“What defines us is how well we rise after falling.”

- Maid in Manhattan

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Hermione was going to snap. She was certain of it. There was no way she could continue on listening to –

“…you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!”

– these bloody Christmas carols! All day they’d been playing magically throughout the whole building, and now to have damn Jodie and Darrell (workers who Hermione would occasionally strike up small talk with during breaks) singing them right in her ear, in the bloody elevator where there was no escape… 

“…OHH, bring us a figgy pudding, oh, bring us a figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer!”

Needless to say, it was the longest elevator ride Hermione had ever experienced. Over Jodie and Darrell’s heads, was a pained looking Draco at the opposite side. He caught her eye and made a strangling gesture towards the closer of the two, which happened to be Jodie.

Shifting the large box she was currently holding to get a better view of him, Hermione’s lips twitched in an almost smile, but then cringed as their voices rose higher and higher.

Carols were just an inevitable part of Christmas Hermione never enjoyed, not even when she was seven and had had to sing them for a school play. And what she hated even more was the way they somehow got stuck in your head for hours afterwards.

She snuck a side-ways glance over to Draco again, seeing him staring straight ahead in forced determination. But that wasn’t the Draco she knew… he should be saying something to them! Some snide comment was surely on the tip of his tongue… any moment now; he would crack and tell them off… any second… right about… now! Okay, no… right about… now… nowww… okay, now!

Nothing.

Gritting her teeth as the impossibly long elevator ride continued, Hermione made the decision that if he wasn’t going to do anything about it, she would.

She looked at an oblivious Darrell, singing merrily.

“…we won't go until we get some, we won't go until we get some, so bring some out here!”

Hermione was good at wandless magic, and so she imagined the effect of her spell. She imagined the ocean, taps, rain, the clarity of water, how it felt to be saturated…

“…we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas –”

She pictured the running of water, showers, baths, laundry, the toilet…

“– we wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy – fuck!”

Draco looked over at Darrel. Jodie stopped singing instantly and turned a startled look to her companion.

“Darrell, what on earth –?” But she stopped abruptly and gaped when she caught sight of where his hands were; now covering up his wet crotch, which was very noticeable on the white pants he was wearing.

Who in their right mind would wear white pants, anyway? Hermione pondered. 

Guessing from the look of horror on Jodie’s face, she hadn’t seen that his pants were wet quite yet.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing?” she gasped as though it was the most indecent thing she had ever seen. “This isn’t your eighteenth, you can’t do that in here!”

Draco choked on his own spit. Hermione thumped at her chest and turned her laughter into coughs.

Darrell flushed redder. “That’s not what I’m doing, but my – my…” he glanced uncertainly over at Draco and then to Hermione, but must have decided he didn’t care who heard, because he went on without lowering his voice, “my pants are wet!”

Everybody stared as the lift came to its final halt.

“I thought you told me you’d gotten over that problem of yours weeks ago!” exclaimed Jodie.

Hermione’s couldn’t hold the grin that was growing larger and larger by the minute and so quickly, she lifted up her box to cover the lower part of her face. Draco, meanwhile, was visibly biting back his own smile. His grey eyes flickered over to her, back to the squabbling pair, and then back to Hermione. With a look of understanding as he put two and two together, he mouthed, “Did you do this?”

Hermione’s only answer was a smirk. 

“I did take care of it!” said Darrell after a retreating Jodie. He made no move to follow her though, and as the remaining three stepped out of the lift, he turned to Draco and Hermione with a sullen look. “You guys saw that, right? How – how it just appeared?”

She shared a brief look with Draco before he asked in innocent confusion, “Saw what?”

Darrell groaned and ran out off after Jodie, all Christmas carols forgotten, as the back of his pants clung unflatteringly to his newly wet buttocks.

Draco shook his head in awe. “What – why did you –?”

“Because we were going to die in there and you weren’t going to do anything.”

“So, what, you make the poor bloke wet himself?” he smirked.

She shrugged, the contents of the box jingling. “It was just water.”

Draco studied her intently, like she was an exam he couldn’t figure out, and after a long time said, “Are you –?”

“Hermione,” came Harry’s voice as he strode swiftly over. He looked over at Draco, who held his stare with a new hardness in his eyes Hermione now realised she hadn’t seen in months. “Malfoy,” Harry said tightly.

“Potter,” he returned, the familiar dislike dripping off his tone.  

Hermione moved the box again, feeling slightly awkward, and, again, it jingled and tingled.

The sound caught Harry’s attention and he nodded towards the box. “Couldn’t do the gentlemanly thing and help her out, could you?”

“Actually Potter, I, unlike you, find Granger to be perfectly capable of holding a little box, whereas you, unlike me, seem to undermine her.”

Hermione blinked in mild surprise. Did he just compliment her?

Harry glared, if possible, even darker. “Don’t you have someone’s coffee to get?”

Draco mirrored his expression. “Don’t you have some Death Eater to let get away?”

Harry advanced on Draco, and Hermione, who honestly could not think of anything else that would stop the two, reached into the box and pulled out two brightly coloured bits of tinsel that had tinkling bells on the end, and draped one each around Harry and Draco’s necks.

“Friendship!” she cheered, smiling broadly as she wrapped an arm around them and pulled both men into a group hug. 

Harry pulled out after much struggling and took two giant steps back. Draco followed suit, brushing off his shirt with a disgusted look.

“Right, Harry,” she said quickly, because Draco was glaring murderously at her, “shall we go to my office and discuss… whatever it was you came here for?”

“Good idea.” Harry put an arm around her shoulders and steered her up the hallway, shooting a dark look at Draco over his shoulder.

Once inside the office, Hermione pushed the box onto her desk, nearly knocking off her fish bowl in the process. Harry quickly reached out to steady it.

“That fish is changing colour,” he said, peering down at it.

“Yeah,” she said, sparing the fish a brief glance. “It’s called a Love Fish, actually.”

“A Love Fish?” Harry asked, his eyes dancing in amusement.

Hermione smiled. “Yeah, if you’re in the company of someone you love it glows and flashes different colours. So I love you and therefore Mr. Fishy is glowing and changing colours.”

“Mr. Fishy?”

Hermione flushed, remembering it wasn’t even her who came up with that name but rather Draco…

“You don’t want your ugly cat to see Mr Fishy, Granger, otherwise Mr Fishy may turn into Mr Lunchy.” 

She shook head and took out the bits of tinsel again, used her wand to conjure up a stool at the large window behind her desk, and stood on it.

“Do you need any help with… whatever it is you’re doing? Or do you think that’d be undermining you?” he asked with a frown.

Hermione let out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t let what he says get to you. He just enjoys riling people up, that’s all.”

“Hasn’t matured, has he?”

She didn’t say anything, mostly because Hermione couldn’t say she agreed. He had grown a great deal, she thought, any other Draco Malfoy without the teasing attitude just wouldn’t be him at all.

“And how’re things going with him?” he continued, still watching her as she placed sticking charms on the tinsel. “He’s not giving you much grief?”

No, but we did kiss about three weeks ago.

Hermione ignored that and really thought about the question. It was the 20th of December, approximately two weeks since Draco returned to the flat and five days until Christmas. During those two weeks, there hadn’t been much change in him. He was still himself in every other sense, only on rare occasions, like earlier with Jodie and Darrell; he would be uncharacteristically quiet or unresponsive. Hermione wondered where he went during his brief silences.

He also reframed from all physical contact with her, like the other day, for example, when Hermione handed him a stack of papers to give to some other worker in the building, he’d snatched it quickly, like he was expecting her to suddenly jump over the desk and bite him, and always took care of never letting his fingers brush hers. Always.

She wondered why he thought this was necessary, because their kiss had been just an once-in-a-lifetime thing. It wasn’t like they were going to repeat the same mistake twice.

But then… there would be moments, when their eyes would met, and his would have a sudden intensity about them that made her want to step just a little closer…

It was always when they were alone – in public everything was normal, er, as normal as possible in their situation anyway.

But no, he hadn’t given her any grief and so Hermione shook her head at Harry’s question.

“Good,” he said, looking a little relieved. “Sure you’re right with…?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, as the tinsel fell down once again from her sticking charm. “Bloody decorations,” she growled under her breath.

“What are they for?” he asked, eyeing the box.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We had a meeting the other day and damn Emily jumped out of her chair and practically squealed with excitement, ‘oh, Mr. Jennings, sir! We simply cannot have a Christmas here without decorations! How about a competition for the best looking office?’ and hence why my life sucks.”

Harry laughed. “Wow Hermione, calm down, your Christmas spirit’s getting out of control.”

She grinned, and turned to Accio over more decorations. “Speaking of Christmas, whose house are we going to this year? We were at mine last year so…” She trailed off as the realisation hit her like a Knight Bus. Her smile flickered. Died. “Ron’s.” It wasn’t a question.

“And – and the other Weasleys,” he said hastily. “At the Burrow.”

Hermione didn’t reply for a long time, and she continued her futile attempt to make the freaking tinsel stick. After about the fifth time it fell to the floor, Hermione swore loudly, and Harry quickly went over to retrieve it for her.

“Thanks,” she murmured as he handed it over.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, catching her hand before she could reach up again, “in case you haven’t noticed, there are six other Weasley children, and two parents, all of whom are your friends and adore you. It’s not as though you’re unwelcomed there.”

“None of them have tried to talk to me –” she began weakly.

“That’s because they thought you needed space. They didn’t want to make it worse.”

Hermione looked down at him cautiously. “Really?”

“Really. They miss you, whenever I see them they ask how you are.”

She allowed herself a slight smile as their brightly coloured hair entered her memory.

“So will you come? We go over at Christmas Eve for lunch and stay over until Christmas Day. Pleasssseee?” he added childishly when she hesitated.

Her smile broadened. “Okay.” 

***

Draco barged through the doors of his Manor, panting, and in a whirl of dark coloured hair and brightly colours clothes, both Pansy and Blaise had thrown themselves onto him, holding him tight.

“Guys, guys, let go!” Draco said urgently as he tried to push them off. He eyed Blaise suspiciously. “Since when do you hug?”

“Mate, your dad just returned from Merlin knows where bleeding and off his nut. I think you deserve a hug.”

Again, he felt a tightening in his chest as he remembered the letter, and marched down the halls. “Which room are they in? Theirs?”

“Yes,” said Pansy breathlessly, as they all rounded a corner.

Draco was walking so quickly, that when it came to turn into the appointed doorway, his shoulder slammed hard into the doorframe. “Mum?” he asked, running in.

Narcissa was sitting on a chair next to her and his father’s bed. She had a wet cloth and was dabbing a sickeningly pale Lucius’ forehead with some sort of green stuff, her eyes were shining with tears as she smoothed over his hair with the other, Lucius mumbling under his breath things Draco couldn’t catch.

“Is… is he going to be okay?” Draco asked timidly, looking between the Healer at the foot of the bed, making notes on her clipboard, and his mother, whispering reassurances to her husband.

“For now,” the Healer answered, looking up.

“Where – where was he found? Do w-we know what happened?” Draco was vaguely aware of Pansy’s hand on his shoulder and Blaise’s on his arm, a gesture of comfort.    

“He was found in Hogsmeade,” she explained, “not far from the Shrieking Shack. He was bleeding and shaking but no serious injury was found. We don’t know what happened exactly, but we can conclude a sort of Memory Charm has been used against him. I’ve tried questioning him numerous of times and just get nonsense.”

Draco fell to his knees beside his mother, blinking against the prickling of his eyes.

“What he needs now,” said the Healer softly, “is rest and plenty of water. If he’s not a little sharper in the morning, I’ve asked your mother to send us an owl and one of my co-workers will be over right away. Don’t stress yourselves out too much, you’re doing all you can for him.” She went to the door. “I’ll show myself out, good day.”

“Mum –” Draco started, not paying the Healer a second glance.

“Shh, honey, he’ll be fine,” she said without looking away from Lucius. “I’m just so thankful no worse harm was done.”

“You don’t think they Obliviated him, do you?” asked Pansy worriedly.

“No,” said his mother certainly. “No, he knows who he is.”

Lucius suddenly gave a great jerk, his face damp and sweaty as his eyes continued to droop and then focus again. He met Draco’s near identical eyes and said hoarsely, “D-Draco…”

“Yes?” he asked instantly, getting to his feet. “What – what is it?”

“Grass,” he whispered. “Black… grass.”  

“What?” he asked again, trying to make sense of it all.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Narcissa said, reaching out to pet his back. “Like the Healer said, he’s been talking gibberish since he regained consciousness.”    

“Mother,” Draco said, watching his mother as she kissed his father’s cheek. “I’m sorry about the ball. I set an owl to you with my apology, but I think you deserve one in person too.”

For the first time since he arrived, she met his eyes. “I don’t know what happened back there, frankly I don’t think I want to know, but it’s okay. I was angry at first. Now, I realise how much we’re expecting of you and…” She looked for the words, and said again, as if the two words explained everything, “It’s okay.”

“And Natalie and Ophelia?”

“I talked to them afterwards when you stormed out and told them you were under a lot of pressure. Natalie wasn’t impressed, but Ophelia eased it all over with her.” She chuckled lightly. “If anyone can change Natalie Hopkins’ mind, it’s her daughter.”

Draco sighed and leant further into Pansy’s comforting touch. So things were smoothed over with the Hopkins’. He hadn’t messed up. He was still eligible to marry Ophelia. Nothing had changed.

There was a part of him that wished things had changed.

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Next chapter; she gets ready to leave for the Weasley's house. 

“You’ve been following me ever since breakfast and you’ve been doing everything in your power to annoy me, more so than usual, so what…” Her eyes grew wide.

Draco frowned at the look on her face. “What?”

“Unless,” she started slowly, her theory unravelling, “you’ve been prolonging my being here because you don’t want me to go…”

He scoffed. “That is ridiculous.”

 ~

The story has pretty good timing, hey? It's nearly Christmas there, it's nearly Christmas here ;D