Quiet Revolution

Chapter 12 - This Damned Christmas

Hold on, feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown

And I don't know why

But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell

I know, right now you can't tell

But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see a different side of me

"What was Step One again?" Draco asked.

"Here," Hermione said and opened up her notebook. She turned to a page and they almost bumped, trying to read it, like two eager toddlers that had just dug up treasure.

The stars were the sun's children and the sun would hold them dear; when the moon begins to understand this connection - then the universe will realign for you

"The moon understood the connection. We must have each been a moon. The connection between the sun and stars must have been the sacrifice of having to watch over the universe." Hermione smiled. "We each must have sacrificed some sort of pride or something routine in our lives to get here. The moon---"

"I can't believe you wrote the step down in a notebook called 'M.E.S.S. T.H.I.N.G." Draco shook his head.

"What? Mission: Egyptian Spell So That Harry Is New (A)Gain."

He shot up a blond eyebrow and gave her a pointed look, trying not to laugh at the same time. He then gave up and promptly laughed in her face. She returned a pointed gaze of her own and spoke in defense.

"I used to be better at this, but I lost my touch this year; this isn't so bad for me at all!"

"Did you write out daily schedules for Potter and Weasley too? Maybe exact times on when to put on their left socks?"

Silence. Draco's mouth formed a shocked O and he really didn't contain his laughter this time.

"Only once or twice!"

Draco shook his head again and grabbed the book. "...Bloody hell," he murmured, after scanning over what had taken place in the book the night Hermione was in the hospital wing.

"What?" Hermione demanded, closing her notebook and standing next to him to look down.

The greatest reward the planets earn for themselves comes not from sacrificing mountains or oceans, but from changing those hills and streams so they can become mountains and oceans.

Supplementary potion required - ingredients:

Draco stopped reading but Hermione immediately grabbed her notebook and a quill and begin to jot down the ingredients of the potion.

"Oh, hell." Draco clapped a hand over his face and moaned. "It's worse, there's a potion that comes with it. And the directions, what the hell? It's another pile of---"

"Draco, this is Step Two," Hermione whispered, closing her notebook. She looked up at him as though just acknowledging it. "We really did it this time. We got to Step Two."

"Christmas for a Malfoy usually does involve receiving what one wants. Well, hell, that was every day for us, wouldn't you agree to that, Granger?"

She had gone back to reading the step closely, so he decided to continue speaking.

"Until the day two thirds of the family decided to crumble."

The tension suddenly flooded urgently into the room, taking charge and wrapping itself around the air of space between Draco and Hermione.

He didn't know why he talked like this.

Well, actually, he knew exactly why he talked like this. Because he would never stop thinking about it - the day he died.

She looked at him. It was tickling the very edge of her lips and he could practically hear it.

But to his surprise, she asked another question.

"It's Christmas; do you miss your Father?"

"No. I just miss what I was when he was alive."

"Which was?"

"Me being alive as well."

"I thought----"

God damn these unpleasant topics. Now this was really a Malfoy Christmas, Draco thought. Talk about comparing grades to the Mudblood, why Draco didn't get enough money he was expecting to. Lucius' response being that Draco was never good enough. Fuck.

"Whatever you thought, you thought wrong," Draco said evenly, putting the book down. He ran his hands harshly through his hair and got up. "I used to look up to my father. But there was also a time when I wanted to be friends with Potter, wasn't there?"

She stood up as well. "Draco, I had thought all along that this spell was about bringing your father back! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because," he snarled. "It's none of your bloody business!"

"Why don't you ever tell me anything?" she continued.

"Why should I tell you anything?" he demanded.

"Because!" she cried, her face growing warm. "Because I thought we trusted each other! Because I thought we were fr---"

"Trusting has nothing to do with facts and history and information. Trusting has nothing to do with power over somebody else. You know why it took so damn long for us to get to Step Two?"

"Why?" she challenged.

"Because we needed so much more than trust!" he snapped and grabbed her harshly by clasping his hands on her shoulders and pulled her in, so quickly that her breath reached him before her body did and he held her at arm's length while watching her struggle. "Listen to me. You're brilliant, Hermione Granger, I won't deny you that at all," he whispered, cold vocals travelling through her.

"But you'll deny me everything else," she whispered back, pulling away, rubbing her arm.

He nodded shortly and for that split second, Hermione Granger had never felt so lonely in all of her life.

"Hermione!" A girl's voice suddenly called up the stairs. "There are gifts for you!"

It was Ginny.

Hermione looked down at the spell book and then at Draco.

"Go," Draco insisted, shrugging. "It's Christmas, after all."

Draco supposed it was spending so much time in the Gryffindor tower that had made him feel somewhat selfless. Or maybe it was because he understood the craving birthed from a life of materialism and grand holidays. In any case, Draco was very disappointed that the spell didn't reward him for such an unselfish act of holiness by turning into Step Three.

"I was going to go." Hermione's voice interrupted his thoughts. Her back was faced toward him and she was already making her way toward the stairs. "With or without your permission."

"Fucking Gryffindors," Draco muttered as morbid curiosity led him to follow her down.

She had walked down those stairs so many times - everyday in the past seven years to meet Ron or Harry, or Ron and Harry for something. For lunch. For a late weekend breakfast. For a library trip that finally occurred after much moaning and groaning. For a late night wandering to solve some sort of mystery that had Hermione's brows furrowed. The old stone steps had molded to her feet and the worn wooden hand-rails on the side always eased her along as the days went by.

She would be making this trip alone; completely alone. On a day when usually she would have normally embraced her two best friends the most. Draco was following her and she could feel it, but if he didn't want to let her into his world, she was not going to let him into his.

But she wanted to. So badly. After the incident with Pansy, Hermione never stopped thinking to herself that maybe she was wrong about Draco Malfoy. He was a friend to someone, a brother to another, a comrade to some, a normal classmate, a boy who made girls laugh and played chess with the other boys.

Someone who had a heart. A full, beating heart.

"Merry Christmas!" Ginny fell right into Hermione and Hermione hugged back tightly, smelling Ginny's signature scent of cinnamon and sweet chrysanthemum flowers.

"Merry Christmas," Hermione said back and smiled. Ginny joined a few other sixth-years and Hermione sat over by an empty love seat couch where undoubtedly Ginny had laid out the presents her parents sent her.

She looked up at Draco, who hadn't said a word, and felt a ripple of sympathy wave through her.

He was alone, too, she realised.

Ron then walked over to her and tossed a package down in front of Hermione.

"From Mum," he said gruffly and then walked away.

"They can afford gifts for non family members, too?" Draco asked incredulously.

She made room for him on the couch as his eyes flickered momentarily before he sat down.

She looked up at him. "Just because I still get gifts. Someone's bitter?"

"I'm not bitter," he responded. "I'm very bitter."

She tore her longing gaze away from Ron's backside to carefully unwrap the package. Her slow, neat movements seemed to be driving Draco up the wall.

"You're not a Weasley," he stated. "You damn well don't need to preserve the wrapping for future usage so just rip that bloody thing apart."

She shot an appalled look his way before looking down at the richly woven plum-coloured sweater. She held it close to her and hugged it. It felt like the Burrow. It smelled like the Burrow. It tasted like a past that she ached to go back to.

"You... like it?" He had to keep himself from choking.

"You don't?" she asked him delicately.

"It's very..." he trailed off. "Purple," he finally decided on.

She smiled, pleased with his answer.

"Sort of like a huge, distorted grape."

***

"I give you permission to spend your Christmas however you want and you want us to go to the library?" he cried, trailing after her as she made her way through the portrait hole. He pulled it open for her out of habit and she stepped through it.

"Thank you," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "Malfoy-bred manners, always open a door for a lady."

"But not Muggle ladies," Hermione said over her shoulder.

"You're not a Muggle," Draco retorted after her.

She whirled around. "You know what I meant, Draco. And you know what else? How is it that even when not alive, your family still never ceases to amaze me?"

He blew the tips of his fingertips as if they were shooting steam and smirked at her.

She put her hands on her hips. "You didn't treat me with an ounce of respect yet your father insisted that you open doors for anyone Pureblood. What if one had killed your mother?"

His usually playful smirk dropping off his face immediately as he looked at her closely,. "What the hell is your problem? Are you trying to get a rise out of me or is it just in your dirty blood to do so naturally?"

She locked eyes with him as he grabbed her shirt by the collar and pulled her close, angling her body against his. Warm clothes, a pounding heart and a hot rush through her chest lined up against him and he made sure his eyes never let go of her.

"Don't talk about my mother like that, ever," he growled.

"Or what, Draco? You'll hit me? You'll hex me? Try me, because at least it would mean progress! You haven't changed one bit since you died!"

"I am speaking to you as another human; this, I assure you, is a change from since I died."

She pulled away.

"I want more than that," she said quietly.

"More than what?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she said, sighing in frustration. "Don't you feel it, Draco? Something just doesn't feel right between us."

"Well for starters, you're spending Christmas in the library."

She made a motion to respond but suddenly both their eyes reverted upwards as a sprinkle of color began to form between them. They both watched closely as this strip of color turned green and then dotted itself with small red bulbs.

Mistletoe.

"Dumbledore must be celebrating the holidays too," Hermione said, her voice gentle.

Draco made his move to speak next but again found himself silenced. The tips of his fingers were suddenly humanly warm from touching Hermione just a few seconds ago.

He looked at her, not noticing that strands of blond hair were falling into his eyes.

She was suddenly smiling at him. Shyly.

...the mistletoe.

The back of his throat suddenly felt dry.

She's grown out of her awkward stage, he suddenly thought.

He blinked. Well, that sure as hell came out of nowhere.

She was still smiling. Only Draco noticed that with the smile, she was leaning in closer. He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets and tilted his head down.

And suddenly both of them jumped, two separate hearts leaping as Ron, Dean and Seamus entered the halls.

And then occurred the Longest Silence Ever.

"Wow. Gryffindors shut up after all," Draco remarked, only seconds before Seamus finally spoke first.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Seamus said politely.

"Happy Christmas," she replied.

Ron met her eyes and then looked away shamefully.

They walked away and Hermione turned to look at Draco.

"We'd better go," she said softly.

He nodded and they walked to the library. An unspoken truce settled all of a sudden - Hermione would not mention Draco's mother like she had before again and Draco didn't really feel the need to remind her every second that she was a Muggleborn. A truce that had been spoken on the very first day, but settled only now.

With this unspoken peace came a new feeling. The kind that made Draco wonder why exactly he was able to feel warmth for those few seconds.

* * *

Hermione Granger was pretty.

What? She was. She wasn't gorgeous, or stunning, or sexy. But she had an okay-looking face, Draco supposed. He had been staring at it for quite some time now, the way her brows knit together when she read certain difficult paragraphs. Sometimes she would wrinkle her nose slightly, causing the bridge to form graceful curvy lines that Draco counted several times.

The harder she thought, the more she lost herself in concentration, the more lines formed. But when she relaxed for a breath of a moment between two pages, the lines smoothed out along her straight nose and she would blink her round brown eyes with their curled lashes quickly, not wanting to miss a speck of possible information.

Yeah, Draco decided, she had an okay-looking face. It was pretty.

Damn, I'm really bored.

"Draco?"

"Huh?" He snapped out of his daydream to look at her. The lines were gone.

"...Merry Christmas."

He gave her an odd look. "Uhh, okay."

"I never said it to you. It's Christmas after all." She closed her book. "And you're right, what are we doing in the library?"

He cracked a grin. "You didn't find any information in that book, huh?"

"That's beside the point!" she said, rather defensively. "I mean, I'm boring you to tears, aren't I?"

"That's one way of putting it, yes."

"Don't you care about this spell?"

"Oh please, I'm the one who's dead. Who do you think cares more?"

"Then why---"

"It's Christmas," he said. "Even the dead want to enjoy it a little."

"I suppose you're right. Well, after I read th----"

"I want to do the potion that comes with this second step."

"What?"

"If you can get the ingredients, I'll make the potion. I can be useful too, you know. You're not all the brains in this project."

"Of course, I know, but--"

"Okay?"

"Okay," she said right away, pursing her lips.

"And just for the record, I don't hate my father. I don't want you to think that."

"What? Draco---"

Draco promptly got up. He was going stir crazy. No, he was scared he was just going crazy, period. He was dead but not really and working on some crazy but could possibly work spell with Hermione fucking Granger. The Mudblood. The girl who was part of a breed he had been trained to hate all his life. Not even hate, he wasn't even supposed to acknowledge that her kind was on any level close to his.

But here he was, still talking to her like she was an equal.

She. Is. Not.

Stop it.

"I don't hate my father," he said, not able to stop talking. He looked down at his hands and held onto the table, trying to level them. "I don't want to be like him anymore. I realise he's made a lot of fucked up decisions in his lifetime. With my mother, with me, with his life. And I don't respect that. I don't respect any of that. But if this spell works out, I would still want him to be alive. I said that to you, I proposed it myself the very minute we spoke after my death, didn't I?"

"You did, Draco. You did." She closed her book. "I----"

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" he asked.

She was taken aback, but didn't question it.

"No."

"Do you think my father is a bad person?"

"...I don't know."

He looked away. Hermione bit her lower lip and felt something stir in her stomach. A slight bubbling discomfort that made her snap away from thinking about the spell. For once, this was not about the spell. This was not about goals and the future or the past. This was about Draco.

She hesitantly walked beside the table and placed an arm on his shoulder. Her palms were sweaty and the fabric of his dark jacket felt rough and prickly against her warm skin.

"I don't know either," he finally answered.

"Let's take a break," Hermione said gently, sitting back down and closing all of her books, neatly stacking them. "After all, it's Christmas."

He sat down across from her, that same oddly human warmth creeping into his chest.

He shook his head and rudely kicked his legs up onto the table, purposely knocking over one of her books. "What kind of damned Christmas is this, anyway?" he snorted.

She didn't know, and he didn't either. But it suddenly came clear to the both of them that the library was stuffy and quiet and empty and she packed up her books and they both headed outside, walking in silence until they reached the edge of the lake.

"I always wanted to jump into the lake," Hermione said out of nowhere.

Draco squinted at her, the crisp golden light of the sun in his eyes. "Oh, no, Hermione, you shouldn't be wondering why the whole school thinks you're off the deep end at all."

She shrugged and bundled up her thick gold and red Gryffindor scarf around her neck a little more. "Just to... feel completely at ease with myself, you know? I get stressed easily and then I just channel all my energy into working off that stress to reassure myself. Even now - wow, we were in the library on Christmas day," she paused to laugh in spite of herself. "Sometimes I want nothing more than to just forget about everything that's wrong with my life, jump into the lake and float around, looking up at this gorgeous sky."

And with that said, the both of them suddenly reverted their heads upward to the sky. The sun always looked different in the winter. The angles were sharper and the colors had a harsh edge to them that made everything look crisp and new. And Hermione was right, it was gorgeous and she could somehow feel that standing next to Draco Malfoy, he understood that too.

Hermione hated admitting when she was wrong, namely if it was that she always found herself to he having conversations with Draco Malfoy that were more stimulating than any thing she had ever discussed with Harry or Ron.

She was blinking away the bright light from her eyes and recovering from the rays when all of a sudden Draco shoved her lightly. She tripped over her other foot and there was a loud crackle from the rotted tree branch she managed to step on to recover from falling.

Her heart was pounding, as unexpected falls often did to one.

"What was that?" Hermione demanded rudely.

Draco grinned at her and then poked her in the ribs. She cried out and leapt away from him. He poked her again and tried to shove her. She shrieked.

"Stop it!" she cried, laughing.

"Do it, Hermione. Jump in the lake. No one's watching you."

"No!" she cried out in a scandalised voice through her laughs and feeling reminiscent to a school girl would have done at playtime, ran around the trees, ducking through the bushes as Draco ran after her, mockingly telling her he was going to pick her up and throw her in the lake in a singsong voice.

And just as she was out of breath and her stomach muscles ached from all the laughter, she paused in between sweeping the hair out of her face and tightening her scarf to catch Draco, hands shoved in his pockets, looking out at the lake and smiling. A real, nice smile that she had never seen before.

She caught her breath and walked over to him, a soft silence falling over them both and the thin, cool breeze of winter sweeping both their faces. Hermione walked over and stood next to Draco, staring out at the broad horizon of the lake. Thin rippled waves of ink blue stained water lapping abroad.

"Draco," Hermione started. "I'm sorry you're having to spend Christmas like this."

"Sorry yours is so shitty too," he responded, not bothering to adjust his head to look at her.

Her heart was still pounding from the quick high that running around the forest had given her, and she inhaled the sharp scent of bittersweet winter air and smiled to herself.

"It's really not too bad," she remarked.

He turned to look at her this time. "What kind of damned Christmas is this anyway?" he repeated, small smirk on his face.

She didn't respond and they stood there, absorbing as much peace the lake was willing to donate.

And whatever kind of damned Christmas this was, it felt okay.