Archive of Our Own

15 December, 2004

I don’t know what possessed me to do it. I had heard from Neville and Ginny and Luna that he had changed. I remember Harry had even mentioned working with him on a case recently. I hadn’t interacted with him since the Battle, and that was six years ago.

But when an invitation to a Christmas Eve dinner party arrived from Draco Malfoy, I said yes.

I didn’t think before I replied, I just summoned a quill, scribbled a mark next to “Accepts With Pleasure”, briefly marvelled at the rather graceful script, then rolled it up and handed it to the owl. By the time my brain caught up to me, it was too late.

I sat down at my counter and stared out the window, watching as speckled wings flapped elegantly into the distance. I thought about owling Ginny, but she was struggling with postnatal depression, and I didn’t want to impose. If I owled Harry, he would leave work to come see me, which is a jolly decent thing to do, but any minute he wasn’t working, he really ought to be with Ginny and baby Lily: checking on his friend seemed selfish. I ran my hands through my curls, tangling my fingers and swearing as I extricated them. I had already made one rash decision today; was a second one going to really matter? Before I could think better of it, I summoned a piece of parchment, scribbled an entire note, and carefully tied it to my own owl.

I stood up and stared hard into the hall mirror. I had already wrecked my hair and wasn’t in a state to make it look any more reasonable, so I swiftly plaited it, snatched my wand from the buffet, a handful of floo powder from the mantle, and called out “Hopping Pot!” with the same urgency I had sent out the two owls.

For a mid-afternoon, the Hopping Pot was far from hopping. Which was partly why I chose it. I also didn’t want to risk seeing anyone I knew at the Leaky, so this had seemed the safer option. To my surprise, Ron was already walking toward me and held two steaming mugs of Fizzing Tea in his hands.

“How…?” I started to ask, but he shook his head.

“Don’t ask,” he said with a grin. “Sometimes I’m just this good.”

I raised my eyebrows, but accepted the mug gratefully, inhaling deeply.

Ron guided me toward a table and even pulled out a chair for me, before sprawling across from me. “So. What advice can I offer to you today? A reading, perhaps?” He produced a deck of tarot cards from Merlin knows where, and spread it on the table between us.

“What in Merlin’s long bloody white beard is this?” I asked again, quickly this time, so he couldn’t interrupt.

Ron laughed. “Remember Lilith Moon from Hufflepuff? She was in Herbology class with us.”

I forced my brain to think back to our school years. It took a few moments, as it was rather cross with me for rudely ignoring it until now, but, it could get over that. “I think I do…”

“She’s opened up a shop across the way. ‘Crossing the Moon’. Just this past week, actually. She’s bloody good at divination.” He held up his hands. “I know you think it’s bollocks and all, but, you dropped the class, so, you don’t have room to talk. Besides, she’s an amazing cook.” Ron rubbed his belly in satisfaction. “Four months now. Which you would know, if you ever came to Friday pub nights, Hermione.” 

He gave me a side eye, and I couldn’t begrudge him. I had rather played the recluse.

“Anyway, you used our code word for emergency, I figured it must be bad. Is Harry coming, too?”

I swallowed, looked down at my tea, and took a large gulp. Which was a mistake, and I coughed on the fizz. In an uncharacteristic move for me, which also earned me both eyebrows raised from Ron, I wiped at my mouth with my sleeve and coughed to clear my throat. “I accepted an invitation for a Christmas Eve party.” The next words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “From Draco Malfoy.”

Ron whistled. “Blimey, you’re serious? Bloody hell, Hermione. Well done, you!”

“Well done?” I could feel the blankness of my expression as I stared back at him.

“Sure!” He shrugged nonchalantly. “You need to get out more. Besides, he’s got more money than god, so, you know it’ll be good. Probably gives out top Christmas gifts, too, even. All the old Wizarding Families do at their parties. Which, you would know, if you ever accepted Mum’s invitations, Hermione.”

I grimaced. I really hadn’t counted on my emergency meeting turning into a listing of all the things I hadn’t been doing over the past six years. I resorted to snapping a retort, to bury my guilt. “I don’t remember anything at all like that from when we were at Hogwarts.”

Ron shrugged again. “Mum had five of us at home, she didn’t have time. Then there was a war on, but since then, she’s started doing them again. She has a thing for playing hostess. She gets all the gossip and can shower all the attention. But we’re supposed to be talking about you. I don’t suppose you called an emergency just to ask me what to wear. I hope you know my taste in clothes hasn’t changed over the past six years.”

I glowered. “If I wanted fashion advice, Ronald, I can think of a dozen people I would ask before you. Including Harry.”

Ron winced playfully. “Ouch. But as long as you’ll go to me for hair advice before him, then we’re square.”

I sighed. “I just…I don’t know what possessed me to do it, Ron. I didn’t even think! This huge owl came, dropped off this ridiculously fancy invitation, with gorgeous penmanship, I might add, and the next thing I knew, I had sent back the RSVP!”

Ron grinned. “Excellent. Glad you’re finally learning to live a little. That’s the Hermione we all know and love.” His grin turned lopsided and he cocked his head. “Can I say that? I’m not meaning love love, you know, I know we went through all that, but it’s been five years, so I thought maybe it had been enough time, and I only meant it like friends, anyway, and—”

I waved my hand. “Yes, it’s fine, I know what you mean, don’t sprain something, Ron.” I managed a smile. “But…” I trailed off before throwing my hands up helplessly. “Why?!”

It was Ron’s turn to blink. “Why? Why what?”

I shrugged and found myself hand waving again. “Why everything! Why did he invite me? Why did I say yes? Why would I go? Just…why?!”

“Bollocks if I know why you said yes. Probably because it’s been six bloody years since you’ve gone out—fine, five and a half since you want to be technical—and you’re tired of being cooped in a flat with nothing but correspondence courses to keep you company. I mean, have you even been to see the baby, yet?”

I winced, and it wasn’t playful. “I have! Once. I even made plans to go again, but, Ginny wasn’t up for it, and called a rain date, and then, I just was busy with classes, and…I am rather a beastly friend, aren’t I?” I was certain I looked as glum as I felt. “I probably ought to do more. I just…don’t know what to do with a baby.” Now I felt helpless, as well as glum. I resorted to drinking my tea.

“You don’t really do anything with a baby. I don’t think. They just…sorta exist, and you…hold them? And pay lots of compliments on their looks. And maybe you threaten to eat baby toes, though that may just be Mum. She did it with Victoire, too, when she was born. Anyway, that’s what I do. Hold the baby, Ginny takes a nap, Harry does paperwork, and then we talk about the latest Quidditch match. You wouldn’t have to do that last bit, though,” Ron added helpfully.

“I know Ginny hasn’t been feeling great,” I said weakly. “I didn’t exactly want to bother her, or make her feel like she had to play hostess or something.”

“Oh, that’s the best thing about the baby!” Ron perked up. “Gin doesn’t even care about hosting anymore, she’s pretty much decided anyone who comes to visit right now counts as family, and can help themselves, and let her nap. Last time I was over, though, she and Harry said Lily had actually been sleeping more at night, and I think that’s helping a lot. But, enough about babies, we’re talking about Malfoy.”

I winced again. “Oh. Right. That. The whole reason I owled you in the first place. Which, in the interest of honesty, I don’t know what I was thinking when I did.”

Ron shrugged, clearly unbothered by my admission. “To talk about it with someone, I expect. Since your emotional range is more than a tea spoon.” He grinned wickedly, but continued before I could retort. “Right, you were asking a bunch of why’s. Well, as to why he invited you…you are single and you look nice for a girl, and you’re far more interesting than Romilda Vane or Millicent Bulstrode, so, you have that in your favour, too. Also maybe-someone-let-slip-you-never-left-your-flat-and-so-maybe-there-were-bets-made-as-to-what-would-get-you-out…” He suddenly found his tea to be very interesting.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” I couldn’t help myself as his confession came hurtling out. “Did you…?” I resisted the urge to pull my wand out, and think I deserve quite the commendation for my self-restraint.

“No!” He cried, holding up his hands. “It wasn’t me! It just came up last week at pub night, I don’t remember, maybe it was Luna, and, well, it wasn’t like he said he was going to invite you then or something!”

I froze. “Draco Malfoy was at your pub night last week?”

Ron shrugged. “Draco Malfoy’s been at our pub nights off and on for a year, now.”

“A year?!” I hadn’t realized I’d left my chair until my hands slammed down on the table and I caught a glare from the barkeep, who otherwise was busying himself and clearly trying to ignore us.

“Well, yeah…after the whole original assignment he had with Harry?”

“He had more than one assign—no, wait, why does everyone else know about this?”

“Well,” Ron said slowly, “You would know if—”

“If I came to pub night, I am starting to get the picture.” I sighed and reluctantly sat down.

“Ok, here, the short version is, Malfoy and Harry got assigned together for a case doing top secret Auror stuff, and the first pub night he came to wasn’t because we wanted him there, it was because he and Harry had to stay together, in case something happened, I wasn’t entirely clear on that part, but, then it turned out he wasn’t a jerk, and Neville just casually asked if we would see him the next week, without us realizing we were really inviting him, and then, it just all…sorta happened from there.”

“Are the rest of you going to this Christmas party?” I asked, and was starting to wonder if I hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of my life.

“Merlin, no. We already have plans. Which, I would remind you, Harry did invite you to come, but he said, and I quote directly, ‘She said she wasn’t feeling up to celebrating Christmas with people this year, but that she was willing to consider New Year’s, provided we did something in, as opposed to out.’ And then we all agreed we’d do something in, and Luna’s hosting it at her house, and Harry said he would make sure you showed up, even if it was only for an hour. So, you owe us one full hour, by the way, just in case Harry forgot to tell you.”

“Bloody hell.” It was my turn to swear and I buried my head in my hands. I’d forgotten that entire conversation with Harry, and was rather belatedly realizing I had said all of that to him, and so now I had somehow found myself with not one, but two social engagements within a week of each other. I also belatedly realized that my counselor would not be interested in hearing me bemoan my situation and instead would praise me for doing what she’d been encouraging me to do for two years now. Maybe something would go horribly wrong at one of these gatherings, and I could prove to her I was right about my concerns, and I could just hole up in my little flat forever, and not have to face any of my trauma. It was only a somewhat comforting thought.

“Look,” Ron said, and I could tell he was trying to be helpful, “You were going to have to come out of your flat eventually, a person can’t just hide away for years forever. And at least it’s the holidays, so you get presents out of it, so, there’s that, and there’s good food and drinks.”

I was ready to respond to all of his points, but then he continued.

“Listen, I know we didn’t work out, right, and that’s fine and all that rot, we moved past it. But I do care about you, and so does Harry, and we’ve both been worried. And Harry’s told me lots about Muggle trauma, and even if I don’t understand what all of it means, I know it’s hard. And that’s okay. And I know that the longer you wait, the harder it will be. But, your friends are all still there, and we all want you to be around, and if you want to talk about things, we will, and if you don’t, we won’t. And Mum is never going to stop thinking you’re family, no matter what you do, so, don’t even get started on that. You’re not a rotten friend. Those of us who know what you had to do for your parents don’t blame you. And anyone who doesn’t know can sod right off. You should go and have fun and then on New Year’s you can tell the rest of us about how poncy the whole affair was and we’ll all have some laughs.”

I smiled in spite of myself at Ron’s speech. I don’t know if I ever remember him saying so much at one time, but, if I hadn’t already forgiven him for walking off in the Forest of Dean, I would have after that. “Thanks, Ron,” I said quietly. “It means a lot, really it does.”

Ron let out a breath and grinned. “Good, cuz I wasn’t sure where to go after that. Now, you should pick a card, so I can tell Lili I did a reading, because I’m trying to impress her.”

I laughed. “I thought you said you’ve been together for four months.”

“Yeah, and? I actually really like her, and I think it might work out this time. So I’m actually putting effort into this one.”

I rolled my eyes and smirked, before reluctantly grabbing a card and flipping it over. “Well? What’s this saying about my future?”

Ron stared hard at it. “Uh…. Let’s see, it’s got cups, which means, wine, but, it’s upside down, so, all your wine is spilling out…there are five cups, which means, you should come spend Christmas breakfast with me, Harry, Gin, and the baby, because that makes the five of us, and you’ve already spilt your wine, so you might as well.” He looked back up at me and grinned.

“I suppose if I’ve already spilt my wine, I’ll have to find some elsewhere, but, let’s wait and see if I survive dinner, first.” I made a face, but didn’t really mean it.

“Oh, dinner will be fine, I’ll show you.” Ron grabbed another card and flipped it over. “Hey, look, hands are sticking out of graves. Guess you’ll have a bunch of skeletons at dinner, and they’ll judge you if you aren’t wearing something nice.” He gave a pointed look to my robes, which admittedly were rather crumpled.

“Hey, since when did you care about looks?” This time I meant the face.

“Since I’ve been trying to impress a girl, Merlin, Hermione, keep up!”

We both laughed and he gathered up the cards and we stood up. For a moment we stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do, before finally deciding we’d try a hug. We mostly succeeded at banging elbows together, but, it was my first real contact with someone in a long time, and I had to admit that I might actually have missed it more than I was telling myself.

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Sure, Hermione. I’m telling Harry and Ginny to set another place for breakfast, so, you’d better show. Oh! And tell Malfoy he owes me ten galleons because the Cannons actually scored some points their last match.”

I groaned.

“I’m serious! Ten galleons! And if he doesn’t get it to me by New Year’s Eve, he’s owing interest. Don’t forget that part. And tell him I said ‘hard cheese,’ if he starts giving excuses. No, wait, tell him I said that anyway.”

I rolled my eyes. “I am not about to do your dirty work for you, Ronald. I can’t just say that to someone at their dinner party.” I gave him a pointed look. “Especially if there are skeletons.”

“Hey, blame the fates, not me. I only read the future!”

24 December, 2004

I stared hard at my reflection in the mirror. Between sticking charms and creme gel, I had managed to get my hair under control. The plum of my dress was specifically chosen to not draw attention to any Hogwarts house. I just had to decide whether I was using the tube of lipstick in my hand or not.

“Brilliant, Hermione, now you’re overthinking lipstick,” I muttered to myself. “Maybe you should just send your regrets. That would reflect so well on you. It’s right before you have to leave, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind in the slightest. And, now you’re talking to yourself out loud. Bloody hell. You could stand up to Voldemort, but you can’t go to a Christmas Eve party?” 

At the same manor you were tortured in, whispered the little voice in the back of my head.“Bellatrix is dead,” I said aloud, as if hearing the words might make a difference. To be fair, it did, actually. I glowered as my reflection visibly displayed my shoulders drop. Another thing for my counsellor to be pleased about.

“Oh bollocks. You’ve spent the last four years refusing to say mantras to yourself in the mirror, you can’t let on that you’ve done something similar now. Yet, here you go again. Buck up, Hermione, it’s just dinner. You’re going to be late.”

I pursed my lips before swiftly deciding to hell with it, I might as well go all out. A few swipes of brilliant red later, I forcefully closed the tube, dropped it in my purse, and summoned my cloak. I wasn’t interested in stumbling through the Malfoy fireplace, so I had decided to use the nearest public apparition point instead.

* * *

I stared hard at the massive gates rising up in the dark, fairy lights twinkling. It was a sight I had never expected to see. Neither were the Christmas garlands along the path. I supposed I hadn’t ever considered that the Malfoys of all people would celebrate Christmas, let alone decorate. I had expected to see other people arriving with me, but then again, I didn’t know how many people had been invited. For a brief moment I fought a panic attack at the idea that it wasn’t a dinner party, it was just Draco and his family, and barely resisted the urge to run back past the wards to where I could safely apparate home.

“You got all dressed up and came all this way, you are not going to turn around and go home now, Hermione Granger,” I whispered fiercely, and tightened my grip on the bouquet of flowers. “Besides, Ronald promised skeletons.”

Gingerly, I slowly started stepping toward the gate. As I did so, the iron hinges creaked and the gates swung open with a moan. For the briefest moment I considered waiting for another guest to arrive before continuing, until I realised that meant I would have to wait in the dark alone, and thought better of it.

I could hear the wind pick up as I approached the house, and convinced myself that it wasn’t an omen. I didn’t believe in those, anyway. I could see lights through what I assumed were heavy draperies in the windows, which clearly meant that I was letting my imagination run away with me. It comes of being a shut-in, I thought to myself. No, the other part of me argued, you’re not a shut-in, you’re just mysterious like that American poet, Emily Dickinson. The wind moaned and I was almost convinced I heard a voice. Stop it, you’re just on edge because of the last time you were here.

“Which I most certainly did not come and knock on the front door,” I said softly to myself.

As I was reaching my hand up to do just that, the door swung open before me. I was not at all prepared for the sight that met me.

The sound of a quartet playing carols came floating through the hall. Swathes of evergreen boughs draped elegantly around the pillars, the banister for the stairs, over each of the doors. Velvet ribbons of deep green were twined with ribbons of sparkly silver, with holly berries at the center of each bow. Little candles floated above me; their twinkling illuminating the hall. The air was filled with the scent of spices and fir, and pomander balls hung from garlands. A huge tree stood to the side, bedecked with baubles, candles, and silver ribbons. At the very top floated a star, gently pulsing with a warm glow.

And there in front of me stood none other than Narcissa Malfoy.

She was wearing a green brocade gown, with silver holly leaves embroidered on the shoulders of the split capelet. Her hair was wound up in a loose chignon, and her hands were crossed in front of her.

And she was smiling.

I stopped awkwardly just inside the door, uncertain what to do or say. Fortunately for me, Narcissa did.

She stepped forward, and I wasn’t entirely unconvinced that she wasn’t floating. She gestured slightly and a house elf appeared, wearing an elegant velvet dress.

“Welcome, Miss Granger. Penny will take your wrap.”

The house elf, Penny, gave me a toothy grin and reached up to take my cloak.

“Penny is honoured to take your cloak, Miss Granger. We are so glad you were able to join us tonight. If you need anything at all, just say Penny!” Penny said eagerly.

I forced my face into a smile, trying desperately not to blink in surprise. “Oh, thank you, Penny, that’s very kind of you.”

Flashing another smile, she disappeared with a snap.

Narcissa took another step toward me, extending her hand. “When Draco told us you would be joining us this evening, we were so delighted. Happy Christmas, Miss Granger!”

I swallowed hard and managed a smile. I was quite certain I had gone mad. “Oh, well, um, I, thank you for the invitation. It was quite unexpected. Happy Christmas, Mrs Malfoy!” 

I gingerly put my hand in hers, and she turned around toward the stairs, her gown swirling about her. 

“We are on the first floor this evening,” she said as she led me to the stairs. “I must apologize for not sending an invitation last year, the error is entirely mine. I was worried you would think it presumptuous, and did not want to cause offence, given the unfortunate circumstances of your last…visit…here. For which I must apologize, as well.”

I caught a glimpse of the door to the drawing room just as we ascended, and realized it was the only door around which there were no decorations. I suppressed a shudder.

The first floor hall was decorated no less festive than the entrance. I noticed all of the paintings on the walls were landscapes; I hadn’t seen a single portrait since I arrived. 

I heard the mingle of voices as we approached the large open doorway to another drawing room. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and discovered I felt far less like I might be prey for the next fox hunt. I also discovered I was still rather awkwardly holding the bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have done this when I first arrived. Um, these flowers are for you. Happy Christmas.” I thrust the bouquet toward her and wondered if it was too late to go back to my flat and never come out again.

“These are lovely, Miss Granger, thank you. I shall put them in water immediately. Please, enjoy yourself. There are some people here I believe you may be familiar with.”

I followed her gaze and locked eyes on none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Minister for Magic gave me a nod and a smile, and then turned back to the rather animated conversation he had clearly been having, with a woman I didn’t recognise. I realized Narcissa had already slipped away, and froze awkwardly just inside the drawing room.

There were tables stacked with sumptuous looking canapes. A large fireplace was on one side of the room, the black marble mantle draped with garland and fairy lights. Chandeliers floated from the ceiling, dripping with tinsel and crimson beads. In the far corner was the quartet, and I found myself staring in surprise at the lone goblin playing the violin, and wearing matching dress robes with the other wizards. Aside from Kingsley and the woman, there appeared to be six other adults, including Andromeda Tonks. A small group of Hogwarts—well, former Hogwarts—students were seated by the large Christmas tree holding flutes and laughing. Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Astoria Greengrass, another gentleman whose name and House I could not remember, and Luna Lovegood. I forced myself to close my mouth, and that is when I saw him.

The boy—man—in front of me was no longer the pale gaunt youth from six years ago. There was a flush to his cheeks, and his sleek green robes were so dark, they were almost black. Had he really been that tall? His steel grey eyes came to rest on me, and I glimpsed the briefest look of…I wasn’t sure what…cross his face as he immediately set down his glass on a table. I suddenly felt very aware of my bare shoulders, and gripped my purse with both hands. And then he was here. Standing just at formal speaking range from me was Draco Malfoy.

“Happy Christmas, Herm—-Miss Granger!” I blinked as he gave me a slight bow. “Even after you replied, I wasn’t certain if you would actually come.”

“Oh, I, um, of course, of course I would. I just…was very startled by the invitation.”

His face turned grave and he nodded. “I didn’t want you to think it might be a prank.”

I blinked. “Ah, no, I don’t suppose that thought ever crossed my mind.”

I was quite certain he had looked relieved.

“I know I was a prat to you in school, and you never deserved that, and I know there aren’t really enough words to convey things. I was rotten to you, and…I’m sorry. I know you had written a letter…back…back then…for the Wizengamot, and you certainly needn’t have done that.”

My eyes flashed briefly. “I wouldn’t have done it unless I thought it needed being done.”

He looked down momentarily before meeting my eyes. “I also…know you mightn’t have wanted to have ever come back here. I almost owled you, to tell you we would be in a different drawing room.”

“Why did you invite me?” The words slipped out before I had noticed them enter my head and I winced a little at the acerbity of my tone.

To my surprise, the answer was immediate. “Because I wanted to,” Draco said simply.

Everything around me seemed to stop. His words echoed, ringing in my head. I didn’t bother to hide my blinks. No, I was pretty certain this was what going mad felt like.

“But…why?” I found myself stupidly saying. Brilliant, Hermione, just bloody brilliant. Smartest witch of your age, my arse. I interrupted before he could even begin to speak. “Was it just for some stupid bet?” Anger was beginning to well up inside me. I could work with anger.

“What?! No! This has nothing to do with a bet!” 

I couldn’t tell if his acting skills were just top notch, or if he actually meant what he said. I could tell that the room was starting to spin. 

“May I?” I heard him asking softly, and realized his hand was hovering under my elbow, not quite touching, and wondered if I looked as dizzy as I felt.

I managed a nod, barely finishing the gesture before his hand was supporting my elbow and I found myself guided toward a chair against the wall. The din of the conversations seemed to roar a little less, and I gratefully sank down into the chair, nodding again. Rather than lean against the accent table beside me, I belatedly realised that Draco had gone to his knees in lieu of towering above me. I was determined to regain control of the entire situation and chose offence.

“Well, that’s not what Ron said when I spoke with him last week,” I said primly, and resisted the urge to pick at my dress.

Draco looked confused. “What do you mean?”

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. “He told me about the bet at pub night.”

“The bet at pub night? What bet at pub ni—?” His voice trailed off and I watched as his eyes flashed with a dawning realisation. “Merlin, I had forgotten they were placing bets. I didn’t, I never, I swear to you, I would never have done that.” He paused and looked down, having the grace to at least look momentarily ashamed. “I suppose I might have in the past. But, I wouldn’t do it now.” I watched as his eyes hardened and flashed, before a look of intense solemnity settled over his features, and he cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should be more clear. Grang—Hermione…” He paused, his eyes searching mine as if he were seeking permission. Whatever he saw in my face appeared to be permission enough. “Hermione, I didn’t do it for a bet, or because it was something I was expected to do, or something I was asked to do. You said you wouldn’t have written on my behalf unless you thought it needed to be done. I wouldn’t have invited you here, if I hadn’t wanted you to come. My fa…my father even recused himself from the evening when we received your reply, so as not to provoke undue discomfort.”

Five and a half years, I reminded myself. It occurred to me that I hadn’t ever really asked any of my friends about what was happening in the rest of the Wizarding World. I refused to read the Daily Prophet, and had sequestered myself away with only my books, Crookshanks, and my correspondence courses to keep me company. My eyes darted around the room, and I began to comprehend that whilst my world had shrunk to the four walls of my flat, the rest of the world had continued on. How much could change in five and a half years? I bitterly remembered the start of First Year, and then the events of Sixth Year, and was confronted with the haunting realisation that everything could change.

Draco shifted, adjusting his robes and sitting cross-legged on the floor. He looked somewhat apprehensively at me, but I was not at a point where I could reassure anyone, not even myself. “Last Christmas,” he began, his voice softer than I had ever heard it, “my family held our Christmas Eve party for the first time since before…” He paused, and I recognized the look of pain contort his face. “Before Voldemort.”

I gave a nod, for once holding my questions inside.

“It was the first Christmas my father was home; he had just finished his sentence. Mother loves Christmas, but she never felt like celebrating it whilst my father was gone. Potter and I had become partners in the Auror office. He and Ginny came, but very few others. Aunt Andromeda, the Parkinsons, Luna, some other people my parents know. I invited Weasley, too, mostly out of respect for Potter, but he was attending his own family’s, which I expected. Honestly, I was surprised that Potter came, because of that. All the same, somehow the Daily Prophet found out, and it was all anyone gossiped about for weeks.” He waved his hand toward the rest of the room. “And this year’s attendance is a result of that.” He turned back toward Hermione, his gaze intense. “My turn for a question. Why did you choose to come?”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. It was one thing when I was the one asking questions. I didn’t exactly prefer being the one expected to answer them. Not unless it was in class and I knew the answer, that is. Personal questions were another matter.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, then cursed inwardly for not coming up with a reason. I could stand up to Death Eaters unphased, but faced with Draco Malfoy, of all people, I was suddenly being painfully honest? I felt undone. A wave of nausea fluttered through me, along with the realisation that I had been too anxious to eat all day.

I also realised that Draco was studying me closely. I swallowed at the intensity in his eyes, and looked away, back toward the rest of the room. My hand flew to my mouth at the same moment Draco clambered to his feet, wand drawn. I yanked my purse open and grabbed for my own.

“Where is everyone?” I whispered hoarsely, standing next to Draco.

Before us was the drawing room, still festively decorated, but utterly devoid of occupants. The music still filtered through the air, yet there was no sign of musicians. The lights flickered and the luxurious drapes billowed as if disturbed by a passing breeze, before settling once more. A cloyingly sweet smell wafted from somewhere beyond the hallway.

“I don’t know,” Draco said tightly, through gritted teeth. I noticed his hand tense on his wand, before he waved it in precise movements. “Finite incantatem!”

Nothing happened. The sweet smell grew thicker in the air, and the lights dimmed. We exchanged a sideways glance, and I raised my wand, giving Draco a brief nod.

“Together,” I said firmly, and his voice joined mine in a chorus. “Finite incantatem!”

I felt, rather than saw, a ripple through the air, and I could tell that Draco did, as well, as I watched his stance shift. The music strains faded, as if they were further away, and the sound of bells echoed eerily.

Draco’s brow furrowed and he stalked toward the doorway, stepping out into the hall. I lingered only a moment before deciding that given the situation, we ought to stay together.

“Mother!” Draco called, his voice bouncing off the empty walls. “Father!”

The music disappeared, and the sound of our breathing was deafening.

“Kingsley?” I tried, my voice sounding hollow as it resounded through the hall.

Draco glanced down at me.

“Don’t you dare say something’s wrong,” I snapped. “It’s a little too obvious.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t. I was going to say that I thought we should stick together.”

“Well…yes, that seems reasonable,” I amended, letting my tone settle.

“I’m on edge as well,” he said simply, as if that had excused our interaction completely. “Follow me.”

I did not hesitate as he strode down the hall, wincing inwardly as every step we took produced groans from the floorboards beneath us. I was fairly certain those groans hadn’t been there when I first arrived. 

We stopped outside a set of intricately carved double doors. Draco reached a hand out, to try the handle. Nothing happened. He gripped the handle harder, shoving against the door. A gust of wind blew up, snuffing out the lights in the hall.

“Lumos,” I whispered, and my wand lit up.

“Alohomora!” Draco said crisply, then tried the door again, to no avail. He rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles. “Father!” he called again, then pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear anything.

Our eyes met and he shook his head. I began murmuring some of the wards that had become second nature to me, modifying them somewhat so we could still move about. I followed Draco as he continued to try doors, finding them all locked. The sound of bells echoed again.

“They’re coming from downstairs,” I realised.

He nodded, lips tight. “Alright. We stay together. If anything happens, and we get separated—”

“We use periculum,” I responded.

As we walked back down the hall toward the central stair, I noticed we had both taken to tip-toeing in an attempt to lower the sound we produced. No sooner had we reached the top of the stairs than a chilling howl reverberated through the manor, its echoes bouncing from wall to wall. We both froze, and I edged closer to Draco. The smell was even stronger now. I couldn’t place it; I just knew it felt thick and sticky. I wanted to open my mouth and say something, anything, but it was as if some cold metal hand was gripping my throat and I could barely even swallow.

Draco slowly stepped down and paused as the stair creaked beneath him. He shot a glance back at me. I managed a nod, or at least, I moved my head. His right hand snaked back and grabbed my left, and I gripped tightly and followed as he continued to descend. We paused on the landing. The garland was still wrapped around the banister, but any trace of the scent of pine was gone. From the light of my wand we could see the slight discoloration on the empty walls, revealing where frames had hung. I felt my heart thud in my throat. I waited, wondering if Draco would try calling out again, but he seemed as drawn to silence as I. I gave his hand a squeeze, moving to stand next to him. Together we descended the final rise, grimacing and wincing every time the boards moaned.

We stopped at the bottom, and I flicked my wand, sending a ball of light to hover in one of the empty lamps on the wall. The sweet smell was overpowering, now, and I coughed in an attempt to clear it from my lungs. Here, too, remained the decorations, though the fairy lights had vanished, along with the paintings. The silence was broken by a muffled wail outside. Draco took a step toward the door, and I jerked on his hand to stop him. He turned back, looking at me, and I recognised the carefully schooled expression that only revealed fear in his eyes.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t go outside.”

Draco stepped back toward me, lowering his voice to match mine. “Why?”

“It’s…probably locked…” I said, swallowing hard.

“I can find out.”

I glanced toward the windows and then back to Draco. “I don’t think we want to know what’s outside.”

The words had barely left my mouth when the mournful wail sounded again. Any hesitation on Draco’s part vanished, and he came back toward me.

“Then let’s try the doors inside,” he said, his voice as gentle as possible, given the circumstances.

“Draco…” I shifted my weight. I didn’t want to voice the question burning inside me, and didn’t know if I was more afraid of having it answered than not knowing the answer. “Where did all the paintings go?”

“I was trying not to think about that,” he admitted wryly.

“Well, that makes two of us.” I managed a weak laugh.

“If it helps,” Draco continued, “it wasn’t like this last Christmas.”

“You just did this special for me?” I asked. Somehow the talking made the unsettling silence more bearable.

“I never said I knew how to show a girl a good time.” The conversation must have been as good for him as for me, as his voice was slightly stronger.

He let go of my hand and tried the first set of doors, to no avail. I stayed close as we manouvred down the entrance hall, entirely too aware of the pace of his breathing. Each door was locked as tight as the first. We stopped suddenly when we had reached the last set of doors, looming above us, devoid of Christmas trimmings. Draco looked back at me.

“You don’t have to,” he began.

I shook my head furiously. “I don’t know why you think I’m interested in standing outside in your dark hallway with vanished artwork and alohomora-resistant doors by myself, but let me assure you, I absolutely am not.”

He smirked slightly. “The doors are locked, surely that’s fine?” I could hear the slight quaver to his voice.

I looked up at the doors before us, and reminded myself to keep breathing. “Everything else has been locked, so, this is probably no different,” I offered, my own voice shaking.

“You’re probably right,” he agreed, though he stayed motionless.

“Well?” I asked.

“If everything else is locked, maybe we don’t need to even bother trying it.”

“Bloody hell, Draco, it’s your house, I’m not opening any doors, so, you have to do it.” I glowered, then shivered. An off-the-shoulder gown had been just fine when fires were going in the hearths, but here in the dark I was regretting my choice.

“Here,” he said. He slipped out of his outer robe and held it out to me. “This will help.”

I hesitated, biting my lip, and forcing my teeth not to chatter.

“Please?” His voice was on the verge of breaking, and I caught the slight tremor in his hands.

Reluctantly I slid my arms into the outstretched robe and pulled it close around me. Merlin’s beard, it was warm. I belatedly realised it was from his body heat, and was suddenly grateful for the dark.

“I suppose there’s no use putting it off,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“I’m right here,” I found myself whispering.

He nodded and together we stepped forward toward the towering doors leading to the drawing room. He reached his hand out and slowly wrapped it around the handle. Both of us held our breath, and we exchanged glances. I gave him the barest of nods and he started to close his eyes.

“Don’t do that!” I hissed. “You need to be able to see!”

He shot me a glare but kept his eyes open. Pushing down, he twisted the handle.

The latch gave way with a click that sounded like thunder compared to the quiet of everything else.

“Protego!” I found myself saying on instinct as we stumbled into the drawing room. The shield charm glimmered about us in a bubble, before settling into nothingness. The familiar warmth of my magic made me feel a little more in control.

“Lumos,” Draco said beside me, and flung a ball of light up to the ceiling, engulfing one of the chandeliers.

The sound of bells rang out again, and we both jumped slightly, bumping into each other, only breathing again once the last echo faded away. 

The ball of light illuminating the chandelier sent shifting shadows shimmering across the room. The enormous fireplace seemed more threatening than I had remembered. The sound of bells began again, their dissonant ringing coming from everywhere and nowhere. A long table stretched out in front of the fireplace, carved wooden chairs lining each side. Pine boughs ran the length of the table, wrapped with silver snakes and strings of white pearls. Blood red taper candles in heavy silver candlesticks suddenly snapped into flame, just as Draco’s light instantly went out. The flickering candlelight caught the eyes of all the snakes, revealing that each had one garnet eye and one emerald eye, as the gems glittered. Silver place settings were by each chair, all with a dark green napkin wrapped by another snake. Gilded goblets filled with a burgundy liquid before our eyes. A fresh wave of the cloying scent rushed over us. A silver chafing dish floated about the table, the lid removing itself and resting on the corner of a dark wooden buffet. Steam wafted from the dish and a tangy coppery taste filled my mouth as I breathed in.

I seized Draco’s hand, and took a step closer to him, though I didn’t tear my eyes away from the scene before us.

“Wh—” I started to whisper.

“This doesn’t belong here,” Draco whispered over me. “The table, the chairs, they’ve been gone. For years.”

Silver tongs appeared by the dish, as if wielded by an invisible butler. We watched in awe as the tongs lifted out pieces of meat and began serving them on each plate. The now-metallic sweet smell threatened to suffocate us.

“Those are hearts.” I forced the words out, hoping if I said them, I’d see I was wrong.

“Human hearts,” said Draco. His voice sounded as nauseated as I felt. He straightened up slightly and pointed his wand. “Finite incantatem.”

The chafing dish stopped, the tongs hovering, and blood dripping from the heart onto the plate below. The bells rang again, and as they died away, the delicate strains of a harpsichord swelled in their place.

The filmy white shape of a woman materialised before us. She looked like she had just stepped out of a Tudor portrait. She peered down her nose at us, and suddenly our wands had vanished.

“Rash, Master Malfoy, too rash,” she said in a cool, dismissive voice. “You won’t be needing those here.”

“Elisabeth Tullia Malfoy,” Draco said coldly, jutting his chin out and standing straighter. “What do you want?”

“Tut,” she reached out her finger and tapped at Draco’s forehead, even though her hand passed right through him. “Manners, Master Malfoy. You ought to know better. You may call me Lady Malfoy. Don’t you think you ought to greet me properly?”

“I could always use Grandmother.” I could almost feel the cold ire filling his eyes. “I said, what do you want?”

She hissed at him, and I leaned closer to him. “We have not the time for how many ‘greats’ I am owed. Now. It is Christmas Eve. You may join with us to partake. Even your…friend.” She gave me a scathing sideways look.

Draco stiffened. “You will respect her, Lady Malfoy.” His voice could cut ice. “She is our guest.”

She raised her eyebrows and sniffed. “Enough dallying.” She snapped her fingers and two chairs scraped away from the table. “Sit.” 

She pointed, and a harsh wind bit around us, forcing us toward the table, and breaking our hands apart in the process. The wind shoved us into our respective chairs, then pushed them back into the table. Draco was seated across from me, and I saw the wince that passed his face as our wrists were jerked up and slammed onto the table, as a fork and knife were thrust into our hands. Lady Malfoy smoothly sat in the chair at the head of the table and gestured toward our plates. “You may eat.”

Draco and I locked eyes and we both pressed our fists into the table in anticipation of the wind’s return. It never came. Instead, the throaty voices of a choir singing carols danced in and around us.

Lady Malfoy sighed in exasperation. “My portrait is gone. Explain.”

“Father was tired of the way you spoke about Mother,” Draco said without hesitation.

“Your father is far too soft-hearted.” She sniffed dismissively. “Ridiculous excuse. I want it returned.”

“No,” came Draco’s terse reply.

“Theseus, Cornelia, and Nicholas have all had their portraits removed. This is unacceptable.”

“Their opinions were unacceptable.”

“This is tiresome. I will not have your disrespect.”

“Excuse me,” I snapped, irritated at Elisabeth Malfoy’s complete ignoring of me. “Where is everyone else?”

“Answer her question,” said Draco, anticipating her objection to being questioned by me.

Lady Malfoy shrugged her shoulders. “Safe. For now.” She gestured toward the grandfather clock across from the fireplace. “Time is running out for them, and you should hope my patience doesn’t run out sooner. And since you do not seem to appreciate my hospitality, in my own home, I might add, perhaps some time without it will assist in your…compliance.”

Without warning the table, chairs, decorations, everything disappeared, along with the ghost, and Draco and I found ourselves plummeting to the floor. With the candles gone, darkness reigned again. We both swore, but Draco practically bounced off the ground to make his way over to me.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. He knelt beside me as I pushed myself up. 

“Just bruised,” I muttered. I accepted the hand he offered me and stood up, brushing off my skirts. “I guess we’re back in the dark.” 

“My wand is still gone,” acknowledged Draco. 

“So is mine.” I was bitter.

“I’m so sorry, I never thought this would happen.”

“I don’t suppose most people plan for their ancestors’ ghosts to show up angrily on Christmas Eve,” I said wryly.

“It certainly wasn’t part of my lessons on the Malfoy lineage. Let’s leave this room, at least.”

Though we could barely see in the dark, we made our way slowly toward the door, which was still cracked. Just as we reached it, however, the door slammed shut in front of us, and we heard the heavy sound of a bolt being latched.

“Fuck,” Draco said angrily.

I heard the hint of resignation in his voice, and wished I knew what to say. “Fuck, indeed,” I opted to agree.

The wailing began again outside as we returned back to the center of the room. Draco told me to wait there, as he went to try the other doors, and I could tell he felt personally responsible. Then the wailing stopped and there was a sharp rapping at the windows. I stifled a scream at the noise and jumped a little. The rapping was followed by the clanky, yet unsuccessful, shakes as Draco tried each of the other doors. The rapping trailed off and the sounds of the harpsichord began again, playing slow, discordant carols. My eyes had begun adjusting to the dark and I made out Draco’s shape as he came back toward me, and I noticed he seemed to be cradling his wrist.

I gestured toward one of the large stone pillars. “We could at least sit down, whilst we figure out what to do.”

I saw Draco nod but couldn’t make out the expression on his face. We walked quietly toward the pillar, and then slid down to the floor, leaning our backs against it. Neither of us said anything for several long moments. There was no other sound but the harpsichord and our breathing, and I yearned to break it.

“Let me see your wrist,” I said, fumbling for something to say.

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

I recognized the tight tone of a man trying to save face, having heard it from both Harry and Ron before. I sighed in exasperation, and reached out for his wrist myself. “What happened?” I asked.

Draco reluctantly held his arm out to me. “Caught myself wrong when we lost our chairs. Twisted it when I pushed up off the ground. It’s not broken, though.”

“Just sprained,” I agreed, my fingers nimbly assessing the joint in the dark. It already felt swollen and warm.

He moved to pull his arm back. “Nothing I can do about it now. And it’s my wand hand, so that would make spellcasting more fun, if I even had my wand.”

I yanked a hairpin from my hair and jabbed it into my skirt, ripping the threads slightly. Having given myself the hole I needed, I returned the hairpin to my hair. Gripping the fabric, I ripped it, and nearly got sick when the sound echoed in the empty room. Draco turned sharply toward me.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Providing support,” I answered. I proceeded to take the strip of fabric and wrap it around his wrist and hand. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

“You didn’t need to…” his voice trailed off. “Thanks.”

I smirked in the dark. “Quick learner.”

He shifted to slide a little closer to me. “You are the only one I was never able to score higher than in school, did you know that?”

“What?” I asked, startled. 

“Ever since First Year, you were always top of our year, and I was second. In everything. Until you dropped divination in Third Year, though. Which reminds me, how did you make all those classes? Most people can’t be in two places at once. Also, when we got to school for Sixth Year, I got Snape to tell me what N.E.W.T. classes you were taking, so I could make sure I was taking at least as many. Saying that aloud sounds a little…pitiful…I suppose.”

I adjusted my gown as I turned to face him. “Um.” I looked down, once again grateful for the darkness that hid the warmth in my cheeks. “Dumbledore is how. And I thought you were in all my N.E.W.T. classes just to harass me.”

“Merlin, no. I mean, I did harass you, which was shite of me, but also things were getting bad, what with You-Know-Who living in my home. Sixth Year wasn’t a great year, all around.” He sighed heavily, and then a mischievous glint entered his voice. “Did you know I took N.E.W.T. Muggle Studies?”

“You did what?!” My mouth dropped open and I stared agape. “How, why, what…?”

“When and where?” 

I could hear the smirk in his words. It infuriated me. “Malfoy,” I said dangerously.

“I knew you weren’t taking it, so I took it and N.E.W.T. Divination, so I could be first in something. Not really the best reasons, but I was also sixteen.” He managed a laugh, and then we both quieted until the echoes died down. He sobered quickly. “I’m sorry for what happened last time you were here, Granger. With…my Aunt Bella, and…all of it. I hate myself for not doing something, or stopping her. I just didn’t know what to do, or how, or any of it. I wanted my mother to be safe. I wish I had been less of a coward and had just denied recognising Potter outright. Salazar, I didn’t even know Aunt Bella was keeping prisoners in the cellar.” He sighed. “And now this happens.”

“Draco,” I said slowly. “You’re not your aunt, and you can’t try and be responsible for her actions. I can only imagine what it might have been like to live with Voldemort.”

“You can try, but I promise it doesn’t even come close,” Draco interrupted bitterly.

I gave in and glared for a moment in the dark before continuing. “But you’re no more responsible for everything happening tonight. I mean, at least with the ghost and all.”

“She’s my ancestor. My family took her portrait down, and the others. My family held the party, I invited you, and now we’re in this whole rotten mess. So, forgive me if I disagree, but, it pretty much is my fault.”

“That’s bollocks,” I snapped. “Why should you bear responsibility for what some cranky ghost has to say, just because she’s offended she can’t get her own way? Don’t be ridiculous. Unless you’re telling me that you sat in your room or study or whatnot and just stared off into nothing, until you snapped your fingers and jumped up, shouting ‘That’s it!’ And then you planned to invite all these people to your Christmas party, including me, just so you could convince your dead great-great-great-etc. grandmother to come play Haunt the Muggleborn.”

Draco said nothing, so I continued. “I mean, that’s quite a lot of trouble to go to for just one person. I didn’t know you thought of me that—” I broke off suddenly, and pulled my knees to my chest. I didn’t want to find where that line of reasoning might end up.

If Draco noticed my sudden stop, he didn’t acknowledge it, for which I was grateful. “When you put it that way,” he said, shrugging in resignation. “But if I wanted to do something for you, it wouldn’t have been any of this. Not that I—” 

It was Draco’s turn to break off suddenly. I found myself intensely interested in the cuff of the robe, belatedly realising that I was, in fact, still wearing Draco’s robe. I could tell something had changed, I could feel it in the air. I just wasn’t sure what exactly it was, or how. The harpsichord’s notes slowly faded into the quiet, leaving us alone again with nothing but our heartbeats and our breaths.

“I suppose that I hoped that if I took responsibility for it, it meant I could fix it. And that you could have someone to blame.” Draco started playing with the lace on his shoe. “And that I could have control, instead of things just…happening. I don’t know what to do, Hermione. I just know I don’t deserve things to go right, and I should have known better than to drag you into any of this, because you don’t deserve things to go wrong.”

“Stop it,” I said, voice crisp. “I don’t need someone to blame.” Didn’t I? I thought I did, until the words left my mouth. “And you taking blame doesn’t give either of us any more control over this situation. And I did make my own decision to come; it’s not like you forced me. Sometimes things just happen. What’s important is what—” I broke off with a choke, as my breath shook. I was feeling even more uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. I swallowed and tried again. “What’s important is what we…what we do about it.” My voice sounded as small as I wished I were. Maybe the floor could become a giant maw and swallow me up. I thought it was a reasonable enough request, given everything else that evening.

“I can’t fix the past,” Draco said bitterly. 

Somehow he had made his way even closer to me, and our shoulders were almost brushing. I swallowed and held my breath for a moment, just to listen to the sound of him breathing in the dark.

“I don’t think it’s about fixing the past,” I said at last. “We can’t change what happened. We have to keep going, and making new decisions to affect our present, instead of letting the past hold control over us.” Oh, I really didn’t like where this thought process was taking me.

“I’ve heard hiding from the past won’t help, either.” Draco’s voice was low and heavy.

I knocked my shoulder into his before I realised what I had done. “I thought we were talking about you.”

“Christmas is a time of giving.” He returned the shoulder nudge.

I took advantage of the dark to stick my tongue out at him. Immature, perhaps, but tensions were high.

“If the robe fits,” he continued, then gave a gentle tug at the sleeve.

My face was hot, and I wondered if he could feel it from how close we were sitting. “What, do you want it back?” I retorted.

“Before the end of the night, I should think. I am rather fond of it. There’s certainly no rush, and if I remember correctly, your gown didn’t look as though you chose it for warmth.”

“Oh, are you having difficulty remembering my gown?” I snapped, and nudged him again with my arm.

His reply came without hesitation, and there was a huskiness to his voice that made my stomach twist. “I have no difficulty remembering any gown you’ve worn for Christmas.”

“Any?” I forced the word out, and took a deep breath. “This is only the first one I’ve worn.”

“You wore a gown of periwinkle blue at the Yule Ball in Fourth Year, when you walked in on the arm of Viktor Krum. I didn’t like your hair, though. It’s better when you don’t straighten it.”

I stiffened. My first attempt to speak came out more like a squeak, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “I didn’t know…I mean, how can you remember that…? I didn’t know you even saw me.”

“It would have been impossible to miss you,” he said gently.

We sat in silence for what seemed an eternity after that, and my mind churned his admissions over and over in my head. I was taken aback when I discovered that I remembered how he had looked at the Yule Ball. I didn’t remember paying it any mind at the time, but somehow I could conjure up an image as if it were yesterday, instead of ten years ago.

“If you don’t mind me saying,” Draco began again, “I think tha—”

Whatever Draco thought was interrupted by a piercing howl that surrounded us out of nowhere, and a furious tapping on the tall windows. I gasped, my stomach finding its way to my throat, and found myself leaning into Draco as he leaned into me. At the same time, I heard a muffled squawk that I belatedly realised must have been Draco trying not to scream in shock. Our arms gripped each other tightly as the biting cold of a frosty wind whipped around us, fluttering our robes and hair. We both scrambled to our feet, pressing our backs to each other. We heard another howl, and the window-tapping quickened its pace. The wind continued to swirl around us, hissing threateningly. We had to think of something. Why had we been wasting our time reminiscing? I thought angrily. 

“Tick-tock,” the disembodied voice of Elisabeth Malfoy hummed. “You need to hurry up.”

Need. Need. Something about that word… “Penny!” I shouted, feeling mad for trying, but also desperate.

A sharp snap echoed through the room, and the house-elf appeared outside the maelstrom surrounding us.

“Goodness!” Penny said, staring at us in shock.

“Penny!” Draco cried. “Penny, do you know where our wands went?”

“Oh, of course!” Penny answered. “Silly ghosts trying to play hide and seek with Master Draco’s wand, and Miss Granger’s. Penny would love to put an end to their hijinks, but alas, it is not Penny’s place.”

“What do you mean, it’s not your place?” asked Draco.

Penny sighed dramatically. “This is Malfoy magic. Malfoy family magic. Penny can only watch. Although!” 

She disappeared with a crack and we were left still inside the wind. Draco huffed in frustration.

“Good thinking on calling her, Granger,” he admitted. “When everyone disappeared, it didn’t occur to me it might affect a house-elf differently.”

Before I could reply, Penny snapped back into the room, this time inside the wind barrier.

“Penny has Master Draco’s and Miss Granger’s wands!” she said proudly, proffering the wands to us.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Draco said breathlessly, grabbing his wand and swishing it vigorously.

The wind disappeared instantly, and we nearly collapsed, leaning on each other instead and trying to catch our breath. I took my wand from Penny with profuse thanks, and lit the drawing room up once more. I turned toward Draco, but before I could speak, a loud thump was heard as a body crashed onto the floor from out of nowhere.

“Oh no!” cried Penny.

Draco and I rushed to the body, and knelt beside it. As we approached, I realised it was the woman who had been talking to Kingsley, whom I hadn’t recognised. Draco’s fingers were already on her neck. He looked up at me and shook his head.

“It’s too late,” he said, his voice hollow. I could see he was choking back tears.

I noticed a paper pinned to her chest, and carefully unfolded it. “This is only the first. I warned you,” I read aloud.

“Fuck.” Draco paled. 

“I don’t even know her name,” I said slowly, fumbling for words.

“Marietta Haywood,” he responded. “She worked at the Ministry, with Shacklebolt. She came as his date. I’d never met her before, either.”

“Penny will take care of the body,” the house-elf interrupted. “You two need to end the curse.”

Without another word, she and the body disapparated out of the room, leaving Draco and I kneeling opposite each other on the floor. I held my hands out to Draco, who took them reluctantly.

“What did Penny mean? About Malfoy family magic?” I asked. Draco’s hands felt cold and I found myself rubbing my thumbs across them.

Draco heaved a sigh and looked down. “Only a Malfoy can undo it. But it's never straightforward. Malfoys care more about what's unsaid.”

I nodded and gave his hands a squeeze. “Okay, so we figure out what's unsaid. What are you thinking so far?”

Draco took a breath. “I think you may have been on to something earlier. Things have changed, which is why the portraits were moved. But we have to actually speak to the shift, which we don't, because we are overly concerned with how we appear. We have to voice it to someone.” He risked a glance up at me. “Maybe to someone specific.” He looked back down. “Except there is more, but it's…too diffused to see. I keep trying to pick it out. It's just continually out of reach.”

I tugged gently at his hands, urging him to look up. “Let's start with what you know, then.”

Draco grimaced, but didn't object. “The portraits have all been removed over the past five years, but they were removed before last Christmas. So it isn’t just the portraits, there’s something different this—”

A mournful groaning sounded out, along with the eerie screams of rusted hinges. Turning to look we saw one of the doors back to the hallway had opened a crack, and light was on the other side. Without another word, we were on our feet and racing toward it. It was a race which Draco won easily, given the length of his legs. Our footsteps echoed around us in booming thuds. Draco preemptively grabbed the doorhandle the moment he arrived, lest we find ourselves locked in here again. He took my hand, and together we dove through the door, tumbling onto the floor. The door swung shut behind us with a slam that shook the house.

I looked up to find myself at the end of Narcissa Malfoy’s wand.

“Mother!” Draco said. He jumped up and embraced her tightly.

I was uncomfortably aware that I was wearing Draco’s robe, and now I was face to face with his mother. I cast a quick glance around, only to realise we were not in the entry hall. I assumed this must be the library, given the floor to ceiling shelves. Before any of us could speak, Lucius Malfoy rounded the corner, his wand drawn. He looked much older than I remembered: there were streaks of silver in his white-blonde hair and the lines on his face were more pronounced. His eyes were sunken and slightly haunted, and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“Cissa!” He stopped short when he saw Draco and I. “Draco. You’re safe!”

I watched as Lucius also gave Draco a hug, and worked to keep my face neutral. As the two of them pulled apart, Lucius turned to look at me and gave me a brief nod.

“Miss Granger.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” I replied. I considered fainting from shock at the use of ‘miss’ from Lucius Malfoy, but decided the night had enough excitement as it was. Instead, I turned toward Draco. “This is not the hall.”

Draco stepped back toward me and looked at his parents. “We were in the old drawing room,” he explained. “Somehow we left that room directly into here.”

“Why were you in the old drawing room?” Lucius asked sharply.

At the same time, Narcissa turned toward me and said, “I am dreadfully sorry you have been tangled up in this magic.”

I nodded at Narcissa by way of reply, and decided to let Draco catch his parents up on what had been going on. This was about his family’s ghosts, after all.

“I don’t know what started it,” Draco began. “Granger and I were talking at the party, and then everyone else had disappeared. We tried calling out, to no avail. Then we left the Marble Room, and I tried your study, Father, and all the rest of the doors on the first floor, but everything was locked. We tried spells, but they had no effect. We went downstairs, and Granger thankfully talked me out of going outside, but the last door we had to try was the old drawing room. That door was open, so we went in to investigate, and found ourselves locked inside. Elisabeth Malfoy’s ghost was there, full of her usual bigoted charm.”

Narcissa scoffed. “Yes, we’ve spoken with Bess, as well. Or rather, Lucius has spoken with her.”

Lucius gave his wife a gentle, but sad smile. “She always was a pompous tart. I should have removed her to the attic decades ago.” He turned back to us. “Your mother had just come into the study with the flowers. They are lovely, by the way, Miss Granger, thank you. Then we found ourselves in the attic. Which is currently where everyone else is, to our knowledge. They were suspended there in some sort of magical stasis. We were unable to rouse them or break it. Then we were back in the study, and Bess appeared and proceeded to espouse her usual rhetoric, and then we found ourselves here, right before you two entered.”

Narcissa cleared her throat. I marvelled at how she still appeared the picture of poise and elegance, given everything that had been going on this evening. “The timing is understandable, as the veil is thinnest this time of year.”

Draco leaned in and whispered to me, “Mother excels at divination.”

Narcissa coughed politely. Draco folded his arms. Narcissa arched a brow.

“What I have yet to determine is why this is happening at this particular Christmas. Since we had time in your father’s study, we reviewed the family tree and the book of lineage. This year is not related to any anniversary of a number with any meaning. If they were waiting for your father, it is unclear why an occurrence of this sort did not happen last Christmas.”

“Wait, Mother,” Draco interrupted. “Hermione…Granger…and I have done some puzzling of our own regarding the situation. Things have changed in the past years. Ideological beliefs have shifted. But we haven’t talked about it, not really.” He glanced briefly toward his father, then turned back to his mother. “Because we don’t talk about things in this family. We care more about appearances.”

I noticed the subtle lift to Lucius’ eyebrows when he heard Draco use my given name, but the disgust I expected never came.

“Also,” Draco’s expression changed. I wondered if I had noticed before how expressive his face could be. I decided it simply may have been more difficult to see in the dark. “Marietta Haywood is dead.”

Narcissa gasped and Lucius’ face tightened.

“What happened?” Lucius asked quickly.

Draco shook his head. “We don’t know.” He paused and took a breath. “If I had to pick a suspicion for cause of death, I would say it was the Killing Curse. I’ve seen it enough, there’s…” His voice choked up and he broke off.

His mother put her hand on his arm.

“I believe you,” said Lucius. “Especially given the Malfoys involved.” His expression darkened. “How did you find out?”

“Her body dropped onto the floor of the drawing room, with a note pinned to her,” I said dryly. Then, as an afterthought, I added, “Penny says this is a Malfoy curse and only Malfoys can undo it.”

Lucius nodded.

Narcissa frowned. “I am still not certain as to the timing. That will greatly affect what must be done.”

Lucius sighed.  “With all due respect to Miss Granger, and I do not mean this judgmentally,” he gave a pointed look to his son, “It is the first Christmas a Muggle-born has been an invited guest of the Malfoys.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “The Malfoys intermingled with Muggles plenty when Malfoy Manor was built.”

Lucius nodded. “Yes, dear. With Muggles. But, unfortunately, we are left with the distinction, which I can assure you mattered greatly to my family, regardless of its past or present ramifications, that they did not, in fact, intermingle with Muggle-born witches or wizards. As such, whilst Muggles have certainly attended events at Malfoy Manor, even ones hosted by Elisabeth and my eponym, Lucius I, unfortunately, the presence of Miss Granger would indubitably horrify them.”

Narcissa nodded with a sigh. “That would then explain the timing.”

Draco glared. “Then let them be horrified. They shouldn’t get to control whether things change, or who is welcome into our house.”

“Well,” I said slowly, adding the new information to everything else I had gathered, “you say things have changed. Aside from making it onto your exclusive invitation list, or hiding portraits in the attic, what has changed? What is so different from the way things were before? You spent five years in Azkaban, but now you’re home. You’re still the wealthiest family in Wizarding Britain—”

“Wizarding Europe,” Lucius interrupted.

“Father!” Draco hissed.

“Apologies,” the elder Malfoy said primly.

“As I was saying,” I continued with an eye roll, “you have your wealth, you’ve performed penance for the public, Draco’s an Auror, but what has changed?”

“We pay our house-elves fair wages, benefits, and holidays,” Narcissa said simply. “They are only here voluntarily.”

“Yes, I served my five years in Azkaban,” Lucius allowed, softening the edge to his voice as he continued to speak. “I assure you it was more than simply a public penance. We no longer subscribe to the tenets of blood purity.”

Draco frowned briefly. “Hermi— Granger has a point, though. Malfoys care about saving face. Even I was taught our family history regarding the Statute of Secrecy and how after we changed to support it, we refused to acknowledge we had ever opposed it. We are known for being committed to pureblood ideals, amongst other teachings of Lord Voldemort. It’s easy enough for us to be different behind closed doors.”

I was unsuccessful in hiding a smile at Draco’s words. I hadn’t ever expected to see him stand up to his father in such a way. It certainly was no hindrance that he also gave me credit. I had spent enough time with Harry and Ron forgetting my contributions.

Lucius heaved a sigh. “Well, then, Draco, how do you propose we proceed?”

Draco took a deep breath. “Hermione?”

I blinked. “Yes?”

“Would you be willing to hold my wand for a few moments?”

I cocked my head and wondered idly if Draco had been dropped too many times as a baby. “...yes…?” I finally said.

Draco nodded at me. “Thank you.” He proceeded to hand me his wand, and then turned to Narcissa. “Mother, will you seal it?”

Narcissa nodded in return, and stepped toward her husband and son. Lucius nodded, put his wand away, and held out his right hand to Draco. Draco squared his shoulders and clasped his father’s hand firmly. Only once Narcissa touched her wand to their hands did the significance of what was happening start to occur. They had already begun, before I could say anything.

“Will you promise to uphold the Malfoy name and carry it with honour?” Lucius asked.

“I will,” answered Draco, and a thread of flame snaked out of Narcissa’s wand, wrapping around the men’s hands.

“Will you dedicate yourself to the unity of the Wizarding World?”

“And to helping with reparations to those affected by the War,” Draco added. “I will.”

I saw the briefest glimpse of a struggle on Lucius Malfoy’s face after the second stream of flame had joined the first.

“And will you publicly advocate for all magical beings?” asked Lucius after a pause.

“I will,” answered Draco, without hesitation.

A third tendril wrapped about their hands. As it blended with the others, they flared briefly and brightly, and then disappeared.

“It is done,” Narcissa said, solemnly.

Lucius patted his son on the shoulder. I almost thought I saw a tear in his eye. “Well, I shall pen a letter for the Daily Prophet publicly disavowing the Pure-Blood Directory, for Boxing Day.”

Draco looked back at me, and gave me a hint of a smile. “Anything you want to add, Granger?”

I narrowed my eyes.

Draco’s smile turned into a smirk. “Christmas is—”

“Yes, yes, giving, fine.” I glowered. “But I am not making an Unbreakable Vow.”

Draco looked horrified. “I would never presume such a thing!”

I smirked back. “I do wish to thank you for the observation of the spell: I have only read about it in books, and have not ever seen it enacted, and I have been dreadfully curious since First Year about it.”

Draco blinked. “I don’t remember anything about Unbreakable Vows in First Year.”

I shrugged. “That was just when I first came across it in a book in the library.”

Draco shook his head.

“I will work on not resigning myself to being a shut-in,” I said with a long-suffering sigh. “And I will…acknowledge…that perhaps I need to stop living in the past in order to process some trauma. And, I swear to Merlin, Draco Malfoy, if you ever breathe a word of this conversation to Harry or Ron or my counsellor, I will hex you until you forget your own name.” I flicked a glance toward Draco’s parents and hurriedly added an addendum. “Not permanently, of course.”

Lucius took a step toward me and held out his hand. “Happy Christmas, Miss Granger,” he said, and I could tell it was genuine, despite his awkwardness.

I found myself taking his hand, and uttering words I never dreamed I would: “Happy Christmas, Mr. Malfoy.”

My hands flew to my ears as a piercing scream filled the air, and my eyes clenched at the sound. When I opened them, I found myself back in the upstairs drawing room at the Christmas party, as if no time had passed. Draco was standing beside my chair at the edge of the wall, where we had last been. I looked down, and realised I was still wearing his robe. Before I could speak, Kingsley Shacklebolt had arrived and reached his hand out to shake mine.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” Kingsley said with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you about.”

“Happy Christmas, Kingsley,” I replied. I sobered suddenly at the memory of Marietta’s body in the old drawing room. “I’m dreadfully sorry about Marietta,” I said quietly.

Kingsley stared at me strangely. “About whom?”

“Marietta Haywood?” I asked tentatively.

Kingsley shook his head and shrugged. “I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone by that name. I hope your friend is well, though.” He smiled and nodded at Draco. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”

I stared hard at Draco as Kingsley went off to speak with someone else. “How does he not know Marietta?”

Draco looked pale, and his voice was a whisper. “I don’t know.” He motioned for me to wait, and disappeared into the gathered group.

After several long eternal minutes, he returned, looking more disconcerted than he had when he left. I rose from the chair and took a step toward him. He shook his head at me.

“I checked our invitation list, she’s not on there. I asked Father and Mother, and they had never heard of her.”

“How?” I asked again.

The quartet started a new carol, and strains of We Wish You a Merry Christmas began floating through the room. I stiffened and glanced furtively around.

Draco held out his hand. “I promise you, you aren’t going mad. My parents remember everything else about what happened this evening. We just seem to be the only ones who remember her. I wonder if Penny—”

No sooner than her name was mentioned did Penny herself appear. She was beaming.

“Penny is so very proud of Master Draco.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “And Penny took great care to bury the body appropriately. We even found a headstone. Don’t think on this now, Penny wants Master Draco and Miss Hermione to have a lovely evening.”

She gently pushed us closer together, and disappeared with a snap.

I stared up at Draco, wondering at the depths of his eyes, and found myself saying yes to his request for a dance.