One for sorrow, two for mirth

Ever since the Third year, Christmas Eve has meant only one thing for Hermione: Hogsmeade. There is no place more magical than this little hamlet drowning in snow, like it’s inside of a snow globe. That had been the first present she got from Ron. On Christmas of their Third year, he came to her with ears burning red and shoved a tiny snow globe into her hands. She thought it wasn’t even enchanted until the evening came and, aside from the snow, miniature fireworks started to go off inside the little ball. This goofy gift has been with her ever since. Even at war, even when Ron deserted her and Harry, Hermione still would find it in her bottomless bag and watch the tiny sparks of fireworks. Now the snow globe is proudly presented on her bedside table. Today is her first chance to see Ron and Harry since the school year kicked off. No words can describe how much she missed them. 'Mione, you ready? ' Ginny is beside herself too. She’s redone her hair thrice already. The bathroom has been occupied by them since the crack of dawn, and none of the neighbouring girls have protested. Everybody understands what it means to have a single date a year. 'Yes, we can go. Unless you want to make some adjustments to your hair.' 'Ha-ha! ' Gin banters. 'Look who’s talking! A girl who definitely hasn’t poured everyone’s supply of Sleekeazy’s on her mane just an hour ago.' Hermione snickers. She is so happy she could burst into singing like a Disney Princess. Today’s the day she’s been anticipating for almost half a year. 'Harry! ' Ginny breaks into a run, too giddy to walk, and slams into Harry’s arms. He catches her and twirls her a little. At this moment, they are a spitting image of that one photo of Harry’s parents he’s always treasured. Hermione deliberately shoves aside her quite persistent freudian thoughts. 'Hi, Mione.' He’s here. He’s real. Ron scoops her into his warm bear hug, and she immediately feels like home. They are together — the four of them, but also just her and Ron. Together they roam around Hogsmeade, drink butterbeer in the Three Brooms, visit ex-Zonko’s, where George is finishing the renovations which will turn the shop into a second Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He is excessively enthusiastic about the grand opening which is planned for St. Patrick’s. They also pay a visit — a significantly shorter one — to Aberforth at the Hog’s Head. He is grumpy as usual, but visibly flattered they remembered him. When dusk falls and Hogsmeade is gradually illuminated with festive lights, Gin whispers something into Harry’s ear, and they disappear after a rushed goodbye. 'I still can’t fully come to terms with him dating my sis, ' Ron concludes with a sigh. 'No, I am happy for them, but going on double dates like this… I don’t know. Praise Merlin, you don’t have a brother, Mione.' She chuckles and cuddles up to him. They walk down High Street, surrounded by the white fairy tale of snow. This is everything Hermione wanted for Christmas. They stroll around, talking about the Auror training, about the renovations in the Burrow that Mrs Weasley decided to dolly up after the fire, about Ron’s attempts to cajole Harry and George into squandering all of their money on the best tickets to the next Quidditch World Cup. They also snog in every secluded corner. After a good couple hours, Hermione feels a bit strained. It’s as if Ron tries to fill every moment with talking or kissing. All she gets to say is ‘Oh? ’ or ‘Great’ or ‘You don’t say! ’ Not that she desperately wants to share any fascinating stories from her everyday school life, and it’s great that Ron is eager to talk, but… Something about this is off. He’s a bit too eager. The two of them used to be really good at comfortable silences, but now it seems like silence as a concept scares him. 'It’s late, Mione, ' he blurts after an umpteenth Quidditch story, taking her mind off the worrisome thoughts. 'We can go to my place, warm up a bit.' What he means by warming up is quite obvious. A sudden urge to excuse herself with some inexistent homework or lie about having her period surges through her mind. Hermione suppresses it. She really should stop being this uncomfortable with the matters of sex. It’s not Ron’s fault that she is more of a hugger-kisser than… Ugh… Shagger? She kisses him in a tacit response, and they go to the hotel Ron and Harry are staying at. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall made a special exception for this Christmas — given their circumstances and her reliability as a Head Girl — a Golden Trio Rule: it allows her to fully ignore the curfew on holiday break. 'So, how is your schooling going on? ' he finally asks her something. 'Is there any hope you’d graduate early? C’mon, I’m sure you’ll ace your N.E.W.T.s even if they throw them at you right now! ' A wave of warmth sweeps over her. Not only because of this blatant but sweet flattery. He misses her. Despite the time of their lives they are evidently having with Harry this year, he misses her dearly. He is counting days till her graduation, just like she is. 'Can’t wait for the day you join us at Aurorat, you’d be the Head of the whole department in no time.' He chuckles and kisses her on the crown of her head. What was a wave of warmth is now a cold shower. She sighs. She has already told him and Harry about her plans, but apparently Ron wasn’t really listening. Or he’s being a stubborn mule. ‘I am not entering Aurorat, Ron, my career plans are more ambitious.’ He raises his eyebrows at her. ‘What’s more ambitious than a Head Auror? Or-’ He snorts. ‘Are you eyeing the chair of the Minister for Magic? ’ She doesn’t answer, and he reads the silence correctly. ‘No… For real? You wish to become the Minister? ’ His bemusement is almost offensive. ‘Yes, Ron, I do. I want to change the ways of the Wizarding World in the most effective way,’ she explains, feeling a hopeless void open inside. He shakes his head with a sigh. As if she is the stubborn one here. ‘Well, as you wish.’ A mischievous smile crawls up his lips. ‘Maybe you’d reconsider, though. Me and Harry, we can be rather convincing, you know? I’ve recently talked Neville into joining us.’ Hermione freezes on the spot. She honestly believes she’s misheard. 'Neville? An Auror? ’ 'You shouldn’t doubt him, Hermione, that’s just mean,’ Ron answers with mild reproach. 'I don’t! I doubt your good sense, Ronald! ’ She gives it her all not to sound furious. ‘As recently as my birthday, Neville said he wanted to become a Herbology teacher here at Hogwarts.’ He shrugs. 'Yeah, he told us that too, but Professor Sprout is alive and kicking. You don’t suggest they fire her in favour of Neville, do you? He can become a professor whenever Sprout retires, and meanwhile-' No. That’s impossible. She just can’t. 'Honestly, do you even hear yourself?! ’ she snaps. ‘In what world, do you think, a guy who wants to take care of plants and children would be happy to hunt people down — even horrible people?! Do you know Neville at all? He’d shuddered at the mere sight of Crucio, and not on a human but on a bug…' 'He is not that timid anymore, Hermione, you should have paid attention,’ Ron retorts, not looking her in the eye. This is how all their squabbles start. He turns away… 'Because he can’t be timid! He can’t be himself! How is that a good thing? ’ 'For Merlin’s sake! ’ Ron snaps after all. ‘I swear, you can be so unbearable at times! Of course, no one can decide for themselves without the all-knowing Mione telling them how to live their lives! Especially me! Nothing I ever do is good enough for you! ’ 'Then maybe you should think before you do something! ' She jerks away her hand that somehow is still in his. 'Fine, guess I’ll go spend my evening thinking! Bullocks! ' he barks back and storms off, leaving her alone in the middle of festive-lit Hogsmeade. When Hermione finally enters their Common room, she is freezing. The idea to take a walk back to Hogwarts and cool off after their squabble with Ron turned out to be totally unhelpful. She needs a book and a warm nook near the fireplace. 'Ah. Granger.' Of course he is here; where else can he be! She has to make an effort not to lash out at an entirely blameless Draco. After all, he could have actually been at home in his Manor, and the fact that he’s not points out yet another sad truth about him: even Draco’s family is not there for him anymore. 'Merry Christmas, ' she grumbles, flopping on the sofa beside him, and mutters a warming charm. It’s way past midnight, so congratulations are in order. 'Likewise.' He nods. 'Fancy a book? I have on me the three tomes I borrowed for the paper we’re writing on runes after holidays. I can spare you one if you want.' She thrusts her hand out, not saying a word. Yes. Reading should calm her down. And Draco’s right, first thing after the holiday break they are having a Runes' essay. It’s better to start in advance. He scoffs and passes her Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms. Hermione runs her fingertips against the cover. She has this book in her bottomless bag. 'Thanks, Draco.' He tilts his head to the side and studies her with unusual interest for a bit longer than she considers decent, but then turns back to his book after all. She opens Magical Hieroglyphs. A strange feeling of not recognizing a perfectly familiar book sweeps over her. It’s like meeting a person who bears an uncanny resemblance to someone you know: all the same features, but still different. She freezes with a page between her fingers. This exact feeling has been nagging her this whole day with Ron. She tosses her head as if to literally shake off these thoughts. Breathe. Calm down. Read about runes. She would dissect their differences with Ronald when she can think straight. A chapter on Old Persian cuneiform logograms is quite complex. That, on top of the cold from her freezing walk still creeping under her skin, makes her thoughts wander off the matter at hand and back to Ron. Is he becoming even more hotblooded? Or is it her that’s annoyingly finicky about everything around her? Finally, she is too worn out by her vain attempts to tune herself in on reading. But she still needs to take her mind off the wrecking revelation that she may be unbearable and thus — unlovable. Unlovable? 'Draco? ' she calls, forcefully closing her book. 'Mm? ' He is still consumed by reading. 'May I ask you a strange question? ' 'Go on.' She thought it would be too awkward to ask, but the words come out freely: 'What do you love about me and why? And how did you realise that? ' The glare he gives her after this scandalous question is blood-freezing. 'Is that an academic interest? ' Hermione blinks at him. 'What? Why? I’m not writing a paper on the subject, if that’s what you’re asking.' 'Do you at least grasp how cruel you’re being right now? ’ He doesn’t raise his voice, and his face looks expressionless, but she immediately realises her question was a huge mistake. ‘I’d rather get another Nazi tattoo on my forehead than open up to the girl I love, knowing she asks only to amuse herself.' Ouch. When he puts it like this, it really sounds heartless. What was she even thinking?! Trying to deem herself lovable at the expense of Draco’s already trampled ego… 'No, I… Sorry. You’re right.' She jumps up from the sofa. 'You see, I’m not in the mood for reading today, good night.' Oh, she is such a bumbling idiot! She starts for the stairs when he firmly proclaims: 'You fascinate me, Granger. Everything about you.' Hermione abruptly stops and turns to him. He hasn’t moved an inch, still facing the fireplace. 'Draco, you don’t have to. It was really stupid and insensitive on my part…' He finally turns to face her and even forces a strained smile. 'It’s fine. Sit down and listen. Truth and nothing but. I won’t be this generous another time.' She sighs, smiling back at him. 'And why did you suddenly decide to be generous now? ' 'Let’s say it’s your Christmas present from me.’ He scoffs and nods at the opposite side of the sofa, inviting her back. ‘Now sit. I’m afraid you are in for a lengthy explanation.' Hermione silently abides. Draco gives a long sigh, closes his eyes, and reclines his head on the backrest. 'It started after our First year, I think. No, even earlier. I just couldn’t comprehend then that my thoughts came back to you not because I despised you but rather, the opposite… And during the summer break, my Father told me I was pathetic if I couldn’t manage to surpass a Mudb-’ He jolts and tears his eyes open, giving her a pleading look. ‘Oh, gods. Sorry, I didn’t-' She waves at him. 'It’s fine. I understand a quote isn’t always pretty.' He presses his hair repeatedly, unable to calm his nerves. 'You should know I never use this word now, Granger. I don’t even think it, I swear.' Hermione shrugs. Somehow, she is absolutely unmoved by this slur. After everything that happened, she would hardly ever be fragile enough to boil over a simple word. She knows a word on its own is nothing but hot air. 'Draco, I said it’s fine. It’s fine even if you do sometimes. You cannot change yourself overnight.' He doesn’t answer, just stares. And she stares back, because if she looks away, he can mistake it for flirtation, he can get hopeful, and she promised him not to be that heartless. Draco is still very pale; his skin is not one bit warmed by the orange light of the fireplace. And his grey eyes, enormous from the dark circles under them, show such an intense, honest sorrow that Hermione gasps a little. 'How can you be this gracious and wise, Granger? ' he mutters under his breath and probably doesn’t even understand that he said that out loud. Pointing it out would be rude. Then he clears his throat, and the staring contest is over. 'Where was I? Ah. Father. Yes, he’d scolded me for losing to a Muggleborn, and I gave my all to beat you at… Anything. Honestly, anything would have done the trick. But you were so out of my reach, Granger. A girl who’s had nothing of what was granted to me…’ He snorts and drops his face into his hands. ‘Oh, I even had a Muggleborn fascination phase, you know. I’ve always been told that your lot is a mistake of nature, a bad batch. But all of a sudden, I turned it upside down in my head — and believe me I wished to kill myself for it — I started seeing Muggleborns — mostly you, though — as the most wonderful phenomenon. I have magic because of my ancestry, but you… Magic has chosen you. Magic has deemed you so special that it took an effort and imbued you, isn’t that-' He doesn’t finish and gives a painful scoff. 'That’s when I started to casually loathe myself. I was nothing out of the ordinary. A boring heir to a boring line. I accepted that you’d never look twice at such a waste of space. But then-’ A barking laugh escapes deep from his lungs. ‘Oh, that’s ridiculous. Then you fell for Weaselbee. Who is exactly the same, a pure-blood from the Sacred 28. Just dumb, ugly, and poor.’ ‘Malfoy! ’ she breaks him off, outraged. Apparently, words can still hurt her if they are aimed at her dearest. ‘People don’t change overnight, you said it! ’ he snaps. ‘Sorry. I’ve made my peace with the idea of you as Weasley’s wife, I just… Such a confession is not easy. It makes me feel things I usually stuff in the furthest corner of my mind.’ This rings a bell. Draco’s ability to look detached honestly amazes her. ‘Actually, about that…’ she starts gingerly, anxious not to provoke his desperate anger again. ‘I know I’m not a reader of men’s hearts, but still, I would usually notice guys looking at me a certain way or something… With Viktor, with McLaggen. You’ve never blown it. It looked like you had despised me through and through. How? How do you put something like that aside? ’ He shrugs. ‘Occlumency.’ Hermione feels her jaw dropping. Why would someone use such an intricate art to hide his affection towards a girl? ‘You learned that? ’ she croaks, gawking at him. He gives her a crooked smile and even perks up a little. ‘Oh, it’s actually funny. My aunt taught me, and I turned out to be a natural… She had dissected my mind for the whole summer break before the Sixth year and still couldn’t make it to anything indicative of my feelings for you. She just got the general idea that I don’t loathe you like I should. Oh, she’d Avada me on the spot if she knew…’ He switches to pained laughter. ‘In what world is this funny, Draco? ’ He stops laughing and catches his breath. ‘Granger. I’ve just wasted all my eloquence to praise you in every possible way, and you are going to say you don’t grasp the concept of irony? ’ Out of the blue, she feels her cheeks flushing. It’s true that he praised her like nobody has done, and because it’s him, this doesn’t feel like empty flattery. 'Oh, I know of irony, believe me,’ she mutters, trying to turn her presumably red face away. He raises an eyebrow, inviting her to continue. 'The day I got your love note… I was standing there in wait and wondering who could have taken a liking to me and what it was in me that they liked. The answer I settled on was my brains.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Can you believe that years after it has turned out the sender of that note really fell for my brains? ’ With an exhausted sigh, Draco buries his face in his palms. 'Granger, you have no brains whatsoever if that is the reason you’ve singled out from my ramble.' She has brains, so she probably knows what other traits he is going to name, but for some selfish and wrong reason she wants to hear it from him. 'There is more? ' Draco looks her straight in the eye and articulates: 'You are clever, persistent, forthright, ambitious yet unbothered by those who try to discourage you.’ He tilts his head to the side and gives an impish smile. ‘And a little vain, as I see clearly now, but as a Slytherin, I am only attracted further.' She feels herself flush up to her hairline. ‘Ex-Slytherin! And I am not vain! ’ He slumps back on the sofa, eyeing her with a smirk. ‘I… I just want my efforts to be acknowledged. I’ve rarely gotten that with some people, as you’ve probably noticed! ’ That’s really not pretty on her part. While he’s practically turned his soul inside out to her, she bares her teeth at him, and for what? She tries to think of something, anything, to change the subject. ‘Why did you send that love note after all? Signed or not, it couldn’t do much in any scenario…’ Draco raises both his eyebrows in surprise. ‘The letter was needed to lure you to the portrait. Which it did.’ ‘And what were you planning on doing? Until your gang found out? ’ ‘Obviously come there alone,’ he enunciates. All of it still doesn’t make sense to Hermione. ‘And what? Confess? ’ ‘No, bloody beard of Merlin, of course not! ’ He practically jumps on the sofa. ‘Granger, I was thirteen! My plan was idiotically similar to what I did in the end. I would appear and laugh at you and then go.’ ‘What- Why?..’ The extremely convoluted ratiocinations of a thirteen-year-old Draco Malfoy make her brain hurt. Draco sighs. ‘I already said I knew you wouldn’t reciprocate your enemy’s feelings. You are not that self-destructive. I simply wanted to deceive myself.’ He shuts his eyes and lets a mere trace of a smile on his lips. ‘To see your face lit with anticipation. To have a vivid image for a fool’s fantasy where you accept me…’ Apparently, the vision before his mind’s eye fades, so he looks at her again. ‘And you know, it was worth it. Before your face turned red with resentment, I managed to catch a glimpse of what I hoped for: Hermione Granger eagerly waiting for me at the school’s dating spot.’ His smile makes Hermione very awkward. She couldn’t help but imagine something gross. ‘Damn. You know, that memory, the fact that you’ve kept this a secret, in many ways helped me to find the person in you instead of a monster…’ she starts. That’s true. This one and only decent action on Draco’s part has humanised him in her head. But the way he was smiling just now… She has to say it. ‘Now I am not sure that you don’t jerk off to a vision of a fourteen-year-old me.’ He goggles at her for a second before whispering furiously: ‘Gods, Granger! No! That was a memory for lofty daydreaming only. The only way I used it in practice was to conjure a bloody Patronus! Seriously, it was too pure to jerk off on it even when I was still fourteen myself! ’ He makes an awkward pause. ‘For that I’ve had other fantasies.’ Now it’s her turn to goggle and squirm with embarrassment. ‘Draco! Gross! ’ ‘What? You’re the one who brought this up, and I promised to be honest with you.’ He looks almost as smug as in his good old bully days. But he has a point. ‘Fine. You’re right. Let’s pretend I’ve never asked,’ Hermione grumbles, folding her arms. No way she is asking anything like that ever again! ‘Is there anything else you feel curious about? ’ he asks, breaking the tense silence. ‘A Malfoy guinea pig won’t be at your service forever.’ She is still pissed, but there is one thing, probably the most important, that she needs to know. ‘I… If that’s fine with you… Oh, Godric. Did your love for me help you in any way while… You know. Through the times of war? ’ He stares into the flames in the fireplace for a good minute, before answering. ‘Sorry. Not today. Maybe once, if you’d still wish to know, but…' He swallows. 'Not now.’ Well. At least she tried. ‘Of course. You’ve already told me more than enough.’ He snorts and takes a deep ragged breath. 'I hope to see your essay on the topic when it’s done, Granger. Merry Christmas.’