Summary: When Hermione dodges mistletoe all holiday, she doesn't expect Draco Malfoy to notice—or to leave her the perfect gift. Amid festive tension, an unexpected connection unfolds.
Written for HP Festivals of Stars 2024
Prompt: "I'm avoiding every mistletoe until I know
It's true love that he thinks of" Santa Tell Me - Ariana Grande URL: /3Ni01h1
In the days leading up to Christmas, the Hogwarts Castle transformed into a winter wonderland. Snow blanketed the grounds, shimmering under the pale morning sun as it settled like powdered sugar across the Forbidden Forest and drifted into the cracks of ancient stone walls, softening the castle's imposing silhouette. Icy winds slipped through the corridors, carrying with them the crisp scent of pine and the faintest hint of the nearby lake's icy surface. Inside, warmth radiated from the many fireplaces tucked into the castle's nooks, filling the draughty old structure with a cosy glow that contrasted the chill outside. Enchanted candles floated overhead, their soft, golden light casting dancing shadows along the walls, adding a touch of whimsy to the otherwise grand, Gothic architecture.
The Great Hall, in particular, was dazzling. Enchanted garlands of evergreen and holly wound their way along the stone pillars, twining up toward the enchanted ceiling, which displayed a sky dusted with stars. Ribbons of silver and gold draped around towering pine trees, which stood in each corner like silent guardians of the festivities. Their branches were adorned with glistening ornaments, tiny enchanted lights, and delicately crafted icicles that caught the candlelight and sparkled as if they were made of diamonds. Clusters of mistletoe hung mischievously in strategic places throughout the hall, suspended with a faint shimmering charm that made them sway as though they had minds of their own, waiting to catch unsuspecting students under their spell.
Hermione walked briskly through the corridors, chin tilted up and expression set with determination. This week, she'd developed a finely-tuned instinct for avoiding mistletoe traps, dodging them as if they were hexes cast her way. She had even begun mapping out the most "mistletoe-free" routes in her mind. After all, she had her standards: she would not, under any circumstances, be caught under enchanted mistletoe with someone who only wanted a holiday thrill. No, she told herself firmly, mistletoe was for people who knew what they wanted. And if it wasn't true love, she'd steer clear.
"Ridiculous mistletoe rules," she muttered to herself, sidestepping a low-hanging sprig near the stairwell. She imagined it with a triumphant grin, dangling helplessly in the dungeons. "If only the Founders knew what they'd done to us."
Despite her vigilance, Hermione couldn't help but feel the season's magic working on her. She'd watched friends and classmates share glances and laughs, the kind only the holidays seemed to draw out. It seemed the whole castle had softened into some sort of fairy tale. As she passed each corridor, couples seemed to appear out of nowhere—whispers, giggles, and blushing faces around every turn, as if Hogwarts itself had been cast in some seasonal charm. One pair huddled close near the windows, stifling laughter. Another couple exchanged shy glances over a cauldron in the Potions classroom, of all places.
Her gaze drifted upward, and sure enough, she spotted another cluster of mistletoe overhead, hovering innocently in the centre of the corridor like a well-placed ambush. She gave it a wary look, swearing that it seemed to wink as she passed by, as if daring her to fall under its spell. With a sigh, she shook her head and quickened her pace, clutching her stack of books tightly to her chest.
But it wasn't just the mistletoe she had to avoid; there was an unspoken thrill in the air, something that had her heart quickening despite herself. As she passed through the bustling common rooms and the Great Hall filled with laughter, a part of her felt that familiar pang of yearning. She had kept her distance from these holiday games, unwilling to entertain the notion of casual romance or the fleeting thrill of a mistletoe kiss. She was a sensible person, after all—or at least, she liked to think so.
"Focus, Hermione," she chided herself, eyes fixed on the stone floor as she navigated yet another corridor adorned with decorations. "Just one more week and it'll be over." Still, her resolve was waning; she could feel it, especially when her mind drifted to the one person who had been watching her a little too closely lately, as if he, too, was waiting for her resolve to crack.
A flicker of a smile crept onto her face as she imagined the look on Draco Malfoy's face if she actually let her guard down. The past week, she'd caught him casting glances her way, half-teasing, half-challenging, his expression unreadable yet undeniably intriguing. Hermione scoffed to herself, her cheeks flushing despite herself. "As if he could convince me otherwise," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. And yet, she found her thoughts drifting back to the sly smirk he'd thrown her at breakfast that morning, the kind of smirk that seemed to say, Just wait.
But for now, she kept her resolve, striding confidently through the halls as she avoided the mistletoe clusters and enchanted garlands. Yet, no matter how determined she was to resist, she couldn't deny that Hogwarts at Christmas had always held the promise of something extraordinary.
Hermione settled herself at her favourite table in the library, feeling the peaceful hush of the room wrap around her like a comforting blanket. She'd escaped here as a reprieve from the bustling holiday atmosphere that seemed to have bewitched the entire castle. She'd already passed three couples huddled under mistletoe and barely dodged another cluster herself on the way over. She wasn't in the mood for romantic frills, not this year.
She exhaled as she opened her book, savouring the quiet. But her peace didn't last long.
"Well, well. Look who's strategically positioned herself in the least festive corner of the castle," a familiar, low voice drawled from across the table.
Hermione didn't need to look up to know who it was, but when she did, she found herself involuntarily taking in the sight of Draco Malfoy leaning casually over her table, his pale blond hair falling effortlessly in place, just brushing his eyes. Eyes that were watching her with that infuriatingly intense look, like he was trying to peel away her every thought.
Stop it, Hermione. It's just hair. Blond hair. Lots of people have it. And those eyes are just… regular eyes. Grey like a thundercloud… and doing that thing where they look right through me.
"Malfoy," she said, her tone flat, though she could feel a small smile threatening to break through. "Shouldn't you be off lurking under a mistletoe, waiting for an unsuspecting victim?"
Draco slid into the seat opposite her, entirely too comfortable for her liking, a mischievous glint in his pale eyes. "Now, Granger, you make it sound so predatory." He leaned back, crossing his arms in a way that made him look both arrogant and annoyingly relaxed, his smirk growing as he caught her eye.
That smirk. Honestly, does he practise that? Who smirks like that naturally? She kept her expression unimpressed, willing her cheeks to stay neutral. Concentrate on the book, Hermione. You're not smitten with a smirk.
"I can't help but notice you're hiding yourself away from all the holiday… cheer."
"Is it really hiding if I'm just trying to study in peace?" she replied, flipping a page with deliberate indifference. "Not everyone's as captivated by the idea of a mistletoe ambush as you seem to be."
He smirked even wider, watching her with that unreadable gaze that managed to be both mocking and somehow… warm? Warm? Get a grip, Hermione. "Ah, I see. Avoiding mistletoe because you're waiting for someone special, then?" His voice carried a faint teasing edge that made her cheeks warm against her will.
Hermione shot him a look. Ignore the eyes. Ignore the eyes. "More like avoiding it because I don't want to get caught up in some ridiculous holiday tradition."
"Oh, come on, Granger. Not even a little curious?" His smirk softened into something like a smile—an actual smile. "What if that special someone just happened to appear, right under the mistletoe?"
The nerve of him. Looking at me like that with that smug, self-satisfied face. And that smile—since when does Draco Malfoy smile like that? And why does it look so… I don't know… disarming?
Hermione rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to laugh. "I doubt they'd be found skulking around mistletoe traps, Malfoy. And besides, don't you have a reputation to uphold? Heaven forbid someone catch Draco Malfoy participating in 'ridiculous holiday traditions.'"
Draco chuckled, tilting his head slightly as he examined her, his expression shifting from amused to… intrigued? His gaze seemed to soften, just a fraction. "Maybe I've decided to expand my interests." His voice dropped lower, more serious, as he leaned forward. "And, as it happens, I have noticed you've been dodging the mistletoe at every turn. It's almost like you're afraid."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, her heart betraying her with a quick, excited beat. Afraid? Afraid of him? He's got another thing coming. "I'm not afraid," she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'm just… discerning."
"'Discerning,' is it?" Draco tapped his fingers on the table, a smirk playing on his lips. There it is again. The smirk. "I suppose that's one way of putting it."
She couldn't help herself; her lips quirked up in response. "Yes, discerning. I'm not about to kiss someone just because a plant says so." She paused, her gaze challenging. "Especially not if it's just for show."
His expression faltered just a fraction, enough for her to catch the flicker of something real beneath his cocky exterior. "Who says it has to be just for show?" he murmured, his voice taking on a softer, almost contemplative tone.
Hermione's cheeks flushed. She suddenly felt very aware of how close he was, of the way his gaze held hers a moment too long. Honestly, Hermione, you're staring back. Stop looking at his eyes. But she quickly composed herself, raising an eyebrow and giving him her best unimpressed look. "Please, Malfoy. You'd need a more convincing act than this to get me anywhere near mistletoe with you."
He laughed, the sound low and genuine, leaning back with a shake of his head. "Well, it's a good thing I like a challenge, then."
They fell into silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Hermione felt the warmth from his gaze lingering on her even as she pretended to be fully absorbed in her book. She was painfully aware of how every cell in her body seemed to be tuned to his presence, an embarrassing realisation she quickly quashed. He's not doing anything special. He's just sitting there. You're being ridiculous, Hermione.
"Anyway," she said, finally breaking the silence and lifting her chin, "if you're quite finished interrupting my study time, I'd appreciate it if you'd go off and be 'challenging' somewhere else."
Draco's eyes gleamed with mischief as he rose from his chair, taking his time as he straightened his robes. "For now, Granger. But don't think I'm giving up." He offered her a small, almost genuine smile before sauntering off, leaving her with the strange sensation that perhaps he wasn't just teasing after all.
As he disappeared from sight, Hermione couldn't stop herself from glancing up, staring at the space he had just vacated. She shook her head, a small smile sneaking onto her face despite herself. Draco Malfoy and mistletoe—what a ridiculous notion.
Ridiculous indeed, she thought, fighting off a traitorous flutter in her stomach.
"Focus, Hermione," she muttered to herself, diving back into her book with an indignant sigh. But she couldn't quite ignore the lingering warmth in her chest, and she certainly couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter was only the beginning.
The Yule Feast was in full swing, the Great Hall transformed into a glittering spectacle. Candles floated high above, casting a warm, golden light over the rows of tables laden with festive dishes and decadent desserts. Evergreen garlands wrapped around the stone pillars, and charmed snowflakes drifted down from the enchanted ceiling, never quite reaching the guests below. Hermione couldn't deny it—the sight was beautiful. Almost magical, she thought wryly, though she had been avoiding as much of that "magic" as possible tonight.
She had taken extra care with her appearance this evening, though she wasn't sure why. Her usual school robes were replaced with a simple yet elegant dress of deep burgundy velvet, the rich colour complementing the warm tones of her skin. The dress fell just below her knees, its soft fabric moving gracefully as she walked. Delicate lace edged the neckline and sleeves, adding a touch of femininity without being overly fussy. Her unruly curls had been tamed into loose waves that cascaded over her shoulders, and a hint of sparkle adorned her ears with modest silver earrings. She felt both herself and yet slightly transformed, a quiet confidence settling over her.
It's just the Yule Feast, she reminded herself, though a small part of her wondered if anyone would notice the extra effort.
She'd kept to the edges of the crowd, nursing a cup of spiced cider as she watched her friends dance, laugh, and occasionally dodge mistletoe. But as the evening wore on, she felt an unsettling prickle at the back of her neck—a strange awareness, like someone was watching her.
Pull yourself together, Hermione, she told herself, though a thrill ran down her spine as she turned her head slightly, only to lock eyes with Draco Malfoy across the hall.
He stood near the Slytherin table, dressed in tailored dress robes of charcoal grey, the fine material highlighting his tall frame. A subtle silver thread woven into the fabric caught the light, adding a touch of elegance. His pale blond hair was neatly styled, a few stray strands artfully falling across his forehead. He looked, annoyingly, rather dashing, his grey eyes reflecting the soft glow of the candles.
Of course he looks impeccable, she thought, trying to suppress the flutter in her stomach. Probably spent hours in front of the mirror.
Draco's gaze was unwavering, and as their eyes met, his mouth quirked into a knowing smirk. She felt warmth rise to her cheeks but lifted her chin defiantly. He probably just wants to gloat about something.
To her surprise, he began making his way toward her, weaving smoothly through the crowd. As he approached, she caught a hint of his scent—clean and crisp, with notes of cedar and something subtly spicy.
"Granger," he greeted her when he finally reached her, his voice a shade lower than usual, almost warm. "Enjoying the feast?"
"Malfoy," she replied, managing to keep her tone even. "It's been pleasant enough."
His eyes roamed over her briefly, a flicker of something like appreciation crossing his features. "That dress suits you," he said unexpectedly. "Burgundy is... a good colour on you."
Hermione blinked, caught off guard. Draco Malfoy was complimenting her outfit? She searched his face for any hint of sarcasm but found none. Instead, his expression seemed genuine, his gaze meeting hers steadily.
"Thank you," she replied softly, a bit of her guardedness slipping. "You look... nice as well."
He gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. "I suppose we clean up well for these sorts of events."
She allowed herself a slight smile. "Even without a mistletoe in sight."
He chuckled softly. "Well, the night is still young."
Before she could respond, the music shifted to a slow, melodic tune, filling the hall with a romantic ambiance. Draco extended his hand toward her. "Would you like to dance?"
She blinked, caught off guard. Dance? With him? In front of all these people? She opened her mouth to refuse, but the steady look in his eyes—somewhere between daring and something softer—made her hesitate. It was as if he was letting her in on a secret, as if this invitation wasn't just about a dance but about… something more.
Against her better judgement, Hermione took his hand, her own feeling small in his. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and steady, guiding her toward the centre of the floor. Merlin's beard, he's actually holding my hand. Calm down, Hermione. It's just a dance. Just a perfectly normal, not at all heart-racing dance with a guy who smells absolutely divine. Stop it!
His fingers closed gently around hers, warm and confident, as he led her to the dance floor. His other hand settled lightly on her waist, and she rested hers on his shoulder. They began to sway to the music, the movement easy and surprisingly comfortable.
"I'm surprised you're not surrounded by admirers tonight," he remarked.
She raised an eyebrow. "And why would you think that?"
He met her gaze. "Because you look... particularly lovely this evening."
Her cheeks warmed. "Is that so?"
He nodded. "It's a shame if I'm the only one who noticed."
She tilted her head slightly. "Perhaps you were simply the first to say something."
A hint of a smile played on his lips. "Perhaps."
They danced in silence for a few moments, the air between them charged with unspoken thoughts. Hermione found herself relaxing, allowing the music and the unexpected ease of their conversation to wash over her.
"You're full of surprises tonight," she said quietly.
"Am I?"
She nodded. "First the compliments, now the dancing. What's next?"
He looked thoughtful. "Maybe I'll reveal that I'm not as terrible as you think."
She gave a soft laugh. "That would be a revelation."
The song began to wind down, and she expected him to release her, but Draco didn't step back. Instead, he looked at her with a quiet intensity.
He's staring at me again. And we're not even dancing now. And if he doesn't stop looking at me like that, I might actually—
"I wouldn't mind," he said softly, "if I ended up under the mistletoe with you."
Hermione's heart skipped, her cheeks warming in spite of herself. She opened her mouth to respond, to throw back some clever remark, but all she could manage was a quiet, "Oh."
Brilliant, Hermione. Just brilliant. He says something like that, and your response is 'Oh'?
Draco's eyes softened, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against the small of her back. "Just something to think about," he murmured, a slight smile playing on his lips, before he released her hand, stepping back with a gentle, lingering touch.
And with that, he was gone, leaving Hermione standing alone, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched him weave through the crowd, disappearing back into the shadows.
Goodness. What was that? Mistletoe? Thinking about mistletoe with Draco Malfoy? Ridiculous. Absolutely absurd…
She let out a shaky breath, pressing her fingertips to her cheeks in a futile attempt to cool the flush that had spread across her face. But no matter how hard she tried to dismiss it, her mind kept replaying his words, the warmth of his touch, and the unspoken promise in his gaze.
Honestly, Granger, she told herself, you're in so much trouble.
The night after the ball, Hermione wound her way through the now quieting castle, feeling the lingering warmth of the evening thrumming just beneath her skin. The festive atmosphere was everywhere, still pulsing in the air, even as laughter and footsteps began to echo less frequently around her. She clutched her books to her chest and tried to keep her thoughts on the pile of reading she'd promised herself to get through tonight. She needed a distraction, anything to clear her head.
As she reached the dimly lit corridor leading to the Gryffindor tower, she nearly dropped her books in surprise. There, leaning against the wall, was Draco Malfoy, hands in his pockets, his face half-hidden in the shadows. The flickering torchlight cast a warm, golden glow over his sharp features, softening them in a way that made him look almost… approachable.
She stopped dead in her tracks, heart skipping a beat. Oh, great. This couldn't be a coincidence.
"Granger," he greeted, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he straightened up, stepping forward. The movement brought him fully into the light, and she couldn't help but notice the way the shadows highlighted his cheekbones, making his eyes look deeper, darker. Brilliant. Just brilliant. You're not supposed to be noticing things like that.
"Malfoy," she replied, keeping her voice steady. "Stalking me now, are you?"
He chuckled, the sound low and surprisingly soft. "Not stalking. Just… strategically placing myself where I thought you might pass by." He took another step closer, his gaze fixed on her in that unnerving way, like he was seeing past the walls she'd so carefully put up. "Seems my plan worked."
Hermione swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up her neck. "Well, congratulations. You've cornered me," she said, her voice dry, though she could hear her own nervousness in it. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"
But as she tried to step around him, he shifted, moving in front of her again, blocking her path with an insufferably smug smile.
"What's the rush?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned just a bit closer. "Afraid of something?"
She bristled, narrowing her eyes. "Hardly. But some of us actually have things to do that don't involve loitering in corridors, waiting for people to pass by."
"Oh, really?" he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. He was so close now that she could catch a faint hint of his cologne, the same cedar and something darker, like a scent woven out of forest shadows. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself last night. Almost as if you weren't too busy for a little holiday spirit."
Holiday spirit? Is that what he calls ambushing me in the middle of the night? Hermione crossed her arms, shooting him a glare that would've sent most people scrambling. But Draco only smirked, clearly unfazed.
"Are you going somewhere with this, or are you just here to be insufferable?" she asked.
His gaze flicked up, and she followed it, realising with a jolt what he'd been aiming for. Hanging innocently above them was a small cluster of mistletoe, its leaves shimmering faintly in the torchlight. She felt her cheeks flush, an absurd heat rushing to her face as the implications sank in.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding," she muttered, taking a quick step back, but he moved with her, his smirk widening just enough to make her pulse race.
"Scared, Granger?" His voice was soft, almost teasing, but there was something else in his eyes—a quiet intensity, as though he was daring her to step forward instead of away.
"Of course not," she replied, lifting her chin defiantly. "But I told you—I don't just kiss people for no reason."
"Oh, I know," he murmured, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again. Did he really just look at my mouth? Stop thinking about it, Hermione.
There was a pause, the air between them thick with something she couldn't quite name. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, her skin prickling with awareness. This is absurd. It's Draco Malfoy. You should not be feeling anything right now, much less… whatever this is.
She took a slow, steadying breath, her gaze challenging. "So what? You're just going to stand there all night, hoping I'll cave?"
His eyes sparkled with mischief. "I don't mind waiting."
"Patience has never exactly been your strength, Malfoy," she retorted, folding her arms and trying to ignore the magnetic pull between them. The mistletoe above them seemed to twinkle, almost like it was in on the tension, urging her to take just one step closer.
Draco's expression softened, just for a moment, and she caught a glimpse of something she hadn't seen before—something vulnerable, a tiny crack in his carefully crafted exterior. "Maybe I'm learning," he said quietly, and the words hung in the air between them, delicate and unexpectedly sincere.
Her breath hitched, and before she could stop herself, she felt her defences begin to waver. She was close enough to see the small blue specks in his eyes, the way his lashes cast shadows across his cheeks. His hand lifted, slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, each beat louder than the last. She wanted to pull away, to say something sharp and dismissive, but the words wouldn't come. All she could do was stand there, her resolve melting under his steady, piercing gaze.
But then, just as quickly as he'd closed the distance, he pulled back, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
"Don't worry, Granger," he murmured, his smirk returning, though there was a slight edge to it now, as if he were masking something. "I wouldn't want to compromise your… standards."
She blinked, the spell between them broken as he took a step back, putting a safe distance between them. A mixture of relief and frustration surged through her. Oh, very clever, Draco. Set up the perfect trap, then play the gentleman.
"Good," she said, forcing a confident tone as she steadied herself, though her pulse was still racing. "Because it'll take more than a convenient sprig of mistletoe to get me to change my mind."
Draco tilted his head, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "I'll keep that in mind." He glanced at her one last time, his eyes lingering, before finally stepping back, retreating into the shadows from which he'd emerged. "Good night, Granger."
She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, watching him until he disappeared around the corner. When she was finally alone, she glanced up at the mistletoe, shaking her head.
Well, that was close, she thought, pressing her palm to her cheek, which was still warm. Too close.
As she turned to head back to her dorm, she felt a tiny spark of anticipation deep in her chest, a part of her wondering what might have happened if she hadn't stepped back, if she'd let herself lean into the moment just a little more.
But she quickly shoved the thought away. It was Draco Malfoy, after all. And yet, as she walked down the corridor, a tiny, traitorous smile crept onto her face.
You're in trouble, Hermione, she told herself, but somehow, she didn't quite mind.
On Christmas morning, Hermione woke to the early light streaming through her dormitory window, casting a soft, silvery glow across the cosy room. One of the perks of being Head Girl, she reminded herself as she stretched, was having her own quarters—a private sanctuary away from the bustling Gryffindor common room. This morning, she felt especially grateful for it, relishing the quiet before the usual excitement of the holiday took over the castle.
She was about to reach for her book on the nightstand when she noticed something resting at the foot of her bed—a small, elegantly wrapped package with a simple sprig of holly attached to the top. Frowning in curiosity, Hermione leaned forward, pulling the parcel into her lap. The wrapping was dark green, embossed with faint silver swirls, and tied with a neatly knotted ribbon.
Her heart gave an unexpected flutter. She turned the package over in her hands, searching for a card, an indication of who might have left it. But there was no name, no note—just the simple, carefully wrapped gift.
With a small smile, she began to pull at the ribbon, her fingers slightly trembling despite herself. The paper unfolded easily, revealing a book—an old, worn leather-bound volume with a title embossed in faded gold letters: Theories of Advanced Magical Spells: A Collection of Runes and Charms Across Wizarding History.
Her breath caught. This was no ordinary book; she'd been searching for this specific edition for years. It was rare, almost impossible to find in decent condition, and most copies were locked away in private libraries. Her fingers brushed over the cracked leather cover, the faint, earthy smell of old pages filling her senses as she opened it gently, half-afraid it would crumble under her touch.
And there, on the inside cover, was a note in familiar, elegant handwriting:
For your "bookish heart," Granger. Thought this might be more exciting than a sprig of mistletoe. Happy Christmas—D.
A small, breathless laugh escaped her lips. She read the note again, then again, her fingers lingering over the carefully written words. Draco Malfoy had given her this. Draco, who had somehow known exactly what would make her heart skip, what would mean something to her far beyond trinkets or chocolates or mistletoe games. This wasn't just a gesture. He knew.
Hermione sat back, the book resting in her lap, her mind racing with a mixture of confusion and something else, something warm and thrilling. This was thoughtful, personal… did he really go to the trouble of finding this just for her? She traced her finger over the note again, unable to shake the feeling that this was more than just a gift.
There was a soft knock on her door, and Hermione let out a small "Come in". When she looked up, her heart leapt as she saw Draco leaning casually against the doorframe. He looked almost shy, a hesitant smirk tugging at his lips as he observed her reaction, his usual confident demeanour softened by a hint of uncertainty.
"Good morning," he murmured, his gaze flicking from her face to the book resting in her lap. "So… did I get it right?"
Hermione struggled to find her voice, her heart racing as she clutched the book a little tighter. "You… you did. I don't even know how you managed to find this."
Draco shrugged, stepping further into the room, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Let's just say I know a few people in hard-to-reach places." His smirk softened, and he tilted his head, watching her with an expression she could only describe as… fond. "I thought it might be more your style rather than silly holiday games."
A blush crept into her cheeks, and she forced herself to keep his gaze, unwilling to let him see just how much the gift—and his presence—were affecting her. "It's… it's perfect. Thank you, Draco."
He took a breath, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say something more, something unguarded. But instead, he offered her a slight nod, his gaze flicking back to the book in her hands. "I'm glad you think so."
Hermione opened her mouth to say more, but an uncomfortable realisation struck her, and she looked down, her cheeks colouring slightly. "I… I didn't get you anything."
Draco's eyebrow arched, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Didn't expect you to," he said, his voice light. "Besides, it wasn't exactly a holiday exchange, was it?" But there was something in his eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made her feel strangely vulnerable.
"I know," she murmured, "but I still feel… I don't know, I feel as though I should have." She ran her fingers over the leather cover again, her gaze flicking up to meet his. "This isn't just some token gift. It's… well, it's thoughtful. And honestly, I can't imagine you tracking down something so rare for just anyone."
Draco hesitated, and for a brief moment, his confident mask slipped. He looked almost unsure, like he wasn't used to being seen in this light. "Maybe," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe it wasn't just for anyone."
They stood there in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words and something else—a strange, shared awareness, as though they were both standing on the edge of a line neither had dared cross before. Her pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up at him, her mind racing with questions she wasn't sure she wanted answers to.
Draco cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "You know," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet, "I happened to notice a certain piece of mistletoe hanging in the corridor outside. Just in case you'd changed your mind about all that holiday tradition nonsense."
Hermione's eyes widened, her heart giving a sharp, excited jolt. She closed the book carefully, setting it on her bed as she rose, her gaze locked on his. "Did you?" she replied, her voice soft, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "And if I had?"
His lips curved into a slight, genuine smile, and he held out his hand, his gaze never leaving hers. "Then I'd be willing to meet you there."
Hermione glanced down at herself, suddenly very aware of her rumpled pyjamas, her hair slightly mussed from sleep. She felt a flush of embarrassment rise up as she looked back at Draco, who was still standing just a little too close in his perfectly pressed clothes.
"Wait outside for a moment?" she asked, her voice softer than she intended. "I'll just… I'll change quickly."
Draco raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a small, amused smile. "I wouldn't mind waiting here while you change, you know," he murmured, his voice low, his gaze sweeping over her just long enough to send a thrill down her spine.
Hermione's cheeks flamed, and she stammered, clutching the book tighter to her chest. "You—you absolutely should not! Just… wait outside, Malfoy."
His smirk widened, clearly enjoying her reaction, but he lifted his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "As you wish, Granger," he said, his tone teasing. He gave her a lingering look that made her heart stutter before finally turning and stepping out, leaving her to close the door behind him.
Hermione exhaled, feeling her cheeks still burning as she quickly changed out of her pyjamas, slipping into a soft, simple jumper in a deep burgundy, paired with jeans and her favourite, worn-in boots. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it as best she could, and checked her reflection once in the small mirror by her bed, her pulse still racing from his words. Lastly she used her wand to cast a quick mouth cleaning spell—she knew it wasn't as effective as brushing her teeth, but it would do for now.
When she felt as ready as she could be, she opened the door, her heart skipping as she saw Draco waiting just outside, his eyes sparking with amusement as he took in her flushed expression. His gaze softened, and she felt an unexpected warmth as he extended his hand.
She hesitated, but only for a moment, before slipping her hand into his, warmth radiating through her as his fingers intertwined with hers. They walked in silence down the stairs and through the corridor, neither daring to speak as the tension between them grew, each step bringing them closer to the moment they'd been circling around for days, maybe weeks.
When they reached the mistletoe, Draco stopped, turning to face her fully. She felt his fingers tighten around hers as he released her hand to gently cup her face, his thumb brushing softly along her cheek. Her breath caught, and she looked up at him, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.
"Still sure?" he murmured, his voice a soft, low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.
Hermione swallowed, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. "I think so," she whispered, barely able to find her voice.
And then, in one smooth movement, he leaned down, his lips meeting hers with a warmth and softness that took her breath away. The kiss was slow, lingering, filled with a tenderness she hadn't expected, as if he were pouring every unspoken word, every lingering glance, into this single moment.
She felt her heart melt, her resolve slipping away as she leaned into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jumper as she lost herself in the warmth of his kiss. She'd never felt anything like this—a gentle, thrilling certainty that seemed to erase every doubt, every hesitation.
When they finally pulled apart, Draco's forehead rested against hers, his eyes still closed, as though he, too, was savouring the moment. Slowly, he opened his eyes, a quiet, vulnerable look in his gaze that made her chest tighten.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Happy Christmas, Draco," she replied softly, her smile widening as she felt his thumb brush gently along her jaw. They stayed like that for a moment longer, wrapped in a shared warmth and an unspoken promise.
As they lingered beneath the mistletoe, an air of both excitement and something softer hung between them. They had kissed, yes, but there was so much more unsaid, so much left unspoken between shared glances and whispered words. Hermione felt a gentle pang in her chest as she realised she didn't want this—whatever it was—to end. Not today, not after Hogwarts. She looked up at him, suddenly feeling vulnerable yet steady, her heart an open book she felt he could read if he wanted.
Draco, as if sensing her thoughts, gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his voice soft as he broke the silence. "You know," he murmured, "this doesn't have to end here." He looked at her with an openness she hadn't often seen in him, the bravado stripped away. "I'm willing to wait for you to be ready, Granger. For as long as it takes. If that's what you need." His gaze held hers, the depth of his words lingering in the quiet.
Hermione's chest tightened as a wave of warmth surged through her. She had always been cautious, always needed time to trust—to truly believe. But somehow, in that moment, she found herself letting go of her doubts. Here, in the glow of the holiday lights, with him looking at her as if she were the only thing that mattered, she allowed herself a small, almost terrifying thought: perhaps true love was within reach after all.
Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed him again, the soft press of her lips filled with gratitude and a quiet promise. The surprise in his expression melted as he kissed her back, his hand cupping her cheek with a gentleness that made her heart race. She could feel him smiling against her mouth, a warm laugh escaping him, and she found herself laughing too, breathlessly.
As they pulled apart, he shot her a mischievous grin. "Well, that was unexpected, Granger," he teased, but his eyes shone with something deeper, something far beyond words.
She laughed, her cheeks flushed. "Unexpected, perhaps," she replied, "but I think I could get used to it."
With a grin that was both challenging and playful, he took her hand, leading her toward a hidden alcove tucked away from prying eyes. As he guided her to the secluded spot, Hermione felt a thrill of anticipation surge through her. Get a hold of yourself, Hermione. This is Draco Malfoy, and you're about to let him— But the thought trailed off, replaced by a heady warmth and the feeling of his fingers intertwined with hers. She couldn't deny the rush, the way her pulse sped up with each step, every glance he shot her over his shoulder making her feel simultaneously unsteady and exhilarated.
When they reached the alcove, his hands found her waist, gently pressing her back against the wall as he leaned in, his gaze intense yet somehow impossibly tender. Her heart pounded, a thrill that was equal parts nervous and electrifying coursing through her. Is this really happening? Her thoughts were a mixture of disbelief and undeniable desire, an unfamiliar giddiness bubbling up in her chest. Merlin, this is actually happening.
They kissed slowly, deeply, with an urgency that held years of unspoken tension, their laughter mingling with the quiet whispers of the castle around them. Her mind, usually so focused, so full of questions, quieted, leaving only the sensation of his warmth, his closeness, the way he held her like he'd been waiting just as long as she had.
"Perhaps we should make some New Year's plans," he murmured between kisses, his lips grazing her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.
Her heart fluttered, a smile spreading across her face. "I think I'd like that," she replied, barely able to contain the bubbling excitement she felt.
His lips brushed hers, then drifted lower, tracing along her jaw and down to her neck, his touch sending a thrill through her that she hadn't anticipated. Oh, this is definitely happening. Her breath hitched, her hands slipping up to his shoulders as she surrendered to the moment, to the undeniable pull between them.
She gasped when his hands slid down to her waist, his touch firm yet gentle. The stone wall was cool against her back, a stark contrast to the heat building between them.
In one fluid motion, Draco's hands moved lower, cupping her arse and lifting her effortlessly. Hermione instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing herself closer to him. The new position brought their bodies flush together, and she could feel every hard plane of his chest against her soft curves.
Time seemed to stand still in that moment. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across Draco's face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity in his steel-grey eyes. Hermione marvelled at how those eyes, once cold and distant, now smouldered with desire. For her.
She tangled her fingers in his silky blond hair, relishing in its softness. The scent of his cologne enveloped her—notes of sandalwood and something distinctly Draco. It was intoxicating. Hermione's head swam with the heady cocktail of adrenaline and arousal coursing through her veins.
Draco's lips found hers again, more insistent this time. They kissed slowly, deeply, with an urgency that held years of unspoken tension, their laughter mingling with the quiet whispers of the castle around them. Her mind, usually so focused, so full of questions, quieted, leaving only the sensation of his warmth, his closeness, the way he held her like he'd been waiting just as long as she had.
The kiss deepened, tongues dancing, both fighting for dominance. Hermione moaned softly into his mouth, all thoughts of propriety forgotten. Her breath caught then as she felt Draco's hardness pressing against her core through their clothes. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through her body, igniting a fire deep within. Her mind raced with possibilities of what they might explore together, the intimate moments they could share.
She imagined peeling away his crisp white shirt, running her hands over the lean muscles of his chest and abdomen. In her mind's eye, she saw herself tracing the lines of his body with her fingertips, her lips, her tongue. The thought made her shiver with anticipation.
This New Year would be unlike any other, she realised. Gone were the days of quiet evenings with books and tea. Instead, she envisioned passionate nights tangled in sheets, stolen moments in hidden alcoves, and the thrill of discovery as they learned each other's bodies.
Gratitude washed over Hermione, thank Merlin I have my own room . No nosy roommates, no need for silencing charms or sneaking around. They would have a sanctuary, a place where they could be truly alone together.
As soon as my brain starts working again, she thought hazily, I'm going to drag him there and not let him leave until morning.
Draco's lips trailed fire along her neck once again, and Hermione tilted her head back, offering more of herself to him. Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him close as waves of desire coursed through her. The stone wall at her back was forgotten, all her senses consumed by Draco—his touch, his scent, the sound of his ragged breathing matching her own.
She rocked against him instinctively, seeking more friction, more closeness. The movement drew a low groan from Draco, the sound vibrating against her skin and sending another shiver down her spine. Hermione felt powerful, desirable, wanted in a way she never had before.
The torchlight flickered, casting ever-changing shadows across Draco's face as he pulled back to look at her. His eyes were dark with desire, pupils blown wide. Hermione saw her own hunger reflected there, along with something softer一affection, perhaps even the beginnings of love.
"Hermione," he whispered, her name a reverent prayer on his lips.
She smiled, her heart swelling with emotion. This was more than just physical attraction, more than the release of long-held tension. This was the start of something profound, something that could change both their lives forever.
As Draco leaned in for another kiss, Hermione's mind cleared just enough for one coherent thought to form: her room, now . With newfound determination, she unwrapped her legs from his waist and slid down his body, taking his hand in hers.
"Come with me," she said, her voice husky with desire.
Draco's eyebrow quirked, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Anywhere".