Kings Cross was a madhouse of holiday travelers when Hermione Granger stepped through the barrier at platform 9 ¾ with the Malfoy brothers following behind her on their way to spend Christmas holidays with her family in London.
"Do you see my parents anywhere, Ronald?" she asked, standing on her toes.
"Not yet," he said.
Draco rolled his eyes. Of course Ronald had met Hermione's parents before.
"Need me to boost you up to see?" Ronald offered, already unhanding his trunk to lift Hermione.
"No, she doesn't need you manhandling her," Draco spat. "How do you think she'd find them if she didn't have us along? Go look around like you normally would, Granger. We'll wait with the bags. And you can leave us the cat too."
Hermione's colour was rising. Thanks to their meeting in the library when she invited Draco to show his Muggle tolerance by coming for Christmas, she was up to three, possibly four kisses with him -- it got a little murky at the end. But it still wasn't enough for her to consider him her boyfriend, apparently.
She led the boys to a cafe, sat poor Crookshanks, howling in his carrier, on the floor beside them, and used her Muggle pocket money to buy a cinnamon bun to set on a table between them.
"There," she said, "sit here and see if you can share that nicely while I'm gone. You need the practice." With that, she disappeared into the crowd.
Ronald tore off the first piece. Draco sat fuming a little longer, not beginning to eat until the crowd thinned between trains and they could see Hermione again.
"There they are. She's found them," Ronald announced through his mouthful of sticky bread. "Reunited with Dr. and Dr. Granger."
Draco squinted to where Hermione stood with a woman in a red peacoat and a man with tufty brown hair that he could definitely have grown out into a bushy mane if he had a mind to. The warm greetings between parents and daughter were over and now Hermione and her mother were having a tremendously animated conversation embellished by a lot of hand waving in the boys' direction.
Ronald broke into laughter. "Oh, no. She didn't."
Draco was alarmed. "What? What hasn't she done?"
Ronald swallowed. "She didn't warn them we were coming. She's only telling them now that we're right here and it's too late to refuse us."
"What?" Draco nearly shouted. "No, it's a terrible imposition. She can't do that."
Ronald was still laughing. "Easier to ask forgiveness than permission, mate. Yeah, if I know Hermione, and I do, she's over there acting like our plans collapsed just now, all unexpected, and we're stranded here, heartbroken with nowhere to spend Christmas unless the Grangers take us in."
Draco covered his face. "So pathetic," he groaned.
"But effective," Ronald said. "Look, she's getting through to them."
Hermione was holding each of her parents by the hand as they hung their heads and nodded, resigning themselves to suddenly having two uninvited house guests for the holidays at the last minute.
"That sneaky little minx," Draco said, still embarrassed but half in admiration of her all the same.
"See," Ronald crowed, stuffing the last of the cinnamon bun into his mouth. "She might not be as different from you as you thought."
When the Grangers began to step in their direction, the boys leapt to their feet and rushed to meet them. Hermione's mother nodded, offering Ronald a pleasant "Happy Christmas" while her husband dropped an arm around his shoulders and slapped his palm against his bicep. "Ronald, old boy. Aren't you tall now."
"Dad, Mum, this is Draco, Ronald's brother," Hermione said. All the usual handshaking and how-do-you-doing happened as they left the station for the car park.
"So you must be one of them too, are you Draco?" Ann Granger asked, nodding knowingly.
Hermione braced for Draco to fly off offended at the suggestion he might be anything other than a wizard, but he managed to smile and say, "Yes. Our whole family. In fact, yours will be the first non-magical home I've ever visited, and I'm afraid I may need some coaching. Please pardon me in advance."
Ronald and Hermione both gaped at his uncommonly gracious reply.
"What?" he said.
Even though Draco had told the Grangers he was out of his element, they didn't understand the extent of it and neither did he. Ronald and Hermione rushed ahead of him as they approached the car, Hermione opening the door and sliding inside, Ronald pushing Draco after her to keep him safely seated in the middle, between them. Thanks to Arthur Weasley, Ronald knew all about cars -- or thought he did.
Draco folded himself into the Granger's Toyota, eyes wide, pushing at the low ceiling with his hands, glancing around the alarmingly small space and the very complicated looking buttons and levers surrounding the steering wheel. As Ronald slammed the door closed behind himself, the three of them were squashed together, Draco grunting as he was compacted from both sides. Hermione had the presence of mind to grab the buckle of Draco's seatbelt before he sat down on it and she passed it across his lap for Ronald to fasten for him.
"Get off," Draco hissed at him. "What are you grabbing at my arse for?"
"It's Muggle law," Ronald hissed back.
"What kind of sick -- "
"Hush, Malfoy," Hermione interjected, "you have to belt yourself to the car for safety. The clip for it is on the seat behind you."
He snatched the buckle out of Ronald's hand and fought for a minute to find the other end for himself before giving up and dropping it between his knees."It's no use. I'll just hang on." He was linking his arms through Hermione's.
"Oh for star's sake," she said, picking up the seat belt and leaning over him. He was perplexed but no longer angry when she all but hugged him as she clicked the belt into place. His hand rose between them, unseeable to anyone else, and caressed a lock of her hair as she settled back into place. Had she even noticed?
"There. Now behave yourself." Yes, she had.
Ronald was muttering. "Oh, so it's just me who's not allowed to grab your arse. Is that it?"
"Maybe it is," Draco murmured back.
"Alright back there your three? It's a bit small for a full load," Ann Granger called as she climbed into the driver's seat. Tim Granger was ignoring them, babbling nonsense words of comfort to Crookshanks through the window in his carrier as he held it in his lap.
"Oh, it's fine. We're all siblings here, or just as good as," Hermione chirped.
Draco didn't know about rearview mirrors and did not hide his look of disgust when she implied something sisterly between them. Ann did not fail to notice. She smirked into the mirror. "First time in a car, Draco? Well, nothing to be nervous about. Off we go."
Driving itself was quite pleasant for him. Ann drove as quickly and aggressively as London traffic would allow, but he liked speed and quick changes in direction, especially when they sent him shifting into Hermione. When they got to the Granger's house he fumbled his seat belt again, eyeing her hopefully until Ronald clicked it open for him crowing, "There you go, little one."
The boys extricated themselves from the backseat and stood stretching in the driveway, tall and overdressed in the drab little street. Tim rushed inside to liberate Crookshanks. He had already cleared out of the cramped front hall by the time Ann was waving the boys upstairs with their trunks.
Hermione led them up, walking backwards, explaining. "I've made a deal with my parents. Since it's such short notice and the spare room is all cleaned up for my Auntie Inez's arrival tomorrow, you'll both sleep in my room tonight."
The boys coughed out sputtering, strangled sounds, almost in unison before she added. "And I'll sleep downstairs on the sofa."
"Oh," they said, again in unison.
As she finished, she turned her back to them and opened the door to the bedroom she hadn't properly lived in since she was eleven years old. It was decorated for a bright little girl, shelves lined with paperback junior novels, everything painted white and pastel mauve, floral wallpaper, ruffled pillows, and teddy bears.
Ronald laughed. "It's like the Weasleys' Aunt Muriel's parlor."
"Shut it, Ronald," she said, batting his arm with the back of her hand. "My parents run a very busy dental surgery and haven't had much time for renovations."
While Hermione sparred with Ronald about the decor, Draco fell onto the bed, burying his face in the pillows, clutching a scruffy brown teddy bear to his chest before rolling onto his side to say, "It's nice."
Ronald tugged him back to sitting. "Get up. You're not sleeping there."
"Then you're not either," he said, standing up and shoving at Ronald.
"For the love of Boggarts, it's a double bed. There'd be room for both of you, if you'd be civil."
Hermione had never seen them get past the shoving and batting phase of fighting with each other and wasn't prepared for what was coming next. They were suddenly three years old again, grappling with each other, arms and legs and necks twisting as they tried to immobilize one another in crude wrestling holds before driving each other into the ground. In her small room, this meant falling with all of their combined force onto her bed.
Only they weren't actually three year olds. The ancient, magically reinforced solid oak bedsteads of Malfoy Manor might have been up for the impact of two boys the size of fully grown men, but not the dried out pine frame her parents had twisted together with Allen wrenches. There was a great crash as the slats beneath Hermione's bed broke and the mattress fell through to the floor.
"Hermione!" Ann called from downstairs.
The boys were on their feet, the teddy bear tumbling to the floor between them. They stared gobsmacked at the busted bed still covered in a tousled mauve coverlet.
"Quick, fix it."
"How? We can't use magic in front of Muggles or we'll end up in a hearing like Potter had last summer."
"They can only trace it if you use a wand."
"So you go ahead and fix it wandlessly then."
"Hermione, help -- "
"What's all this then?" said Tim Granger, crowding into the room. "Our bed didn't quite measure up to the Malfoy family, yeah?"
"So sorry, Dr. Tim," Ronald was saying. "We've each had a growth spurt since the last time we bunked together. Guess we don't know our own size anymore."
He chuckled at them. "Don't suppose you'd know what to do with a hammer and nails if I brought them to you either." He sighed. "I'll fetch my toolkit."
Ann passed him on the stairs mumbling to himself. "Ruddy wizards."
She caught him by the arm. "Her bed's broken?"
Tim shuddered. "Yes."
"Which one did it: Fire or Ice?"
Time shuddered even more violently. "Which one is which? Ronald for fire? With the hair?"
Ann frowned. "No, Draco for fire, obviously."
Tim groaned. "They teamed up on the poor bed. It never stood a chance. I'm having them fix it though. They've got to learn to be careful."
-----------------------------------------
In comparison to the debacle with trying to get the Malfoy brothers settled into their sleeping quarters, tea went smoothly. Ronald had on his garden party charm and once the boys stopped posturing for dominance in their new environment, Hermione was able to settle in and enjoy being at home.
"You're a chess player?" Ronald was beaming at Tim Granger. "Hermione, how could you never have mentioned it? Why have we never played chess, Dr. Tim?"
"Because you'd pulverize him," Ann said. "Tim is formidable among the sleepy old chaps at our club, but he's hardly of the calibre to be touring Russia learning from masters."
"Pulverize," Ronald repeated. "Hermione, I thought you said in non-magical chess the violence only happened in the imagination."
She rolled her eyes. "Mum is speaking metaphorically, Ronald. Yes, it's all imaginary. Our chess set is made of plastic. It's very civilized but you'd find it boring."
Draco scoffed. "Come on now, give Ronald some credit. He's got a stellar imagination." Something about it sounded like an insult but no one was sure exactly what.
Their dinner conversation stayed otherwise light and friendly, even Crookshanks showing he'd forgiven them for the long train and car rides by bumping against the shins of everyone but Ronald beneath the table.
When they'd finished, Tim brought Ronald back upstairs to finish repairing the bed. Draco was about to follow when Hermione jumped to her feet. "Don't mind the washing up, Mum. I promised Draco I'd teach him how to do it. He's never had the chance."
Ann raised both eyebrows. "Missed out on that, have you Draco? Well, do be careful. Everything in here can break."
The television came on in the next room, a news program. The presenter's perfect diction was the only sound as Hermione and Draco glanced cautiously at one another across the table. It was the first time they'd been alone since they'd last met in the library, when he'd pulled her into his lap and she'd...
He stood up, following her lead in gathering up dirty silverware. They needed to talk about something safe, which meant Ronald. "So how did Ronald come to be such a pet of your father's?"
"Everyone likes Ronald," she said.
Draco grimaced. "Maybe. But why specifically does your dad like him?"
She sighed. "Because everyone likes Dad too. He sees himself in Ronald, as a young man with a charming, cheery disposition and a promising future -- "
"And a crush on a fussy, bossy girl," Draco finished.
She shushed him. "Quiet, she'll hear you. If she does, she won't let you off easily, and you won't be able to snog your way out of it."
He smirked. "No, you're right. I wouldn't. But I can be charming too."
She scoffed. "Maybe you can be. But you're not. You're moody and scary."
"So your parents are rooting for Ronald," Draco said.
She stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor, a dirty drinking glass in each hand. "Rooting?"
"Yeah," he said. "Rooting for him. Supporting him. On team Ronald. We're here so you can make up your mind which one of us you want -- "
"That is not why -- "
"And your parents are cheering for Ronald." He stepped closer, taking the glasses from her. "They wish you liked him as much as they do." There was no self-pity in his statement. It was more like gloating, like he knew that it didn't matter what her parents wanted when it came to how Hermione felt about the Malfoys.
Her posture stiffened. "I adore Ronald. He and Harry are my best friends."
Draco nodded, smirking. "It's so true. And everyone knows friends to sweethearts with hardly any chemistry is every parent's favourite romantic trope."
"Shut it, Malfoy," she said.
He rumbled a laugh at her as he turned his back and closed in on the sink.
She joined him, clearing her throat. "The first thing to do is to fill the sink. It's just like wizards' plumbing. Cold water on this side, hot water there. Use the hottest you can stand. If you want to protect your delicate, manor-raised hands, Mum keeps a pair of rubber gloves underneath."
"What makes you think my hands are delicate?" he asked, taking her hands in each of his, pressing their palms flat against each other. "I've been playing school quidditch for years now, hours of regular practice throttling a broom for dear life."
She was speechless, hopelessly distracted by the heat and texture of his hands as they enfolded hers, rotating slightly, dragging their palms together as his fingers slipped between hers. Despite their familiarity with each other's mouths and faces, they had never touched each other like this before. When he took her hand, it was usually by the wrist and for just long enough to bring her close enough to kiss. There was a roughness to his skin, a coarseness to his fingerprints that awakened something in her flesh.
Not now.
"So no gloves," she said, disentangling their hands.
"No thank you."
"Right," she turned the faucets on, reaching for a bottle of green dishwashing liquid. "And you'll need to add this."
He frowned at it. "Muggles have nicked potions to do their washing up?"
"No," she said, dumping far too much into the stream of running water. "It's not magical, like the soap and shampoo at school. It's chemical. They make it scientifically, most of them don't even know how. They just buy it at the shop. No questions asked."
He took the bottle from her and sniffed at it, pleasantly surprised. "Right. So dishes go into the potioned water, and then onto the rack to dry."
"No, it's not magic, Malfoy," she said. "Brace yourself and stick your quidditch hands in the water. Take the sponge and rub the food away."
He faked a retch. "Seriously?"
"Ah, so you are delicate after all. That's what I thought. I'll get the gloves."
"Stand back, Granger," he said, plunging his hands into the hot soapy water.
She stood next to him, watching as he scrubbed marinara sauce from her mother's dinnerware. "Good enough, good enough," she said, taking the plate from him to rinse and stack.
"Yeah, I am good at it, aren't I," he said.
It wasn't a question. She laughed, standing close enough to him at the sink for their arms to brush. "Yes, you have a beautiful gift for washing up. Your mother will be proud."
She cringed as soon as she said it. Why did she have to mention his parents? His mother might think Draco's hands-on domestic side was worthwhile, but what would that sneering, elitist father of his have to say?
Nothing like that seemed to be going through Draco's mind. He was reflecting instead on the beauty of washing up. He raised his hand out of the water, his thumb and forefinger forming a ring, a film of rainbow-streaked soapy water suspended between them. "If there's no magic," he began, "how are these Muggle bubbles made?"
She leaned close to his hand, blowing gently on the film between his fingers, until a bubble formed and floated away, falling slowly toward the sink.
He laughed, open and childlike. "Impressive, Granger."
She was laughing with him. "Not at all. Try it yourself."
He captured another film of soapy water between his fingers and blew at it as if it was a birthday candle.
"Gently, Malfoy," she chided when the film splattered without a bubble. "Blow it gently. I know it's counter to your nature, but figure out how to use your mouth gently."
His smile faltered. "I can be gentle. Sorry."
She felt her cheeks colouring. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's just that I have no experience with that side of you."
He swallowed, his expression serious as he said, "Next time then. Gentle -- I promise. See?"
He raised his hand to his face again, and blew a delicate, steady stream of air. The soapy membrane bowed and quivered until its edges snapped together in a shimmering globe. He cheered it on as it drifted away. Hermione watched him, watching it. She raised her upturned hand and caught the bubble in her palm. It shivered, its rainbow lights swirling before it popped and vanished.
-----------------------------
It turned out the slats on Hermione's bed were splintered to the point where Tim Granger needed to go to a hardware store to buy a metal mending plate in order to fix them. But by the time he and Ronald had resigned themselves to that, the shops were closed. There was enough room on the floor in Hermione's room for one person to sleep on a camp mattress, and it was decided that person would be Hermione herself. The brothers would sleep where there was more room, on the floor in the lounge.
Tired from a long day of traveling, they passed the time before bed with the television on. The programme was a line of Muggle celebrities seated on sofas, chattering and laughing. Tim sat in his armchair snoozing over a newspaper. Draco lay on his stomach on the rug, reading an old chemistry textbook, one from back in the days when the Grangers were off falling in love in dental school. He was partway through a chapter titled "emulsification."
Ronald and the women sat on the sofa. Hermione was seated in the middle, her head resting against her mother's shoulder. Ronald stole a glance at them. If Hermione was snuggling with her mother, it meant she didn't need any affection from him. He found it odd that this fact was something of a relief to him, but there it was.
At bedtime, the coffee table was shifted out of the way, and Ronald and Draco were now lying together in the small space made for them on the floor. They lay wrapped in shiny sleeping bags like gifts beneath the Granger family Christmas tree.
Draco was already asleep, strangely, unsettlingly content. Ronald, on the other hand, was wide awake in the gold and red electric lights left burning on the tree.
In his mind, he was on the road from Hogwarts to the train station in Hogsmeade. He'd already sent his trunk on the carriages and was walking into town alone, missing Harry and feeling sorry for himself for having two families and being shut out of both of their Christmases. Molly Weasley had sent an owl explaining Arthur's accident as if it had nothing to do with the Order and apologizing for the sudden change in plans. There was a package from her in his trunk, waiting for Christmas morning.
There was no point pining for any of his parents, especially not when there were two perfectly fine parents waiting at Hermione's place in London to take care of him. It was true that he got on well with the Grangers. Ann was brisk and bossy but with Hermione still holding the title of his dream girl, brisk and bossy just made Ronald like Ann more. Tim Granger was brilliant, as far as Ronald was concerned. Were the Grangers Ronald's third family? And how many more families would he need before he was whole?
"Malfoy!" someone was calling from behind him as he walked. "Ronald, wait up."
He turned to see Pansy Parkinson sliding over the edge of a slow-moving carriage, joining him on the road, her little black leather boots crunching over the frozen mud toward him. His heartbeat wobbled at the sight of her, something in his unconscious mind recognizing her as the girl he knew who was most likely to touch him. But then he remembered he hadn't spoken to her since she stormed out of Gryffindor Tower after finding him asleep on the sofa with Hermione. He was probably in for a row.
"Morning, Parkinson," he said, rather flatly.
She came close to him, not smiling but not looking angry either. "There's another carriage following right behind us. It should be coming over the rise in just a minute," she said. "So I'm going to be quick about this."
Ronald frowned. "Look, I hope you know it was nothing. You hadn't even spoken to me for days when -- "
"Draco says you're staying with Grangers for the holidays," she interrupted.
He sighed. "I didn't have a lot of choices. It was either that or -- "
"Shut up, Ronald," she said. She had clamped her fingers on the front of his cloak and tugged downward on it as she stood high on her toes. His breath caught as she kissed his cheek with a warm, dewy mouth.
She sunk back onto her heels. "How was that? Lacklustre?"
He gulped a breath. "No. Not lacking any lustre at all."
She was still holding his cloak, smoothing the fabric between her fingers. "Well, I always fulfil my obligations. And this is where our lessons end, unless..." she was rising toward him again, leaving another even slower and sweeter kiss on his opposite cheek, the breath he'd been holding shuddering out of him, "unless you come back to school having chosen me instead of her."
He blinked down into her face, still close, looking up at him through dark, curling lashes. In that moment, he'd been so drawn to her, so mad with loneliness and relief at being wanted by someone that he might have snatched her and shouted out that he did choose her, Pansy Parkinson, who cares -- yes, of course.
But at the crest of the hill, a carriage was advancing, just as she promised. Pansy let go of his cloak, stepping into position to hop back into the carriage.
"Choose me," she said one more time before riding away.
Now, on the Granger's floor, at the end of a long day, Pansy's kisses seemed like they happened ages ago. The choice was no longer obvious. But he did reach up in the light of the Granger's Christmas tree and brush his fingers against the spot on his face where both Pansy and Hermione had kissed him in the last month.
He sighed and rolled over. There was Draco, sleeping at his side. Draco his brother, Pansy Parkinson's former childhood sweetheart, and what was he to Hermione? He couldn't be a dispassionate house guest, not with the history the two of them had. But he was here all the same, polite as you please, and now sleeping away like a satisfied cat. What was he doing here? It would have been nice to think he came out of the brotherly love between them. Nice, but a bit off. He was up to something. Was it another nasty assignment from their father? Sent along to monitor developments with Arthur's accident by staying close to people associated with the Order?
Draco's hands were folded in front of his face, smelling clean, like dish soap. Ronald blew into Draco's sleeping face, disturbing his fringe, making him frown without waking him, roused just enough to turn onto his other side. With Draco's back turned, Ronald curled himself into a ball and pressed the top of his head into the dip between Draco's shoulder blades. And like that, he finally settled into sleep.