Not In Kansas Anymore

Chapter Thirteen: Amour Noel

Hermione checked off the last day on her calendar, one last day of term and she would be free for Christmas spent in her place of work. Running tired hands though her hair Hermione saw her last class out the door and thanked the many gods above that there was only one eighth hour fourth year class that didn't know their Greek alphabet.

Sighing Hermione left her papers on her desk knowing they would still be there the next day and she started off for a hot bubble bath when she heard footsteps evenly paced with hers. "Personally I suggest doing some last minute Christmas shopping with the Potions' Master and then a drink with him."

For the first time that day, Hermione truly smiled, "I suggest a drink then the shopping and then you buying me a second drink."

"Okay you've convinced me," said Draco quickly, his hand guiding her in the direction of the front doors.

Stepping out into the snow Hermione realized that she didn't have her cloak. "Wait Draco--oh thanks," she said as he pressed her cloak, mittens, and scarf into her hands. Tossing the scarf around her neck she scrunched up her shoulders to battle the cold.

A snowball collided with her shoulder blade.

Giggling Hermione turned around and slid into the snow, landing on her bum. From the ground she packed a snowball into her hands and tossed it at Draco, but she had an absolute crap aim and missed him by meters.

In retaliation Draco launched one and it bounced off her head, soaking her limp hair. Obviously he had a much better aim that she did. Breath rising in clouds Hermione threw several more at Draco in quick succession but none of them hit their target, tired Hermione slumped back into the snow drift and waited for her limbs to fall off.

"If memory serves me correctly you have to move your arms and legs to make a snow angel," drawled Draco from above her.

Hermione kicked a spray of powder up at him and them dropped her foot back on the ground like a dead weight saying cattily, "I doubt you've ever made a snow angel."

"I have too," said Draco stuffily.

More for experimental reasons than anything else Hermione taunted, "Prove it."

All dignity forgotten Draco fell heavily on into the snow and laid flat on his back, his hair nearly the same color as the snow, and spread out his arms and legs before moving them in a quick succession. "See?"

"No you don't see," said Hermione shoving a load of snow over his flawless face and then hopping up and running toward the town over the slick road trying to dodge the enchanted snowballs chasing her.

Draco flew down the road after her, sliding on slick patches of ice and laughing as he went, disshelving his hair in the process. He watched the next few seconds in slow motion, Hermione moving out of the way of one of his snowballs...Hermione shrieking with laughter...her shriek changing to a terrified scream as she fell on an icy spot...Hermione sliding on the patch down the steep hill into Hogsmeade...the thump of Hermione landing at the bottom.

Draco walked down the hill as fast as he could without falling himself, he could see Hermione's shadowy body lying in a patch of snow, shaking. Then the gasps hit his ears. He skidded to Hermione's side to find her crying...crying fits of laughter and glee. "That was so fun," she gasped out, holding a stitch in her side.

"God," he started, helping her up and dusting off her shoulders, " I thought you were hurt or something."

"No silly, but I think I might have to try that again," and in a rebellious fashion Hermione turned to start up the hill.

Latching on to her arm Draco shook his head. "Not risking it and besides I need the drink you promised I could buy myself."

Sticking out her bottom lip Hermione pretended to pout but caved when Draco said she looked like a jarvey. Linking arms with him Hermione followed him into the village.

*

The village was gorgeous at Christmas time, so petite and delicate, like it was made out of finest hand spun threads of ice. Hermione's breath rose around her and Ron, she wished Harry were here to see this, he probably wouldn't appreciate the sight anymore than Ron would but it was still awe inspiring.

Ron lead her into the candy store and her mind switched gears, first she and Ron needed a gift for Harry, then she was going to have to shake Ron so she could get him something. This last bit might be harder than it seemed, but she supposed she could always leave him in the candy shop while she pretended she desperately needed to pop into the stuffy book shop.

The store was filled with Hogwarts students bundled in their heavy wool cloaks and the only things that made them individual were the scarves knotted around their necks.

"Here," she said to Ron, pushing him roughly toward one display, "let's get Harry a gift now, so we can go do our other shopping."

"Oh Hermione stop and smell the sugar."

Wrinkling her nose at the sickly sweet smell Hermione replied, "Lovely."

Minutes later they were no farther along when Ron held up a jar of Cockroach Clusters and said, "How about these?" Needless to say Hermione never got rid of Ron that day to go shopping for him.

*

For the second time that night Hermione sidled on to a bar stool at the Three Broomsticks, but this time she had shopping bags that simply insisted she open them and examine her purchases one more time.

Distracted Hermione reached out for her drink while looking at the Quidditch guards she had gotten Ron, they looked thoroughly pointless, but he had been certain he needed them. The drink entered her mouth, it was bitter and burning, still holding what she now noted as a shot glass she sputtered. She had taken Draco's drink, his firewhiskey, and he was looking at her with an expression somewhere between peeved and amused. "That is foul," she gargled though a mouthful of her butterbeer.

Smirking Draco took a small sip of his drink and said, "I've heard it's an acquired taste."

"It's a foul taste," repeated Hermione.

Taking another sip Draco said, "Tell me how you feel Hermione." He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out something small. "Here, it'll make the flavor less."

Wiggling her nose Hermione accepted the peppermint.

*

Indignity shooting from every pore Hermione looked daggers at Draco. Flashes of pitiful insults flew through her head, words like evil, bastard, contemptuous git, and fart knocker all came to mind. However Hermione could no sooner call him any of these things, she could call him a traitor against his family, she knew it would strike a cord, but she figured it was prudent not to.

So Hermione did the next best thing, she gave him a piece of her mind; "They have just as many rights as we do! They can not help that their heredity was wrought and hewn by biased wizards and witches---"

"Tell me how you feel Hermione," drawled Draco, leaning against the mantle.

One floor up the picture of Mrs. Black went off on a rampage. "MUDBLOODS! TRAITORS TO THE FLESH OF MY PURE FATHERS--"

Raising her voice another octave Hermione shouted, " They are nothing but what our kind has made them and they have spent too long in bodies soured by their masters to stop the added insult."

Apparently oblivious to the upstairs havoc and indifferent or unnoticing of this one Ron strolled into the kitchen on a quest for food, despite the fact his mother had cooked dinner not thirty minutes previous. He stopped squarely in his tracks and said to Draco empathetically, "She's on about spew isn't she?" Ron made a wise about face and left before he could here Hermione screeched reply.

"It would go a long way if we, as their tortures, could show them a gracious smile, or even dare I say it? --Compassion?"

"Tell it to the kitchen door," said Draco skirting around Hermione toward the nearest exit.

Hermione barred her teeth and looked at him, opening her mouth but just before she could lash out Mrs. Black screeched, "--FART KNOCKERS!"

*

"Who is that for?" asked Draco, intrigued, as she removed a paper wrapped parcel from her bag.

Hermione gave the brown paper one guilty glance and hid it behind her back. "Crookshanks."

"I was hoping for something a bit larger," said Draco turning back to the bar and talking into his second shot.

Deciding to play along Hermione said, "I am not going to help you fix your insecurities regarding your masculinity."

"Absolutely disgusting Granger, absolutely sordid."

Draining the remains of her butterbeer Hermione asked, purely for the sake of conversation, "So, what did you get me for Christmas?"

Sliding out off his bar stole Draco drawled, "What makes you think I got you anything?" He handed Madame Rosmerta enough money for his three shots and Hermione's butterbeer.

"Women's intuition."

*

Hermione fell back on to the floor of the parlor; she was amazed at her good fortune. Ginny had caused a nice bout of mayhem by attempting to hang Snape from the chandelier in the kitchen; thus Mrs. Weasley had been distracted beautifully during her absence. The trip to the bookstore had been prolonged but still Hermione looked wistfully back out the window, holding the leather backed book in her hands as though it were the golden chalice itself.

The door creaked open and Tonks stepped into the parlor, she discreetly snapped the door shut behind her and shook her head waving away lanky hair and a hooked nose. "I hope you brought a decent book."

Squinting suspiciously Hermione said, trying to look innocent, and failing, "What book?"

Crossing her arms over her chest Tonks said sarcastically, "If Hermione Granger sneaks out where does she go? A strip club?"

"How do you know I sneaked out?"

Frowning slightly Tonks said, "Women's intuition."

*

Ginny pounced on to the foot of Hermione's bed, pounding her head with a pillow Ginny yelled, "Get up! Christmas presents!"

Groggily Hermione struggled up, wiping sleep out of her eyes, "Huh?"

Banging her on the head again Ginny bounced a bit, "Presents!"

"My ears," griped Hermione rolling over and pulling the blankets over her head.

Not to be deterred Ginny bounced all the more violently. "Get up!" she whined.

The door to Hermione's room banged open a second time and Draco Malfoy waltzed in wearing a very familiar black robe. "Merry Christmas ladies," he said cheerily, happily including Ginny in his greeting.

"Go away," said Hermione into her sheets.

In unison Ginny and Draco said, "No."

The bombardment of soft cushy instruments that came over Hermione successfully woke her up. "How rude," commented Hermione tartly, looking over her small quarters. They were generic, same as everyone else's, a twin bed with a broad canopy supported on carved wooden poles. A desk and chair, scattered end tables, heavily rotted trunks stacked in the corner, a polished wardrobe, and pictures clipped at odd angels on the wall. The only added things to the room were some towering bookshelves stuffed tightly with novels, both Muggle and magical alike.

Retreating toward the door Draco said, "Well, if you don't want your gift...I can just go."

"Wait!" screamed Hermione.

Shaking his head Draco muttered something that sounded very much like, "Typical woman...."

Two pillows met firmly with his head.

Abruptly Hermione swung over the side of her bed and pulled out two packages, she tossed one at Ginny and one at Draco. She watched anxiously as they ripped the paper off their gifts, biting her bottom lip, hoping they would approve.

"Ooh!" squealed Ginny flinging herself around Hermione. "I love them!" Ginny held the earrings in the palm of her hand, they were cheap trinkets that shone with a silver opalescence, but they pleased Ginny and compliment her complexion so Hermione was happy.

"Glad you like them, Lav helped me pick them out," said Hermione, satisfied.

Smiling broadly Ginny scampered off the bed. "I've got to go try them on." Her bare feet slapped against the stone floor as she rushed down the hall to the nearest bathroom and mirror.

Chuckling lightly Hermione looked up to see Draco palming his small gift. "What is it?" he asked curiously, rolling it in his hands, examining it.

Frowning Hermione said, "You don't know?"

Still staring intently at the clear glass globe in his hand Draco said, in a husky mesmerized voice, "Its not what I think it is...?"

*

Hermione glared up at the owl that flew through the dorm windows, it was quite rude, interrupting her reading at a frightful hour. Huffing she watched it fly into Draco's room, squawking loudly all the way, its package rustling loudly and further disturbing her reading.

The owl quieted a bit and Hermione went back to the fashions that Celtic Druids wore while doing bone casting dances...then Draco came storming out of his room wearing sparse amounts of clothing and cursing at the folded parchment in his hands. Trying to ignore him, Hermione drew her knees to her tiny tummy, pressed her nose to the words, and dedicated herself to the further information.

She proceeded to read the same sentence sixteen times before she gave up with and exasperated sigh. "Draco, will you shut up?!"

Glaring at her over his shoulder Draco obliged her by throwing himself into his chair and reading the letter again from under furrowed eyebrows. The room lapsed into relative silence, punctured by the cracking of Draco's knuckles and the flipping of book pages.

Hermione's eyes were just drifting shut over her book when Draco said, loudly, "Damnit!" He stood up harshly, squeezing something in his heavily shaking hand. With his other quaking hand he ran strained and white fingers through his disshelved hair.

"Draco..." said Hermione warningly, hardly opening her eyes.

"Not now Hermione."

Annoyed at being disturbed Hermione pushed her book and blankets off her lap, standing before Draco in nothing more than a pair of flimsy pajama bottoms and a thin shift. Shifting bushy hair from her face with a brittle hand Hermione spoke rashly, "Yes now. First your damn owl flies in, then you come storming out of your room, and now you're telling me to lay off and ignore your obvious frustration. Did it occur to you that you may be frustrating me?"

The room grew deadly quiet and Draco dropped both the now rumpled letter and the small object from his hand on to the ground. Placing trembling and rage infused hands on her delicate shoulders Draco breathed, "I said not now."

Hermione shot him a defying glare, suddenly Hermione pulled out of his grip and ducked low to the floor, barely glimpsing the cold orb she picked up. "Fine. Then I'll make the time for you."

Draco tried to grasp at the loose material of her shift, but his fingers just ran through the last few tendrils of her hair. "Tell your toy good bye," said Hermione, throwing the round ball out the window, chucking it as far as her tiny arm would allow.

Draco leaned out the window in disbelief, Hermione watched him for a moment before turning and walking back to her book and blankets.

*

"I thoughts it was time I got you a replacement," she said bashfully, tugging at her blankets.

"Thanks," he said, almost lost for that one word.

Ginny twirled back in, the earrings batting her earlobe, face positively glowing. "What do you think?" she asked giddily.

"Fabulous," commented Hermione dryly, not looking up.

Ginny didn't seem to notice; instead she saw the tiny glass ball in Draco's hand, the crystal splinters refracting rainbows and the shallow insides clear. Gaping she squeaked out, "A soul canister." It wasn't a question so much as a dropped jaw and scarce breath of awe.

"Yeah," Draco breathed.

*

"You threw a soul canister out of a window from seven stories up?" he asked, as he looked down at the abyss from the still open window.

"Yeah," said Hermione sarcastically.

Draco, head still out the window, shook his head into the blackness. He was, in a word, speechless. Hermione however wasn't so lost for words, " Draco...stop talking or that soul canister will not be the only round thing flying out of the window tonight."

Protesting Draco sputtered, "A soul...a soul...a SOUL CANISTER! Do you know what one of those is worth? They only make seven every other decade."

"And now there are only six left from the last Blowing of the Orb," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Snape sent that to me...told me I might need it."

Flipping the next page of her crusty old book Hermione said, "Then you'll just have to settle for making inner boundaries, fight the Dark Lord from the inside."

"Hermione. I. Could. Die."

Hermione turned around and leaning on the back of the sofa, looking him directly in the eye, at the place where he was still clinging to the windowsill. "Draco, you know you're not going to die, I won't let you."

*

Hermione ran shaking fingers over the cold stone cover, etched in Ancient Egyptian--storks, men, Anubis, the scales, the feather. Her breath was shallow and caught up in her throat as she dreamily fingered the thick obsidian cover. "How...?" she managed to choke.

Ginny looked disdainfully at the ancient text and said, "I can hear chocolate chip pancakes calling my name."

Draco didn't seem to notice Ginny leave, still fingering her earrings, he sank on to the foot of Hermione's bed, gently scooting her feet away because she seemed to have forgotten she had feet. "I have my connections," he said smugly, smiling at her delight.

"But this...is extraordinary."

Draco chuckled, "It's just a book Hermione."

"No, no, no, this is not just any book. This is the Book of the Dead, how did you get it?"

Twitching a bit he said again, "I have my connections."

Raising a reproving eyebrow Hermione asked carefully, griping the book tightly with nearly white knuckles; "Draco...how did you get the Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead?"

"That is a long story," he said tentatively.

*

It was just like Dumbdlore to want the entire story, an old fruit's ill humor, his whim, and untimely want of information for the memoirs Hermione was sure were in the works.

"Sir, it's a long story, and I'm very tired--"

Patiently, as though anticipating her excuse, he said, "Miss Granger, I need to know the entire story, the whole thing."

For a moment Hermione locked him with a steely glare before slumping down in her chair and saying, "Well...I killed a man, and even if I could bring him back I wouldn't."

"Please Miss Granger, I don't want footnotes, I want a novel for digestion."

*

"Well," began Draco, choosing his words with easy care, "Have you ever read the stories, myths even, that tell of the creation of Avada Kedavra?"

"Of course."

"My Uncle Algernon and Many-Greats-Grandfather Xavier--"

Shrewdly Hermione caught a drift. "Not Algernon and Xavier DeBrown?"

"Yes, the infamous DeBrown brothers, also known as the beginning of the Malfoy lineage."

"I had no idea you could trace your family back to the time of Cloepatra when the book was crafted," Hermione marveled, wishing her family went back that far.

Draco shot her a look that strictly forbade any more foolish questions. "They stole the original Book of the Dead, replacing it with a book of their own creation, they used the original book to make a formula for a killing spell. After the spell was formulated they left the book on the library shelves, I thought you might like it."

Her reply startled Draco, "That's fascinating," she said turning the book over in her hand and running fingers over the rising and etchings in the book cover. "Thank-you."

"I'm glad you like it."