Disclaimer: Harry Potter, not mine.

Chapter 2: Plus Hermione

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He saw her the next afternoon as he was making his way across the empty Entrance Hall. It would actually be more accurate to say that he say her hair, or at least that he saw her hair first, and then the rest of her. He had been walking in a daze, his mind lost in thoughts of the appeal, when her cloud of bushy hair flitted across his vision. He paused, glancing back. She stood by the grand front door, her cloak almost entirely coated in snow. She had taken off her hat and was shaking the snow out of it with a slightly annoyed expression, which made him smirk slightly. He made his way deliberately toward her, his spirits rising.

"Granger. Whatever are you doing here?"

"Malfoy," she said, glancing up. Her expression was altogether disgruntled. She continued dusting snow off her cloak. "Lovely to see you, too."

He stopped before her. "You're back early, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "Apologies. I didn't know you had reserved the entire castle."

He was taken aback by her annoyed tone. But only slightly. "I'm just surprised. I wasn't expecting to see you until the start of next term."

"Yes, well," she said briskly, "lots of N.E.W.T.s to study for. I thought I'd take advantage of the library and the quiet while everyone is away."

She brushed away the last of the snow, picked up her bag, and started walking across the Entrance Hall. He fell into step beside her. "I'll walk you," he said. "Here, let me help with that."

He reached for her bag, but she pulled it away.

"That's not necessary."

He shrugged. "If you insist."

"I do."

She walked on in silence, and he trailed along beside her, glancing at the bushy-haired witch as she stalked up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, her face set in a frown. His thoughts drifted away from the appeal for the first time in days, and he was consumed instead with a burning desire to find out what had made Granger so angry. Granger, who planned to change the entire Ministry single-handed. Granger, whose ridiculous hair nearly drove him mad.

He would have never imagined that he and Hermione Granger, the girl he had called a Mudblood so many times he lost count, would ever be on speaking terms… so it was even more of a surprise to him that they had somehow formed a precarious friendship, even if it was held together largely by snarky remarks.

It had started back in September, when McGonagall had declared them Honorary Head Boy and Girl, which he thought were ridiculous titles. There was already a Head Boy and a Head Girl, after all, in the actual seventh year class. He supposed the headmistress had simply been unable to allow Granger back into the school without rewarding her with everything at her disposal. And as for his own position, he suspected it was awarded to him out of pity. Poor Draco… both parents locked up. Trying to turn his life around. The thought alone made him scowl angrily.

But nevertheless, he had taken up the mantle. He was hardly in a position to turn down anything positive that came his way, and Honorary Head Boy certainly looked good when he was trying to appeal Mother's and Father's convictions. So he and Granger had spent the last four months supervising prefects, assisting the teachers with grading and lessons, and overseeing the continued restoration of the castle. The duties were numerous, and between performing them and focusing on their studies, they barely had time to spare to daydream. But what they did have was hours to spend in each other's company, and even two people as different as the two of them could hardly spend it without learning to tolerate and eventually even somewhat like each other.

And like her he did. More than he dared to admit.

He was not sure, in fact, when it had happened. Perhaps it had been gradual. Perhaps it had started that night in early October, when they had sat for hours in the empty Potions classroom, grading essays for Professor Slughorn, and the conversation had turned personal. Too personal. He had told her, in a surprising display of emotion, about Mother's trial. About the unjustness of it all. About how the Ministry, which had promised to be better – do better – had left his parents to rot in a cell in Azkaban, despite their actions at the end of the battle.

"They don't deserve to be there," she had said. "Not at all. Especially your mum."

"No," he agreed, shaking his head bitterly. "Without her, Potter might not have made it out of the forest."

"I know that Harry went to the trial to testify on her behalf. He was rather upset about how it all went down."

"I'm sure he was absolutely heartbroken."

"He was," she said. "Not as upset as you, of course, but he doesn't think it was very fair. He's mentioned it to Kingsley, even."

"And I appreciate that," Draco had admitted. "But it seems to me that the Ministry of today is just as quick to put on a show as ever. They took the Dementors out of Azkaban, but the place is just as foul. And they've thrown anyone with any Death Eater affiliations in it, without caring to review the evidence even when they know it exists! Even the word of the Chosen One makes no difference. So tell me, Granger, what's changed?"

She had bit her lip, looking down at her work, and he felt a fleeting stab of satisfaction. She didn't have an answer for everything, Granger. She could defend the new Ministry all she wanted, but he would make sure she knew she was standing atop a mountain of empty promises.

But then she had glanced up at him and said, with conviction, "Change takes time, Malfoy. I expect it'll be years yet before the Ministry is entirely reformed, and things are truly done right. It won't happen overnight. There needs to be a new mentality. There needs to be new leadership. But it is happening. Harry and Ron are working their way through the Auror Academy. Just wait. Before long, it will be different. And I'll be along too, I expect. Once I have my N.E.W.T.s."

It was an optimistic view, and one that seemed very far off. But he could see her brown eyes shining with the idea of it, and he found he could not take it away from her. She really did mean to do good. Bloody Granger.

"And how long do you expect that's going to take?" he said, keeping his voice even.

She smiled. "I expect I'll be Minister for Magic by the time I'm thirty-five."

"Right. I'm hardly leaving Mother in Azkaban for sixteen years."

"I wouldn't expect you to. But there's no reason to wait that long. I'll help you with the appeal in the meantime."

The whole exchange had somewhat wrecked him with guilt as he recalled how absolutely terrible he had been to her since she had stepped foot in Hogwarts. And yet here she was, offering to help him and his family. And help she did. She dedicated hours to his parents' cases over the next two months, often putting her own studies aside, and burying him with a near avalanche of useful facts, which he sorted through diligently as he tried to sort out his own feelings about her.

And they grew every day, his feelings. Every time she pushed her bushy hair out of her face, or bit her lip in concentration as she lost herself within the pages of a book, the sight of her filled him with an intense desire to simply grab her and kiss her, and he spent hours imagining how her lips would taste, locked upon his. He wanted more than anything to confess – to corner her in the library as they sat digging through law books, or in the classroom as they graded papers, and tell her how he felt. He often imagined the conversation:

"Granger, I can't get out you of my head. You're ridiculously smart and attractive, and somehow I've bloody fallen in love with you."

But somehow, he could never get past his confession to imagine her reaction. Perhaps he simply couldn't allow himself to imagine it because he had caused her nearly seven years of grief, and despite how the situation had changed – even with her helping him so wholeheartedly – he knew that there was no way she would ever return his feelings. And at any rate, she had Weasley. They were bloody in love.

"How was Christmas with the weasel?" he asked now as he strolled alongside her down a fifth floor corridor.

She shot him an annoyed look and didn't answer.

"Sorry, Weasley. How was Christmas with Weasley? Have a lovely time?"

"It was fine," she said shortly.

"Granger," he said, exasperated. "What's the matter?"

She drew to a halt, took a deep breath and expelled the air through her nose. "Sorry. It's nothing. How was your Christmas? Did McGonagall host lunch again?"

He hesitated. "I went to visit Mother."

"Oh!" she said softly. She turned around to look at him, her dark brown eyes fixed on his. He resisted the sudden urge to push her against the wall and kiss her. "In Azkaban? How is she?"

"She's… not great," he admitted, shifting his thoughts away from her ridiculously attractive eyes. Bloody hell, what was the matter with him? He was all over the place. "She doesn't have much hope for the appeal. She doesn't think it will be successful. She told me to live my life and forget about her. And Father."

"I'm so sorry, Draco," she said gently. "But she mustn't give up. We won't."

"You won't?" His voice very nearly cracked. He cursed inwardly. What was he, some bloody first year schoolgirl?

"Of course not."

He exhaled heavily. "Thank you."

She nodded and then looked down. "It was lousy."

"What?" he said, slightly taken aback by the change of subject.

"Christmas," she clarified, sighing.

He waited. She spoke again, still looking anywhere but at him. "Ron and I have been on a break. Since Halloween."

"Ah," Draco said. His heart seemed to be beating faster than normal. He ignored it.

"We've been having some issues," she continued. "Long distance relationships are... hard. Ron's been so busy with Auror training, and I've had enough to be getting on with here between studying, and Head Girl duties, and…" She paused, biting her lip. "We were planning to talk about it all over Christmas. But, I don't… It's… I think we're done."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. He wasn't.

She sighed again. "He's been spending a lot of time with Susan Bones during Auror training. I reckon he's got feelings for her.

"Ah," he said again. He really was sorry this time. Sorry that the weasel had hurt Granger. How Weasley could have someone as wonderful as her in his life and cast her aside was beyond him. "I'm sorry, Granger. He's a stupid tosser."

"It's all right," she said slowly. "The truth is, I haven't felt that way about Ron for some time. The truth is, I…" She glanced up at him at last, her brown eyes meeting his gray ones again. To his surprise, they were not filled with tears, but with a determined resolve. "I like," she whispered, "someone else."

She kept her gaze on him, staring at his face intently. He felt as if his mind had gone entirely blank. The whole world seemed to have narrowed to include only the two of them, and the bare stretch of wall behind her. Nothing else existed. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears. So loudly, he was sure she would hear it. Over it, he heard, as if in slow motion, her sharp intake of breath. And then she took a deliberate step toward him. Her lips parted slightly.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had closed the distance between them and crushed his lips against hers. They tasted like chocolate.

She kissed him back without hesitation. The bag she had been holding clattered to the floor as she threw her arms around him, and he raised his own hands, running them through her tangled hair, cupping her face, unable to believe that this was really, truly real. They lost themselves in each other's arms, aware only of their embrace, and he could feel her heart racing wildly as he held her against his chest.

When they drew apart, coming up for breath, it was as if the whole world around them had shifted. He felt surer, somehow. More content. Things were finally… right. He had misread her. She didn't find him despicable. She wasn't just helping him out of pity.

"Granger…" he whispered.

"Malfoy," she said in response, and a smirk any Slytherin would have been proud of lit up her face.

"I've liked you for longer than I care to confess," he said truthfully. "I might have even liked you back when we were younger, but I didn't dare admit it."

"Oh?" she said, amused. "Well I definitely did not like you back then. You were a right prat. I'm glad I punched you in the face that one time. You deserved it."

He grinned, his expression mirroring hers. "I was a prat, and I did deserve it. I hope you don't think I deserve it now."

"No," she whispered, leaning toward him again, "I would say you've definitely aged well."

For the first time since term ended, Draco truly appreciated just how empty the castle had gotten.

"So, not the best Christmas for either of us," Hermione said some half an hour later, as they sat by the fire in the empty Gryffindor common room. She extended her hands towards the flames, letting the warmth spread across her open palms.

"I think we've marginally improved it," Draco allowed. "Nice common room, by the way. It's very… well lit."

"Not being stuck under the lake does have its benefits," she agreed. "I don't know how you can stand it down there."

"It's rather cozy," Draco said, shrugging. "Very green. Lots of calming benefits. Aren't you familiar, Granger?"

She snorted. "I wouldn't have thought you'd put much stock in color therapy."

"Oh yes," Draco said seriously. "Snape gave us all the lecture on our first night. Red is so intense, you know. No wonder you Gryffindors are all so angry."

She laughed. "Angry with righteousness, Malfoy. Trust me, you want me all fired up. That's when I do my best work."

"I do," he admitted, though it was for other reasons. For the first time in days, his parents weren't the foremost thing on his mind.

Oblivious, she reached for her bag and started digging around inside it. "I stopped by Diagon Alley before Christmas and picked up a few books from the law section over at Flourish and Blotts. I think some of these will be really useful for the case."

She took out several large tomes and stacked them on the edge of her armchair. Draco sighed, his respite shattering. Hermione noticed his expression, and her mouth turned up in an understanding smile. She took the stack of books and lowered it carefully to the floor.

"Sometimes," she said, looking back up at him, "I find that if I'm stuck on a problem, it helps to step away for a bit, and focus on something else, so I can tackle it with a fresh mind when I'm more focused."

He sighed. "I can hardly forget it and enjoy myself when Mother and Father are locked up in Azkaban. Even in your company."

"You're burnt out on this," she said reasonably. "Honestly, I reckon you need a break. It's the holidays. Perhaps you should step away for a few days. You'll be much more productive if you do."

He watched her dark brown eyes as they glimmered in the firelight. He reasoned she was probably right. If memory served, she was always right, in fact. It had used to fill him with resentment when she, a girl of no wizarding heritage, had beaten him in every exam year after year. But now that she sat before him, her considerable talents turned in his direction, he was incredibly grateful for her support. But still, even with her as a distraction, he didn't think he could cast his family aside so easily.

"Eh, what holidays?" he said lightly. "All I've been doing is working nonstop. And besides, Christmas was lousy, like you said. That's over and done with."

"Perhaps we should have a do-over," she ventured.

"A do-over? Have you got another Time-Turner?" He smirked. "Otherwise you'll have to wait till next year like everyone else. The world's full of people who've screwed up Christmas and want to re-do it, I'm afraid."

"No Time-Turner," she said slowly. "But you know, it doesn't have to be Christmas for it to be Christmas."

"Ah," Draco said, "you're one of those. Celebrate whenever you like, and it's Christmas, right? Nice try, Granger. But Christmas is done with, and having a gift exchange on a random Thursday won't fix it."

"All right, all right," she said, holding up her hands. "It doesn't have to be Christmas. How about this then… New Year!"

"What, you want to go to a rave in Hogsmeade?" he said, smirking. He couldn't imagine her at such an event, but if she was game, he certainly wouldn't mind. That would be the perfect distraction, in fact. "You want to Apparate to the Victoria Embankment and watch the fireworks with the Muggles? You want to get drunk on Firewhiskey and snog at midnight?"

"Ha!" she said. "Not quite." She absentmindedly took hold of his hand, intertwining her fingers through his. He pulled her toward him, kissing her again. Several minutes passed before she spoke, but she was too intent on her idea to let it drop.

"Actually, Malfoy, there are some cultures that have a sort of Christmas on New Year. In Russia, for example, they have a New Year Tree, and they exchange gifts at midnight. They even have their own Santa." She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "No need to wait a year, or go to a rave – hopefully you're not too disappointed. We can have Christmas on New Year. I'm sure the Russians won't mind if we share in their tradition."

"Huh," Draco allowed. He didn't much care for the idea, but her eyes were alight with the glow of excitement again, and since he had finally confessed his feelings not even an hour ago, he thought he should give her at least a week before she realized what a complete prat he was. "That sounds so ridiculous it just might work. All right, Granger, you're on. Christmas on New Year it is."

A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews, follows, and likes, you guys!

Rina