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“The party was fun tonight, wasn’t it?”
With a shock of blond hair, the wizard nodded his head in agreement with his companion, focusing on the crunch of snow beneath his expensive dragonhide boots. “It was lovely,” he admitted with a twitch of his lips. “It is hard to believe that Christmas is already here, though.”
“Hmm,” a sole hum of concurrence was vocalized, which he took in good stride as he moved through the blankets of white.
The snow banks that coated the Scottish Highlands were a welcome sight, Draco Malfoy thought as he shuffled through the bare streets of Hogsmeade. Snowflakes sparkled in the night sky as the moon twinkled overhead. It was a gorgeous night, one that held a frisson of Christmas spirit in the sky as Draco inhaled lungfuls of cold, crisp winter air. He looked off at Hogwarts in the distance, the castle’s windows twinkling like fairy lights luring him homeward bound.
Home. He smirked at the surprise he still felt at knowing his once reviled alma mater was now his place of employment. It had been a shock to the Wizarding world when Draco Malfoy accepted the notorious – and previously cursed – Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts three years prior. It had been a position that he accepted not out of necessity, but rather because he desired a change, In particular, it was a switch that did not allow him to dither about in his manor day after day, bored into a stupor as his mother pruned rose bushes and his father languished in Azkaban.
Teaching at Hogwarts also came with the pleasure of working alongside Hermione Granger, who had taken over the Arithmancy position when Professor Vector had retired five years prior. Seeing as how she had been there two years before Draco’s arrival, Hermione had been selected as Draco’s mentor by Headmistress McGonagall, causing the two to form an unlikely alliance. It had been one that Draco had grown fond of – but never said as much – though he watched Hermione from the safe distance of a professional friendship.
Draco quietly trudged through the unblemished accumulated snowfall, its satisfying bite adding a melody to his reminiscent daydreams. If he had to be honest, he couldn’t really pinpoint when exactly he realized that he had fallen madly in love with Hermione Granger, but it had slowly consumed him to a point of no return. Weekly mentor meetings soon turned into late night grading sessions, then followed into casual drinks at The Three Broomsticks on a regular basis. (This of course began after Draco had begged for Rosmerta’s forgiveness for placing her under the Imperio curse, which the witch had been kind enough to oblige.) Their classrooms were even across from one another, the shared corridor allotting them periodical breaks throughout the day to chitchat as the students bustled from class to class. It was odd that during those times the students flickering by were almost oblivious to Draco, his eyes instead attempting to memorize each curve of her full lips or catch the sparkle of mirth in her eyes when he said something funny; it truly was as if he had become a man obsessed.
His past was what stopped him from pursuing something with Hermione, knowing full well that he could never ask her to be with a wizard like him. He had been her childhood bully, for Merlin’s sake, and had also been the youngest Death Eater on the record. She had been the saving grace of Wizarding Britain; a shining jewel that Minister Shacklebolt showcased for years following the war. Though she had been with Ron at the beginning of his tenure at the school, she had broken things off with the redheaded wizard shortly after Draco’s hiring.
It was during that particularly difficult time that turned into another foundational circumstance that solidified their friendship – her heartbreak had been similar (of sorts) to his own, and their shared experience had allowed her to cry on his shoulder for some time. Though it was no longer something he dwelled on, Draco had broken off his engagement with Astoria shortly following the war, which had been for the best considering their lack of romantic feelings altogether. It had been a sad break, as they had grown close as friends through the years, but she was now married to the ever-besotted Gregory Goyle. Since their failed engagement, he had dated casually here and there, but Draco would eventually break off any dwindling hope of relationships as none of them led to what he really wanted – dark curls and scatters of freckles, with eyes as soulful and serene as the full moon that hung overhead.
Yet here he stood, on that snow-sparkling Christmas Eve night, trudging through the icy splendor back to the castle, aching to hold the hand of the witch that he would never allow himself to have.
“Where are you, Draco Malfoy?”
The query caused him to turn to the very witch in question, who was walking beside him. Her tone held a thread of good humor, but Draco knew that it belied a vibrant core of curiosity, one that she couldn’t just help but express. They both had just left Rosmerta’s famous Christmas Eve party, one that Draco looked forward to every year, and he had promised to walk back with her to the castle. Eyes focusing on Hermione, Draco noted how her wool coat was snugly wrapped around her, a scarf as fluffy as a cloud encircling her neck. Deep espresso curls sprung from beneath the knit hat she had pulled on as they left the pub, adding an angelic air to her already beautiful expression that rendered him slightly breathless.
Draco finally noted that he was staring, quickly pivoting to an aloof smirk followed with a non-committal shrug. “Thinking about the good old days, I suppose.”
She huffed out a laugh and shoved her gloved hands deep in her coat pockets. “Yeah, and when exactly were those again?”
He bit his cheek to fight a smile and paused on the deserted street to delay their return just a bit longer. They were now stopped in front of a cottage that had been abandoned for decades, its facade slightly decayed but still steadfast. The house had long conjured forth a bit of lore with Hogwarts students regarding its origins, though no one was entirely certain what had caused its demise. Draco recalled how his father and mother had shared stories of the house as they were students themselves, but he had not bothered with the notions much, having too much on his plate already.
Legend had it that the cottage contained self-healing powers, a magic of sorts that made the cottage repair itself with ease. It was said that anyone who shattered a windowpane of the cottage with a Finestra spell and made a wish could have it granted – but only if the windowpane self-regenerated in a shimmering hue of green. If the pane reappeared without said grandeur, then it was a sad foreshadowing upon the wish itself. Draco had never tried it, never having much to inspire him to follow such a fool’s errand, but Hermione Granger had made him grow a bit desperate.
Perhaps he could allot himself some frivolity on an occasion such as this, Draco thought to himself. Turning, Draco grinned down at Hermione, her own smile as radiant as the pristine snowflakes floating around them. It could be a Christmas gift to himself, he reasoned as he turned his attention back onto the cottage, its unassuming edifice glimmering in the iridescent backdrop. He could wish for a change, maybe – something to allow him a shred of hope of what his future could potentially hold. He didn’t have to be specific; Draco was unsure if he had the disposition for such a task.
“Let’s make a wish, Hermione,” he murmured, fisting his hands in his pockets so he didn’t reach out to tuck back an obstinate curl from her face. When she balked at him, he feigned outrage. “Why, Hermione…” he tutted with a click of his tongue, “I never took you for such a bashful lionheart.”
Huffing, Hermione pointed to the house and sighed softly, her face growing wistful. “Draco…” she paused, biting her full bottom lip as he suppressed a moan. “What I’m about to tell is awfully sentimental and you must swear not to tease me.” Her amber eyes flitted over to him briefly before returning to the house.
Growing more interested in what she had to say by the second, Draco cocked his head and pivoted toward Hermione fully. “Miss Granger, you have my most solemn vow that I will not tease you.”
“This cottage has been long abandoned, yet it guards itself closely. There is something slightly tragic about it… almost romantic, if I am being honest,” she threw her head back with a groan, eyes screwed tightly shut as if she battled on continuing. “A part of me always wanted to live there… almost like I could gift it a family.”
Quickly forgetting his previous vow, Draco cocked his brow and pointed. “What makes you think that it’s regenerating itself for a family to stake claim? What if the house drove its last owners to the brink of madness – and you want to willingly live there? I wouldn’t live there as a ghost.” He scoffed, running a hand through his blond hair. “No, I say we test this wish theory and break a window.”
“Draco Malfoy!” Hermione laughed, shaking her head in disapproval. “That is vandalism! We are Hogwarts professors; we can’t engage in such behavior.”
Groaning, Draco withdrew his wand from his pocket. “Even the most respectable of professors can be allowed to bend a rule sometimes, Granger,” he droned.
She arched a brow at him in disapproval. “You break a school rule almost daily, Draco.”
“Erroneous,” he professed, in turn earning him a snort in disbelief. “Now watch,” he paused to take a deep breath before he swished his wand toward the cottage’s front window. “Finestra!”
I wish for a sign on what to do with my life, his inner voice firmly proclaimed despite himself, the frisson of magic stemming from his wand and slicing into the air as they watched with bated breath. Though he was happy with his profession, Draco would be remiss to say that he didn’t notice that something was missing… that is all that his wish meant.
The pane produced a fractal spiderweb, but in a blink of an eye it repaired itself. There was no luminescent shimmer of evergreen, causing a pit in Draco’s stomach to fall. He felt foolish at the idea, knowing damn well that these types of tales were nothing more than mere legends and nothing more… but he could dream, could he not?
“Oh no!” Hermione had the kindness to look genuinely sorry for the lack of production in the window’s repair, smiling over at him. “What did you wish for? I hope something that can be easily rectified,” she added, a pang of appreciation felt deep in Draco’s stomach as he shrugged at the witch.
He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Oh, just for a change of sorts. You know,” he wished not to dwell on explaining too much and leapt at the first idea to take hold in his brain. “I could go out and travel to see what the world has to offer, maybe apply to another school somewhere on the continent, like Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.”
With a jolt, Hermione quieted and looked down at her hands, now pulled from her pockets and ensconced in sleek leather gloves. She truly had the most elegant of hands, Draco thought as her lithe fingers fiddled with a bit of lint. “I see,” she murmured before looking up at him, her brow knit in thought.
Abruptly, Hermione spun towards the cottage and extracted her wand from her pocket. “Finestra!” Her voice was firm and broached no argument, and the window shattered silently and without complaint. To their mutual shock, the pane began to shimmer in stunning hues of deep emerald, repairing itself to its former glory and looking unblemished as it had moments before.
“Hey! Talk about a split second decision,” Draco laughed, pivoting to grin down at Hermione. She pocketed her wand again as Draco shook his head in awe. “What did you wish for, Hermione?”
Suddenly looking shy, Hermione sighed and shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning,” her voice was taut, almost as if she were trying to lie.
“Oh,” Draco groaned and tugged on the sleeve of her charcoal coat. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Hermione… Tell me your wish. You know that it is coming true now!” he crowed in delight, but he also wondered what had made her feeling so bashful all of a sudden. “What do you want, Hermione? Self-grading exams?” he proffered, muttering under his breath when she rolled her eyes and shook her head. “A charm to prevent any student from trying to cheat? Uh, a half-Kneazle to keep Crookshanks company?” He continued, now enjoying the game he had created in pestering her for a reply.
Hermione rolled her eyes, her dimples flashing in satisfaction. “I can’t share it with you – what if the cottage takes my wish back?”
Draco’s nose wrinkled in utter disgust. “Bosh! Tell me your wish and I’ll make it yours. Anything you’d like; my vaults are at your disposal.” He huffed, grandly motioning overhead at the round, silver moon shimmering in the midnight sky. “Do you want the moon, Hermione? Just say the word, and I’ll cast a spell on it to bring it down to earth, just for you…” His voice trailed off, his eyes carefully studying how rapt her attention was on him at that moment. It nearly could make a wizard drunk with power, he thought, having a witch as perfect as her so enamored in what he offered. It fueled him to forge ahead. “Hey, that is a pretty brilliant idea, Granger,” he smirked. “I’ll give you the moon for Christmas.”
She grinned wildly, her curls bouncing in her jovial reply. “I’ll take it.” Tilting her head in thought, she frowned and turned her face up to study him in return. “But then what?”
“Well,” Draco frowned, tapping his chin. “Though not my area of study, I was quite proficient in Potions and would brew you a potion made from the moon. It’d dissolve, you see,” he began explaining to her in the scholastic way that made his friends snore, “and the moonbeams would shoot out of the tips of your fingers and your toes…” his breath stuttered as the moon reflected upon her like a shimmering mirage, an oasis he never dared to believe existed. “It’d pour from each coil of your curls… am I droning on too much like a dull professor, Granger?”
“Oi!”
Both Draco and Hermione whirled around in the direction of the booming command, surprised to see a hiccupping Slughorn teetering on the porch of a nearby home. The former professor had retired and now lived in a small, quaint cottage adjacent to the enchanted home. Hermione groaned into her scarf, waving begrudgingly at their former colleague.
“Hello, Horace,” Draco called out to the former head of Slytherin House. “Happy Christmas.”
Slughorn appeared amused and shuffled his feet, his drink sloshing as he gesticulated wildly. “Mister Malfoy, quit boring the witch to death and kiss her!”
Immediately, Draco felt the blood leeching from his face and he began to sputter. “Excuse me, sir… I – ”
“Kiss her!” The former professor’s face had blustered into an incessant heckle, his now empty glass waving over his head like a beacon for Draco’s nerve, calling it to act rather than hide behind cowardice and excuses.
Looking over at Hermione, Draco smiled in an attempt – likely all in vain – to ease the witch’s conscience. “I am sorry for Horace, Hermione,” he looked back at the professor, whose indignant calls now quelled to a disapproving scoff. “Have some Pepper Up Potion before bed, Sluggy!”
Grunting in disgust, Slughorn waved a hand at them both. “Youth is wasted on the young, I tell you!” He tottered around to the door of his cottage, shutting it with a firm click and leaving them alone once again.
Before he could turn back into the direction of the castle, Hermione broke away from him and bounded toward the castle. She was hugging herself from the nip in the air, the snow plummeting from the sky like it was raining down Christmas parcels from the gods themselves. Draco began to follow the witch, but found it difficult to catch up to her despite their height difference.
“Hermione!” Draco’s harsh whisper carried off as the path began to unwind and detach from the sleepy town, the snow-filled air choking out any sound except for his crunching footfall. “Hermione Granger, quit running off before you slip and fall! Hurting yourself so I have to carry you to the castle seems like an awful waste of time,” he taunted, feeling like a schoolboy lashing out at a girl he fancied.
His goading was met with silence, and Draco forlornly looked down at the path. He noting that the fresh snowfall granted him a blank canvas – aside from a solitary set of footprints, the slender profile of Hermione’s retreating steps allowed Draco to find her – if he could only bloody catch up with the blasted witch.
If only he knew why she was fleeing from him, he wondered as he jogged ahead on the path as the moonlight illuminating the hollowed spaces underfoot signaling to him where the witch had just been. They had been having fun until Horace’s drunk arse ruined it altogether, with his heckling –
Halting suddenly, Draco nearly toppled over headfirst into the snow as the all-too familiar warm buzz began tingling at his temples. Instead of crashing into the snowbank lining the winding path back to the school, his mind transported him into Hermione’s thoughts. Though his Legilimency reared its head without his prompting, he knew that sometimes it would ignite – but only in the most flammable situations.
He landed in the middle of the memory that had unfurled almost moments before, watching as Hermione clenched her wand and pointed it to the cottage. The shimmering presence of her wish hung overhead, hazy enough to be unidentifiable to even his keen eye. Leaning forward, he squinted as her proclamation swirled around her like a puff of dragon’s breath. Interesting, he thought, if I tilt my head enough, it almost looks like a —
Plummeting back into the realm of the present, Draco shook his head and refocused. He startled as Hermione stood feet away, a severe scowl etched upon her charming countenance. “Draco Lucius Malfoy, why are you trying to use Legilimency on me? Violating my privacy and exposing me like that…” Her tone was fine and taut like the string of a harp, and he prayed that its breaking point would not force him to flee this mortal coil by the cruel shears of Atropos.
“It was a mistake!” He proclaimed with the outstretch of his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean for it to happen!”
She scoffed then, her fury tempting Draco into soothing her with a soft kiss despite her fiery indignation. “So you’re telling me that as a trained Legilimens, you sporadically leap into someone’s mind unprompted. Now, Draco…”
“ – I just really wanted to know why you were running from me! Besides,” he spat, feeling impatient despite the guilt that clung to him still for his intrusion. “I did not see anything, so your secret is still safe. Though I would rather like to know why you fled after Horace’s belligerent taunting.”
Hermione whirled from him, starting to stomp back in the direction of the castle. “This is absolutely ridiculous… I simply wish to get back and go to bed,” she grumbled.
“ – You want to know what I really want?” Draco felt the words tumble out of his lips, plied with drink and the stifling silence of the winter sky beckoning him forward. “Hermione, I want you. That is what I want,” he took a shuddering breath, watching as her body stilled entirely from her escape.
He witnessed her slowly swivel around again, her mouth agape in shock. “You want… me?”
A bark of laughter scraped from his lungs, the harsh sound tearing through the swirling snow. “Hermione,” he rasped out. “I have been in love with you for three years. I don’t know when it happened, but all I know is that I will live a life damned to love you from afar. Yet here I am, proclaiming my affections all too readily.”
Brows knitting, Hermione seemed to grasp his statement, but she came back in futility in seeking context. “Why?”
Squinting at her, Draco plunged his finger into his chest. “Me? Have someone like you… do you know how barmy I would be in thinking you would even want something to do with the likes of me? I was a filthy Death Eater, Hermione, and your childhood tormenter. Even a spoiled prat like me understands how ridiculous that idea would be.”
Her eyes rounded, and Draco was horrified to witness the shine of unshed tears swimming within their warm gaze. “Draco Malfoy,” she whimpered. “Have you ever considered asking how I feel?”
It was Draco’s turn to gape at her in horror, not wanting to believe what he thought he heard. “Excuse me?”
She took a tentative step forward, then another until she was within arm’s reach. “Ask me again, Draco. Ask me what I wished for earlier.”
Feeling her magnetic pull, Draco’s feet betrayed and brought them closer still. His dragonhide boots kissed the toes of hers, and their clouds of breath intermingled in the soft, snow-laden air that hovered around them. The magic around them hummed, and for a minute Draco felt that they had been captured inside a snow globe that he prayed never was upturned, fearing this moment would dissipate into the night sky. “What did you wish for, Hermione?”
Gulping, Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand. Though their gloves kept their skin from touching, it felt so familiar and intimate that Draco almost fell to his knees in relief. “I wished for you.”
“What?” Draco croaked, worried he had misunderstood what she had just said.
“I said,” Hermione paused and took her free hand to place it on his chest, “that I wished for you, Draco Malfoy.” Smiling shyly, she looked up at him through her thick lashes. “I fancy you quite a bit, actually.”
The sky sparkled with blankets of fluttering snowfall, but Draco was too enraptured by the warmth that shone from her eyes to look away. Tipping her chin upward, Draco smiled. “Would you be content with someone like me, Hermione? Someone that’s been so wicked and cruel? The Golden Girl needs someone strong and brave, not a weak wizard like myself.”
She shot him a skeptical glance and shook her head. “You recently went toe-to-toe with Minerva regarding our school’s wards and lived to tell the tale. That defies every sense of cowardice in my book, Draco Malfoy.” Biting her lip yet again, she stood on her tip toes to close the distance between them. “But would you like to know how I would know for certain?”
Now feeling like he was the one being toyed with, Draco felt the telling blush crawl upon his cheeks. “What’s that, Granger?” His voice was rough, restraint clawing at his fraying composure in hopes for a glimpse of salvation.
“Kiss me.” Her voice pleaded to him softly, the bow of her lips dissolving him once and for all as her breath kissed the cool plane of his cheek. “Grant me my Christmas wish, if you please.”
Closing the distance, Draco’s mouth claimed hers with the gentle urgency he felt in that moment. The snow evaporated his worries and fears as soon as he tasted the sweetened honey of her mouth, each flake nipping at his skin the grounding tether he needed to keep himself from floating away entirely. She sighed and he breached her mouth greedily, claiming her with his tongue as he savored every bit of her.
Breaking their kiss, Draco lowered his forehead to meet with hers, their mutual pants to recuperate from the loss of oxygen the only sound he could hear. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”
She laughed, the sound raspy as she continued to reclaim the air stolen from her lungs. “Happy Christmas, Draco,” she batted her eyes and lifted her mouth to his ear. “Now if you’re good, you can unwrap a Christmas present this evening.”
In a swift movement, Draco swept down and gathered Hermione in his arms as she squealed in effervescent glee. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he looked down at her to grin wolfishly. “I’ll try my best for you, Hermione.”