Perfection

Perfection:

Chapter 21: These Crumbling Walls

The dim light of wands flickered in the chamber, buried deep in the underground labyrinth of Hogwarts that had been kept so secret not even the Weasley twins had found it. Hushed whispers were the only things to be heard from the two-dozen odd students crammed in with the teachers and as many house elves as they could find.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh and allowed himself to send a prayer to whatever deity was in control. Even he realized that the situation was beyond them now.

*

Hermione rolled out of bed, giving Severus a quick peck on the cheek as she did so. He shifted slightly and she smiled, carefully smoothing a crease that was etched into his forehead. He looked less tense than she had seen him in weeks, making the tense lines softer and reminding her that he was younger than even she sometimes remembered. Humming softly, she wrapped his bathrobe around her--it wasn't as though he ever wore it--and headed downstairs, surprised at the relief she felt towards no longer having to be secretive.

When she entered the kitchen, Ron was the only one there, buttering himself a scone. He flushed a deep scarlet and turned away, but not before Hermione noticed.

Emitting a sigh, she said, "I'm not mad."

Her only reply was a grunt, which she opted to take as encouragement to continue.

"Look, I realise that this must be horribly uncomfortable for you. And probably more than slightly disturbing... I'm not denying that we have a May-December romance going on--"

"May-December?" he broke in, wheeling. "Try May-Ming Dynasty! He's our teacher; do you know how awkward that makes it? I don't want to be sitting in Potions knowing that you know his boxers have little pink hearts on them!"

"Actually, they're all black silk," she corrected before pausing. "That was what you didn't want to know, wasn't it?"

"Great, now I can add that to the mental picture!"

"There were no boxers before?"

"No--Yes--That's not the point!"

"What is the point, Ronald?" she asked coldly. "He hasn't seduced me against my will, if that's what you're thinking. No lust potion, no coercion. We were friends long before anything else happened and we still are. He knows way more about me than you ever will, because he bothered to ask and if you don't like that, fine. I'm not asking you to. I don't really care."

His only response was to turn slightly green as a vague gagging sound filled her ears.

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

"That isn't your housecoat, is it?"

"No. I borrowed it."

"From Ginny?" That hopeful look was almost painful.

"No."

Severus took the opportunity to stumble in at that moment, wearing only boxers and a t-shirt from Leipzig with a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger in a white, curly wig that read, "You be Mozart... I'll be Bach!"

Yawning, he said, "Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," she replied, kissing him lightly. "We didn't wake you, did we?"

He shook his head no, apparently oblivious to Ron's look of horror.

"Sweet Merlin, they really are black silk!" the redhead exclaimed.

"What?" Severus asked, too bleary to catch on.

She couldn't resist. The opportunity was glittering enticingly, like forbidden fruit. "Ron here was just telling me about a dream he had about house elves and black silk..."

"What?"

"No!" Ron cried, sprinting from the room. "I deny it!"

"And pickles with whipping cream!" she called after him, grinning wickedly.

"Is he all right?"

"I think it's just the first step to dealing with the trauma of being caught in the act of voyeurism," she reassured Severus solemnly. "He should live."

"Really... Is that my robe?"

"Yes, and I'd give it back to you if I was wearing something underneath." Catching sight of his expression, she added innocently, "Coffee?"

He grabbed her by the wrist and began tugging her towards the stairs, eyes gleaming. "I think, my dear, that the caffeine craving can wait to be fulfilled..."

*

Breakfast was a tense affair. Hermione was quickly learning that no detail of the argument with her mother had been kept secret from the twenty-odd people gathered around the table and, as a result, everywhere she turned, she was greeted with either derision or pity. The exception was Molly Weasley, who seemed determined to shove waffles down her throat until the laws of physics defied her, amid protests.

"No, I'm fine really," she tried weakly as another layer of syrup was poured over the already soggy food.

"Here, try some strawberries on it--they're delicious."

"I'm sure they are, but I honestly couldn't eat another bite."

Mrs. Weasley furrowed her brow and examined the girl before her critically. "You're far too thin."

Trying to mask her frustration, Hermione replied, "I've always been thin. Blame metabolism or bone structure or something. I appreciate the concern, but I swear that I'm not starving myself. I'm fine."

Might have been nice if they'd paid attention last year, she added mentally, glaring as the pitying looks intensified.

"Molly, honestly," Severus interjected. "It's only slightly after the fact."

The look that she gave him was one that Hermione was positive she only reserved for Death Eaters, rapists and axe-murderers. And probably Voldemort himself, if he happened to be present. Severus let it roll off of him as easily as the horrified looks that the rest of the table was giving him.

She sighed, not wanting to let loose a minor explosion. "If I swear a blood oath not to puke any of it up, can I go?" The pleading tone in her voice was so whiny it was almost embarrassing. "And while I'm at it, I'll also swear that seven Belgian waffles is my absolute limit."

Mrs Weasley opened her mouth the protest, but Hermione cut her off, looking hopefully across the table.

"Mum, please. This is ridiculous."

Agrippa nodded her assent, just as Lupin cleared his throat and pointed at the doorway, where Charlie Weasley was standing with a confused look that nicely complimented his worn leather pants. There was a high-pitched giggle from where Tonks was sitting and he flipped an easy grin her way.

"Does someone want to tell me who died?" he asked. "You lot are only ever this quiet if it's a funeral."

Hermione pushed back her chair, not wanting to stay for the explanation. "What, you didn't get the memo?" she shot back. "Hey, who forgot to send the owl to Charlie? Hope you didn't forget to tell anyone else important... You remembered the Minister of Magic, right?"

Feeling more and more like a small child in the middle of a temper tantrum each minute, she brushed past him stormily, and her footsteps could be heard pounding up the stairs. Severus stood to follow her, but Mrs Weasley grabbed his wrist in an attempt to stop him.

Coolly, he glanced down at where she was holding him and removed her hand delicately, murmuring, for her ears only, "Don't interfere in things you don't understand."

He then swept out of the room, leaving in his wake a stunned silence.

"Explanations would be nice," Charlie commented, taking one of the recently vacated chairs and proceeding to dig into Hermione's abandoned waffles. "Good food."

*

Draco finished combing back his hair, feeling emptier than he had in weeks. Which was odd, considering he hadn't entered into last night's conversation with any semblance of hope. A knock sounded at the door and he briefly felt a flash of hope before it fell crashing to the floor, only to be replaced with confusion.

"Come in."

His voice sounded flat even to his own ears. He didn't even bother to look over his shoulder as it clicked open, then shut again.

"Draco?"

He whirled instantly, hardly daring to believe who he was hearing. She was a vision, in faded jeans and a t-shirt that hugged her in all the right places, a dark green that perfectly accented her hair. Mascara was smudged in dark half-circles under her eyes, which were red and puffy, as though she had been crying.

"Ginny?"

She moved to the edge of his unmade bed and sat, twisting the sheets nervously. He sank down next to her and she jumped up, beginning to pace.

"I thought a lot about what you said last night--I don't think I ever actually fell properly asleep--and I wanted to apologize. Because you were right." She held up a hand to silence his protests. "Don't stop me. I don't know if I'll be able to start again. What you did was stupid, but I think you know that. It was stupid and cowardly and maybe I was just as stupid to trust you, I don't know. But after we were there, you risked your life so that I could get out and I want you to know that that does mean something. A lot, actually. And that before any of this, I was happy. Because of you. And I miss that--I miss you. I'm not going to pretend that we can start from where we left off--I don't know if we'll ever get there again--and a large part of that is my fault because I should have said this a long time ago, but I was angry. I hope you can understand that."

There was a long pause as Draco tried to sort out exactly what she was saying. "Sorry," he replied finally. "I didn't take my Brainpower Potion this morning and I don't quite follow."

She bit her lip and looked ready to cry again. "I'm saying that... I want us to start over. Be friends. If you want."

He wanted to talk--there were so many words, so many things that needed to be said, but he couldn't seem to find a way to articulate a single one. Tears were streaming down Ginny's face now and he couldn't speak, couldn't stop them.

"I can go if you want," she sobbed. "I w-won't stay."

Turning, she shuffled towards the door and, to his horror, Draco discovered that his legs weren't working either.

"No," he managed to splutter. "I mean yes. I mean, friend is good."

She made it back to the bed and he held her as the sobs turned into hysterical laughter.

*

Despite the fact that her credit card was nearly maxed out and come her next bill she would be experiencing strong pangs of regret, for the moment Agrippa was feeling immensely satisfied.

"Have I ever mentioned how I loathe Christmas Eve shoppers?" Remus asked, glancing over his shoulder at the mountain of shopping bags in the back seat.

"If I wanted the bodyguard's opinion, I would have asked for it," she shot back.

His laugh broke off into a gasp as she swerved to avoid a pedestrian. "You're a fucking scary driver, did you know that?"

She grinned at him. "And now you're going to tell me that instead of me driving, we could have done your little magical disappearing act that makes me queasy."

He grumbled. "Change the topic please."

She giggled. "Gladly. So what about that delectable piece of man that turned up yesterday?"

"Charlie Weasley?"

"Oh, he has a name? I was too busy with the leather pants to notice."

Remus shrugged.

"Don't tell me you didn't stare even a little bit... If I was a straight man, it would have done nothing to stem the drool."

"I didn't really notice. The effect wears off, I guess."

She snorted with laughter. "I could have buttered him and eaten him alive, that's how delicious he is... Didn't notice, my arse."

"Well, he can be your crumpet, then," he remarked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Agrippa barked. "He's not a crumpet. He's a croissant or maybe an éclair. Possibly one of those pastries with the sugary filling. And I'm much too old for him--you're definitely closer."

He rolled his eyes and gave an impatient sigh. "You're conniving," he half-complained dryly. "I can tell. And it's in your best interest to know that I'm really not looking."

"We're easily discouraged from the pursuit of love, aren't we?" She lowered her voice and began to sing, "My one love affair didn't go anywhere..."

Remus glared. "Piss off."

"Happy Christmas to you too."

*

There was something familiar and comforting about the morning before anyone else had awoken, Severus mused silently as he peered out of half-open eyes at Hermione. As if sensing his gaze, she shifted closer and a fain smile tugged at her lips. Almost inaudibly, he sighed. There was so much he wanted to say, so many words forming in his mind, but he knew that now wasn't the time.

He was beginning to fear that there would never be a right time.

He sensed a storm brewing in a way that was nearly subconscious--a lifetime of struggling had taught him to recognize when silence meant temporary truce and when it meant vigilance.

Right now, it meant vigilance.

But it was hard to feel afraid with this comforting warmth pressed against him, peacefully oblivious to everything around her. She gave him the illusion of security, the feeling that, for now at least, he was safe, which was more than anything else had ever been able to do.

Tentatively, as if afraid that any sudden movements would cause her to vanish, he snaked an arm around her waist, feeling relieved that this, at least, wasn't illusion. Her eyelids fluttered open and she grinned up into his face groggily.

"It's Christmas," she remarked with a yawn.

He smiled back. "That it is."

They settled into a comfortable silence, which was punctured only by the sounds of people beginning to move around downstairs.

"I got you something," she finally said, rolling over and reaching under the bed. "I want you to open it now."

He felt a sudden and embarrassing tug at his chest. Last year they had exchanged gifts, but that had been sudden and spontaneous. This was premeditated--he could tell by the glitzy red paper and the carefully curled ribbon. Careful not to ruin the wrapping, he opened it and stared puzzled at the box for a moment.

"Hermione, it's lovely and I don't particularly want to know what this cost you, but--"

"Don't worry," she cut him off, adding, "All the ingredients are neutral and shouldn't interfere with any potions you make."

He studied it for another moment, taking in the tasteful greys and delicate calligraphy that read, Michel de Lavoiser pour l'Homme: Collection de Londres.

"You got me cologne," he commented stupidly.

Oh, that was smooth, a voice at the back of his head remarked.

She bit her lip uncertainly. "I know you don't normally wear any, but I thought... If you don't like it, it's all right."

A corner of his mouth twisted upwards and he regarded her for a moment, eyes serious. "Of course I like it, you silly girl."

Her face brightened perceptibly. "Really?" Then, as if not wanting to appear eager, she added dryly, "You haven't even smelled it yet."

"It's Lavoiser," he remarked, "and more or less worth its weight in diamonds. Do you think I want to waste any to test it?"

Rolling her eyes, she retorted, "The whole idea of buying it was so that you would wear it, not admire the packaging."

He sighed reluctantly and finished opening it, spraying a miniscule amount at the base of his neck and sniffed the air discerningly. Hermione buried her head in his shoulder and he could feel her grin.

"I knew I had good taste."

He snorted with laughter. "In this instance, I find myself in agreement."

Yanking him down on top of her, she replied, "Oh, shut up, you irritating man."

*

From the living room, the sounds of wrapping paper as it tore and excited bickering could be heard, making Charlie feel more than a little nostalgic as he wandered into the kitchen. Molly was still cleaning the dishes from breakfast and, mutely, he followed suit, taking up the drying end of things. For a few minutes, they worked in a companionable silence as Charlie tried to think of the best way to bring up what he wanted to discuss.

It was his mother that spoke first. "How has Romania been?"

He shrugged. "Same as always. Every once and a while we get a loose dragon that wreaks a little havoc on some unsuspecting village, but otherwise it's fairly routine. It's almost getting dull over there."

"You aren't thinking of coming home." The hope that flooded her eyes was almost painful.

He shook his head, making hair that was a little too long flop into his eyes. "No, not yet. I've been offered a transfer to Ireland, though. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to take it."

"Ireland?"

"Yeah," he replied. "We're trying to set up a habitat for displaced Welsh Greens there. I would be in charge."

Molly sighed heavily. "You know that I won't regret the day that you settle down."

"Well, it'll be a long time coming," he told her with a laugh.

"When you have children of your own, you won't find it so amusing." She caught her eyes with his and held them intensely for a moment. He felt frozen by the pain that shone through, the absolute terror. "When you don't know whether they're alive or dead from one minute to the next and all you want to do is keep them safe..."

"Mum?"

She shook his hand off of her shoulder and turned her back to him, but not quickly enough to hide the fact that she was crying.

"Mum? What's wrong?"

A sob wracked her entire body violently, sending the plate she had been holding crashing to the ground. He grabbed her soapy hands before she could try to bend over and led her to a chair, sitting down opposite her.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, trying to avoid a stutter. "Everything's wrong... They think I don't realise it. They didn't want to tell me, but how can I not? He's my son, Charlie. I know these things."

Confusion swamped him. "What are we talking about?"

She took several deep breaths before she could bring herself to answer. "Percy."

"Yeah, he's being a bit of a prick lately. Hopefully he'll grow up. What of it?"

She shook her head. "No. He's--" She choked on the words and lowered her voice. "He's a Death Eater and they've tried to tell me that he's under Imperius."

Charlie shook his head disbelievingly. "No. You've got to be wrong. He can't--no. He was always a little crazy, but he was never stupid."

Molly broke down into sobs again. "Y-y-yes. He is. I tried so hard not to believe it, but..."

He patted her hand gently, trying to disguise his numb shock. "It's okay. You know this has nothing to do with you or Dad, right?"

Her only response was to stare blankly at him.

Fear gripped his chest. How was he supposed to deal with this? With her? Under her usual robust appearance was a sudden fragility that terrified him more than he would care to admit, only compounded by the fact that there was nothing he could do.

"Look, I'll make dinner," he finally said. "Go upstairs and rest for a bit. You look like you need it."

She shook her head, standing up and making a brave though not entirely successful attempt at a smile. "No. Don't worry about me--I'll be fine."

Waving her wand at the smashed porcelain on the floor, she turned back to the dishes with rigid shoulders that made Charlie want to cry as well.

*

Wrapping paper was strewn across the floor of the sitting room, some of it hanging from the lower branches of the Christmas tree. There was still a general air of laughter hanging in the air from the handing out of presents, and Agrippa felt herself gripped by an odd, warm feeling. She was reminded of Christmases past, when it hadn't been necessary to negotiate temporary a temporary truce and holidays had been a time to look forward to rather than dread.

"Good haul this year," one of the red-haired twins remarked. "What do you reckon, Fred? Think we can keep setting records?"

"If not, we'll just steal some of Ginny's."

Their sister pulled a face and held out a horrible puce-coloured jumper. "Here. Take it, please."

Laughter erupted and Draco remarked dryly from the corner, "Oh, look, I've got one too."

The twin that she assumed was Fred responded, "The ultimate mark of Weasley acceptance. Have to like you now."

"I am an extremely likable person, Weasley," he drawled, making Ginny laugh.

"Who are you kidding?"

There was a moment's hesitation before he realised that she was teasing him. "Obviously just myself."

Feeling as though she had missed something, Agrippa turned away in time to see Hermione opening a small box while he--what was she supposed to call him?--looked on intently. Her eyes widened perceptibly and she let out a low gasp.

"Oh, Merlin... Severus, you really shouldn't have spent--"

"Ridiculous. You think that I don't realise how much you spent on mine?"

"No, but..."

"Precisely. Now, price aside, what do you think?"

She pulled a delicate silver chain out of the box, revealing a small, pendant that danced with and caught the light. Fastening it around her neck, she turned to face him and smiled dazzlingly.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

Agrippa glanced away to avoid seeing them lock lips and raised an eyebrow at Remus, who was sitting next to her, following her gaze.

"I think I need a drink," she murmured.

He chuckled softly. "It's not even eleven o'clock yet."

"Don't I know it."

"Mum?"

Her head snapped up at the sound of her daughter's voice. "Yes?"

"Did you want to go on a walk?"

The suddenness of the request made Agrippa freeze momentarily. She wondered if she was ready to talk to her daughter without the buffer of numerous others around them, if she would be at all comfortable.

During the moment of silence, Hermione's face fell briefly. "It's okay if you don't," she said quickly. "I just thought..."

"I'd love to," she burst out, suddenly recognizing that her daughter was trying to lessen the distance between them. It made her wonder how many other times she had tried without response. "Just let me go change."

*

From his sleeping bag, Neville watched. Everyone had branched off into sects, little groups, where they whispered and conferred, each group as frightened as the next. The teachers, trying to appear calm in spite of the knowledge of defeat, which had etched new lines into their faces. The Hufflepuffs, gathered around a single candle in a mute circle, hands linked and eyes closed in a way that was reminiscent of a religious ceremony. The Ravenclaws, swapping what textbooks that they had with them, referencing and cross-referencing in hopes of finding something helpful. The Slytherins, huddled against the wall, their thoughts clearly along the lines of, This isn't supposed to be me.

And himself. Neville Longbottom. The sole basement representative of Gryffindor, except for Colin and Dennis Creevey, the latter of which was crouched in the corner whimpering as his brother tried to calm him.

Oddly enough, Neville wasn't afraid. He was going to die, whether he wanted to or not. He had accepted the fact and moved on to bigger things, like how everyone else was going to survive. He was concentrating harder than he ever had in his life, trying to come up with a solution, but the frustration was building.

He knew that this would be his downfall. Once he lost this eerie calm, once he allowed fear to overtake him he would be reduced to a condition worse than Dennis' and good for nothing. To calm himself, he began running through the alphabet, naming a plant for each letter.

Asphodel. Belladonna. Chinese Chomping Cabbage. Datura...

Stuck on E, he began to panic. This was the only thing he knew how to do. The only thing that made sense to him. Without it, he was nothing.

Before his chest could finish constricting, a word came to him.

Eucalyptus.

Inhaling deeply, he relaxed. It was okay. He was back on track. He could handle this.

Fluxweed. Gillyweed. Hellebore. Indigo spires salvia...

*

"I brought us food."

Ginny appeared in the doorway, holding a bowl of what smelled like popcorn.

"By the time I leave, I'll have to be rolled out the door," Draco drawled good-naturedly.

She laughed and entered his bedroom, settling cross-legged next to him on the bed. "So. You wanted to talk."

"Not really. I just wanted to escape from the lion pit," he teased. "So many Weasleys..."

Flicking him lightly, she grinned. "Careful, that's my family..."

"Darling, I know that. But you are so much more attractive."

"Shut up and have your popcorn."

Raising an eyebrow, he complied and they ate for a few minutes in silence, giving Ginny time to study him. Thinner and paler than she remembered him to be, there was a new aura hanging in the air that suggested a determination that hadn't been there previously.

Merlin, I've missed him, she realised suddenly. Even in her darkest moments, she hadn't quite understood the depth of her feelings until now. He was the only sane part of my life...

It was Draco who spoke first. "So, how have you been?"

She snorted in reply. "Not well at all. You?"

"Bloody miserable. I'm really hoping things go up from here."

"I think it's the only direction that they can go."

They each took another handful of popcorn, chewing in unison. Ginny tried to think of the best way to phrase the question she most wanted to ask, but nothing brilliant came to mind. Finally, she opted for the painfully blunt.

"Draco," she said carefully. "Do you think I'm a monster?"

He looked at her curiously for a moment. "Just because you turn furry when the moon is full?" He paused before adding, "Or sometimes when it's not full, for that matter... Don't be ridiculous."

She closed her eyes, longing to explain, but the thought of his disgust was more than enough to keep her quiet on the subject. "So you don't--"

"I've learned to save the word for the people who truly deserve it," he cut her off, more than a touch of bitterness in his tone.

Don't bring up Harry, a voice in the back of her head chanted. Don't bring up Harry. This can only go wrong.

Instead, she forced herself to smile feebly. "Thanks."

*

"... and I really think that your coat suits you. Blue really emphasizes your features. Where did you say that you bought it, again?"

"Mum," Hermione tried for the twelfth time, kicking her way down the snow-covered walkway and trying not to feel guilty. "It's okay. You don't have to talk about my coat. I'm sorry that I lost it like that the other night, but I didn't mean a lot of what I said."

"Really?" Agrippa asked with poorly masked scepticism.

"Well, I did," she confessed. "But it's okay. I've had almost a year to get over it."

"I'm not sure that that's the way I would look at it, in your position."

She shook her head. "I needed to move on, so I did. It still hurts, but if I thought about it all the time, it would completely cripple me. And I probably would have starved to death months ago."

Her mother was staring at her now, with something like horror shining in her eyes. "That's not true."

Hermione stopped walking, turning to face her mother intently. "Yes. It is. I think we both know that--I know I do, anyway. We can hope that somebody would have noticed before then, but sometimes I really doubt it."

It was obvious that Agrippa was fighting tears as she leaned over and wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter. For a brief moment, Hermione took comfort in the warmth and the familiar scent of her mother's perfume, but they longer they held on, the more quickly it mutated into something forced and awkward. Hermione broke away first, trying to hide her red-rimmed eyes behind her hair.

"So," she said in a tone belying her uncertainty, "are you ever going to tell me what's going on between you and Lupin? Because the entire house seems to know something I don't."

Agrippa froze in confusion momentarily, before realizing that the tone was teasing. "I would if there was anything to tell."

"So there's nothing? You're disappointing me."

With a wry grin, she shook her head. "Even if one or both of us was interested, it's far too soon for me to be involved with anyone. I need to relearn myself first."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione laughed. "Oh, thank God. That would be a little bit too weird for me. But, speaking of... Have you heard from Dad lately?"

She didn't miss her mother's brief flinch at the mention of him, but kept eye contact. If her mother had any news, it was her right to know about it.

In response, Agrippa's mouth only curled into a sarcastic smile. "Not a word for five months. If you're harbouring hopes of us rekindling our romance, you would be better off to kill the notion now."

It was Hermione's turn to wince at the harsh tone that her mother spoke in. "I'm sorry," she said, chewing her lower lip. "I should have known you wouldn't... You must really hate him."

A pause, then, "I don't know. I think hate would be easy, compared whatever this is. Some days, I really couldn't care where he is or what he's doing, but others..." She breathed heavily, brushing strands of hair out of her face with hands that trembled. "Maybe I'm sick, but other days, I wake up and all I want is for him to be there."

"That's not sick," Hermione told her. "Maybe you just really used to love him. You can't forget people in a day--you can't forget anything in a day--and he was a major part of both of our lives for a long time."

"But not anymore."

"No," she agreed. "Not anymore."

They walked for a few minutes in silence and Hermione began to remember last Christmas, realising just how many events in that stretch of days her mother had no idea about, how many of those moments had been the beginning of everything. She hid a grin at the thought of what her mother's reaction would be as to whose hotel room she had spent the night in, but to no avail.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing... I'm just thinking about how quickly things have changed..." In a sudden desire to change the mood, Hermione burst out, "Remember when Dad worked nights and we used to order in takeout--"

"--and rent movies?" Agrippa finished, with a laugh. "How could I forget?"

"You made me watch Gone with the Wind until I wanted to be sick."

"I told you--understanding foreign cultures is an important life skill."

Hermione groaned. "Another culture where they speak the same language, eat the same food and wear the same clothes?"

Sniffing, as if affronted, her mother replied, in the most uppity tone she could muster, "Same language? Darling, I'm insulted--they've no right to call that bastardisation 'English.'"

"Mum, both of us know you just wanted to wear a hoop skirt."

Changing tacks, she shot back, "This from the girl who wanted me to go to work forever so she could have a nanny like Mary Poppins?"

"That was different."

"Oh, really?" Agrippa arched a brow.

"Yes. She had a parrot and a magic bag and her medicine wasn't nearly as disgusting as what you tried to give me. And hoop skirts went out in, what, 1873?"

"Hermione, dear, that smirk isn't very becoming."

"I win," Hermione crowed gleefully. "Anyway, we should do that again sometime. But maybe something we both like."

"Audrey Hepburn?"

"Breakfast at Tiffany's?"

"I was leaning more towards Roman Holiday, but I can live with that."

"As soon as we can get our hands on a VCR?"

"It's a date."

The conversation lapsed, and Hermione privately enjoyed the renewed sense of closeness to her mother that she hadn't felt in years. It was different now, more tentative than she remembered it being, but she supposed that was only to be expected. Admittedly, she felt a strong pull of relief at the discovery that the bridge holding them together hadn't completely broken after all, sending planks crashing into the torrents of water below. It only needed mending and she--they--could do that eventually.

Turning to Agrippa, she noticed tears gathering in the other woman's eyes and held back the playful banter that was gathering on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she squeezed her mother's hand through their gloves and smiled reassuringly.

"It's okay," she whispered, just loud enough that words reached their destination before being ripped away. "It wasn't all bad, remember? We were happy for a long time..."

I forgive you, she almost said, and realised with a start that the words weren't empty and intended only for comfort.

Wiping her eyes, Agrippa pulled her in for a second hug, one that Hermione felt no desire to pull away from, and they stayed like that for a long time, letting the winter air embrace them until their feet were too cold to remain any longer.

*

For the number of people and the amount of disagreement and general chaos that had taken place in the last few weeks, Christmas dinner was going surprisingly well, Draco mused silently, helping himself to another helping of mashed potatoes. Not to mention that the food was infinitely better than anything made by a Malfoy Family Houself.

Across the table, Ginny was shooting him amused glances as he shovelled food down his throat ravenously. He paused to take a sip of pumpkin juice and took the opportunity to smirk back.

Down the table, people broke into laughter as Lupin sent a plate of turkey flying into Mrs Weasley's lap and, almost unconsciously, he found himself joining in. It took him a few moments to realise that normally this would strike him as odd.

*

Charlie Weasley had never liked carrots.

Nice taste, but they reminded him too much of his hair to actually eat, and years of enduring nicknames like "Carrot-head" had reinforced the notion, turning him off of them permanently. Naturally, this had caused great concern with his parents when he tried to explain why he refused to eat them, so rather than explain that consuming carrots was remarkably like swallowing a hairball he had perfected the art of sliding them into his napkin when nobody was looking. This was precisely what he was doing as Hermione's mother was trying to explain laptops to the table and his mother was making tutting noises under her breath at the notion.

He had just gotten around to planning an escape route for his napkin, when Remus, who was sitting next to him, remarked quietly, "Why put them on your plate if you don't want to eat them?"

He snorted just as softly. "Have you ever tried not eating something that Molly Weasley serves you? It just doesn't work."

Remus bared his teeth in a grin. "Fair enough."

"You're welcome to them, if you want," Charlie replied. "Although getting them out of the napkin using sleight of hand could be a bit harder than dropping them into your lap."

"I'm not really a carrot person either, otherwise I'd try," he laughed. "I was always terrified that they would make me change colour."

"Well, they make me feel like I'm swallowing giant hairballs. Especially when they're raw."

Remus pulled a face. "As someone who's swallowed a fair few hairballs in his lifetime, I understand perfectly."

*

The feeling of his mouth sliding over hers filled her abdomen with a half-falling, half-floating feeling that was compounded by the fact that they were pressed together, hands tangling in hair and trailing down skin. If Hermione kept her eyes closed, she found that it was easy to believe that this was the beginning and end of existence, that beyond the immediately tangible there was nothing but black emptiness.

Momentarily overwhelmed by this, she tilted her head back, opening her eyes to remind herself of reality. His gaze caught hers, slightly confused, and the corners of her mouth curved upwards. They froze like that momentarily, until the feeling of the strap on her dress slipping down her shoulder distracted her.

"Just get rid of it."

His voice was a sleepy growl that sent delicious shivers down her spine as her grin widened.

"Not yet."

Her husky tone surprised even her--it had been far from intentional. Leading him closer to the bed, she kept her eyes locked on his, feeling a nudge somewhere in her mind. Her breath quickened in an attempt to keep breathing as realisation struck her with a force powerful enough to bowl her over. The words were hovering on the tip of her tongue, even as she knew that she wouldn't be able to say them, for more than one reason.

Completely oblivious to her inner turmoil, he closed in on her, only adding to the sensation that someone had ripped the ground from under her feet.

Am I falling into heaven or hell? she wondered, knowing full well that she might not like the answer.

She knew that he cared about her. That much was indisputable. But caring and loving were two entirely different things.

*

Lying side by side but not touching, Ginny and Draco were each lost in their own world. She found herself wondering what he was thinking about, if he was glad that she had forgiven him. If he had forgiven her.

She felt closer to him than she ever had to anyone, yet at the same time it felt like there were walls and oceans between them, making the tiny gap between them on the bed feel monstrous. Wanting to close it but not knowing how, she felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes as a knot formed in her stomach.

"You know," Draco began carefully, "that you are the only person who has ever mattered to me like this."

She froze, feeling a sudden and inexplicable relief. "No, I didn't. But it's good to hear."

"Seeing you here, with your family--Ginny, there are so many people who care about you. It's hard for me to watch that because it makes me feel like I'm just one of dozens."

She rolled onto her side so that she was facing him, face pale in the moonlight. "I've never cared about anyone in the same way that I care about you. I've done crazy things in the name of you--some that I'd rather forget--but I meant what I said when I told you that I've been happier with you than any other time in my life. I mean, I love my family, but it's because they're my family. They've always been there and, on some level, I know that they always will be, but there are some places that I've been that they can't understand and I wouldn't ask them to try."

"The Chamber?" Draco asked, surprising her.

"How did you know? I never mentioned it."

He pushed a strand of hair out of his face and sighed. "It's one thing to see him, to have him talk to you. Even that's something that I'll never be able to erase from memory. But to have him inside your head, controlling you body and mind... That's more than most could handle. You've done more than handle it, but it's bound to have left some marks--did you know that you flinch whenever someone mentions it?"

"Sometimes," she whispered, voice catching, "I think he still talks to me. I have dreams about him all the time, where he's telling me things, asking me to join him, and I'm never afraid until I wake up because I'm never sure if it's real or not. And then sometimes I do things that I know are wrong, and I never know if it's because of him, or the wolf, or me."

Draco didn't reply with words. Instead, he reached across the bed, breaching the distance, and clasped her hand in his in a mute gesture of support. For the first time in months, she began to feel that things might turn out all right.