December 25, 2007
Stretching her arms overhead, Hermione couldn't help the wide grin as she sat up in bed. It was Christmas morning and she could already smell her father's gingersnap cookies baking in the oven. Waking up in her childhood bedroom, with all the wonderful sounds and smells that accompanied Christmas, Hermione could pretend for a few minutes that everything was back to how it was before the war.
Lost in happy memories, she traced random patterns along her faded pink bedspread. Her parents' home had remained thankfully untouched, and it only took a few days of thorough cleaning spells to undo the year of neglect while her parents had been in Australia. Her parents hadn't redecorated much over the years, which meant it was all too easy for Hermione to feel like a child again when she visited.
A sharp tapping on her window broke her reverie. Along with the cold winter air, a large and austere-looking eagle owl entered her room when she opened the window. It perched on her dresser, gazing imperiously up at her, and Hermione saw a letter and two packages tied to its leg.
As it continued to eye her with disdain (how was that even possible for an owl to do?) she gingerly approached the unfamiliar bird with her palms up. "Hello, it seems you have something for me. May I take the parcels from you?"
The bird merely blinked once and slowly lifted its leg out. Hermione made quick work of relieving its burden, and reached out to gently stroke the top of the owl's head. It recoiled at first, but then allowed her to lightly trace her fingers a few times down its back. She swallowed a giggle at the surly owl, thinking it would be none too amused if she laughed, but Hermione had a pretty good idea who this bird belonged to now.
"Trained you well, hasn't he? I'm sorry I don't have any treats for you here. Is he awaiting a reply?"
The owl let out a short hoot that Hermione could only describe as dripping with sarcasm (seriously, even Malfoy's owl had learned how to be sardonic?) and swept regally out of her window.
Hermione placed the two packages on her bed and eagerly tore open the letter.
Granger,
Did you really think I wouldn't send you a Christmas gift after that little power play you pulled on me the other day? I really should have seen that one coming.
Hermione bit back a laugh as she could hear his faux-sneering tone so clearly in her head.
Nevertheless, please find enclosed your gift. If I know you, and I like to think I do a bit by now, you'll be a good little swot and thoroughly read the instructions for operation. I thought you might like to keep one for yourself and perhaps give one to your parents or Weaselette. Do you remember a few weeks ago when you were nattering on about how wizards needed to develop more reliable communication methods for quick correspondence? Consider this my solution.
Happy Christmas Granger,
D.M.
Hermione put the letter aside and opened the first package. Elegant silver and gold wrappings fell away to reveal two handsome leather journals. With curious fingers, Hermione opened one and upon turning to the first blank page, a sheaf of parchment flew out and floated in the air in front of her.
Neat lines of black ink in Draco's hand covered the front and back of the floating page, listing out the detailed instructions of the charmed journals. Reading the first few lines, she saw that this was truly an impressive bit of magic. If she so chose, Hermione could activate a charm that would allow her to write a message in her journal, and that writing would appear instantly in real-time in the companion journal. That message could stay scrawled in both, or she could use another charm to have the words disappear from her page only to reappear on the companion page. Or, her message would stay in black ink on her page, only disappearing once the intended recipient had read the words on their page.
Hermione's eyes whizzed across the front and back of the instructional parchment. There were a dozen different ways the journals could be linked for quick back and forth messages, or even more permanent writing, if she so chose. Picking up both journals in her hands, she turned them over and inspected every inch of their covers and bindings. They were ordinary blank journals, meaning Draco had planned out and performed all the necessary and complicated charms work all on his own. She bit back a grin that threatened to shatter her whole face, impressed and touched at the effort he'd put into this gift.
Smiling happily, she set aside the journals, looking forward to experimenting with all the charmed settings Draco had invented later, down to the one that changed ink color based on urgency or subject matter. She'd have to think for a while about who to gift the companion journal to, though perhaps his initial suggestion of her parents was a good one.
Unwrapping the smaller package, Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion when several small tubes fell onto her bedspread along with a tiny rolled up scroll. Unfurling the little note, she read Draco's handwriting again.
Granger,
A small gift for your teeth-healing parents. I simply could not believe you admitted to never exposing them to wizarding toothpaste. Good luck having them return to the Muggle version after you introduce them to the brand that tastes like caramel and eliminates gum disease.
D.M.
Hermione dropped the note as if it were on fire. With a shaking hand she gingerly picked up the various tubes of magical toothpaste. He'd sent an array of flavors and specialties; one tube promised to whiten, floss and let you breathe one small cloud of mint-flavored smoke in a design of your choosing.
Hermione dropped this too and grasped for her wand. With a slightly trembling hand she managed to cast a silencing charm around her room, lock her door, and fling her wand away before she slid from her bed onto her floor with shaking legs.
Room properly warded from her parents' ears, Hermione let out a howling sob and buried her face in her knees. She rocked her body back and forth as her sobs wracked her entire frame. How could he? How could he be so thoughtful? This was too much, it made her feel too much. Hermione couldn't get a grip on her emotions or her breathing, burrowing her face further into her palms to try and stem the tide of feelings that threatened to drown her.
Her breaths came in short, harsh gasps as she thought of her parents in the room below and of the stubborn friend who had wormed his way into her warm, Christmas morning cocoon.
Why did he do this? Why did Draco Malfoy send a thoroughly silly, wonderfully perfect present to her Muggle parents?
Wasn't it bad enough that she'd already admitted to herself that Draco was attractive? Did he have to go and reveal himself to have a decent heart too? What the hell was Hermione supposed to do with this sharp ache in her chest whenever she thought about him?
"Too much, too much, too much," she whispered hoarsely to herself through her falling tears. Why did Draco's gift throw her into a chest-heaving, tear and snot inducing, panicky state of curled up limbs on her bedroom floor?
For once, Hermione didn't bother to think of an answer and instead simply cried her heart out until the sound of her mother's approaching footsteps to announce the completeness of the gingersnaps forced her to collect herself.
Removing the magic around her door wandlessly, Hermione straightened up, took several slow breaths, and put on the best happy face she could muster to spend Christmas morning with her parents.
Luck was on Hermione's side when she Flooed into the Weasleys' living room before Christmas dinner. Ginny happened to be the only family member passing through the room, and quickly enveloped her in an enthusiastic hug.
"Happy Christmas Hermione! Oh Godric, what's wrong!?"
Hermione met her friend's concerned gaze for all of two seconds before her lower lip began to tremble and the tears threatened to spill. She tried to gulp a breath as quietly as possible, and cast a furtive glance around the room. "I need… I need to… I can't—"
"Upstairs, my old room, now. Apparate so no one sees you, I'll be there in five minutes."
Hermione immediately complied and a moment later, sank heavily onto Ginny's childhood bed. The tears that she had managed to control all throughout the day with her parents no longer obeyed her, and flowed silently down her cheeks.
The door opened and Hermione was surprised momentarily by the arrival of Luna instead of Ginny.
"Ginny said you might need a friend for a bit," the blonde said softly. Hermione managed a weak nod and Luna sat down next to her. Wordlessly, Luna pulled one of Hermione's hands into her lap and gently directed Hermione's head onto her shoulder. As Luna began softly stroking her hair, Hermione's tears slowed to a quiet sniffle, and she was grateful to Ginny for sending Luna.
They might not always see eye to eye on reality, but the thing Hermione loved about Luna was her ability to give her affection to her friends so freely. Luna seemed attuned to Hermione's emotional needs, and simply continued to hold her and let Hermione cry out her inner turmoil.
A few silent minutes later and Ginny returned with a concerned-looking Padma in tow.
"Hermione," Ginny coaxed, as she stepped right in front of her. "Do you want to tell us why you showed up here on Christmas looking thoroughly miserable? Something to do with your umm, new friend?"
Ginny was giving her an out by not calling Malfoy by name, but Hermione didn't have the energy to keep being vague. Luna and Padma could know too for all she cared. Hermione was so tired of holding everything inside all the time.
"Malfoy sent me a Christmas gift," Hermione said shakily and when Ginny's eyebrows rose, she took a deep breath. "And it was lovely and thoughtful, but then… but then…" she paused to sniffle and Luna's hand tightened around hers, giving her strength to continue.
"He… he sent something for my parents too. My Muggle parents! He… he wrote this blasted funny, sweet, stupid note and I can't… I can't… I can't do this Ginny!"
Ginny knelt in front of her, and placed her hand on top of hers and Luna's. "Hermione, what can't you do?"
"I can't feel this way about him!" she wailed and wrenched her hand away from both her friends to bury her face in her hands. Didn't they understand? Draco could never return these affections, they only recently even established a friendship not two months ago. Draco Malfoy would never look at her as more than his little know-it-all coffee friend, confined to a space in his life where they never progressed beyond intellectual conversation and career discussions.
But lately hadn't they discussed more personal aspects of their own lives? Weren't they sharing more than just debates on giants' rights or quidditch budgets? They sought each other's advice, looked to each other for support, and revealed some of their darkest moments. It was difficult for her to imagine Malfoy opening up to just anyone about his struggle with Dreamless Sleep addiction. And she certainly had only ever told a handful of people about her guilt over obliviating her parents.
Hermione shook her head, because it didn't matter anyway. Because one day he would show up to the café, and tell her all about some perfect pureblood princess he was engaged to marry. Despite his recent comments about not being ready for a marriage or a relationship, Hermione knew their days together were ultimately numbered. She knew the pressure he was under from his mother. How long until he caved? What would that mean for Hermione? Back to solitary mornings and lonely weekends while all her friends moved on and coupled up?
How dare he inspire this type of fanciful hope inside her that they could ever be more!
She heard Ginny stand and sigh. "Well Padma, you're up then."
Hermione raised her head curiously. What was that supposed to mean?
"Hermione, I'm good friends with Anthony Goldstein, do you remember him?"
Hermione nodded in answer to Padma, remembering a good-looking brunette Ravenclaw boy from Hogwarts. "Of course. He was in Dumbledore's Army, and usually top of your house in marks. I think he works in the Department for Magical Transportation."
Padma nodded. "Yes, that's him. He's been single for quite some time and I happened to mention you the other week and he asked after you. Would you like me to set you two up on a date? I think you'd have a lot in common and I know he's interested."
Hermione considered Padma's suggestion. Yes, a date with a man who didn't have annoyingly perfect hair and table manners and beautiful suits was exactly what she needed.
"That would be lovely, thank you Padma."
Padma smiled and then excused herself to rejoin the Weasley Christmas festivities downstairs.
In the quiet that fell upon Padma's departure, Hermione felt embarrassed and exhausted. She'd shown up to the Weasleys' home on Christmas only to completely unravel and suck the joy right out of the holiday celebrations.
Wiping her eyes, she stood up. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me. Let's not keep everyone else waiting."
Ginny shot her a hard, skeptical look that was so reminiscent of Molly it unnerved Hermione. "There's enough people being loud downstairs and no one even thinks you've arrived yet. We can stay here as long as you like."
Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm honestly just being pathetic, monopolizing Christmas day with my problems. I'll feel better once I've had some of your mother's cooking."
"Feelings are never pathetic, Hermione," Luna piped up softly. "It's all right to care about someone unexpected. In fact, I think it's quite beautiful."
Silence fell after Luna's profound statement and Hermione found she couldn't look either woman in the eye. Eventually she sighed and pushed back her hair. "Right, I think spending time with you all is just what I need. And please tell me George spiked the eggnog again this year?"
"No, Mum threatened to hex him into the next century if he pulled that stunt again," snickered Ginny.
"Shame, I was quite looking forward to Percy throwing up in the bushes for the third year in a row."
"Don't worry Hermione, I did it myself, but told everyone else it was Ron. Keep spreading that word around for me, would you?"
December 31, 2007
Draco clicked the ballpoint pen in his hand over and over again. He found the delightful little clicking noise it made soothed his frayed nerves.
And his nerves were frayed indeed. When his mother wasn't chatting his ears off all week about the New Year's Eve Ball preparations, she was trying to engage Draco in conversation about all the young, single, witches on the guest list.
On top of that, all damn week he'd waited for an owl from Granger and finally, finally, she'd sent him a note today.
Malfoy,
Thank you for the lovely gifts. I must admit I was quite impressed with your charms skills, I didn't realize that was such a passion of yours. I took the liberty of modifying one of the spells so that the ink could remain invisible for a set amount of time rather than indefinitely.
Draco had rolled his eyes when he read that originally. Of course that little know-it-all would find a way to improve upon his work.
My parents send their thanks as well, for the toothpaste. My father is already obsessed with the one that turns your individual teeth different colors based on where you need to brush more. Seriously, my mother caught him using it no less than seven times in one day, so thanks very much for that.
I hope you had an enjoyable Christmas in your cozy mansion surrounded by exquisite extravagance and copious amounts of champagne that costs more than my entire life's savings.
See you in the New Year!
Your friend,
Hermione
Draco had read the note so many times today he had it memorized. Her cheap shot about the "coziness" of his mansion and quip about the champagne brought a smirk to his face every time. Granger could have quite the sense of humor, when she wanted.
So her parents knew about him. How did she describe him? "Mum, Dad, this is a gift from my former childhood tormentor, but now we grab coffee together and have become friends because he has had years of healing only to uncover what an utter piece of shite he was as an adolescent and is now trying to live respectably as an adult."
Draco clicked the pen a few more times and then took a generous sip of champagne from his flute. He chuckled aloud when he remembered Granger's quip from her letter and thought she probably wasn't that far off about the cost.
He was now leaning over the balcony high above the snow-covered grounds of his mother's current home: the Lestrange Estate. Behind him, a grand ballroom was aglow in more gaudy golden decorations than could ever be necessary, while more than 300 guests waltzed and mingled across the marble dance floor. Draco had finally escaped the clutches of his mother and the various witches he'd been forced to dance with for appearances' sake.
The ostentatious and magically warmed balcony was devoid of guests, meaning Draco could click his pen, down champagne, loosen the bowtie of his dress robes, and breathe in peace. Enough garland and holly to decorate most of England lined every free surface, and the whole area was beautifully illuminated by real, live fairies, immobilized and shining brightly against the dark night.
Draco amused himself by imagining Granger's horrified reaction to how the fairies were being forced to exist for decorative purposes. But just as quickly as his amusement came, it left again, as he looked out across the vast, dark grounds and wondered how Granger was spending her New Year's Eve. Was she thinking about him at all? She'd at least taken the trouble to send him an owl today.
If he'd asked her, would she have shown up here tonight? Draco frowned into his champagne, knowing the answer. Half the guests in his mother's ballroom would turn their nose up at Granger because of her blood status, and the other half would put on simpering faces to try and ply favors or goodwill out of a famous war heroine. She'd be sickened by the entire charade.
"There you are Draco!" A familiar, shrill voice that set Draco's teeth on edge broke through the night air. Sighing and turning around, he returned his pen to his inside breast pocket and greeted the unwelcome intrusion upon his solitude.
"Pansy. Enjoying the party?"
"Of course, your mother is unmatched as a hostess! I daresay I'm not enjoying it as much as all the lucky witches who've gotten to dance with you, though."
Pansy Parkinson (wait no, it was Pansy Pliska now, Draco reminded himself) approached Draco draped in far too many jewels and furs, most likely recent Christmas gifts from her husband.
Draco made no response to her comment, knowing precisely where Pansy wanted the conversation to go. He wasn't going to help her get there.
"Honestly Draco, it really does pain me to see you this way," she laid a hand gently on his arm as she came to stand beside him on the balcony edge. Draco forced himself to carefully put down his empty champagne flute to turn and look at her fully, her face full of pity and an inflated sense of superiority.
"And what way would that be, Pansy?"
Pansy's expression of faux-pity only deepened and Draco desperately wanted to hex it off her face, but that would be unbecoming of a gentleman of his upbringing.
"You don't have to waste your time with French witches. If you're looking for a wife, Boris and I would happily introduce you to several of his cousins. One of them will be graduating Durmstrang this spring and would love to visit England. I'm sure we could arrange a formal introduction if you're interested. I daresay the pool of eligible pureblood British witches seems thinner by the day."
Draco glared back at her stonily. "As lovely as your offer is, I'm not sure I'd have much in common with a 17-year-old school girl," he sneered and took some pleasure in his remark getting Pansy to drop her hand and patronizing smile.
"You're 27 years-old Draco, just when are you planning to fulfill your duty as head of your family? Think of your poor mother! She must feel awfully embarrassed at her only son not being able to secure a spouse and sire heirs at his age," she scathingly countered.
Ahh, there was the vindictive bitch he remembered. "You know what's embarrassing Pansy? Embarrassing is agreeing to marry the first pureblood noble that would have you, even if he's 30 years your senior and speaks roughly 20 words of English. Embarrassing is pretending to turn a blind eye while your creepy husband feels up all the younger witches on the dance floor. Embarrassing is popping out three little brats in quick succession because some old, backwards way of thinking demands that you do so, not because you harbor anything close to affection for children." Draco towered over her, relishing in the angry tears that had begun forming in his ex-girlfriend's cold blue eyes.
"So tell me, Pansy, who between us should feel embarrassment? Because all I see when I look at you is that same snotty, spoiled little girl who was so desperate for my attention that she tried to Floo to my home completely starkers the night before her own wedding."
Pansy stepped away from Draco as if she'd been slapped. Her mouth opened and closed furiously several times while she tried to form the right words for a venomous diatribe regarding Draco's lack of character.
"Why you complete and utter—!"
"Pansy, darling! Narcissa was just looking for you!"
Draco turned to find his savior in the lanky form of Theodore Nott. Grinning broadly and holding two glasses of amber liquid, he jovially approached Pansy and Draco as if he'd happened upon two happily reunited friends instead of sparring exes.
"Nott," Pansy greeted coldly. "I'm sure whatever Draco's mother needs can wait while I—"
"Oh no, no, no, Pansy dear, you mustn't keep the hostess waiting! Especially when one of your angelic children happened to break a rather valuable crystal vase in one of the front parlors."
Pansy's face drained of all color as she rushed past Theo back to the ballroom. Theo wordlessly handed Draco a glass of firewhisky and took Pansy's spot at his elbow.
The two friends sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a few minutes, with Draco relishing in the quiet that had followed Pansy's departure.
"So," drawled Draco. "Did one of her little imps actually break a vase?"
"Of course not," snorted Theo. "But don't worry about her returning. I passed her charming husband on the way out here. His hand was down his dance partner's robes and it's causing quite the stir in one of the darker corners of the ballroom."
"How quaint. Well, cheers to surviving another one of these ridiculous affairs," offered Draco, and Theo clinked their glasses together.
Draco sipped slowly and turned to face the friend he hadn't seen in many months. He looked for signs of overtiredness or stress but found none. Truthfully, Theo looked content and at ease with himself. So what exactly was occupying all his free time lately? It had to be a witch.
"Are you staring at me because you'd like to twirl me about the dance floor too? I'm sorry to disappoint Draco, but I don't swing that way."
Draco snorted derisively. "Please, I've had enough of that blasted dance floor for tonight and possibly the rest of the decade."
"But you're so popular! Especially after that spectacular Witch Weekly article!" crowed Theo mischievously. "Let's see, you've glided about with five of those French ladies, two Austrians, Astoria Greengrass, and Tracey Davis."
"Davis wouldn't even look me in the eye. I don't know what mother was hoping for out of that dance."
Theo smirked. "I'm well aware of Narcissa's intentions but I can assure you it was nothing personal from Davis. She'd have much rather been in the arms of one of your female French dance partners from earlier."
"What?! But I thought… didn't you have a fling with her during most of our school years?"
Theo nodded grimly. "I did indeed. I'm pretty sure I was the lucky chap that made her realize she preferred witches."
"Is that why she always looks so miserable? Merlin, her parents have really been pressuring her to sign a marriage contract lately, I guess I didn't realize why she seems so unhappy about it all." The two wizards lapsed into thoughtful silence until Draco caught a glare from a witch that happened to be passing by the glass doors leading out to the balcony.
"I don't think Greengrass has forgiven me for the way things ended years ago."
"Well you did date her sister not one month later. Bold move, by the way."
"Is it awful that I still can't tell them apart?"
"Honestly yes, because they don't even look alike and you spent intimate time with both. Don't be too hard on yourself, you were in a bad spot when you dated them."
Draco shrugged and looked down into his whisky. The same whisky that he'd relied on far too heavily once he'd managed to shake the potion dependence. It was Theo who had helped Draco navigate this time of his life, always offering up a spare bedroom when Draco drunkenly Flooed over and ranted about his parents or the sorry state of his life.
But that didn't stop Draco from feeling hurt at his friend's mysterious absences recently. "Going to tell me what's been going on in your life that's kept you so busy lately? Do you even remember the last time we went down the pub?"
Theo gave a noncommittal shrug, but a ghost of a smile rose to his lips. Something good was happening in his friend's life and Draco wanted to know. Draco rolled his eyes at Theo's non-answer when his gaze landed on a string of garland that had fallen from its place over one of the doorways. Reaching into the inner breast pocket of his robes for his wand to fix the decoration before his mother had a fit and fired the nearest house-elf, his hand accidentally brought out the ballpoint pen instead. Before he could switch it out for the wand he'd meant to grab, Theo started and pointed at Draco's chest.
"Was that a pen?"
Draco leveled his friend with a suspicious glare. "How do you know what this is?"
Theo waved his question away with an impatient hand. "But where did you get one? Why do you have it on your person?"
Draco mirrored Theo's shrug from earlier, as the two wizards engaged in a staring contest. Theo broke first.
"Fine, keep your secrets Malfoy, and I'll keep mine." With those parting words, Theo downed the rest of his drink and returned to the ballroom, leaving Draco alone to contemplate the strangeness of his old friend's behavior.
Sighing he turned to the cloudless night sky as he heard the countdown to midnight begin from the loud crowd inside.
As it reached "One!" and the full orchestra struck up a joyful tune to welcome in the New Year, Draco toasted the empty air in front of him before finishing off his whisky. "Happy New Year, Granger," he whispered.
January 2008
"Hi," she greeted him, slightly breathless on their first morning back to the café routine.
"Hi," he responded, hoping it sounded neutral and unaffected and not disgustingly happy at the sight of her approaching the table after more than a week away.
As they resumed their routine from before the holidays of chatting about upcoming work and projects, Draco relished in the feeling of contentment that stole over him.
It was only now, back in Granger's company that he realized what had made him feel so out-of-sorts the entire holiday break. The lavish parties, the company of Europe's pureblood elite and all the stuffy, extraneous decorum that accompanied them had left him feeling strange and empty.
Choosing to go outside that high-society comfort bubble and then pop back in as an observer, Draco wasn't sure how he ever considered that way of life to be normal.
"So you had a good time then? At your mother's New Year's Ball?"
Draco scowled at the memory of that particular night. "Mother was at her most unbearable when it came to setting me up. I think I danced with upwards of a dozen women."
"Oh. That wasn't enjoyable for you?"
Draco shrugged and changed the subject.
None of them were you.
I am in control of this.
A/N: Thanks all around for reading and/or engaging with this story in any way. You can now find me on tumblr ( heyjude19-writing) if you're into discussing dramione (my stories or others), HP in general, or just to say hi. I truly appreciate all you lovely readers, thank you.