Tender is the night / Lying by your side / Tender is the touch / Of someone that you love too much / Tender is the day / The demons go away / Lord I need to find / Someone who can heal my mind / Come on, come on, come on / Get through it / Come on, come on, come on / Love's the greatest thing / That we have

Tender, Blur.

Hermione had been dreading the Christmas holidays. She'd arranged to 'lodge' again with her parents and, although a part of her was desperate to be near them again, she'd received reports from the healers that their memories were much the same as they'd been at the end of the summer holidays. But the healers insisted that it would help jog her parents' memories for Hermione to be around them, and so she'd reluctantly conceded that it was worth a try – to stay with them for most of the two-week Christmas holidays. She wasn't going to spend Christmas Day with them, of course, that would be unbearably painful, as well as hard to manipulate – why would the Grangers spend Christmas Day with a strange young lodger?

Instead, she would be apparating to Hogsmeade and spending the twenty-fifth with the school staff and the other lost students who had nowhere to go. Molly had sent her a very insistent invite to the newly-built Burrow for Christmas Day, but Hermione had declined. She had barely been in touch with Ron over the last term. They had exchanged friendly but short, distant letters over the last months, and Hermione had thought it would be too awkward to spend Christmas Day at his family home, as an unattached single guest. It would be a cruel reminder of how things should have been, in a different life maybe – a happy and enthusiastic partner of one of the Weasleys. It would just be a reminder to all of them of another loss.

She had compromised, though, by accepting an invitation to a Weasley dinner on the twenty-first.

The evening, as it turned out, was bearable. Charlie answered the door to her; he was home for Christmas for once. But then, of course he would be home this Christmas, out of all of them. They would all be making an effort to fill the void that Fred had left, surely.

As Hermione stepped over the threshold, she immediately felt engulfed by the warmth and smells of a Weasley Christmas. Homemade decorations hung cheerfully from the ceilings, she felt the heat of numerous lit fireplaces, and was hit by the scent of cinnamon, nutmeg and roasting chestnuts.

She was led through to the kitchen and confronted by a sea of freckled faces and copper hair, with Harry's dark mop bobbing about amongst it all like a stray buoy. It was hard to take them all in at first, as was always the way when walking into a full Weasley home.

Suddenly, she was suffocated by a fierce hug from Molly, the kind of which Hermione thought she hadn't felt in years. It threatened to let loose a swathe of emotions in her, which would have cut through her numbness like a shard of glass if she hadn't made a concerted effort to push them down straight away.

"Oh, Hermione dear! So wonderful to see you – let me look at you!" Molly clasped both Hermione's cheeks firmly in her hands, holding her head in place and examining her face. The Weasley matriarch studied her with such an intense expression of concern, compassion and love that Hermione felt an ominous bubbling of emotions again. She wished Molly would stop looking at her, would loosen her grip. She felt she might shatter under the scrutiny and the care that Molly clearly wanted to shower on her.

"Mum, let her go, you might break her jaw," said a rueful voice. To Hermione's relief, Molly seemed to take heed of the warning and relinquished her, before bustling back to the red cabbage that was braising on the hob.

Hermione turned and saw Ron for the first time, tall and gangly, with a sheepish smile on his face. "Hey, Hermione," he said, and stepped forward to embrace her in an awkward hug. "It's good to see you – I'm glad you could come." He sounded sincere, and Hermione believed that he was genuinely happy to see her.

She withdrew behind her mental glass wall during the meal. She let the Weasleys and Harry bustle around her, smiled at their pleasantries and politely answered their questions. Everyone was making an effort – an effort to pretend that there wasn't an aching abyss in the Weasley family get-together. Hermione could see it in Arthur's strained smile, in the forced jokes, in the way no one could let a silence go on for too long.

Then, when George got up to get a glass of water, Molly, her cheeks rosy from one-too-many sherries, called after him, "Oh, would you get me one too, Fred dear?"

The room froze as Molly's last words hung in the air around them, heavy and laden with hitherto unspoken loss.

George looked down at the floor where he stood awkwardly by the sink and Hermione stared down at her half-eaten meal, not bearing to glance up at the uncomfortable, pained expressions of the people sitting around the table. Her right hand twitched to rub at her left forearm, but she remembered her promise to Malfoy and clenched her fist around her fork instead, bearing the pain without the distraction found in irritating her cuts. She had managed to leave them alone since she'd promised Malfoy she would, and they had actually started to heal properly for the first time.

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed, slicing through the tense silence with a shrill laugh. "I mean – you know what I mean! I'm always doing that, aren't I? Must be all the sherry!"

And they all smiled and laughed whilst George returned to the table with two glasses of water, and Percy changed the subject to something inordinately dull about the Ministry's change of letterheads, a topic which all the Weasleys contributed to with forced enthusiasm and interest.

At the end of the evening, when Hermione was leaving, Ron insisted on walking her to the Apparition point, just outside of the Burrow's protective enchantments. The Weasley wards were now some of the most powerful known to Wizarding kind, and every guest needed to be accompanied by a member of the household to pass through them. It was one of the many marks the war had left behind.

"So, how are you?'' Ron asked as they made their way through the orchard. "I haven't managed to speak to you properly all evening."

It was true – she'd sat between Arthur and Charlie at dinner and had barely exchanged a word with Ron.

"Oh, fine," she said, giving him a strained smile.

"Good. That's good. Sorry I haven't written much. You know I'm no good with writing and stuff," Ron said sheepishly. "But – you know – I have been wondering how you're doing. Been thinking of you."

She looked at him then, and saw the sincerity swimming in the sea blue of his eyes.

"Oh. I'm fine. Just been doing the usual stuff...lessons, homework...NEWTs are quite full on this year..." Images flashed in her head – of platinum blond hair nestling between her legs, of Draco Malfoy's piercing eyes as he pinched her nipple, just on the right side of pleasurable pain. She pushed them away, inwardly suppressing a laugh at the idea of telling Ron about all she'd been up to during her last few weeks of Hogwarts.

"I'm sure you'll sail through, though. Listen...Hermione," Ron stopped and turned to face her, forcing Hermione to come to a halt too. His forehead crinkled in the way it did when he was trying to work something out. "Are you sure you're alright? You just...don't seem quite yourself. I mean, I know my family is always a bit much but...over dinner, you just seemed – a bit distant – not quite there."

Hermione's heart stuttered. She knew she probably hadn't been acting herself recently – whatever 'herself' was anymore – but no one else had seemed to have noticed during the last months at school –she wasn't sure why Ron had picked up on it when so many others hadn't.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope I didn't seem rude or anything."

"No, no, not at all. I don't think anyone else noticed anything. It's just, well, we know each other so well, don't we?"

"I suppose so…" Hermione felt an unexpected stab of loss and nostalgia for how things used to be with Ron – simple, uncomplicated – before the war had fractured that, like it had with so much else. "But – I'm fine, really. It's just a strange Christmas, with my parents how they are and stuff..."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry they're not back to normal yet. You know you're welcome here right? The invitation still stands, right up 'til Christmas morning. Mum always cooks twice as much as we need."

"Yes – no – it's fine, thanks." Hermione continued to walk on, and Ron followed. Walking through the wheat field reminded her of when Ron had gone on his solitary wanderings last summer, trying to walk his way out of the pain of grief. "How are you getting on?"

"Oh, yeah, fine. Auror training's good. It's great to be doing something active. Can be quite gruelling though. Really miss you and Harry, as well. Weird not seeing you both so much."

"I know…"

They crossed over the boundaries of the Weasley wards and both stopped, looking at each other.

"Hermione," Ron's face twisted in a way it did when he was trying to find the right words for things. "I wanted to say – I'm sorry for how things ended between us. I know – I understand now that maybe it was right to end things...and I'm sorry it was so...difficult."

Emotion swelled up in her – relief. He didn't hate her, didn't begrudge her, she hadn't caused him irretrievable pain. "Oh, that's okay." She even managed a warm, genuine smile.

"I hope that we can...you know, be friends still."

"Yes, yes I'd like that," she said, and realised that she genuinely meant it.

It would never be like it used to be, Hermione knew that, and she knew that Ron knew that too. But relationships evolved, and this new stage of her friendship with Ron wouldn't be weaker than before, just different. They had gone through too much together for it to be otherwise.

They shared a smile, a smile that made Hermione think that maybe Ron was silently understanding all this too.

"Okay. Well, I'll try and be better at writing to you...and maybe see you at Easter?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Yes. That would be nice."

"Cool. Bye then...take care...and let me know if you – I dunno, let me know if you need anything."

Hermione grinned, which was surprisingly easy, considering how rarely she smiled anymore. "I will do. Bye Ron," she said, reaching out and giving him another awkward hug.

She paused for a moment before Disapparating away, watching Ron's retreating form. There was something different about it, and Hermione wondered if he'd grown even taller. Then she realised that no, it wasn't that – he was just standing straighter.

In the quiet of the night, when her parents had gone to bed, she thought of Malfoy. She thought of his lips and his kisses and how the colours of his irises changed depending on the light.

She would become hot and feverish and long for his touch and her hand would slip under the waist of her pyjamas, and she'd wonder if he'd be thinking of her too. She sometimes thought of writing in her Binding Book, but at the last minute would always hesitate and think – what would be the point? Meeting in school was one thing, but it's not as if he'd Apparate to her over the holidays and leave the comfort of his home at Christmas time, was it? She knew he was spending Christmas at his home; they'd talked about their plans before the end of term.

"You're going to the Weasleys?" he'd asked, his lips twitching and arm tightening around her waist where it had been lying.

"Just for dinner on the twenty-first, yes."

"Will Ron be there?" His lips had formed into a determined grimace.

"I don't see where else he'd be."

He shifted away from her, giving her an assessing look. She didn't know how to respond to him when he was like this. She'd agreed to being exclusive – she had absolutely no desire or intention of doing anything with anyone else – but for some reason he seemed bothered she'd be seeing Ron. She couldn't understand why – their conversation had heavily implied that Malfoy didn't care about her enough to be bothered by what she did in her spare time.

He hadn't wanted anyone knowing either. "And we won't tell anyone?" she remembered asking him, only for him to reply with a definitive, "Of course not." She hadn't been surprised by his response – why on earth would Draco Malfoy want people to know he was sullying himself with a Muggle-born?

The letter he'd written had initially shocked her. When she'd opened it in the library, the words had ricocheted round her head like an assault. She'd felt her face burning and had to rush out of the library and into the corridor, needing air, wanting to be alone with just the letter and his words.

She wondered at first whether it was some kind of joke – or insult. But then she thought – why would he do that? Surely the risks to him of doing that far outweighed the gains, and acting on those odds wasn't in Malfoy's nature.

So then she'd entertained the idea that maybe he'd meant them. And with that thought came other sensations – a hot flush to her chest, images of him doing the things he wrote about to her...the thought that he'd want to do those things sent a rush of wet heat between her legs.

And he'd been right – she had read the letter countless times after that, curled up in bed, lighting the parchment up with her wand, until she'd memorised it and would replay the lines to herself when sitting in class, in the library, walking about the grounds. The way they made her feel was such a welcome distraction from the numbness and the occasional stuttering of alarm.

Then she realised that she wanted more than words, she wanted the reality. Which is why she'd needed to know if he meant them, and why she'd written the letter she had to him.

The next couple of weeks had gone by in a blur – she'd craved their meetings. Hence why she'd dreaded the holidays – not just because of having to face the blank looks of her parents, or the Weasley dinner, but also because she'd be without Malfoy's touch and taste and smell for two whole weeks.

And so here she was, sitting at a lone table in the middle of the Great Hall, a table dwarfed by the high walls and vast, vaulted ceiling. The six Christmas trees and sprinkling of fairy lights did give it an air of cosiness, though. And the Hogwarts food was delicious as usual, the teachers were kind and there was a semblance of Christmas cheer.

As the meal came to a close, Hagrid spoke up.

"Oh, nearly forgot! I got someink for ya!" he said, gesturing to Hermione, before plodding out the Hall. "Be back in a minute!"

About twenty minutes later, Hagrid came back with a black bundle wrapped in his arms.

"This were left with me just before the Christmas holidays, in a basket on the doorstep of me cabin. Nowt with it, just an envelope that says 'To Hermione Granger, please give to her on Christmas Day'."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed as she realised the bundle in Hagrid's arms was, in fact, a cat. She hurriedly opened the envelope which he passed to her. All it contained was a note on which was written, in anonymous typeface: I'm Nox. Please look after me.

"Well – 'ere you go!" Hagrid declared, and semi-shoved the cat into her arms.

Hermione had no choice but to take it, despite her internal protests. She was in no place to look after a cat, she could barely look after herself. The cat – Nox – abruptly jumped from her arms and scurried to the side of the room, looking back at her suspiciously. Despite it's hostile greeting, Nox made her feel a deep pang of loss for Crookshanks, who had gone to Australia with her parents, and had disappeared at some point since.

Hermione crept slowly towards Nox, trying not to startle him into running away further. She summoned a saucer and some milk from the table and placed it on the floor a foot or so away from him.

"Yeah, looks like he's a cautious sort – need to earn it's trust," Hagrid advised.

Nox eventually edged towards Hermione and she studied him more closely, with Hagrid peering over her shoulder. "That fur loss is from a type of feline spattergroit, that is, and that eye injury – look like he's been in the wars, poor thing."

Hermione could see what Hagrid meant. Nox did look a bit worse for wear. But, well – "I think he's perfect," she stated conclusively.

It was only the first evening of the spring term when Hermione's Binding Book glowed warm and lit up. She reached for it from where she was lying on her bed and flicked the pages open, seeing Malfoys familiar scrawl:

DM: Meet me in the usual place? In an hour?

She wondered whether she should be more hesitant, 'play it cool' as Parvati would say, but she found her hand wasn't quite connected with her body as it picked up her quill and wrote a response:

HM: Okay.

He was already there when she entered, standing in the middle of the room amongst the faded cushions. After she locked the door behind her, they stood, staring at each other without speaking for an inexplicable amount of time. She wondered whether she should ask about his holidays – that's what someone would normally do on these occasions, wasn't it? But her words were dissolving as she stared into his eyes – slate grey now in the dark evening, and he was closing the gap between them and she was suddenly enveloped in his embrace as he crushed his lips to hers. The next moments were a blur of frantic fumbling as they tugged on each other's clothes, mutual gasps and moans as they kissed each other on any exposed skin they could find.

They somehow stumbled to the floor – onto the cushions – and her hands were scrambling to undo his trousers, as his hand delved under her shirt, then her bra, whilst his other hand hiked up her skirt. She fell onto her back, arching her hips up so she could push her knickers down her legs and kick them off. He moved so he was leaning over her and she hitched her right leg up so it was resting against his hip.

He started stroking gently, teasingly, from her clitoris to her entrance, causing her to keen, pleading with her eyes for him not to stop, as her hand worked its way into his boxer shorts and grasped around his cock. She felt the wetness of pre-come as she started to stroke him, her pace quickening as he started to rub her clitoris with an expert rhythm that he'd learnt she loved. But then he suddenly stopped, withdrew his hand which caused her to moan in protest, as he leant back and pushed his trousers and boxers down his legs.

He paused, his gaze wandering slowly up and down her body, his cheeks flushed and eyes glazed with want, before leaning forward again and positioning himself between her legs. As he started to kiss her, he reached down and she felt him guide the tip of his cock so it was stroking over the wetness between her legs. Fuck, that felt so good, but she wanted – needed – more. She let out a low, pleading kind of keen and arched herself upwards, willing to feel more of his cock – willing it inside her.

"Fuck, I want you," he mumbled, the intensity of his eyes burning her corneas. "Do you – do you want me too?"

She nodded unhesitatingly. "Yes," she rasped out.

"Have you – before?" he said. His eyes were unreadable.

She nodded again. "Yes," she repeated. He seemed to look relieved and unsettled both at the same time. Then she wondered – had he? She'd just assumed that he had. "You?"

He leant down, kissing her jawline, continuing to move his cock tortuously around her entrance.

"Yes. I have. Before,"

And then she had to know. "With Pansy?"

"Yes," he said. "You?" He frowned as if in pain, and to her dismay moved away from her slightly, so he was lying next to her.

"Ron," she admitted. But surely that wouldn't surprise him. "Just a few times – at the beginning of last summer. And then – another man. A Muggle."

He frowned deepened. "Who?"

"Just a man – it – he doesn't matter. I haven't seen or spoke to him since last summer."

"He doesn't matter?" Malfoy repeated.

She leant forward and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. "He doesn't matter," she reassured him.

He hummed into her mouth in acknowledgement and then deepened the kiss, before moving back so he was leaning over her again.

"We should do the protection charm…" she murmured, wishing it wasn't necessary, because it was always so awkward. But he just nodded, swiftly retrieved his wand, pointed it down between their legs and cast the charm, before clumsily dropping his wand so it clattered away along the floor.

Then she felt it again – the tip of his cock against her entrance, and she wriggled up into him; her cunt was aching for stimulation. Frustratingly, he hesitated again.

"You're sure?" he asked, his voice husky.

She nodded. "Yes." She purposely made her voice firm.

"Tell me if it hurts – or – or if you want to stop."

"Okay," she managed to gasp out as he pushed gently into her.

She inhaled sharply at the intense, exquisite sensation of him finally filling her up and closed her eyes, just wanting to feel him as he started to move inside her.

"Look at me," His voice was commanding, causing her to open her eyes and her gaze to lock with his, as he moved slowly, gently inside her – possibly too gently.

"Faster. Harder," she pleaded.

"Yeah?" he murmured, and at her nod of confirmation, he did as she'd asked.

Nerves she didn't know she sparked throughout her body as Malfoy increased his pace, waves of heat lapped over her, and she started letting out a string of moans and words, all incoherent except for his name.

As he continued to move inside her, she saw that his eyes gradually lost their hollow, harsh edge. They looked warm, tender almost – and she realised that she'd never felt more connected to another human being.

The next morning, Hermione's Binding Book lit up again. But this time, it was the mundane typeface of the Book rather than Malfoy's scrawl that had appeared on its pages:

oOo

Welcome back to Hogwarts! We hope you had a lovely Christmas.

Your fourth task

Your fourth task is to teach one another a skill. So, each of you choose what it is you would like to learn from the other. Obviously, it will be more beneficial for both parties to choose something to learn that your partner is more accomplished in than you, and that you would like to improve on.

You do not have to master the skill – it is the process of learning from each other that's important.

Have a great fourth task!

oOo

Malfoy's scrawl appeared in the book almost immediately.

DM: And just what the hell am I meant to 'teach' the girl who knows everything?

A/N: As always, huge, huge thanks to Frumpologist and scullymurphy for being amazing alphabetas.

Your thoughts and comments are, as ever, loved!