TWO YEARS AGO
Everyone is drunk and it's only been 90 minutes.
Celestina Warbeck drones on a bit too loudly and Hermione considers chugging her spiked punch. But the only reason she even comes to these things is for information and she can't very well absorb the drunk ramblings of her coworkers if she's plastered too, now can she?
The problem is everyone at this year's Ministry holiday party wants to talk to her. They want to see her ring and ask when the wedding is and oh, isn't it lovely that they've known each other since they were 11?
Yes, it is lovely. It really is, and she's so pleased to be marrying Ron, but for fuck's sake, she would love two seconds to herself.
The song changes to something more upbeat and the crowd drifts over to the makeshift dance floor so Hermione takes her chance. She slips away from the buffet tables and down a hallway that leads to this floor's break room. She pauses in front of an enchanted window that shows a view of London as it looks way above her head.
This would all be a bit easier if Ron was here but he's on assignment until tomorrow. Unlucky, he'd said. Not the word I'd use, she'd replied. It feels impossible, sometimes, to come in to work every day and sit at her desk and pretend that she's making a difference with all of her paperwork and rejected proposal after proposal while he's out in the field hunting dark objects or whatever top-secret bullshit he's on. It's true that she hadn't wanted to be an Auror -- neither had Harry -- but she's been here three years and has hardly anything to show for it.
"Did you get lost, Granger?"
Draco Malfoy's clipped accent pulls Hermione back to the dim reality of the hallway. He saunters towards her, hands in the pockets of his slightly Muggle-looking suit. Green tie, of course.
She huffs. "I'm the one who works here, Malfoy."
"Hiding, then."
He stops beside her and looks out the enchanted window.
"Perhaps," she admits. "What's your excuse?"
"Astoria is speaking to Anthony Goldstein," he drawls. Hermione grimaces. "Exactly. Made myself scarce."
Together they admire the lit dome of St. Paul's, the quiet dark of the Thames. Hermione has not spent a great deal of time with Draco in the last eight or so years, but it's enough. Society events, dinners hosted by Astoria at their flat, a conversation here and there. He did his compulsory apprenticeship at St. Mungo's but instead of ending up at the Ministry like so many of them, he went back to Hogwarts.
Harry was the only one not surprised. He was decent at school, he'd said. When he wasn't being a dickhead.
It seems like so long ago they were scared children forced to play roles in something they didn't totally understand.
"Do you like teaching?" Hermione says.
The question comes out of nowhere but Draco seems unsurprised.
"I do," he says simply. He tilts his head and studies her, the magic view forgotten. "Do you like...whatever it is you do here at this shitty corporate nightmare?"
She rolls her eyes at him. Hermione knows full well he's aware of her job, given that his girlfriend has the same one, but despite the years and the emergence of his conscience, Draco Malfoy remains a git.
And yet, she answers.
"It's so bureaucratic." Draco raises his eyebrows, as if willing her to keep talking for once. "We're all just cogs in a machine that doesn't move fast enough because that would mean getting anything useful done. Just another system with hoops to jump through and pointless meetings and so much bloody paperwork."
She's waving her hands in the air as she rants and his eyes catch on the diamond on her left ring finger.
"Congratulations, by the way," he says.
The steam goes out of her all at once, shoulders slumping. Maybe she is a bit drunk.
"I -- thank you."
She flexes her hand, the stone shimmering even in the low light.
"Sounds like you need a new job," Malfoy muses.
Hermione feels a bit guilty. About all of it -- not being totally happy, ranting about the Ministry. The pit in her stomach that won't go away despite everything being alright on the surface.
"It's not that bad, not really."
His scoff says it all. She's quite a good liar when she's trying but they both know her heart isn't in it.
"You could always go the Potter route." Malfoy adjusts his cufflinks. "Disappear, for the most part. Work on a -- farm, is it? You always liked creatures."
"Magical ones," she mumbles. "Not farm animals."
A beat, then he laughs.
"Harry always smells like shit, doesn't he?"
Though she knows very well that he plays in pick-up Quidditch games on Harry and Ginny's land, that he's friendly with most of them, Hermione never really gets used to the genuine camaraderie between her best friend and his former nemesis.
"I'll tell him you said that," she says.
Malfoy's grey gaze narrows. "You could always come to Hogwarts," he counters.
Hermione scoffs. "Are you offering me a job?"
"Bit above my pay grade," he admits. "But we both know McGonagall would find something for you if you asked."
It's not that she hasn't thought about it. She has. The arguments she's mustered against it feel hollow now. It's what everyone expects of you. Star student returns to school. You've never even been a teacher. What difference can you make there?
Draco clears his throat. She's gotten lost in her thoughts again. Perhaps it's time to go home.
"I better go see if Goldstein has bored my poor Astoria to death," he says. He studies her for a long moment before chuckling lightly, as if what he's found amuses him. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."
He flashes her a genuine smile and is down the hall and out of sight before she can reply.
__
NOW: DECEMBER 23
The castle is quiet.
Blessedly so.
The trains left this morning with almost all of the students and no one has barged into Hermione's office in twenty minutes -- which feels like a new record. She knows all too well what kind of things one can get up to at Hogwarts over the winter break but with any luck it'll be a quiet two weeks.
On cue, someone knocks on her door.
It opens with a wave of her hand and Malfoy steps into her office.
"Granger," he says. "I've come to fetch you for supper. Merlin, are you still working?"
He's changed out of the robes she saw him in this morning, opting for what amounts as Malfoy casual with slacks and a grey sweater.
"I was enjoying the peace and quiet," she sighs. "Were we so...loud all the time as students?"
Draco snorts. "You certainly didn't stop talking."
"My father will hear about this," she says pitching her voice up in an approximation of his 13-year-old tone.
He scowls but there is no heat in it.
This light back and forth has become their norm since term started. Draco has, truthfully, been extremely helpful during her first year thus far. A little unexpected but certainly not unwelcome.
But recently, they really haven't had much time to catch up. She's been determined to prove herself which means lots of hours in her office grading and being available to her students. Teaching is a great deal more handling emotional problems than she expected -- breakups, friend arguments, fashion emergencies.
And there's the fact that she's staying here over Christmas to avoid the Burrow. Ginny called her a coward -- yes, she and Ron broke up back in February, no, she's not banished from family events. But maybe she wants space. No one has asked her, just told her what they think she should do.
"Do you know who else is staying?" Draco asks. He's examining the posters she's put on the wall. "Are these muggle?"
"No and yes." She shrugs off her cloak and stands, stretching. What a relief to be wearing jeans again. "I think we might be the only teachers aside from Hagrid and McGonagall."
"And the posters?"
Hermione rounds her desk.
"Bought them in America a few years ago."
Draco keeps his eyes on the wall and she has one of those moments where she feels a little off-balance at the reality of her life. She is the Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts with Potions professor Draco Malfoy in her classroom. She's no longer engaged to the man everyone thought she'd end up with and it's Christmas and she's not terribly sad about it.
She knows what the students say about them. The whispers, the overeager attempts to ask one about the other. It would be a good story, wouldn't it? Former enemies find each other in adulthood.
Hermione doesn't hate that, either. Draco is much softer around the edges than he used to be. Quick to laugh, even quicker to flash her a grin from across the hall. He brewed her extra-strength Pepper Up during exams so she could finish all of her grading. And, of course, he looks like that.
But then again, she was engaged at the beginning of the year and he and Astoria broke up last Christmas, so.
She clears her throat. "Shall we?"
He looks at his watch and nods.
"Wouldn't do to be late when we're the chaperones."
Hermione trails after Draco out of her classroom. He holds the door for her but when she continues down the hall he's not beside her.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters. She whirls around to see him still in the doorway.
"What's wrong?"
His head is tipped back, white-blonde fringe falling over his forehead. "Someone has decided to play a prank on you, I believe."
She follows his gaze and spots it immediately: a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes holiday classic. Charmed mistletoe. The dark green leaves and bright red berries are carefully tacked to the archway above her classroom.
"Must have been done just after you came in," she muses. "Quite clever, actually, since they must have known I was in my office. They must have been very quiet --"
"Granger," Malfoy interrupts. He's crossed his arms and is pouting. "That's all well and good but I'd very much like to go to dinner."
The enchantment is fairly harmless. The first person to walk under the mistletoe gets stuck and remains so until they can convince someone to kiss them. A part of Hermione knows that this is the student's attempt to get her and Draco together, and that it cannot bode well for the rest of the winter break, but Draco looks so put out she can't help but laugh.
"I could just leave you here," she reminds him.
"How Slytherin of you," he replies wanly. "I promise I won't bite."
The boundary of the spell is cold on her skin as she steps back into his space. The moment slows and suddenly all she can think about is how close they are. She can see the rim of blue around his pupils and a Sectumsempra scar peeking out of his collar. When she puts her hand on his forearm she watches his nostrils flare, his jaw ticks. Hermione flutters her own eyes shut as she stands on her toes to press her lips somewhere between his cheek and his mouth. Draco's hand ghosts her hip and all too quickly it's over.
The mistletoe releases a puff of confetti and it floats down around them as she settles back onto her heels. Draco swallows but his mouth pulls up at one end and Hermione chuckles to herself.
"You're welcome," she manages and releases her grip on his forearm. They're still standing very close, close enough that when he reaches out to pull pieces of confetti from her hair she has the urge to hold her breath.
"Thank you very much for not leaving me here to starve," Draco says softly. He seems unable to look her in the eye, focusing instead on his task. "I will do my best to look up next time I exit your office."
"See that you do," she breathes.
There is a moment when Draco finally looks at her where she swears he's going to kiss her. Properly, this time. And she finds she doesn't mind the idea.
But then her stomach grumbles.
"Merlin," Hermione mutters. She takes a step back and a deep breath before smiling up at him. "Better get to the Great Hall, I suppose."
Draco clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, shaking off some more confetti. "Lead the way. I'll keep an eye on the ceiling."
__
DECEMBER 24: CHRISTMAS EVE
"It's in here, Professor Granger!"
Hermione congratulates herself on maintaining her patience. She was having a very pleasant Christmas Eve afternoon reading in the kitchens when a student -- one of the Vance twins, she's pretty sure -- said she found a nest of pixies in a classroom on the third floor.
Pixies can be frightening and she's not got much of a leg to stand on when it comes to asking why this girl was poking around the third floor and she's been through a war, for fuck's sake, so when they reach an old door with rusty hinges, Hermione does not hesitate to go inside.
"Stay in the corridor," she says.
The classroom is dark and dusty. No desks, no chairs, just a few steps down into a central area where someone is already standing --
"Malfoy?"
Draco whirls around, wand at the ready. Behind her, the door shuts with a loud thud and some giggles.
"Bloody hell," Draco mutters. He looks similarly harried, as if he'd been interrupted and dragged here. "Did they tell you there were pixies in this classroom?"
Hermione nods slowly.
Someone in the corridor laughs before being shushed.
"I don't know -- Professor, it won't open?"
"They really should have rehearsed this," Draco mutters. He waves his wand at the door but it doesn't open. "What the hell did they charm it with?"
Hermione taps her thigh with her wand and sighs. "We might as well play along, right?"
He shrugs and she presses a palm against the door.
"It's alright. Professor Malfoy and I will make our way out," she says. She rolls her eyes at the snickers she hears. "Go back to your common rooms."
A chorus of half-hearted apologies and footsteps echo down the hall. Hermione runs a quick diagnostic spell on the door.
"Draco," she calls. "Come look at this. It's actually quite clever. It's a timed locking spell, quite ingenious, really. I wonder which one of them did it --"
"So you're saying we're stuck in here?" His voice is much closer than she expected. He's crept up next to her, leaning against the door frame with arched brows and an amused expression. "We've been bested by some fourth-years?"
"For an hour or so, yes," she replies. "A bombarda would probably work but I doubt McGonagall would be pleased with us."
Malfoy shrugs. "They could have at least left us some chairs," he mutters.
"Is sitting on the floor too undignified for you?"
"No, it's the fact that I'm almost 30."
Hermione slides down the wall next to the door and stretches her legs out in front of her.
"Don't make us 30 prematurely, Draco," she says. "We're the same age."
He limberly settles next to her, long lets bent at the knees so he can rest his arms on them. He is, once again, dressed far too formally for holiday break in dark brown trousers to her worn jeans.
"You're older than me, if I remember correctly," he reminds her.
Hermione swats his shoulder. "It's horrible manners to say that to a woman."
"Don't tell my mother."
Draco spins his wand with nimble fingers and Hermione frowns.
"Why aren't you spending Christmas with her?" she asks.
"She's on holiday somewhere in France, I believe." He sighs. "Do you wish you were at the Burrow?"
Her broken engagement should feel like the elephant in the room but to her surprise, it feels more like an inevitable truth, much easier to speak about than she expected.
"Yes and no," she confesses. "I know it's a bit cowardly not to go, but--"
"I don't know that I'd call wanting to avoid a Christmas with your ex-fiancé's entire family cowardly."
Hermione huffs. She can feel Draco's eyes on her face but she does not look. Maybe that's cowardly.
"It's not that I'm avoiding it," she continues. "I just figured I'd give them some space. Give myself some space. They all know it wasn't going to work out and we're still friends. I mean, the Weasleys are basically my family, and I --"
She swallows. Draco says nothing.
"Anyway. I always loved being here at Christmas."
Draco hums contemplatively. "How many times did you stay?"
"Second year Ron, Harry, and I stayed to brew Polyjuice."
He laughs. "Potter told me this story last year," he says. "I can't believe I didn't realize it was them. And you got turned into a --"
"Cat, yes. I try not to dwell on it. Third year we stayed to keep Harry company and fourth year was --"
"The Yule Ball," Draco interrupts. "I remember."
She does look at him, finally, and sees the mirth in his eyes. "Is this where you tell me you've had a crush on me ever since then?"
He knocks their shoulders together. "Not quite," he says with a smirk. "But I do remember the dress you wore. It was lovely."
"It was," she says, maybe a bit too pleased. "Anyway, that was my last holiday here."
The memories swirl in her mind like fresh snow, taking her back to all the days she spent in this castle as a teenager. So much time has gone by and, as Draco reminded her, they're almost 30. The past, their childhoods, the trivial troubles and the entirely too serious ones -- it all feels so close yet so far away. Sitting in an abandoned classroom with Draco Malfoy on Christmas Eve should shock her much more than it does, but perhaps that's just the way of things. Everyone grows up, the future you thought was a sure thing simply isn't.
Her forearm twinges -- a lingering symptom of the cursed blade -- and she rubs at it through her sweater.
Draco shifts beside her, stretching his legs out to match hers.
"Do you keep it covered?" he asks lightly. "I don't know that I've ever seen it. Since, I mean."
"Oh," she breathes. "No, I don't suppose you've had reason to -- let me just --"
She tugs up the sleeve of her left arm and Draco goes very still.
The scar itself has faded quite a lot, though Hermione supposes it doesn't look that way. Each letter is slightly raised, the skin puckered like it's only just healed.
"For about three years it looked like it would start bleeding at any moment," she says. "It doesn't hurt much, sometimes randomly, but St. Mungo's has been working on salves for cursed blade wounds and it's helped immensely."
She glances at Draco and his eyes are glued to the scar. Back when she was at the Ministry, after his trial and when he was well into his probationary placement at St. Mungo's, they'd run into each other. He'd asked if she had a moment and proceeded to apologize for, well, everything. It was terribly awkward but clearly meant a great deal to him that she'd listened.
But there are some things that only heal with time.
"I don't hide it," she says softly and bumps his shoulder with hers. It's alright. "Do you hide yours?"
He blinks before flicking his eyes up to meet hers. "Sometimes," he says, roughly. He unbuttons the cuff of his left wrist and shoves up his sweater and shirtsleeve. His forearm is pale and chorded with muscle and marred terrible by the black skull and snake.
Hermione leans into him despite herself, eyes wide.
"It's so faded," she mutters. "Did that happen when he died?"
Draco nods. "And with time."
Part of her wants to touch it, sees herself doing so. Lazily dragging her fingers across his skin, touch something so sinister but now rendered useless, all its power gone because they won.
"Sometimes I forget it's there," he confesses. "I'll roll up my sleeves in class while brewing and someone will gasp."
Hermione pulls back out of his space and glances up at him. How absurd for them to be on the floor of this classroom showing each other their scars all because some students are conspiring to get them together. All because neither of them want to go home for Christmas. All because -- well. Hermione learned to expect the unexpected the moment her acceptance letter arrived all those years ago.
She smirks at him, willing the tension to shift from their heavy past into something lighter, something more fun. "The mark might not be why they're gasping," she says, feeling bold.
Draco snorts. Snorts. Incredibly undignified and alarmingly endearing.
"Careful, Granger," he says. "I might think you're flirting with me."
"Must be something in the air," she teases. "The dust doing my head in."
They both tug down their sleeves. Draco rests his hand on her covered forearm ever so lightly.
"It would be alright if you were," he says, blue-grey eyes boring into hers. He looks almost boyish, somewhere between cocky and shy.
Hermione grind. "Our students would certainly like that, wouldn't they?"
He pull his hand back and she checks the timer on the door again.
It opens with a creak and Draco stands, offering her his hand.
"Not exactly what I imagined for Christmas Eve," he says, tugging her to her feet. "But I suppose it could be worse."
Hermione keeps his hand in hers and looks up at him.
"Much worse, I think," she muses. "Walk me back to my office?"
Draco covers his surprise with a grin. "Certainly."
__
DECEMBER 25: CHRISTMAS DAY
Draco is already in the Great Hall by the time Hermione gets there.
Most of the students are munching on breakfast in their comfies, swapping gift stories and laughing. Since there are so few of them in the castle, they've all been eating at the house tables. Draco sits on one end with a few Slytherin students, though they've saved the place across from him.
A chorus of Happy Christmas, Professor greets her as she heads for him.
"Morning," she says, settling onto the bench. The students around him scatter, returning to place settings farther down the table. "Happy Christmas, Draco."
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he replies. "Looks as though our charges are not finished with their pranks." He gestures to the small wrapped parcel on her plate. It's in green paper, roughly the size of a book.
He holds up a similar one wrapped in red.
"I don't know whether to be impressed or offended that they think we'd actually believe these were from each other."
Draco shrugs and sips on his tea.
"Should we open them now?" he asks. "For their benefit?"
She glances down the table at the students who are all looking anywhere but at them.
"No," she says, slowly. "I think they deserve a bit of suspense."
"We could go to my office," he suggests. "After breakfast."
She agrees. They chat about the give they've received, whether ham or turkey is the most suitable Christmas supper, and the grading they're both putting off. It's lovely, really.
Every pair of eyes in the Great Hall follow them when they eventually head for the dungeons, fake parcels in hand.
"I'm afraid I didn't actually get you anything," Hermione says. "I hope you'll forgive the faux pas."
Draco is finally in something casual. A knit sweater and jeans that look worn. She keeps a step behind him to admire the view and does not feel the least bit bad about it.
"Only if you forgive me for the same," he says. They pass the potions classrooms and go through an archway further down the corridor.
"I've never actually been in here," she muses. "It's warmer than I thought it would be."
Draco's office is quite comfortable. It's neat, books and ingredients carefully categorized and shelved. He's got a lit fireplace and a few steaming cauldrons, as well as diagrams and maps on the walls.
"It was a bit dreary when I arrived," he says. He waves his wand and the kettle clicks on as she settles into one of the chairs in front of his desk. "It's strange. I feel him in here, sometimes."
Hermione blinks once, twice, before realizing what he's saying. "Snape?"
Draco nods.
"I know he's not, of course. I just spent loads of time in here as a student. It's strange that it's mine now."
She hums. Snape was his godfather, she knows, and despite everything, there is history that must weigh on him heavily.
"I doubt he had a fire going," she offers. Draco cracks a smile.
"He certainly did not," he confirms. "It was bloody freezing in here all the time."
"What's your favorite part about teaching?" she asks.
It catches him off guard. "You really never stop asking questions, do you?"
Hermione shrugs. The kettle comes to a boil and Draco goes to pour them some.
"I like most of it," he says. "The trust, maybe. That I'll see them through it, that they can do it if they try."
She watches him prepare her tea just the way she likes it.
"That's...really lovely," she replies.
"Come now, Granger," he teases, handing her the mug. "I'm not all bad."
"I know that!"
He settles into the chair next to her, turning it slightly so they're facing each other rather than his desk.
"Do you remember that party at the Ministry?" he asks. "When you told me you hated working there?"
"I didn't say it like that," she corrects him. "I just wasn't enjoying it."
"Well, however you want to editorialize it, I suppose I have the same question now."
"Am I happy here?"
"Do you like what you do, I believe it was. But sure."
Hermione pulls her knee up and considers him.
All of this -- a few conversations saying more than they've said in years, lingering glances and almosts, just being near him -- it feels incredibly natural. Par for the course, she might say. Unexpected but at the same time not at all. Just like her coming back to Hogwarts, maybe.
"Yes," she says. "More than I thought I would. After all I had to do to feel like I belonged here, it's nice to come back and know that I do. And to show the students that they all belong, too."
Draco hums. "If I apologized now, would it seem terribly trite?"
She remembers his eyes on her arm yesterday. "You've apologized before, Draco."
"I don't know what once is enough."
"In the spirit of Christmas, let's say that it is."
He studies her, gaze intense enough that her cheeks feel a bit hot.
"Alright," he relents. He flicks his fingers and the red-wrapped gift on his desk floats into his outstretched hand. "Should we go at the same time?"
Hermione fetches hers from the floor.
A quick tear of the paper and she's holding a copy of 10 Ways to Seduce the Wizard of Your Dreams.
"Oh, Merlin," she says. Draco's laugh is an amused bark. "What have you got?"
He holds out the book to her. 15 Ways to Improve Your Flirting.
"I don't know about you, but I'm quite offended now," he says.
"You might find that book useful," she teases. "There's no shame in needing help."
His eyes flash. "Oh, I don't need any assistance in that department."
The energy of his office shifts ever so slightly as Draco toes the line they've been teetering on for ages. All semester, maybe. Longer.
Hermione sets down her tea. "Is that so?"
"I can do much better than charmed mistletoe, a locked room, and a gag gift."
Draco stands and holds out a hand, just like he did last night. Hermione takes it and allows him to tug her between his knees. He sits on the edge of his desk, bringing their faces almost level. This close she can count his eyelashes.
His legs bracket her thighs and he rests a palm on her hip. She can feel the warmth through her sweater.
"Draco," she says, softly. Their noses brush and she flutters her eyes shut.
"Hermione."
One hand on his shoulder, the other sliding into his hair, she sighs. They breath together for a few heartbeats, the last moments before everything changes.
She moves first, or maybe he does, but when they finally kiss they both melt into it. Two smiles pressed together until she tugs on his hair a bit and he holds her tighter, adjusts his angle until they're properly snogging.
Later, they're dress up for Christmas dinner and sit next to each other, holding hands under the table. They'll go for walks on the grounds and he'll buy her a belated present and she'll write to Ginny about the whole thing. The students will catch on and the pranks will stop and Hermione will wonder if they were always going to end up here someday regardless.
But now, they kiss, and kiss, and kiss.