Hermione Granger's To-Do List
"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me."
"Oh, it was no problem. I had some free time, anyways."
The soft, musical voice filtered through the air, singsongy and gentle, as though every spoken word was a lyric to a slow melody. Pale blue eyes met amber as two, very opposite, women sat before one another at the back of the Three Broomsticks.
Hermione fiddled nervously with a notebook before her, bending the pages, playing with the cover as she fought back all nervousness and dared to move forward.
Luna smiled encouragingly from her seat, taking a small sip from her Butterbeer before going back to what she was doing before, sitting and smiling with a glazed look in her eyes.
"What would you do," Hermione fingered the quill stationed beside the notebook, "if you were, say, to meet someone who, well...never had a Christmas?"
Luna arched a pale brow, curiosity causing her blue eyes to obtain an eerie glow. "Are you talking about Draco Malfoy?"
Her perception was perfect; Luna had always had this strange ability to pick up on the slightest of things and understand the unspoken words. Hermione had to admit that Luna Lovegood would make one exceptional psychiatrist, if only it weren't for the fact that she sounded insane half of the time.
The blush darkening Hermione's cheeks was answer enough and Luna's lips formed a gentle smile. Everything about the girl was gentle; she reminded Hermione of a thin tree, willowy and flexible, constantly swaying gently in the breeze, every touch gentle, every word soft, and every action tender. But, Hermione reminded herself as she recalled the Second Great War, like the small tree, Luna was sturdy and supportive.
Gnawing on her lower lip, chastising herself by reminding herself that, one day, she would cut her lip, Hermione silently recalled why she had gone to Luna for this particular subject rather than her best friend, Ginevra Weasley.
The fact was, if Hermione were to go to Ginny about any topic related to Draco Malfoy, kind or not, Ginny would respond with the most typical of Weasley reaction, unadulterated hatred directed towards the blond ferret. While Draco had proved to be most useful during the war, coming to their aid when the world seemed ready to be swallowed by darkness, many people still had reservations about the Malfoy.
Then again, not many people had seen what Hermione had seen, and not as many were plagued by the nightmarish memories that tormented the brunette as the slept. But those were for another time and another place, for this time and place was reserved for one topic in particular.
Mr. Malfoy's lack of Christmas joy.
Luna was perfect for this; while she was Ginny's close friend, she held no grudges and had this innocent, naïve aloofness about her that told Hermione she would not be biased or crude in her advice.
"So, Draco Malfoy has never had a real Christmas?" A strange, not-so-innocent, wicked gleam made Luna's eyes glow eerily once more. "Well, on Christmas morning, why don't you just lie under the tree and ask him to unwrap you?"
Hermione was grateful that she had not been drinking at the time, for even now she spluttered and choked loudly, coughing violently as she mentally crossed off naïve and innocent in her description of Luna.
"W...WHAT?" the brunette managed to cry once she stopped choking and regained whatever breath was left in her body.
Luna's smiled broadened just a touch and a small chuckle escaped her rosy, unpainted lips. "That would help him have a real Christmas, right? I suppose if you're not willing to do it, then we could find somebody who is willing," she drifted off, her eyes glazing as she tapped her chin with a long finger.
"Luna," Hermione wheezed, tears flowing from her eyes as she fought for air and sanity, "please...that's not what I meant!"
Nope, definitely not innocent; Luna had to be raunchier than Lavender and Lavender was pretty raunchy.
Maybe that was why Luna always had that faraway look; she wasn't thinking of those strangely named creatures Hermione could not recall in this moment of insanity, she was probably thinking up scenarios of raunchy sex.
Grabbing the once untouched Butterbeer beside her, Hermione took a violent, big swig of it to try and dampen or completely remove the foul images that suddenly filled her mind.
'Damn it, Granger, why did you have to go and think of that? She probably has a thing for pirates, she seems like the type who...GRANGER! You are disgusting. Remember the reason for being here: Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, which is almost as foul as what you were thinking before...but ...still...'
Clearing her thoughts and throat as she fought for mental silence and calm, Hermione took another, smaller, swig of the Butterbeer before facing Luna once more.
"Luna, I don't plan on...offering...myself or anyone else to Draco for Christmas. What I need to know is what to do that will make him enjoy the holiday without having to engage in any...sexual...activities."
"So," Luna said softly, "you want to teach him how to fall in love with Christmas without having sex, correct?" Hermione nodded. "Well, that's easy enough, isn't it?" At her confused expression, Luna continued, "You just do all the traditional Christmas stuff with Draco Malfoy. It's very simple."
While Hermione had not been overly oblivious as a child, she had still had troubles recalling every little tradition her family had done. In fact, they had been a rather untraditional family, aside from the baking and decorating. The only real Christmases Hermione was able to vividly recall had been those that happened since arriving at Hogwarts and those had not been too overly traditional to say that least, with Basilisks, Tournaments, and Dark Lords dampening the Christmas spirit.
Even after the war, when she had finally been able to spend a real Christmas with her family that she might be able to remember, the Christmas had not been too traditional. She'd been off scouring the land for remaining Death Eaters while her family had been working at a Muggle and Wizard's soup kitchen. Needless to say, she could barely recall any fully traditional Christmases, which, in the end, made her feel a strange longing and sadness that she never knew existed within her.
"Luna...to be honest, Christmases haven't been very...traditional around my home. At least, I can't recall all the traditions involved," she admitted quietly, "I don't remember a lot of the stuff I did before coming to Hogwarts."
This lack of memory, Hermione attributed to the possible mental trauma caused by the Second Great War. During that time, it had been so difficult to find any happy thoughts, any happy memories, that it felt like all of them had been permanently washed from her mind.
Perhaps Bellatrix's torture had actually done more harm than good...
"Well, first off, you need to decorate." Luna spoke as though she were completely unaware to sudden inner turmoil that filled Hermione, but her faraway eyes held a knowing look that reminded Hermione of Luna's perceptiveness. "I'm certain that if you were to speak with Headmistress McGonagall, she would allow you and Draco Malfoy to decorate the Common Room. Of course, this means going out and buying the decorations.
"When you go out and buy the decorations, also find baking stuff. You do have a kitchen in the Common Room, right? Good," Luna smiled, "so you buy baking stuff and bake a bunch of Christmas sweets; cookies, cakes, pies, tarts, anything you can think of that you think you can make the Muggle way." Her lips twitched. "Muggle Christmas, I think, is far more fun and traditional than Wizard Christmas. Very family oriented and gets people a lot closer."
Hermione had managed to open her notebook and began scribbling notes furiously, following Luna as she listed off the various things that consisted of a traditional Christmas.
"Of course, I think that you have to also go out and have fun." The knowing look filled her eyes, as though she knew that Draco despised snow. "You two should play in the snow, have snowball fights, build snowmen, do all the fun things in the snow the Muggle away. Very intimate," she winked, "and it will help you two get closer. Like good friends," she added at Hermione's glare.
"You two also need to go out for a tree." This part Hermione knew and understood very well, but she still took down notes, enjoying Luna's advice. "You can buy decorations for that, too, and decorate it in the Common Room. I think he'll enjoy it, but he might try to take charge. He looks like a man who likes to be in charge, if you know what I mean."
No, Hermione didn't exactly know what Luna meant, but she also didn't really want to know what Luna meant; it probably had something to do with sex.
"Anyways," Luna sipped her Butterbeer, "you also need to do the little things, like listen to Christmas music and have hot chocolate. Then, for Christmas, I think you should go all out, save for being wrapped in ribbon and nothing else under the tree." Hermione blushed darkly. "Do a whole dinner the Muggle way; Headmistress McGonagall will probably let you do that. Unwrap presents, have a nice breakfast, sit and relax. Tell each other Christmas stories or watch Christmas movies. It's very funny how older Muggle things don't work, but laptops and Muggle movies work fine in Hogwarts. Just not the Internet," Luna sighed sadly.
Hermione, under other circumstances, would have normally been aghast at Luna's knowledge of Muggles, but she reminded herself that Luna had taken Muggle Studies and that she had to focus on what Luna was telling her. It was important to make this Christmas for Malfoy as special as possible, even if he irked her most of the time.
About 99% of the time, to be exact.
"McGonagall removed a lot of those spells from Hogwarts," Hermione noted quietly, "after the Second Great War. There is no Internet access, but she finds that students are a lot safer playing with PSPs and laptops instead of Fanged Frisbees. She also added another spell, making it so that none of the batteries died out, since Hogwarts does not have any plugs, even though some things run on electricity."
Luna nodded slowly, taking in all of Hermione's information as she drank her beverage.
"So, I think that that's all you need to know. I assume you could find recipe book in the library for cooking and order the storybooks from the post. It's just too bad that you don't want to offer yourself as a Christmas gift for Draco Malfoy." The most mischievous of smiles found its way onto Luna's face. "It would make one delightful story."
"Luna," Hermione sighed heavily, "I told you that I don't plan on giving myself to Malfoy. I'm, uh...saving myself..."
Folding her fingers under her chin, Luna grinned broadly. "For Mr. Right, I assume?" She reached out, taking the last few sips of her drink. "Did I tell you everything you needed?"
Hermione nodded, closing the notebook and, daringly, she finished off her Butterbeer in two gigantic mouthfuls. Fighting back the fizzing feeling in her nose, she refused to let her eyes water as she smiled back at Luna. "It's perfect, Luna, thank you." She stood up, watching as Luna did the same. "I suppose I better get back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Harry and Ron are probably getting worried."
Luna stood, still smiling knowingly at Hermione. "Hermione...about saving yourself for Mr. Right..."
Looking up from her bag, in which she'd been stashing her book and quill, Hermione gave Luna a puzzled look. "Yes?"
"Don't waste a good opportunity just because you think you haven't met him yet," she turned around and began to head out of the crowded bar, "because, you may have already met him, you just don't know that yet."
Puzzled over Luna's words, Hermione watched her retreating figure as the blonde swayed out of the Three Broomsticks and into the snowy world outside.
Scoffing, Hermione tightened her jacket and scarf, pushing through the crowd as she headed for the door.
If she knew anything, it was that Hermione had certainly not met Mr. Right yet.
The smiling face blew up in a flash of red, exploding on the trees and white ground as another, maniacally grinning face looked onward.
Draco Malfoy had spent the past day and a half exploding the most asinine objects just to find pleasure and get rid of his consuming anger. For the past day and a half, he had been furious with a certain brown-haired, amber-eyed woman who dared poke her small nose into his affairs.
God damn it, when did his life have to be her business? He never asked her to stick her nose in his life, to ask those stupid questions!
Another snowman's head blew up, resulting in several outraged cries from a mix of first years.
Damn first years, no matter how they were, whether it be 13 or 11, they always began to whine and cry whenever their precious snowman blew up.
"It was going to melt anyways, you bloody dolts," he snapped, cursing idiots before marching off in the snow, ready to blow up another snowman.
He had already dealt with a number of chairs in an empty classroom, to the dismay of the Professor Flitwick, who had used that class only an hour after the destruction had occurred. Then, Draco had headed to the Room of Requirement, blowing up dummy after dummy until it not longer pleased him.
He had become rather harsh in his punishments, snarling out detentions or the removal of points to the slightest infractions, no matter the house or the year of the student. When that lost all of its pleasure, he decided to wreak havoc on the 'beautiful' grounds of Hogwarts by destroying everything happy.
This, so far, was placating him the most, since seeing first years cry was rather fun. He knew that later on, once his frustration was quenched, he would feel several pangs of guilt, but, for now, he would enjoy his reign of destruction.
Hermione Granger had pissed him off and the world would have to suffer.
Who gave a bloody fuck about snow? A carrot nose went flying.
Who cared about building forts or snowmen? A coal mouth disintegrated.
Who gave a fuck about presents? Coal eyes blew in two different directions.
What the fuck was so bloody special about fucking Christmas? An entire snowman blew apart, spraying all those nearby.
Christmas was for fools! Who the hell wasted their time buying presents, doing all of that decorating, all of that baking and cooking, all for one stupid day? It was one stupid day, just like any other, and the only reason it was special was because some important figure was 'born' on it and the world decided to commercialize the fuck out of it.
Christmas was nothing; it was not some special day, just some sorry, lame-ass excuse to be forced to spend the day with your most annoying family members.
A part of him wished that Christmas would just cease to exist.
Draco Malfoy hated and despised Christmas with every part of his body.
Perhaps it was due to past experiences, the lack of joy, the constant coldness of his home and father, or perhaps it had just been ingrained in his mind that Christmas nothing special. No one, not even Draco, was certain why the blond hated the holiday so much, but there was a reason for everything.
Maybe it had been from those cold, lifeless family dinners his mother had insisted on them having. The family seated at the ostentatiously large table, father at one end, mother at the other, with Draco somewhere in between. His mother would always try to establish some form of conversation, but his condescending father would have none of it. Dinner was a time to eat, not a time to converse, only the uncouth and uncivilized conversed while eating.
The meals, too, were ostentatious. Nothing but the best for the Malfoys, his father would always say with a grin. The best, however, always had to be untraditional, fancy food, fancy silverware, and absolutely no sweets for dessert.
He recalled that, one time, when he'd been about six, Draco had asked why they never had Christmas pudding or cookies. He had been over at Blaise's house the day before, watching with fascination as the boy's incessantly widowed mother baked treats.
When asking his father if they could have sweets, the man replied, 'Sweets? Sweets are below us. Malfoys only have the best and sweets are not the best! You are not allowed to have any sweets, and there are to be no sweets in this house, do you understand?'
Then, shortly afterwards, when Draco had attempted to bring home some cookies from Blaise's house, his father had caught him before he got to surprise his mother.
He still had a few scars on his back from that beating.
Draco's father, while having been very cold, condescending, and verbally abusive, had rarely laid a hand on Draco, and even then had always been careful about scarring. The fact that now, thirteen years later, Draco had scars on his back told him just how furious his father had been.
"Oi! Malfoy! What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"
A cruel, vicious smile formed on Draco's voice at the sound of the Weasel's voice. With his rage raw and surfaced, Draco would relish in torturing the pathetic redhead.
Slowly turning around, he faced the redhead and three others. It was the Golden Trio and Weaslette, ready for battle. His eyes momentarily flickered towards Hermione, noting the apprehension on her face and the way she gnawed on her lower lip, before moving back to glare at Weasel and Potty.
While they had fought together in the war, Draco having been ousted as a spy for Dumbledore's Army during the Second Great Battle, Harry and Ron still expressed a deep hatred for the man who had tortured them for almost their whole Hogwarts career. They found forgiveness a bit harder when the one to forgive was the son of a Death Eater and the man who nearly killed Dumbledore in their sixth year.
Of course, just the fact that he was Draco Malfoy said it all; even now, after the war, the Trio regarded him as an enemy just as he regarded them as enemies. It didn't matter what was said or done, did not matter how many people had changed their views; Draco Malfoy and the Golden Trio were to always have a gaping chasm of animosity spread out between them.
Draco's face twisted into an ugly frown, eyes flashing dangerously at the sight of the foursome standing before him. He barely registered the way Hermione kept quiet and to the back, his attention was focused on the speaker and Weasel's lover, Potty.
"What do you snits want?" Draco spat, crossing his arms to refrain himself for attacking the gits. He was getting sick and tired of people butting into his business.
"What gives you the right to just destroy everything like that?" Harry cried, green eyes glinting furiously. "Bloody hell, Malfoy, you're acting like some first year bully."
"You trying to act all great and mighty, Malfoy?" Ron shouted, ready to brawl with the blond. "You think it's jolly good fun to wreck everyone else's day?"
"What is this, the playground police?" Draco scoffed, fists clenching in frustration. "What gives you any right to act all superior? I'm free to do as I fucking please and you can't do shit to stop me." He grinned. "I'm a Head and you, Weasel, are nothing but a pathetic Prefect."
"Hermione's Head Girl, she can do something!" Ginny yanked on Hermione's arm, forcing the girl out from the back and into the front, something that obviously made the brunette very uncomfortable. "Hermione, do something! Dock off a hundred points from Slytherin, give him detentions for the rest of year, anything so that I'm not forced to hex the hell out of him!"
Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, twisting her hands in her coat as she looked apprehensively from Draco to her friends and back to Draco. She knew, deep down, that her probing was the cause for his frustration, the cause for his sudden need for destruction.
"Well...technically..." she muttered as she began, but was quickly broken off by Ron.
"Malfoy, you're the one always acting so high and bloody mighty," he shouted, drawing the attention of several nearby students. "You walk about, talking down to everyone, acting like you're the bloody fucking king of the world. Newsflash, Ferret Boy, you couldn't even be the king of shit if you tried."
"You have absolutely no right to go around destroying things," Harry repeated. "I suggest you just bugger off and go back to your room before you do something you regret."
"Harry..."
Draco's harsh laugh cut off Hermione, a foul, crude laugh that made the hackles rise on everyone nearby, making Hermione cringe with fear. She'd heard that laugh only twice, and both times Draco had been inconsolably infuriated.
"I have no bloody right? What makes you so bloody righteous? That damn scar on your head? Really, to be honest, you weren't alone when you saved the whole fucking planet. You needed help, you pathetic wanker."
"What the hell is the matter with you, Malfoy?" Ginny shrieked, rising to the defense of her loving boyfriend. "He didn't do anything wrong to you. Ever since you met him, you've been nothing but a prat to him. Are you jealous?"
A flick of the wrist and a nearby snow fort actually caught fire. "You want to know what the hell is wrong with me, blood traitor? Ask you're big-nosed Muggle-born friend over there. The bitch just can't keep her bloody mouth shut and stay out of everybody else's business," he spat, moving away. "Just like her pathetic friends."
Marching off, leaving a wave of destruction in his path, three of the foursome gaped openly, wondering just what had caused Draco Malfoy to go so far off of his rocker.
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Ginny?" The only one who was not gaping, Hermione had tried to shy away, knowing that this was all of her fault and that she would be forced to relate everything that had occurred two days ago to her friends.
While they were her friends, she couldn't help but feel extremely apprehensive at the thought of discussing this particular matter. The way Draco reacted made her feel that it was one extremely sensitive and personal topic, and the idea of talking about it made her tremble in terror. She did not want to talk about it to her friends, especially since they would be less than understanding, but, as they slowly turned to face and crowd her, she feared that she may have no choice.
Maybe if she made them promise not to tell...
"Hermione, what did he mean by you sticking your 'big nose' into his business?" Ron asked as both of his brows rose in annoyance and curiosity. "What happened?"
Sighing softly, she fiddled with a button on her jacket, debating as to whether or not she should tell her friends. In the past, she knew that she could confide in them whatever information she wanted, but now, all of a sudden, on the topic of Draco Malfoy, she felt strangely uneasy.
She, however, knew that if she did not tell them anything, they would speculate and assume, reaching asinine and exaggerated conclusions that would cause more harm than good.
"I suppose...it might do little harm," she muttered, gesturing for the threesome to follow her as she trudged her way back to the school.
"Her..."
"Hush Harry, she's going to tell us," Ginny chastised.
"You see," Hermione glanced to make sure everyone was following. Sure enough, Harry walked beside Ginny, a perplexed expression causing his face to look years younger while Ron looked older and unattractive with his puckered bow and pursed lips of irritation. She feared that what she was about to say may have a near-fatal impact on her relationship with the redhead.
"A couple of days ago, Draco and I were in the Heads' Common Room..."
She quietly related their discussion, keeping a few key details out of it, mostly the little tidbits that involved her noticing Draco's particularly well-built body.
Shame caused a bright blush to rise on her cheeks as she admitted in her probing, personal questions. She admitted that she had pushed him for answers, demanding that he give some because she'd been too naïve to think that someone could possibly dislike Christmas. They walked through the entranceway, her voice hushed, ushering her friends closer as students rushed about. She didn't want anyone other than Harry, Ron, and Ginny to hear her words.
"So," she sighed softly as they made their way to the Gryffindor dormitory, "I believe that I'm at fault here. I shouldn't have pressed him like that, especially since I should know by now that he doesn't like it."
"He doesn't seem to like a lot of things," Ginny observed quietly.
"It's just...it's so sad that he never got a real Christmas." She spun around, facing the trio as they stood just around the corner from the Fat Lady. "He's our age, been a lot luckier in life than we have been, but he's the one who hasn't been able to have a Christmas. I just find it so hard to believe that someone our age hasn't been able to have such a nice experience."
"What are you getting at, Hermione?" Harry asked slowly, fearful of her response.
"I just find it sad, that's all." She rushed her words, the blush on her cheeks darkening as the untruth escaped from her lips. "I just...wish that I could do something. But, well, it is Malfoy, and I think that if I even tried, he wouldn't accept my generosity."
"Hermione," Ron tsked, throwing an arm over her shoulders, "there's something you need to know that's very important."
Annoyed and confused, she wasn't sure whether she should ask him what or toss him arm from her shoulders and glare with indignation. Before she even had a chance to decide what to do, he continued; "There are some people out there who don't deserve Christmases. Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater, no matter what people say or do, he was and will always be a Death Eater. Death Eater's, Hermione, are bad people with no hearts or souls, correct? Death Eaters don't deserve to have real, happy Christmases; they don't even want real Christmases. So, Malfoy probably doesn't even want a real Christmas, get it?"
"But Ron," she exclaimed, moving out from under his arm to glare at him, "we all know that Malfoy isn't all that bad. He doesn't even have a mark! No tattoo, no sign at all that he was a Death Eater. We have absolutely no proof to base such accusations on! And I should know; I've been living with him for the past four months!"
"He must be hiding them," Harry quipped, ready to start the age-old argument of whether Draco Malfoy was truly evil or just misguided. "You're an amazing witch, Hermione, but even you can't see through every spell there is."
"Besides," Ginny added, "his father was a Death Eater, so, as they say, like father, like son. I'm sure, 'Mione, that he doesn't lose any sleep over the fact that he never had a traditional Christmas." Ginny knew how to diffuse an argument before it began, a skill established throughout her adolescence when dealing with her older brothers. "I don't think it bothers him one bit. Now," she hugged Hermione's arm to her side, pulling the brunette towards the Fat Lady, "don't you have some homework to help us with?"
Pausing, Hermione slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I think I should just head back to my dormitory and get started on my Ancient Runes assignment," she said softly, keeping her gaze away from the probing one of Ginny.
Just as she managed to slip her arm from Ginny's tight grip, Ron rounded on her. "Of course, you're going to ditch us to go back to that slimy git. I understand, Hermione," he spat. "Go off and pity the poor rich boy who never had a bloody Christmas because he's a fucking Death Eater. Just leave us to struggle in life."
Sighing heavily, she forced herself to ignore Ron's insults, swallowing her pride before looking him in the eyes. "I have homework to do," she reiterated slowly, determined to draw out time as much as she could before she couldn't hold back any longer.
Time, as usual, wasn't on her side. Exhaling a second time, she pushed back the uncomfortable sensation of probing eyes on her and sucked in a breath.
"I've decided to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas."
"Oh bloody hell!"
The quill was thrown savagely across the room, landing by the fireplace as a notebook was slammed shut. It was nearing one o'clock in the morning and Hermione was seated on the sofa, infuriated and frustrated beyond belief.
Fighting back the urge to give up and go to bed, she was just about to reopen the notebook when a sudden flicker caught her sight. In the corner of her eye, she watched in fear as her quill caught fire on the glowing embers.
"No!" she cried, lunging forward to attempt and save the feathery writing instrument from inevitable death. Tripping over the coffee table, landing on the carpeted floor with a thud, she cursed herself for being too slow and too short-tempered.
The quill caught fire and in moments, it was disintegrated, the ink having acted as an accelerant.
She would have to remind herself to ask George to create non-flammable quills.
"Well, well, Granger, we finds ourselves in a very strange predicament, don't we?"
So Draco had finally decided to come back to the Heads' Dormitory; when Hermione had returned just after supper, she had found the Common Room and bedrooms avoid of all presence and had been the only occupant since then. Draco must have done something to blow off the rest of his steam; she sensed no anger in his voice.
Grateful that she had decided to change into her flannel pajama pants and baggy shirt, Hermione slowly righted herself, adjusting her clothes. Her hands came to a halt on her lower back, finding that her pants were hanging a touch lower than they normally would.
"Nice knickers, Granger," he laughed tauntingly, "bright orange is definitely you. I have to ask," he leaned on the back of the sofa, grinning broadly as she turned around, her face covered in a brilliant blush, "does the orange remind you of Weaselbee? Is that why you wear such ghastly knickers?"
"What does it matter to you, Malfoy?" she spat, grabbing her notebook from his prying fingers before he had a chance to open it and find the damning evidence. "And where have you been?"
"What are you, my mum? What I do and where I go is my own business."
"However," Hermione added, "it is my business to know why you were out of bed after hours while not on duty."
Crossing his arms, too tired to argue, he let out a loud sigh. He'd exhausted himself throughout the day, having returned to the Room of Requirement after the skirmish on the school grounds. There, he had set it up so he could physically fight; wrestling, boxing, and combating anything the room threw at him. At the end of it, he was finally sated, lying in a pool of sweat, panting heavily as the anger completely dissipated.
His anger had been childish, he had realized, and he had had no reason to go off his rocker like he had. He had then spent the next hour admonishing himself, the first few inklings of regret filling his mind as he recalled the destroyed snowmen and forts.
Draco Malfoy genuinely felt bad and embarrassed by his actions this afternoon.
"If you must know, like you always do," he sighed, "I was off doing said duties. It took extra time because a certain redheaded Prefect git decided not to show up."
Ron.
She should have realized that Ron would've skipped his duties with Malfoy. The notion of the two of them scouring the halls, dealing out punishments was as unlikely as Harry making out with Draco.
Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she realized that she had forgotten he had had duties. "Oh, well...I suppose I'll talk to Ron tomorrow about it..."
Then she remembered clearly that, after her discussion with him this afternoon, she was not on speaking terms with him. Her cheeks reddened and she darted her gaze away from Malfoy's scrutinizing eyes.
Ron had been quite ticked when she had stated she would be staying over the holidays. She and her family were supposed to have been joining the Weasley's at the Burrow for a special Christmas celebration; it was Bill and Fleur's daughter's first Christmas.
Hermione, however, knew that little Victoire would have many more pleasant Christmases in the future, and she felt that this may be her only chance to give Draco Malfoy something no one else had ever given him.
Unconditional kindness and compassion, a kind of love at the one time of year when people tend to feel their loneliest.
No one deserved to be alone at Christmas, and no one deserved to have never experienced a real Christmas, she had argued. Ron had shouted back, calling her an idiot, telling her that she was a traitor for refusing to come with them and staying with Malfoy.
Ginny and Harry, all the while, seemed rather torn between the two. After a while, however, Ginny had joined Ron's side and argued vehemently after Ron pointed out the torment Draco had put them through.
Harry, the only one out of them who seemed to have established some faint truce between him and Draco, only hesitantly agreed at the end that Hermione would be better off at the Burrow.
She kindly told them all to sod off and stop telling her how to live her life. She would do as she pleased and they had no proof whatsoever she was actually staying for Draco; they just assumed.
So she had left, fuming, while Ron shouted after her. He threatened to break their friendship and developing relationship if she really stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays.
Thinking over what Luna had said earlier about Mr. Right, Hermione knew, then and there, that Ron probably was not Mr. Right – something she had acknowledged shortly after their kiss during the battle two years back – but she couldn't help but feel saddened by the thought of losing their relationship.
Ron was the closest thing she had ever come to in terms of a doting boyfriend, but, at this point in time, she couldn't stand the thought of being with someone who would force his will upon her.
She needed her freedom, too, which was why she gleefully flipped Ron off after he shouted his words. It would certainly cause a rift in their relationship, but at this moment in time, she felt herself caring less and less.
Even if she still had some feelings for the boy.
"Of course," Draco drawled, yanking her from her thoughts, "speaking to the Weasel will fix everything. Don't waste your precious time, besides, it's not like it would do any good." He scowled suddenly, pausing on his way to the stairs leading to the bedrooms. "You'd probably side with him anyways."
Hermione got to her feet, looking just in time to see the frown and the way the grey eyes hardened, almost as though he were pushing back powerfully overwhelming emotions.
"Mal..."
"Don't waste your breath. I don't need your help, Granger. If Weasel skips again, I'll fix it myself."
With that said and done, he made his way to his bedroom, leaving a suddenly distraught brunette in the Common Room.
Falling back to land on the sofa, she sighed heavily, watching as the burning quill quickly reignited the dying flames.
She was confused; Draco confused her to no ends, and she couldn't stand being confused. She was used to knowing the facts, being able to spew them out without a moment's hesitation, and the fact that she was having troubles understanding her own thoughts and the feelings of another added to the uncomfortable perplexity.
Yes, she had been slowly developing an acquaintanceship between her and Draco in the past few months, slowly going from enemies to being on relatively decent terms. They were able to discuss certain subjects – mainly schoolwork – without it turning into a full out brawl, and they were able to, normally, sit in the same room together without arguments arising, unless one or the other was rather pissed or irked.
What happened during the battle also helped cement their developing relationship, especially since she was one of the only two people alive to tell the tale. It was a painful memory, to say the least, but it helped their growing friendship more than anything.
This, however, was a situation she never thought she'd be in with Draco. While they had developed a relationship, they rarely spoke about personal thoughts or experiences. Most things said were impersonal, without any emotional attachment. So, seeing Draco like this, sound so emotionless and look so cold, refusing her help the way he had, confused the hell out of her.
No, it was not because of the way he reacted; it was a typical Malfoy reaction to not accept help from Muggle-Borns. The reason she was shaken and confused was because of the way she reacted.
Perhaps it was because of the recent revelation on Draco, finding out that he had spent some of the most important times alone as a child, that made her more sensitive. Perhaps it had just been the past two days, filled with raging emotions, a rollercoaster of powerful emotions that sent her high one second and then plunging down the next.
She wasn't sure what it was, but she was positive of one thing; Hermione Granger felt a deep sadness and pity for Draco Malfoy.
It wasn't fair that he was treated with disrespect, her mind raged suddenly. He may have deserved it three years ago, but not now, not after everything he sacrificed to help make the world a better place. It didn't matter how many people heard the story; they still stuck with their prejudices and predisposed beliefs, unable to think that Draco Malfoy could have a heart.
He did have a heart, she realized as she clutched the notebook to her chest. Draco Malfoy had a heart, just like everyone else, but no one was ever there to help it grow and love.
She threw herself on her knees before the coffee table, savagely tearing open the book as she reached for a spare quill tucked under the couch cushion.
Draco Malfoy deserved better than he got; she only truly understood this with Ron's refusal to join him on their rounds. Draco didn't complain, he didn't whine and demand that there be justice; he refused her help and said that he could take of it if it happened again, which she was positive would.
This only made her wonder if it had happened before and she had been too oblivious to notice it.
No, just in the past two days, she realized that there was more to Draco Malfoy than the hard, cold, and condescending outer shell.
She planned on breaking that shell and reaching to his heart, promising more to herself than him that she would give him the best Christmas ever.
No matter what.