Author's Note: This is my submission for the 2020 D/Hr Advent collection. My two prompts this year were Christmas Lights and Chocolate Oranges. I hope you enjoy!
A huge thank you to Musyc for everything she does in putting together this fest each year. And thanks to the friends who helped me prepare this story―Kyonomiko, Lunamionny, and ravenslight.
Content Warnings: Angst, grief/mourning, parental loss.
Disclaimer: This story is fan-created content and I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
"Tell me about the altercation."
A beat of silence hummed.
"The engagement lasted around twenty-five minutes. We had them outnumbered―" a flippant shrug "―two to one or so. Both sides utilised lethal spellwork. Four casualties―six wounded. Three Aurors in St Mungo's."
Hermione Granger set her quill down on the end table, her eyes flitting up to meet steely grey ones. "I didn't ask for the incident report." She leaned back in her seat. "Were you worried?"
Clamping his mouth shut, Draco Malfoy carded a hand through his hair. "I suppose." He shook his head once. "Not for my own safety. Only insofar as to put an end to the situation. We've been tracking this smuggling ring for months."
For a long moment, Hermione stared at him. "Not when spells started flying?"
He grimaced. "There's no place for fear in a duel as an Auror, Granger."
"Fear, maybe not," she mused. "But what about caution? If not for yourself, but for your fellow Aurors?"
"We train for such a thing," he said, brandishing a hand before he leaned forward in his seat, meeting her stare. "Awareness of the team is tantamount in the event of circumstances like this. No Auror is allowed into the field until they've proven themself." He leaned back, a ghost of a smirk slipping across his face. "And no, Granger, Potter wasn't in any danger."
Despite herself, her lips curled in response. "We aren't here to talk about Harry." Hermione picked up her quill once more, tapping it on the table as she asked, "Were you responsible for any of the casualties?"
Draco hesitated for a moment. "Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, it's hard to tell whose spell connects."
"So that's a maybe."
"Maybe." His lips twitched again. "But it wouldn't be the first time―and you already know that."
"Not every time is the same," she replied lightly, jotting a line in her notebook.
Levying a sigh, Draco dragged a hand through his hair. As silence fell over the pair of them―often indicative of his disinterest in providing a concrete response―he glanced around the office. "Bit early for Christmas decor, isn't it?"
Hermione cocked a brow, gazing around at the soft white lights strung around the small office. "It's December. Perfectly acceptable―and in fact, they went up earlier last year."
He waved his hands ambiguously, and she snickered. "I suppose," he allowed at last, eyeing a dish of chocolate on the end table. "What's this? Muggle sweets?"
The lack of derision in the words alone would have told her plenty about the ways Draco Malfoy had grown since the war. But nearly a decade had passed, and she'd seen more than enough evidence firsthand.
"It's called a chocolate orange," she explained, waving a hand. "Help yourself." As he plucked a wedge of chocolate from within the foil packaging, she added, "A Christmas tradition with my parents when I was young. My father had a notorious sweet tooth, despite being a dentist―drove my mother spare."
Although he flashed her a brief grin, it quickly fell into something softer. Draco knew enough about the situation with her parents―trapped across the globe in an alternate reality―and she found something reassuring in his stare.
He bit into the sweet, savouring it for a moment. "It's just orange-flavoured chocolate."
"Hence chocolate orange."
"Touché."
He snagged another morsel, chewing it as he gazed around the office. "Can't remember the last time I had Christmas lights up. Probably not since I left the Manor."
"Why would you say that is?" she asked, breaking a wedge of chocolate orange in two and eating one half.
But he only rolled his eyes. "You don't need to dissect every aspect of my life, you know."
"I know." The words fell soft, and she carefully looked away.
And she didn't―his mandatory, court-ordered appointments with a mind healer had been a condition of his admission into Auror training five years ago. One which he had taken remarkably in stride, considering none of the other Aurors were required to do such a thing. But none of them had been tried and convicted before the Wizengamot.
After his sessions had transferred to her two years ago, she'd come to learn he had only been grateful for the chance to enrol. That he'd expected to have been laughed out of the DMLE for even submitting an application.
As he bit into a third wedge of her chocolate orange, he eyed her for a moment. "I don't suppose you know how much longer these sessions will be required."
Despite the casual drawl to his tone, she could sense the deeper curiosity. At what point would the Auror's Office trust him enough to let slide the external assessment?
"I don't know," she said. "I only submit the reports." Although his face remained hard, she added a soft, "Sorry."
But he shook his head. "Believe me, you aren't nearly as bad as that last stuffy codger they had me with."
"I'll take that as a compliment," she said with a smile.
His lips curled with a smirk. "You should."
Hermione glanced back to her notes, carefully tucking the moment away. She was nothing if not professional, despite that every so often his words threatened to stir something within her. Ever since that day a year ago, when she had seen a different side of him.
The clock on the wall clicked over the hour, and she affixed an easy smile to her lips. "We're out of time for today. I will see you in two weeks."
"Two weeks," he echoed, reaching over to pluck two more wedges from the chocolate orange.
Hermione released a laugh, shaking her head. "Just take the bloody thing."
Flashing her a grin, he scooped up the remains of the chocolate orange, sealing the foil packaging around it. "Thanks, Granger."
The smile belatedly fell from her lips as the door closed behind him.
When Hermione first learned she would be taking over Draco Malfoy's assessment, it had been an exercise in boundaries. Initially, she had wondered whether he had been so disagreeable that his former mind healer refused to work with him any longer.
But following a brief consultation with the man, and after her first session with Draco, Hermione had come to learn that none of that had been in the case.
In fact, Draco had been amenable to the process, despite the blatant and inherent prejudice involved on the Ministry's behalf.
Even so, she could tell at first that he wasn't all that interested in opening up to her specifically.
And if she was honest, she couldn't blame him. Theirs was a past rife with conflict and controversy. The situation had been oddly jarring for her as well.
At first, she had been surprised by the assignment, given the potentially biased nature of the situation.
After speaking with her supervisor, however, and after internal deliberations, Hermione had concluded that she had processed everything that had happened during her school years enough to recognise that she no longer carried any past resentment towards him. She would be able to remain impartial.
She had worked with problematic clients in the past, and she wasn't willing to allow anything to interfere with her standard of care.
When Hermione had first entered healer training after leaving Hogwarts, she had been set on the field of physical healing, with the intent of pursuing a position at St Mungo's. But after seeing how many of her friends and acquaintances had been negatively impacted by the occurrences of the war, she had begun to look closer into the field of mind healing.
While physical healing required the right combination of spells, potions, and tinctures, mind healing required something different altogether.
Halfway through her healer training, she had switched specialisations, and that had been it for her.
Draco wasn't the only complex patient she had ever seen in the years since completing her training, but he was certainly a unique case.
Their early sessions had been stiff and uninformative, but since he attended every appointment and shared any pertinent information regarding his position as an Auror, she carried on providing positive feedback to the DMLE.
Nine months into their sessions together, Narcissa Malfoy died.
Lucius Malfoy had been convicted and given a life sentence in Azkaban following the war, essentially leaving Narcissa as Draco's only surviving immediate family.
And while Draco had always been careful to keep the content of their sessions revolving around his work as an Auror, Hermione wasn't certain what she expected with the passing of his mother.
What she hadn't expected was for nothing to happen.
For three months, their sessions carried on as usual, without even a flicker of despair.
Red flags had flared progressively in the back of her mind, but since he had always kept his personal life separate, Hermione hadn't yet brought up her concerns with the DMLE. Because as far as she could tell, the loss of his mother had caused no impact on his ability to carry out his job.
Until finally…
She could still remember the session like it was yesterday, down to the warm haze of the Christmas lights along the walls.
"It wasn't insurmountable," Draco said, brandishing a hand. He offered a grimace. "Certainly not ideal, though. We were surrounded and outnumbered―Potter and I, that is―and neither of us had our wands drawn."
"Obviously it worked out," Hermione mused, glancing up from her notes. "What happened?"
His brows flickered. "We got lucky. They were distracted when two other Aurors located their stash. Greedy buggers cared more about the illicit potions than their own freedom. Potter and I were able to incapacitate the lot of them." A slow, crooked slash of a grin spread across his face. "They'll be looking at a lengthy stay in Azkaban."
Warmth tugged at her own lips, contrasting with the snow falling beyond the window. "Good. I'm glad it worked out."
"Absolutely." Interlocking his hands across his front, he looked around the room, his gaze lingering for a moment on the string of Christmas lights over the mantle. Then his eyes slid to the framed photograph of Hermione with her parents at London Zoo when she had been sixteen.
When he didn't look away, a knit furrowing the skin between his brows, Hermione asked, "Is everything alright?"
His reaction was visceral; the clench of his jaw, the crumple of his shoulders. He sucked in a long, deep breath, thinning his lips into a tight line.
At last he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "My mother's dead, Granger."
"I know," she said with a frown. He'd hardly registered her condolences the first time they had seen one another after it happened. "How are you holding up?"
She had expected him to perhaps diminish the situation or offer a flippant denial, as was his wont.
But he only sagged deeper into himself with a hoarse, "I'm not."
Hermione stared at him for a long while, waiting in case he elaborated. Draco buried his face into his hands, his breathing stilted, and she leaned forward in her seat. "Will you tell me about her?"
His grey eyes flitted up to hers at last, red-rimmed and glassy, and she could read the pain on his face like she never had before. In nine months together, he had scarcely exhibited any emotion whatsoever.
"She was everything," he whispered, his gaze holding hers like a lifeline. "She was… the only person I had left. The only reason I wanted to make something of my life."
"You have," Hermione offered, his raw vulnerability tugging at her heartstrings. "I'm sure she was proud of you for becoming an Auror."
"She was," he said, drawing a shuddering breath. "Always said… she was glad I never turned out like my father, despite his best efforts. That she was proud of me for making my own path."
Hermione could feel the penetrating sear of his gaze, unblinking. "It's okay to grieve, Draco. It's natural, and vital, when you lose someone so important. You can allow yourself this."
Swiping at one eye, he grimaced, even as fresh tears brewed at the corners of his eyes, breaking free and slipping down his cheeks. "How?"
"Like this," she breathed. "You can talk to me." Emotion stung at her own eyes―seeing him so lost left her unhinged in a way she hadn't anticipated. "Feeling this way isn't a sign of weakness, Draco."
"I was always raised―" He cut himself off, pain lancing across his face once more.
Hermione perched on the edge of her seat. "Caring is not weakness," she repeated. "No matter what your father taught you."
Tears chased freely down his cheeks now, and his hand flexed on his knee, as if to reach for hers. But he remained still.
"She loved the gardens, Granger," he murmured, his voice thick. "They were her escape, I think. Even as a boy, I could always find her out there, pruning the rose bushes by hand. Especially when Father was upset over something." He forced a thick swallow. "She loved raspberries as a treat, and she would sneak some into my tea if I asked nicely."
Hermione only held his stare, his emotions wrenching through her as though they were connected.
"Watching her light fade, when he lived in our house during the war, was the hardest thing I've ever done," he whispered, "and then seeing her deteriorate in the years since, with Father in Azkaban…"
He swiped at his cheeks with his free hand again.
"I'm trying to remember the good times," he whispered, "and I don't know―" For a long moment, he was silent, and at last he tore his gaze from hers to focus once more on the Christmas lights along the mantle. The lights were hazy in the tears that threatened at the periphery of her eyes. "I don't know whether she knew how much I loved her."
A choked sob slipped from his lips.
"I know she did, Draco," Hermione whispered, and his eyes lifted to hers again. She could read the strain on his face―the anguish he fought so hard to hide. "Because I know how important you were to her. She protected Harry that day at Hogwarts just so she could get back to you." She offered him a tentative smile. "And that sort of love isn't one-sided. The love between a parent and their child is unconditional. And… you were there for her in the end, when no one else was."
She thought of her own parents in Australia, and warmth clawed at her throat. Her own eyes stung, but she blinked away the moisture that threatened. It wasn't about her.
Draco sagged forward in his seat, his gaze fixed once more upon hers, and at last a devastatingly sad grimace curled one side of his mouth.
"Thank you, Granger," he said quietly. "For not judging me."
"No judgement here," she whispered, "not ever."
Heart pounding, Hermione found herself caught in his stare.
She didn't dare move, although his knee was close enough to graze hers if he moved any closer.
But at last he released a heavy breath and dropped his head back against the seat. They both sat in silence through the last minutes of the session, until he collected his bag and left with a hesitant nod.
Hermione's heart raced in her chest long after he was gone.
For weeks, Hermione had deliberated whether it was in both of their best interests to pass his case on to another healer. Her personal reaction to the raw honesty he had shown when talking about his mother had torn the edges of her professionalism, and something throbbed within her chest at the thought of him that she couldn't rationalise away.
A part of her had mourned the fact, because they had made progress over the months together.
She had met with her supervisor to discuss the incident, in an effort at transparency. They had spoken at length as to whether Hermione could maintain impartiality in his care, despite the flicker of something that had occurred between them that day.
Hermione had always kept firm boundaries, even with the most tumultuous of her patients, and there was no reason for him to be any different.
But the next time he visited her office, he had been back to business once more. They had never spoken of the incident again.
Even now, a year later. Every so often Draco would bring up his mother in casual conversation, but never again had he opened up to her in the same way. Whether due to embarrassment or shame, she didn't know. Or simply because he had said everything he needed to that day and had begun the process of grieving at last.
A sharp rap sounded at the door, and Hermione glanced up from her work. "Come in," she called, waiting as the door swung open.
She rose from her desk to take up one of the armchairs by the fireplace as Draco slipped into the room with a nod. "Hello," he offered, dropping his shoulder bag to the floor before taking the other seat.
"Draco," she returned with a smile. "How have you been?"
Thinning his lips with a shrug, he gazed around the room. "Fine. Work has been slow recently. Lots of desk work."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"It would be," he allowed, lips twitching, "if I liked desk work." Sinking back into his seat, he folded his hands across his stomach. "But it's good to have a bit of a break from chasing down criminals. Maybe they've taken up the festive spirit this close to Christmas."
Hermione's smile widened at the quip. "That must be it. Will you have some time off at Christmas?"
Draco gave a loose, noncommittal shrug. "A few days. It's just another day as far as I'm concerned."
Her smile faltered. "Surely you have someone to spend it with?"
"No." Averting his gaze towards the photograph of her and her parents on the mantle, he added, "You?"
"I don't see my parents, obviously," Hermione said quietly, "but I usually spend some time with Harry. It's good not to be entirely alone at Christmas."
As she stared at him, measuring his response―tight eyes and a clenched jaw―his gaze shifted back to hers. "I don't have anyone who wants to spend Christmas with me, Granger. So, as I said, it's just another day."
"Harry didn't invite you over for Christmas Eve?" she asked, genuine surprise flitting through her. They were partners, and to her knowledge, had become friends. But when Draco didn't respond immediately, she sighed. "It's just a gathering of friends. Nothing formal. You could consider it."
Although it would be unorthodox to see him in a different context, the fact remained that they occasionally drifted into one another's personal circles.
But still, she sat straighter and said, "If I see you there, we can refrain from discussing therapy if you prefer."
His stare seared through her.
Hermione could only imagine the conflict roiling within him. His mother had died only two weeks prior to Christmas the year before, But to bring up the subject felt like uncovering something that had laid dormant for a year. Especially when he had been careful to skirt the topic for just as long.
At last he looked away. "I'll think about it."
"I know it's hard, Draco," she said, breathless as he stilled in his seat. "I only know a sliver of the pain you must be feeling this year. But I know your mother wouldn't want you to be alone."
When he only stared hard at the arm of his chair, Hermione wondered whether she had crossed one of the careful lines between them. But he finally blew out a breath, the tension sinking from his shoulders.
"I'll stop by for a while," he conceded before glancing up at her again. "How do you carry on? Knowing your parents are still alive but they have no place in your life anymore?"
For a long moment, she considered the implications of disclosing such personal information. He so rarely asked her about herself, but the brokenness in his countenance pressed her response.
"It's difficult." She offered a nod, holding his stare. "I can't pretend it isn't, and I think it always will be. Especially knowing it was by my own hand that they don't remember me. But I carry on through the knowledge that they're still alive, and they're happy. And if they had been killed during the war, I would have had to live with the weight of knowing it was my fault."
They had never discussed the subject in any depth, and she could see the strain around his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said, the words gruff as he dragged a hand through his hair. "That you had to make such a decision―Merlin, and I'm sorry for my involvement in it." He shook his head slowly. "I think back on the things I did and it makes me sick to my stomach."
"You don't need to apologise," Hermione said, managing a tight swallow. "You aren't that person anymore. Every time you sit in my office, I see the man you've become. And none of that was due to chance, Draco. So many of the things you've done over the years, the decisions you've made, have intentionally led you to this point."
His stare was heavy, blood rushing to her cheeks at the feel of it. Warmth fluttered in the pit of her stomach that she quickly fought to suppress. Ever since that day, she had maintained her clinical assessment of his case.
At last he said, "Thanks, Granger." He blew out a breath, leaning back in his seat. "I think you're right, and Mother wouldn't want me spending Christmas alone―again. I just… I haven't known how to move on with my life without feeling guilty. As if every time I enjoy myself…"
"You feel like you shouldn't," she surmised. When he nodded, she went on. "That's normal, too. And just because you move on, start to have fun and smile again, it doesn't mean you've forgotten about your mother and the important role she played in your life. It doesn't in any way diminish how much you cared about her."
His face remained stoic but for a slight press of his lips.
"You'll always carry a part of her with you because who you are today was shaped by her influence. And I know your mother would want you to live your life as much as possible."
Draco's chest sank with a long exhale, and at last he gave a pensive nod. "Has anyone ever told you that you're incredibly smart?"
A laugh slipped free despite the weight of the conversation. "Once or twice."
"Because you are," he drawled, a slow grin tugging at his lips.
Hermione offered a tentative smile, doing her level best to ignore the way his words made her feel. Every so often, he did or said something to make her efforts feel like she was fighting a losing battle.
But his gaze had already flickered away to the end table between the two chairs, where she had placed a new chocolate orange on a small dish. "You ate the last one," she mused, "so I had to get another."
When his brows rose with a leading smirk, she laughed. He reached for the foil packaging and Hermione shook her head.
"You have to smash it first."
"You what?"
"Against the table."
Draco stared at her for a moment as if she were unhinged, before peeking through the foil to see the chocolate orange, still whole and intact. His face faltered as understanding dawned.
"Go on," Hermione said with a wave. "It's fun."
He scratched the back of his head, still staring at the chocolate, before tapping it cautiously against the surface of the table. Hermione rolled her eyes.
Then he wound up and slammed the orange on the table, causing the ceramic dish to rattle. Almost instantly, a grin split his face. Checking the contents of the foil, he smashed it once more. Then he finally peeled it open and set it on the dish.
"Fun," he echoed with a bit of a chuckle as he selected a morsel of chocolate and slipped it between his lips.
Hermione helped herself to a piece as well, eyeing him for a moment. "Surely something's happened these past weeks worth mentioning. Have there been any altercations with the newest batch of Aurors you told me about?"
Draco hesitated for a moment, savouring a bite of chocolate. "One minor scuffle. The classic―refusing to work with a former Death Eater." He rolled his eyes briefly. "You'd think they could come up with a more original argument, when I've already been with the department five years."
"And how did that play out?" Hermione asked, jotting a note down.
"Potter stepped in, surprisingly," Draco said, his tone contemplative. "And Robards saw the whole thing. The new recruit was reprimanded, though I don't know any more than that. He hasn't said anything to me since."
Hermione clicked her tongue, setting her quill down. "Hopefully it's time to set these old prejudices aside." Her lips twitched. "If you can do it, surely anyone can."
Draco only said, quietly, "Cheers to that, Granger." He brandished a wedge of the chocolate orange, and with a bit of a titter, Hermione tapped it with one of her own. Then she popped the bite between her lips, allowing the chocolate to dissolve on her tongue.
She glanced at the clock, a soft haze cast over its hands by the string of lights encircling it.
"We're nearly out of time for today," she said, rising from her seat, "and we won't meet again until the New Year, so I hope you have a wonderful holiday season."
Draco followed suit, tucking a few more wedges of chocolate orange into a napkin in his bag to take with him, and Hermione flashed him a grin as she walked him to the door.
He released a breath, staring down at her. "Thanks, Granger. Have a nice Christmas."
The majority of their interactions together were seated in her office, and it was always a jarring reminder that he stood several inches taller than her.
For two years, he had been the only one of her clients who didn't call her by her title. But her surname from his lips never carried the malice it used to.
"See you at Potter's, I suppose," he said quietly, dropping his head into a bit of a tilt.
"Right!" she exclaimed, nodding. "See you there."
They lingered for a moment just alongside the door, tension hanging in the air between them before Draco banded an arm around her back, drawing her in for a brief embrace.
Hermione froze, her heart leaping at the sudden contact.
His low voice rumbled beside her ear as he said, "Happy Christmas, Granger."
When he drew back, just enough to meet her eye, his hand lingered on her shoulder. Hermione only stared at him, heart pounding voraciously in her chest.
The feel of his hand on her shoulder was a strange mix of obtrusive and familiar, and her throat felt thick.
Wide-eyed, she stared at him for a long moment, her chest heaving. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and the depth of her own longing startled her to the core.
"I can't," she whispered, stumbling back. His hand dropped, something flickering across his face before he quickly schooled his expression. An ashy breath caught in her throat. "I'm your healer, Draco―it isn't right. It's against my code of conduct… and for good reason." Even as the worst left her lips, her stomach roiled with the admission.
As if the words caught him off guard, he took a step back, a knit between his brows. "Okay. I'm sorry."
Hermione couldn't dredge forth a response.
He swung open the door, offering a thin smile that would have convinced no one. Fixing his stare away from her, he slipped through the door and pressed it shut behind him.
She collapsed back against the door with a groan, realising with a pounding heart that it would no longer be professional for her to carry on being Draco Malfoy's mind healer.
Hermione paced through the corridors of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, slipping into the Auror's Office late in the day.
For several days, the sour close of her last session with Draco had scarcely left her mind, and there was a meek, docile side of her that was hoping he wouldn't be in the office. She'd hardly had time to come to terms with what had almost happened―and what she would have to do now.
Because Merlin knew she could no longer be an impartial force in his life knowing she cared about the man in the way she did.
When she entered the Auror's Office, a bustle of activity still fluttered about, and she caught Harry's eye across the room. She raised a hand in a brief wave as she made her way to the enclosed office at the far end.
But she could feel the heat of another set of eyes on her, and Hermione knew it was Draco before she noticed the flash of platinum blond in her periphery. Thinning her lips into a forced smile, and offering a stilted nod, she carried on.
She would arrange for one last session to clarify why they would need to terminate their therapy together―even though the idea of it set off a flurry in her stomach―because the last thing she needed was to cause any further undue harm to the situation.
Perhaps it was cowardly that she hadn't allowed the time for a brief visit, but to stop would mean being late for her meeting. It was the truth she fervently sought to remind herself as she slipped into Gawain Robards' office.
"Healer Granger," the Head Auror announced with an easy grin. "Wonderful to see you."
"Thank you, Auror Robards," Hermione replied, taking a seat at his desk at his silent invitation. "And you―I hope you've been well."
Robards chuckled. "I have. The Christmas spirit has taken me, I must admit."
Indeed, the man was more jovial than she had seen him in a long time.
"Right." With a gentle smile, she slid a folder across the tidy surface of his desk. "Your monthly reports, as usual."
Tapping a finger into the file, Robards dragged it across the desk and briskly flipped through it, too quickly to have caught any of the contents. He simply leaned his arms on the desk and looked her in the eye.
"Why don't you summarise the contents of this file for me?" he asked, a banal smile sweeping across his face. "In plain English, please."
Hermione blinked at him for a moment, snagging her lower lip between her teeth. "Very well, then." She offered a sharp nod. "It is my professional opinion that Draco Malfoy is a highly capable, proficient member of this office. For over five years, he hasn't missed a single one of his court-ordered sessions, and during the past two years with me, he has never once displayed a shred of disrespect, despite our past grievances."
Robards' eyes tightened, his face otherwise unreadable.
"And…" Hermione blew out a breath. "I would go as far as to say that he is likely one of your most loyal and committed Aurors. He has demonstrated remorse for his past actions, and deserves the same treatment afforded to any other."
The man leaned back in his seat, folding his arms.
Hermione's mind whirled. Every month for two years, she had left her reports with Auror Robards and been on her way. Following her blatant edification of Draco, her request to reassign him to another mind healer would now be tricky to navigate.
But Robards merely drummed his fingers on the desk and offered another easygoing, disarming smile. "Thank you for your candor, Healer Granger. Perhaps you and I ought to have a chat."
Red and green lights danced in the corners of Hermione's vision, a cheerful smile lingering on her lips as she gazed around the parlour at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
Christmas Eve at Harry's house had long been one of her favourite holiday traditions, and despite the fluctuations in her life, her friendship with Harry had remained steadfast as the years passed.
The addition to this year's gathering both caused her heart to race and her stomach to churn. She hadn't had a chance to speak to Draco since arriving, and if she wasn't mistaken, he hadn't exactly gone out of his way to approach her.
But as the celebratory drinks flowed around her, the group increasingly raucous, Hermione found herself oddly detached from the merriment. As she slowly nursed a drink of her own, she glanced up to find eyes on her from across the room.
Draco was the only other person who hadn't grown sloppier as the night progressed.
She tilted her head towards the entrance of the room; his lips twitched as he rose from his seat and met her in the doorway. They ambled the halls without speaking, at last escaping the noise.
In the stark quiet of the sitting room, he blew out a breath. "Silence."
"Agreed," Hermione said with a bit of a titter. "I love them all to pieces, but…"
Humour sparkled in his eyes. As they stared at one another, memories flashed through her mind of the last time they'd been alone together, and Hermione felt warmth bloom in her cheeks at the realisation that had followed. She took a seat on the sofa and he joined her on the other side, careful to keep space between them.
"I have something for you," she blurted, eyes wide. "It's just small." She rummaged in her purse and brandished a small wrapped box.
Draco stared at the offering for a moment, opening his mouth to speak and closing it once more. He released a bit of a chuckle and proffered a small box in return. "I got you something as well."
When he pressed the boxes together, measuring them against one another, Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her mirth.
Then he took her gift with a quiet, "I wonder what it could possibly be." As he slipped off the paper, he affected a look of great surprise and held up a chocolate orange in its box. Then he flashed a grin as Hermione opened a chocolate orange from him as well. "I figured since I ate your other ones."
She released a bright laugh. "I knew how much you liked them. Did you go to a Muggle shop for this?"
Draco gave a shrug. "I go to Muggle shops sometimes."
"Well, thank you," Hermione said with a smile as she set it on the end table. "I love it."
He gazed around the room, sinking back into the sofa as he perched his confection on the armrest. "Mother always used to hate coming here. Said it was dark and unpleasant."
"It is that," Hermione conceded, "but Harry's done a lot to try and brighten it up."
Pursing his lips, he nodded and carried on with his mute perusal. The air between them felt tense and left Hermione with a prickle of unease. "How was your meeting with Robards?"
"Fine," she said, carefully weighing her response. By the time she and Gawain had concluded their discussion several days prior, Harry and Draco had been gone on an assignment. Hermione released a breath. "We spoke about you."
Draco clicked his tongue. "And I suppose you can't talk about it."
Hermione turned to face him on the sofa, tucking one leg beneath her as she lowered her chin. "I can, actually." She hesitated a moment longer, watching as his face faltered. "Draco, I'm not going to be your mind healer anymore."
"What?" he asked, the word a sharp exclamation. "Why not? Look, I'm sorry about what happened at that last session―I wasn't thinking of the consequences." He frowned. "They can't punish you for my actions. I can speak with Robards if you think it would help."
She briefly debated mentioning that the issue was on her end as much as anything.
But in his words she detected a note of genuine panic, and she merely shook her head with a tentative smile. "That isn't it," she said quietly, watching as confusion flickered across his face. "Your sessions are over, Draco. The Wizengamot mandate has been rescinded. You don't need to report to anyone anymore."
His lips parted in disbelief, but he only stared at her for a long moment. At last his throat bobbed with a swallow. "Actually?"
"Yes." Her smile broadened as the surprise on his face morphed into relief. "And for the record, my opinion only affirmed what Robards was already thinking. Congratulations, Draco."
He cracked a slow, crooked grin as he stared at her. "Is it crazy to say that I'll miss our sessions?"
"Not crazy," Hermione said quietly, "because I'll miss them too. But I'm so glad they've come to trust you enough to withdraw the condition."
His shoulders sank. "So am I. Merlin, so am I."
"Merry Christmas, Draco."
Draco rolled his face along the back of the sofa, catching her stare once more. "Merry Christmas, Hermione."
Something about the way her given name rolled from his tongue ignited courage and heat within her. She let out a tight breath.
"Since you aren't my patient anymore," she said, the words barely a breath, "I thought, maybe…"
His lips curled into a smirk as he drawled, "Yes?"
For days, she had thought carefully about the idea of acting on her feelings, marinating in the dynamics that existed between them as she recognised the potentially problematic nature of it. But ultimately...
Biting down on her lower lip, Hermione assessed him for a moment. The amusement on his lips, the mischief in his stare. The way he turned towards her.
And she ducked in, pressing her lips to his in a searing kiss that jolted through her. Almost instantly he returned the pressure, burying a hand in her hair as he dragged her closer with his other hand to her back. Heat chased through her entire body as his tongue tangled with her own, and a quiet whimper broke from her lips at his assertive touches.
Before she could get carried away with her desires, she drew back, a heavy breath chasing from her lips.
Draco sought her eyes instantly, genuine warmth on his face. She swept a hand through his fine hair, basking in the moment.
"Spend Christmas with me tomorrow," he said quietly, pressing another gentle kiss to her lips.
Hermione's heart felt fit to burst. "Okay." She kissed him again, indolent and lazy, before he pulled away and drew her into his chest.
As he wrapped his arms around her, she allowed herself to melt into his comforting embrace.
The next day, Hermione took a deep breath for courage as she Apparated to Draco's flat. They had spent the rest of the night before at one another's side, enduring Harry's good-natured teasing.
Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had felt so much hope.
She already knew Draco so well, in a working capacity. But she admired the man beneath the surface―the man he had become―and she greatly desired to know him even better.
Spending Christmas together felt like a good start.
Even so, nerves quaked through her when she rapped on the door, and she wrung her hands as she waited for him to answer.
When he did, a breathtaking grin spread across his face, dispelling any lingering doubts.
The first thing she noticed, after he'd released her from a warm embrace, was the colourful strings of Christmas lights strewn around the flat. A soft smile tugged at her lips and the lights glittered and grew hazy as moisture threatened at her eyes.
He hadn't hung Christmas lights since leaving the Manor.
Draco followed her stare, a secretive smile on his lips.
"What can I say," he breathed, "Christmas this year just feels bright."
Hermione beamed at him. "Blinding."
Note: Thanks for reading! As a heads up to FFN readers, over the next months/year I'm going to be posting more of my work exclusively to AO3 (including an upcoming Draco/Theo/Hermione multi-chapter.) You can find me there as In_Dreams :) thanks!