"You should get to bed."

Hermione had her head on Draco's lap and a book propped open on her stomach, not that she was reading much. She was sleepy and mentally drifting in the warm, crackling firelight of the Hufflepuff common room. It was easily the coziest of the common rooms, even more than Gryffindor's, for which she was understandably biased. Hermione had once been allowed to study with a few Ravenclaws in their own common room, but it was so high and airy, and rigid with its wooden seats and tables, that it felt like a second library,

A common room was meant to be a living area, somewhere for the houses to gather like family.

She had seen the Slytherin common room in her dream, just that once, but she was sure it was a fair facsimile.

Perhaps it was because she spent so much time among the badgers, or Draco's presence in general, that she was so relaxed here. There were few people with whom she could let herself breathe, even more so now.

Draco, Harry, sometimes Ron…

"I don't want to," she murmured at last. Draco was finger combing her curls in the way he'd done when they were small. They didn't display such physical affection around the other two boys, but they'd headed back for the evening. In fact, the room was nearly empty. It was just the pair of them.

She needed this, here with him.

He continued his quiet work for another moment. "We haven't talked about everything that's happening."

"We haven't," Hermione agreed.

"We can. If you like. We don't have to."

She took a deep breath and settled the pages open across her abdomen. "Do you feel differently because of what happened?"

"About you? He clarified. She nodded. "No. More worried because of it, and what it might mean for you, but that's it."

"Good." She swallowed and repeated, "Good."

His hand stilled. "However, I am concerned about whatever is going on between you and Professor Riddle."

Hermione froze. She had wondered if Harry was somehow the only one who had picked up on it. She should have known better; Draco was always far more observant than their friend.

"You were getting close. Worryingly close," he added. "And then suddenly it's like you want to pretend each other don't exist. He doesn't call on you in class, and you don't moon after him anymore."

"Does it matter if it's done with?" she asked softly.

Draco hummed and resumed playing with her curls. "Is it done with? He doesn't seem like the sort to give up after so much has been invested."

"It's complicated."

"I'd expected as much," Draco quipped. "But I'll listen if you'd like. I'll even try not to judge, though no promises there."

She extricated herself from his lap and tugged at her hair. "Oh, Draco, you'll think I'm stupid."

"I would never."

"In this, I might be. What sort of girl falls for a seventy-year-old man?" she grumbled.

He smirked. "About two-thirds of the female population of Hogwarts."

"Yes, but how many of them actually believe him when he tells them they're special."

"Hermione, you are special." She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. You're extremely intelligent, probably one of the most logical thinkers I know, and you're strong. You're resilient. Who else could go through what you have and be alright?"

"You've been spending way too much time with Harry. Besides, I'm not."

Draco was about to argue against her indication that he sounded like Potter, but her admittance gave him pause. "You're not what?"

"I'm not alright." She wrapped her arms around herself and stared into her lap. "Not really. I've compartmentalized away everything bad that's ever happened to me and set them on shelves in neat little boxes, but that's getting harder. What happened with your father is too much to shove in one little box, let alone tie tightly closed. I'm running out of strength trying to shove it back down every time it rears, and then everything with Tom on top of that— what happened with your aunt when she visited, the things she was saying—"

"Whoa, Hermione, slow down. Tom? Do you mean Professor Riddle? And what about Aunt Bella?"

Her jaw clicked shut and she pressed her lips together as she became aware of how much she'd come close to spilling. "Yes," she said after a moment. "He told me to call him Tom when we're alone."

Her best friend had concern written across his features in a clear frown. "When did he ask you to do that?"

"Er, some time last year, I think." She chewed her bottom lip. "When he was giving me private lessons."

"Of course, he did." Draco said the words bitterly, more to himself than to her.

She sighed. "It doesn't matter. I told him I wasn't sure about everything and needed time, and now he's cross with me."

"'Everything' what?"

"It doesn't matter, Draco," she repeated, but the blond's keen grey gaze narrowed.

"It does matter. He's using you, isn't he? Or he wants to. Hermione—"

"It's getting late," she murmured, and both grey eyes and umber ticked to the clock above the mantle to confirm the hour. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Don't forget to bring your presents down," he muttered, though there was still much he wanted to discuss.

"Right." Hermione rose and headed for her dorm.

She knew Draco was right to be worried, but she felt like too much of a fool to divulge everything that had happened between her and their professor, everything she knew. While he hadn't tried to get inappropriate with her as a child, and indeed had still yet to cross certain boundaries, from an outside perspective, their relationship would look to be one of abusive authority.

Isn't that the case? She huffed a laugh as she threw back her blankets to clamber into bed. While technically this was a case of a teacher making overtures toward a student, he had hardly pushed her into it. Only now that she was of age had he gotten a bit more aggressive.

Whatever. She really was in need of sleep.

Besides, in just a few short hours, it would be Christmas.

She woke to an owl pecking at the frost-limned window. Early morning light was cool and pale as she stumbled out of bed to open the porthole only for the lovely tawny creature to drop a sealed letter at her feet and take off again. Quite the serious bird.

Hermione yawned and stretched upward, rocking onto the balls of her feet as she did. Any other day she'd be considering her warm bed again, or ready to head to the library.

However, today was Christmas.

There was a modest stack of presents atop the trunk at the foot of her bed. She gathered them up as carefully as she could (and without spellwork lest any of them be sensitive to such) and made her way down the stairs to find Harry, Ron, and Draco sitting around with their three very different colored hair nearly tangling together from how close they were.

Draco noticed her first. "I thought we'd have to send a girl after you."

"What are you doing here? We are supposed to go to your common room," she retorted. His was the House that welcomed all.

"I invited him." Ron's ears tinged pink as he spoke. "Thought it might be a nice change, and no one will care since most everyone went home for Christmas."

It was true. The castle was emptier than she'd ever seen it, with the recent attack at Hogsmeade convincing more parents to bring their young ones home. Hermione just hoped everyone would be allowed to return.

"That's a lovely idea, Ron." Her friend nearly matched his hair at her praise.

There were small piles of presents already set around one of the common room trees. This was the gold one; there was also a primarily red one, and one with both colors. She wondered who had chosen the gold, and thought it was nice since it could stand for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff both. She sank and slowly let down her presents, then beamed up at the other three.

"Shall we?"

All four of them were unwrapping a moment later. Paper of red, black, blue, green, gold, patterned with snitches or little wreaths or candles all began flying in shreds to the ground. Hermione liked to think she was neater about it, but she was laughing along as Ron pulled out a bag of sweets from the twins and popped one in; it made him whistle like a kettle.

Harry displayed to exaggerated ooos and aaahs the enchanted floating light his parents had gifted him. Whether it was a real snitch with new spells cast on it to keep it aglow or where he wished, or a facsimile, it was still beautiful and perfect for her trouble-making friend.

She had gifts from all three boys. A second edition potions book that she's been seeking for years was from Draco. The first editions had burned during the witch hunts, all save one, and it was from that the second editions came. From Ron, she received a box of chocolate truffles. It was humble in size, but the box itself was worth keeping with its swirling patterns of gold and the red velvet lining the inside and beneath the tray where the four truffles rested.

Harry's gift was a little larger than her fist and wrapped in green and gold paper. When she saw it was a jewelry box, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Harry stiffened and pretended not to be watching from the corner of his eye.

It was indeed a ring, but not one she thought he would use to propose. The slim golden band held a single ruby less than a quarter of a carat in size. It was simple and pretty, and she wanted to accept it, but…

"There's a spell on it. The wearer can say a code word or phrase and that will send the person's location to the original box where the ring is stored." He dug around in a pocket of his pajamas and pulled out a small wooden box. "This box." He held it out for inspection.

It was gleaming cherry wood and crafted without any visible screws or whatnot that she could see, just a solid golden bar along one edge that seemed to act as the hinge. When she opened it, Hermione found a plush red pillow with a slot for the ring and gold falling like rain from the top side of the lid to the bottom.

"What's the code word?"

"You set it when you take the ring out of the box. I thought we could do that later today." Harry shrugged and passed a hand through his especially untidy hair. "If you want."

"I think that's a good idea." At Hermione's smile, he seemed relieved.

Narcissa had sent her a set of silk scarves in various colors and patterns, all spelled against wear and staining, and the Potters had kindly gifted her a lovely fountain pen. Pens were rare among wizarding folk, but this was the singular type for which there was some exception.

Hermione wondered if it was Lily's doing.

The Weasleys had sent her a Christmas jumper, and she nearly cried upon opening the maroon, H-emblazoned folded knit. She'd seen Harry and Ron receive them over the years but had never thought to own one herself. Perhaps Molly Weasley pitied her or had taken her words about helping muggleborns to heart and looked upon her more warmly. Either way, the sweater was soft in her hands.

There was one more gift, wrapped in matte black. She wasn't sure about opening it, given the probable gifter. However, it would look strange if she didn't. She peeled the paper off to find another book, one on magical theory. Upon opening it, she found that it was much concerned with the philosophies behind light and dark magic.

It was an astute choice for her. She would expect nothing else from Tom Riddle.

Hermione vanished the shredded paper and stacked her gifts neatly. There, tucked underneath the box of chocolates, was a slip of vanilla vellum, the letter she'd received this morning.

She tugged it out from hiding and flipped it over to inspect the wax seal. It was from Gringotts, of all places.

Hermione had only been inside the bank with Narcissa once or twice. The woman had needed to withdraw galleons for shopping, so they had stopped in beforehand. The girl was not a fan of the cart ride to get to the Malfoy vault, but it was worth it to have her guardian slip her a bag of coins. She'd winked and told Hermione every girl deserves her own spending money.

She, herself, had no account with them. The goblins cared not for wizard prejudice, so muggleborns were as acceptable as clients as purebloods, but other than scant coin here and there, Hermione had no money, nor anything valuable and needing protection or storage.

All of her wealth, which was at the manor unless Lucius Malfoy had done something to it, was easy to keep in her quarters.

Hermione rolled her bottom lip through her teeth thoughtfully and cracked the seal.

Dear Miss Granger,

A vault has been opened on your behalf. Please come to our institution to receive your key at your earliest convenience.

Respectfully,

Ragnok

Accounts management

Gringotts Bank

"What's that, Hermione?" Draco peered over the top of the letter at her, politely not inspecting its contents. She handed it over for him to read. "Who opened an account for you?"

"Legally, only a guardian or spouse could do so. Someone may be added as a beneficiary to anyone's account, but that's all." She frowned. "Do you think it was your mother?"

He pondered that briefly. "No. Mother would have said something."

"Then…" Draco came to the same conclusion; she could see it in the set of his jaw. "Do you think it would be safe to go to the vault?"

"There's no safer place in the Wizarding World," Harry chimed in, "except maybe Hogwarts."

That was nearly a universal truth. The school had wards from some of the most powerful magic users in history, and the bank had all the cunning of the goblins behind it.

With all the slurs Lucius Malfoy and others had ranted about while discussing the keepers of Gringotts, stupidity had never been ascribed to them.

So why, she wondered, were they considered lesser than wizards? Then again, why was she?

Notes:

I decided to post an early chapter because this is my WIP of the Month, which means I'm focusing on it and patrons are reading along daily. I'm up to chapter 70 on and things are going down!

In the next few months, I will probably also start posting a new HP commission I've been working on. As I've said before, if it's fanfic, it will eventually be posted.

Recurrence and Cassiel's Lament are both getting updates sometime this month, too.