24th Dec 2008 Late Afternoon
The winter sun filtered through the heavy clouds, casting a muted glow over the streets of London on Christmas eve. Hermione stood at the threshold of Grimmauld Place, the familiar black door before her both a comfort and a reminder of the past. She took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the air nip at her cheeks. Snow fell in soft flurries around her, blanketing the street, and she drew in a breath, willing herself to step forward. Through the windows, she saw the glow of fairy lights, and the faint strains of laughter and chatter reached her ears. For a moment, she hesitated, feeling the weight of the past weeks and her own decision to come here pressing heavily on her chest. But it was Christmas, and despite everything, she needed to see him.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and slipped inside. The warmth of the house wrapped around her, bringing her to a sharp contrast with the biting cold she'd left outside. The place was unrecognizable from the Grimmauld Place she remembered—glowing with life and laughter. A large Christmas tree stood near the center of the room, decorated with enchanted baubles and twinkling lights. On a long table nearby were delicious food dishes, butterbeer, and glasses of firewhisky. Ministry officials mingled with familiar faces, and Hermione's heart ached as she caught sight of people she'd once considered her closest friends.
Taking a steadying breath, she stepped into the room, clutching the wrapped photo frame—a gift that held more than just memories of a simpler time. She'd barely crossed the threshold when the room fell to a brief hush, eyes turning toward her with a mixture of surprise and awkwardness.
"Is that… Hermione?" someone whispered, and she tried to summon a smile, hoping it came off as genuine.
Hermione took a step forward, her gaze falling on Neville, who offered her a tentative smile. She approached, trying to bridge the distance she felt growing over the years. "Neville, it's been so long," she said warmly.
"Yes, it has," Neville replied, though his voice was laced with uncertainty. He glanced back to where the others stood, hesitant to engage too much. "How have you been?"
Hermione opened her mouth, but a familiar voice interrupted. "Hermione!" It was Luna, her usual dreamlike expression softened with concern. "It's nice to see you out and about. We don't hear from you often."
She nodded, feeling Luna's words tug at her loneliness. "I know… I've been meaning to reach out," she began, but the stares from around the room felt piercing, as though they were seeing right through her attempts at normalcy.
She wandered, trying to catch up with people she hadn't spoken to in so long, but everywhere she turned, the walls felt like they were closing in. The laughter was warm, the camaraderie genuine—but she could tell her presence was jarring, almost like a ghost who had wandered in from another life.
Then she spotted Harry standing at the heart of a group, talking animatedly to Draco and a handful of Ministry officials. They laughed at something Draco said, and Harry turned to him, eyes shining with a warmth Hermione hadn't seen in a long time. Her chest tightened at the sight. She took a tentative step forward, the photograph held tightly in her hand. Just as she entered, Draco caught her eye, his gaze hardening immediately, a slight frown pulling at his mouth. He nudged Harry, who turned, his initial surprise giving way to a guarded look.
"Hermione?" he said, surprised but controlled. His face softened briefly, though there was a hint of tension there, as though her appearance had shattered the evening's easy cheer. After a pause, he added, "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I know," Hermione replied, her voice quiet yet resolute. "I just wanted to… to give you something. It's important."
Harry hesitated, glancing briefly at Draco, who watched her with a barely disguised scowl, then back at Hermione. For a moment, his gaze softened with something like nostalgia or perhaps just old, buried kindness. He nodded, offering a polite but distant smile. "Come with me to the study," he said, steering her away from the gathering.
As they walked through the corridor, Hermione's eyes drifted to the walls, still dark and foreboding, despite the holiday decorations. The study door closed behind them, shutting out the warmth and merriment of the party. She felt Harry's gaze on her, steady but unreadable.
He gestured to the small, worn armchair by the fireplace, but she remained standing. "So, what brings you here, Hermione?" he asked, his tone softer but marked with a cautious curiosity.
She took a shaky breath and held out the photograph to him. "I thought you'd like to have this," she said. "Hagrid gave it to me recently. It's… it's you and Ron, back from the second year, after you two wrecked the Weasleys' car. Merry Xmas Harry!"
Harry's face softened as he looked down at the image, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He traced a finger over the edges of the photograph, where he and Ron, much younger and laughing, leaned on each other in front of the battered, enchanted car. The image showed the two of them full of reckless joy, the way they had been before the weight of war had settled on their shoulders.
"This… this is amazing," he murmured, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "Where did you…?"
"Hagrid," she answered, a faint smile on her lips. "He'd saved it. I thought you'd want something to remember… to remember him by."
Harry's eyes met hers, and for a moment, the walls of years seemed to fall away. "I should have guessed. I bet he has an album for all the times we messed up or got into trouble.
"One, I bet he got more than three," Hermione said laughing aloud for the first time in months. Harry kept brushing over the photograph. A tear rolled down him. "Thank you, Hermione," he said, his voice thick. "Really."
"Merlin, I feel terrible. I didn't get anything for you." A red shade spread across his cheeks. Hermione allowed herself a small smile, feeling the tiniest bit of relief. She stood and sat next to him. It felt like they were back in simpler times like someone set the time-turner a decade back.
"Don't beat up yourself. It is okay. I know I have not been around much lately."
"The fault is more mine, 'Mione."
"Well, I understand. Things are different now."
"Yes, they are. Remember the first Christmas we had here in our 5th year."
"I do, I still got Molly's sweaters and mufflers. It is funny how each moment was a blur given everything that was going but I would give anything to stay in them only."
"Remember the rash Ron got post-Christmas when George and Fred placed a Sticking Charm on his scarf," Harry said laughing. Hermione let her off a giggle as well. "Actually, I do have something for you, Mione, not exactly from me but something you won't even believe."
"What?" Hermione sat confused and then seeing the enigmatic smile on his face, she started, 'I can'ttt, you are joking, right?"
"Nothing ever goes past you, does it." Harry waved his wand towards the cupboard on his right and a couple of parcels came flying to his lap that he handed to her. "You and Molly may not be on talking terms but she still makes one for you every year. Between everything that happened and how long it took everyone to get normal after, you know, and what all was said, she just could not muster the courage to send you these."
Hermione opened the packages and Mrs. Weasley's handmade sweaters, the same colors, the same touch after so many years. She stood up and removed her coat to try on the sweater and it fit her perfectly. Everything she tried to keep in check came out, her voice broke, and tears came out in abandon and she crashed on his chest weeping inconsolably.
"Harry, I am so sorry. I just don't know what to say. I thought she hates me, that you, Weaseleys, everyone hates me. And I have been so lonely, so so lonely. With all the nightmares, and pills, I have been losing my mind. He stifled his awkwardness for a while and patted her head.
"There, there, Merlin Mione. I am here, see. I am not going anywhere."
"Harry, there's something I need to talk to you about… about Draco," she began, her voice almost a whisper.
At once, Harry's expression changed. The warmth in his gaze turned to cold steel, his jaw clenching. "Hermione, please," he interrupted, voice tight. "Not tonight."
"But, Harry—"
"I mean it, Hermione." He raised his voice just enough to cut her off, the weight of his words bearing down on her. "Whatever grudges you're holding, you need to let them go. Draco's my husband. And he's done more for me than I can even begin to explain. You don't know what he's been through. What he's had to—"
"I do know, Harry!" she protested, her own voice rising, though her tone was pained. "But that doesn't change the fact that he's hiding things from you. Things that—"
"What evidence do you have to support your ridiculous claims?
"Harry, believe me. I have see-
"Enough." Harry's voice was sharper than she'd ever heard it, his hand gripping the edge of the desk as though steadying himself. "Enough, Hermione. You have no right to show up here, after all this time, and throw around baseless accusations. Especially not tonight."
Hermione's eyes stung as she looked at him, her heart pounding. "It's not baseless. I've been having these nightmares, and every time—"
"You think you're the only one with nightmares?" Harry cut her off, his eyes flashing with something raw and unfiltered. "We all have them, Hermione. You're not special in that. You're not the only one who lost people. Maybe it's time you stopped dragging everyone else down with you."
She flinched, his words hitting her harder than she'd expected. Her voice wavered as she replied, "I'm just trying to warn you, Harry… ."
There was a sharp knock at the door that made both of them jump. Draco came half inside, his face hard with concern and hate. He appeared visibly flustered like someone who came running up in less than a minute. Giving Hermione, a cold stare, he beckoned Harry to him and whispered in his ear, - "Kingsley is downstairs, he says he has some new information on Ginny's whereabouts."
Harry was stunned. Ginny had gone missing a month from school during a trip to Hogsmeade. It has been years and apart from the baseless rumors, none has seen or heard of her despite multiple attempts to track her down. Despite no success, Harry did not left hope and kept trying to find her. If Kingsley's news is true then, no he best contain his emotions.
Harry muffled back, "I will be down right away, we are just finishing."
"He is not going to wait Harry. He is the bloody Minister of Magic. You go down, right now. I will escort her out." Draco said in a sharp whisper.
Harry looked back at Hermione, still trembling from their fight, and said curtly, "Okay. Just end it quickly. We do have a party going downstairs." and hurried downstairs.
The moment the door clicked shut, the warmth in Draco's eyes faded, replaced by a calculating coldness as Hermione fell upon the sofa, her face drawn and tired, but there was a determination in her eyes that had not waned, even after everything they had been through. She managed a small smile at Draco, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Granger, I must confess. My father was right in his judgment of you. All bravery and knowledge but no wits." Draco said laughingly.
Hermione's chin lifted defiantly, but she couldn't hide the flash of hurt that passed over her face. She clenched her hands at her sides, the need to keep herself together barely overriding the sting of his words.
Draco took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he observed her every reaction with a dark, twisted satisfaction. "Oh, I know what you're thinking. You're the saint in this war, the hero in some grand tragedy." He leaned in, his breath ghosting against her cheek as his words dropped to a low, menacing whisper. "But tell me, Granger… do you even know what you're really fighting for anymore? Or are you just clinging to Potter's cause because it's easier than admitting you're completely, and hopelessly lost?"
Hermione's jaw clenched, and she took a shaky breath, her voice tight. "I know exactly what I'm fighting for, Malfoy. It's justice. It's—". Draco reached over to her, his hands finding her shoulders. His touch was deliberate, firm but gentle as if he was trying to ground her. He began kneading her shoulders, his fingers working in a slow, rhythmic motion.
"Justice?" he sneered, cutting her off with a scornful laugh. His eyes glinted darkly as he reached forward, his hand grasping a handful of her curls, tugging sharply to force her to meet his gaze. She gasped, her head tilting back, her control slipping as his grip tightened. He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his gaze dark and unyielding. "Is that what you tell yourself to ease the guilt?" He stopped behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, his voice a dark whisper. "Guilt, of the pain you caused to the one who survived by ensuring the ones closest to them died an unwarranted death. Like my father, my mother, Lavender, or Weasely, huh? "
Draco continued, his voice low and tender, yet carrying an undercurrent of control. "It's no wonder you're feeling this way." finding it difficult to control his anger. With Harry absent, this was his one chance.
Draco moved closer, a cold smirk playing on his lips as he seized her wrist, his grip unyielding. He guided her, almost forcefully, toward the ornate mirror on the wall. She tried to pull away, but his hand held her in place, leaving her no choice but to stare at her own reflection. The face staring back was pale, weary, the weight of the war etched into her eyes. And beside her, Draco's face loomed, his expression twisted with satisfaction as he watched her unravel.
"Look at yourself, Hermione," he murmured, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "You're as shattered as any of us, maybe more. You've sacrificed, bled, lost… all for what? An empty cause that's left you hollow."
Hermione's eyes filled with unshed tears as she took in the reflection, the truth of his words cutting deeper than any wound. Her throat felt tight, her body rigid under his relentless scrutiny. "I know why I fight," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Draco's hand tightened on her shoulder, fingers pressing into her skin as he tilted her chin to force her gaze back to his in the mirror. "Do you, though? Or are you just the Mudblood my father always said you were—talented, perhaps, but utterly foolish? Foolish enough to get yourself killed for a cause that won't even remember your name."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, his words searing into her mind, igniting doubts she'd tried so hard to bury. "I'm fighting for a better world," she managed, though the conviction in her voice was slipping.
"A better world?" Draco repeated his laugh dark and mocking. "You've aligned yourself with people who'd sacrifice you in a heartbeat if it meant getting closer to their goal. You saw it yourself downstairs. All the people for whom you did so much didn't batted an eye when you passed them, not even a cursory nod. Tell me, Granger, is that the world you envisioned?"
She pulled her wrist away from his grip, but he didn't let her go far. His hand found her shoulder again, spinning her to face him, his cold gaze locking onto hers. "You took my family from me, Granger," he continued, his voice soft yet chilling. "You and your little friends took the only people who ever mattered. And now you're here, thinking you're some righteous person coming out of nowhere trying to snatch the one person from me, who I can call mine."
His words were knives, each one piercing her deeply, chipping away at her defenses. Hermione's lips trembled, her defiance fading as his hold over her tightened, leaving her feeling small and helpless in his grasp.
Draco's smirk deepened, his hand fisted in her hair as he pulled her closer. "Why, Granger?" he whispered, his voice soft and taunting. "Afraid of the truth? Afraid to admit you're just as lost as the rest of us?"
Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers in a fierce, possessive kiss that stole her breath. His grip on her hair kept her close, his other hand moving to her waist, pulling her against him as if daring her to fight back. His kiss was not gentle—it was a show of dominance, a demonstration of control that left her gasping.
Hermione's hands pressed against his chest, her mind spinning, caught between resistance and the relentless force of his kiss. His taste in her mouth was overwhelming, dark, and intoxicating, filling her senses until she could barely remember why she wanted to push him away in the first place. He broke the kiss only when he felt her knees weaken, his grip still holding her firmly. Before, she could process Draco performed a nonverbal spell that wrapped around her mind like a vice, erasing the memory of his manipulation. When she started coming around, he murmured, "Look at you, Granger," his voice laced with satisfaction. "All it took was a little pressure, and you fell apart. You're no hero—you're just a girl. Lost, Frightened and helpless!"
Draco spun her around encapsulating her tiny frame in his strong arms. He lifted her off her feet with one arm tightly pressed against her chest making her squirm and struggle and pulled her hair with his other hand. She whimpered with his hot oppressive breadth on her neck, "Granger, consider this advice from me. Stay away from me, my friends, and most importantly Harry. You have no right butting in our lives after all the good you did during and after the war. If you long for a family, find a man or your parents and make them your purpose. But don't you dare come near us, or I will ensure that the rest of your days be filled with such agony, pain, and misery that a quick death will feel like sweet mercy." He released her and she fell on her fours.
But Draco wasn't done. He whispered another incantation, his voice dark and intimate. "Locaris." The magic settled over her like a shadow, invisible yet potent. A geolocation charm, binding her to him no matter where she went. She would never be free of him, his presence tied to her steps, his hold upon her inescapable.
Blinking through her confusion, Hermione's gaze turned dazed and distant as the spell took full effect. "I… I need to go," she murmured, her voice hollow but filled with a newfound, urgent resolve. She stood there for a moment, heart pounding, feeling the weight of his words settle on her shoulders like a crushing burden. Swallowing back tears, she nodded slowly, turning away from him, from the warmth of the firelight, and the faint echo of laughter drifting through the door. Draco watched with cold satisfaction as Hermione stumbled toward the door, her movements frantic and unsteady. The door shut behind her with a final click, leaving him alone in the room, victorious. Her faint footsteps echoed down the hall as she stepped back out into the cold, the warmth and laughter of Grimmauld Place fading behind her.
Moments later, the sound of footsteps brought Harry into the room. He paused, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern as he noticed the lingering tension and Hermione's hasty departure. "She sure went soon enough. What did you say to her?" Harry asked, slipping his arms around Draco in an affectionate embrace.
Draco turned in his arms, giving a faint smirk. "Just made sure she knew how much we appreciate her for making the trip over," he replied, his eyes gleaming as he captured Harry's lips in a deep, possessive kiss. Harry smiled as they pulled apart. "Well, I hope you weren't too hard on her. She hasn't been having the best time lately."
Draco's tone softened as he replied with mock sincerity, "I promise I was on my best behavior, darling." He flashed Harry a cheeky smile, adding, "Now, let's not keep our guests waiting. The Malfoys and Blacks have a reputation for hosting in style."
Harry's face broke into a warm smile, and together they stepped out, arm in arm. "Speaking of guests, Kingsley had some news on Ginny," Harry said as they reached the main hallway. "There's a new lead in Scotland, near the forests where I hid with Hermione and Ron while hunting down the Horcruxes. I'm thinking of joining the search squad tomorrow."
Draco rolled his eyes, and said. "Huh, interesting. And you are joining the hunting party." "You bet I am. The lead sounds very positive." Harry gave him a light nudge, laughing as they locked the study door. As he did, he noticed a couple of Hermione's sweaters, left behind in her hurry. "What am I going to do with Mione? She's been so scattered—left these behind."
Draco took the sweaters from him with a faint, satisfied smile, flicking his wand to send them neatly folded into his closet. "No need to worry. I'll give them to her tomorrow. There's that meeting about the 'progressive' elf legislation. You, however, should focus on Ginny, and get back here before New Year. In the meantime, I'll have a few…repairs done back at the Manor."
Harry's gaze softened, a hint of warmth in his eyes as he nodded. "I'll be back before you know it." With an easy smile, he led Draco back to their guests, their presence as polished and poised as though Hermione's visit had been no more than a fleeting thought.