Oh— have either of you seen my sweater?" she asked, again rubbing her arms for warmth. "I thought I left it around here somewhere."
Theo snorted and Draco shot him a look that clearly said, 'Not a fucking word, Nott. Not a fucking word.'
/
Hermione knew something was horribly wrong the moment she stepped into the cramped storeroom where she and Theo kept their in-progress Felix Felicis. It was as if all the light in the room had been snuffed out, encapsulated in some kind of vacuum.
"Lumos," she gasped, finding it difficult to breathe. Hermione's wand illuminated brightly, but it cut through the darkness only a little, barely enough for her to find her way to their three cauldrons.
"No, no, no—" she whispered to herself in fear as she wandered through the darkness. She knew Felix Felicis could be deadly if brewed incorrectly— the current constriction of her lungs was proof enough of that— but she wasn't about to let all their hard work go to waste.
At last, her wand tip found the source of the expanding darkness.
One of the cauldrons was boiling over with thick, inky-black smoke. She coughed with every inhalation.
Hermione knew the temperature in the room was not to blame; she and Theo had been keeping a close eye on it ever since the day of their fumble with the open window. She checked the flame beneath the cauldron, straining to see through the dense fog, and noticed nothing seemed amiss there either.
Occamy eggshell… she thought frantically, scrambling to find Theo's potions kit. He was supposed to have added the ingredient yesterday morning. Maybe he didn't add enough…
The smoke was as opaque as Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and it took Hermione a few agonizing minutes before her shaking hands found the bottle of crushed Occamy eggshells at last.
Nauseous and gasping for air, she weighed the ingredient as best as she was able before hurrying back to add it to the potion. Her eyes burned.
Don't pass out, she told herself.
The moment the shells hit the surface of the liquid, the rapidly billowing smoke ceased, but the room was as congested as ever.
"Deletrius!" Hermione croaked. The foul haze dissipated, her line of sight now clear.
She saw two of the cauldrons bubbling gently, their contents a matching shade of a light blue sky. To Hermione's utter dismay, she saw that the third cauldron, the one that had billowed thick, black smoke only moments ago, was now entirely empty.
"Finite Incantatem," Hermione whispered emotionlessly, extinguishing the flame beneath the empty cauldron.
She stared at the barren cauldron in silence, and felt as though her world was crashing down around her.
Two left…
Truthfully, she knew that the failed potion was hardly the source of her pain.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she buried her head in her hands as a raw, choked sob escaped her throat.
What am I doing? Hermione asked herself.
She felt as though she was drowning under the weight of every lie she'd told Harry and Ron this term, her deception and choices now suffocating her as if a thick, black smoke. She recounted them all: the scar on her collarbone, Felix Felicis and Nott, the Room of Requirement— and Hidden Things— the little yellow bird, Slughorn's party, research for the cabinet, and— worst of all— Malfoy…
Hermione slumped to the floor, her cheeks wet with tears. She knew she couldn't lie to herself any longer.
She wasn't sure when it had happened, but she was sure of it now— she could tell Harry and Ron, even McGonagall or Dumbledore… but she didn't want to. And she hated herself for it.
Hermione understood now that she wanted to help Draco. She wanted him to live… to see his gray eyes shine clear and bright.
And, worse than that, she could not ignore her longing for what she'd felt as she'd sat beside Draco, hidden away in a place only they knew, lost in a shimmering cloud of snow their combined magic had created.
/
"Greyback's been spending a lot of time at Borgin and Burkes, but I can't fathom what business he has there," Lupin said, running his hand tiredly through his already disheveled hair.
"Curious," Snape replied, his eyes darkening a fraction as he pondered this new information.
It was New Years Eve in Spinner's End, and Snape and Lupin each sat in a hard-backed chair on either side of the hearth the small sitting room of Snape's home. The heavy curtains were drawn, blocking the dim greenish light from the street-lamps lining the crooked lane outside, but the flames in the hearth elongated the matching shadows beneath their eyes.
"What use does a werewolf have with Dark objects?" Snape mused aloud, his eyes flickering toward the flames.
Lupin frowned.
"I wonder if he's acting on behalf of someone else— Voldemort himself?"
"Perhaps," Snape drawled. "He's had business with the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor."
The wizards sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Their reveries were suddenly interrupted by a soft knock at the front door, however.
Lupin turned to look at Severus through narrowed eyes. "Expecting someone?"
Snape did not answer his old schoolmate. He stood and glided to the door, his careful footsteps all but silent on the worn floorboards.
He opened the door to a rush of frigid air, and was not surprised to find Andromeda Tonks on the other side, her breath rising in white puffs of air, her face obscured by the hood of her cloak.
They nodded at one another in silence and Andromeda entered. Snape closed the door behind her and beckoned her into the sitting room.
Lupin looked up in curiosity at this new arrival. Andromeda lowered her hood and met his gaze with stony resolution. Lupin's eyes widened in recognition, and he stood abruptly, his chair wobbling behind him with the force of his sudden movement.
"I'm leaving," he said coldly, making his way toward the door.
Snape stepped beside Andromeda, blocking Lupin's path.
"I told you this would not go well," he said dryly.
Andromeda glared at Snape, then turned her attention back to Lupin.
"Please, Remus— stay. I beg you to hear what I have to say."
"I've read your letters— all of them. And Ted's too. But my decision has not changed. Nothing you say will change my mind."
Snape sighed heavily and resumed his position in his chair by the fire. Lupin turned to address him.
"You can't possibly agree with them, Severus."
"I neither agree nor disagree. In fact, I wish to have no part in this whatsoever. But Andromeda's persistence has gotten the better of me, and I have agreed to this meeting with the vague hope of putting an end to this nonsense," Snape's tone left no room for argument.
Lupin's crossed his arms over his chest, as if he'd been reprimanded as though he were a student in Snape's class.
"Please listen, Remus. Nymphadora—" Andromeda began again.
Lupin's eyes softened at the mention of her daughters name.
"—she loves you. And I'm sure you know by now that she's as stubborn as they come. You can blame me for that."
"She'll move on eventually— she's young. She'll be happier… without me," Lupin said weakly.
Andromeda sighed. "I wish she would… not that I don't think you're a good man, Remus. Because there's no denying it— you are a good man. Good enough even for my daughter. A fool could see how much you care for her. But it seems you are suffering from a lapse of foolishness— to think she will recover from this. Perhaps you don't know her as well as I thought."
Lupin's expression pained at Andromeda's comment.
"I— I can't, Andromeda."
"No," Andromeda refuted firmly. "You can, but you've decided you won't. You claim it's to protect her, but can't you see she's suffering, Remus? Nymphadora is a shadow of her former self without you," Andromeda said, her heart aching at the thought of her daughter's pain. "A mother's love is powerful, but even I have no power here."
"I came here tonight to ask you— to beg you— one last time to reconsider… for Nymphadora."
"I—" Lupin stuttered, glancing at Snape— who still sat disinterestedly by the hearth— then back to Andromeda, his eyes wide, his posture deflated.
"I must go. I promised Harry I'd be at the Burrow for New Years."
Lupin threw his overcoat over his shoulder and hurried past Andromeda, escaping into the front hall. Andromeda and Snape heard the front door latch shut behind him.
Andromeda again sighed heavily and joined Snape beside the fire.
"I tried," she said tiredly.
Snape nodded silently, never looking away from the flickering flames.
"Thank you for arranging this, Severus."
"Remus is a fool. He always has been."
Andromeda glanced at Snape's impassive expression and sighed again; she just wanted her daughter back. She wanted Nymphadora to be happy.
"How does Draco progress?" Snape asked, turning to face her at last.
Andromeda wouldn't deny she appreciated the change in subject.
"He is a natural, Severus."
Just like his mother, Andromeda thought. "He's already resisting my attempts at Legilimency with increased frequency."
"It may be his saving grace… if he is given the chance, of course," Snape replied.
Andromeda did not need to ask what he meant, his grave tone explanation enough.
Will Narcissa be given the same chance? She wondered.
Andromeda had been distracted all throughout the holiday by a dizzying array of pain and uncertainty; the progress of her patient— which had been marked, but whose true identity and background was still a mystery— Nymphadora's pain and— perhaps worst of all— what she'd seen in Draco's mind, the image of her sister's agony replayed over and over.
"He progresses quickly. He's already surpassed what many of my fellows are able to do. Draco will be competent with Occlumency in no time."
Severus nodded in silence.
"You are distracted," he said plainly. "But I can not see why. You do not seem to doubt Draco's abilities… and nor do I. He was able to conceal much from me the night of Horace's party," Snape said, uttering the word 'party' as if it were the name of some wretched disease.
Andromeda hesitated. She still did not trust Snape, but her growing concern for her sister was overpowering her mistrust.
"It's Nymphadora of course… and one of my patient's at St. Mungo's. I believe we are nearing a breakthrough."
"I sense that is not all."
"No," Andromeda agreed, relenting. "It's Narcissa. I— I worry for her life."
She saw the corner of Snape's mouth twitch— a giveaway of surprise to Andromeda's trained eye.
"I admit I am surprised the hold blood connections seem to have over you."
Andromeda did not reply, her mouth a hard, thin line. She was not about to reveal the depths of her relationship with her estranged younger sister.
Snape pivoted.
"She is not as weak as Lucius," he replied tersely.
"You know that's no consolation."
"Well, perhaps it should be. She will protect her home— and her lineage— at all costs."
"That's what concerns me. She—" Andromeda hesitated, knowing she was revealing too much. "She still has her own life to live."
They scrutinized one another in heavy silence, their expressions equally unreadable.
"Narcissa would hardly be the first to sacrifice herself for her kin…" Snape said quietly.
"…or for love… and she'd hardly be the last," Andromeda added, thinking of her own daughter, who she knew had already done much the same.
Snape nodded.
"There is nothing to be done for Narcissa directly, which is why we continue to focus our efforts on her son… correct?"
"Of course," Andromeda agreed, unable to ignore the ache in her heart.
/
Hermione, Draco, and Theo spent the days following Christmas in relative silence as they researched all they could about the Vanishing Cabinets. Even Draco and Theo's usual level of witty, often peculiarly disparaging, banter had diminished to the point of random, half-hearted insults.
"When did you decide to start mouth-breathing, Draco? You sound like Millicent Bullstrode trying to fit into her dress robes for the Yule Ball—"
"When did you decide to be such a prat, Nott?"
Hermione snorted at Draco's weak retort.
"Like that one, eh Granger?" Theo asked, cocking an eyebrow and leaning back as he balanced himself on two legs of his chair.
"You two are really starting to lose your touch. Running out of insults after too much time together, I think," Hermione commented with a satisfied grin.
"Running out of insults for Theo? That well never runs dry… but I suppose you're right about the other thing. I'd even join S.P.E.W. if it meant I never had to be in the same bloody room as you two ever again," Draco interjected.
"Sorry, Malfoy, application denied on account of being a complete tosser."
Draco gaped at Hermione's uncharacteristic choice of words and Theo burst into laughter, his chair falling backward to the floor with a clatter.
Without breaking eye contact with Draco, Hermione's grin widened. Entirely captivated, Draco found it wholly impossible to look away.
No, he told himself. I can't do this…
He slammed his book shut, annoyed— with himself.
"Better go check your potion, Granger… wouldn't want Nott here to set one of your precious books on fire again, would you?"
Hermione groaned inwardly at the recollection of the aftermath of Theo's discovery of the failed cauldron. Consumed by his anger over his own failure (as it turned out, he had forgotten to add the Occamy eggshell to the now-failed batch of Felix Felicis), he'd unintentionally set a stack of books aflame, which Hermione had promptly extinguished, even amid his barrage of screams and Malfoy's insufferable smugness.
Draco still didn't know exactly what potion had failed, however.
"Well, I am leaving. Harry and Ron should be back soon. Actually, you two should probably leave, too. Everyone will be back today."
Hermione had received a letter from Harry that he, Ron, and Ginny would be back via a specially designated floo schedule today, and that Bill would be coming with them, to examine her necklace at last.
Draco cringed at the mention of Potter's name, and the realization that the castle would again be teeming with students, making his task all the more difficult. He idly wondered where Slughorn's mead, the one he'd poisoned at Slughorn's Christmas party, had gotten off to… surely, Draco reasoned, if someone had consumed it— particularly if that someone was his intended recipient— he would've heard about it by now.
As reluctant as he was to admit it, let alone accept it, Draco had become accustomed, even a bit comfortable, with Theo and Hermione's presence in the Room of Hidden Things. If he was not such a stubborn person, he would've even been able to note that the three of them worked well together; they seemed to be making some progress now, albeit incremental.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco watched Hermione gather her things, her long, brown hair swishing behind her as she left he and Theo behind.
"You can stop staring now, Draco. She's gone. Holiday's over."
/
A/N: I debated omitting the bit with Lupin, Snape, and Andromeda, but ultimately I felt it was important to the overall plot (and time to check in with the Healing professor). I hope you're enjoying this fic. Thank you so much for reading! A special thanks to those who have taken the time to review!