Chapter six – A Letter

"Seems like your parents fancy us together," Draco leaned in and whispered into Hermione's ear. Hermione giggled against her will, but then hit Draco discreetly in his stomach. Draco let out a slight gasp.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione hissed.

"Are you joining us for lunch, Draco?" Hermione's mother asked. Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief.

"No," Hermione and Draco spoke at the same time. "No, Mrs Granger, I really need to go home to my parents, but thank you for the offer," Draco added.

"Oh, well another time then."

"Another time," Draco repeated. "Merry Christmas, 'Mione." Draco had his eyes on Hermione only. She realised how wonderful his eyes were. It came as a surprise to her every time their eyes caught each other. They were so blue. Neither the sky nor sea could compare.

"Merry Christmas, Draco. I'll see you next month," spoke Hermione and formed a smile on her lips.

Draco smiled back at her and then left to find his parents. Hermione imagined his parents would send someone to fetch him.

"Nice boy you have there," Hermione's mother spoke with a smirk. Hermione rolled her eyes and walked towards the brick wall that lead to the Muggle world. The world Hermione lived in, but didn't belong to.

Her mother asked questions about Draco Malfoy the entire way home – but luckily they did not live far away from King's Cross station.

Her father pulled up the driveway of the house Hermione had always lived in. she couldn't imagine a better place to grow up – a quiet neighbourhood with front yards and her own swing set around back.

Hermione rushed out of the car before her father had even parked it, got her suitcase and Crookshanks, and ran up to the front door. She felt twelve again. As had she just arrived back from her first year at Hogwarts. But she was way older than twelve, and she was in the middle of her sixth year. No matter age she would always be excited to come back home, she thought.

She took a glare at the garden. It was covered in a white, thick layer of snow. Typical British weather and she wouldn't have it any other way. Hermione smiled with the memories of running around in the snow when she was younger. She used to play chasey with her father, build snowmen and igloos. They didn't do that much anymore – Hermione felt her heart bump a bit at the thought of her childhood. She often wanted to go back and stay forever ten years old.

Hermione picked up the spare key from beneath the first plant to the left. The plant had died since Hermione had last been home, but her mother had yet to throw it away.

She locked herself in as her parents got out of the car, and stepped into the small hall. The walls had been painted light blue. Hermione smiled. That was a project her mother had been going on and on about for years, and now she had finally got it done.

"Welcome home, darling," Hermione's mother said and planted a kiss on Hermione's cheek. "Did you miss us?"

"Of course she did!" Hermione's father interrupted. He, too, kissed Hermione on the cheek. The family had spent many vacations in France, so the cheek kissing had become normality when greeting each other.

Hermione chuckled. She walked up the staircase and into her room. It was very simple and quite empty. Hermione spent most of her time at Hogwarts and therefore had most of her stuff packed down in suitcases. Hermione placed Crookshanks on the four-poster. She sat for a while and played with her cat while her thoughts danced around her mind.

That night at dinner Hermione told all kinds of stories from Hogwarts as she always did. She had, though, never mentioned Voldemort, The Chamber of Secrets or any other incidents. She didn't want her parents to worry about her time at the castle. Besides she always managed to escape without much scarring. It was also why her parents had never heard of the ice blond Slytherin knucklehead named Draco.

"What about Harry and Ron? I forgot to ask how they're doing. Such nice boys..." Her mother asked all of a sudden. Hermione had feared that exact questions. She didn't know whether to lie or spill the beans on their broken friendship.

"They're... doing well, I suppose."

Both Hermione's mother and father sent her wondering glares.

"What do you mean you suppose, Hermione? Are you having a row?" Her mother looked very concerned.

"Well, sort of. It's nothing big, just Ron being a complete ar-..." She couldn't get herself to finish the sentence. She was mad at Ron, but it felt weird calling him names to anyone else but himself. Somewhere deep beneath they were still friends after all. At least she hoped as well.

"I told you to mingle with some girls too, Hermione," her mother said. She had been bugging Hermione for only making friends with male creatures for such a long time. Truth to be told she'd never had many girlfriends – not even in her Muggle-life.

"I talk to girls! You've met Ginny," she explained.

"Oh, Ginny. What a nice girl. You should invite her over sometime."

"Her mother doesn't let them out of the house during Christmas, only to Diagon Alley. She prefers that they all spend every minute together."

"Sounds like a protective mother. You could give it a try, Hermione. The worst you can get is a no." Her dad's constant optimism shone through.

"Molly is a great mother, actually!" Hermione was getting close to yelling. She cared about the Weaslys and didn't want anyone to bad-mouth them around her.

"I didn't say she wasn't," her mother pointed out. Hermione could feel her temper starting to rise, so instead of heading into a discussion she rose and went to her room.

What was wrong with her? She seemed to row with everybody at the moment; Ron and Harry, her two best friends, her parents. She felt very confused – her head was a mess.

The next few days went by with silence and tons of snow. Hermione got up every morning very early and went for a long walk in the neighbourhood. She watched the snow slowly fall down from the sky to the ground, and did once again, as she had done so many times since her childhood, wonder how it was made. Of course she knew the geographical reason, but she had always imagined a touch of magic in play.

On Christmas morning Hermione went for another one of those early walks. The snow looked even more enchanting that morning - glowing. Might've been because she could hear Christmas music sound from every single house she passed, or maybe it was because everybody she ran into wished her a merry Christmas – even people she had never seen before. That was the kind of merry Christmas wishes she loved the most.

She liked being among Muggles, but of course she preferred wizards and witches. She had enjoyed spending Christmas at The Burrow some years even though the holidays were full of drama. It was nice with a quiet Christmas for once.

Hermione locked herself into the house once she got back. She could hear her favourite Christmas song playing in the living room, so she knew her parents were up by now.

They had not really been talking much to each other since their small row at the dinner table. Hermione missed having conversations with her mother, and she had been feeling quite lonely lately, but she could not make herself forgive her mother for talking trash about the Weaslys.

She took off her snow covered coat and boots, and walked into the living room.

"Hermione, darling," her mother gasped. "Merry Christmas." Maybe her mother thought it was time for them to leave their discussion behind and have a lovely holiday together.

Hermione nodded as a thank you. "You too, mum." She walked straight into the kitchen and made herself a cup of cinnamon tea. It was her very favourite kind of tea – it warmed her hands and throat on cold days, and it smelled like Christmas in a cup.

Hermione's mother had prepared breakfast for the family. When her father arrived after taking his shower they sat down and ate at the dining table. The past days' awkward silence had faded.

"Oh, Hermione, I almost forgot - an owl arrived for you!" her mother said as she buttered her toast. She got up from her chair and picked up a letter in a white envelope from the kitchen table. She handed it to Hermione.

The envelope was a tiny bit dirty from travelling through the snow. The font was not unrecognizable – but the person had never written to her previously.

She turned the letter in excitement and opened it slowly. The envelope contained a letter written on a fragile piece of paper. The handwriting was in cursive, very beautiful handwriting actually.

Dear Mione.

I will forever wonder if this letter actually makes it to you because of the weather, and my owl is not in his best shape. I think my father uses him exceedingly. Anyway, why do I find myself handwriting a letter to you this late at night? I do not know. Something in me just wanted to, felt like I had to. Well, I hope my family won't snap my letter before I get it sent. If I'm not to find on the express they've probably killed me off.

How are your parents doing? They both seem lovely. Let your mother know that I truly regret not being able to join you for lunch the other day.

Have a merry Christmas, Granger. Take care. Don't miss me too much.

Draco

Hermione read the letter through twice in disbelief. Somebody had to be pulling a trick on her. Ron? It could bloody well look like him!

In both anger and confusion Hermione left the table and rushed up to her room. She quickly found a piece of parchment and a bottle of ink, but then she realised she had no idea what to write. What if the letter wasn't even from him? It would look quite stupid if she sent him a letter and it turned out to be one of Ron's tricks. Maybe that was exactly what Ron wanted her to - to look stupid. But then she recalled that Ron hadn't seen her with Draco besides from in her dreams. It couldn't possibly be him – his handwriting was no were near this well.

Hermione put down her pen and sighed. She decided not to reply the letter just yet and wait to see how Draco acted around her when they got back to Hogwarts.

"Who was the letter from, sweetie?" her mother asked as Hermione re-entered the dining room. She had hid the letter from Draco under her pillow. That was the only place she was thought her mother would never go look for it. She made Hermione do her own laundry and sheet changing.

"Ron," Hermione lied, "he invited me over for dinner tonight at The Burrow."

"Oh, isn't that lovely? Then you'll also have the chance to become friends again!" her father said and her mother nodded in agreement.

"You say I should go?" Hermione had assumed that her parents wanted to have her home for Christmas dinner. She had missed it for the past few years.

"Yes, I think you should go. It would be nice for you to spend some time with Harry and Ron, to make things all right." Hermione tried her hardest to make up an argument as to why she shouldn't go. She had not been invited to The Burrow, so it would be strange of her to just show up.

"Go get your things and you can travel with that glue powder right away!"

"No, dear. I think it's blue powder. Because it's blue! Right?" her father asked.

"It's floo powder and it's green." Hermione sighed. There was no way out of it. She had to go. Well, at least pretend to be going. Her parents would never know of it if she travelled somewhere else, as say The Three Broomsticks. She could easily spend the night there by herself, pretending to be at The Burrow. She had to spend Christmas Eve by herself at a wizard-inn in order to cover up her own lie.