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“Pride and Prejudice. That sounds promising,” Draco said, more to himself than to anyone else, unwrapping the gift he’d found on his bed and which turned out to be a book. To be honest, Draco found this whole “Secret Santa” business a bit stupid, yet it wasn’t so bad to receive one more gift for Christmas.
Almost all the eight years were staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, and Draco honestly couldn’t blame them. He had no intention to go back to the Manor just yet, not to find it empty and lonely. His father was still in Azkaban, after all, and his mother had moved to France to start a new life. She’d asked Draco to come with her, but for some reason he didn’t feel like leaving everything behind, not yet.
“It sounds like a book for teenage girls,” Blaise scorned him, looking at the book from over Draco’s shoulder.
“You’re just jealous you got a horrible pair of fuzzy socks,” Draco retorted, holding the book to his chest protectively.
Blaise had the decency to look offended. “Who do you think is the sender, anyway?”
Draco shrugged. “It’s a book, so it could be Granger, but honestly I have no idea. Could be anyone.”
“What’s it about, anyway?”
“Let me see.” Draco turned the book to read the back cover. “Silly Mrs Bennett is ‘husband hunting’ for her five daughters. Heaven knows it isn’t easy! Darcy would make a great match for Elizabeth – if it weren’t for his false pride and her stubborn prejudice…”
“I told you it was a book for teenage girls!”
“Shut up! Maybe you’re right, okay? But why would someone think I want to read about these Darcy and Elizabeth?”
“Probably someone who thinks you’re too proud for your own good” Blaise chuckled. “I find it quite funny.”
Draco stuck out his tongue at him. “If that’s the case, then I’m not gonna read this, ever.”
“Oh, come on! Not five minutes ago you said it sounded promising.”
“I don’t care what I said. I will not tolerate someone making fun of me. Who do they think they are?” With that, Draco opened his bedside drawer and unceremoniously thrust the book inside. “And who’s Jane Austen anyway?”
Blaise shrugged. “Never heard of her. She’s probably muggleborn.”
“From bad to worse, then!”
“Come on, don’t get so riled up for a stupid book!”
But Draco wasn’t listening. He wanted to find whoever gave him that book, and hex them in front of the whole school. “Who reads books about husband hunting? That’s ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, slamming the door behind him.
The eight year common room was packed, everyone showing the gift they’d received. Draco’s mind was reeling. So, who could it be? If the author really was muggleborn, he could exclude all the purebloods; they probably wouldn’t know such a book even existed. And Draco sincerely doubted Weasley had ever deigned to read a book in his life. It had to be Granger. She was the book expert in their year, and she had probably every intention to humiliate him.
Draco spotted her in a corner, curled up in front of the fire with – no surprise there – a book. She was so caught up in her reading she didn’t even noticed him until he was right in front of her.
“Would you mind moving?” she said. “You’re throwing shade on my book.”
Draco straightened his shoulders. “Well, I came here to tell you I didn’t like your present one bit.”
Finally, granger looked up from her book. “My present?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, I know it was you. That stupid book about husbands prejudice and what not.”
Granger stared at him in confusion. “That would be Pride and Prejudice, I believe, and no, I didn’t give it to you. I’m Padma’s Secret Santa, actually.”
Draco gaped at her. “So you know the book.”
“Of course I do. It’s a milestone in muggle literature,” she said smugly.
“M-muggle literature?”
“Mh-h. I think the title is quite fitting for you. And, may I add, for the person who gave it to you.”
Draco froze. “Who is it? I want to strangle them.”
Granger actually smiled. “I’m not gonna tell you. The whole point of doing Secret Santa is that you have to figure out who is your Santa.”
“I don’t give a damn about figuring out! This is an outrage. That book is offensive to say the least.”
Now Granger was outwardly laughing. “Offensive? How can a book be offensive?”
“Well, certainly who gave it to me thinks I’m too proud or that I have prejudices of some sort. And to give me a muggle book of all things…” Draco stopped at Granger’s pointed look. He might as well have just confirmed her theory. So he shut up and pressed his lips in a tight line.
“I really can’t tell you who your Secret Santa is. But you could read the book to find out.”
Draco scoffed. “I doubt it.”
Granger smirked, clearly amused. “We’ll see,” she said, before burying her nose in her book again.
That night, Draco couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying his conversation with Granger over and over, trying to make sense of it. How could that book give him any clue as to who was its sender? And more importantly, was he really that prejudiced?
Of course I am, who am I kidding? No wander his Secret Santa had given him a book called Pride and Prejudice. He felt himself burn with shame, and his self-despise only grew when he unconsciously reached out to open the bedside drawer and retrieve the infamous book. Draco had to admit that story somewhat intrigued him. Something about a tormented romance appealed to him, but he would never admit it out loud.
With a sigh, he opened the book and started reading. And kept reading, and reading, until his eyes burned and the sky outside brightened and night transfigured into morning. Draco closed the book, just to open it again, frantically looking for his favourite parts to read and reread them. One sentence he read so many times it imprinted in his memory. Draco read for the umpteenth time: I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.
Those words had awakened something buried deep inside Draco’s heart. Feelings he’d tried to hide. Memories he’d tried to forget. Something about a strange boy in a robe shop in Diagon Alley. Draco’s head hurt due to lack of sleep, but he was restless. What if Potter had gave him that book? No, it was impossible, although… Granger was the one who suggested it, so it made perfect sense. Potter would have gone to her for advice.
Draco must be surely reading too much into this whole thing. Potter wasn’t even remotely interested in him. And yet… why give him a book about hate turning into love? Darcy and Elizabeth hated each other at first, just like him and Potter. And then their feelings started to change, morphing into something deeper, something scarier…
Draco shook his head. Of course Potter didn’t return his feelings. It was utterly ridiculous. Well, he thought, maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong; whichever the case, I’ve read an excellent book. With that thought, he finally fell asleep.
The next morning he devised a plan which hopefully could prove his theory to be right. He took the book everywhere he went, and started reading it at breakfast, at lunch, in the middle of the Common Room… right where Potter could see him clearly. But, to Draco’s frustration, Potter didn’t pay him any attention. The days went by, Christmas came and went, and still Potter didn’t talk to him. Draco knew the whole book by heart by now.
It was on a cold evening, just before New Year’s Eve, that Draco decided he’d had enough. He wanted to confront Potter. He needed it for the sake of his sanity. So he waited until Weasley and Granger went to bed, then got up and sneaked up on Potter, like a snake does with its prey.
“Thank you for the book,” Draco breathed out, not sure if he was the smartest person on earth, or the most foolish.
Potter turned around, his green eyes fixing on Draco. “Have you actually read it or were you just pretending?”
“Of course I've read it, you twat! What else would I do with a book?”
Surprisingly, Potter blushed. “Well, I didn’t think you’d ever read a muggle book.”
“I admit I wanted to punch you in the face at first, but it’s actually pretty decent.”
Potter chuckled. “Pretty decent? It’s considered to be a masterpiece.”
Draco rolled his eyes, though he secretly agreed. “Whatever. The question is why you gifted this to me.”
Potter bit his lip. “I thought it was pretty clear. By the way, how did you know it was me?”
“Please, the main characters are basically us in another century.”
“Pretty much.”
Draco suddenly wasn’t feeling so brave anymore. “So that means…”
“That means,” Potter said, grinning, “we’re both idiots who could’ve been kissing all this time instead of pretending to hate each other.”
Draco wholeheartedly I agree. “Then what are you waiting for?”