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There were only three days until Christmas, and still Hermione’s desk was absolutely covered in little flying memos.
She enjoyed her work, of course—in the five years she’d been with the Department of Magical Law Reform, Hermione had dismantled over twenty-five outdated, discriminatory laws favoring pureblood witches and wizards (she’d kept tally). But in addition to trying to wrap up multiple cases before the holidays, there was also the business of the office gift exchange.
“Yes, I know.” She swatted at a particularly persistent memo that kept bouncing off her cheek, reminding her that the party started at twelve o’clock sharp. “I’m a bit busy now, though,” she told it, rather uselessly. There was no way she’d get to all of these before lunchtime.
It was already half eleven.
“Granger,” said a voice. “Looking rather disheveled, as usual.”
She twisted her hair (which was being even more unruly than usual, not that she would admit that) back with a pencil, not because she had anything to prove but simply because she wanted to.
“Malfoy,” she said back, acting too busy to make eye contact because she knew he thrived on attention,”taking up space again, I see.”
“Your scathing wit wounds me,” he said, deadpan. “However shall I go on?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to persevere,” Hermione said, feigning disappointment. “You always do.”
She chanced a glance just in time to see him give a little half-smile—not his usual smirk, but an actual, real smile.
That reminded her.
“Malfoy, wait—” she said, reaching out to grab his arm as he passed in front of her desk.
He paused, surprised, looking down at where she’d grabbed him. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to look at her, his gaze suspicious.
“Yes?”
He was in a good mood. This was as good a time to ask as any.
“I was wondering,” she said, trying to sound cavalier and not at all like she was about to ask him for a favor. “Would you mind swapping desks with me?”
Now he was interested. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned against the edge of her workspace. “Why?”
She had to play this just right. Cool, not desperate. Casual.
“It’s not a big deal. They’re basically identical desks. I just need to be able to see out that window more regularly.”
A look of distrust clouded his face. “And what’s outside that window?”
Hermione sighed. The more information she gave him, the more ammunition he’d have to irritate her. She just needed to swap desks—not engage him in a days-long debate about the merits of her request.
“I want to be able to watch the Wizengamot Entrance Courtyard.”
Draco considered this. “For intel?”
She nodded. “Yes. Who arrives together, who gets cornered before a case.”
“Behavior tracking,” he offered, to which she nodded.
“Exactly.”
“That’s a smart idea.”
She was taken aback by this response. “Uh… thank you.”
He stared at her for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. Then, he nodded once.
“Request denied.”
“What!”
“I can’t just move, Granger.” He dropped his bag on the floor beside his desk and sat in the rolling chair.
Hermione was incredulous. “And why not?”
He shrugged. “This desk knows me.”
Any potentially positive feelings she might have harbored for Draco Malfoy were quashed. “I’m sorry it—it knows you?”
“Yes,” he said, rather decidedly. “We’ve acclimated to each other.”
“That’s absurd. Malfoy, it’s a desk.” Hermione had risen to her feet in her disbelief, and marched over to him. A couple of memos followed, flying around her head as she stood, but she swatted those away, too.
“Well I feel sorry for yours, if you really feel that way. No wonder it doesn’t like you.”
“My desk likes me just fine—argh!” she fumed. “You’re just trying to make me angry.”
“Granger,” he said calmly, as though he were talking to a child. “If you start rearranging desks, the whole of wizarding society might collapse. Today it’s just a seating chart, sure—but tomorrow, who knows what that kind of power might do to your head?”
“We’re—bloody—magic,” she ground out, clutching her hands in fists. “I hardly think you should be concerned with my ‘power’.”
He very seriously arranged the single quill and bit of parchment on his desk. Where were his memos? How did Malfoy get off coming in halfway through the day and not having a single bit of correspondence to contend with?
“Look,” he said, moving the quill to the left side of his minimalist workspace before ultimately moving it back to its original location. “I’m not opposed to the concept of moving,” he reasoned.
She raised an eyebrow at him, not wanting to take the bait.
“I’m just opposed to the execution.”
There it was.
“Fine,” she spat. “If you’re not committed to the Fair Representation and Funding Act, then I’ll just—”
“Woah, woah, hey. Slow down, Granger. I didn’t say I wasn’t committed to taking those old geysers down a peg. You’re welcome to come visit any time you’d like.”
Hermione’s jaw twitched. “You’re insufferable.”
Draco smiled. “You know my day hasn’t truly begun unless you’ve told me that.”
Five years. She’d spent five years dismantling prejudiced loopholes in wizarding law, and five years being driven absolutely mental by Draco Malfoy.
But Hermione was one of their department’s sharpest speakers. Maybe if she made a strong enough case, she could lobby for the removal of his desk into the hallway.
“Granger! Malfoy!” A female voice barked from the doorway. “Are you not getting my memos?”
Susan Bones stood in the doorway with hands on hips and a frown on her face.
Hermione looked up to see that the number of memos flying round her head had increased at least threefold, all bearing variations of the note: “You’re late!”
“Everyone is waiting for you two,” Susan explained, rolling her eyes as if this were something that happened all the time. That would be absurd, of course, given that Hermione couldn’t stand Draco Malfoy and did her level best to avoid talking to him at all costs.
“Sorry, Susan,” said Hermione as she managed to catch a couple of the memos, only to toss them in the rubbish bin. She grabbed a wrapped gift off her own desk (a book, of course), shot Draco a look, and followed Susan to the conference room.
“Now we can begin,” Susan announced to the group that had gathered around a long conference table stacked high with colorful gifts. Hermione slid in beside Padma Patil and added hers to the pile.
Draco, blessedly, chose a seat on the opposite side of the room.
“Right then,” said Susan, turning on the new Celestina Warbeck holiday album with a swish of her wand, “I hope everyone is ready for a spot of festive fun?”
Hermione’s coworkers responded with varying levels of enthusiasm, and she tried her very best not to think about the overwhelming task list she still had ahead of her.
She could make time for a gift exchange. It was good to take breaks.
Theoretically.
“Before we begin, I’d like to remind you that all gifts must be work appropriate. And before you ask, Nott—yes, mildly cursed is still considered cursed, and therefor not allowed.”
Theodore Nott grumbled as he pulled his gift back from the table.
Susan gave him a perplexed look before continuing to speak. “We’ll go alphabetically by the type of Patronus you conjure. When it’s your turn, you must select—or steal—a gift. If you choose to unwrap the gift, you do so immediately. If your gift gets stolen, you must give it freely.”
“What if your gift escapes?” Nott asked.
Susan pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why would a gift escape, Theodore?”
“Purely hypothetical.”
She sighed. “If your gift escapes, you are still technically considered the owner, and it can still be stolen by someone else.”
Nott nodded seriously, then turned to do finger-guns at Draco with a grin.
Draco merely smirked.
“Now, if there aren’t any more questions—”
“Wait a minute,” said a woman named Holly—one of the Amendments Specialists. “Now Nott doesn’t have anything in the exchange.”
“True, that’s not fair,” agreed Fennick, the Magical Ethics Advisor.
Susan looked as though she very much regretted planning a holiday party at all. “Theodore, can you please, for the love of Merlin, procure something for this activity?”
Nott smiled at her. “Gladly, boss.” Then he unclasped his watch and tossed it in with the rest of the gifts.
“As I was saying, we will now begin. First up is… aardvark!”
The African International Magical Law Consultant grinned as they reached for an innocuous-looking gift at the top of the pile. Hermione watched as they ripped it open to reveal a multipack of Ton Tongue Toffees.
“Ooh, rainbow toffee,” they said, delighted. Clearly Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes hadn’t yet made their way to Africa, and Hermione hoped someone would warn them of what would happen before they decided to imbibe.
“Next up we have… alpaca!”
This was one of the team’s researchers, a woman named Winifred who received an ornate-looking hourglass.
“How very practical,” she noted, to which another staff member chuckled.
“It’s an everlasting hourglass,” they corrected her. “Counts down forever!”
Hermione watched as angelfish and barracuda opened their gifts next, followed by chinchilla, who stole the hourglass. Winifred got to select a new gift (portable swamp—another classic Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes) and then it was on to coyote, dove and dormouse.
As an otter, Hermione had a ways to go, and let her mind wander back to her unfinished tasks. She had more than a sneaking suspicion there was some rather overt collusion happening within the Wizengamot over the current werewolf rights case—if she could only prove it. Bloody Malfoy and his sodding desk; she should have known he’d refuse her. Why would he do something nice for her when he could instead continue to irritate her to no end?
“Marmot!”
“Oh, that’s me!” said Padma beside her, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. Her friend selected a small box with a navy bow atop it, gingerly pulling at the ribbons to open it. Inside was a delicate tea cup rimmed in gold.
“How sweet,” said Padma, lifting it to get a closer look.
From where she sat, Hermione could see floral embellishments both inside and out, which was indeed nice, though not really to her personal taste.
“This is going right on my desk,” Padma announced, setting the teacup down in front of her. The moment she took her hand away, however, the teacup began to run away.
“Hey!” shouted Padma, scrambling after it. She lunged forward, gripping her fingers firmly around the handle and bringing it back in front of her. “Stay put.”
The tea cup did not. As soon as she let it go, it repeated its mad dash away from her, successfully this time.
“Catch it!” she instructed. Silas from Magical Law Analysis just missed it, as did Draco—who, granted, didn’t even try to retrieve it.
“Self-propelled teacup,” the blonde twat confirmed, looking amused as he watched it scamper by. “Happy Christmas, Patil. It’ll turn up.”
Padma scoffed at him, and Susan moved on to naked mole rat (who received a hat that changed color when the wearer was lying).
Then it was Hermione’s turn.
“Otter!” Susan called out, and Hermione stood in her seat, looking over the gifts that had already been claimed. She could see the utility in the hat—but the allure of mystery got the better of her. She brushed Nott’s wristwatch aside to reveal an extra tiny gift, no larger than a pillbox. It was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a piece of yarn; an unassuming gift, to be sure. But Hermione’s mother always said the best gifts came in small packages, so it was with this knowledge that she made her choice.
She untied the bow and unwrapped her gift, taking care not to rip the paper. Inside was a small white box, and when she lifted the lid she found a dainty silver bracelet inside.
“Oh,” she murmured, lifting it from its soft packaging. There was an inscription on it; it said: holiday cheer.
“I love it,” she said genuinely, admiring the beautiful simplicity of the bracelet. Despite her many practical eccentricities, Hermione was an absolute sucker for the Christmas holiday. She hadn’t expected to get something she actually enjoyed in the office gift exchange, based on years past. “This is the perfect gift.”
“Lucky pick!” Susan exclaimed with a smile. “Now we’ve got… peacock!”
Draco leaned forward in his seat, rubbing his hands together as he surveyed the remaining gifts. There was an extra large one near his end of the table she expected him to go for, since picking the largest gift was absolutely something a prat would do. He considered this one, before picking up and examining every other gift on the table as well.
“Move it along, Malfoy. You’re on the clock,” Susan warned, good-naturedly.
“I’ll take the bracelet,” he said finally, returning to his seat.
For a moment, Hermione didn’t understand. But then she realized the entire table had turned to look at her.
“What—my bracelet?” she said, incredulous as she gripped the box up to her chest. “Absolutely not.”
“Those are the rules, Hermione,” said Susan. “You have to give it over.”
Her heart sunk. Susan was right—of course she had to relinquish the gift. But Malfoy only wanted it because he knew it would wind her up, and for that, she felt her blood boil.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth, passing the bracelet to Padma. “Can you please hand this to Malfoy?”
Padma gave a sympathetic smile as she passed the bracelet down the line. Hermione tried not to watch as it went from hand to hand, finally landing in Malfoy’s stupid grasp.
“My mum will adore this,” he said, pulling the bracelet out of its box to flaunt it even further.
He was lying, of course. Hermione didn’t know Narcissa well, but one didn’t have to, to recognize that the witch did not do simple, dainty jewelry. The Malfoy matriarch favored statement heirloom pieces, things that had been in the family for centuries.
He was such a prat.
“Would you like to choose another gift?” Susan asked, snapping Hermione from her thoughts.
Hermione nodded faintly, reaching this time for a small gift bag in front of her. She pulled at the tissue with little fanfare, and revealed: a tin of dungbombs.
Great.
“Alright, Hermione! Please don’t set those off in the office,” Susan warned. “Next up we have platypus! Who’s got the platypus?”
While Isolde from the Spell Consistency Review Committee selected a gift, Hermione tried not to look at Malfoy, who was still holding the bracelet down at his end of the table.
“Maybe I should wear it?” he said aloud, considering how it looked against his own wrist. “It is quite lovely.”
“Sod off, Malfoy,” said Hermione, unable to control herself.
“Help me fasten it?” Draco continued, turning to Theodore Nott undeterred.
“Gladly,” said Nott, which figured—he was known for being equally as much of a prat as Malfoy. It’s why they were friends.
She tried to ignore them as Theo secured the clasp, trying instead to direct her attention to Isolde’s new quill of encouragement—but it was proving difficult, given Malfoy’s very loud, “thank you ever so much, Nott—you truly are the best friend a lad could ask for.”
It was a bit much, even for Malfoy at his most prat-ish. Even Nott looked surprised, but gave his friend a small salute anyway.
“Looks like we’ve got a quahog next. Who’s the quahog?”
Agnes, the Founders-Era Specialist, raised her hand, but before she could select a gift for herself, Malfoy jumped to his feet.
“I’ll get one for you, Agnes! Which one would you like? This one is the largest,” he said eagerly, tripping over his own feet to assist her.
Susan stared at Malfoy. “What on earth are you doing, Draco? Agnes is perfectly capable of picking her own gift.”
“Then I could serenade you all with a Christmas carol? I’m particularly fond of ‘I Saw Three Ships’, though I do know all the words to Celestina Warbeck’s classic ‘Kiss Me Before The Yule Ball Ends’, thanks to my mother’s annual holiday gala.”
The entire room stared at him now. “You alright, mate?” asked Theodore Nott.
Somehow, Draco managed to look both horrified and delighted. “No!” he managed to yelp, in a strangled sort of way. “I just—Winifred you look simply stunning today—I can’t stop being nice to people! Why is this happening?!”
“It’s the bracelet,” said Penelope Clearwater, head of Charm Duration Compliance, with a chuckle. “It’s making you spread holiday cheer. Designed it myself.”
The color drained from Malfoy’s face. “Well, get it off!” he insisted, thrusting his wrist in her face. When she made no move to help him, he began tugging at it himself, prepared to rip it off if needed—but no matter what he did, the bracelet stayed stubbornly affixed.
“So I’m just trapped like this, then?” he snapped as he did a jaunty shuffle in place, and Penelope grinned.
“The wearer simply has to perform a genuine act of holiday cheer to remove the bracelet.”
Malfoy looked dubious. “I don’t do the holidays,” he insisted as he step-ball-changed against his will.
“Then I suppose it’s going to be a rather brilliant day in the office,” she responded.
Malfoy grumbled as he launched into a spirited chorus of ‘The Holly and the Ivy’, and with a smirk of her own, Susan returned her attention to Agnes.
The rest of the gift exchange continued without incident, aside from Malfoy insisting on unwrapping the remaining staff members gifts for them in between cutting a stack of discarded memos into snowflakes, which he charmed to hang from the conference room ceiling.
By the time the Redundancy Reduction Specialist (owner of the zebra shark patronus) selected the last gift (five pounds of treacle tart), it was well past the lunch hour and time to get back to work. Hermione found herself humming along to ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’, as Malfoy launched into his third time through while racing to pull out his coworkers chairs for them as they returned to their desks.
“Stop enjoying this so much,” he said to Hermione as she allowed him to tidy up the top of her desk for her. He arranged her memos into neat little piles, which Hermione noticed afterward were in the shape of a Christmas wreath.
“I literally can’t, Malfoy. This is the best gift I could have been given.”
“You look beautiful when you smile,” he said before he could stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. “Horrible, I mean. Horribly beautiful. I like your hair. Despise, actually. Can I touch it?”
The poor man was at war with himself.
Hermione burst into laughter, unsure what to do with his charmed-bracelet fueled confessions. “Malfoy, I didn’t know you cared.”
The look on his face was mutinous as he stormed away, plopping himself rather forcefully at his own desk.
After that, Hermione tried very hard to focus on her work. She had a number of tricky letters to write, and at least three proposed amendments she needed to annotate. But before she’d even dipped her quill, yet another disruption pulled at her attention.
“Is that…pine?”
Hermione wrinkled her nose, sniffing a few more times to be sure. Definitely the scent of pine.
She swiveled in her chair to see Malfoy lighting a rather large, festive candle at his desk.
“It’s the bracelet,” he scowled, pulling out cinnamon and peppermint candles next.
“Where did those even come from?”
He didn’t dignify her question with a response.
“Malfoy,” she said after a long moment, an idea creeping into her mind.
He ignored her.
“I think I know how you might get the bracelet off.”
Still he met her words with silence, though she could tell he was more interested now.
She rose from her chair and came to lean casually against his desk, a perfect mirror of him this morning. “You could swap desks with me.”
He raised an eyebrow as he transfigured his pocket square into a crimson santa hat, which he placed on his head. “Not a chance.”
“Is it really that big of a deal to you? It’s an easy way to do a genuinely nice thing for someone and stop making an arse of yourself in the office. A win-win, if you will.”
“My desk and I have an understanding,” he said, and Hermione wondered (not for the first time) what Draco was like as a petulant toddler.
“Fine. Enjoy your day as a Christmas elf,” she snapped, stomping away.
An hour later, she was nearly finished with one of her three amendments when she heard a commotion in the break room. Hermione followed the sounds of yelling, only to find Malfoy and Padma fighting over a box of paperclips.
“Hand them over, Malfoy. I need to do actual work here.”
Theodore Nott jumped to his defense. “Malfoy’s exact replica of King’s Cross Station at Christmastime is actual work, Patil. Check the office supply room on the DMLE floor if you need paperclips so badly.”
“I did already! They said Malfoy cleaned them out!”
Hermione stepped inside to see the truly impressive holiday village made out of office supplies that had taken over the lunch table. “Nott, what’s going on here? Did you somehow end up with a bracelet too?”
Theodore shook his head with pride. “No, I just like chaos.”
Malfoy crawled out from under the table, holding a handful of shredded parchment up triumphantly. “This will be perfect for the snow—oh, Granger. Perfect.”
His tone suggested he wasn’t at all excited to see her.
Hermione frowned. “Nott, hand over the paperclips.”
Reluctantly, Nott obliged, and Padma gave Hermione a grateful look before exiting the break room.
“Malfoy, offer still stands. Trade desks with me, and all this can end.”
Draco crossed his arms stubbornly across his chest. “No, I’m having a great time.”
“Yeah!” Nott added with enthusiasm. “He’s having a great time!”
Hermione shook her head at the two of them on the floor of the break room, sighing as she returned to her desk.
It was nearly half six by the time she’d addressed nearly every memo still vying for her attention. She needed to get over to Harry’s for his annual muggle holiday movie night, and was already running quite late.
Most everyone else had already gone home for the day, which is why the looming form of Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway as she went to leave nearly gave her a heart attack.
“Malfoy!” she yelped, clapping a hand to her heart. “What’s with the serial killer stance? Don’t you have Christmas cookies to be baking, or snow angels to make or something?”
He shuffled his feet, looking wildly uncomfortable in his well-pressed button down and tie. “I, uh—have a gift for you,” he said awkwardly.
Hermione looked at him suspiciously. “We don’t have a good track record with gifts, Malfoy. Is this something that’s going to turn my hair red and green, or make it snow directly above me wherever I go?”
He shoved a large, wrapped rectangle into her hands.
Against her better judgment, Hermione set down her bag and unwrapped the gift. Inside, there was a rather beautiful, ornate mirror, rounded at the top. But when she looked at it, she didn’t see her reflection—instead, she saw an empty courtyard.
“I’m confused,” she said, glancing up at him.
“It’s the exact view from the window by my desk. Now you’ll have it too.”
Her brow furrowed even more. She had no idea how he’d made this; it was certainly a complex magical artifact.
“—but why? I mean, thank you,” she added hurriedly, “but why? Why not just trade desks with me?”
He looked around, as though to make sure no one else might overhear him. “I need to stay in my desk,” he said simply, though this time, his tone was devoid of bratty insistence, “because I can see you from it.”
Well that didn’t make any sense at all. “Why should that—”
“You’ve got your back to me all day, Granger. But my desk, in addition to having a nice view out the window, also has direct line of sight… to you. And seeing you each day motivates me to be better.”
There was a faint ringing in Hermione’s ears. The bracelet, she realized—it was making him say crazy things again. But when she looked down, his wrists were bare.
“I have to work hard every single day to deserve to be in the same place as someone like you, Granger. Please don’t take this from me. I need it.”
“But where—” she was having trouble finding her voice. “Where’s the bracelet?”
He gave her a little half smile as he pulled it from his pocket. “Oh, this? It fell off after I made the mirror. Want it?”
He offered the silver jewelry to her, but Hermione held up her hands in refusal.
“I’m good, thanks,” she laughed. Then she looked again at the mirror, watching as Elphias Doge exited the chamber and headed home, pulling a hat with ear flaps down over his thinning white hair.
“Thank you, Malfoy,” she said after a moment. “It’s perfect.”
He shuffled awkwardly, then clapped his hands together. “Right then. I’ll be heading home.”
“Wait—” she said, without thinking.
He paused. “Yeah?”
“Can you do me one more favor before you go?”
Malfoy gave her a withering look. “I think I’ve done quite enough today, Granger.”
“It won’t take more than a couple minutes. Please?”
“Fine,” he said grudgingly, back to his normal curmudgeonly ways. “What is it?”
She paused, considering Draco Malfoy with something quite akin to new eyes.
“Can you help me flip my desk around?”
He blinked at her, not quite registering the request at first. Then, it dawned on him what she meant, and his cheeks tinged ever so faintly pink.
“Okay, Granger. I can do that.”
Once they’d completed the task, Hermione set her new mirror up so it rested against her desk lamp, smiling at her new view—both in and outside of the mirror.
She nodded cordially at Malfoy, then gestured toward the door. “Shall we?” she asked.
The two exited the office together, and when they reached their respective floos, they paused before reaching for the powder.
“Happy Christmas, Malfoy.”
He gave her the closest thing she imagined he could give to a real smile, and responded, “Happy Christmas, Granger.”
And then they disappeared into two bursts of green flame.