The castle's stone walls were still cold. The dungeon's corridors still carried a draft that made even the ghosts shiver and flee. The Slytherin common room grew emptier and emptier as the last of the students filed out to catch the Hogwarts Express.

Christmas holidays had officially begun.

Not that it really mattered.

No, Draco Malfoy strictly refused to participate in any merriment whatsoever. What was the point? What did it matter? Two nights ago he had stood in shock, in agony, panicked, and hopeless as he watched the woman he loved walk away, ultimatum hanging, unspoken.

But the universe could be filled with Hufflepuffs and it still wouldn't be fair. Even the bravest of Gryffindors have struggled to make the choice between what is right and what is easy. Merlin, even Ravenclaws might be stumped trying to determine what the right thing is.

But how do you make a choice when so much is at stake? How do you decide what lives are more valuable than others? How the hell is a 16-year-old supposed to face the gravity of such a decision?

Fuck, why the hell is a 16-year-old even in that position?

Maybe that's why he hadn't left his room in two days. Maybe that's why his bleary gray eyes hadn't left the spot where the still-corked vial Snape left sat on his desk. Maybe that's why his best black trousers, the ones he wore to impress Hermione, were starting to wear in the spot where he'd rub his sweaty hands every few minutes.

Maybe.

Maybe that's why he drank a vial of dreamless sleep before he passed out in his four-poster, curtains open.

Maybe.

He woke up abruptly to the sound of a fist crashing against the door. This surprised Draco, even in his barely conscious state of awareness. He knew this was odd because none of the Slytherins would ever bother knocking, however much Draco demanded they do.

The loud rap sounded again, more aggressive than the first time, and Draco finally pulled himself out of bed.

He felt sweaty and hot, his trousers were tousled and stuck to his legs in places, and his Oxford shirt was uncharacteristically scrunched up and wrinkled. His brain felt foggy and wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep. What day was it? What time?

A third, louder round of banging sounded as the door shook. Draco, finally making his lazy way over to the door, opened it slowly, taking a breath to prepare himself for whoever was clearly desperate to reach him.

"Oh pity, you're not dead," bit a cold, bitter voice that stung as it hit Draco's ears. "Perhaps you can explain to me then, why you're here in your foul-smelling dormitory rather than on the train home where you're expected." Snape's nose was wrinkled, an expression of disgust on his face that was usually associated with Potter's potion making.

"I was sleeping," growled Draco. If he hadn't been grumpy already, the appearance of Snape at his door certainly would have pissed him off on its own.

Snape's expression soured, if that was even possible, and the sallow man pushed into the room swiftly, his shoulder edging Draco out of the way as the door shut loudly behind him.

"Sleeping?" The professor spat.

Having decided he wasn't in the mood to be patronized, Draco shook the last of his dozy fog from his mind, bringing himself to stand as proudly, as strong as he could.

"Yes, Snape, I was sleeping. Something you should certainly consider. Those circles under your eyes do not become you."

The stare was chilling, but it made Draco feel even more alive. Pissing people off was one of the things he was best at.

"Excuse me?" Snape's drawl was slow and ice-cold. The air in the room was even worse.

"Sleeping, you know, like lying down in a warm bed, eyes closed, deep breathing..." The redness coming to Snape's face made Draco's blood flow through his veins in the best way. Daring. Bold. Snape's glare was sharp, attempting to poke holes in Draco's resolve, but Draco was not going to back down.

"Don't you infantilize me, you insolent child. The Dark Lord wants you–

"Don't concern yourself with what the Dark Lord wants me to do," Draco defended hotly. "I'm handling it."

The blonde moved to leave, hoping Snape would just leave him the bloody hell alone. But, of course, nothing ever works out for Draco.

The professor took hold of Draco's arm, stopping him from reaching for the door knob. Swiftly, and with the agility of a much younger man, he pushed Draco up against the door, a low groan escaping his lungs and rattling the door on its hinges. The impact sent a jolt through the blonde's body making him realize a heavy stiffness in his body that no doubt stemmed from hours of sitting hunched over his desk the night before.

Snape's face was close to Draco's–, so close, in fact, that Draco could smell pumpkin juice on his breath. The pungent smell disgusted him even more than Snape's nose being closer to his own than any self-respecting man should ever have to encounter.

"Cut that holier-than-thou attitude, Draco. It's going to get you killed."

Draco pushed Snape away. Despite the professor being larger and stronger, Draco was taller and more forceful.

"Shut it, get out of my face. Need I remind you that you're not my master?" Draco snarled angrily.

"You might have a death wish, Draco, but I don't. I made the Unbreakable Vow and I intend to keep it."

Draco scoffed, moving across the room to stand by the desk. "I didn't ask you to take a vow. I didn't ask for your help."

"No, you didn't, but your mother asked me–

The look on Draco's face was sharp like a knife. "Don't you dare bring my mother into this," he scolded.

"You selfish, insolent child, you don't see how tangled in this she is? She's the reason you're still alive. She's the reason you've been assigned this mission. She's the reason you must see it though. I didn't think I needed to remind you of the gravity of the situation."

Draco's blood ran cold through his pounding veins. Snape was right, of course. His mother was part of this in every way. Her protection, her life, her hope, was the only thing keeping him invested in the Dark Lord's plan.

Releasing the tense breath he had been holding, Draco slid his hands down his face, rubbing his eyelids with the palms of his hands as he did so.

The air in the room settled, the professor recognizing defeat in the young man's features.

"The Dark Lord is expecting your presence at Malfoy Manor for the holidays," Snape stated coolly. "He is expecting an update on your task. He will not be pleased to see you've missed the train."

Draco's pale hands worried their way through his still bed-swept hair.

"I can't… I can't go home. I don't have an update," he said, his hands now resting on the top of his desk, eyes staring, once again, where the vial intended for Dumbledore sat. "I- I have a plan," he lied, "I have a plan, but I need to stay here to work it out."

"A plan?" drawled Snape in a low, disbelieving tone.

"Yes, a plan," Draco lied again. "A Christmas plan."

Snape deadpanned.

"Yes," Draco repeated, ignoring Snape's disbelieving stare. "I have a plan."

He had to do this. If the Dark Lord was expecting him for the holidays, it means He was reaching the end of His patience. He needed to do something to satisfy the Dark Lord soon if he didn't want to face the repercussions.

"I have a plan," Draco assured more confidently.

He was repeating it like a mantra now, just as much an affirmation to himself as it was to appease Snape. He was staring at the vial on his desk again, the poison intended for Dumbledore, and the wheels in his mind were spinning, thinking.

A Christmas plan, he thought. Baubles and Crackers and gifts and mead.

Gifts. Mead.

There was something there, he knew. It wouldn't be too difficult to arrange, not logistically. No one was going to search a bottle of Madam Rosmerta's Christmas Mead. And he already had the vial of poison…

His arms were tense, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his desk. His breath was shallow and shaky now, his thoughts racing miserably, but he knew he had to do it. He had to do something.

Fuck.

"I know what I want to do," he gritted out, the taste of the words fowl on his tongue. It felt like his chest was going to explode and he tried his best to steady himself. He pictured his mother, and he continued his shallow breathing as he turned to face Snape.

"I have an idea. An– It's almost a plan."

Snape scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Almost, a plan?" The man drawled, judgment heavy in his tone. "The Dark Lord expects action, Draco, not half-formed, childish ideas that might work."

"I know that!" Draco snapped, his face transforming to take an unattractive scowl. "I know what he wants! I know what I must do!"

"You know? Do you?" Snape shouted back. "Then do it! Do something! Take Action!" The volume of Snape's voice filled the room, echoing off of the cold dungeon walls.

Draco was riled, electric, fuming. His usually pristinely pale face had become tinged with splotches of angry colors. His eyebrows, shoulders, and fists were tense. His heart felt like it was going to explode from its cage behind his ribs at any moment.

The blond grabbed the vial from his desk and stormed out of the dark bedroom like one of Hagrid's bloody blast-ended-skrewts. Snape, quick to follow, had rage pouring from his mouth, too.

"Malfoy!" he shouted. Snape caught Draco's arm right before the stairwell that led into the main castle. The younger man, in his agility and anger, drew his wand from his pocket with swift movements, pointing it daringly into the underside of the professor's chin.

Snape froze, stunned and enraged. Thankfully, the students had gone and the common room was empty.

Draco spoke in a low voice, and sternly, his face inches from Snape's.

"I know what I need to do. He can expect it to be put into motion by Boxing Day, but not before then. You will tell the Dark Lord that I will stay here over the holidays to execute the plan. Tell him that ."

And with finality, and a crippling anxiety Draco only hoped the older man hadn't perceived, Draco pushed out the door and didn't look back.

He felt like he was going to shit himself.

The Gryffindor common room was cozy and warm, as always. The wood in the fireplace crackled as it burned, sending light wisps of smoke around the room. The room grew emptier and emptier as the last of the students filed out to catch the Hogwarts Express.

The Christmas Holidays had officially begun.

And Hermione was fairly excited about it.

Not because she cared to open presents or sing carols. No, the usual holiday merriment was far from her mind. Hermione was excited because Christmas Holiday meant an empty castle and an empty castle meant a break from the too-often pitying looks and grossly unnecessary sympathetic words from her classmates.

Maybe she'd be able to read more than three pages of her book without being interrupted. She'd had enough of the Gryffindors who wanted to offer her tea and a well-meant but ultimately degrading look of concern.

Maybe.

But the Hogwarts Express could not leave soon enough. Hermione sighed, peering over her book at Seamus, who was trying to start a conversation with semi-inappropriate jokes, as usual.

She'd found him earlier that morning, playing one last game of wizards chess with Dean before packing their set. She wanted to thank him for… well, everything the night before.

So, that's what she did.

She thanked him for agreeing to be her date on such short notice and told of how much she appreciated his effort in getting dressed up. At that, Seamus ran his hands through his hair playfully and smiled brightly. She thanked him for treating her like a gentleman the whole evening and especially told him how she was grateful that he held his usual crass jokes at bay for the evening.

He told her it was a one-night-only experience and to not expect him to treat her so nicely as they continued being friends.

Friends , Hermione repeated in her mind and she smiled. Seamus understood that friendship was the only thing between them, and that made her thankful for him, too.

Hermione wouldn't have to string together a series of soft and kind words that would let Seamus down easily. He didn't need her to make things awkward. No, he'd seen the pain in her eyes, the guilt in her steps as she returned from talking to Draco. He saw and he understood that if he and Hermione were ever to become more than mates, it certainly wasn't now. She most definitely was not ready . The Slytherin still had hold on her heart in every single way. Seamus understood, the best he could do for Hermione now was make a few jokes and let her be.

Everyone else treated her like a blubbering wreck. That was the trouble with Hogwarts, Everyone knew your business all the time. The friends would smother. The professors would ignore it. The gossips would spread it all around and see how long they could make your misfortune last.

Sure, she was sad. More than sad, she was heartbroken. She was embarrassed. She was frustrated. And even though she would get waves of physical pain every time Draco crossed her mind, she did not need everyone's sympathy.

Their sympathy did not fix things. Harry's concerned looks did not bring Draco back. Ginny's rambled words of empowerment did not bring Voldemort down. Ron's jokes did not make her love the misguided Slytherin any less.

No, Hermione needed solitude and her blanket and a book or two. Books fixed everything. Why couldn't anyone understand that? This is how Hermione Granger cheers herself up. She gets lost in an imaginary world with imaginary people who always do the imaginary right thing.

So, she bid her polite goodbyes to Seamus, a smile brighter than one that was natural on her face and turned the page in her book.

Reading would always be her escape. She'd turn the page, and get lost in words; every time she reads, she is home.

But her solitude did not last long. Ron's voice interrupted her thoughts just as the bookworm had turned the page again.

"Mione?"

Sighing again, Hermione held her place with her thumb and closed the book. "Yes?" she responded.

He rubbed his neck and looked momentarily at the floor between them. "Do you need help with your trunk?"

Hermione opened the book to where she left off as she politely replied, a forced smile, with little enthusiasm, "No, thank you. I'm alright." She continued reading.

She could feel Ron still standing there. She even heard his trousers brush against themselves as he shifted his weight from side to side. "Are you sure, Hermione?" he tried again. "Seamus, Dean, and I have been helping a few of the others. First years, mostly, and Ginny's, of course. It really isn't any trouble for me to take yours down to the carriages."

"I really don't need any help, Ron."

"I just thought I would offer to take your trunk so you could keep reading," he exclaimed, mumbling slightly with growing annoyance at her continued refusal.

Hermione's eyes softened, recognizing his generosity. "Thank you, but I really don't need help. I don't have a trunk."

Ron straightened out the shoulder of his jacket, which had been precariously close to falling down his arm, and blinked at her. He hesitated, "What do you mean you don't have a trunk?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, Ronald, I don't have a trunk, therefore I do not need any help."

"The train is leaving in a half hour, Mione."

"I know."

"I– You– You haven't packed yet?" he stammered.

The look on his face was reminiscent of his earlier years in potions class. The familiarity brought her back to simpler times, before romantic feelings mucked everything up, before they grew up. Before they grew apart.

Hermione nodded. "I haven't packed yet because I'm staying."

Ron's shoulders slumped and his head fell with a sigh. "Staying," he repeated without the tone of question. The disappointment in his tone made Hermione feel a bit guilty and she didn't know what to say.

"I– I know things have been weird between us, but you know… You know you're invited to the Burrow for Christmas."

"I'm sorry, Ron. I really do appreciate you inviting me to the Burrow's holiday, but I don't think I can handle being around so many people right now," she said, casting her eyes downward under his sorrowful stare.

Ron's weight shifted from foot to foot, then back again. "Mum's made you a jumper. Harry's got Christmas Crackers." The guilty feeling buried itself further into her chest, making each breath heavy.

Ron had been looking everywhere but directly at her, another reminder of Ginny's harsh description of her older brother, and Hermione's heart ached as she thought about it, her description of all the boys she's ever loved. Cowards, weren't they?

The way Ron stood there, not meeting her eye. She watched him finger the end of his jumper, refusing to admit his own disappointment in her staying at Hogwarts for Christmas.

Coward.

But she had seen Ron's lionhearted capabilities many times over the years and she wondered what it took for Ron to be brave in those moments.

She wondered what it would take for Draco to find his way to push through his own cowardice. Surely, he could be brave and heroic, too.

Hermione shook the thought from her head and searched her mind for what Ron had most recently said. She tried her best to smile as she responded evenly.

"I'm truly sorry to be disappointing Harry and your mum, and, well, you, I expect… But I think- I think I just need some time to be by myself and with my books to reset everything, Ron. Christmas at the Burrow is- It's too many people."

His smile was weak and did not reach his eyes, but he took a deep breath, tugged on the ends of his jacket, and looked at her. "Mum will be disappointed, but she'll understand. She'll probably send the jumper anyway. She's done it before. I- uh- I better see who else needs help before the train leaves, but uh- Happy Christmas, Hermione. I'll see you after the holidays."

She smiled warmly at him, trying to show her appreciation for how much she knew he cared. "Thanks, Ron. Merry Christmas."

When Hermione peered over her book a few minutes later, she spotted Harry making his way over to her, a look in her eyes telling her that he was still worrying about her. She sighed, smiled, and stood from her cozy spot on the couch.

With a quick hug for Harry and whispered Happy Christmases, Hermione set off for the library. Maybe there she'd find peace. Maybe there, she'd find calm.

Two days had passed without another interrogation from Snape.

The anxiety he'd felt days ago leaving his dormitory was still consuming his body and mind. He felt frozen. He felt stuck.

He felt like he was drowning, actually.

It was 3:47 AM, December 23rd.

Draco was lying awake again, spread out overtop his bed, breathing dangerously shallow, sweat dampening the sheets he laid on.

Draco knew failure. He knew disappointment. His father had made sure he knew that. Despite the years of practice, Draco had never felt so utterly defeated.

It was 3:53 AM, December 23rd, and Draco was cold. He drew in another shaky breath, the chill of oxygen too much for his throat and he choked on it, a fit of coughs raking pain through his stomach, empty for he couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to eat.

He didn't want to know what time it was. He didn't want to know what day it was or where he was. None of that mattered. His life was over. He'd spent three days thinking of any possible way he could survive this.

He'd gone into Hogsmeade twice, each time returning as less of a man than when he'd left. People do things to survive, and then after they survive, they can't live with what they've done.

He thought about the Dark Lord. He thought about his plan. He thought about Hermione.

The scar burned into his left arm, but he felt almost numb to it now. He absentmindedly rubbed at the offending skin, his body rejecting the decisions he'd been forced to make.

It was 4:21 AM, December 23rd, and he lay awake thinking about all of the things he didn't do right. Because, as everyone knows, nothing solves insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression, and self-loathing.

A/N: I was blown away by how many of you came back, reread, gave kudos, commented, and otherwise showed support for me when I posted Chapter 22 after 5 years of hiatus. Thank you so so sooooo much!

This story has turned out to have a more depressing series of a few chapters than I anticipated when I started writing, but I think it is realistic of how these two characters would mourn, reflect, and get back together after Draco's confession. It's always been an angsty story. And it will have a Happy Ending. I know we are all eager for our favorite couple to get back together. Stay tuned for the next few updates for more romance and fluffy-ish moments!

A major thank you to dungeons-and-doilies for being an amazing Beta. Without her, I would have not had the confidence to revive this story.

Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.

Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise