“I want to decorate the common room for Christmas.”
“I’m sorry, you what?”
“Christmas. Decorate. You know, trees, lights, ornaments? Keep up,” Hermione said, winking at her suitemate.
“Oh, right.” Draco, all of a sudden looked wistful. “Christmas at the Manor was always over the top. Mother and the elves—sorry—would work for days getting all the public rooms just right. We used to have a New Year’s Eve ball, too. When I was a kid, I’d creep along the stairway and watch, just waiting for the day when I would be able to attend myself.” He stopped, caught up in the memories. Hermione watched him, realising he had lost just as much as she, albeit in a different fashion.
Then he dropped his head and when he looked back up, she could tell he was occluding.
“Hey, stop doing that. You know you don’t have to do that with me.”
The shields dropped after a bit. “I know, it’s just that I’d never thought about Christmas and what it would be like this year. Last year’s was horrific. Voldemort held a revel.”
The shields went back up and Hermione left him alone. She had long ago learned to leave Draco alone whenever the subject of Voldemort came up.
Hermione had learned a lot about Draco Malfoy since they had been made Head Boy and Head Girl for their eighth year. Neither had been too excited to learn they were going to be in each other’s orbit almost constantly, but the Headmistress explained that the only way Draco would be successful in his court-mandated last year of Hogwarts was to put the two of them together. He would be safe, for the most part, from people bent on revenge, coupled with the fact that no Slytherins had returned besides him and it seemed wrong to resort him.
For the first few weeks, they both walked on eggshells around each other. Hermione waited for the day when Draco’s carefully crafted neutral facade would crumble and reveal that he’d never given up his Pureblood dogma, prompting him to call her Mudblood again. Draco just wanted to keep his head down and avoid Azkaban.
Their uneasy detente broke the first night Draco had a nightmare. He was yelling so loudly, Hermione thought someone had gotten through their wards and was attacking him.
She jumped out of bed and flew to his dorm, only to find Draco tangled up in his sheets and sweating, a look of fright and pain on his face, struggling to defend himself from an invisible attacker.
“Draco!” she called from the doorway.
“No, stop! Please, I promise, I’ll be able to do it!”
“Draco!!” More insistent.
“Don’t hurt her! I can do it, I swear!”
Finally, Hermione went to his bedside, and shook him as she called his name again.
At her touch, Draco’s eyes flew open, looking frantically around the room before lighting on Hermione. He stilled his movements and blinked. Then scrambled away from her, pulling the bedclothes tightly around him.
“Granger, what the bloody hell?!”
“Relax,” she said, “you were having a nightmare. Yelling so loud, you woke me up.”
Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket.
“Here.” She handed it to him.
He took it from her and wiped his face, then ran his hand through his hair, trying to neaten it, but only succeeding in having it end up looking like Harry’s. When Hermione stopped laughing, she told him so.
Draco tried to look affronted but found himself smiling sheepishly and rolled his eyes.
“I’m sorry I woke you. I haven’t had one in months.”
“I get them, too,” Hermione sympathised.
“You do? The war heroine, Golden Girl, who stood at the right hand of the Boy Who Defeated You-Know-Who?” Draco couldn’t help a bit of cynicism. Sure, her life hadn’t fallen apart like his had. She was loved by all, cared for by many, and had a bright future stretching in front of her.
“Absolutely,” she said, hotly, “most of the time I’m on the floor of your drawing room.”
As soon as she said it she regretted it. “Wait, I didn’t mean —”
Draco raised his hand to stop her.
“No, don’t. Most of mine are there, too. Only, I’m watching my aunt torturing you, and I can’t do a fucking thing about. I’m so sorry, Granger. You have no idea how sorry.”
This was not at all what Hermione expected to hear.
“What are you sorry for? You weren’t the one carving slur into my arm,” she said. “I knew there was not a thing you could do. Truly, I do.” She swallowed, and looked at the ceiling, willing the stinging in her eyes to go away and not manifest into tears. Then she felt a warm hand take hers.
“I know, but Merlin, I wished I could,” Draco said softly.
She looked back down, having gotten control of herself and reached over to smooth a stray hair away from his face.
After that night, there was a new atmosphere in the Head Suite. Almost congenial.
They had almost all their classes together, were partners in potions and frequently assigned to tutor other students, Hermione working with the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, leaving Draco the Hufflepuffs, the only other house besides his own that would accept his tutelage.
Eventually word spread about his teaching abilities and the looks of hatred and petty hexes dwindled until they disappeared completely.
Hermione decided it must have been due to the Hufflepuffs’ influence that Draco no longer occluded frequently. Once he was feeling more present, he spoke.
“So, what did you have in mind?”
“I think Harry said there were some old decorations in the attic at Grimmauld. Maybe I’ll apparate there tomorrow and see if there’s anything salvageable.”
“Hmmm. I should probably go with you. You never know what horrible curse might have been placed on some random object that no one’s still alive to warn you about. I am a Black, you know,” Draco said, with a strange combination of pride and self-deprecation.
***
Hermione contacted Harry who said he wouldn’t be at home and they could come over anytime. He would key the wards to let her in, since the house would recognize her. He also agreed that it was a good idea for Draco to tag along, and even said he was free to take anything he wanted, since technically the house would have been his if Sirius hadn’t willed it to Harry.
The next day they walked to the edge of the school property, and as soon as they reached the apparition point, Hermione took Draco’s arm and apparated them to Grimmauld Place.
They landed in an alley around the corner from the property. Hemione led Draco to the facade of the rowhouses and performed the incantation to bring the Black residence to the light.
Draco watched as two properties began to separate and pull away from each other. There was a slow grinding noise, almost like gears were shifting as the gap widened. Once they had created sufficient distance, he saw another row house come from behind the first two and move into place between them. When it was in place a loud bang sounded, causing Draco to jump.
Hermione watched his expression as the whole process unfolded. When he jumped, she grabbed his hand and marched up the front steps. Upon hearing another spell, the front door opened, revealing a cavernous hallway, barely discernible as there was only one torch on the wall, attempting to shed its light.
“Let’s go,” Hermione announced. They walked inside and she pulled Draco with her towards an imposing staircase along one wall. The steps rose up until they disappeared, so no one knew how long it was.
Tiptoeing to avoid hearing Walburga scream at the muggleborn and now blood traitor defiling her residence, they made short work of stairs and opened the door on the landing. Hermione stepped through with Draco trailing behind her. The two walked into the large kitchen and Draco couldn’t help comparing it to the kitchen at the Manor. This one was much smaller, but gave off a cosy, intimate feeling.
“The stairs to the rest of the house are through here.” Hermione left the kitchens and stopped in front of another set of stairs.
“Merlin, how many floors are there?” Draco asked after they’d climbed three flights.
“Seven. A couple aren’t accessible, as they were keyed to only accept immediate family. We need to go up two more,” she panted. She plopped down on a stair tread, collecting her breath. She patted the ground next to her. “Sit.”
Draco sat, finally taking in the fact that they were in a home that belonged to long dead members of his family. They were a terrifying branch of the family, rampant with pureblood prejudice and not afraid to show it. He’d never been to this house, and he was hopeful he might never be again; he could feel the remnants of dark magic seeping in and around it.
They resumed their trek up to the attic. Once there on the fifth and final floor, Hermione pulled down a staircase hidden in the ceiling and began to climb.
“More stairs?” Draco groaned. He began to climb up behind her.
“This is it, I promise,” Hermione chuckled.
Once he reached the top of the steps, he peeked into the room. It was typical of most attics, dusty, musty and dark. He hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the hole and then swung around and pulled himself up to his feet, immediately bumping his head on the ceiling.
“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed as he rubbed the back of his head and looked to see what he’d hit.
Hermione laughed, then put her hand on her mouth, trying to stifle it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to warn you the ceiling was low. The problem with being short and having short friends. Are you alright?” She walked over to him and checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. “I think you’ll live.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about any curses here,” Draco said, petulantly, “the house itself is more likely to kill you than any dark magic.”
They both looked around at the room.
It looked almost like the Room of Hidden Things at Hogwarts. There were broken pieces of furniture strewn about like a giant had stepped into the room and turned everything to kindling. In and amongst the bits of chairs, tables and bed frames, there were boxes, bags and trunks presumably full of old and forgotten family possessions.
Hermione looked around and sighed. “This is going to be a nightmare. I don’t even know where to begin.” She looked at Draco, taking in the sight. “Do you have any suggestions?
Draco hesitated. “Well, I think I’d find a box that isn’t likely to curse you and go through it carefully. Very carefully.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and walked over to a corner of the room where there were stacks of boxes. She began to levitate them, checking each one for some kind of marking that might give her a clue as to what the contents were. Draco looked around the room, trying to see if there was anything worth taking back to Hogwarts with him.
Two hours and several dark curses lifted later, Hermione let out a small cry.
“I think I’ve found something, Draco! Come here!”
Draco looked over to where the sound was coming from but he could not see Hermione.
“Where are you?”
Hermione’s head popped up from a sea of boxes that she had been going through.
“Over here! Come look!” She waved her hand, beckoning him over to her.
Draco picked his way over, dodging books, pieces of furniture, and cobwebs. He sneezed and waved away the webs and finally got close enough that he could see what she was calling him over for.
“I think this is what I want!” Hermione said excitedly. She pointed to an open box in front of her. It appeared to be full of small figures, buildings, trees and some sort of fluff.
“What is it?” Draco squatted next to her, peering into the box. Hermione pulled out one of the buildings. It was a small cottage made of some type of cardboard, painted and glittered.
“It looks like this is a Christmas village. See,” she grabbed a little figure and held it up for him to see, ”this looks like a small boy, and here,” she picked up another figure, “this looks like his mother.”
Draco took the little figures in the palm of his hand. “Feels like they’re made of metal of some sort. Iron, maybe?”
“Probably why they’re still intact. Although, the house, you’d think the house would have disintegrated after all this time. Do you think it might have been protected with a charm?”
“Dunno, maybe.” Draco handed the figures back to Hermione, who put them back in the box.
“When I was growing up, we had a hutch in our dining room and every year, we would pack away all the dishes and knick knacks that were displayed on it, and turn it into a little toy town. We had cotton batting for snow and we made a hill on one side of the first shelf and had a Father Christmas skiing down it.”
Draco laughed at that. “Father Christmas skiing? Granger, that’s barmy.”
“It’s just make-believe. Anyway, my mum had a mirror that she laid on the shelf and put the cotton around it. Then she had these tiny little figures that had skates on and set them on the mirror. There were two bridges that I would set down on the ‘ice’ and I used to play with them all the time.
“The second row had houses and elves and angels and the top of the shelf had a Father Christmas in his sleigh with the reindeer climbing up to the sky, or the ceiling, that is,” she stifled a chuckle. “My father put strings of fairy lights (not real fairies, mind you) on boards that fit under the shelf and lit up each level. It was magical to me.”
“Sounds like it,” Draco said. “Do you want to take this back to the castle with us? You could set it up on the sideboard in the common room.”
Hermione was silent for a moment. She looked at the house in her hand and the figures before carefully placing them back in the box. Then she nodded.
“I think so.” She closed up the box and started to stand. Draco jumped up and offered her his hand. “Thank you. Did you find anything in all of this junk?”
“No, not really. Probably could get rid of most of this stuff. Who knows what else has dark magic embedded in it?” He picked up the box and shrank it down, then handed it back to Hermione.
“Let’s go then.”
They quickly left the attic and made their way back downstairs to the kitchen. Hermione left a note for Harry saying she found what she was looking for and thanked him for giving her access. In a footnote she added that Draco had been a big help and probably saw his ancestors in a bit of a different light after this visit.
***
As soon as Draco and Hermione were back in their common room, Hermione quickly enlarged the box and set it in front of the sideboard Draco had mentioned. Currently, it was just a flat surface for books and papers and research on whatever project the two Heads were working on at the time. Draco’s stack of papers sat to the right, in a very neat and orderly fashion. The rest of the papers were Hermione’s and they were lying every which way—stuffed in books, or piled on the surface of the sideboard.
Their methods for studying were as different as they were themselves, one of the many truces they’d had to declare. “Agree to disagree” was quickly becoming a mantra for the two of them. Draco said as long as Hermione kept her messes on one side of the room, he didn’t care. She continually encroached, and eventually he gave up making her move her work.
Hermione vanished the papers to her room, and began to unpack all of the contents of the box and unwrap them. There were several bundles that became cottages, a church, a couple of trees, even. She pulled out figures and set them down carefully. There were four of them, but only one was recognizable as a person. The other three had been worn down, paint chipping, faces unclear.
She spent the rest of the afternoon arranging the village. She conjured “snow” from a scarf that had been lying around and made snow drifts and mounds, put snow on the cottage roofs, and stepped back when she was done and surveyed her handiwork.
At first glance, the little village looked like a quaint, Victorian hamlet, in the depth of winter. But, if one looked closely, there were little mars and defects on the buildings. One was missing a window, and another, the chimney had fallen over. The stained glass rose window in the church was broken. Some of the paint was peeling and the glitter had flaked off. Hermione didn’t care. This was the closest thing to home she was going to get this Christmas.
“All it needs are the fairy lights you told me about,” Draco said. Hermione jumped and turned around. He was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, leaning against the frame, arms folded, the light from his bedroom backlighting him, giving him a halo. She caught her breath and then quickly covered it.
“Malfoy, you scared me half to death!” she exclaimed. Calming her breath, she stepped away from her display and gestured for him to come over. “Come look at it!”
He pushed himself off the door frame and sauntered over to her. He pretended to look over the display with a critical eye, stopping when he saw a flaw or some damage, making it seem like he was finding fault with it. When he finished, he turned to Hermione. Staring at her with a neutral face, he waited until she reacted to him before he softened and gave her a smile.
“It looks wonderful. It really gives the room a yuletide glow, or rather it would, if there were lights,” he said.
Hermione’s face fell. She interpreted his comment as cynicism with a touch of sarcasm, and she could feel the tears begin to sting in her eyes. Stubbornly, she threw her head up and said haughtily, “Well, excuse me, your Majesty , if this shabby little thing doesn’t measure up to your grand decorations at the Manor. I didn’t have elves helping me!” With a quiet huff, she brushed past him and practically ran to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
“Wait! I didn’t mean—” Draco turned and watched her run away, completely stunned by what just happened. “Granger, come back out!” he called. Silence.
She must have put up a muffliato. He rolled his eyes, figuring he would apologise to her when she decided to come out. Even if he wasn’t sure what he was apologising for. All he said was that she needed some lights. Of course, he felt badly, if he really did hurt her feelings.
Bloody hell, what do I do now?
He stormed to his bedroom and shut his door loudly, plopped onto his bed and put his chin in his hands. Had he really said something terrible? Why did she think he was comparing her little display with the Manor? Of course it wouldn’t measure up; the light display at Covent Garden couldn’t compare to the Manor. But he really did like the quaint set up.
Now he felt bad. Hermione’d gone to all the effort to find some decorations to make the common room festive, and he’d gone and burst her bubble, albeit accidentally, completely. He’d have to try to make it up to her somehow.
***
Hermione gave Draco the cold shoulder for the next couple of days. By then, Draco was in a right state, trying and failing to find some way to apologise to her that she would take seriously. He was so stymied, he sought out Ginny after Divination, the only class he and Hermione did not share.
“Hey, Weaselette, I need to talk to you for a minute.” Draco caught up to Ginny and immediately all of the friends she’d been surrounded by, disappeared into the ether.
“Wow, Malfoy, way to clear a room,” Ginny smirked. “This is about Hermione, isn’t it?”
Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway, shocked that she seemed to know there was a problem with her best friend.
She turned around when she didn’t see him follow her. “Well, keep up. I can’t be late to class with Flitwick; one more time and he said he’d give me detention. What’s going on with the two of you? Every time I see her glance over at you, she has this disgusted look on her face. What did you do?”
“I—What—Why do you think I did something?” he asked her, sounding very defensive.
“I’m her friend and I know things,” she shot back. “She sort of told me what happened with her Christmas village. Like you didn’t think it compared to the Manor’s decorations, or some foolishness like that.”
“Her words, not mine,” Draco retorted. “She jumped to the wrong conclusion when I mentioned it needing lights and she’s not spoken to me since. I feel like I really hit a sore spot with this. Am I imagining it?”
They continued to walk down staircases, and through hallways and Ginny was quiet. Finally, she gave a sigh and pulled him into an abandoned classroom.
“This really isn’t my story to tell, but I’m going to anyway,” Ginny said, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she was psyching herself up for it. “What do you know about her parents?”
“What?” Draco wasn’t sure he heard her right. “They were teeth healers, right?”
“Correct. And do you know what happened to them?”
Draco thought for a moment. No, he really didn’t know what happened to them, she never mentioned them in any of their conversations. And he told Ginny that.
“She never really talks about them, except when she was describing the village she had at home that she and her mother put up. She seemed nostalgic about it.” Draco was becoming more puzzled every moment.
“She obliviated them before the war,” Ginny said softly. “She knew they would be in danger because of being related to her. She felt if they were captured, they could be used as leverage for her. She completely erased herself from their lives and gave them the idea to move to Australia.”
Draco was thunderstruck. First, because he knew she was right. Her parents would have been used to lure her in, to get her to surrender to Voldemort. Second, obliviation took some wicked spellwork and concentration to do that without ruining their minds completely.
“She did what?” he asked, stalling for time to wrap his head around what she did.
“You heard me,” Ginny snapped. “You know as well as I that her parents were in danger from the Death Eaters.”
Draco was grateful that Ginny had not lumped him in with Voldemort’s followers. Then it hit him; why she was so upset. She was trying to bring something from home, from her childhood into the room. And even if he didn’t mean it, she took what he said as a dig on her family.
“Oh, fuck .” He looked at Ginny who nodded in agreement.
“She talked about this little village that she and her mum set up every year in their dining room. She was trying to recreate that with all the stuff from Grimmauld.” Draco felt two inches tall. How was he ever going to make this up to her and make her understand that he wasn’t making fun or criticising it, he truly liked it?
“You’re going to have to make a grand gesture. Huge. Gigantic. Gargantuan gesture, Malfoy. Better get started or Christmas will be over before you’ve made up with her.”
“You’re right, I do need to do something. But if she won’t even look at me, how am I supposed to convince her that I’m sorry?”
“You’ll think of something. And if you don’t, I may just have to rip you a new one, Malfoy,” Ginny said, eyes darkening. “No one hurts Hermione Granger on my watch.” She crossed her arms for emphasis and stared at Draco like she was using legilimency on him.
“Alright, alright, I get it, you’re her attack shepherd,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “But, thank you so much.” He left the room with renewed purpose.
***
Draco wracked his brain trying to think of the “grand gesture” Ginny told him he had to do to get back in Hermione’s good graces. He narrowed it down to the following:
- A carriage ride in Hogsmeade
- A bouquet of flowers
- A box of sugar quills (her favourite)
- A letter profusely apologising for his faux pas
- A piece of jewelry from the Malfoy vaults
Scratch that last one - she’s my friend, not my fiance
He tried to continue his list, but the more he tried to think, the more he knew he had to come up with something better. But what?
He needed to walk. Whenever he needed to clear his head, he found that walking was the quickest way to do that, and in many cases he found the answer to his dilemma during that time.
It was just about an hour before dinner so he knew the halls wouldn’t be full of students. Most would be in their rooms, in the library or practising Quidditch. He meandered down a corridor and over to another one, each more unused than the one before. Right about the time he was beginning to think he’d gotten lost he turned down another hallway and the empty wall where the Room of Requirement used to be.
He stared at it, remembering the last time he’d been in that space. During the battle, trying to get his wand back from Potter. He shuddered when he pictured Vince calling for fiendyre and the firestorm that resulted. That terrifying climb up the stacked furniture, trying to escape the flames licking at his feet. Watching Vince fall backwards. He would never get that picture out of his head. And then, the reluctant saviours on brooms, coming to rescue them. If it had been him in the position to save any of them, he wondered if he would have hesitated. Probably not - he needed Potter to defeat the Dark Lord; he couldn't live another hour with that freak of a wizard taking over his home.
Suddenly, he looked up and realised that a door had appeared in the wall. He must have paced three times, Merlin, what would the room show him?
He grasped the handle and pulled open the iron and walnut door. It gave way slowly with a groan that almost sounded sentient.
Stepping over the threshold, he looked around. Expecting to see a burnt out shell, his mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide as he beheld what the room had created for him.
Slowly, a smile spread across his face and he crossed the room to see more clearly.
It was perfect. Well, not perfect, but with a few tweaks he would be able to make it so. He’d fixed the Vanishing Cabinet, hadn’t he? Surely, this would take no time.
***
Unfortunately, it did take some time. And Hermione kept ignoring him. He noticed that her excitement about Christmas had dimmed and it killed him that he was the reason for it. And that made him question his friendship with her. Was there something more? If he was so determined to make her feel better, to bring back that sparkle in her eyes when she talked about Christmas with her parents, maybe she meant more to him than he thought?
Finally he decided he was ready to show her his project. Now, he just had to get her attention and for that he would need some help. Reluctantly, he cornered Ginny once more after Divination.
“I see you haven’t made up with her yet,” Ginny remarked harshly. “What’s the problem?”
Draco huffed in frustration. “She is still not talking to me. There’s something I want to show her, but I need to have you bring her to me. She won’t come if I ask her.”
“Have you talked to her at all? Even tried?” Ginny stood with her arms crossed, ready to lambast him.
“She won’t be more than five minutes in the same room with me, unless it’s for a class. And potions, well, we’ve been partnered with others to help them out. Apparently, Slughorn doesn’t care if he has the best potioneers working on the most difficult potions so he can bask in reflected glory; no, he actually wants the whole class to succeed,” Draco finished with a disgusted look on his face.
“Where do you need her to be and when?” Ginny asked with a huff.
“The Room of Requirement tonight right after dinner.”
The Room of Requirement? Wasn’t that destroyed when you lot decided to blow the place up?”
“For the record, I did not blow it up, Crabbe used fiendfyre. Plus that was the Room of Hidden Things - I think that has been destroyed. Anyway, will you do it?” At this point Draco was not averse to begging.
“Fine,” Ginny said. Then, when she saw the look of relief cross his face, she looked at him a little more closely. “Wait, you really care for her, don’t you?”
Draco hesitated. He never really confided in anyone about his feelings, not before the war and definitely not during or after. Slowly, he nodded. May as well start somewhere. Plus it doesn’t hurt to have Ginevra Weasley in your corner.
“Hmmm, interesting. If you ever tell anyone this, I’ll have your bollocks hanging in my Quidditch locker.” She leaned closer to him, and whispered, “She has feelings for you, too.”
Draco wasn’t sure he heard correctly. She had feelings for him too? Suddenly, things made more sense; why she was avoiding him, or giving him glares when their eyes would chance to meet. He hadn’t just mocked (in her opinion) something that was important to her, he had mocked her personally, and now she was feeling like a fool.
Ginny jostled his shoulder. “Well, go on, make sure everything is perfect. I’ll get her to you somehow.”
Draco nodded, not trusting his own voice. He turned to leave but didn’t get very far when he heard Ginny yell down the corridor.
“Don’t forget, I’m only doing this so she’ll stop driving me up a wall. I need some peace,” she emphasised..
Draco raised his hand and waved, knowing fully that was not the case.
She rolled her eyes and smiled.
***
“Ginny, where in the world are you taking me?” Hermione was frustrated and annoyed that Ginny was dragging her someplace that she didn’t want to go and making her do it blindfolded at that.
“You’ll see,” Ginny admonished. She had cornered Hermione after dinner, telling her she had a surprise for her. She took a circuitous route so that she wouldn’t suspect where they were going. The last thing she needed was for Hermione to figure out that Draco was involved, and she’d be back to square one having to listen to all her bemoaning how he hated her.
Finally, they made it to the blank wall, with not a second to lose. She took off the blindfold and Hermione saw the door appear.
“What is this? Ginny,” Hermione asked, “what have you been doing? This was destroyed in the battle, remember?”
“That was only the Room of Hidden Things. Not the Room of Requirement.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? Walk three times and have it try to guess what I want? When it realises I don’t want anything, you’re going to feel really foolish.” Hermione stood with one hip pushed out and her arms crossed.
“Shut it, and trust me,” Ginny glowered. Ferret, you better get your arse out here. I really don’t want your bollocks in my locker, but a threat is a threat.
Suddenly, the door pushed out and Draco appeared. Hermione tried to see past him, but all she could make out were flickering lights coming from within. Then she realised who was standing there.
“Oh, it’s you,” was all she could muster. “Wait, are you the reason I’m here?” She was confused and she did not like that feeling. Then she turned to Ginny and fixed her with a glare. “Did you have something to do with this?”
“Only that I said I would get you here,” Ginny admitted, “the rest is up to him. But I think you should listen to him, Hermione.”
Hermione turned back to Draco with a scowl on her face. “What could you possibly want to say to me here that you couldn’t say to me back in the dorm?”
“Well, you wouldn’t let me get within six feet of you to even try to talk to you, so I had to call in a couple of favours,” he glanced at Ginny, “well, I just have to name my firstborn after her, to get her to help me. I want to show you something.”
He turned towards the door. When he didn’t hear her following, he turned around.
“Please?” He looked at Ginny, who pushed Hermione towards him and he grabbed her hand. “If you don’t like it then, we can call it a day and you don’t ever have to speak to me again.”
With a severe eye roll, she let him lead her into the room.
“Good luck, Ferret!” Ginny waved at Draco after he ushered Hermione inside. He crossed his fingers and mouthed “thank you!” to her.
Hermione started to move towards a black curtain that hung in front of the room, Draco stopped her.
“Wait. I want you to be in the right spot before you open your eyes.” He put his hand over her eyes. “Closed?”
She nodded, completely at a loss for words.
He took her upper arm, keeping his other hand over her eyes, and moved her past the curtain. He walked her a couple of steps further into the room and then, satisfied, removed his hand from here eyes,
“OK, you can look now,” he said softly, completely overtaken by nerves. Merlin, I’m more nervous about this than I was about getting the Mark.
Hermione opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was how white everything was. Snow was falling and even the ceiling looked like a winter sky. Then she started to focus in on what was actually at eye level. There were cottages, trees, a church, all scattered along a gravel path. Fairy lights twinkled in the windows of the buildings and in the lamp posts that lined the path. The ground was white, as if covered by a fresh blanket of snow. She whirled around, taking everything in and then looked at Draco.
“What—?” She looked at Draco with a blank expression. “What is this?”
“Look a little closer,” Draco said. He propelled her down the path so she could take in everything. The buildings weren’t life size, more like large dollhouse size, and all of the extraneous pieces of the scene, the fences, trees, pond were all proportioned perfectly to match.
As she started to look at each building, she noticed they were decorated for Christmas, and— “Oh my gods, you created a Christmas village? For me?”
“Not just a Christmas Village. Keep going,” he insisted.
She continued to walk past the buildings, looking at each one as she went. Then she stopped at one building in particular. It was the village church. She reached out and touched the newly repaired stained glass rose window.
“This, this is the church in my village back downstairs, isn’t it? But how did—?” Again she couldn’t find the words to finish the question. But now that she figured out why everything was so familiar, she looked at all the buildings again.
“This one has a new window,” she pointed out, “and this one, the chimney is standing!” Then she stopped and looked at Draco.
“You did this for me?” she asked in a whisper. “But I thought—”
Her question brought Draco out of his reverie. He had been enjoying watching her look at everything, and the moment she realised the village was an exact replica of hers, the look on her face had him frozen in time.
“Ah…” he started, but his voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I, uh, well, you didn’t let me explain what I meant about the village downstairs, and then, I couldn’t even get close enough to you to get you to talk to me, even though we occupy the same space most of the time. I wanted to apologise for anything that I might have said that you thought was demeaning. I wasn’t being sarcastic, although it may have sounded like it, what with our history and all, but it wasn’t meant to be.
“Then I was going to ask Weaslette if she knew what was going on, but she got to me first. She told me some things that I never knew about you.” Here Draco stopped, because he desperately wanted to know, but at the same time, didn’t. Taking a deep breath, he pushed forward.
“Granger, why did you never tell me about your parents?”
Hermione dropped her hand from the garland hanging above a door frame and spun around to face Draco.
“Did Ginny—?” Draco stopped her before she could continue.
“When I explained to her what happened, and I was describing the village and what you had told me about the one you had at home, she realised I had no idea what had happened to them. She felt that I needed to know to understand why you were so upset. And I’m glad she told me.”
“Oh, Draco, I’m sorry I never said anything,” Hermione said, tears glistening in her eyes. “It’s just that, well, I didn’t want to think about it myself, so I never talked about it. Only Harry, Ron, and Ginny know what happened. And now, you,” she finished.
“It doesn’t really make any difference. It doesn’t change what I said, maybe it would have changed how I said it. I just couldn’t figure out why you were so upset with me.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t explain myself to you that night,” Hermione said, “everything hit me all at the same time - them not being around, setting up the village, and remembering my past Christmases. It was a huge reality check and I didn’t know how to handle it. My parents aren’t going to get their memories back, so they don’t know they have a daughter, and I, essentially, have no parents.” Tears started pouring down her cheeks, as she began to process an entire year’s worth of dammed up emotions.
Draco was by her side in two strides. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her and just let her cry. His own emotions were in a swirl, listening to her explain everything. One thing he knew, though. He was never going to let her have to process anything as devastating as that by herself ever again. Draco’s feelings for her were so much deeper than he realised, surprisingly, he didn’t worry about whether she returned them or not. He was just happy to be there for her at that very moment.
When her crying finally subsided to noisy hiccoughs, he pulled away and wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs.
“I have something else to show you,” he said, pulling her to the back of the scene. As they rounded the path towards the back of the church, he pulled her to a stop. When Hermione saw what he was gesturing to, her hands flew up to her face, and she almost fell apart again.
There, dressed for Christmas Eve services, was a family. A mother, a father and a little girl with masses of brown, curly hair and brown eyes. They were all holding hands and the parents were looking down at the little girl with so much love, as she sparkled with anticipation and excitement.
“How did you—where did you get—this is from a picture in my room!” Hermione exclaimed.
Draco nodded. “After Ginny told me what happened, I wanted to see if there were any pictures of you with your parents, or by themselves. I was thinking I wanted to see what they looked like, if they looked anything like you. So, when you were at the library one night, I snuck into your room and found the one you have on your bedside table. I was struck at how happy all of you looked. The picture was nothing like any picture I’ve ever taken with my parents and I was so envious. That was when I decided I would add them to this scene.”
“Did you transfigure them?” Hermione was already trying to figure out how he did it.
“Yes. From a pair of socks and a glove that was missing its mate. Pretty nice piece of transfiguring, if I do say so myself,” Draco laughed after he said it. His skills in that class were lacking in general.
He stopped laughing and took Hermione by the hands. “So, am I forgiven?”
Hermione smiled and breaking his grip, threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Draco was drowning in her. Her hair, her arms around his neck, her smell all combined to draw him into her force field. He rubbed his hands along her back and buried his nose in her neck.
They hugged like that for another moment, then Hermione looked back at the village wistfully.
Draco saw her look. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just so beautiful, I want to keep it forever,” Hermione replied.
“Well, you can,” Draco said, “I charmed it so the moment we leave the Room, the village in our rooms will transform into this one. All of the buildings and figures are the same, except, of course, for the family. And the repairs I made here will transfer there. So it will look shiny and new. Oh, and here’s this.” Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box with a button on top.
“This will make it snow anytime you want it to.” He pressed the button and the snow stopped falling. Then he pressed it again, and the snow began again.
Hermione couldn’t believe it. All the misgivings she'd had regarding Draco, since that night, melted away. The fears that he still thought he was better than her, that he looked down on her, everything was gone.
“Mal—Draco,” Hermione stammered, “can I kiss you?”
Draco’s eyes widened at the request and then darkened when he realised what she meant. Instead of answering, he took her face in his hands and leaned down to place a kiss gently on her mouth.
“Like this?” he asked when he looked at her afterward.
“Gods yes, do it again,” she told him.
***
The next day, Ginny pounced on both of them as they left their suite.
“Well? I take it you’re speaking to each other and the world can start turning on its axis once more?”
Hermione rolled her eyes and looked at Draco. “Yes.” Then they proceeded down the hall to breakfast.
Ginny, belatedly realising that they had told her everything and nothing, turned and went running after them,
“Wait, that’s all?”
“Well—” Draco began, but was cut off before he could go any further. Hermione kissed him soundly on the mouth. After shooting him a look of warning, she turned her gaze upon Ginny.
“That’s all.” And they started walking away from their erstwhile friend.
“It’s about damn time!” Ginny yelled after them. “And you’re welcome!”
The Head Boy and Head Girl just looked at each other and smiled.