A/N: Greetings from a train! Just a heads up that due to my adventuring, I may have to adjust my posting schedule for the month of June. I'll post on my tumblr to let you know in advance if that's the case.

Warning: This chapter is nsfw due to nudity and sexual situations.


She did not see Draco on Christmas Eve. He spent most of the day in his common room, according to the map, or in Professor Snape's office. There was a brief moment when they were both in the Great Hall for a midday meal, but that didn't count, in Hermione's opinion. So, she passed her day reading letters from Harry and Ron (who seemed to be having quite a time at the Burrow) and staring at books until she got so frustrated by her lack of focus, she gave up entirely and curled up by the window instead. Winky brought her some hot chocolate and Hermione told herself this was exactly what she wanted. After all, peace and quiet was so hard to come by these days. Who knew when she would get this kind of solitude again?

Christmas morning revealed a generous pile of gifts. Padma and Parvati were overwhelmed with gratitude for her present, and Hermione was glad to hear that the diaries functioned exactly as they ought. They sent her a pretty quill in return, which Hermione would make sure to use in their presence when lessons resumed.

She went to a late breakfast feeling much lighter than before, though the gifts and card from her parents had hurt to read. The other older students seemed similarly conflicted, but the younger ones, at least, were enjoying themselves: A handful of students no older than second year orchestrated a spectacular snowball fight, which Hermione watched from Hagrid's hut with a huge mug of cocoa.

She'd never spent Christmas alone. She'd always been with her parents or her wizarding family. And while the professors all wished her well and the elves decked the castle in festive decorations with the endless sweets to match, Hermione couldn't shake the melancholy. Perhaps this had been a bad idea, after all.

If only the potion needed work! But the new lunar cycle would not begin for several days, and so there was nothing to do but wait while Lupin completed his dose in preparation for the Full Moon. Though even if that weren't the case, what were the odds Draco would have been able to stay?

So, she was alone.

After she'd penned gracious thank-you notes to everybody, she found herself in the children's section of the library again, curled up in one of the armchairs. She'd never actually read The Tales of Beedle the Bard; Draco's appearance and subsequent departure had been rather distracting. But what better time to read fables than at Christmas?

She read until the sun went down, and then she kept on until Dobby burst into existence in front of her, startling her so badly she nearly smacked her forehead against the book.

"Miss Hermione is missing Christmas dinner!"

"Oh — thank you, Dobby, but I —"

"Miss must go to the Great Hall!"

All Hermione's protests were in vain; Dobby would not accept any excuse and actually apparated her to the Entrance Hall when he got fed up trying to persuade her to go on her own.

"Miss must go to Christmas dinner!" he cried, pushing her shins.

"But Dobby —!"

"Dobby has made Miss's favourite cake! Even when the other elves scolded Dobby! 'We's made enough chocolate cakes,' they said! Well, Dobby told them to make more, because it is Miss Harry Potter's friend's favourite, and she has not been looking happy for Christmas!"

"Dobby, that's — that's very sw—"

"Miss must go!" Dobby grunted as he tried to shove her calves with all his miniscule body weight. "Miss has been missing too much meals, and Dobby will not let her miss Christmas dinner, too!"

Hermione couldn't argue anymore and let herself be guided to a seat at the Gryffindor table. Dobby did not leave, nor did he stop frowning, until he saw her finish an entire plate of roast turkey and assorted trimmings. He reappeared several minutes later, just as the first round of pudding materialised, and presented her with a Christmas cracker.

She couldn't stop laughing; Dobby had to use his whole body to pull hard enough for the thing to burst and yet, somehow, he still won. He popped away and returned with another and did not stop until she'd won three of them. Only then (and when he saw she'd eaten a generous portion of the chocolate gateau, too) did he give her a self-satisfied nod and vanish, presumably back to the kitchens.

She would knit him a new hat, she decided. In Christmas colours. Perhaps she could work it into the shape of a cracker sitting atop his head. After all, she hardly had anything else to do for the next several days.

The Great Hall, though sparsely populated, was bright and merry and Hermione didn't mind finishing her book there. The happy chatter was soft enough not to be distracting, and new pots of tea kept materialising by her elbow. In fact, she suspected someone had added a splash of Firewhisky; it was warm and spicy on her palate.

Perhaps everything would be alright. If Christmas could still happen at Hogwarts, where the only children left behind were ones who had nowhere else to go, then maybe things weren't so bad after all. Dumbledore had not been seen for several days, but Professor McGonagall looked as much at ease as ever, and for now, that was enough. That was more than enough.


She only left when nearly all the other students had gone, and even then, she took her time. It didn't feel right to go to Gryffindor Tower yet. The paintings were all enjoying themselves, as were the ghosts, and she was afraid that her dorm would offer nothing but cold isolation.

Instead, she found herself moving to the fifth floor. The prefects' bathroom had never been particularly special to her — after all, what could be more inconvenient than traversing several flights of stairs for a bath? — but it called to her tonight. Stress had unfortunately compromised her hygiene, and what better way to remedy that than with an indecent number of colourful soaps? With the castle so empty, her privacy was all but guaranteed.

You look nice today.

She found that difficult to believe. But maybe after she washed her hair… What would he say then?

I can't start worrying about how I look. I'll never be able to brew with him again!

The heavy door closed behind her with surprisingly little sound. The almost-full Moon bathed the high-ceilinged room in just enough light. Through the tall, arched windows, Hermione saw snow falling.

She arranged her clothes in a pile whilst the pool-like tub filled. Her first time here, she had been so overwhelmed by the number of taps that she'd painstakingly tried all of them, one by one, to make absolutely certain she knew her preference: one of the longer, narrower ones, towards the left. She flicked her wand at it; shimmering golden bubbles tumbled out. They floated on the water's surface, spreading across it a warm luminescence. By the time Hermione lowered herself in the bath, there were enough bubbles to almost entirely obscure the water itself.

She moved to the middle of the pool, where the water would be deepest and would reach over her head when it was filled (but for now only submerged her to her waist), and floated on her back while the bath filled. The bubbles tickled her skin and scalp. She saw some rising in the tall room, catching the light coming through the windows. The gentle heat tugged at her, and she thought that if one could liquefy sunshine, this must be what it would feel like.

After some time, she righted herself and swam until her feet found the ground again. Her hair stuck to her shoulders as she made her way to the wall of the bath, where the stone jutted out in a little ledge to sit on beneath the water. The soap had made her hair buttery smooth; it didn't take much effort to comb through it with her fingers. And, since the water never cooled and her fingers would never prune, she thought it might not be so bad to stay in here forever.

Thud.

It was soft, but it resonated across the water and stone. Hermione went very still; the bathroom was strongly charmed and warded against intruders. Could it have been Peeves causing a ruckus in the outside corridor? Or —

Again! Thud. The sound of the door opening, but this time followed by soft footsteps. Hermione sank lower in the water whilst bubbles sprouted up around her and wondered how she could have been stupid enough to leave her wand across the room by her clothes.

She held her breath, and when he walked in, she was still deciding whether to hide in the water or attempt to fight. But his hair shone silver in the moonlight and his shoulders hunched tiredly; it was several seconds before he even realised she was there. He flinched ever so slightly.

"How did you get in here?" It came out a bit more hoarsely than she intended. "The doors are charmed!" She saw him squint at her through the steam and she sank another inch lower, until her chin was nearly underwater.

"Charmed against unwanted intruders," he observed, overcoming his surprise, "or didn't you read Hogwarts: A History? Clearly, you want me in here."

Her mouth opened and shut again. She wanted to argue against that one, but there wasn't much point. He seemed restless; he wouldn't stop shifting his weight and was looking anywhere but at her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here," he said. "I didn't mean to invade your privacy. I'll go." He turned to leave, and Hermione barely remembered not to climb out the water.

"Wait! Y-you don't need to go." He gave her a look, and more bubbles mercifully sprung up around her shoulders. "I mean, you must've come here for a reason."

He gave a half-smile. "Had a bit of a stressful day."

"Right, of course…" If I'd just spent Christmas with Voldemort, I'd want a bath, too. "Look, this place is huge; it's silly for you to go."

"Are you saying —?"

"Just — just get in and — and let me know when to turn around!" And she squeezed her eyes shut and shifted on the ledge, so she was facing away from him. For a long moment, she thought he'd reject the offer and leave; there was no sound except the sloshing of the water and the little mountains of bubbles floating on top. But then she heard rustling — buttons and clasps — and a heat, hotter than the water, filled her up.

Splashing, and then, "You can open your eyes now, Granger."

She did, and saw him on the opposite side of the bath, as far away from her as possible. Only his neck and head were visible, and the heat was beginning to turn his skin pink. It felt indecent, almost, so she looked at a mound of foam in front of her, instead, while Draco sighed and reclined against the rim of the bath. Perhaps this had been a very foolish thing for her to do — after all, the only thing separating their very naked bodies was a few metres of water. And what if someone managed to come in?

But the castle was practically empty, and the map was in her dormitory, away from Harry's curious eyes. And he looked so, so tired…

"You know, Granger, I wouldn't have pinned you as the sunflower sort."

"W-what?"

His eyes were closed, but he nodded in the direction of the taps. "You chose the skinny gold one? Smells like sunflowers."

"Oh." Hermione blinked. "I like it. It feels like… sunlight." She saw him smile a little and wondered why. "Don't you like it?"

"Oh, no, it's perfectly fine. My favourite's the purple one" — he opened his eyes and pointed, his hand emerging with a pile of foam wobbling on top — "over there. I wonder if they'd mix? I tried it once, with the green and purple ones, and it created this horrible slime…"

"Go on, then."

He reached back over the edge of the bath for his wand (clever), pulling himself out far enough that she could see his torso down to his lower ribs. He was pale and lanky and flushed, the water running off him —

The tap started gushing lilac-coloured foam, making Hermione jump so hard she slipped and nearly went under. By the time she'd righted herself, Draco's wand was back where it started and he was submerged up to his armpits, watching the purple and gold bubbles mingle with apparent fascination. They didn't blend, but rather swirled around each other; the muted, pale purple against the shimmering gold. Hermione smelled lavender and mint, cool and soothing, like a breeze on a summer's day.

When the tap stopped, Draco abruptly submerged himself for several seconds before coming up again, rubbing water from his eyes and pushing slick hair from his face. It stuck to his head, and though the water had darkened it a little, it was still unmistakably blonde. She watched in fascination as he settled, listened to his noisy breaths return to normal. His eyes were still closed, she noticed, and she wondered if he was going to pretend she wasn't there at all.

"Have a nice Christmas, Granger?"

Apparently not.

"It was… yes, it was nice. Thank you. Yours?"

"Ha," he laughed softly.

"Was it really that bad?"

He sighed and moved towards the middle of the bath. "No. No, it wasn't bad. Just…" He sighed again, letting himself sink up to his chin as he lazily swam. "Just not very pleasant." Oh. "Did the Patils like their present?"

"Oh — yes, very much."

"Good." A cloud uncovered the Moon then, and its light exposed the shadows in the room before it moved back again.

"I missed you today." Hermione didn't realise she'd said it until she heard her soft voice echoing off the windows.

"I — I missed you, too." Draco had stopped moving and looked at her, head tilted. "You know, I've never seen your hair so flat."

She flicked water at him.

He snickered and rubbed the foam out of his eyes. "Now, now, don't be rude, Granger; it's Christmas. Naughty children don't get any sweets."

Hermione moaned, "Please, don't talk about sweets! Dobby emotionally manipulated me into eating too much chocolate cake and now I don't think I'll ever eat any again."

"But I thought you liked chocolate cake?"

"Yes, but not that much!"

"I'll have to remember that," Draco mused, and then with a wicked look in his eye, flicked a large pile of bubbles at her.

"Hey!" Hermione tried and failed to swat it out of the way. "What was that about naughty children and no sweets?"

Draco shrugged, but he was still laughing. "I've already had my sweets, too."

Hermione swept some foam off the top of her head. "I thought you wanted to relax."

"No, I just wanted to — to remind myself who I am."

She looked at him, bobbing there in the water. "And is this who you are?"

"I don't know," he confessed quietly, "but I think I'd prefer it to almost anything else."

Hermione's blood suddenly felt very heavy; when had he got so close? If she extended her leg straight out, she might touch him. And the bubbles, too, had dissipated a little. She could see his chest through the water, and she felt bubbles popping around her shoulders.

"I missed you," she said again. It felt important. He had to know.

"I missed you, too." He crept a little bit closer, and she knew now that she could definitely touch him if she wanted to. "Can I kiss you?"

Her first thought was this is absurd. Her second thought was the castle is empty and it's Christmas and I have never wanted anything more in my life.

She wasn't sure if she verbalised a "yes" or nodded or if she just grabbed him, but he kissed her with a frenzied desperation he hadn't shown before. She gave just as good as she got, and this time when she reached for his shoulders, she met hot skin instead of clothes, and her hands slid across his collarbones, moving down his chest. He was so thin and bony — sinewy . Touching him was like handling a tightly wound ball of wire; so much tension, everything strung taut —

His leg brushed hers; whilst she was still seated on the ledge, he was stood in front of her, leaning over so that one hand braced against the rim of the bath and the other one traced a similar path up her arm, to her shoulders, her jaw — her neck — all slippery and smelling of lavender and sunflowers and moonlight and too many — too many sensations to keep track of —

When he pulled away, she didn't open her eyes for several long, long seconds. The steam was getting to her head. She wondered if she would faint. Would she care?

A fingertip traced her middle, around the bottom of her ribcage, and her eyes snapped open to find him frowning at her torso. She followed his gaze: The bubbles around her had dissipated enough that her breasts were visible, and between them, the twisting blue-green vine of her scar. He'd followed it from her sternum to where it curled around to her hip, where his hand now hovered.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No," she said, and then pulled him back to her. His left hand moved from where it had been at her waist to come back up to her head — she pushed it down, back under the water. He gripped her side, hard, so hard she wondered if it would leave marks. She didn't care. She had not missed the sight of the Dark Mark on his skin. Let it remain out of sight, she decided, because if she couldn't see it then she could pretend it wasn't there at all.

His fingers curled into her waist and her body arched — her breasts brushed against his chest and she made a surprised little noise against his mouth. No-one had ever been this close to her before, and it felt like he was devouringher. Like he couldn't get enough. The thought filled her up, until she was sighing and gasping against him, clawing at his back, desperate for more. Her hands slid across his skin, tangled in his wet hair, and held on for dear life when he ducked down to kiss her neck. The feeling of his tongue against her throat unwound something deep inside her, and she heard her own moan echo across the cavernous walls.

There was just so much heat — the water, sloshing around them — the scorching fire of his skin against her legs, her breasts, her throat and her mouth — there was nothing in the world that could compel her to stop or slow this. She wanted him in every sense of the word, and she would not tolerate another second of not being utterly surrounded by his touches, overwhelmed by it until her head could hold nothing but the feeling of him, everywhere —

Thud.

They stopped so abruptly it sent a wave rippling through the bath. The water lapped softly against the other end, spilling a little onto the floor. Hermione couldn't hear it over the rushing of her blood. Every part of her froze in horrified anticipation while they stared at the door, waiting like helpless prey.

But nothing came.

"What was that?" Her voice sounded so strange now, after hearing it in all its unrestrained wantonness just a few moments before. Merlin, how would she ever be able to speak to him again, now he knew that was what she sounded like?

"Probably Peeves. Christmas nonsense, or something." Without quite meeting her eyes, he moved back a bit. Ever obliging, bubbles began to froth on the surface. She could only see him from the shoulders up. He was too far away to touch.

Hermione's mind had gone curiously blank. Would it be uncouth, she wondered, to acknowledge what had just happened? To ask for more? Or was she expected to act like it hadn't happened at all?

"I should probably go," said Draco softly, and it relieved Hermione beyond measure to see the gentleness in his face. She was always afraid of the Malfoy in him coming back. But he met her eyes briefly, then looked away with a quiet smile and swam to the other side of the bath, where his clothes were.

She looked down at the water while he dressed. The soaps were still swirling together in enchanting patterns of gold and pale purple. Hermione dragged her fingers through them, watching how they moved, and tried to ignore the way her body still throbbed.

The sounds of moving fabric were replaced by footsteps, and Hermione looked up to see Draco, dressed, walking around the bath, to where she still sat. He looked tired and unsure, but he gave her a weak quirk of his lips as he knelt down. Given the tub was sunken into the ground, it still meant her head was at the level of his ankles, but it didn't seem to matter very much to him.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he said, and reached out a hand to lightly brush her cheek. It occurred to her then she must be flushed; his dry hand felt so different from her hot skin. She imagined herself, visible from only the collarbones up, blushing and panting, with dilated pupils and swollen lips that couldn't close with the way she was breathing so hard. Did he know he'd done that to her?

"Happy Christmas, Draco." She twisted to face the edge of the bath, kneeling on the underwater ledge to bring herself far enough out of the bath to take hold of his hand. She got water and bubbles all over the cuff of his sleeve, but she didn't care. She kissed his palm and let go, sinking back into the water.

She watched him go and, when the door shut softly behind him, closed her eyes, and leaned back into the water.