Chapter 8 – Not such a Happy Christmas

What's normal supposed to feel like? I haven't felt a burden like this one since the year Harry, Ron and I spent searching for the Horcruxes. Sometimes it is almost like I cannot breathe. I thought - well, Merlin knows what thought - but- I was hoping that getting back with Ron would make things right; I thought my life would regain some normalcy. I was afraid of what Theo told me that afternoon - that I feel too much. Do I? Is that why I am stuck? I don't know; I don't know anything anymore. Well, I suppose that's not entirely true. I know I am afraid. I know that I am lonely. I know that this space between Ron and me is just growing wider. I know I can't live like this much longer but I don't know what to do to change my life.

There was a terrible cold snap during the week of Christmas.

In spite of the inclement weather, Hermione rose each day and Apparated to the nearest alley by A Touch of Magic. She came in early and she left late. She served so many people that she was unable to distinguish who was who - humanity had become a mass of unrecognizable faces. Well, unrecognizable but for one in particular. He continued to come into the pub each afternoon, reminding her wordlessly of everything that they had discussed the last time she had spoken to him.

Hermione was unable - or perhaps unwilling - to deal with the emotions that threatened her.

Getting back together with Ron had been a temporary solution but Hermione knew that sooner or later she would have to deal with her growing feelings of dissatisfaction. The more time she spent with Ron the more frustrated she became until it was nearly impossible to talk to him without snapping. She did admit that Ron handled it better than he had in the past, offering her more patience than he ordinarily would have. This did not assuage the growing discord within Hermione's heart, however.

Soon enough she found it impossible to put Theo Knott's words out of her mind.

Was it possible that her personal feelings, the emotions she felt, were the very thing which was stunting her life? No. How could that be true? Human beings needed to feel. The truth was that life would have been much easier without feelings but she had them and there was no helping that.

But his words rang in the corners of her mind and each day he continued to come into the pub. They never spoke; she found herself busy those moments he might have tried to talk to her and only looks passed between them. But Hermione knew Theo was watching.

Why?

Why did he continue to come in? Did he want to distract her? Was he the sort of bloke that enjoyed making women feel uneasy? Certainly he had made it clear that he had no intention on furthering their relationship. Not that Hermione could blame him, really. What did they know about one another? The infatuation she felt for him was silly and childish - she had acted more like a little girl than an adult woman. She knew she had no real feelings for Theo; she was simply feeling the throes of the dissatisfaction she felt in her current situation.

Hermione Granger that is NOT you! You need to stop these silly fancies and work on your real relationship!

But even these logical thoughts did not make it easy to ignore Theo and Hermione found herself sneaking glimpses and wondering about him and why he had said what he had to her. She ought to have known that his silent streak would eventually come to an end; it finally did on the eve of Christmas, right around the time she was leaving for her flat after a long and particularly grueling shift.

It wasn't Theo she ran into first, however; it was Basil.

"Hermione, girl," he greeted with a smile that made the corners of his eyes crease and his eyes dance merrily.

"Basil! Happy Christmas! I didn't think I'd see you before the holiday!"

Hermione found herself genuinely happy to see an old friend. Well, a new friend by definition but at least one that wasn't connected to her past life.

"How could I miss seeing you during this holiday?" he questioned and rummaging around in the deep pockets of his snow-dusted cloak he retrieved a parcel wrapped with red paper and a large, sparkling gold bow.

Hermione gasped.

"But I don't have anything for you!"

Her lament was met with merry laughter.

"Christmas isn't about receiving, my dear girl. It is about giving. I think you deserve something as lovely as you are."

Hermione's cheeks flushed with pleasure. It wasn't often that she received presents and with a huge, eager smile she pulled apart the paper and opened the box. Nestled there lay a ruby necklace. It was exquisite and it gleamed brightly in the dim lighting. There was something about that particular stone that made it seem like it was almost glowing from within.

She gasped, her hand coming up to her mouth.

"This is...Merlin's beard, I can't accept something like this!"

Basil smiled.

"I have an old friend; he's a jeweler and this really was nothing, dear girl."

Hermione stared down at the beautiful bauble shaking her head.

"It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

And that part was true; Hermione had never been the sort of girl to be showered with gifts and adoration. She had never received such a beautiful gift before.

Basil placed his hand over hers.

"Well then, I insist you keep it. I want you to have it; you've been a great friend to me since you've started working here. This is my favorite pub in all of wizarding London."

The flush had gone from her cheeks and Hermione looked up at him with serious eyes.

"I can't accept something like this with a clear conscience, Basil. I love it but it's...it's too much, isn't it?"

The older man smiled.

"Not too much for a beauty like you. Would you really want to make an old man unhappy on Christmas?"

Hermione laughed in spite of her uncertainty, looking down again at the gorgeous ruby. There was a silence as the wind howled beyond the partially opened pub door, melting with the rowdy laughter from the busy pub. The streetlights and window decorations beyond the stoop cast their neon glow upon the snow, making it sparkle.

She took a deep breath and finally clutched the jewel tightly.

"Thank you."

Overcome with emotion, Hermione leaned in to kiss Basil's cheek.

"I can't ever give you anything this valuable."

Basil smiled, wrapping his long scarf around his neck.

"You already have, dear girl. You already have. Happy Christmas. I hope you enjoy the present."

Still too overwhelmed to speak, Hermione watched her friend Apparate with a pop, leaving her alone. Trembling slightly from the cold, Hermione rushed to grab her cloak, making sure to secure the ruby so that she would not lose it. She took one last look around to make sure she hadn't left something unfinished and then slipped into the cold alleyway to Apparate home.

But before she could a voice echoed in the darkness.

"That's quite the bauble."

She whirled, with a gasp to see Theo standing there swathed in darkness.

"You gave me a fright!" she squeaked, her breath choked.

"I apologize."

His boots made a crunching sound in the fallen snow.

"Would Weasley approve?"

Hermione paused, hesitating. She hadn't wanted to accept the gift; it wasn't appropriate for a girl to be taking gifts from a man that was not her boyfriend, was it? And yet she had wanted the necklace. And either consciously or not, she had already begun to formulate a way so that she could keep it.

"How is it your business?" she replied hotly.

Marcus laughed.

"It isn't."

"You were spying on me."

The accusation fell between them and Theo chuckled in response.

"The pub is a public place."

"You just finished saying that my life is none of your business. So if you'll excuse me-"

Hermione had taken a step forward but Theo moved to block her in a graceful manner. His eyes gleamed in the near-darkness. Hermione was so close to him that she could smell the spicy scent of his cologne mixed with wintry air and damp wool.

His lips turned up into a smile.

"What are you doing on the eve of the new year?"

Hermione stared up at him, eyes wide. Her mouth moved for a few seconds and finally she found her voice, although it was trembling.

"I don't know what possessed me to ever doubt my relationship with Ron," she began. "I don't know you and I apologize if I threw myself at you inappropriately. The truth is, I had no business and it was just a passing fancy because of the rut my life is in. I don't know how to get out of it and I shouldn't have involved you. But it stops here; I am back with Ron now."

Theo raised one dark brow.

"What is it that what you want, Hermione?"

She stared at him in silence.

"What would make you happiest? Are you living your life the way you dreamed? There's something restless in you; I can feel it."

Trembling, Hermione took a tentative step backwards, both furious and at the same time, terrified.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

Her voice was a hiss. He was the first person who had put words to the anguish she was feeling.

Theo stared at her.

"You're stuck," he continued. "You've done all you can, haven't you? And the best you can do is this pub. You're much better than this; I can show you."

Hermione's anger had grown to a fever pitch and her mouth opened to lash out at him when he offered those few words of salvation:

I can show you.

"Show me?" she squeaked.

Her heart was pounding like a furious drum. She had never been given a way out of the hole that was her life. Since the end of the war, no one had ever offered her something different - something better.

"What-what can you do for me?" she asked with a hint of disdain.

Theo gazed down at her thoughtfully. Hermione felt terribly naked; she often felt this way under his dark, appreciative glance.

"You're a beautiful woman, Hermione. Surely you're aware of that?"

The warm words struck something deep within her causing a flush to rise up her neck. Theo offered her a sultry grin.

"Well, I've always known it; every man you've ever met knows it."

Hermione shook her head with a derisive laugh now certain that he was lying to her.

"Please don't mock me," she retorted, her eyes cold. "I may be many things but I'm no beauty and more importantly, I'm not a fool."

Now Theo was chuckling.

"Certainly, you're no fool. It's what makes you so enticing, you see. You're a beauty with substance. Every man wants that."

Hermione was confused.

"No one's ever really fancied me besides Ron-"

"That's because you haven't given anyone else a chance."

She stopped, her head snapping up.

"What are you saying?"

"That man, tonight, at the pub...I saw your face; you felt guilty taking his gift."

She swallowed and sighed with reluctance.

"It...It was too much," she admitted.

Theo shook his head.

"And yet something about you - not something you've done - compelled him to give it to you."

Hermione was silent again, staring up at Theo. Once more his mouth curled up into a wolfish smile.

"That's the power you have over men. Maybe you don't even know it but you're bewitching in more than one way. It all goes back to what I told you that day. If you stopped feeling so much and use what you've been given there's no telling where you might be."

Something about the way he was staring at her made Hermione uneasy. But there was an undeniable pull towards the unknown. She couldn't help herself.

"I'm listening."

"Have you ever conceived of accepting money in exchange for your time? Not work like this pub. Just your time, your companionship."

Hermione stiffened, sucking in a hard breath.

"You think me akin to a common whore?" she asked, anger brightening her features. "The idea is preposterous!"

Theo laughed merrily at Hermione's fury, which made her bristle even more. Beyond the windy alleyway the sound of carolers could be heard. It sounded dreamy and distant.

"No…no such debauchery. Think of it, Hermione. Money for your company. Why, I know women not twice as brilliant and lovely as you making more in one night than you do in a month."

Theo had grown increasingly animated as he spoke, his cheeks flushing with color.

"Don't you see? The lines you can't cross now wouldn't matter. You would have money enough for whatever you wanted. You would have savings. That would mean a nicer flat and a possibility to leave behind all those things that weigh you down now."

Hermione blinked, shocked that nothing like this had ever crossed her mind. She was unable to reply and he was silent, not pushing her in either direction - simply waiting. Still, doubt won over her desire for change - even change as shocking and twisted as he was suggesting.

Her voice was flat and cold.

"Those lines you speak of are impossible to cross. I was angry the last time we spoke but the truth is the same. My blood status-"

Theo, remaining ever patient, shook his head.

"You know so little!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Men do not seek reality! They want something different; they want something that they can't find at home! You would become the master of men, the mistress of illusion!"

He threw his hands up.

"The life I speak of is extravagant and showy! It revels in the very pleasures the human mind tells itself are no good. It is dressed in soft hands and pink lips, beautiful music and fine wine! It is indulgent and entices every one of your senses. You haven't dreamed of the things I can show you! In such a world blood status hardly matters and in fact it is those Pureblood wizards that believe they hate you so that will seek you out. All you have to do is spend a moment's time with them and they will shower you with unimaginable rewards."

Hermione hesitated and she realized that her face was flushed despite the bitter cold of the night. She mused at Theo Knott's words. What kind of businessman was he? Had Basil known more than he had told her when they had spoken of him? Had he known the whole time? And had Basil been… one of these men that Theo spoke of?

She thought guiltily of the necklace and the extravagant show of affection that Basil had offered her.

Oh, sweet Merlin!

Her mind fully accepted the reality of what Theo was saying to her – what Basil had offered her whether he had known it or not.

But then again…be practical, Hermione! Haven't you always been the practical one? Don't let your emotions get involved in this!

Hermione rolled Theo's words through her mind once more, this time without any emotion and with complete practicality and she found herself admitting that the necklace was worth most likely more than she owned. And if sold would make a hefty profit which would pay for months of rent and food. And she could sell it; the bauble was hers, wasn't it? And she hadn't done anything wrong to receive it!

The church bells began chiming the witching hour; Christmas had come. And soon on its heels the New Year would follow. Where would she be? In the same place as each year since Harry's death and the ushering in of the new Ministry?

Theo is offering me a rope. It might be an unsavory rope with threads of uncertainty but it is more than anyone else has offered me!

A surge of life roared through her and a surge of hatred towards her useless friends and boyfriend. How had they helped her? By making her feel like nothing? By bringing her sodding coffee in the mornings? Hermione felt the fingers of guilt follow close by and she tried with everything in her to stop feeling.

She didn't want to be angry with her life and her friends. She didn't want to feel anything. She only wanted to thrive.

"And you really think that it won't matter that I am Hermione Granger?"

Yes, it did feel like she was selling herself short. Still, desperation won out.

Theo smiled.

"You will make them think whatever you want them to think. You'll see."

He paused thoughtfully and Hermione kicked herself for not taking more time to learn Legilimency; she would have killed to know what Theo was thinking.

"They always said you were brilliant, Hermione. I just didn't realize the truth in that statement until a few weeks ago. You weren't wrong when you felt I was interested; I haven't stopped thinking about you."

He stepped closer to her, using one gloved finger to tip her chin up so Hermione had no choice but to look into the depths of his dark eyes.

"In fact, I've wanted you since that first afternoon we spoke at the pub you work at."

Hermione couldn't look away no matter how hard she tried. He was mesmerizing and had an uncanny ability to weave a sort of spell around them.

"Y-you have?" she managed to ask both afraid and completely alive – more alive than she could remember feeling since…since everything.

"So," Theo murmured. "What are you doing on New Year's Eve?"

He repeated the question as softly as a lover would and Hermione fell under his spell.

"Sire, the night is darker now,
And the wind blows stronger;
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, good my page;
Tread thou in them boldly:
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod,
Where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod
Which the saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,
Wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor,
Shall yourselves find blessing."

The sound of carolers echoed through the foyer of Malfoy Manor as Draco stood in the semi-darkness.

He hated Christmas – in fact – loathed it.

It was just past midnight and the Manor slept. There were no sounds of children laughing or joyful families here. No sound at all except the faint carol playing and the creaking bones of an old house.

Draco stood in the center of the entrance way looking around the dimness. Beyond the foyer the living room was bathed in the faint candlelight coming from the huge Christmas tree in the corner by the fireplace. Why his mother insisted on it after so many sad, meaningless Christmases he had no clue.

It stood wide and majestic in the same place it had stood for years – Draco recalled remnants of boyish, pine-scented memories filled with the innocence of a child's excitement followed by the fear which his father caused, shattering his joy like a bludger through glass. Christmas had never been happy.

That bastard.

Draco took a few steps towards the tree, the glow of its candles somehow soothing his inner anguish. Beyond the living room he could see the faint painting of light in the dining hall. Who was still awake at this hour?

His mother had spent the last several Christmases in her chambers, drunk on elf-made wine or whatever piss-poor Muggle Port she chose to indulge in. She was not a regular drinker and Draco didn't blame her when she did – after all, she was the one who had to deal with Lucius Malfoy.

At least I don't have to live here anymore.

The music, wherever it was coming from, faded away.

Draco moved through the shadows as lithely as a cat and as he neared the lights from the dining room and beyond he could hear voices and much to his surprise he realized that both of his parents were awake and together in their cavernous kitchen. Though he thought it a bad idea to spend any time with them, Draco's curiosity bested him and he walked into the large room.

Lucius and Narcissa were seated at the table of the large breakfast nook that took up the furthest part of the kitchens, the large windows beyond dark but for the glimmering snow just out of sight.

"And to what do we owe this momentous occasion that all the Malfoys are together for holiday?"

Draco's sarcastic voice broke the very tense silence.

At first neither of the elder Malfoys replied. Draco's father sat stone-still, his dark eyes without emotion and his jaw set firmly as if biting back a storm of words. His mother sat opposite him at the table looking ethereal in a white dressing gown, her white-blond hair hanging around her shoulders in a cascade of waves.

The vision of his mother in nightclothes suddenly reminded Draco of his childhood and he forced back a rogue flood of misplaced emotion.

I hate them both.

He watched as his mother reached out a long, thin hand.

"Draco, sit."

Hesitantly Draco eyed both of his parents.

"Wait…don't tell me. Someone's died, haven't they?"

His mockery veiled the concern that should have been there and Draco reveled in the slight pink tinge that colored his father's ashen complexion.

"Draco!"

Lucius' eyes flashed with unbridled fury which struck Draco unnaturally silent. The silence could not have been cut even by the most powerful spell and the scraping of the chair Draco pulled out to join his parents was grating.

It was a long time before Lucius Malfoy spoke.

"The Ministry will make you stand before the Wizengamot for the incident at Gringott's."

Draco blinked for a moment before bursting into dry laughter.

"That's what this is about? Bloody hell but you two are dramatic! Does anyone really care about what I've done or not done? What I did was give back my best friend what was rightfully his."

Draco wondered for a moment if this would be a repeat of the last time he had spoken to his father – a conversation he did not relish to have again.

"What you did was steal from Madame Zabini and the Ministry will have someone pay for it."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"You'll make it disappear. You always do, don't you? You can't have your precious reputation ruined and we all know it."

There was an expectation that the elder Malfoy would lash out; Draco was prepared for that. But his father remained stoic, his hands planted firmly on the marbled table.

"To think that this is just about my reputation, Draco."

He looked up at his son.

"There is nothing I can do right now to appease the Ministry. Except…"

Draco, who had begun to grown concerned that perhaps this time…he would have to pay for his behavior – relaxed.

"Well, then…do what you have to, Father. May I leave now?" he replied airily.

This time his mother stopped him reaching up to clasp his cloak with her pale fingers.

"The Ministry requires that you settle down. They want to see you rehabilitated. You'll sit before the Wizengamot early this coming year and they will spare you Azkaban so long as you abide by the rules they've set before us."

Draco's grey eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What rules?" he snapped in a petulant way.

Lucius sighed.

"A program through Saint Mungo's-"

"I'm not going to fucking therapy!"

Draco's interruption was blustery and tinged with barely disguised misery and outrage.

"Draco!"

"I won't! You're the fucking Minister! Do your job and…and…"

The silence pierced Draco's eardrums as his parents watched him with solemnity. He hated this more than his father's outbursts. This…this he didn't understand.

"Saint Mungo's, Draco," continued Narcissa after a long pause. "And…they agreed that if you settle down and get your affairs in order that they will go easy on your punishment."

Draco's angular features were twisted in anger.

"What sort of affairs are they talking about? And how can they accuse me of something they have no proof I've done?!"

Lucius sighed.

"Even if that were the point – which it is not – there is no choice here, Draco. I agreed to your…rehabilitation."

Draco stared at his parents in shock. He could not even muster words to express the tumultuous feelings within him and his mother broke the silence as if reading his mind.

"We've talked about this before, Draco. About you finally getting married."

"M-married?"

Draco loathed the squeak in his voice; he hated knowing that his parents could get to him that way.

"You know, you should have taken your great opportunity when the Parkinson's daughter was searching for a husband."

He blinked and then let out a short, angry chortle.

"I've done a lot of stupid things in my life but trust me – that would have been the stupidest of all. I'd never have married her. Do you know how many cocks she's sucked?"

Draco's vile words got his desired reaction. His mother turned white and gasped.

"You will not speak to me like that!" she exclaimed two pink spots blooming on her shapely cheekbones.

The younger Malfoy scowled.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd stop spewing rubbish!"

Lucius Malfoy watched his son grimly.

"Rubbish or not the reality is that you'll be facing Azkaban if you don't comply. I agreed to this, Draco."

Draco stared, stricken.

"I'd rather die than marry her. I'll rot before I end up miserable like you."

Lucius sighed at his son's hateful disdain.

"Well, I've said all I'm going to say. The only choice you have is which day you'll be taken to Azkaban. I'd just as soon send you right now but you are my son and I'll give you until tomorrow to consider your options."

As his parents rose from the large table and retreated towards the dimness of the nearby dining room and then disappeared from view Draco sat stonily; he found he wasn't able to move, trapped as if he had been cursed immobile. The blood rushed through his heated veins, the sound like screams only he could hear.

Was his father right? Was he going to go to Azkaban?