We'll Always Have Paris

We'll Always Have Paris
Chapter 11

Nothing you can say can tear me away from my guy.
Nothing you can do 'cause I'm stuck like glue to my guy.
-- "my Guy" by Mary Wells

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Their joy didn’t last long.

Within just a few minutes of Draco and Hermione’s heated embrace on the dance floor, several things happened: a few scuffles broke out between the Gryffindors and Slytherins: the room erupted with a swell of chattering; and Pansy Parkinson let out one loud, shrill shriek then promptly fainted on the floor. The Hogwarts professors had to control the crowd as best they could, so Dumbledore announced that the feast was concluding and for everyone to return to their dormitories and rest up for the journey home the next morning.

Amidst the commotion, a firm hand grasped Draco’s shoulder. Lissanne whispered into his ear, “It might be better if you and your … girlfriend …” she spat out, “squirreled yourselves away for a bit until the ruckus dies down.”

Draco was about to open his mouth and snap back at his friend, but his eyes fell upon two tall wizards watching him as he stood holding hands with Hermione. Potter was running his fingers through his hair, gesticulating wildly at Weasley, who was too busy glowering at Draco with pure venom to pay attention to his best friend. Draco felt Hermione’s hand grip his tighter; she had spotted Weasley too.

He pulled her into a side room off the Main Hall while they waited for the chattering students to pass by on their way back to their dormitories.

With his wand, Draco lit a fire in the fireplace, the warm light casting a soft glow over Hermione’s hair and face. Draco could see the question in her eyes – was he certain? So he leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She relaxed into him, the feel of her against him assuring him this was where he wanted to be – with her.

When she spoke, it was in a low, awed voice. “I can’t believe you really kissed me in front of the entire school.”

He laughed, “If I had known kissing you was all it would take to make Pansy be quiet for a while, I would have done it ages ago.”

She laughed with him. “Very funny.” A heavy weight seemed to settle on her heart. “Do you regret it?” She asked anxiously, looking down at her hands, her fingers entwined through his.

He bent over so he could look into her eyes. “The only thing I regret is not doing it sooner.”

“Let’s not wait so long to do it again,” she smiled, biting her bottom lip as he placed an arm about her waist. As she reached up to touch his face, she reveled in the soft feel of his skin against hers. Her breath hitched as she stood on her toes and leaned in to press her lips against him once more. At first their lips moved softly against each other, but as he pulled her body close to him, she wanted to stay in that moment forever. Hermione made no attempt to resist as Draco kissed her with everything he had. Much like the kiss he’d given her on the dance floor, she found herself lost to the feel of his lips on hers and her breath caught in her throat as Draco weaved his spell on her heart. She finally pulled away from him and looked around the room, chuckling softly.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just ironic. You kissed me in front of everyone so we wouldn’t have to hide, and what are we doing now? Hiding.”

“Don’t think of it as hiding so much as making up for lost time,” he grinned at her, causing her heart to flutter down to her feet before flitting back up to her chest in a mere second. She loved it when he looked at her that way.

He leaned in to kiss her again, but something in her eyes caused him to pause. He could read the concern in her eyes; they were an open book to him now.

“But what about your housemates and your friends?” She paused meaningfully before looking up into his grey eyes, the firelight dancing in them. “What about your father and your family?”

The truth was he hadn’t thought about any of them before he had kissed her. They were dancing and nothing else had mattered at the time. He wished deep down none of the other things would ever matter, but unfortunately he knew too well about the reality of their situation. He took a deep breath. “I will deal with the rest of the Slytherins. Their opinion doesn’t matter as much to me as much as it used to, and the fact that the Malfoys are one of the oldest wizarding families in this country has more than a little weight. As for Father …” his voice trailed off as he searched for the right words. “Fortunately he’s out of town and is unreachable for several months. That’s why I’ll be staying at Hogwarts for the holiday.” He watched Hermione’s lips curve slightly upward in a smile upon learning this. He knew she was staying too. “So that gives me some time to find the right words to tell him about us.”

“You’re really willing to do all of that? Just for me?”

He could hear the unmistakable disbelief and wonder in her voice. “I’m doing it for me too, Hermione. Ever since that day in the rose garden, I’ve been kicking myself for not having had the nerve to go after what I want. And I want you.”

She reached her arms around him and hugged him tightly to her, shocked by how happy she felt. The circumstances should have made her fraught with anxiety and tension over facing Harry and Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors, but she couldn’t help but feel content when she was alone with Draco.

He rubbed her back and then hesitantly pulled her face to look at him. “But you know, it’s not just my family and friends who won’t understand or think this is all some huge plot.”

She sighed heavily. “I know. I’ll just have to make them understand.”

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“Ron, will you please say something?”

“What do you want me to say, Harry?” Ron slammed his dresser drawer shut angrily as he grabbed a pair of pyjamas to get ready for bed, his voice oddly controlled and devoid of emotion.

“At this point, I just want you to say anything,” Harry admitted. “You’ve said barely two words since you saw Hermione with Malfoy downstairs, and frankly, it’s a little troubling.” Harry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Ron turned to his raven-haired friend. “All right. Tell me. Did you know about Hermione and that sharp-faced git? You don’t seem nearly as surprised as the rest of the school.”

Harry sunk to his bed, forcing himself to look into his confused friend’s cold eyes. “I knew something had happened between them.” He hastily added, “But Hermione assured me emphatically that it was over. And judging how she’s been acting the past few weeks, I think it was.” He looked down at his feet. “I think that dance tonight must have triggered something.”

“I see,” was all Ron replied, taking off his shoes and socks and readying for bed.

In frustration Harry strode over and snatched Ron’s bedclothes from him. “See what?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“That my two best friends are in serious need of intense psychological therapy in St. Mungo’s ward for the monumentally stupid. I wonder if they use shock therapy there? You both need it.” He had grabbed his pyjamas back and changed into them as Harry tried to get him to talk.

“Ron …” Harry started, but Ron ignored him.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Dumbledore will make sure you have the best doctors checking you over,” Ron reasoned calmly, like they were chatting about the weather. Harry tried to say something again but Ron wouldn’t let him, his calm demeanor was gone. “Not now, Harry. I mean it. Just leave it alone.” He closed the curtains to his four poster, shutting Harry and the world out. But he didn’t fall asleep – not for a long time.

Harry stared at the bed curtains, one of his best friends hidden behind them, his other best friend off with one of his ruthless adversaries – probably snogging him senseless. That mental image made Harry dizzy. He had half a mind to track her down and drag her away from Malfoy, but he also knew that would do no good -- it would only push her closer to the blond snake. But he didn’t like this current situation up here either. He needed to talk some sense into Ron and get him to see the importance of not pushing Hermione away, but Ron was being his usual stubborn, pig-headed self.

It was actually scaring Harry a little. He -- and he was certain Hermione too – had anticipated Ron having a fit and screaming until he was redder than Harry’s Quidditch robes if Ron ever found out about Hermione and Malfoy. So Harry found Ron’s lack of an outburst duly unsettling. He could deal with Ron’s typical explosions because at least they were predictable; he could tell when they were coming just by watching his best short-tempered friend. The rainbow of colours passing across Ron’s face, and the tone in his voice told Harry everything -- when an outburst was coming, and when he was calming down. But Ron was currently not displaying any telltale signs, and Harry knew deep down that was a very, very bad omen. When Ron did inevitably erupt, it would be without warning, leaving a trail of injured in his wake.

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After Draco walked Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower, he gave her one final kiss goodbye, which left her breathless once more. She felt like she was floating, she was so happy. Dreamily, she spoke the password and climbed through the portrait hole. As she glided to the sixth-year girls’ dormitory, someone cleared their throat from behind her. Her bliss faltered for a moment – someone was there. She took a deep breath, half-expecting Ron and Harry to be waiting in the common room for her, ready to pounce on her for her lack of judgment for getting mixed up with a Malfoy. But they weren’t – Ginny was.

Ginny was perched on the couch in front of the dying fire, her legs curled up beneath her. She covered her mouth with her hand, yawning at the late hour. “Hey, Hermione,” she greeted, her voice congenial, her eyes searching. “I figured you could probably use a friend, and although I have no idea how you got together with Draco Malfoy, I’m willing to keep an open mind and listen if you ever feel the need to talk. I know things aren’t always black and white; please know I’m here if you need me. Or at least after the holiday. I’m going home with my roommate to experience a genuine Muggle Christmas first hand.” She walked across to her friend and rested her hand supportively around Hermione’s shoulder. “But you can owl me every day I’m gone if you want.”

“Thanks, Ginny,” Hermione said appreciatively. “It’s good to know at least one of my friends doesn’t think I’ve gone nutters.” She looked anxiously at Ron’s sister. “Did Ron say anything to you … about what happened downstairs?”

“He hasn’t said much of anything,” Ginny admitted.

Hermione stared at her incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m not. I saw Harry trying to talk to him, but Ron didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say.”

“Hmmm. That can’t be good. Can it?” She scrunched her face up as she spoke.

“I’ve grown up with six brothers, and the only thing that’s worse than them screaming their heads off when they’re upset is when they say nothing at all. You can just tell when they’re ready to explode.”

“Maybe he’ll talk to me before it gets that bad,” Hermione sighed hopefully. “He may be mad at me right now, but I know he’s still my friend.”

Ginny gave her a hug goodbye. “I’m only an owl away if you need me to come back and kick him in the arse,” she joked.

“I might take you up on that,” she said, hugging her friend back. “Thanks, Gin. And good night.”

After dropping Ginny off at the fifth-year girls’ room, Hermione made her way upstairs, being extra quiet as she changed from her dress robes to her pyjamas so she wouldn’t wake Parvati and Lavender. She had just sat on her bed, ready to fall back onto her pillow, when the candles in the room were lit. Lavender was sitting on Parvati’s bed, both girls staring excitedly at Hermione. “So are you going to tell us what’s going on between you and Draco? Or are you going to make us resort to magical methods?”

“What are you going to do? Do you have Veritaserum stuffed under your mattress?”

After five years of living together, Hermione’s roommates knew she was exceptionally ticklish. With matching conspiratorial grins, her roommates smiled. Parvati explained, “No. But in a pinch, Rictusempra can be just as effective.”

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The day after the ball, most of the Hogwarts students boarded the train; but Harry was staying as usual, so Ron and Hermione were staying to keep him company. Draco and Lissanne stayed as well because their parents were out of town.

As usual, it was chaotic in the Gryffindor common room as everyone gathered their things together at the last minute before heading to Hogsmeade station. As a Prefect, Hermione had to help the first years get their act together and keep everyone on schedule. Of course, the only thing all the girls wanted to chatter about was her kissing Draco Malfoy the night before.

After all the students were safely on the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade station, only she and Draco were left standing on the platform. They had ridden in separate horseless carriages, so they didn’t see each other until they were standing on the platform.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

They laughed nervously, seeing each other in the brightness of the day with startling clarity and with no soft music or candlelight to cast a romantic glow. Draco took the first step closer to Hermione. “Good morning, Granger,” he greeted her with a sly smile. “I hear you engaged in some rather surprising activities at the Yule Ball.”

“Really, Malfoy? What did you hear?” she asked innocently.

“That your antics on the dance floor with one dishy looking bloke closed the dance, since you were such a tough act to follow.”

Coyly she responded, “The rumours might be true … perhaps. But I don’t kiss and tell.” She stood on her toes and kissed him softly on his neck.

“Maybe we can discuss this situation over a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.” He reached down to his side and took her hand in his. Hermione’s pulse sped up at this simple gesture. “You can tell me all about your new bloke; he sounds fascinating.”

It was cold outside so they walked briskly. Their faces were flushed and their noses red by the time they made it inside the Three Broomsticks. Once inside the door, Hermione spotted some stray snowflakes resting lightly on top of Draco’s silky hair; she reached up to brush them lightly away, letting her fingers linger slightly and revel in the smooth feel of his silky hair under her fingertips. They moved to a table on the side of the pub; Draco held out his hand for Hermione’s cloak to hang it up on a nearby cloak rack while Hermione took her seat.

Madame Rosmerta bustled over, looking harried from the busy last minute holiday shoppers buzzing about Hogsmeade. When she raised her head and spotted Hermione, the older witch smiled warmly. “How are you, dear? It’s good to see you again. Should I bring over three warm butterbeers for you, Ron, and Harry?”

“Er, no, Rosmerta. Just two, thanks. One for me and …”

“One for me,” Draco finished. His voice was stiff, and as he settled into his chair across from her, Hermione could tell he was more anxious than he cared to admit.

Madame Rosmerta looked nervously between the two students and leaned in to address Hermione. “Is he bothering you? I can have Hagrid here by Floo in thirty seconds.”

Draco eyed Hermione intently. She smiled congenially at the pub owner. “That won’t be necessary. Just the two butterbeers, please, for me and …” She reached across the table and took Draco’s hand in hers. “… and Draco.” She looked meaningfully at the older witch, whose eyes widened in surprise. “And some menus, please.”

Rosmerta muttered, “I hope you know what you’re getting into, dearie,” and turned to make her way to the bar.

Their lunch at the Three Broomsticks wasn’t an entirely pleasant experience. They received more than a few curious looks from people who knew them, as well as from strangers who noted their house badges and wondered how a Slytherin and a Gryffindor could be holding hands.

Finally Hermione suggested, “Why don’t we head back to the castle?”

As they walked through Hogsmeade to head back to Hogwarts, they paused to look in some of the shop windows, festively decorated for the Christmas holidays. In Zonko’s window, there was an assortment of joke items, and Draco howled with laughter as he pointed one out to Hermione. “You see that mirror? Crabbe replaced the mirror in Pansy’s compact with one of Zonko’s mirrors, and when she opened it, it shouted insults at her instead of compliments. You should have seen the look on her face when it called her a stringy-haired slapper with big ears and crooked teeth.”

Hermione laughed lightly, but the mention of Draco’s friends prompted her to ask him something she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to. “Er … Draco, speaking of Crabbe, did he say anything to you about what happened last night?” She studied some of the new and improved Filibuster Fireworks in the window, too anxious to look at him.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, none of them believed it was really true.” This drew her eyes to his. “They all think it’s part of some big scheme to get at Potter or to humiliate the Gryffindors. I guess they find it unbelievable that I could have genuine feelings for a non-Slytherin.” He looked down at his feet as he dug the toe of his dragon-hide boots in the snow before lifting his eyes to her once more. “But I’m sure you heard the same things from your housemates.”

Hermione turned and started walking again.

He caught up to her and gently put his hand on her arm. “Hermione, what did Potter and Weasley say?”

She sighed deeply. “Nothing.”

He gazed at her doubtfully. “You can tell me. You don’t need to lie for them.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I haven’t even seen them since the ball. I got back to the common room late and the only person awake was Ginny, who was very non-judgmental about it all and generally supportive. Then this morning, neither Harry nor Ron were around.”

Their walking resumed, but they stayed silent for a few moments until Draco surmised, “I’m guessing Weasley’s silence is a bad thing.”

“Well, it was certainly … unexpected.” She paused. “And I have a feeling it’s not the last time he’ll surprise me over this.”

Draco took Hermione’s hand in his, pulling her into his arms. He looked down into her conflicted eyes and caressed her cheek softly before leaning in to kiss her pain away. She moved her lips against his, her mouth opening to him. He could taste the sweet, smooth traces of the warm butterbeer on her lips.

As they pulled away, feeling considerably less melancholy, she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling in spite of the snowy December afternoon. “Come on. I know what will cheer us both up.” She grinned broadly. “Let’s build a snowman!”

“A snowman? We aren’t six anymore.”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “That’s why it’ll be so much fun.”

She sprinted to an open clearing, fresh with new fallen snow, heavy with moisture and perfect for making snowmen. She set about instantly, starting with a small snowball and rolling it on the ground to make it bigger.

Draco watched her with interest and then chuckled out loud. “What are you doing?”

She looked up at him questioningly from her crouched position on the ground. Her cheeks and nose were reddening from the cold with each breath. “What does it look like? Rolling the snow to make the base.”

As he pulled his wand from his cloak, he chided her, “But we have wands. Remember?” He pointed his wand and said, “Glebula nivis.”

Hermione watched as he moved his wand in circles in the air, spinning a small snowball until it got larger and larger. In a few minutes, he had created a perfectly shaped snowman, each section a perfectly round sphere. He looked at her, beaming with pride at his flawless workmanship.

She rolled her eyes at him. “But that wasn’t fun,” she whinged. “We’re going to make a real snowman … with no magic.”

He whinged back, “But snow is cold … and wet. Our fingers might fall off.”

“Madame Pomfrey can grow them back for you. Don’t be such a chicken, Malfoy,” she smirked patronizingly.

Draco’s jaw dropped as he stood aghast at the challenging Gryffindor. “I am no chicken. In fact, I’ll bet I can make a better snowman than you. And you’ve been building them this way your whole life.” He dug into his pockets and dug out an expensive pair of dragon-hide leather gloves which matched his boots. With deliberate poise and determined moves, he fitted his gloves on each hand, finally extending his hand to her. The challenge in his eyes made them twinkle with delight.

Hermione could have kissed him senseless, but instead took his proffered hand in hers. “Let’s start building.”

She found a spot a little way from Draco so she could have some fresh snow and room to work to construct her masterpiece. She’d done this many times as a child, but it still took her a while to build it; she took meticulous care in everything she did and building snowmen was no exception. Nonetheless, it took her a while to construct it, because she kept watching Draco tackle his snowy endeavour – his brow furrowed in concentration, the puffs of smoke in the air from his physical exertion, his pink nose and cheeks from the cold December air.

Draco was building a snowman without magic just because she asked him to. She’d never forget this day.

When they were finished with the actual construction, Draco and Hermione searched the clearing for leaves and rocks to transfigure for the finishing touches. Hermione’s snowman sported a black velvet top hat, a long red and white scarf, a carrot for a nose, and some marbles for his eyes, mouth, and buttons. Draco’s masterpiece was adorned with more magical tastes, like a large emerald green wizard’s hat, half-moon glasses, and holding a makeshift wand in a large twisted tree branch for an arm.

Hermione walked to Draco’s to view the finished project just as he was positioning the wand in the snowman’s twiggy arm. She had to stifle a fit of the giggles when she saw the unabashed pride on Draco’s face as he turned around. He stood back to gaze at his creation in all its glory and beamed, “Now that is one good looking snowman.” He grinned broadly and Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell him his snowman looked like it had a debilitating case of arthritis.

Instead she smiled back warmly and wrapped her arm around his waist. “He’s beautiful. You do smashing work.”

“What can I say? I’m a natural. I only wish I had a camera with me.” He pointed at her snowman. “Especially since mine is much more handsome than yours. I win, hands down.”

Her jaw dropped as she placed her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about? My snowman is quite attractive. Wait around here for a bit and I’m sure you’ll all the snow-women hanging around him.”

He smirked, “Sure … if they’re blind. His mouth is all lopsided, and he’s got a big, crooked carrot for a nose.” He shook his head in disparagingly at the snowman. “And don’t get me started on his clothes.”

In mock outrage Hermione exclaimed, “They add character to his face.”

Condescendingly he smiled down at her. “Whatever you say, Hermione.” He pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead. He could feel her breath on his cheek as she sighed happily. “Come on. Let’s get back to the castle. I think there’s a couple of mugs of hot chocolate with our names on them.”

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Harry awoke that morning to the sounds of his roommates’ last-minute packing. Beyond his drawn curtains, he heard Neville ask, “Dean, have you seen my Potions book around? My Aunt Vera said she’d help me with the Anti-Boils potion over the holiday.”

Dean had apparently found it for Neville, because with a loud thud, a heavy book landed on the floor. “Ouch!” Neville cried. “That landed on my foot.”

Knowing he’d never fall back to sleep with all the noise, Harry pushed the curtains back and grabbed his glasses from his nightstand. He glanced over at Ron’s bed; it was empty and already made up.

“Morning, Harry,” Seamus greeted. “It’s about time you woke up. We’re heading down to breakfast soon, and we wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas.”

Harry jerked his head towards Ron’s empty bed. “Where’s Ron? Did he head down to the Great Hall already?”

The three Gryffindors glanced nervously at each other before Dean answered, “He left about twenty minutes ago, Harry. I left my packing until last minute as usual and when I woke, he was already dressed and on his way out the door … with your Firebolt over his shoulder.”

Swinging his legs onto the floor, Harry assured him. “That’s all right. I told him he could borrow it whenever he wanted. I guess I’m not really surprised.”

Neville asked edgily, “Harry, what’s going on with Hermione and Draco Malfoy?”

Dean sat on his bed, which was next to Harry’s. “Before Ron left he muttered something about how he couldn’t believe you hadn’t said anything to him – that you lied to him.”

The raven-haired wizard sighed in frustration, “I wasn’t lying … not technically. Anyway, it wasn’t my secret to tell. And honestly, I didn’t think there was anything to tell. Hermione assured me there wasn’t anything going on anymore.” He got up and starting searching for his robes. “I’ve got to find Ron and smack some sense into him.”

Seamus intervened. “Give him some time, Harry. You know how Ron can get. Come down to breakfast with us. You’ll need some food in your stomach before facing him.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about. What about when he sees Hermione?”

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After breakfast, Harry pondered searching for Ron right away but decided against it. He figured he’d give Ron a little more time to cool down before trying to talk to him. Especially if Ron had spotted Malfoy or Hermione climbing into the horseless carriages, which were transporting the students to Hogsmeade. Harry had spotted Hermione that morning flurrying about the common room trying to help some first years gather their things together for the trip home, but he had not approached her. In truth, he was upset with her – very upset. He didn’t like this thing with her and Malfoy any more than Ron did, but Harry also knew how important it was to not ostracize Hermione in any way from her friends. That would only put her in danger.

Now he just needed to drill that into Ron’s overly thick cranium.

After finishing up some last minute gift wrapping and visiting Hedwig in the owlery, he hoped Ron would be more reasonable. Harry headed over to the Quidditch pitch. “You can’t ignore me forever,” he called out as he walked into the middle of the snowy pitch, staring up at the racing blur flying briskly on Harry’s hijacked broom. “For one thing, you’ll be a big icicle if you keep flying at that pace in this weather. Come inside with me; we’ll grab a bite of lunch.”

Ron slowed down, but didn’t stop completely. He hadn’t seen anyone outside since the horde of students exited the castle that morning, making their way to the carriages. When n one lone black-cloaked figure began ambling towards him from the castle, Ron could guess who it was. He could recognize Harry’s lanky gait and messy head in spite of the distance. Upon seeing his friend, Ron had sped up his flying pace.

Harry yelled even louder, “Weasley, get your blooming, skinny arse down here now!”

Ron pulled up on the Firebolt immediately and glowered at Harry below him on the ground. He turned the broom toward the other boy and took off at lightning speed, headed straight for Harry, who was looking unfazed at his best friend hurtling himself at him. When Ron was so close he could see the whites of Harry’s eyes, he finally pulled up on the broom and came to an abrupt halt, but did not dismount.

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Are you finished being a spoiled prat yet?”

Ron waved irritatedly in the air. “What are you doing here? I’d have thought you’d be hanging out with Hermione and her … her … Malfoy,” he spat, unable to bring himself to refer to Draco as Hermione’s boyfriend. “ Especially since you seem to think they’re such a perfect match for each other.”

“You have no idea what I think because you won’t bloody well listen to a word I have to say on the matter.”

Ron swung his leg from the Firebolt and stood in front of Harry, arms crossed defensively. “Fine. Talk.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry started, “First, let me clarify that I emphatically do not think Hermione and Malfoy are a good idea. He’s a pompous, smug, arrogant bastard and he’s not worthy to lick her cauldron, let alone hold her hand or kiss her.” Harry could see Ron was about to interrupt, so he raised his hand to silence him. “However, Hermione seems to think Malfoy has changed his tune since going to France and fighting her on it right now would only push them closer together. And we can’t risk that.”

“He’s just using her, you know. Probably orders from his father to get close to her so You-Know-Who can attack you through her,” Ron pointed out angrily. “What the hell happened to her in France? Did they drug her food? How could she think he’d change so much practically overnight?” He started pacing back and forth in front of Harry, trying to stem the tide of frustration sweeping over him.

“I don’t know all the specifics, and frankly, I don’t want to know all the sordid details of what’s happened so far, but he’s done one smashing job of convincing her he’s changed his attitude toward her.” Harry looked painfully at Ron. “And he’s even done something ‘noble,’ if you can believe that.”

Ron let out a snort. “Noble? Malfoy? No way.”

“Remember what that duffer Phillippe tried to do to Hermione?” Ron nodded. “And remember how she told us Phillippe had learned his lesson?” Ron nodded again. “Well, apparently that ‘lesson’ was a bloody lip and a couple of black eyes courtesy of Draco Malfoy.”

Ron gaped at him. “No!”

Harry nodded. “Hermione was there. She said they had to pull Malfoy off him and that Phillippe had to be taken to the hospital wing.”

Ron’s pacing continued as he mulled over this new piece of information. “Well I don’t care. Malfoy is still a ferret-faced prick, and Hermione will always be too good for him.”

“I agree with you, but you know how Hermione is – stubborn as a mule, hates to be wrong, and digs her heels in when backed into a corner. She’s got it in her head he’s different from his father, that Draco has good in him somewhere and that he hasn’t chosen the Voldemort’s side yet.” Ron flinched as Harry said the name, but Harry didn’t correct himself. “If we argue with her about him, she’ll be more determined to prove she’s right about him”

The pacing stopped and Ron seemed to have a flash of brilliance which lit up his face. “What if we force her to choose between us and him? She’d have to dump him then; she’s been best friends with us for over five years. There’s no way she’d give that up.”

“No.” Harry shook his head vigorously. “Ultimatums never work, Ron. Ever. Even if she chose us, she’d still be drawn to him, probably more so. He’d convince her to start sneaking around, and then she’d feel she had to hide everything from us; we wouldn’t be able to watch out for her. And we need to do that right now, because she’s too close to see what’s right in front of her face: Malfoy is dangerous.”

Ron hung his head in resignation and sighed, “So what do we do now? Welcome the ferret into the fold with open arms? Show him the secret Gryffindor handshake? Because I can’t handle that.”

Harry chuckled at the look of horror in Ron’s eyes. “Nothing that drastic, so relax. Plus, I think Hermione would get suspicious if we starting acting that way anyway. But we need to at least try and behave when he’s around her.”

“What about him? He’s usually the one who starts it!” Ron cried indignantly.

“Just try and be civil,” Harry ordered. “For Hermione’s sake.” There was a moment’s pause as Harry’s words settled in Ron’s head. “And you need to talk to her, Ron. You can’t ignore her or yell at her about this.”

“I don’t think I can talk to her yet, Harry. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll say something which can’t be taken back. For the smartest one in our class, she’s being awfully dumb about this, and I can’t believe she’d trust that slimy snake.” Harry approached him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s just so unbelievable. Yesterday, I thought Hermione despised Malfoy as much as we did, and now she’s probably in the Astronomy Tower with him. It’s too much too soon. What if he tried to kiss her or something in front of me?” Ron grimaced at the thought of Hermione and Draco exchanging public displays of affection.

Harry glanced across the pitch. “Well now’s your chance to start getting used to it.” He jerked his head at the two approaching figures. “Here comes Hermione with her … whatever he is.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Bugger, they’ve spotted us. As Draco walked along the path to the front entrance of the castle, he spotted Weasley’s red hair in contrast to the shocking white of the fresh fallen snow, and where you saw Weasley, you inevitably found Potter. They were both staring at him and Hermione as they trudged through the snow. The last thing Draco wanted was to ruin the good time he and Hermione had been having since leaving the Three Broomsticks. Plus he’d rather drink bubotuber pus rather than exchange idle chit chat with Hermione’s poor excuses for best friends, so Draco tried to draw her attention away from the Quidditch pitch. They hadn’t talked yet about his intense dislike for her friends and how they were going to handle the situation, and as far as he was concerned, procrastination was definitely a good route to take.

However, Hermione was too observant and spotted her housemates out of the corner of her eye. Draco felt her hand squeeze his tighter in spite of their warm gloves. Her eyes were locked on the pair across the field while Draco eyed them dubiously. Then he looked at her face; the light that had glowed from within her the entire morning had evaporated upon seeing the other Gryffindors. Instead of buoyant and happy, she looked cautious and unsure. None of them moved for a few moments, just staring at each other. Then Hermione lifted her free hand in a hesitant wave. Potter waved back, and Draco could hear her exhale in relief. Potter started across the pitch, moving in their direction. At first Weasley hung back, as if debating whether or not he should follow, but as he slung a broomstick over his shoulder and followed Potter’s tracks, Draco knew his luck that day wouldn’t hold out much longer.

He was going to have to be cordial to Potter and Weasley. No hexing allowed.

“Draco,” she started uncertainly, “I know how you feel about Harry and Ron, but please try to …” She paused, unsure of what she should ask him, knowing a friendship between these boys would be far in coming. “Well, just try and not rile them up. You always seem to know how to push the right button to set them off.”

He smirked appreciatively. “I am pretty skilled at that, aren’t I?” Her pleading eyes touched his heart.

“Yes, but please don’t say anything to provoke them today. For me?”

He let out a sigh and nodded in agreement. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, knowing the two wizards were keenly watching them as they approached. But she had only asked Draco to not say anything to provoke them … she said nothing about doing anything which might set them off.

Holding Draco’s hand, Hermione started out to meet her friends halfway. She knew this was going to be awkward, especially since she hadn’t spoken to Harry or Ron since the ball. The fact that Draco was with her was certain to create some friction, but they would all have to get used to each other; she didn’t want to lose Harry and Ron as friends, but she wanted Draco in her life too. She didn’t expect the boys to all be friends, but she just hoped they could at least try and see why she adored each of them, even if it took some time. They had to start somewhere.

Although their gait was slow and they obviously wanted to delay their meeting as much as Draco did, soon he could make out the black-rimmed glasses of one adversary and the flush of anger on the cheeks of another. Instinctively, Draco twined his fingers through Hermione’s, as if hoping to draw some resolve from her.

Hermione spoke first, her voice overly cheery. “Hi Harry. Hi Ron. Come out for a little flying before dinner?”

Harry shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “We’ve been out here a while,” he answered with a heavy tone. His eyes hadn’t shifted from Draco’s since they first came into view. Neither boy would blink first. “Where have you two been all this time? Was there a problem getting the rest of the students to Hogsmeade Station?”

Draco narrowed his eyes at the bespectacled boy, but, wisely, Hermione replied first. “Nothing unusual, just a few last minute things. We … uh … just did some window shopping in the village, and stopped by the Three Broomsticks for a bit of lunch.”

From his perch behind Harry, Ron snorted, “How sweet. Your first date.”

Protectively, Draco raised his hand and placed it around Hermione, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Weasley. I’m sure some desperate girl will give in one of these days and go out with you,” he drawled. He could feel Hermione’s shoulders tense at his words.

She twisted out of his grasp and said between gritted teeth, “You’re not helping, Draco.”

He could see the hope dwindling from her eyes; and he saw the beginnings of disappointment. He reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, his lips curling into a slight smile. “You’re right.” He leaned in and placed a soft, conciliatory kiss below her ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered low enough so only she could hear him. He could see her shoulders relax.

She whispered back, “Please try and get along with them. For just a little while.”

“I can’t do this!” Ron exclaimed, disgusted at Hermione’s closeness with a Malfoy. He started backing away from the group. “This whole thing …” He waved his hand between Hermione and Draco. “… you and him … it’s disgusting.” He spun quickly and marched back to the castle, the snow crunching under his heavy footsteps.

Hermione started after him. “Ron, wait.”

Harry reached out a grabbed her arm gently. “Let him go, Hermione.”

“He won’t even talk to me, Harry. One of my best friends of five years won’t even give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Harry didn’t release her. He stared deep into her face and spoke clearly. “Hermione, let him go. He just needs some time.” He looked between the two. “This is a bit bizarre for him … for all of us.” He gulped and looked down at his feet.

“Well, being a pig-headed dolt doesn’t help matters much, Harry.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “But you know Ron. Nobody does ‘pig-headed dolt’ like he can.”

Draco started, “I think … “

But Hermione turned quickly to him to stop him.” Not a word.”

He laughed innocently. “What? I was just going to say we should go in to have some of that hot chocolate I promised you.” Hermione peered doubtfully at him, but her anger faded when she saw his eyes twinkle at her. He tugged on her hand. “Come on.”

But her feet stayed rooted to her spot. She looked hopefully at Harry. “Would you like to get some with us?”

The look of sheer terror on each boy’s face answered the question, but Harry politely declined. “Er, I don’t think so, Hermione. I need to bring my Firebolt back to Gryffindor Tower, and I promised Hagrid I’d help him with the decorations for tomorrow’s feast.”

“All right, then. Have a good time with Hagrid. And Harry ….” She bit her bottom lip, because she knew Harry would be going after Ron shortly. “Tell Ron I’ll be in the common room before dinner if he wants to talk to me.”

He smiled as he placed a hand gently on her arm as he grinned. “Will do.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Draco held the door open for Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. He sighed, “All in all I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

She snickered, “I must have missed the ‘rather well’ parts amidst all the death glares and thick tension between you, Harry, and Ron.”

“Hermione, if a conversation between me, the Boy Who Lives To Irritate Me, and his trusty sidekick the Whinging Weasel doesn’t end with one of us in the hospital wing, then I’d consider that a success.”

She hung her head in her hands, leaning up against the wall. With a defeated tone, she surmised, “The three of you will never get along, will you?”

He went to her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Probably not.” She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, so he hastily added, “But then again I never imagined I’d want to spend my whole day with you either, so all hope isn’t lost … yet.”

“I don’t expect you to become friends with them; just try and tolerate each other. Okay?”

He dropped his head back and sighed in resignation, not wanting to waste a perfectly good afternoon with Hermione discussing his “relationship” with Potter and Weasley. As he looked up, he spotted some green sprouts with little red berries – mistletoe. It gave him a good idea. “Come here,” he ordered tenderly, grabbing the front of Hermione’s robes and pulling her so she was pressed firmly against him. “I want to give you part of your Christmas present.” He turned his eyes upwards and smiled at the mistletoe dangling over their heads.

Her eyes followed his, then she turned her head back to his and grinned. “But Christmas isn’t until tomorrow,” she pointed out to him.

“I can’t wait until tomorrow for this,” he breathed out, pulling Hermione’s face up to his and capturing her lips in a long, deep kiss. She met him halfway, eagerly opening her mouth to him, her kisses equaling his intensity. He still couldn’t believe he’d denied himself this wondrous sensation for months out of fear and concern of what others would say.

“Mmmm,” a sultry voice purred, forcing them to halt their mistletoe kiss. They turned and spied Lissanne leaning inside the doorway which led up from the Slytherin dungeons. “Draco, is everyone on your Christmas list getting one of those?” She licked her lips appreciatively at him. “I’d imagine Professor Snape would be most surprised to get your gift.” Her lips curled up cheekily at the interrupted pair.

Hermione hastily straightened the front of her robes with her hand. The Gryffindor blushed at being caught snogging under the mistletoe, but Draco merely reached up to wipe the corners of his mouth with his fingers. He looked at Lissanne from beneath his long blond fringe, but when he spoke it was without malice. “It’s not polite to interrupt people, Liss. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” he joked.

The petite Slytherin sashayed over to the young couple. “I have impeccable manners, Draco. But you know how I adore surprising you,” she laughed.

Draco turned to Hermione. “Don’t let Lissanne scare you off, Hermione, because she just likes to tease everyone; her bark is worse than her bite.”

Lissanne flipped her hair over her shoulder and flashed a broad grin. “Well, that’s debatable.”

Hermione smiled gratefully at Draco because, truth be told, Lissanne Sheldon seemed a bit threatening to Hermione. Her arrival and conveniently close proximity to the blond wizard had caught Hermione’s notice on more than one occasion, even when she and Draco were trying to keep their distance from one another. But the Slytherin girl had advantages Hermione would never have. Lissanne had known Draco all her life; she was in the same house with him; she had the same “proper” opinions and ideas as many high society purebloods; and she was surrounded by an aura of seductive mystery, which Hermione knew had intrigued more than one wizard at Hogwarts. Hermione would watch the way Lissanne acted around Draco; even though he had told her the other girl was like a little sister to him, Hermione couldn’t ever remember seeing any girls eye their older brothers the way Lissanne gazed at him.

“What are you two crazy kids up to?”

Hermione looked uncertainly at Draco. “Er, we were just going to get some hot chocolate. We were outside building snowmen and it was pretty cold.” She looked doubtfully at the other girl. “Would you like to get some with us?”

“Oooh, snowmen and hot chocolate. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Lissanne commented in mock excitement.

Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep herself from responding as she would have liked. But she had learned a thing or two about Slytherins in her time at Hogwarts, and they usually lashed out in unfamiliar situations. In order for her and Draco to move forward, Hermione knew one of them would have to take the first real step in getting along with the other’s friends. Since the scene outside was less than successful, Hermione felt it was her turn to make an effort. So she smiled, trying to make it seem as natural as she could.

Sensing Hermione’s growing agitation at Lissanne’s tactless comments, Draco stepped between the two girls and stared pointedly at his housemate. “Yes, it was fun. It was the most fun I’ve had in years. You should try it sometime; you might be surprised.”

She took a deep breath. “All right then. How about now?”

Draco eyed her skeptically, wondering what her angle was. “You want to get hot chocolate with us?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Sure. Why not? I like the stuff as much as the next girl.” She linked her arm through Hermione’s, startling the Gryffindor. “Any chance there might be some rum or schnapps in it?”

Draco shook his head and laughed. “Not this time, Liss. But I’m sure you’ll find the strength to brave it just the same.”

“I suppose.” She smiled conspiratorially at Hermione. “Plus it’ll give me a chance to tell you all about Draco when he was a wee little boy.”

Hermione smiled at this idea; he had always seemed so refined and polished, even as an eleven-year-old wizard. It would be interesting to hear a few humourous stories about him from someone who’d known him for such a long time. She couldn’t fight the smirk from escaping her lips. Maybe talking with Lissanne wouldn’t be so awful after all.

Draco remarked haughtily, “What stories? I’ve done nothing embarrassing in my life.”

Lissanne arched her eyebrow at him in surprise. “Really? What about the time you stole your mother’s wand from her nightstand and tried to turn yourself green so you could blend in with the grass during a high stakes hide-and-seek game?” She looked thoroughly pleased with herself as Draco paled at the memory.

Hermione bellowed, “Oh my, he didn’t! How old was he?”

Draco ran his hands quickly through his hair, wondering how many other childhood “accidents” Lissanne could remember. Hurriedly he asked, “Liss, don’t you have to get ready for dinner or something? I’m sure Hermione doesn’t want to hear any boring stories.”

“Too late. Now I’m intrigued,” Hermione replied, smiling genuinely at the other girl. “Now about this hide-and-seek game … how green did he get?”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The door clicked softly behind Hermione. Her eyes closed and she sighed happily, leaning against the door. She had just spent over an hour with Draco and Lissanne … and it wasn’t too awful. At first Lissanne was a tad too acerbic for Hermione’s tastes, which Hermione suspected was a jealous reaction to having to share her childhood friend with another girl. But eventually Lissanne eased off and the three of them were able to get to know each other a little better. It went much better than she could have anticipated. Plus Draco had walked her back to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower and she had planted a kiss on him she knew had left him speechless. Both she and Lissanne had wanted to get ready for dinner, and Hermione was hoping she might be able to talk with Harry or Ron before they would have to break bread at the same table as Draco.

Hermione felt strange. She should have been stressed and anxious at her friends’ reactions to her relationship with Draco, but she couldn’t stop smiling. The only thing she felt was bliss.

Harry watched her from the cushioned ledge of one of the large Gryffindor windows. She looked so happy, grinning to herself, eyes closed in memory. But he had no desire to know what she was thinking. He couldn’t ever remember seeing her looking so radiant. It made his stomach churn knowing Malfoy did that for her.

Why did he have to notice how beautiful she had become now … when she was with Malfoy?

She had pushed herself from the door, still smiling, to begin her ascent upstairs to get ready when she saw Harry perched on a windowsill, watching her with a curious expression on his face. She approached him hesitantly. “Hey, Harry. What’s up?”

“Just relaxing for a bit before taking a shower for dinner.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Hagrid ‘let’ me hold Fang’s leash while we took him for his walk around the grounds. Fang saw some kneazles and nearly pulled my arm out of its socket when he tried to chase them.”

Hermione chuckled and placed her hand over her mouth. “Ouch. I’ll bet that didn’t tickle.”

“No, it didn’t,” he laughed weakly, moving his hand to rub his shoulder.

She moved across the room to sit next to him on the spacious window ledge. “Did you get to see Madam Pomfrey?”

“I couldn’t. She left to spend the holiday with her brother in Stuttgart, remember?” He watched her brow furrow in concern. “I’ll be all right once the hot water hits it.”

She reached her hand up to rub his sore shoulder. “Why didn’t you jump in the shower when you got back then?”

Harry’s head nearly spun off his shoulders as her hands rubbed his back. “Um … I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you about Ron,” he managed to squeak out. He paused, his concentration disturbed by her kneading fingers. “About dinner tonight. I was hoping to talk to you earlier, but … you were gone for a while.”

Hermione peeked around at his face, smirking. “Draco and I met up with his friend Lissanne. You remember her, right? The girl from Durmstrang.” Harry nodded, but she could sense his unease. She smiled as she realized something. “Harry, were you waiting up for me?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. Look, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Why? I was in the castle the whole time, and Lissanne isn’t the barracuda I thought she was.”

“It’s not her I was worried about …”

“I know,” she interrupted, a smile dancing across her face. “I know you’re worried about me being with Draco, but please try and remember that he’s not Lucius. Draco cares about me, Harry. Really he does. Trust me, and it’s not like I’ll start hanging around the Slytherin dungeons on a daily basis or sharing any kind words with Professor Snape.”

His face pinked at her soft chiding. “It’s not like I thought anything like that, Hermione.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I just worry about you.”

“Always my protector,” she beamed. “But I suspect I’ll have to protect you at dinner.”

He turned to look at her questioningly; her eyes danced with the warm light from the fire. “Protect me from what? I don’t think Dumbledore invited Voldemort to break bread with us.”

She grinned knowingly. “I just spent two hours with a Slytherin who was mighty interested in learning all about you.”

“Malfoy?”

“No, you dolt. Lissanne Sheldon,” she laughed. “Once she got over the initial shock of sitting at the same table as a Muggle-born witch, she was quite amiable … and very interested in you.”

Harry blushed a shocking shade of crimson Hermione could see in spite of the soft candlelight. “She’s not interested in me; she’s interested in the Boy Who Lived. That’s what most girls are interested in.”

“Not all girls,” she said in a strange voice.

Harry looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Not all girls are interested in you for your scar, Harry Potter. You’re quite dishy on your own merits.” She loved embarrassing him this way; it made him even cuter than usual. “Argh! I can’t believe I’m going to confess this, but …” she paused. “Last year I had the biggest crush on you, and it wasn’t because of your fame; it was because you’re smart and sweet and fun and an all around wonderful person.”

Harry stood up quickly from the window seat and turned hurriedly to look at her. His jaw hung open and he looked stunned. “You did not,” he gasped.

Hermione nodded, smiling as she pushed herself from the window seat as well. “Oh yes, I did. Quite a large crush actually.” She could sense the confusion from him and decided to set his mind at ease. “Don’t worry, Harry, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to look so shocked. I’m not the first girl to get a crush on one of her best friends. Besides, you have nothing to worry about; I’m over you. Now I know we’re better off staying friends and that my feelings for you weren’t really romantic.” As Harry turned away from her, she could tell he’d been more than a little freaked by her confession. She reached out and turned him toward her. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, silly. I just wanted you to know that not everyone who looks at you sees just a scar.”

This seemed to relax him somewhat. His blush faded and he could look into her face again. “I know. I’m just a little … stunned. I never knew.”

She waved her hand at him. “Boys never notice things like that. Quidditch and pretty girls. That’s all you boys ever think about.”

He choked out, “You’re pretty.”

She turned her head to the side and grinned broadly. “Aw, that’s sweet of you to say. But don’t waste your compliments on me. That’s what I have Draco for now, to lavish me with praise and tell me how beautiful I am.”

She took his hands in hers and pulled him to the stairs to their dormitories. “Come on, we have to get ready for our big dinner.” He started to ascend upstairs, but she held firmly to his hand.

He turned to look at her, her face more serious and intense. “Harry, I want to thank you.”

“What for?”

“For not going ballistic over Draco and me. I know you’re worried about me, and you have no idea how much that means to me. And in spite of how you feel about him, you’ve been supportive and such a good friend to me ever since that night in the library.” She raised herself up on her toes to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

He could feel his face warm up once more. “Sure. What are best friends for?”

“If only Ron could realize that.”

“He’s stubborn, you know that. But he’ll calm down. He always does.”

With a quick squeeze of his hand and a parting smile, Hermione turned and fled to her room to get ready for dinner. Harry watched her, shocked by the last five minutes. She’d liked him for a whole year and he hadn’t known. What if he had? Would he be the one lavishing her with compliments and praise instead of Malfoy? Just thinking about it made his head spin. He turned and ran up the steps and pushed the door open with a clang.

Ron was standing in a towel, wet from his shower, gathering his clothes and robes from his dresser. “What’s the matter with you?”

But Harry didn’t respond right away, pacing back and forth in front of his bed. Finally he crouched down in front of his trunk to get some things out for his shower. He couldn’t get the latch to work properly and his fingers fumbled in frustration. He jumped up and kicked at the trunk with an irritated, “Dammit!” The lid flew open and some of the items on top scattered across the floor.

“What’s your problem, mate?” Ron inquired again.

Harry snatched his belongings from the floor and slammed them roughly back into his trunk. “Nothing. I just had a startling moment of clarity where I realized I really am the dumbest git on the planet.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Do I look all right?”

“Will you stop asking that, Liss? You look fine.” He turned to look at his friend next to him as she tried to keep pace with his long strides. “It’s just dinner; it’s not like it’s the party of the year.”

“It’s not just any dinner though, Draco. I’ll be meeting Harry Potter -- properly -- for the first time. This is quite an auspicious occasion for me.” She smoothed her robes again and paused in the hallway to check her reflection in the mirror. “Hermione said she’d introduce me to him. Perhaps your dating her isn’t such a bad thing after all … at least for my social life.” She grinned broadly at him. “Do try and behave, Draco dear. I’d hate for my first dinner with the Boy Who Lived to end on a sour note because of something you did.”

Draco ceased his brisk walking. “Are you going to spend all night drooling over that over-hyped wanker? Because if you are, don’t sit anywhere near me,” he snapped. He was certainly irritated at the prospect of eating dinner at the same table as the Gryffindor Three and some of their professors. In all his time at Hogwarts, Draco had avoided having to share polite dinner conversation with both Potter and Weasley, so tonight was anxiety inducing on several levels. If Lissanne began flirting with Potter, Draco was fairly certain the night would indeed end on a sour note.

“Someone’s grumpy,” Lissanne teased.

“This is going to be hard enough without you adding to the stress of the situation. Things didn’t go very well this afternoon when Hermione and I saw Potty and the Weasel outside, so I want dinner to go a little more smoothly.”

“Want my advice? For starters, you probably shouldn’t call them Potty and the Weasel.”

“If you must know, I’m going to try and not call them anything. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think the only way for me to handle having to share dinner with them is to just pretend they aren’t there. That way peace is kept and Hermione thinks I’m trying to get along with them.”

Lissanne clapped her hands giddily, irritating Draco. “Oh, this is going to be such fun!” she exclaimed. “This dinner will definitely be a night not to be missed. I’ve never been so happy for Mother and Father to go away for the Christmas holiday and leave me at school.”

They were the last two to enter the hall since Lissanne had spent an inordinate amount of time on her hair for the occasion. Everyone situated around the large round table turned to look at them when they entered. The only one who seemed genuinely pleased to see them was the Headmaster. Hermione looked nervous, Potter and Weasley looked sulkier than usual, Professor Snape looked … well … like Snape, Professors Vector, Flitwick, and Sprout looked unsure of what to think, and Professor McGonagall looked ready to intervene at a moment’s notice in case anyone caused an uproar.

So Draco hesitated when Professor Dumbledore greeted them cheerfully, “Nice to see you Mr. Malfoy, Miss Sheldon. Good evening to you both. Please come sit down; I understand the house elves have prepared quite a Christmas Eve feast for us this evening.”

Lissanne brushed past Draco, either oblivious to the tension in the room or just not caring a flying fig about it. “Thank you, Headmaster. It smells wonderful,” she agreed, flashing a charming smile at everyone around the table.

As they neared the table, he saw Hermione’s face relax into a smile. She had saved him a seat and waving for him to come take it. His feet faltered as he noticed Potter sitting on her right, and Weasley sitting to his right, both of them decidedly unhappy at having to sit so close to him. They were glaring at him from over Hermione’s shoulder. Oh, how he would have loved to match them glare for glare, but Hermione’s hopeful face quelled his urge to snap something Malfoyish at them.

In spite of all the strain in the room, Draco did not forget his manners. “Good evening, everyone. It’s nice to see you all.” He exhaled his breath and sat down next to Hermione.

She reached for his hand under the table and twined her fingers through his. Leaning in close, she whispered, “We were getting worried you weren’t coming; it was getting late.”

“And miss all this? I wouldn’t dream of it,” he responded, giving her a quick wink and a smile.

Hermione felt herself being pulled into his silvery eyes, reflecting the dancing Christmas lights like mirrors, but Lissanne cleared her throat loudly and broke her reverie. She looked at the other girl, who stared purposefully to Hermione’s right. “Oh, sorry.” She turned to her two friends. “Harry, Ron, I don’t think you’ve met Lissanne Sheldon.”

The two boys muttered their greetings, but Lissanne did not let their lack of enthusiasm discourage her. “Ron, it’s nice to meet you, formally, I mean. Your sister Ginny is in some of my classes and she speaks very highly of you.”

Hermione heard Ron speak for the first time in almost two days.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, she said you’re all right, too.” But from the look in his eyes, Hermione could tell he highly doubted that was true; Ron didn’t trust any Slytherins. Period.

Then Lissanne turned her smile on full-blast as she looked at Harry. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Harry.” She smiled with more sensuality than most fifteen-year olds girls possessed. “I don’t think I’ve ever shared a meal with a bona fide hero before,” she complimented him as her eyes strayed to his forehead.

Rather than being intrigued, Harry seemed distracted but smiled politely at the girl just the same. “It’s nice to meet you, Lissanne.”

“If we’re done with this edition of ‘Meet the Celebrity,’ perhaps we could eat dinner,” Professor Snape growled.

“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore gently chided, “I think it’s refreshing that students from two rival houses are crossing boundaries to extend the hand of friendship to each other.” He smiled reassuringly at Lissanne. “I think we could all learn a bit about diplomacy from our lovely transfer student.”

As usual, Professor Dumbledore’s words had a calming effect on everyone in the room. When he concluded talking, the Christmas Eve feast magically appeared on their plates in front of them, filled with roasted turkey, roasted goose, cranberry sauce, roast vegetables, and some Christmas pudding and mince pies for dessert.

While everyone started eating, Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and began, “These decorations remind me of a Christmas holiday I spent as a boy at my Aunt Greta and Uncle Uli’s farm in Bavaria. I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and my brother Aberforth had wanted …”

Draco blocked out the sound of the Headmaster’s voice; his eyes were drawn instead to the actions of the three individuals next to him. Draco had eaten hundreds of meals in the same room as Hermione, Potter, and Weasley, but sitting across the room meant he never had the opportunity to observe their mealtime rituals until now. It was like a well-rehearsed ballet, which caused a series of odd twinges of jealousy to dance around his heart.

As the three Gryffindors listened to Dumbledore they seemed oblivious to their wordless dance. Hermione and Harry scooped their cranberry sauce from their dishes onto small plates; Harry took them both and set them in front of Ron. After sprinkling some salt on her roasted goose, Hermione set the shaker in front of Harry, which he then proceeded to pour half of its remaining contents onto his plate. Harry picked up his glass and Hermione’s and handed it to Ron, who poured a glass of pumpkin juice for Harry and a glass of apple cider for Hermione. It was a stark reminder to Draco of just how close Hermione was with her two best friends. Even when they were upset with each other, their bond was just as strong. Suddenly, Draco felt like he was on the outside looking in.

And he didn’t like it.

He was aware that Professor Vector was now talking about when she was a young girl, but Draco didn’t care. Draco pushed his food around on his plate as he watched them. He knew he shouldn’t let it get to him, but when Weasley caught his eye, glowering at him over his forkful of turkey and potatoes, Draco stared back, unblinking. He knew he shouldn’t let it irritate him; it wasn’t a competition. But Weasley’s eyes and entire being were challenging Draco, and it was a challenge he couldn’t turn away from; not when he had to sit in close proximity to the radiant warmth of friendship between the girl who captured his heart and his two worst enemies.

Hermione leaned over to him, but he didn’t move his eyes from the redhead across the table. There was an edge to her voice. “Draco, are you all right? You’re not eating, just pushing your food around your plate.”

He suddenly wanted it to be painfully clear to everyone in that room that while Hermione might be friends with those two wankers, Draco Malfoy would be the only one kissing her under the mistletoe … or anywhere else he pleased. He reached his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him and placing a soft kiss on the side of her head; he made sure Weasley got a good long look. “I’m fine, Hermione. Just enthralled by our teachers’ stories.”

Ron watched the vile scene before him in utter disgust and sheer repulsion. Malfoy draping himself all over Hermione like she belonged to him. It was nauseating. And the way Malfoy stared at him, like he was only doing it to provoke him. Ron had promised Harry he would try and act civilly when Malfoy was around, but the slimy snake was pushing him too far. He was at the end of his tether.

Draco saw it in the other boy’s eyes, but had no time to react. His wand arm was around Hermione.

With no preamble or warning, Ron stood up in his chair, knocking it back to the floor as he drew his wand. Before anyone could react, a flash of green shot from the end of Ron’s wand, hitting Draco square in the chest, knocking him out of his chair onto the floor.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

To be continued …