Eleven
Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve was an absolute nightmare. Busy streets, crowded shops, jostling and shoving at every step… Damn the woman. Draco looked around, conscious that he didn't have much time. Shops would be closing in about an hour. Books? But wouldn't everyone give her books? He didn't quite want to think about why he wanted his present to stand out. Chocolate or sweets? Or was that too easy? He could hardly get her a new robe, they weren't quite on that footing. Yet. (Where did that come from?) Then his eye fell on Scrivenshaft's Quill shop and he elbowed his way through the throngs of last minute shoppers.
He'd almost made it when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and he turned around, wand at the ready, only to be faced by a smiling Neville Longbottom.
"Malfoy! Hadn't expected to see you here, today of all days."
Draco tried to suppress both his annoyance and surprise at the cordial greeting.
"Longbottom. Thought you were spending the holidays with the lovely Hannah?"
Neville grinned. "I am. But I got an owl from Dogweed and Deathcap, they have a new batch of Fanged Geraniums in store, so I thought I'd better go fetch them and settle them in my greenhouses before the holidays. These plants are very very sensitive this time of year."
Draco nodded in understanding. The plants would receive excellent care in the hands of the Herbology professor - probably better than if they stayed in the hands of the shopkeeper, who was known for his unrestrained love of Elven Wine.
"Not wearing your Christmas attire today?" he remarked, glancing up and down the dark woolen cloak. Neville grinned again, his cheeks slightly flushed.
"That was quite a view, I imagine. Came in to tend to my greenhouses straight from Luna's Yule celebration that morning. Quite forgotten I was still dressed up."
Draco thought with a slight shudder of the strange but fascinating Luna Lovegood, who had been kept prisoner in his house for months during that cursed year. She'd invited him to her Yule parties every year since then, but he couldn't quite stomach facing her.
"We missed both you and Hermione," Neville continued, his eyes turning a little more speculative as they studied Draco for a reaction.
"I've never accepted Lovegood's invitations. I can't imagine she was really expecting me."
Neville shrugged. "You know what Luna's like. Any idea why Hermione didn't make it?"
Draco straightened his back a little, his eyes turning dark with annoyance.
"No. Why would I?" His voice was sharper than it should have been. Neville's eyes widened a little in surprise, then narrowed again. Draco felt the man's scrutiny and only barely managed not to shift uncomfortably under the gaze.
"You two seem to be very close these days. I thought maybe she'd told you," Neville said, after a short pause. He hesitated again, as if wondering whether or not to say something. Then his jaw jutted forward with a resolute nod and he charged ahead.
"We've been working together for some years now, Malfoy, and I know you've changed since the war and you're a good teacher, and not quite half as bad a person as you make yourself out to be. And I will defend you from anyone calling you names for no reason."
Draco blinked, surprised, and wanted to interrupt, but Neville continued with a shake of the head. "But Hermione was my friend long before we were colleagues. And I don't know what, exactly, is going on between the two of you, but Malfoy, if you hurt her in any way, you will regret it." And with that parting shot, Neville Longbottom disappeared among the bustling crowds.
Draco was left standing in the street, snow seeping through his dragon-leather boots and his mouth open in surprise. He wasn't even sure what was going on between Hermione and himself, but to have Neville Longbottom go all 'protective brother' over her was something quite unexpected. He shook his head and crossed the last few feet of snowy pavement that separated him from the quill shop.
Scrivenshaft's was relatively quiet, only a handful of customers browsing the available wares. Draco ignored the quills. He was quite certain Hermione would not appreciate a Peacock Quill, self-refilling with rainbow ink, no matter how the sign insisted they really were 'The Perfect Gift for a Perfect Witch.' He made his way to the back of the shop, where a range of notebooks were on display. She seemed like a notebook person, somehow. He hesitantly reached out for one with a ruby-red cover decorated with elegant gold filigree, but then his eye caught something else, and he knew, instinctively, that it would be perfect.