Draco took a deep breath before entering the Great Hall. It was almost empty, a handful of students scattered over the four House tables and two teachers sat on either end of the head table. Flitwick was reading the Prophet while absently stirring his coffee, and Granger, who had looked up when he entered the Great Hall, and then quickly looked down again, turned a page in the book she probably wasn't really reading.
"Morning, Filius," he muttered as he passed the man. Calling him by his first name still felt strange, even after almost four years. He hesitated but walked on to the other end of the table and sat down next to his other colleague.
"Good morning." He didn't actually look at her but reached for the toast rack and butter.
"Professor Malfoy."
He glanced sideways at her, but she didn't seem to have looked up from her book.
"Hogwarts, A History?" he asked.
She still didn't look up, but did answer, in a disinterested tone, "Yes."
He waited for her to elaborate but she seemed determined not to engage in conversation. Draco stirred three sugars into his tea and took a fortifying sip. He carefully placed the cup back on the saucer and stared at the toast on his plate.
"I'm sorry I didn't come to the Great Hall for dinner yesterday."
This time Hermione did look up. "I believe you said 'maybe'. Which in terms of probability means that something may happen or it may not, chances being roughly equal either side. I don't see why you should apologize." But her voice was cold and the set of her jaw betrayed how much she had really hoped he'd be there.
Draco still couldn't quite look at her. "I received a letter from my Mother last night. I was upset, so I didn't come down." He took a bite from his toast, which tasted like sand in his mouth. Just the memory of that evening left him feeling raw inside.
Hermione closed her book and turned towards him. "I see." He could feel she was scrutinizing him, but he still focused his eyes on his plate.
"Are you okay?" she asked, after a long silence. He shrugged and she nodded. "Maybe tonight then," she said, turning back to her own food. The silence between them didn't feel quite so awkward any more.
They both looked up when the doors opened and Neville came into the Great Hall, dressed in fir-green robes with red and gold trimmings and a pointed hat the shape of a fir tree on his head. He dusted the snow off his hands and came up to the head table, where he sat down next to Flitwick after grinning and waving at Hermione.
Draco looked at Hermione just as she was turning towards him. "Interesting robes Longbottom is wearing," Draco said, his lips twitching in amusement.
"He does love Christmas."
Draco nodded and added, with a grin, "Imagine the teachers had a holiday dress code. I'm sure I could pull off a miniature fir tree on my head." He adjusted the imaginary fir tree on his head and tried to look seriously at Hermione, who began to laugh.
"Oh sweet Godric, can you imagine McGonagall in a Christmas tartan with a Santa hat?" she chuckled. As it happened, the Headmistress chose that moment to walk into the hall, dressed in dark green robes and a green-and-red tartan shawl around her shoulders. Hermione reached out to squeeze his hand, hard, and Draco had to bite his lips to stop from laughing. Unfortunately, in an effort to look away from McGonagall, he turned towards Hermione, and they both burst out laughing as soon as their eyes met. They drew many curious stares from the other people in the room, but they were so lost in their laughter they barely noticed.
"Mind you," said Hermione, wiping the tears from her eyes, "I think the one person who would have taken it even further than Neville is Dumbledore. He loved that sort of thing." She turned to Draco, grinning, but her smile faltered when she noticed his white and horrified face. She realised her mistake at once, but it was too late. He pushed his chair backwards and strode out of the Great Hall without looking back, his shoulders stiff, his back ramrod straight, and his steps mechanic and wooden.