Author's note: This is just silly. I have this entire story finished now, and I'm letting it sit here without uploading it. So from now until I don't know when, I will upload a chapter a day until it's finished. It's still a fairly raw story, I'm afraid, but I'll get around to editing it properly eventually. For now, I'm not in the right mindset for editing, and so if I wait to upload until I'm done editing, well, let's just say that you will probably be waiting for a long time...
Disclaimer: I don't remember if there are any OC's in this section, but, if there are, I own them, and if there aren't, I own nothing. -sighs- Such is life...
--Tamara

He'd known that it would be hard. He'd even braced himself for the reaction that he knew he would have. But it hadn't been enough. It had been all he could do to stop from breaking down in front of Draco and Hermione when he entered the house. Now, though, now that he was alone, he could allow himself to let it all out. He realized that he'd never really cried for Sirius. Sure, he'd moped and been miserable, but he hadn't really cried. He didn't cry now, but he came very close. He stood in the middle of the room that had been Sirius' and tried his hardest to let the tears out. Nothing came and after a long moment, he had to admit that it was hopeless. He'd closed himself so much to his emotions that it was almost impossible to let them out. Not even to Ginny would he cry, and he trusted her more than anyone in the world. A fleeting image of Draco sobbing into his shoulder crossed his mind, but it vanished almost before Harry could process it.

He shook his head and made himself walk forwards to the desk. It was painted a dazzling Gryffindor gold, as was most of the rest of the room. What wasn't gold was red, and there were lions adorning almost every surface. Harry's mouth twitched slightly, imaging the reaction that Mr. and Mrs. Black must have had at Sirius' rebellion. He sat down on the red leather chair and pulled open the drawer. It was filled with pictures and letters addressed to Sirius. He wondered why no one had thrown them out, but quickly realized that they were all charmed not to leave the drawer. He frowned, and tried to think of a way to break the charm. It was almost certainly passworded, but what would Sirius have chosen? He racked his brain, but the only thing he could think of was the password to the Marauder's map. He shrugged, and gave it a shot. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Nothing happened, and he groaned out loud. He began to recite the names of the Marauders, then their nicknames. He ran through all the Gryffindor passwords that he could remember, and when nothing allowed him to pull the letters out, he wanted to scream in frustration. He'd tried everything! As a last resort, he said, "Lily Evans." To his amazement, the paper that he was clutching sprang free and he looked at the desk in disbelief. Sirius had used his mother's name as a password. He certainly hadn't mentioned that! He wondered how he'd felt when she turned to his father.

With a shrug, he looked down at the letter in his hands. It was addressed to Sirius from Harry's father. He scanned it quickly, noting that it had been written while they were still at school. He greedily read all the details about his father's vacation, trying to get as much about the man he'd never known out of what he'd written to the man that Harry had. He put down the letter and picked up a photograph. It showed James and Lily Potter, both grinning hugely, playing with a baby. Him. Feeling slightly sick, he put the picture away and closed the drawer. He hoped that it would lock itself again, but realized that he didn't really care. Kreacher refused to come in here, and neither Hermione nor Draco would go looking around through the drawers. It didn't matter if the drawer didn't lock again.

He made himself look around the rest of the room. He almost missed it the first time he swept his eyes across the walls, and only the slightest hint of sliver stopped his relentless gaze. He frowned, and moved closer to examine the round object. It couldn't be… could it? But it was. A perfectly average CD, bearing the words, "Emerson, Lake, and Palmer." Why on Earth did Sirius have CDs? How could he work them? Muggle technology didn't work in wizarding homes! So why were the CDs there? He looked around the room more closely, and suddenly grinned. One of the Gryffindor statues looked just slightly too flat for its size. He pulled out his wand and cast the standard anti-illusion spell. Sure enough, the statue dissolved, and in its place was a rather nice CD/Tape player. Harry looked it over, noting that there didn't seem to be any plug. As an experiment, he pushed the power button. The machine whirred to life, and there was the slight humming noise of an empty CD drive spinning. Harry pushed the open button and slipped the Emerson, Lake, and Palmer CD into the slot. There was a moment of scratchy whirring, and then the music began to play. Harry had to grin as he listened. He didn't know anything about Sirius' mother's taste in music, but he suspected that she would highly disapprove of this. Especially because it was muggle-made. He suddenly felt a lot better about staying here. If Sirius could survive years of living with his parents and still rebel enough to actually buy a muggle tape deck and CDs, then Harry owed it to him to stay here and be as cheerful as possible over Christmas. Besides, he couldn't wait to see Hermione's face when he played the music for her!

I watched him carefully when he came down the stairs the next morning, but he appeared to have made his peace with the house and his own ghosts. I asked about the magic, and he only grinned. I took that to mean that we were allowed to. My suspicions were confirmed when he sent the dishes flying into the sink as we finished. Granger looked disapprovingly at him, but he only shrugged. I excused myself and walked out of the kitchen to explore the house. Now that the atmosphere appeared to have relaxed considerably, I wanted to have a better idea of where I was to be staying.

It appeared to be the traditional old-fashioned house fallen into disrepair, just as it looked to be from the front. I discovered countless rooms and most of them were empty of everything but pictures and tapestries stuck with permanent sticking charms. Several of them were highly entertaining, and some were just downright odd. I didn't know, for instance, whether to be amused or appalled to find myself on the Black family tree. I finally decided to take it as a twisted compliment, and, with that mindset, was able to find the humor in many of the more gruesome and overdone decorations. The Blacks made no effort to hide their involvement with the Dark Arts, and from the glance that was all I'd allowed myself of the library, they seemed to have acquired quite a stack of information. I promised myself that I would explore it thoroughly at some later time.

My search finally led me back to the main hall and the painting that Harry hadn't wanted me to touch. The curiosity was unconquerable, and I walked up to the curtains. Quickly, before I lost my nerve, I pulled them open. An amazingly ugly woman regarded me. Her face might have been pretty once, but it had been destroyed by the years. The expression that she wore didn't help things much. She opened her mouth to say something, then frowned at me.

"Lucius?" she demanded.

I sighed. Not even a painting could tell me and my father apart! "No."

"Who are you?" she barked.

"I'm Lucius' son," I said flatly.

"He's married?"

"Obviously."

"And you've come to live here, have you?"

"Certainly not! I'm here on holiday."

She frowned horribly. "Are you alone?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Harry came striding into view. Her expression changed to one of abject hatred, and she shrieked, "FILTHY HALF-BLOOD! COMING IN AND STEALING MY HOME FROM ME! IT SHOULD HAVE GONE TO NARCISSA'S SISTER! EVEN SHE WOULD BE BETTER THAN YOU!"

Harry looked at her in disgust. "Shut up!" he said loudly. She didn't. Harry shouted louder at her, and she shouted back. The noise drew Granger into the scene, and she caught my eye.

"Close the curtains," Granger mouthed. I was more than willing, and the two of us wrestled the curtains shut. The portrait shut up then, and Harry slowly stopped breathing so heavily. I followed the two of them quietly into the kitchen, then sighed.

"Sorry about that," I said.

Granger started, presumably at the apology, but Harry waved it away wearily. "It was bound to happen sooner or later," he said.

"Who is she?" I demanded.

"The late Mrs. Black," Granger said. Harry glared at her. "Well, she was!"

"She doesn't deserve the courtesy that that name implies," Harry muttered.

"She was Sirius' mother," Granger told me quietly. "As you can see, she doesn't really approve of us."

Harry laughed bitterly. "More like, she hates us. Her other son, Sirius' brother, was a Death Eater. He was mummy's boy, from all reports."

I remembered the green-coated room, and couldn't deny it.

Harry stood up and moved to the cupboards. He opened them and made an inventory of what was supplied and what wasn't. I knew that this was his way of saying that the subject of the late Mrs. Black was closed, and I didn't press it. I didn't want to know any more, anyway.

"We are out of almost everything," Harry announced. "Someone will have to go shopping."

"You go," Granger said instantly. I wondered whether that was just a reluctance to go shopping, or an understanding of the tension that had seeped back into the house. Maybe it was both.

Harry turned to me. "Come with me?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No thank you," I said vehemently. "I have absolutely no desire to go out into muggle London."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You'll have to go out some time," he reminded. "You can't just stay here all month."

"No."

"Please?"

I dropped my head into my hands. That wasn't fair. He'd cheated, though he didn't realize it. When have I ever been able to refuse his please? I made an effort to salvage my pride and image. "You will owe me big for this."

He grinned and didn't answer. I followed him out through the hallway, being supremely quiet as we passed, and out of the house.

"No reason to lock it," Harry said. "It's protected by enough spells."

I only nodded. "I suppose you aren't going to tell me why you insisted on bringing me along?" I asked as we set off at a brisk pace.

"I wanted company," he answered.

"And why didn't you ask Granger?"

He rolled his eyes. "Draco, if I tell you that I wanted time alone with you, would you believe me?"

My heart skipped a beat. "Yes," I managed, trying desperately not to blush. "Is it true?"

"Yes," he said. "I don't actually know you very well, you know."

"So you want to learn the secrets of who I truly am, is that it?"

He shrugged. "I'll learn as much as you'll teach me," he said.

"How much do you want to know?" I asked, handing the question right back to him.

He glared at me. "You are being singularly unhelpful," he announced.

I grinned. "It's my specialty. So if you're going to delve into my psyche, can I pry into yours?"

"I suppose," he said reluctantly.

"You first," I said generously.

He sighed, and didn't answer for a long moment. Finally, he asked carefully, "Are you worth getting to know?"

"That's cheating! I get two for that!"

"Just answer!"

"Fine. I suppose that that depends entirely on who you are."

"I happen to be me, Harry Potter."

"I wouldn't mind."

"You're sidestepping," he said in exasperation. "Just give me a straight answer!"

"Yes. My turn." I considered for a moment, then said, "All right. First question: chocolate or Quidditch?"

"What kind of question is that?"

I snickered. "Just answer," I replied, grinning inwardly at the inadvertent quotation.

"Quidditch," he said after a long moment's thought. He glared at me. "That's harder than it sounds!"

I nodded. "Of course it is. The next one will make more sense, I promise. What's your favorite childhood memory?"

His face closed as he thought. Finally, he said slowly, "Finding out that I was a wizard and that I didn't have to stay with the Dursleys for the rest of my life. I'll ask you the same questions, just to see."

I rolled my eyes. "Very imaginative," I commented dryly. "Let's see. I definitely prefer chocolate, and my favorite memory is the first broom that I ever received."

He snorted. "If you prefer chocolate, then how do you manage to stay so skinny?"

I grinned. "I have a very fast metabolism. Hugs or cookies?"

He stared at me. "You are very odd, if you can actually find answers in these," he said.

"Of course I am. Which is it?"

"Hugs. Why are you asking me questions like this?"

"Is that the one you're using for you turn?"

He nodded.

"I'm building up a repertoire," I said. "Black or white?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"What do you mean?"

"Colors, or morals?"

"You choose."

He sighed. "I prefer the color black, but my heart lies on the side of justice."

I chocked back a snort. "How poetic," I said.

"I try. What's your favorite class?"

I frowned, considering. "Potions," I said finally.

He grimaced. "Like I couldn't have guessed on my own," he muttered. "We're here, by the way."

I blinked, and looked into the glass window of a muggle department store. He led me to the door, and I followed him through, silently marveling at the sheer number of things that were for sale. No wizarding shop could ever hope to sell this amount of stuff and manage to stay open. "They need all this?" I muttered to Harry as we walked over to the grocery section.

He shrugged. "You'd be amazed," he said. He grabbed a basket as we passed the stack, and began to browse the area. I followed him, watching as he carefully compared items that looked to be the same to me, and selected one through a logic that I couldn't see. It was obvious that he was familiar with the contents of a store like this, and I wondered again why he'd bothered to ask me to come with him. It took a long time to select it all, and I was thoroughly bored by the time he was finished. I was about to tell him that I would wait for him outside when a voice said, "Harry?"

He looked up sharply, and I imitated him, looking into the eyes of a very pretty Indian girl. A very pretty, very familiar Indian girl. She was with an older woman, perhaps her mother, and they were looking at the two of us. "Hello Parvati," Harry said. "You are Parvati, aren't you?"

Parvati nodded, grinning. "This is my older sister Roopangi. 'Pangi, this is Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy." She didn't look surprised to see me, and I wondered with a sudden drop of my stomach just what she knew.

"Pleased to meet you both," Roopangi said with a slight nod. Her voice was low and slightly husky, fitting perfectly with her above-average looks. Apparently beauty ran in the family. "Parvati, we must leave soon. Say hello to your friends while I pay for the groceries, and then we have to go."

Parvati nodded, and Roopangi melted back into the flow of traffic. The younger witch looked from me to Harry, and raised her eyebrows.

Harry sighed. Obviously he knew her much better than I did, and the look she was giving us now meant trouble. "What do I have to pay you so that you won't tell Lavender?" he asked.

She grinned. "Harry, you are very smart. It's not that extravagant, I promise you. Take me to Hogsmeade on Valentine's day."

Harry blanched. "No."

"Oh?"

"Parvati, I'm not available. You know that."

She shrugged, tossing her long black hair out of the way. "She won't mind, I promise you. Look, what if she agreed. Then would you go out with me?"

He sighed. "Will nothing else seal your lips?"

"No."

"Fine. If she agrees, and I want to hear it from her, do you understand?"

She nodded, then flashed both of us a dazzling grin. "Then I shall see you around," she promised. She glided away, and Harry and I were left alone once more.

Hermione burst out laughing when she saw the two of them stagger back into the kitchen. Both were laden down with bags of groceries, and Harry's face was still flushed a dull red. She accepted some of his bags and began to help with putting them away. As she worked, she asked, "So what happened to you both?"

"Parvati happened to me," Harry answered, popping his head out of the cupboard that he was filling. "Draco just watched."

Hermione lifted her eyebrows. "Parvati?" she asked. "At Mark's and Spencer's?"

Harry nodded. "I was surprised to see her too."

"Harry," she said warningly. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" he protested, but he wouldn't look at her. She would disapprove, he knew, and he would rather not have to deal with that on top of everything else.

"He agreed to escort her to Hogsmeade on St. Valentine's Day if his girlfriend lets him," Draco said lazily. Harry wanted to wring his neck. The blond Slytherin was enjoying his discomfort, curse him! He wasn't helping them put the groceries away either, just lounging against the counter watching as Harry and Hermione juggled the supplies.

Hermione looked at Harry, surprised shock on her face. "You agreed to go out with Parvati?" she demanded. "On Valentine's day? Didn't you learn anything last year?"

Harry sighed. "It's not like that, Hermione," he said through his clenched teeth. He hoped that his blush had faded, but he suspected that it simply blazed more brightly than ever. He looked down instead. "We're just going as friends."

Hermione looked at him in that way she had, as though you'd suddenly lost all of your brains in a rather unfortunate accident and she didn't quite know what to say. "There's no such thing as a 'just as friends' date with Parvati, Harry," she said patiently. "You'd better hope that Ginny says no."

He sighed. He knew that she was right, but it bothered him anyway. "I have a right to order my own life, you know," he snapped.

Draco snorted. Harry whirled to face him, narrowly avoiding knocking himself out with the cupboard door. "Do you have something to add?" Harry demanded.

Draco shrugged. "No," he said.

"Then make yourself useful," Harry snapped. He pointed imperiously to a bag of groceries. "Start unpacking."

Draco looked at the bag with distaste. "Can't you get the elf to do it?" he asked.

"No," Harry said shortly. "I won't make you cook, because I suspect that you have no idea how," he didn't wait for Draco's confirming nod, "but you will help put the groceries away."

"Is this how you treat your guests?" Draco demanded. Even so, he moved languidly to the bag and started rummaging inside.

"You're not my guest, you're my friend," Harry retorted. "It's different."

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "You have to be one or the other?" he asked.

"Here you do," Harry told him firmly. "Besides, do you really want Kreacher touching your food?"

Draco sighed theatrically. "You do have a point there," he admitted. "So where am I to put these?"

Harry gave him a quick overview of the kitchen, then turned back to his own collection of bags. Hermione, who'd finished hers just a moment before, nodded to him. "You're cooking tonight," she said.

"And where are you going?" Harry demanded.

"To my room," she replied, heading for the door.

"Have fun," Harry said dryly.

"I will," she promised. "Call me for dinner." She walked out and they heard her tread up the stairs. She apparently forgot that one of them creaked, because a loud groan could be heard clearly. Harry hoped that it wouldn't wake Sirius' mum. Luck seemed to be with them, because there was dead silence from the front corridor. He turned back to Draco, who was still slowly unloading his bag of groceries. Harry left him to it.

"Something simple, I think," he murmured to himself, reviewing the newly filled shelves and cupboards.

"Do you actually intend to make dinner the muggle way again?" Draco demanded.

"Why shouldn't I?" Harry replied, frowning slightly as he reviewed his choices.

"You can do magic here, in case you've forgotten," Draco pointed out.

"So?" Harry shrugged. "I like cooking."

Draco snorted. "Yet you almost failed potions last year, if I recall. You needed remedial lessons for a while there."

Harry started. He'd forgotten the story that they'd put out to hide what he was really doing with Snape all those evenings. "Yeah," he muttered. "That's right."

Draco looked at him oddly. "Harry?" he asked, frowning.

Harry shook himself, returning to the present and turning away from the memories invoked by his time with Snape. "Sorry," he said. "Bad memories."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I don't understand what you all have against Professor Snape," he complained. "He's perfectly civil, you know."

Harry goggled at him. "To you, maybe," he said. Had Draco been paying attention in potions class for the past five and a half years? "Not to me."

"It's all a matter of perspective," Draco assured him. "If you see him as an evil vampire-like person, he will be. If you don't, well, then he won't be."

Harry snorted. "It's a bit late to be telling me that," he said dryly. "I doubt that he'll change now."

"If you say so," Draco said, resigned. "So what will you make, if you're so sure about wanting to do it the muggle way?"

Harry shrugged. "Not sure yet," he admitted. "Something simple, though. I don't have the energy for anything elaborate." He scanned the contents of the cupboards again, then selected a package of rice and some shredded beef and sour cream. He walked over to the stove and quickly began to prepare his meal. As he worked, he did his best to think of just the food cooking softly in front of him. If he let his mind wander, he would start thinking about the Occlumency lessons again, and he'd rather not.

Finally, the stroganoff was finished. He dispatched Draco to inform Hermione, then busied himself with setting the table. He put Draco and Hermione across from each other, with himself at the head. Hopefully that would be enough to stave off the worst of the tension.

Draco and Hermione came into the kitchen shortly afterwards. Harry directed them to their places, then served the meal. They ate in slightly uncomfortable silence for a while. Harry was beginning to wonder if bringing both of them here together had been the smartest idea in the world when Hermione said, "So what are you planning on doing for Christmas?"

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I assume that we're going to celebrate it," she clarified. "Do you have any specific ideas as to, say, decorations?"

"We could have a tree," Harry suggested.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Do you realize how much work a tree is?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "It can't be that hard, can it?" he asked.

"It's obvious that you've never done it," Hermione said dryly.

"The Dursleys have one every year," Harry said defensively. "I got to take care of it."

She shrugged in her turn. "If you're determined," she said. "I suppose that I don't mind terribly.

"Mind telling me what you're talking about?" Draco drawled, pushing himself back from the table and stretching out his legs.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "Don't wizards have Christmas trees?" he asked.

"Obviously not," Draco said. "If we did, then I wouldn't be asking you, now would I?"

Harry briefly explained the concept of a Christmas tree. Draco looked supremely skeptical. "And you want to do that here?" he asked.

"Why not?" Harry asked defensively.

Draco shrugged. "Well, I certainly won't go with you to buy the thing."

Harry shrugged back. "I didn't ask you to," he replied. "All I asked you was whether you would mind terribly."

Draco considered for a moment. "I suppose it's acceptable," he said grudgingly.

Harry grinned. "Excellent," he said brightly. "Hermione, shall we go tomorrow morning?"

Hermione looked at him sternly. "What makes you think that I'm going with you?" she demanded.

"Well, I'm rubbish at picking by myself," he explained. "You seem to have experience in that department, so I'm asking you."

She laughed. "Oh, all right," she conceded. "Tomorrow."

He grinned. "Thanks a million! In exchange, I won't make you help me clean up." He looked at Draco. "You, however," he began, not finishing his sentence. Draco sighed, but stood up anyway and glared at Harry. Harry ignored him, and Draco sulkily began to gather the plates.

Hermione hadn't realized how much she'd missed being able to decorate a proper Christmas tree. They'd taken advantage of Malfoy's absence to take the underground, and Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun at a time. It seemed that, after the first rather uncomfortable day, they had spent the entire holiday so far happy. Even Malfoy had been bearable, even almost pleasant at times. Harry was delighted, and he'd laughed more in the last few days than he had in the entire term. The worry of Voldemort had lifted momentarily, as had that of school images and they were just being themselves. Hermione was discovering, much to her amazement, that she actually liked Malfoy as himself. His school personality was still a git, of course, but she knew both of her worlds well enough to know that everyone had layers.

Buying the tree turned out to be much harder than either of them had anticipated, and they finally had to guess on the size, dimensions, and color. She thought the salesman was about turn them away out of sheer frustration by the time they finally made their choice. Lugging it back to Grimmauld Place was another problem altogether until they remembered that Hermione, now officially seventeen, could perform magic outside of school. They managed to maneuver it into a side street, then Hermione shrunk it down to the size and weight of a miniature, after informing Harry that he would owe her a considerable sum of money by the time the Holiday was over. He only grinned at her. After this, it was much more convenient, and they returned to the house quickly enough.

Once back, Hermione returned the tree to its original size, and they saw with gratification that their calculations had been correct. It was a little tight, but it fit into the corner that they'd prepared with a minimum of trouble. Decorating it, of course, was another problem altogether. Sirius' family didn't own many Christmas ornaments, and the three of them all agreed that the ones that they did own were totally inappropriate. In the end, Harry and Malfoy went out to buy some while Hermione stayed behind, trying to convince herself that she knew how to bake. Ever since she'd been too little to remember, her mother had baked cookies at Christmastime, and Hermione never fully appreciated the season without the taste of Snicker doodles and M & Ms melting in her mouth. She wondered if she could convince her mother to send her some this year. Harry and Malfoy returned before she could make up her mind to ask, and she abandoned the kitchen table and recipe books to help them decorate.

The decorating was accomplished in laughter and good-natured teasing. Malfoy had never had a proper Christmas tree, and Harry had never decorated one, and so it was to Hermione that they both turned as the ultimate dispenser of wisdom as to what was best. She felt a little flattered, and tried her best to be a decent moderator and judge. In the end, though, the tree appeared to have been decorated by a pair of overzealous children. She had to laugh at the result: all the ornaments were clustered near the top and the front, leaving the sides and bottom virtually bare. The top was adorned with a ludicrously oversized star, and garlands were swathed all over it, obscuring many of the ornaments. She wondered if she should try to even it out that night, but decided not to in the end. It was their tree, after all. She would buy her own miniature one and hang her personal ornaments on it later.

She finally wrote to her mother about the cookies, and popped out to post her letter and buy the miniature tree around four in the afternoon. Harry and Malfoy were engrossed in an explosive game of Gobstones, and they hardly even noticed her leave.

Once out alone in the open air, Hermione took a deep breath. She loved the smell of the city, even with the smog and pollution that blanketed it so often. She'd been raised in the suburbs, but the city had always fascinated her. She loved the feel of the busyness and the importance. She loved to watch the people hurrying on their ways and speculate as to where they might be going. She loved the never-ending sound of the traffic and the clattering of the underground. She loved the city any time, but London at Christmas would always hold a special place in her heart. She set off towards the shopping district swiftly, taking in the scene. When she finally arrived, she wasted no time in purchasing the miniature tree she wanted. It was a dark, dusky green, with soft needles. The branches were even on all sides, and she was assured that it wouldn't lose too many needles as she tried to decorate it.

She carried the tree carefully and set off down the street to the home of her Aunt Addison. Aunt Addy was her mother's unmarried sister, and she was by far Hermione's favorite relative. They'd made it a tradition always to visit Aunt Addy the week before Christmas, and Hermione hoped that her aunt wouldn't mind this unannounced visit. She quickly arrived at Aunt Addy's flat and shifted the tree to her left arm to knock on the door.

It was opened by a petite blond woman who grinned hugely at Hermione. "Darling! I haven't seen you in ages!"

Hermione grinned and stepped through the door into Aunt Addy's flat. "I've missed you too," she said, putting the tree down on the table to hug her aunt.

"It seems like years since I heard from you," Aunt Addy complained, closing the door behind Hermione and examining her niece. "You've filled out nicely."

Hermione grinned, reflecting that if her mother had said that same thing, she would have just about died from shame. "I need new clothes," she admitted. "You know what mum's like, though."

Aunt Addy grimaced in sympathy. "Do I ever," she agreed. "You might fit into some of my old things. Why don't you make yourself something to drink while I go see."

Hermione walked the well-known route to the kitchen, and pulled open the drinks cupboard, looking her choices over. The peppermint Schnapps was highly tempting, but she had to get home under her own power. With a sigh, she made herself unspiked hot chocolate, complete with a generous serving of cinnamon. She was drinking it slowly when Aunt Addy came into the room, several garments draped over her arm.

"Some of these might fit you," she said. "They're summer clothes, of course, but you can wait, can't you?"

Hermione nodded. She grinned up at her aunt. "Would you mind terribly if I left them here, though? It's just that I'm staying in a house with two boys and…"

"Say no more," Aunt Addy laughed. "Does Helen know?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Or rather, she knows that I'm with Harry, but she doesn't realize that there's someone else staying with us."

Aunt Addy nodded knowingly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked. "Or did you come just to enjoy my company?"

"Both," Hermione admitted. "I've missed you, and I remembered that my ornaments are still here. I came to say hello and fetch them."

Aunt Addy nodded again. "I see. Well I still have them somewhere, I'm sure of it. Unless, maybe I put them out with the good will…" She grinned merrily at the horrorstruck expression on Hermione's face. "Don't worry Darling. I know exactly where you left them. I'll go fetch them, shall I?"

"Please," Hermione said, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. As Aunt Addy moved off into the next room, Hermione examined the clothes that her aunt had carelessly draped over the chair. Brief skirts, strapless tops, those weird things that tied around the neck, miniscule dresses… whatever it was that girls Hermione's age wore, Aunt Addy had it. She was absently fingering the imitation satin of one of the skirts when Aunt Addy returned with a delicately wrought silver box. She grinned as she saw the skirt that Hermione was examining.

"That one's one of my favorites," she confided. "I used to wear it all the time, before I grew out of it. You want to take it with you?"

Hermione considered for a few moments, then suddenly threw caution to the wind. "Actually, I think I'll take them all."

"Someone's eye you want to catch?" Aunt Addy asked.

Hermione didn't answer, and Aunt Addy laughed. "Take them all Darling. You don't have to give them back."

Hermione gulped the last drops of her hot chocolate and stood. "I'm so sorry to be running off so fast," she said apologetically. "But if the boys are going to get anything at all in the way of food, I'd better go back."

"They make you cook for them?" Aunt Addy asked, scandalized.

Hermione shrugged. "Harry and I take turns. Malfoy… well, he was raised in a family with servants. To say that he can't cook is a bit of an understatement."

Aunt Addy laughed again. "I see. Well, come see me soon, 'kay?" She kissed Hermione on both cheeks and helped her gather up her things. The clothes went in a gray leather bag, which Aunt Addy also said that she could keep. The miniature tree and the silver box were balanced in both hands, and Hermione had to allow Aunt Addy to open the door for her. She grinned at her aunt, promised to come back for a proper talk, and left.

Harry and Malfoy had barely moved when she returned. From what she could tell, they were playing a championship game, and Malfoy appeared to be winning. Sure enough, just as she closed the door behind her, Malfoy grinned and declared, "Champion of the Universe!"

Harry groaned, and finally looked up. He saw Hermione with surprise and asked, "Where've you been?"

"Out," Hermione answered. She passed through the living room and walked up the stairs to her room. Once she'd locked the door, she dumped the leather bag onto the bed and carefully set the tree on the desk. She placed the silver box next to it and looked at it for a moment before flipping it open. Her mother had given her this box as an early birthday present when she went off to Hogwarts, but the contents dated back far earlier. Some of the ornaments inside were antique heirlooms, and some had been purchased for or by Hermione herself, but all were special.

She took out the first one: a silver swan. It had been her grandmother's, and Hermione suspected that it had been given to her by a one-time love. Whoever it was, her grandmother had never said anything about him. The next ornament was a delicate origami crane. Hermione didn't know whose it had been, but it had always been a part of her Christmas collection. The pair of miniature Dutch wooden shoes were after that, then the Swiss cowbell. A series of colored balls came out of the box, and a set of candles. A quick spell reduced them all to an appropriate size. She pulled out several more ornaments, hanging them carefully, making sure that the tree looked balanced. Finally, she pulled away the last layer of tissue paper and revealed the most precious of all of the ornaments. It wasn't the most valuable of them all, or even the prettiest. But the ornately designed golden angel had belonged to her second cousin Marco. Marco was the first boy who'd ever kissed her and meant it, and she'd fallen hopelessly in love with him at the tender age of nine. She knew that, despite everything that had happened since, it was the most precious love of her life. Marco had been killed in a car crash last summer, and she'd cried inconsolably at his funeral. That day, Uncle Roman had given her the angel, saying that Marco had wanted her to have it.

She carefully set the angel on top of the tree and surveyed her work. She closed her curtains with a quick spell and darkened the lights. She reached into the box and came out with a small book of matches. Deftly, she lit all the candles, then replaced the matches in the box and just sat there, smelling the combined scents of pine needles, sap, and melting wax.

She didn't know how long she sat there for. Finally, though, she had to come back to reality. With a melancholy sigh, she blew the candles out one by one and sat for a moment in total darkness. She didn't turn the lights back on when she left the room.

Her mother's reply came in the form of recipes. Hermione read them over, grinning slightly as she remembered Christmastimes filled with the tantalizing scents of the goodies that she was currently reading about. She was even more determined to make at least a few cookies, and she carefully went through the cupboards, making a list of everything she would need.

Malfoy wandered into the kitchen as she was preparing the ingredients for a test batch of Snicker doodles. "What are you doing, Granger?"

"What does it look like? I'm making cookies."

"Why?"

"It's a Christmas tradition." He sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and watched her as she measured and mixed. Unconsciously, she remembered all the times that she'd watched her mother go through these exact same motions, and grinned at the memory of that first taste of the dough. The cookies were always fabulous, but that first taste of raw cookie dough was always the most delicious of all. She greased a cookie sheet lightly and rapidly mixed the sugar and cinnamon in a bowl, carrying everything over to the table. She sat down across from Malfoy and began deftly rolling the dough into balls and coating the balls in the cinnamon sugar mixture. He watched her in silence, and she finally said, "Are you going to help, or just watch?"

"I don't know what to do," he told her.

"It's easy. Take about this much dough," she demonstrated with the ball she'd just started rolling. "Roll it around until it's reasonably spherical, coat it evenly in the cinnamon sugar, and put it on the cookie sheet."

He shrugged and reached across the table into the large mixing bowl. He scooped up a clump of dough and began to roll it between his palms. They worked in silence for a while until he asked abruptly, "Where did you learn to do this?"

"My mother taught me," Hermione answered, rearranging the cookies slightly so that they wouldn't run into each other. "She always bakes cookies at Christmas."

"And she let you help?"

Hermione nodded. "When I was little, she'd let me do this part. As I got older, she taught me how to make the dough and little tricks to make it easier. By the time I went away to school, I could make all the cookies that she does."

He seemed a little wistful as he rolled his ball in the cinnamon sugar. "My mother hosted parties," he said. "All season long our house would be crowded with glamorous people that I didn't know. She let me come, sometimes. She would dress me up prettily and I would smile at all the grownups and they would gush over how adorable I was. Then she would send me off to bed and stay up with her friends."

Hermione nodded, sensing that he didn't want sympathy. "Every year, there's the dentist's ball. It's not a proper ball, but that's just what they call it. Everyone takes turns hosting it, and one year, it was at our house. I hated it. They forced me into a frilly dress with bows all over it and made me socialize. There was only one other girl my age there, and I loathed her."

"Oh?"

"Elsa Bridgeton," Hermione said with passion. She could still see Elsa; with her little blond curls done up adorably on top of her head, her white dress immaculate, her manners perfect. Such a contrast from Hermione herself, whose brown hair had been unmanageable even then, and who had runs in her stockings and a button coming off the back of her dress.

"Poisonous, was she?"

"Perfectly." Hermione wondered why she hadn't thought of that word before. 'Poisonous' summed Elsa up exactly.

She efficiently rolled the remaining dough into a ball, enveloped it with the last of the cinnamon sugar mixture, and slid the cookie sheets into the oven. She moved back to the table and looked into the bowl. There was a scraping of dough left. She ran her finger around, gathering as much of it up as she could. She put her finger into her mouth, closing her eyes in bliss. The first lick of cookie dough tasted as good as she remembered.