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Christmas Eve at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was cheery despite the war raging on in the Wizarding World. The Order of the Phoenix sat dispersed around the kitchen and sitting room, chatting quietly in groups of three to four and sipping on a variety of hot cocoa, wine, and firewhiskey. For two days, the Order had planned to convene under the Fidelius of Grimmauld Place and celebrate the holidays. It was a nice difference from their intense meetings and dinners to discuss missions or bury their loved ones.
The war had taken a turn for the worst after the Battle of Hogwarts. After the trio had destroyed a part of Voldemort’s soul in Ravenclaw’s diadem, Voldemort feared defeat enough to retreat his forces, but not without losses on either side. Many members of Dumbledore’s Army had lost their lives in the battle and the Order suffered the loss of Fred Weasley and Remus and Nymphadora Lupin. Two years later the losses still pained them, but they fought for the ones they had lost since Voldemort’s return.
Hermione Granger glanced around the sitting room at the Order members from her place beside Ron on the couch. Her mind had wandered from the story Mundungus Fletcher was telling them and George. Something about how he once tricked a couple of daft Snatchers into following the false trail of a former Ministry member the Order had helped to escape the country with his family. Ron and George laughed loudly as Mundungus described the Snatchers’ apparently ugly appearance, and Hermione smiled, happy to hear the Weasley brothers laughing after word of Charlie’s death reached Britain five months ago. Death Eaters had been sent to kill him after Voldemort learned the Order was trying to recruit internationally. Charlie had volunteered to talk to his coworkers in Romania, as well as other contacts he had in the dragon business around Europe. A couple of his friends joined the battle in England and were just as heartbroken when they all learned of Charlie’s death.
It had been hard, but the Order had persevered, Hermione thought with a small smile. She looked over to Bill and Fleur, who were conversing with Ginny and Arthur, most likely about his upcoming role as a grandfather. Minerva was chatting quietly with Harry and Dedalus Diggle, her lips turning up around the edges of her tea cup at something Harry said. Elphias Doge and Percy Weasley seemed to be talking avidly about politics in chairs by the fireplace, while Aberforth Dumbledore and Filius Flitwick looked on, chirping in on the conversation occasionally. Hagrid was taking up a whole couch, nursing a mug of what definitely was not cocoa, as he was swaying slightly and slurring his conversation with Horace Slughorn, who was paying no mind to Hagrid’s storytelling since he was asleep. In the corner, a sulky-looking Severus Snape was sitting stiffly across from Draco Malfoy, who was downing his glass of firewhiskey.
Hemione watched the defected Death Eaters with interest, honing more respect for each of them than she would care to admit. Many Order members surely felt the same, but the Slytherins could be such prats that it was difficult to get on with them even still. Snape, however, was probably their biggest asset, and Draco brought a talent to the group that rivaled Hermione’s. Perhaps that was why they butted heads so, but Hermione actually enjoyed having someone match her intellect, challenge her, and keep her on her toes.
The Malfoys had defected after the Battle of Hogwarts and the family had fled to their Italian estate with Andromeda and her newborn and orphaned grandson, Teddy. A year later, the Order received word from Draco that he wanted to join the fight, and after many meetings of discussing his loyalty, Snape, Horace and surprisingly enough, Hermione, argued in his defense. He had, indeed, been an asset to their side of the war ever since; his defensive strategies and impeccable dueling skills outshining even Harry and some of the professors. According to Draco, Lucius had taught him many things in the year his family had to rebuild while living in solitude.
“More wine, Hermione dear?”
Hermione tore her gaze from the quiet Slytherins in the corner to let Molly top off her glass. Draco had caught her gaze curiously, but Hermione turned her attention to her third glass of wine, decidedly more relaxed as she finished it in less than five minutes, embarrassed Draco had caught her watching him.
Hermione listened in on the new story Mudungus was telling Ron and George, and her distaste for the man’s lack of morals melted away as she began laughing equally as hard as the brothers beside her.
“Anyone care for anymore dessert?” Molly called out over the chatter in the room.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly fit anymore in my stomach,” Minerva sighed.
“Not for me!” Horace yawned, wakened by Molly’s loud announcement behind his chair.
Hagrid was trailed by Ron and Ginny as they headed to the kitchen for seconds of Mrs. Weasley’s pumpkin pie. Hermione got up after them to dispose of her empty wine glass, encouraging Molly to sit and enjoy herself as she passed her. She entered the rowdy kitchen, not surprised to find Katie Bell, Oliver Wood, Roger Davies, and Blaise Zabini drunk off their arses around the kitchen table. They had joined the Order a year ago on Harry’s request. They had always fought or sided with the Order, but Harry recruited them to join in on missions, as they were all handy with a broom from their Quidditch days. They all jokingly referred to the group as the ‘Flying Squad’ and were usually joined by Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Draco on missions. Many of Hermione’s old Hogwarts classmates had been recruited by the Order from Dumbledore’s Army, but were either spending Christmas with their families or had been lost in battle. She at least knew Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were spending their holiday in hiding with their families, and Neville had Disillusioned himself to sneak into St. Mungo’s to meet up with his gran for a visit with his parents. Nowhere was safe for the Order members - or really any Muggleborns, blood-traitors, and halfbloods - as the government was overrun by Voldemort’s cronies.
Hermione shimmied past the kitchen table to the counter top that was lined with the alcohol and decided to fix herself a small glass of firewhisky instead of wine.
“Better slow down, Granger.”
Hermione whirled around, sloshing firewhisky onto the floor and a pair of clean black dress shoes.
“I’m doing just fine at the pace I’m at Malfoy, but thank you ever so much for your concern,” Hermione replied haughtily, taking a sip of her drink. She grimaced at the burn down her throat.
“Yes, you appear to be doing just fine,” Draco replied with a smirk, waving his wand over his shoes to magically dry them.
“Well excuse me, Draco, for wanting to have a little fun on Christmas Eve,” said Hermione, dragging out the ‘o’ at the end of his name.
“Then don’t mind me if I try and catch up to your drunken arse,” chided Draco as he reached an arm around her to grab the bottle of Ogden’s finest.
He filled up his own glass and downed it in one gulp. Hermione watched his Adams apple bob with wide eyes, sipping her whisky absentmindedly, before he began filling up his glass again.
“Cheers,” Draco grinned, clinking his glass with hers.
“To a happy Christmas,” finished Hermione with a smile. They each downed their glasses, somewhat competitively Draco thought, as it was clear Hermione was trying to finish before him as she glared at him over the rim of her glass.
“The only thing good about this Christmas was Molly’s cooking,” said Draco.
“You haven’t enjoyed your night I take it?”
“Not particularly. I love my godfather, but two hours sitting in the corner with Severus while the rest of you lot secretly glare and judge us both isn’t particularly enjoyable.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! No one has shot even a remotely distasteful look your way. And you seem like you’ve been enjoying your night. It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s getting better,” Draco smirked, enjoying the effect his words had on the Gryffindor as he took a step closer to her.
Hermione flushed and buried her face in her cup, swirling around a liquid that wasn’t there. She reddened further as Draco chuckled in amusement.
“You two are disgustingly flirtatious for former rivals,” came a drawling voice from beside them.
“Listening in on my conversations now, Sev?” asked Draco jokingly. “I know my father asked you to keep an eye out on me, but at least leave me be when I’m trying to woo a pretty girl.”
Hermione didn’t think her face could grow any hotter, and she almost turned away from the cunning Slytherins in front of her. Lately, she and Draco had been very flirtatious indeed. It was back and forth, and often in the form of some sort of competition. He teased her with fleeting, “accidental” touches and she teased him with tighter clothes and soft smiles. It had been going on for months, but nothing had happened, not even two weeks ago when they were sent on a short overnight mission alone.
“Trust me when I say I have no interest in your…accomplishments, Draco,” Severus sneered, taking in the blush on Hermione’s cheeks. “I merely came to grab an extra bottle of Ogdens that Molly offered me. As enjoyable as this little party was I think I’ll be off to take it home,” said Snape, his sarcasm detected by both of his former students. “Sadly, Rodolphus and his charming wife mentioned dropping by for drinks later tonight, or I would invite you to join, Draco.”
“I’m quite content here, Sev, but thank you for the offer,” said Draco, his attention completely on Hermione who was still unable to meet his eyes.
“Happy Christmas, Professor,” piped Hermione when she saw him turn to leave.
Snape stared down his hooked nose at her with a calculating gaze but nodded politely as he said, “Miss Granger.” Severus Snape took his leave, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone except Molly, Minerva, Flitwick, and Slughorn.
“I believe your kindness just caught our dear old professor off guard,” said Draco.
Hermione shyly looked back up at Draco, setting her empty glass on the counter.
“He means more to everyone in the house than he knows,” sighed Hermione.
“I don’t think he knows that, but it would do the old bastard some good to hear it. It is easy for him to feel misjudged and unfairly treated among you lot.”
“He’s a difficult man to get along with,” Hermione retorted in quick defense of her and her friends.
“I don’t deny that. But so was I at one point, eh?”
“You still are,” scoffed Hermione. She sighed, acknowledging his meaning. “But you were a boy. And now you are one of us, as is Snape. I hope you both understand that.”
“What else am I now, other than an ally?”
Hermione’s gaze flickered up to meet Draco’s curiously hopeful stare, and she noted with a hitched breath that he took a step closer to her.
“A leader,” Hermione admitted slowly, looking at the outline of his chest through his white dress shirt instead of meeting his eyes. “A clever strategist and someone we trust. A friend.”
“And to you?”
Draco was leaning over her now, close enough that she could touch him easily, and she was suddenly nervous, her face was warming with a blush again.
“You…I – “
A loud chorus of cheers broke the heated tension surrounding their conversation and they both turned to look at the source of the noise. Katie Bell and Oliver Wood were snogging at the kitchen table. A branch of mistletoe was sprouting above them and Hermione could not help but giggle as Blaise Zabini, Ron, and Harry pounded the table with their fists, hollering playfully. The snogging couple pulled away with red cheeks and Katie turned giggling to Ginny who was sitting on her right while Oliver looked pleasantly surprised and smug. Hermione was feeling woozy now, her last few drinks going straight to her head. The room was swaying with a pleasant buzz, but her tipsy state was not her reason for wanting to leave the party. No, instead it was the charming and handsome Slytherin standing in front of her. His peculiar attitude towards her tonight, along with the drinking and public displays of affection, was playing with her thoughts and emotions.
“I think I’ll take my leave. A shower seems like the perfect idea to sober me up and we wouldn’t want that bewitched mistletoe to come for us next,” Hermione pretended to shudder in distaste, but she was sure the action did not meet her eyes.
“I’m not sure I would complain,” Draco smirked down at her. Hermione gulped.
What in Merlin’s name is the matter with him tonight?
“Well goodnight, Draco,” said Hermione, awkwardly stepping away from his close proximity. “Give Teddy a hug from me and err…Happy Christmas.”
Draco only hummed in response, watching her carefully and with a hint of something else slightly more predatory that anyone could have noticed if they were paying attention. All he knew was that Hermione looked good walking away from him – especially in that dress.
Hermione said her goodbyes and goodnights to everyone, and many people came to find her anyway as they left for the night. The hour was getting late when fifteen minutes later, Hermione finally left the sitting room to ascend a few staircases to the third floor. She had her own room now that Arthur and Molly lived with Bill and Fleur in Cornwall. Ginny was her bedmate until her parent’s room opened up and she and Harry could finally discreetly share. Hermione stripped out of her red, spaghetti strap dress and wrapped her towel around her before darting directly across the hall to the bathroom.
The scorching hot water seemed to be just what she needed, and Hermione stood under the steady stream of water, allowing it to soothe her aching shoulders. Her fingernails dragged pleasantly across her scalp as she washed and conditioned her hair. Deciding that she was too warm and content in the shower, Hermione grabbed her lavender scented body scrub and razor from her shelf of the shower caddy. Her shower was relaxing and soothed her mild headache, but as she got out she was still slightly buzzed from her intake of alcohol.
Maybe the steam is making you foggy, she thought, brushing her wet hair with a comb. Or maybe its your thoughts about Draco Malfoy.
Hermione spent a few minutes towel drying her hair and brushed her teeth while she was still in the bathroom. She applied moisturizer and lotion to her scarred skin before tying her white silk bathrobe around her and hanging up her towel on a hook.
Hermione left the bathroom and followed the steam from her shower out into the dimly lit hallway.
“Enjoy your shower, Granger?”
Hermione gasped as she entered her room, finding Draco sitting at the edge of her bed.
“Draco, what are you doing in my room? I thought you were portkeying back to Italy to spend Christmas with your family,” said Hermione, watching him warily as she shut the door behind her. Hermione quickly put some distance between them, standing next to her wardrobe and pulling her robe tighter around her.
Draco licked his lips.
“Molly insisted I stay for presents and breakfast tomorrow morning, so she offered me the spare room. I’ll go to my family’s for dinner,” Draco explained, eyeing her exposed legs openly.
“I wasn’t aware Molly liked you enough to get you a Christmas gift,” joked Hermione, who was hoping to ease the tension in the room that was suddenly causing her stomach to jump.
“Molly loves me as much as her sons and you know it.”
“Only because you’re a right flirt and compliment her cooking,” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest sassily.
“Careful Granger, you almost sound jealous.” The blonde had the nerve to smirk and Hermione noted with amusement that he stumbled slightly as he took a few steps nearer to her, clearly unsteady with drink.
But Hermione chose to ignore his last comment, and instead asked, “Have all the guests left?”
“Yes, although practically the whole Gryffindor Quidditch dream-team is still drunk off their arses downstairs.”
“Who do you mean?”
“The Weasels and the Boy Who Won’t Die, of course, as well as Bell and that utter Scottish annoyance, Wood. Bastards were falling off their chairs in laughter after Potter told some terrible joke about a car getting stuck in a ‘quid-ditch’.”
Hermione giggled, finding Draco’s pinched sneer to be quite hilarious and surprisingly cute, despite his past of turning that same degrading look upon her. They fell into a tense silence, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably under Draco’s unwavering gaze, pulling the flaps of her robe closer together to avoid a slip of cleavage. Draco noticed and smirked, wishing she would meet his eyes so he would know how she was feeling about him at the present moment.
“So, err. . .would you care to leave? I believe it is time for me to change and I’m feeling quite knackered,” Hermione directed her question at him while keeping her eyes on a loose string of thread on her blanket.
“And miss the show? I don’t think so.”
Hermione scoffed, surprised once again by Draco Malfoy’s bold behavior tonight.
“Are you really insinuating that you want to see me naked? I think you’ve had too much to drink tonight, Malfoy.”
“You’re one to talk,” said Draco, sauntering closer.
“Actually, I’m feeling fine,” Hermione lied. “Completely clear-headed.” She stepped away from him some more as he came to stand in front of her bedside.
“Then answer me this, if your head is as clear as you claim it to be,” said Draco, almost sounding nervous. Hermione tapped her foot on the floor in mock impatience, so Draco continued, “Earlier in the kitchen I seemed to be causing you quite a fluster,” he said, some of his arrogant confidence returning.
“That’s not – “ Hermione retorted but was cut off as Draco said, “When I asked if you thought of me more than just an ally, you never answered me.”
“Well we were interrupted, weren’t we?” said Hermione defensively.
“But every time I look at you, I have all the answer I need,” said Draco, ignoring her previous comment.
“That’s quite presumptuous – “
“You don’t think I see the way you look at me?” accused Draco over Hermione’s scoffing and spluttering. However, his words shut her up. Hermione’s eyes were wide, and she could feel her heart racing, nervous at the turn the conversation was taking.
“I look at you. So what? We’re around each other almost every day,” Hermione replied, her voice lowering almost to a trembling whisper.
“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Draco argued.
“I meant what I said downstairs, Draco. I see you as an ally and I trust you as such. Don’t presume to read more into it,” Hermione snapped, shoving past him.
“But I have,” said Draco as he caught her arm in a tight grip. “You’ve grown to care about me. Is that so hard to admit?”
Hermione yanked her arm away and actually shoved him on the chest this time.
“Of course, I care, you prat! I care about each and every member of the Order.”
“But what if I want more than just your care and sympathy?” said Draco, stepping up to stand in front of her. Hermione thought he looked most intimidating towering over her like that.
“And what more would you have me offer? You should be grateful I even harbor such feelings as care and trust for you after everything we have – “
“You. I want you, Hermione.”
Hermione’s heart felt as if it had leaped into her throat. “I beg your pardon?” she spluttered.
Draco only chuckled in response, reaching for her small hand and holding it tightly so she couldn’t pull it away.
“You’re drunk. This is the firewhiskey talking.”
Draco shook off her excuses. “No, Granger, these are my emotions talking – and before you even say it, yes I do have some.”
Hermione pursed her lips.
“Perhaps the drink helped it along, but I’m being completely sincere.”
“I’m just surprised is all,” said Hermione, sitting down on the bed.
“Are you? After all the tension between us this year? Maybe you are not as smart as I thought you were,” Draco remarked, earning a dirty look from Hermione. “Tell me, why do you think I ask for your help when I’m planning missions? Why do I constantly pick petty, unnecessary arguments with you?”
Hermione was speechless, looking up at Draco in confusion and surprise as he stood before her.
“Because I like being in your presence. I enjoy getting you heated; your temper is quite attractive you know, although sometimes scary when its directed at me.”
Hermione practically gaped at him as he took a seat next to her very closely on the bed.
“Think of all the times I’ve stayed near you on a mission, fighting next to you. It’s to protect you, to make sure you’re safe. And all the times you’ve agreed to help me plan a mission, all the times you argue back with me, or have stood up for me? Two months ago, in Diagon Alley, you took a curse for me. Why?”
Hermione remained silent. She knew why she had done all of those things, but she had not yet let herself admit it. And here Draco was admitting exactly what she could not, that he had feelings for her. Yet, she still could not bring herself to say it.
“I’m scared,” she said instead.
“Hey,” said Draco, his fingers tentatively gripping her chin and turning her to face him. “Me too! Do you think I was ecstatic to find that I had feelings for Hermione Granger? We’re practically polar opposites; I never thought I would even remotely like you let alone… Its ok to be scared. There’s a lot to be afraid of.”
Hermione tore her eyes away from him but he kept his grip on her chin firm.
“It’s not that. I’m not afraid of my feelings for you. I don’t care what anyone thinks, the judgement, how wrong it may seem that we care for one another.”
“Then what is it?”
Draco took her hands in his and Hermione was momentarily frozen by the gesture. His hands were big and warm and comforting as he stroked his thumbs across her knuckles.
“It’s this war, Draco. You’ve seen how it tears people apart. Ron lost Lavender, George lost Fred, then Angelina, Tonks and Lupin. Couples torn apart. I can’t fall for you only to lose you.”
Draco sat in thought, understanding what Hermione meant but unable to feel the same way.
“I don’t care if I have two more months to live,” said Draco firmly. “If I spend them with you, knowing you feel the same way, it’s worth it. I don’t care if it hurts more, Granger. We shouldn’t run away from something that feels right.”
Hermione glanced back to him but remained hesitant.
“If we could make each other just a little bit happier while fighting this dreadful war, then isn’t it immediately worth it?”
Hermione leaned onto his shoulder, feeling surprisingly comfortable as she did so, as if they embraced this way often. She enjoyed the feeling immensely, especially as Draco wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She was wrong, she realized, in trying to push her feelings away. She would always be scared, scared of the war and losing her friends, but being with Draco right now, wrapped in his embrace, was far from scary.
Hermione leaned up and kissed him fiercely. She had wanted to for months now, nearly as long as Draco. The unlikely pair embraced even tighter, falling back onto the sheets of the bed. Fingers tangled in curls and palms explored exposed skin. They kissed softly, passionately, until they stopped before things could progress any further. Draco did not want that, not yet, not now. Tonight was not the night. Tonight he wanted to hold her, get to know her, comfort her.
Hermione pulled back the covers of her bed and climbed under, her hair still wet from her shower. Draco kicked off his shoes and followed her, wrapping his arms around her the moment the sheets were pulled up to their chins.
And for hours, they held each other and talked. They talked about their childhoods, their time at Hogwarts, the war. The war, which would permit them to survive, to fall in love, to live. Or it would not. They did not want to think about that, though. The odds did not favor them. Voldemort’s army seemed endless, and the Order of Phoenix grew smaller every week. Next week, one of them could be taken from each other, away from their family and friends, away from the war, forever.
Hermione thought it was worth it, very worth it, as Draco pressed a kiss to her forehead. She watched his long lashes flutter before he seemed to finally nod off, his grey eyes closing and his lips set in a pout. She smiled at his sleeping form, cuddling into his chest as the first light of Christmas morning crept through the window. They really had stayed up talking for hours. In that moment, Hermione did not care if she didn’t make it until tomorrow; he was already worth any pain to come. For the first time in over two years, Hermione felt genuinely happy.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer as she felt herself falling to sleep.
“Happy Christmas, Draco.”