The world outside Malfoy Manor was blanketed in a pristine layer of snow, the kind that muffled sound and softened edges, making even the iron gates look less foreboding. Hermione perched against the window, watching the snowfall for a few moments as the sun quietly set.
It was Christmas.
The eclipse had come and gone and she'd completed all the rudimentary research she could without a wand. With her notes scrawled on loose Mandrake leaves, she'd tied them together and tucked them safely in her pocket, committing the most important bits to memory. She itched to get her hands on a wand again and test her hypothesis—that the Dagaz-Isa-Ehwaz sequence would interact with the wards enough to disseminate magic through a physical vessel.
In the midst of her contemplations, the door slammed open and Draco staggered through the door, a grin stretching across his face.
"Granger," he slurred, his voice a concoction of triumph and intoxication, "it worked! The bloody Prolixus cage—it worked!"
"What do you—" Hermione trailed off, her mouth hanging in bewilderment as she watched him sway on the spot and nearly crash into a nightstand.
"He believed it was a Malfoy family heirloom," Draco continued, bracing himself against the wall, a self-satisfied smirk curling his lips. "I must be the first wizard to lie to the Dark Lord's face and live to tell the tale."
He laughed, the sound hollow in the vastness of the room, as if the very walls were too weary to echo it back to him.
"Why are you in this… state?" Hermione asked, her heart picking up speed as she processed his words.
"Celebrating, of course. Grabbed a pint after the whole deal. A few pints. I had good reason to."
"What happened? How did Voldemort take it?"
"I used it to bypass the wards of the Carrows. He doubted me at first, but then was impressed when he saw it work," Draco said, his cheeks flushed with the success. "Very impressed with me for finding such a valuable heirloom. He said I have potential, that I've woken up and—"
"And you didn't mention the Prolixus, the theory—"
"Of course not," Draco huffed rather indignantly. "I heard all your little stipulations. I know precisely what I'm doing, Granger. Give a madman a weapon, he turns into… a greater madman. I'm not the ignorant fool you've made me out to be."
Hermione's heart thrummed with a mix of fear and anticipation.
He'd taken her up on her deal.
"But really, it was good that the Carrows were there to witness. Amycus nearly shat his robes, seeing that. Feels a bit threatened, really, which is excellent for me," Draco prattled on, oblivious to the turmoil in Hermione's mind. "They'll remember me, now. They'll know that I'm done playing with the silly Snatchers and the cleanup shite. I'm moving onto bigger and better things. I'm on the way up now. I'm already—."
"Malfoy," Hermione interrupted his uncharacteristic babbling. He yanked his eyes to hers, as if he'd forgotten she was in the room with him. "You've given Voldemort the cage. Now I need to leave. That was the deal, remember? I need you to let me go, or they'll be able to infiltrate the Order's wards."
"I thought you had secret Order houses, Granger. Secret."
"Not all of them could be put under the Fidelius. I told you there's a number at risk. And in any case, I need to inform the Order—they'll come to the wrong conclusions when they learn that the technology's leaked. I need to leave, Malfoy. Now."
Draco tilted his head, like he'd forgotten that she'd demand her freedom.
"Tell me, Granger," he asked, peering at her through half-lidded eyes, "do you ever let your guard down?"
"No," she replied curtly. "And that's beside the—"
"Tonight," he said, his speech half-garbled, "you should."
Draco swiped his wand, and before them materialized a sofa. It was an odd thing, with uneven legs and patches of different designs on a worn, white fabric, but he didn't seem to notice the irregularities, sinking into it with a satisfied breath.
From within his robes, he produced a bottle of firewhiskey, its amber contents glinting in the low light. With a flourish that seemed practiced, he popped the cork and filled two glasses, before offering one to Hermione.
"Drink."
She hesitated, and Draco jerked the glass impatiently, splashing some of the liquid onto the floor.
"Take it, damn it," he grumbled. "Someone offers you a drink, the polite thing to do is take it."
She took the glass, sitting down carefully on the tapestry-sofa, avoiding a seam that was already ripping open. Draco downed his glass in a few gulps, and Hermione quickly realized he was not in any state to be reasoned with.
Tomorrow, she thought. I'll have to ask him tomorrow.
Draco leaned back, drawing his left arm across the top of the sofa behind Hermione as he raised his glass. His gaze was unfocused as he stared out the window. Hermione followed his eyes, watching the soft snowfall swirling in the evening light.
"A toast," he murmured. "To genius plans and new beginnings."
She caught his gaze then, and there was something gentler in the way he looked at her—an unguarded tenderness that passed from his eyes to hers. It felt bolder than his stumbling boasts of moments before and Hermione found herself looking away, flushing.
"New beginnings," she echoed, trying to believe it herself.
Their glasses clinked with a brittle sound and Hermione drank. The firewhiskey seeped into her veins at first taste, dulling the edges of her vision.
Tomorrow she would claim her freedom.
But tonight, it was Christmas. She would drink with Draco, lowering her inhibitions just enough to feel the warm embrace of firewhiskey and the bittersweet taste of hope.
The ancient clock in the corner ticked away the seconds soothingly, but time seemed to stand still as Hermione cracked open her eyes, finding her head lolling against a firm, comfortable pillar.
It was a shoulder.
Draco's shoulder.
She jerked away with a gasp.
They'd fallen asleep in the midst of their drinking. The sky outside was dark, dotted with stars. Draco's tall silhouette was still slumped into the sofa he'd conjured, his posture relaxed, his breathing even with soft snores.
The spilled amber drink was now sticky on the floor and Hermione skirted around it as she rose, heading into the bathroom. She swayed a little on her feet still, using the wall to guide her, but the water she splashed on her face helped her return back to a semblance of clarity.
Trodding back into the bedroom, Hermione heard Draco emit a soft sound, and she paused in her footsteps to listen.
"Celebrate…" he mumbled incoherently. "Celebrate… with me."
Hermione let out a small snort before her eyes fell on a delicate bundle of Dittany, the lavender flowers vibrant against the sofa, tied together with a gold ribbon that shimmered in the low light.
Her eyes widened as the memory surged back to her.
She had been six drinks in. Draco had been even further along. He'd suddenly gotten to his feet, stumbling into the greenhouse. After a few minutes, he'd returned with a bundle of flowers, extending the gift towards her with a pleased expression.
"For you," he'd said. "It's Christmas."
She'd accepted it, her fingers brushing his as she took the unexpected offering. "Uh, thank you, Malfoy," she'd said, fingers grazing the soft golden ribbon.
"You're welcome."
They had sat in silence for a minute before he spoke again.
"Stop calling me that," he'd said with a slight frown.
"What?"
"Malfoy."
"Then what?"
"That's my family's name."
"I know."
"I have my own name."
She'd been confused, but she'd obliged. "Okay. Draco?"
He had nodded, his features relaxing into satisfaction.
They must have fallen asleep shortly after that, because Hermione couldn't recall anything afterwards. The memory of the Dittany felt like a dream itself—only the bundle of flowers perched on the sofa could convince her otherwise.
It had been shockingly nice. Shockingly sweet. Out of all the things she could have predicted, she would've never predicted Draco to be a sentimental drunk.
She made her way back to his slumped form, shaking his shoulder.
"Malfoy. Get up."
He didn't respond, but Hermione's eye caught sight of his wand. Without thinking twice, she reached for it, only to recoil in pain as the Petsitting Charm reminded her of its presence.
Damn it.
Hermione pursed her lips, shaking Draco harder. When he only let out a louder snore, she slapped his face, waking him up in a flash.
He sat up quicker than Hermione thought was humanly possible, his wand in hand before she fully registered his movement. She squeaked as he shoved her down to the sofa with a single swift motion, disorientation clear in his glazed eyes.
It was only then that he seemed to recognize his would-be assailant, and he took in a sharp, irritated breath before retracting his arm.
"What the hell, Granger?" His voice was more coherent than before, but it still lacked his usual harshness.
"You fell asleep," Hermione said, holding her hand over her rapidly beating heart at his reflexive movements. "Merlin, you're—you're fast."
A smirk played at the corner of his lips. "I am."
"Is it the wards? They help with your magic and your movement?"
"No, that's all me," Draco drawled. "I could've Stunned you before you even had a chance to say a word."
"I was only trying to get you awake before you fell off this… thing," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, shifting her body up the sofa. "And mind you, it wasn't easy. I had to slap you out of your own world."
Draco's expression lit up with something Hermione couldn't quite place.
"Have a thing for that, don't you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Third year. You slapped me after calling me a cockroach. Remember?"
"Oh—oh!" A grin slunk on her face. "How could I forget? Humiliating you in front of your goons. The crowning achievement of my Hogwarts career."
"I should've actually Stunned you. To get you back," he mused, shaking his head. "That little stunt of yours ruined my entire week. Month."
"That was… a lifetime and a half ago."
"Life was good when the worst thing was being humiliated by a girl."
Draco's short laugh might have fooled another, but Hermione saw the sorrow behind it, the longing. It was in the crease of his brow, the clench of his jaw—something painful was etched into his sharp features, and Hermione yearned to fill the tense silence that had appeared with it.
"When I got my letter to Hogwarts, it was the best day of my life," she said softly, words tumbling out before she even realized she'd opened her mouth. "It was Professor McGonagall. She came and upended my entire world with just a few sentences. My parents believed she was a total fraud, at first. I take magic for granted now but…"
She trailed off, unsure what exactly she was trying to convey.
"But…?" Draco prompted.
"But I was a Muggleborn, right? Magic was something in fairytales. And it suddenly became real. I couldn't wait to learn about all of it. To get my hands on a wand, to explore what I could do with this real, crazy thing."
Hermione recalled the wonder, the joy of discovery, and for a moment, she allowed herself to get lost in the reminiscence. She found Draco with his elbows on his knees, staring at her with a pensive expression, like he hadn't quite understood what she'd described but wanted to.
"It's not all bad being a Muggleborn," Hermione continued, creasing her brows. "You live peacefully as a child, and then, one day, you get the incredible news that there's another world waiting for you. That's something you pureblooded lot never get to experience."
"I wouldn't want to be a Mudbl—Muggleborn," Draco said quietly. Hermione raised her eyebrows at his amended wording. "Not today. It doesn't happen like that anymore."
"It doesn't," Hermione agreed sadly.
Draco looked around, like he was searching for something to change the topic to. He picked up the Dittany with a question in his expression.
"What's this?" he asked, squinting at the bundle with suspicion.
"You don't remember?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Look, Granger, I haven't been this drunk since before the war."
"You gave it to me."
"What?" Draco exclaimed, his voice heavy with incredulity. "When did I—why would I give—"
His words faltered and he paused with his mouth still open, his expression morphing swiftly into shock as the memory seemed to return. He examined the flowers, plucking at the hasty knot of the ribbon with his fingers while Hermione watched him with vague amusement.
"Why would you give me this, Malfoy? That's a good question."
"I didn't—" Draco started with a stutter of denial, before he exhaled a sharp breath and shook his head, changing tactics. A haughty look came over his face as he met Hermione's eyes. "I see no reason why you're surprised at a Christmas gift, Granger. Have you never experienced a holiday before?"
Draco's recollection must've sobered him right up, as he was already returning to his usual, exasperating antics.
"I have experienced Christmas before, thank you," Hermione countered with a huff. "But I've never experienced it trapped in Malfoy Manor. How was I to know to expect a gift?"
"It's just a bundle of Dittany," Draco said, scorn appearing in his voice. "And even in this Manor, we exchange gifts, Granger. It's tradition, and barbaric to ignore."
"Tradition, huh?"
"Yes, Granger. Ever heard of it?"
"Tradition to give a gift to the prisoner you keep hidden in your room?"
"Prisoner?" Draco echoed, crossing his arms. "Is that what you're still calling yourself?"
"That's what I am, in case you've forgotten."
"So it's wrong then, to give you a little pile of plants, because you're my prisoner."
"Yes," Hermione said with a frown. "It's wrong, because it's pretending that we're something we're not."
"What is it that we're not then? Please enlighten me."
Things had been going so well—until now. Hermione pressed her lips together in irritation.
"I don't know. I'm not playing this game with you right now."
"What game?"
"The game where you ask me questions I don't want to answer," she snapped.
"Don't get short with me, Granger. I'm simply asking you why you think it's so egregious that I gave you—" he flicked the Dittany. "—this."
His eyes gleamed with provocation and he propped his elbows on the back of the sofa, leaning toward her. Hermione tossed her hands up in frustration.
"I don't know, Malfoy! I don't know what you were thinking. You think of me as a—an unkempt, war-ravaged Mudblood! Now why would you give your unkempt, war-ravaged Mudblood flowers on Christmas? It sends a conflicting message."
Surprise flitted across Draco's face, so quickly that Hermione almost missed it. It was as if he had forgotten he had said the words at all. Running his fingers through his hair, Draco gazed at her with a newfound interest.
"That was ages ago. Don't tell me your feelings are hurt."
"Ages? It's been a few days."
"Things have changed since then," Draco said. "We wouldn't be having this civilized conversation if nothing's changed."
"I know things have changed," Hermione said, her voice rising. "But I'm still someone that you've locked up! You've just decided that it's more fun to play with me than to ignore me."
His gaze locked on hers, harsh and piercing. He cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes as if truly seeing her for the first time. Hermione's breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.
"Don't presume to read my mind, Granger," he said, his voice low, so low she could barely make out the words. He spoke slowly, his lips straining each word.
"You said it yourself, Malfoy," Hermione replied, drawing out the name, her voice lowered to match his. She straightened, pulling herself up, a challenge flashing through her eyes. "I'm your—your Mudblood that you keep purely for your amusement. Don't tell me you didn't mean that."
"How very naïve of you, Granger, to believe everything I say," Draco said. He chuckled, the sound scorching. "It's charming, really."
The air between them seemed to solidify, the tension thick enough to bite. Hermione's head swam with the weight of it.
"Am I wrong?" she asked.
He dipped his chin, tilting his head directly toward her.
"I lied to the Dark Lord today—remember? Perhaps I've been practicing on you."
A beat of silence met Hermione's puzzled look.
Then Draco closed the distance between them, his lips burning against hers.