December/ Happy Christmas
December arrived in a shroud of cold and uncertainty, the safehouse blanketed by the icy chill of winter winds. There were fewer meetings, more whispers, and an underlying tension that weighed heavy in the air. The days bled into one another, marked only by the change of plans, the arrival of letters, and the continual struggle to prepare for the final confrontation. And then, just as the new month settled in, a figure emerged from the darkness, casting a long, shadowed presence across the front threshold of Muriel's home.
It was Dumbledore.
He stood tall and regal, his silver hair streaming down his back, his blue eyes twinkling with a familiar but weary light. The Order members gathered around the entryway, staring in shock, their breath misting in the chill. It was as though a specter had materialized in front of them, as if hope itself had returned in the form of a man they thought long lost.
After checking the mans identity, disarming him and leading the past headmaster to the parlor, they decided that it was time to start speaking to him.
"I owe all of you an apology," Dumbledore began, his voice soft but strong, echoing through the silent house. "I have been… away. Searching. Preparing. There were things I needed to do, secrets I needed to uncover to give us a fighting chance. But I'm here now, and I bring with me… something to help."
From the depths of his worn, traveling cloak, he withdrew a sword. Its blade gleamed even in the dim light of the safehouse, silver and ruby-encrusted, the handle shining with a brilliance that made several of the Order members gasp.
"The Sword of Gryffindor," Dumbledore announced softly, his gaze falling on Harry. "Infused with basilisk venom, a weapon capable of destroying Horcruxes. It is yours, Harry, to wield in the battle ahead."
Harry's eyes widened as he reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he took the sword. There was reverence and awe in his expression—emotions mirrored in the faces of those around him.
"But that is not all," Dumbledore continued, his tone somber. "I have something else. Something I risked everything to find."
He reached into his robes once more and produced a small, blackened ring—the Horcrux that had eluded them for so long. It was unmistakable, the sinister energy radiating from it, sending a shiver down Hermione's spine. For a long moment, no one spoke, all eyes fixed on the object in Dumbledore's palm.
"It is the gaunt family ring," he said quietly. "One of Voldemort's most prized possessions. And now… one less piece of his fractured soul."
The room erupted into stunned whispers. Hermione felt a surge of triumph, mingled with the familiar anxiety that accompanied every new revelation. With the locket and the sword, they were one step closer. One more Horcrux destroyed. One more piece of Voldemort weakened.
Harry counted off the amount of horcruxes they had found;
The locket back in Godric's Hollow, The diadem found by the Hogwarts students, the Hufflepuff cup from Gringotts, the ring that Dumbledore had found, and the diary that Harry had destroyed in the chamber of secrets.
"How did you find it?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse, disbelief etched in his features. "All this time, we thought—"
"That I had abandoned you," Dumbledore finished softly. "And in a way, I did. But I needed to ensure that we had a chance. That when the time came, we would have the means to end this war."
He turned, his gaze sweeping over each of them in turn. "There is only one Horcrux left now. One last piece of Voldemort's soul to destroy before we can confront him. Nagini, the snake."
Silence fell like a heavy shroud over the room. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. The final Horcrux. If they could destroy Nagini, then it would all come down to a single confrontation. Voldemort, mortal once more, vulnerable.
"But how do we get to her?" Theo asked, his voice breaking the stillness. He stood off to the side, his expression a mix of determination and fear. "She's always with him. Always protected."
"That," Dumbledore said softly, "is why we must be cautious. I suspect he will use her as a shield, a weapon. We must be prepared for anything."
"We need to plan," Kingsley murmured, his gaze intense. "We can't afford any mistakes."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, his eyes resting on Harry, then drifting to Draco and Hermione. "But for now, we have hope. And that is more than we had yesterday."
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of strategizing and preparation. With the sword of Gryffindor in hand and the horcruxes destroyed, the Order threw themselves into the task of planning their final assault. The safehouse was alive with movement—Order members coming and going, scouts returning with reports, meetings stretching long into the night as they debated every possible strategy.
Hermione barely had a moment to breathe, her mind consumed with the logistics of their plan. Every day, she and Harry poured over maps of Hogwarts, trying to anticipate Voldemort's movements, theorizing where he might hide, how best to confront him. The castle had always been a sanctuary for them, a place of safety and learning. Now, it was a battlefield—a fortress they had to infiltrate, a place where Voldemort would establish his new regime.
They were in the makeshift war room when Astoria's next letter arrived. Draco had been the one to open it, his eyes scanning the elegant script quickly before he handed it over to Hermione. She read it in silence, her heart sinking with every word.
Hermione,
The date is set. January 1st, he will take over Hogwarts. The transition will begin at midnight. You have until then to put an end to it. After that… I fear it will be too late.
We will do what we can from the inside, but I cannot promise much. He is… tightening his hold. Keep each other safe. I will send word if I learn anything more.
- Astoria
They had until the New Year. A month, maybe less. Time seemed to collapse in on itself, the urgency mounting with every passing day. Hermione felt the weight of it like a physical thing, pressing down on her chest. And in those rare, fleeting moments when she wasn't poring over maps or sending letters to informants, she found herself turning to Draco.
They had grown accustomed to each other's presence, their relationship deepening in ways neither of them had expected. There were still awkward moments—Theo's uncertain glances, the wary stares from the other Order members—but for the first time in what felt like forever, Hermione had something solid to hold onto. Something real.
It was Draco who held her when she woke from nightmares, who stood beside her in the long, tense meetings, who listened without judgment when she spoke of her fears. And though he rarely said it aloud, she could see it in his eyes, feel it in the gentle touch of his hand: he was fighting for her. For them.
"We'll do this, Hermione," he murmured one evening as they stood in the quiet hallway outside the war room. "We'll make it through."
Christmas approached, but there was no celebration, no joy to be found in the dim rooms of Muriel's house. The Order was focused, tense, every conversation laced with urgency. Harry's strength was returning, his resolve hardening. And as the days slipped past, Hermione felt something shift—something subtle but unmistakable.
Hope.
The impossible was within reach. One last Horcrux. One last chance.
The day before Christmas Eve, the safehouse was quieter than usual. The air was thick with anticipation, the Order members moving with a nervous energy that spoke of the battle to come. As Hermione stood beside Draco, her gaze resting on the flickering candlelight, she knew one thing for certain.
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Hermione woke to the soft, steady warmth of Draco's body beside her, the faint glow of morning light filtering through the curtains casting long shadows across the small room. For a moment, she lay there, savoring the quiet peace of the early hours — the first Christmas morning she hadn't spent alone in what felt like forever.
Draco stirred beside her, his arm draped protectively over her waist. She turned slightly, gazing up at him as his eyes fluttered open. A small, sleepy smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at her, silver eyes soft and unguarded.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning," she whispered back, her fingers brushing gently against his cheek. "Happy Christmas, Draco."
He hummed, his eyes slipping closed again as he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."
The world outside might have been falling apart, the war still raging just beyond the safety of their walls, but in that tiny room, it felt like time had stopped, just for them. There was no Voldemort, no Death Eaters, no fear. Just the quiet comfort of being together.
"Should we go downstairs?" Hermione asked softly, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced toward the door. "I'm sure the others are already up."
Draco sighed, his hold on her tightening ever so slightly. "Do we have to?"
"Yes," she replied, though her smile widened at the reluctance in his voice. "Come on. It's Christmas, Draco. We should spend it with everyone."
Reluctantly, he nodded, rolling over onto his back and letting her slip out of bed. Hermione quickly dressed, pulling on a warm jumper and jeans before turning back to look at Draco. He was still lying there, watching her, his expression unreadable.
"What?" she asked softly, her brow furrowing.
"Nothing," he murmured, shaking his head. But then, almost as if he couldn't help himself, he reached out, catching her hand in his. "I'm just happy, its a very strange feeling."
She squeezed his hand gently, leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips. "I'm happy too."
With that, they made their way downstairs, where the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of laughter filled the air. The sitting room was already bustling with activity — members of the Order gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing, their voices light with the rare cheer of the holiday.
Hermione's heart swelled as she took in the sight of the Weasleys — Arthur and Molly standing by the fire, Fred and George teasing Bill and Charlie near the doorway, Ginny laughing beside Harry. For the first time in what felt like forever, they looked… almost happy. The worry and fear etched into their faces seemed softer, less defined, as if the spirit of Christmas had given them a brief reprieve from the constant weight of the war.
"Hermione!" Ginny's voice rang out, drawing her attention.
She turned just in time to see the youngest Weasley pull her into a tight hug, the familiar warmth of Ginny's embrace wrapping around her like a blanket. "Merry Christmas!" Ginny exclaimed, pulling back with a wide grin. "And to you, too, Malfoy," she added, her gaze flicking to Draco, though there was no malice in her tone.
Hermione smiled, glancing between them. It wasn't perfect — there was still a lingering tension between Draco and the Weasleys, a wariness that might never fully fade. But it was a start.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of greetings and laughter, the house filling steadily as more people arrived. DA members — Seamus, Dean, Luna, and even Zacharias Smith — filtered in, their faces bright with excitement and relief at seeing everyone again. The Order members welcomed them with open arms, the sight of so many familiar faces filling the house with a sense of camaraderie and hope.
By midday, the entire safehouse was buzzing with energy, the warmth of friendship and love wrapping around them all like a protective shield against the darkness of the outside world.
Molly had outdone herself, as always. The long dining table was covered with platters of roast turkey, honey-glazed ham, mashed potatoes, and every Christmas treat imaginable. Pies, puddings, and cakes lined the edges, the rich aroma filling the room and making Hermione's stomach growl in anticipation.
"I think I've gained ten pounds just looking at this," she murmured to Draco, who chuckled softly beside her.
But it wasn't just the food that made the day special. As they sat around the table, passing plates and sharing stories, there was a sense of unity, of purpose, that filled the room. Each of them was there for the same reason — to fight, to protect, to honor the memories of those they had lost.
And later, as the sun dipped low in the sky and the plates were cleared away, Hermione and Ginny found themselves in the kitchen, a small assortment of Christmas cookies laid out on the counter before them.
"Want to help me decorate these?" Ginny asked, holding up a small jar of icing.
Hermione smiled softly. "I'd love to."
They worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire and the occasional clink of plates. But then, Ginny sighed, setting down her icing bag and turning to face Hermione.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For… for how I've been. About you and Draco."
Hermione blinked, surprised by the suddenness of the apology. "Ginny, you don't have to—"
"No, I do," Ginny interrupted, shaking her head. "I was… I was hurt. Angry. When I saw you two together, it felt like… like you'd given up on Ron. Like he didn't matter to you anymore."
"Ginny, that's not true," Hermione whispered, her chest tightening. "I loved Ron. I still do. But—"
"But he's gone," Ginny finished softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "And you… you deserve to be happy. Even if it's not with him."
Hermione reached out, squeezing Ginny's hand tightly. "I miss him every day. But… I do care about Draco. And I'm sorry if that hurt you."
Ginny shook her head, offering a small, shaky smile. "It's okay. I just… I needed to let it go."
They finished the cookies in companionable silence, the rift between them mending, if only slightly. And later, as the sky turned dark and the stars began to peek through the clouds, Hermione found herself standing outside, staring up at the sky.
Theo appeared beside her, his silhouette dark against the snow-covered ground. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"I'm sorry," he murmured finally, his voice low and rough. "For how I've been. I know you were only trying to help."
Hermione turned to look at him, her heart aching. "I never wanted to hurt you, Theo. I just… I couldn't let you die."
"I know," he whispered, his eyes closing. "And I… I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there. I can't lose you, Hermione."
A lump rose in her throat, and she reached out, resting her hand gently on his arm. "You won't."
He opened his eyes, the pain in them raw and unguarded. "I forgive you. For Blaise. For everything. I just… I need you to be okay. Because I don't know how I'd live with myself if something happened to you, and I couldn't fix it."
Hermione's heart twisted painfully, tears pricking at her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, Theo."
They stood there under the stars, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. And for the first time in a long time, Hermione allowed herself to hope.
Maybe, just maybe, they would be okay.
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Hermione wandered back inside the safehouse, her footsteps slow and hesitant as the reality of the evening began to press down on her like a suffocating weight. The warmth of the Christmas celebrations still hung in the air — the lingering scents of Molly's cooking, the faint echoes of laughter from the sitting room, the twinkling fairy lights still draped across the banister.
It had been… nice. Too nice.
She swallowed thickly, her heart pounding as the realization settled in, sharp and painful.
Everyone had been so happy, so content. Ginny's unexpected apology, Theo's forgiveness, even Draco's soft, comforting presence at her side — it was as if the entire Order had suddenly decided that, for one night, they could all pretend that things were going to be okay.
But they weren't.
The knot in her chest tightened, the edges of the room blurring as she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, her breaths coming faster and faster. It wasn't just a celebration. It was a farewell. A last supper. Everyone had made amends, not because they were trying to start fresh, but because they were trying to settle old scores. They were saying goodbye.
They were going off to their deaths.
Her body felt cold, trembling, as the truth clawed its way through her thoughts. It had been so perfect, so filled with hope — all of them sitting around the table, smiling and joking as if the war wasn't on their doorstep. As if they weren't all about to march into the lion's den with only the barest chance of survival.
They'd planned, they'd strategized, but that didn't make the stakes any less real. This was it. The final battle. The last chance to destroy Voldemort and end the war. And if they failed…
If they failed, it would be the end.
"Hey, Hermione—"
The familiar voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, and she turned sharply, blinking up at Draco. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his brow furrowed in concern. He was holding a mug of hot chocolate, steam curling lazily from the top, his expression softening as he caught sight of her.
"You disappeared on me," he murmured, stepping closer. "Everything okay?"
She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat, a choked sob slipping out instead. Draco's eyes widened, and in an instant, he set the mug down on the nearest surface, his hands reaching for her.
"Hey, hey — what's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and urgent. "What happened?"
Hermione shook her head, her shoulders trembling. "I… I just… It's not—" She sucked in a shuddering breath, pressing a hand to her mouth as the tears started to spill over. "It's not fair."
"What's not fair?" Draco murmured, his hands warm and steady as they cupped her cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears. "Talk to me, Hermione."
"This," she whispered, her voice breaking. "All of this. Tonight… it wasn't a celebration. It was a goodbye. They're all just—just trying to make things right because they know they might not survive." Her chest heaved, the sobs growing louder, more frantic. "Theo, Ginny, even Harry — they're all just… preparing to die."
Draco's face tightened, his expression twisting with something raw and painful as he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her like a shield. "No," he whispered fiercely, his breath hot against her hair. "No, Hermione, we're not going to die."
"But we might," she cried, her hands clutching desperately at his shirt. "And it's—it's my fault. I'm the one who's been pushing everyone so hard, who's been—been trying to make sure we have a plan. But what if—what if it's not enough? What if we go out there, and we just… we justdie?"
She couldn't breathe, the panic swelling in her chest, squeezing her lungs until every breath was a struggle. Draco's arms tightened around her, his voice a low, urgent murmur in her ear.
"Hermione, listen to me," he said softly. "Look at me."
She forced herself to lift her gaze, meeting the fierce intensity of his stormy eyes. His expression was a mix of determination and desperation, his hands shaking slightly as they cupped her face.
"We're not going to die," he repeated, his voice low and fervent. "You, me, Theo, Harry — we're going to make it through this. We have to. Because if we don't… then everything we've fought for means nothing."
She shook her head, tears blurring her vision. "But what if we can't—"
"Wewill," he interrupted, his voice a harsh whisper. "Because I can't lose you, Hermione. I can't—" His voice broke, and he swallowed hard, his hands trembling. "I can't live in a world where you don't exist."
Her heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice, the intensity of his gaze as he stared down at her. "Draco…"
"I mean it," he whispered, his forehead pressing against hers. "I need you, Hermione. And we're going to get through this. Together."
She could see the fear in his eyes — the same fear that had been eating away at her all evening. But there was something else there too. Something fierce and unyielding. Draco's belief in her, in them, was so strong it almost hurt to look at.
Slowly, she nodded, her breaths still coming in shallow, trembling gasps. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Okay, Draco. I— I believe you."
His grip on her tightened, his lips brushing lightly against her temple. "We'll fight. And we'll win. And when this is all over, we'll have more Christmases. I promise."
Draco reached for the table next to the bed that the two of them shared. While Draco technically was roommates with Theo, he ended up sleeping with hermione most nights, unofficially moving him in. He grabbed a small wrapped box handing it to her,
"Happy Christmas darling" he said offering her a small smile.
she gently ripped her way through the paper, when she opened the box she couldn't help but laugh.
"what is it?" Draco asked checking to make sure they were looking at the same thing.
"No Draco its a lovely gift - its just that, well I suppose great minds think alike, she answered reaching under the bed for the gift she had hidden for him"
he ripped through the paper and audibly gasped when he saw what lay at the center of the box. It was a small ring, similar to the one that hermione had received from him.
"I charmed it so that we can look out for each other, and so it sends me diagnostics of your health" she said sliding the ring onto his finger. he reached over to do the same
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as she looked back up at him. "Draco… it's beautiful."
"It's enchanted as well," he murmured. "its a Malfoy family ring, but that's besides the point. If… if we're ever apart, you can press it, and I'll know. I'll know where you are, that you're… that you're still alive," and he looked away, his jaw tight.
they both glanced down at the rings on their right ring fingers, such lovely gifts nearly acting as a reminder of the impending uncertainty of tomorrow.