Author's Note: Well this chapter was a bit of a fight. And my NaNoWriMo story is fighting me worse. On the other hand, while trying to write this chapter, I wrote about 1500 words of the next chapter. I did finally get pictures up on my blog! So if you want to see adorable Galapagos animals and a picture of me with a stuffed alpaca plushy, you can check it out at HiIMakeStuff over on WordPress.

Chapter 23: Slammed

A wreath hung from Draco's door as well as her own. She hadn't done much in the way of decorations—she didn't own any really. But she'd gone out and bought each of them a wreath and hung them so that Draco would see them when he got home from work. She'd also got herself a small tree—just three feet, and small enough to sit comfortably on an end table, and a box of baubles to put on it. And a couple of Christmas stockings. It wasn't much in the way of Christmas decorations, but it was something. It said that they weren't going to let the season pass them by entirely. She didn't put the baubles on the tree—she wanted to let Draco help with that.

She'd written to Narcissa to ask if there were any Christmas traditions they observed that Draco might be missing this year. Narcissa had responded at length, talking about the dishes the house-elves would cook, and that they opened their stockings on Christmas Eve and other gifts on Christmas Day. She described the sorts of decorations the house-elves put up, and even sent an ornament for their tree. She'd also sent a Christmas gift for Draco and asked Hermione to hold on to it until it was Christmas.

Hermione was also planning to go to the library to try to get a few Christmas memories of her own. She wanted to watch a couple of the classics she and her family had watched when she was growing up—How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Miracle on 34th Street, maybe It's a Wonderful Life. Or A Christmas Carol. Nothing said Christmas like Charles Dickens. Maybe if she'd known how few Christmases she'd have with her parents, she wouldn't have been so quick to leave them for Christmas with Harry and Ron, year and after year.

She swallowed and took a couple of calming breaths. She doubted she'd make it through Christmas without any tears, but she was going to try. For the moment, time to think of other things. Christmas shopping was a good distraction. What was she going to get Draco? And Harry? It was only ten days until Christmas. She had a potions ingredients gathering expedition tomorrow night. Maybe she'd see if Draco wanted go shopping for his mother tomorrow during the day.

In the meantime, she wrote a letter.

Draco was already getting sick of doing double duty at the library and restaurant. He'd knocked on Hermione's door to bring her some cake from the restaurant and got no response. He wondered if she was asleep, or if she was possibly out with Potter. He'd had a missed call from her on his mobile during the day; he hadn't heard it ring while he was at the library.

It was Thursday by the time they'd finally caught up with one another, and Saturday before they were both free at the same time to go Christmas shopping. Draco groaned inwardly at the prospect of shopping; shopping was something that he'd once enjoyed to some degree for himself. New robes, new Quidditch accessories, and money to buy whatever he chose. Now, he was rather constrained by his budget and the knowledge that almost anything he would normally buy was utterly out of reach. Hermione, not particularly inclined to shopping for herself unless books were involved, did enjoy finding things that she thought would bring a smile to other people's faces. They wandered through a store together.

"I have to bring something for the Weasleys. My mother would hex me for exhibiting poor manners if I turn up for Christmas with nothing, but I haven't the faintest idea what to get any of them," he said, picking up a rather gaudy looking ceramic angel.

Hermione chuckled. "Well, Mr. Weasley will be happy with anything Muggle, especially if it has a little bit of technology in it. He's utterly fascinated by Muggles. Mrs. Weasley is a sweetheart. She cooks enough for an army, and is very motherly to everyone. She took Harry and I in no questions asked, really, and always treated us like one of her own."

"And my mother?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. What in Salazar's name could he find in a Muggle shop that his mother would want?

Hermione raised her hand in a gesture of surrender. "You know her best. Jewelry, or clothes or…something to put on the shelf? What if we sent her a picture of you? In a nice frame? She hasn't seen your face in a long time."

Draco had to concede that that might be just the thing for his mother. She could be surprisingly sentimental sometimes. "How do we go about getting one of those? And how many other Weasleys are there?"

Laughing weakly, Hermione started a list. They had a lot of people to try and find things for, though she rather suspected that she'd be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow for a few things herself. Christmas was fast approaching.

Monday afternoon, Hermione didn't go to the joke shop. The letter she'd written the previous Monday had been answered reluctantly by Arthur Weasley.

It wasn't something she'd ever pictured herself doing, but here she was. She'd owled the only person she felt she could, asking how she could do this and they'd reluctantly given her the answers she needed. Hermione stood at the Ministry and waited for her arranged PortKey.

It wasn't long before someone brought out two. The rather bored wizard who brought it out looked surprised to see her, but didn't comment. "The red tea-cup will take you there. The doorknob will bring you back in one hour. When you arrive, you will need to give the doorknob to the guard, and he will return it to you after you have finished your visit. You are not to bring anything in with you. Your wand will be left with the guard."

Hermione gave a tight nod, her stomach churning a little. "I understand."

He handed her the Portkey and within a moment, she felt the familiar tug of Portkey transit and she was off.

Azkaban. She'd never thought she'd be standing here. Even with the Dementors banished from its walls, it was an eerie place. Still, she'd come for reason, and she was going to see it through. She approached the guard, who checked his Dark Detectors, verified her identity with her wand, and kept her wand and the return Portkey at the desk. "Jenkins will escort you. Your return Portkey will activate in an hour." He looked over his shoulder. "Howell Jenkins!"

"I won't be long," she promised.

A blonde man with glass green eyes came out and motioned for Hermione to follow him down the corridor. The place was cheerless. It was hard to imagine that Sirius had been here for over a decade. She was grateful that the Dementors were gone. She wasn't sure she could have made herself make the trip if they'd still been guarding the place. Jenkins stopped her in a particular corridor.

"Your visitor is here," he told the inmate. "I'll be at the end of the hall if you need anything." The man moved off to the end of the hallway about 15 feet away to give her some privacy, but he kept her in his line of sight in case the inmates tried anything.

The cell door was all bars, and Hermione could see a blonde man inside. He had a bed, and a wash basin, and little else. A chair was set up for her outside the cell door where the man couldn't reach her. She doubted he'd be much threat to her behind bars and without his wand, but the Ministry liked to take precautions. His hair was limp, as though it hadn't been washed recently enough, though it looked like he was attempting to take care of himself. "Hello, Mr. Malfoy."

"Hermione Granger. I was astounded when they said I was going to have a visitor, and nearly fell off my bed when they told me who it was. You're about the last individual I would have expected to call on me. How may I assist you?" There was a little sarcasm in his voice, and a high helping of age-old manners, utterly solicitous. He gave a half-bow.

She settled herself in the chair facing him. "It's not exactly a trip I particularly expected to make, but I wasn't sure they were giving you any news. I know you were sentenced before your wife and son, and I thought you might want to know what became of them."

A hungry look appeared on Lucius Malfoy's face briefly. He was concerned, he desperately wanted to know where his family was. "The guards have hinted that they may or may not be here, but I've never seen them nor been able to confirm it."

"They aren't here," she said quietly. "Harry testified for them. Your wife has been exiled from the country for the time being. Your son is living without magic for a year."

"Neither of them is in Azkaban?" he asked, needing to hear the words.

"Neither of them is in Azkaban," she confirmed.

A sneer appeared on Lucius's face. "Of course Potter wouldn't testify for me."

Hermione felt her temper flare. "You deserve to be here, if for no other reason than that you gave an eleven year old child a Horcrux," she told him.

"That was never proven," he said defensively, looking around as though the guards might be eavesdropping, waiting for him to admit something.

She felt her temper slip a little more and her voice got quiet and dangerous. "Regardless, I have made this trip once, and I will not be making it again. If you care anything about knowing what's become of your wife and son, you won't argue with me, patronize me, or make excuses." She paused a minute to see if he dared to object, and he didn't. She continued, "Harry had good reasons to testify on behalf of Draco and Narcissa. He didn't have any reason to testify for you, and here you are. As far as I know, Narcissa is managing okay. She's a resilient woman. And Draco is a survivor. He's adapted well enough to living without magic, and he's taking control of his life. They both have less than eight months left on their sentences. It's Christmas this week. I thought you deserved to at least know that your family was alive and well and walking free."

He took a deep breath and then another one. He struggled a little to get the words out, but they were sincere. "Thank you for making the effort to tell me. It's a great weight off my mind. I did sometimes think…that they might be here. That I might have led them to share my fate."

"You're welcome," she replied. "Is there anything else?"

"I'm not allowed to receive mail, so I haven't heard from them. Are they doing well? Truly?"

Hermione hesitated. "I haven't seen Narcissa, but I've written to her. I don't exactly know her well enough to know if she's anything other than normal now, but the letters I've had…she seems to be in okay spirits. She's keeping herself busy. She worries about Draco, but I've told her he's doing well."

There was a tired smile from Lucius. "You're on first name terms with both of them. Has the Ministry assigned you to watch over him then?"

She shook her head. "No. But I helped Draco navigate the Muggle world during his first few days. He picked things up fairly rapidly. I don't think he finds doing things the Muggle way particularly difficult, just unpleasant." She almost smiled. Almost. She looked down at her watch. "I'm running out of time. I do have to go. Happy Christmas."

"Tell them I love them. Would you?"

"I will." She stood up, and began to turn away.

"And I'm sorry. For a lot of things." His composure had cracked, and she could hear it in his voice.

"I'll tell them," she repeated, loudly enough for him to hear her. She wasn't sure how long his sentence was. She didn't expect him to get out any time soon. But she wondered if locking someone up for decades really did anyone any good. Would Lucius Malfoy benefit from a year without magic? She shook her head. It was a thought for another day. Maybe in a few years she'd be willing to advocate on his behalf. Maybe. Certainly not now or any time soon.

Christmas Eve Day, Draco went over to Hermione's flat. Hermione wanted to try and watch one or two Christmas films before they had to catch the Knight Bus. He shuddered at the thought of the Knight Bus. He'd never had to ride it before, but all the stories he'd heard were dreadful. When he came over for breakfast, he'd realized he didn't have a backpack or bag to carry his things with him in. He'd reluctantly accepted the use of the Weasel's old backpack. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with it; it just seemed like a terrible idea to bring it into that house. Still, it was a marginally less humiliating option than allowing Hermione to pack his things into her undetectably extended handbag have to go to her for his things like a child having to ask his mother for a clean shirt because he'd spilled something on his.

And so Hermione had cooked while he packed his bag, and they settled down to How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

"Why is he green?"

"Because he's a Grinch. He's the Grinch rather, there's only one," she explained. "It's short—you'll see."

Draco had to acknowledge that she was right on that—the film hardly lasted as long as their bacon and eggs.

"What did you think?"

Draco looked at the brunette. "It was interesting," he offered. "I'd say most of my Christmases usually revolved around the presents and food. I'm not sure I can picture my family gathering in the snow and singing." He noticed a wistful look on her face. "What? Are you picturing me singing in the snow? It's not going to happen."

She shook her head and gathered up the plates. They still had time before they were catching the bus. They could watch another movie. "I was just thinking, that my family and I used to go out and sing Christmas carols together, when I was little. Maybe if I would have known how few Christmases we'd have together…" She didn't finish the thought. "Draco, I have to tell you something."

"What's that?" he asked, looking at her over his shoulder. She was busying herself at the sink. He couldn't fathom why she was washing the dishes the Muggle way. He bit his lip. She must be wanting something to do with her hands, he realized. She's nervous. Oh Merlin.

"I spoke to your father. On Monday. I can't talk to my parents, but…I thought your father should know that you were okay. And that your mother is okay. He was sentenced before you were and…they hadn't even told him whether the pair of you were in Azkaban or what had happened to you. I thought he should know." The words came out in a halting sort of rush.

He stood up and looked at her. "How is he?" He had tried not to think too much of his father these last few months. The emotions were too conflicting. Blame him for his loss of magic, or feel guilty for walking free while he sat in prison? It had all been too much to deal with in August, so he just hadn't.

"It did him good to hear that you were both okay," she said softly. "I can't believe the guards let him think you might be in Azkaban too. It's not as bad as it could be—there are no Dementors in Azkaban now, but it's still prison. He said he loved you. And that he was sorry. For a lot of things."

One minute, Draco was standing next to the table staring at her, and the next, he was on the other side of the room and was hugging her. It was…surreal. He hardly remembered deciding to cross the room, but there he was. "Thank you. You didn't have to…" He let go of her and she let go of him.

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "I didn't have to, but I thought all three of you deserved to know. I wrote to your mother and told her that I saw him. I just wasn't sure how to tell you."

The blonde ran his fingers through his hair, and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Hermione was something. Azkaban. He shuddered at the thought of his father going there, never mind the idea of actually going to visit himself. He was determined to make this a good Christmas for her. He'd already planned to, and wanted to but…it was even more important now that he do it right. "How do we do this whole singing in the snow business?"

That won a chuckle from her. "We'd probably have to find some snow. Not much has fallen here. And I'd have to teach you the words. Some of them are pretty easy. We've got just enough time for a movie before we have to catch the bus. Let's pick one." She showed him the other films she'd borrowed—Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Carol, It's a Wonderful Life… "This one," she said, choosing a Miracle on 34th Street. "It's great. My family and I used to watch this more years than not."

They settled down on the couch together to watch the film, Hermione providing helpful commentary about the various Muggle traditions he was seeing. He had a little bit of trouble grasping just how sacred the whole Santa Claus idea was, which lead to a divergent topic in how it was one of the last vestiges of a belief in magic that children kept. He just couldn't fathom it. Magic was part of life. He was also a bit dubious about the prospect of deer flying without wings.

The pair of them sat side by side on the couch, their knees just touching. Draco found his own face echoing the smiles on Hemrione's—she knew the movie well enough to smile preemptively when she knew something good was about to happen, and hadn't happened yet. This was going to be a very different Christmas from any other one he'd had so far. He thought rather ruefully of his gift wrapping. His first two had come out so sloppy that he'd gone ahead and redone them after he'd finally gotten the hang of it. By contrast, Hermione had done hers the Muggle way as well and they were as neat as anything—she had no idea there was even a spell for wrapping gifts until he'd asked why she wasn't using magic.

As the credits started to roll, Hermione looked at the time. "We've got to go. It's nearly noon," she said. "And we've got a reservation."

Draco peeled himself up off the couch and gathered up his jacket and borrowed backpack, with his carefully wrapped presents inside. Hermione shrugged into her coat and gathered up her beaded bag. It had everything she needed. They quietly made their way down to the street and Hermione stuck out her wand arm and summoned the Knight Bus.

It arrived with a bang and thundered into view, slamming on its breaks. It was a violent shade of purple and three stories tall, and one of the ghastliest things Draco had ever seen. Hermione nudged him along afterward and gave their names and the appropriate number of Sickles to the conductor and led the way along.

Draco grimaced. Passengers and bags had scattered every which way, and none of the chairs actually seemed to be fastened to the floor. He chose one at random and held his bag in his lap. Hermione did the same.

"Better hold on," she warned, grimacing.

He wondered what there was to hold on to, and desperately tried to grab onto the wall as the bus lurched into motion again. The bus driver drove like a madman, and the bus popped in and out of space as it chose. Draco lost count, but he was tempted to say they were pulled off their course and into other space at least half a dozen times during their ride. He was sure that if he'd had anything to eat after their early breakfast, he would have been violently ill.

At first, he asked Hermione to start teaching him Christmas Carols. Anything to get his mind off the movement of the bus. But eventually, all he could bear to do was sit there with his eyes shut and let her recite the carols to him.

At long last, the bus lurched to a halt, and the conductor called out Draco and Hermione's stop. He had been feeling too ill to look out the window, so his first sight of the Burrow was as he stepped off the bus. Thank Merlin for solid ground. He looked out at wild yard, covered in a few inches of snow, and thought he saw a gnome behind one of the hedges. The whole house looked rather unstable, and tall for it's width.

Hermione poked him in the back. "Come on. It's warm and cozy inside, and everyone will be waiting."

Draco look at her. He could hear the apprehension behind the forced cheerfulness. "Are you sure you want to go in?"

She nodded. "I have to face them sometime. They're the only family I have left." Side by side, they approached the house and knocked on the door as the Knight Bus banged off to torment its passengers some more.