The Price of Harry Potter

Chapter Five: The Herald Angel

Christmas Eve morning was bright but cold. The glare of the sun reflected off the snow and lit Hermione's room even through the curtains. She dressed in warm clothes, finally giving in to her wardrobe and wearing black and silver. Looking at herself, she had to agree with her mirror's comments that the colours were very flattering on her.

A shiver of excitement coursed through her veins as Hermione descended the central staircase on her way to breakfast. The single silver Christmas tree, which she had hated so much on arrival, had multiplied and grown. Nine huge firs dominated the hall, covered in sparkling, sliver dust that mirrored the snow out through the big glass windows. Gold and silver ornaments hung, and tiny lights glinted, and nine glass angels waved to her as she stood looking around in astonishment.

Holly and ivy boughs were hung from the windows and garlands twined around the banister. Hundreds of tiny golden stars floated just below the dark, arced ceiling, rotating slowly in the gloom, twinkling their light down across her face.

"Do you like it?" Draco spoke behind her.

"It's an improvement!"

He laughed at the tone of her voice. "Mother is traditional. She likes to put up the decorations on Christmas Eve. But I like the anticipation so the little tree that was here before was a concession to me. Father doesn't care. He says decorations are not significant. All he insists on is that any decorations we have are tasteful. But that goes without saying - this is Malfoy Manor after all."

Hermione frowned at his arrogance. I suppose it is to be expected. She politely accepted his arm and they descended the last of the stairs and crossed to the breakfast room. As they passed underneath the mistletoe garland in the doorway, Draco brushed a kiss across Hermione's cheekbone. She was not sure how to acknowledge this, and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but Draco's face was perfectly composed.

"Good morning, mother." He greeted Narcissa who entered from the other side of the room and sat on the far side of the mahogany table. Draco courteously pulled out Hermione's chair and then sat next to her. Okay, why is he being so nice this morning?

Lucius strode across the room, and as he sat the plates filled with hot food. Hermione ate in silence while Lucius and his wife discussed plans for the St Stephen's Day party in a slight undertone. This was only slightly less disconcerting than the silent meals in the evening. Somehow at least the silence acknowledged her presence. This conversation continued almost as if she did not exist. Draco made the occasional comment, but he also sat, for the most part, without interrupting the discussion on the other side of the table.

"Are you participating in that tiresome custom again tonight?" Lucius asked his son.

Draco looked nonplussed. "Why of course. Why shouldn't I?"

"I thought that you might remain here to entertain our guest." Guest? It took Hermione a few heartbeats to realise that Lucius meant her.

"I will take her with me." It was a statement, not an invitation. Now just wait a minute...

Lucius's lips tightened. "As you wish. I will have the house-elves prepare as usual in that case."

Okay, what are they talking about?

She followed Draco out of the breakfast room and up the stairs again. "You have some explaining to do."

He turned at the top of the flight of steps and looked down at her. "I go wassailing every Christmas eve. My father disapproves, calls it warbling nonsense. I go anyway and he doesn't stop me. This year you are coming too."

"I am?"

"Yes." His voice was firm. He turned into his room and left Hermione to walk along to hers. Wassailing as in singing? Draco?

* * *

Mid-afternoon found Hermione in the hallway with Draco dressing warmly to brave the cold walk down to the village. Apparently Malfoy Manor was like Hogwarts - no apparition. She had blankly refused to go by broomstick, and so Draco had agreed to walk the mile to Haughton village. The house elves held out a long, warm coat, which Hermione donned. She didn't ask if it was real fur because she suspected that it was but would just rather not know.

Once her scarf and hood were securely fastened she followed Draco out into the cold. It was already darkening although it was scarcely four-thirty. Hermione could see her breath freezing into white clouds around her and condensing again on her scarf, the tiny water droplets freezing against her raw skin.

It didn't take as long as she expected to cover the distance and soon she could see the dark shapes of buildings outlined against the navy sky and the warm golden light from the windows spilling out onto the paving.

"Here," Draco indicated the 'Half Moon' and pushing open the door to the pub, let her into the warm bustle inside.

He was greeted by good-natured calls, whistling and some fluttering of eyelashes. The buxom barmaid sashayed provocatively over from where she had been sitting behind the counter.

"And what can I get you, my prince?"

Draco smiled, raising his eyebrows fractionally. "I'm with the crowd," he indicated across the room. "I'm sorry, Rosie."

Her smile faltered minutely then recovered. "And who is your lady friend, Draco?"

Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy that this woman was so familiar with him. This was extinguished as Draco casually slung an arm around her shoulders and raised his voice in reply so that the whole pub could hear over their chatter.

"This is Hermione Granger. She is staying with me at the Manor over Christmas."

There was a rippling mutter through the assembled witches and wizards who Draco proceeded to effectively ignore as he drew Hermione to a corner to join a group of witches and wizards who sat around a table. Draco greeted each one enthusiastically, clapping some on the back, shaking hands or kissing cheeks of others. This was a Draco Hermione had never seen, friendly, sociable, and for once she began to see the charisma that drew people to this boy. He knew the name of every person he greeted, giving them each a moment of his attention that they could later treasure in memory like a jewel.

She hung back uneasily until Draco drew her in to sit wedged between him and a huge man with a flaming red beard. Hermione wondered if that was what Hagrid would have looked like had he been a Weasley. She felt a lump catch in her throat and quickly suppressed thoughts of her friends. She concentrated instead on examining her surroundings and their inhabitants.

The interior of the Half Moon was wood panelled with plaster around the bar. Rows of bottles and casks lined the shelves behind Rosie in her figure-hugging claret-red dress. On stools around the bar sat several wizards, mainly older men, talking amongst themselves over their pints, obviously waiting for something. Clusters of other people sat in booths or at tables around the dark room. The lamps flickered atmospherically casting long shadows up the walls every time a draft from the door announced a new arrival. Although it was dark, it was warm and Hermione found it cosy rather than intimidating.

"Sorry..." she replied, realising that Draco had been speaking to her.

"I was offering you this." He repeated, handing her a steaming goblet. Hermione was instantly transported back to long dreary hours in the Hogwarts dungeons. From the amused glint in his eye Hermione knew that Draco was aware of where her thoughts had taken her. He leaned towards her and whispered, "It's mulled wine. There isn't anything else in it. It isn't even charmed to stay warm so drink up, it won't do you any harm."

Surprisingly, she thought, she did believe him and she lifted the goblet to her lips to allow the hot liquid to warm her insides.

Time drifted softly by and Hermione became aware of a gentle melody playing quietly below the level of the conversation. Looking for the source of the music she noticed a tall, slender witch with a fiddle under her chin standing near the huge stone fireplace.

As she watched the skilful hand fly across the fingerboard, Hermione heard another, deeper melody join the first and twine around it, complementing and coaxing more. She saw a young wizard on the other side of Draco was plucking at an acoustic guitar, and then she saw another in the hands of an elderly witch across the room.

The refrain was familiar but Hermione couldn't place it. Just when she thought she had identified what it was it would subtly change and become something else, leaving her behind. The giant man in the seat beside her had lifted a silver flute to his lips, his oversized hands holding it with amazing delicacy like it was a bird he didn't want to hurt. The notes of the flute sank like raindrops into a deep pool of midnight water.

Then she knew the melody as the voices around her lifted in song.

The first Noel the angel did say

Was to certain poor shepherds

In fields as they lay...

Of course. Christmas carols. Draco turned slightly and caught her eye. He smiled even as his lips shaped the words. Unconsciously Hermione found herself smiling back, her heart soaring with the music.

On and on they sang, rich voices blending like the spices in her wine. Sometimes she thought she could hear Draco's clear, mellow tenor beside her, other times it was engulfed in the swell of the music.

We three Kings of Orient are,

Bearing gifts we traverse afar...

Deep inside Hermione something icy was melting and filling her with molten warmth. A witch across the darkened room had formed enchanted letters so that those who did not know the words could sing along. Hermione knew the opening verses of most of the carols, but was grateful for these magical words for others. Some of the French and Latin words were unfamiliar and she just let the music wave over her.

O little town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie!

Above thy dark and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by...

Instead of ending where Hermione expected, the music for this carol continued and the others continued singing, switching into a Celtic language that Hermione was unfamiliar with.

O dawel ddinas Bethlehem,

O dan y ser di-ri.

Ac awel fwyn Judea'n dwyn

Ei miwsig atat ti;

Daw heno seren newydd dlos,

I wenu uwch dy ben,

A chlywir can angylion glan

Yn llifo drwy y nen.

After stumbling over the words of the first line, she decided this was one to listen to. The mysterious words swirled around her and Hermione let the music wash over her, absorbing it like sunlight and letting it make her glow. She watched Draco singing, totally accepting of this unfamiliar sight.

Nothing was what she expected anymore. Everything was upside down, and singing Christmas carols with Draco Malfoy in a pub in Haughton was no stranger than some of the other things she had seen in the past month.

What was strange though, was the fascination she felt in watching him. She watched his lips for the unfamiliar words. It was like seeing someone cast a spell, each syllable over-enunciated for clarity. She wanted to know what those lips felt like.

No. What!? What am I thinking?

She turned away, but she knew his eyes were on her and she felt her face flush. It's the heat from the fire, she told herself, knowing she was lying.

She risked a glance back as the music died away. He smiled. Damn! How did he catch my feelings when I wasn't looking? No. I feel nothing for him. It is the wine. Yes.

"What happens now?" she whispered, ignoring the thrill that shot down her spine as he whispered in reply.

"We eat. Then we go out around the houses singing. Wassailing. This is a warm up."

Hermione was surprised. If that was only the warm up...

"We end up at the Manor and Mother serves everyone spiced wine and mince pies. Then they all go home. It's one of the ancient traditions. Father hates it: says it's nonsense. But Mother says it's important to maintain relations between the lord and his people." His sigh and raised eyebrows surprised Hermione. She had always thought that he was arrogant, and here he was dismissing the 'Lord and master' system.

Maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't as straightforward as she had thought.

* * *

It was cold outside, but something inside Hermione burned like fire. There was a fantastic atmosphere in the group who trailed from house to house, their pathway lit by golden lamps on long poles. Everyone was wrapped in scarves and hats with only bright eyes and red noses visible until the music started. Then scarves were pulled back and the voices rang out in harmony.

What had seemed so loud in the pub, what had filled her whole world, seemed tiny now, outside. Underneath the huge star-scattered sky Hermione felt tiny. Only Draco's gloved hand in her mittened one kept her earth-bound. She felt as if she could float away into the cold night. The whole open world was there, focussed on this small group of figures trailing through the snow from place to place.

By the time they reached the Manor, Hermione's voice was hoarse, her nose and ears were so cold she could hardly feel them. Narcissa greeted the group on the step. Hermione thought she looked like a part of the frozen night standing there in the open door with the light spilling around her, her silver hair all piled on her hair in cascades of curls, her ivory shoulders rising from the forest green gown which flared around her ankles.

After tiny glasses of sherry or hot wine, the group began their repertoire:

God rest ye merry, gentlemen,

Let nothing you dismay...

Lucius stood, his arm around his wife, the perfect image of a gentleman and lord of the manor. Hermione couldn't help admit, through her hatred, that he was an exceptionally handsome man. With such parents she could see why Draco looked the way he did. And, she reminded herself, he is as heartless and evil as they are. Never fall in love with the enemy.

Her eyes met Lucius's as she sang the final verse of Hark the Herald Angels Sing, the words suddenly achieving a new level of significance. My family...

Mild, He lays His glory by,

Born that man no more may die;

Born to raise the sons of earth,

Born to give them second birth...

Who is the enemy? she wondered.