The Room of Requirement was warm, the fire crackling softly in the corner as Draco focused on the cabinet, his wand moving in practised motions. He muttered spells under his breath, testing the hinges, the internal space, the enchantments—anything that might signal their work was done.
Hermione, meanwhile, lay on her stomach on the large bed, sorting through the letters she had received over the last few days.
A few were from her parents—short, sweet updates about their holiday plans, filled with well-meaning comments about missing her and hoping she was staying warm. The usual. A couple of photos of them enjoying their vacation.
She tossed them aside and opened another letter. This one was from Ginny.
Hermione,
I am going to kill you for staying at Hogwarts and leaving me to handle these two on my own. Harry won't shut up about Malfoy being up to something and Snape helping him.
Don't tell him I'm telling you—I'm not supposed to know, but I overheard them talking with Lupin. Fred and George keep teasing Ron about Lavender. I'm sure you'd be enjoying it.
Dean is starting to get on my nerves. He won't stop owling!
I heard from Blaise that Malfoy stayed at Hogwarts too? Get back to me.
Love, Ginny
Hermione smiled softly, rolling her eyes, though she found herself wondering why Blaise was talking to Ginny.
"Love letter?" Draco drawled, glancing back at her.
Hermione rolled her eyes, folding the letter with deliberate slowness before setting it aside. "Hardly," she said, propping herself up on her elbows. "Ginny's just giving me updates from the outside world."
Draco turned back to the cabinet, but she caught the way his lips twitched, like he was fighting a smirk. "Let me guess—Potter's still obsessing over me?"
"Obviously," Hermione replied, rolling onto her back and staring up at the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the darkening sky outside. "He thinks you're up to something."
Draco hummed, unfazed. "Well, I am, aren't I? Converting you to the dark side, I'm sure."
Hermione chuckled softly. "Blaise told her you're here. Any idea why they're talking?"
"Blaise knows how to charm a bird, Granger."
She snorted. "Ginny's with Dean, remember?"
"Doesn't mean she can't be charmed."
Hermione sighed and grabbed another letter, ripping it open.
She blinked, taken aback. Theo had owled.
Hermione,
Tell me you're with Draco so I can give Daphne some gossip and she'll talk to me again.
Empty castle, you and Draco alone—something. Anything. I beg of you.
Theo
Hermione ripped the letter and tossed it into the fire. "Theo's starting trouble again."
Draco snorted. "What's he done now?"
"Didn't say. Just that Daphne won't talk to him. Asked for gossip." She reached into the tin and grabbed a biscuit—Draco had brought them when they'd met up that morning.
She tried not to let herself think too much about the night before. Any time she let her mind stray that far, she felt that familiar pulse low in her belly, accompanied by the flush that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her face.
"Theo's an idiot," Draco said.
"Oh, I know." She chuckled. "How's the cabinet coming?"
Sighing, Draco walked over to her and sat down, taking a biscuit from the tin. "It doesn't look broken anymore. We just need to test it. See if it works."
Hermione nodded, her gaze flicking to the cabinet. As much as she wanted to fix it, a part of her was worried about what would happen if they did. She was nearly caught up on Potions, which meant she wouldn't need Draco's help anymore, and if the cabinet was fixed—well, she didn't want things to go back to normal.
"If it doesn't work, we'll at least know what else needs doing," Draco said.
"Hypothetically," Hermione said. "For all we know, it might not work, and we still won't know how to fix it. We won't even be able to tell if whatever we send through ends up stuck in limbo."
"I'll owl Borgin and Burkes. Tell them we're sending something through—a bird, a cat—they'll let us know if it arrives."
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, looking at him. What if it did work?
"Maybe something without any vital organs," she said softly. "A quill, or—or a book."
Draco raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "A book? You want to risk a book? What if it gets stuck halfway between here and Borgin and Burkes? It'll be ruined."
"Better than a bloody cat," she scoffed, eyes softening.
"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave."
Hermione swallowed thickly, rolling onto her back with a slow exhale. She didn't feel very brave right now.
Draco looked down at her, smiling slightly when he noticed the familiar crease between her brows. "You always get that wrinkle when I'm talking," he pointed out.
"Sod off, Draco," she muttered, though there was no real malice in it.
Draco's smile widened, his amusement plain as he lay down beside her on the bed. "You're cute when you're annoyed," he said, almost too casually—and something in his tone made Hermione pause. "Look, I have to owl the shop. They won't respond until the day after tomorrow; they're closed for the holiday. So don't worry so much."
Hermione let out a soft sigh, her fingers tapping against her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. "You want to finally tell me what all this is for?"
Draco closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing against the cold chill that crept down his spine. "Granger—"
"Draco."
His lips twitched. "You can always walk out. Forget all of this."
Hermione's tapping stopped. She sat up and turned to face him. "You really think I'd just walk out on you?" she asked.
Draco swallowed thickly. It would be for the best—keep her away from all of it. He opened his eyes and met hers. "Just think you should have the option."
"After all the work I've put in?" Her voice fought to stay playful. "I'm not going anywhere until I see if that thing works."
Draco grabbed another biscuit, broke it in two, and held one out to Hermione. "Fair enough."
She took her half, raising an eyebrow. "No witty remark about my Gryffindor loyalty?"
He shrugged. "Not when it's aimed at me."
Huffing, Hermione pushed him lightly and moved off the bed as she ate. "Well, if we can't test it today, we may as well go do something. No point in wasting the day away."
Draco tilted his head, watching her. "Do something, huh?" He raised an eyebrow, tone teasing. "What exactly did you have in mind, Granger?"
"Hogsmeade. I need to send out some gifts."
As the pair walked through the crowded village, Draco wished he had stayed back at the castle. There were too many people doing last-minute holiday shopping, all pushing and shoving to get into the shops before they closed.
"Remind me who we're shopping for?" Draco asked as they wandered through Spintwitches Sporting Needs.
Hermione glanced over at him. "Well, to be painfully honest, I completely forgot to get anyone gifts. I need something for Harry, Ron, Ginny... I'll probably send something small to the rest of the Weasleys." She paused. "I assume you've already bought everyone in your life their gifts?"
Draco's eyes widened. He cursed under his breath, kicking his foot against the wall. "I forgot to get my mother a gift."
"Then it's a good thing we're here." Hermione picked up a Holyhead Harpies jumper for Ginny and a tin of quality broom polish for Harry. "Ginny and Harry will love these. I'll check out and then we can find something for your mother."
Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the Gryffindor girl darted off to pay. He stepped out of the shop and looked around the village, thinking. He could buy his mother a bottle of wine—she'd enjoy that—but he ought to get her something more. He should probably get Pansy a gift too, to make up for the mess he'd made of things.
He wandered through the street, browsing windows as he thought. As he neared a jewellery shop, he stepped inside, nodding at the attendant before scanning the display cases for anything that caught his eye.
Once she'd paid, Hermione stepped out of the shop and looked around for Draco. She walked along the street, peering through windows, and smiled to herself when she spotted him leaning over a display case inside a jewellery shop. She stepped inside, smiling at the attendant before making her way over to him.
"Find anything?" she asked.
Draco looked up, startled for a moment, before his expression softened as she approached. "I'm going to send Mother a bottle of wine, but I thought she'd like a piece of jewellery as well."
Hermione hummed and began walking around the cases, Draco doing the same.
He paused before a rather ostentatious necklace. It was certainly something his mother would wear—probably something his father would have chosen for her. For some reason, that made him want to get her something entirely different.
Hermione was on the other side of the shop, admiring the pieces around her, entirely unaware of Draco's inner conflict.
Draco's fingers hovered over the glass, tracing the delicate, intricate setting of the necklace, his mind turning. He could picture his mother wearing it—the way her eyes would light up as she clasped it around her neck, the pride on his father's face as he presented it. But something about it felt wrong.
He looked up. His eyes found Hermione before he'd quite decided to look for her—completely unaware of him, the way her face lit up whenever she found something she liked a little too much, the way she bit her lip.
He crossed the shop and leaned over her shoulder to see what had caught her attention.
Hermione didn't notice Draco approaching until she felt his presence beside her—his breath almost grazing her ear as he leaned in.
"What's caught your attention, Granger?" he asked, his voice close enough that she could feel the warmth of it against her skin.
She closed her eyes for just a moment. His presence was almost overwhelming in the quiet of the shop—the heat of his body a stark contrast to the chill still clinging to her from outside.
"Nothing," she said simply. "Just looking."
Draco hummed. "Looking at what?"
Hermione huffed, tilting her head slightly to catch a glimpse of him without turning fully. "The necklace," she admitted, knowing he wouldn't let it go.
Draco followed her gaze to the necklace she'd been studying. It was, surprisingly, not simple. He'd assumed she'd be drawn to something plain—a fine gold or silver chain. But no. Hermione Granger was looking at a diamond tennis necklace.
He raised an eyebrow, glancing between her and the piece. "Didn't peg you for the flashy type, Granger," he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips.
She scoffed. "I was just... admiring it. Keeping busy. It's not as though I'd actually wear it."
"Why not?" He glanced over at the attendant and raised a hand to summon her over without a word.
Hermione hadn't noticed the woman approaching until she heard her voice.
"See something you like, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, her tone warm and professional.
Hermione's head snapped up.
Draco ignored Hermione's reaction entirely. "She'd like to try it on," he told the attendant, nodding at the necklace.
Hermione turned on him. "I would not," she hissed, immediately wishing she hadn't turned around. Why was he standing so close?
"Just admit you like it and try it on," he hissed back. "It'll give me a sense of what to get my mother." He was lying, and he knew it.
The attendant, ever the professional, was already unlocking the case and lifting the necklace out with gloved hands. "It's an exquisite piece," she said. "Shall I help you put it on?"
"I've got it," Draco said before Hermione could respond, extending his hand.
The attendant passed it over without protest. Draco stepped back slightly and gave Hermione a look that said: turn around.
She opened her mouth to object but shut it again. The sensible part of her mind insisted this was unnecessary—utterly ridiculous, even. But a quieter, equally insistent part was curious. She huffed and turned, facing a mirror the attendant had conjured.
Through the glass, she watched as Draco stepped up behind her, tilting his head slightly before sweeping her hair to one side. His fingers brushed against her skin as he slid the necklace into place and fastened the clasp.
Hermione swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact. His fingers at the back of her neck, the warmth of his breath near her ear, the way he stood just a little too close—as though he was caging her in, though she knew she could step away at any moment.
She just... didn't.
Draco, for his part, had gone unusually quiet. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, the way the light caught the diamonds, the way he wanted to press his lips to her skin and find out if she tasted half as good as she looked.
Then he looked up, and their eyes met in the mirror.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
Hermione took a shaky breath. "Since when do you care what I like?" she asked with a breathless laugh.
"I don't," he answered, a little too quickly. "I just find it interesting that Little-Miss-Practical has expensive taste."
"It's not as though I was planning to buy it," Hermione whispered.
Draco nodded. "Shame. It suits you." He reached up and unclasped the necklace, stepping back to return it to the attendant.
"Shouldn't you be picking something out for your mother?" Hermione huffed.
Draco shrugged. "You're right. I'll take those earrings—the sapphire ones," he said to the attendant.
The woman selected them from the case, placed them in a small box, and began gift-wrapping them.
Draco glanced back at Hermione, watching the way her fingers absently drifted to her neck, touching the place where the necklace had rested.
"I'll be back in a moment," he said. "Going to pay."
Hermione gave him a small nod. "Right. I'll be outside."
She walked out of the shop with no idea that, behind her, Draco was already making a decision.
"I'll take that one as well," he said, nodding at the necklace.
---
Hermione sat at breakfast the next morning, the Christmas cheer clear in the air even with so few students remaining in the castle. It was odd—Draco hadn't appeared yet to join her, and she was nearly finished eating.
On a sudden impulse, she pushed her plate aside, stood up, and walked out of the Great Hall. She moved through the corridors, searching.
She passed the familiar portraits, most of them still and peaceful, a few nodding in acknowledgement as she went by. She turned a corner and found Draco sitting on a windowsill, gazing out at the grounds.
"Is this why you stood me up?" she teased.
Draco looked over and rolled his eyes. "Stand you up? I didn't realise we had plans."
She huffed, walking over and taking a seat across from him. "Please. You've been turning up at my breakfast for the last few days—what makes today different?"
Draco smirked, his eyes still on the view outside as he leaned back against the window frame. "I was enjoying the quiet."
"Not a fan of Christmas music?"
Draco watched the snow fall. "Not particularly. I suppose I just feel... off today."
"Off?" she asked.
"It's stupid. If I were at home right now, I'd be getting ready for our annual Christmas party. Pansy would probably already be over, complaining about something. Mother would be telling me to hurry up."
Hermione nodded. "Sounds like you miss the chaos."
Draco let out a quiet sigh, his eyes distant as he watched the snowflakes drift down over the grounds. "Half the time I hate it, the other half I love it. It's complicated."
"I miss the chaos too, sometimes," she admitted. "The Burrow is usually hectic—Molly cooking, Fred and George pranking everyone, Ginny somehow roping everyone into a Quidditch match before it's even breakfast. And here you are, sitting on a windowsill in the quiet."
She nudged his leg lightly with her foot. "The quiet isn't so bad, though."
Draco grabbed her by the ankle, finally giving her his full attention. He raised an eyebrow at her.
She froze, her eyes dropping to where his hand held her. "You've got to stop grabbing me, Malfoy."
"Then stop kicking me."
Hermione huffed, shifting in her seat but not bothering to pull her leg free. His grip wasn't tight—just firm enough to be irritating, like a dare.
"I barely nudged you," she protested.
He hummed. "That's how it always starts."
She rolled her eyes. "Let go of my leg and we can go do something."
"Something?"
"It's snowing. We can build snowmen, go ice skating—pick your poison." She scoffed.
Pick his poison he did.
---
It was hours later when they finally came back inside—their clothes wet from the snow, cheeks flushed from the cold, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath.
Hermione had practically dragged him from activity to activity. Any time she sensed even a hint of homesickness coming over him, she had found a new way to keep him occupied. From snowmen to snow angels, ice skating to sledging—there hadn't been a dull moment in the six hours she'd had him out in the cold.
Draco would never admit it—not even under threat of Veritaserum—but he'd genuinely enjoyed himself. He'd spent half the time complaining and the other half plotting revenge on Hermione for dragging him through the snow like an overexcited child, but there was something about the way she laughed—breathless and bright-eyed—that made it impossible to truly hate any of it.
They made their way to the Room of Requirement—it was nearly instinct now—Hermione in the middle of recounting a skiing holiday with her parents as they walked in.
She pulled off her scarf, tossed it aside, and ran a hand through her tangled curls, damp from slowly melting snow.
"Six hours, Granger. Six bloody hours of childish nonsense," Draco muttered as he shrugged off his coat and threw it onto the couch.
Hermione was grinning, completely unbothered, as she sat down. "You could have left at any time," she pointed out, wrestling off her boots with a soft groan.
Draco rolled his eyes. He couldn't exactly argue. He had stayed. More than that—he'd enjoyed it.
"Clearly, I've lost my mind," he said.
"Clearly." Her smile somehow kept growing. She stood with a stretch. "I need a shower. A hot one."
A few feet away, a door appeared in the wall and swung open, steam already curling out from the running shower.
Draco shook his head. "The room agrees."
Hermione grabbed a towel from the neat stack that had materialised. "For once, the room is on my side." She laughed, hurrying toward the bathroom.
Sighing, Draco lay back on the couch and rubbed a hand over his face. His clothes were still damp and cold against his skin, his hair falling into his eyes, but he found he didn't particularly mind.
His mind was too caught up in the memory of her laughter—the way she'd looked with snowflakes tangled in her curls, cheeks flushed from cold and exhilaration.
It was ridiculous, how easily she had managed to pull him out of his usual brooding and into the sheer chaos of her energy. How she had made him forget, even for just a little while, the weight of everything else.
The sound of running water filled the room, and Draco let his head fall back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling.
Hermione wasn't long—she just wanted to warm up. The room had thoughtfully provided fuzzy socks and slippers, a long-sleeved top, and pyjama shorts for her to change into.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, her hair was no longer a frizzy, tangled mess. Her curls were damp, and her skin was warm and pink.
Draco barely spared her a glance as she walked back in, though he did note the colour in her cheeks—not from the cold this time, but from the heat of the shower.
"You do realise you're going to get ill if you stay in those, don't you?" she asked, dropping onto the couch and tucking her legs beneath her.
Draco smiled lazily, cracking one eye open. "Worried about me, Granger?"
"Hardly. I just don't want to deal with you being sick," she said, towelling off the ends of her hair. "Your turn."
Draco sighed and pushed himself upright. His limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, but the promise of warmth was enough to make him move. "If I'm not out in half an hour, assume I've drowned. I hear it runs in the family."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ever the dramatic."
With a last eye-roll, Draco disappeared into the bathroom.
Sighing softly, Hermione sank back into the sofa cushions and stretched out the way Crookshanks would after a long nap.
It was strange. In distracting Draco from his homesickness, she'd found it easier to distract herself. She hadn't thought about the Weasleys or her own parents once all day.
And she hadn't minded. She grabbed a chunky blanket the room had provided and wrapped it around herself as she curled into the warmth. The tiredness settling into her limbs wasn't unpleasant—it was the kind that followed a long day of laughter, the kind that left her feeling warm and content.
By the time Draco emerged—hair damp, wearing a set of fresh clothes the room had seen fit to provide—grey sweatpants. Draco Malfoy was actually in grey sweatpants—Hermione had all but melted into the couch.
"You look like you're about to pass out," he chuckled, walking over to the counter and opening the drawer. Inside, the room had provided exactly what he needed—chocolate and a jug of, thankfully cool, milk.
She hummed and sat up. "It was a long day."
"And whose fault is that?" He flicked his wand to warm the milk and stir in the chocolate, the rich scent of cocoa and cinnamon soon filling the air.
Hermione sighed in contentment, stretching slightly beneath her blanket.
Draco glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, watching the way she shifted in the firelight. There was something oddly domestic about the scene—the two of them alone in the Room of Requirement, warm and sheltered from the cold outside.
He carried two mugs over, held one out to her, and sat down.
"Last night you made me biscuits, tonight it's hot cocoa—what's next? My laundry?" Hermione murmured into her mug.
Draco didn't respond. If he was honest, he didn't know how to. He'd enjoyed it—making the biscuits while they talked, making her this without being asked, after seeing how comfortably she'd settled into her blanket. He'd probably end up doing her laundry too, if it came to it.
"You know," Hermione said after a moment, her voice soft, "you weren't bad at ice skating by the end."
Draco laughed. "I was barely holding on for dear life."
"Barely. That's still an improvement from the beginning."
"I still maintain that sledging was an unnecessary hazard."
Hermione laughed. "You said you'd never done it before. I had to show you."
Draco took a slow sip of his hot chocolate, the warmth settling in his chest as he watched Hermione lean back into the cushions with a satisfied sigh, eyes briefly closing as she savoured the drink. "Right. You just had to take my sledging virginity, didn't you?"
"Don't be crude. You loved it."
"I was humouring you."
"Of course you were," she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "You screamed."
"I did not scream."
"It was a very undignified sound from a Malfoy."
Draco groaned. "I nearly broke my neck."
"I only wish we'd done this sooner. I would've bought you a sledge as your gift instead of—" Her eyes widened. She'd said too much.
Draco raised his eyebrows. "You got me a gift?"
"I didn't say that."
"You practically did."
Hermione quickly took a long sip of hot chocolate, but Draco was already leaning in with a knowing smirk.
"I'm fairly certain I heard: 'I would've bought you a sledge as your gift,'" he said, eyes glinting with amusement. "So you actually got me something?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed and she groaned, sinking back into the couch. "Fine. I did. It's nothing though—please don't make it a thing." She was already on her feet, crossing to her bag.
Draco sat up, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse. "I'm shocked, Granger."
"Stop talking or you won't get it," Hermione huffed, returning with a box.
Draco took it with a grin. "Well, not to make this moment any more sentimental..." He pointed his wand and murmured an Accio. A small, gift-wrapped package sailed into his hand and he held it out to her. "Don't make it a big deal."
Hermione stared at it. "Great minds think alike."
Draco rolled his eyes and opened his box. He laughed, pulling out a book. "Really, Granger?"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, let me explain—"
"You got me a book—no, two books." He pulled out the second. "Are we sure this isn't a gift for yourself?"
"They're Muggle," she said. "The first one is Little Women—I was telling you about it the other day. The other is another Muggle classic, Pride and Prejudice."
Draco turned them over in his hands. "I have to say, Granger, I've never been gifted a Muggle book. Let alone two."
"You don't have to read them, I just—"
"Don't tell me what to do with my gift. Open yours." He nodded at her, and she ripped the wrapping away with unabashed enthusiasm—because it was Christmas, after all.
In her hands lay a book titled The Flap of the Cape by Abigail R. Cankus.
She looked up at Draco, raising an eyebrow. "A book about capes?" she asked, slightly confused.
He chuckled. "It's fiction—I'm not commenting on your wardrobe. First published in the twenties. I thought you probably hadn't read much wizarding fiction." He paused. "Something that wasn't written by Muggles."
Hermione ran her fingers across the cover. Most people defaulted to giving her books, but the thought behind his choice—the reasoning—made her chest warm in a way she hadn't expected.
"Thank you, Draco," she smiled.
"You're welcome, Granger," he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes, though the corners of his lips tugged upward in spite of himself. "I'd look in the box again if I were you."
Hermione frowned but did as he said, leaning forward to peer inside. She laughed the moment she saw it, pulling out a small green dragon plushie.
She held it up, her laughter bubbling over. "A dragon?" she asked.
The little green dragon was surprisingly well-crafted, its wings slightly outstretched and fluttering with some minor enchantment, its wide eyes staring up at her with a mischievous look.
Draco, aiming for aloof, shrugged. "Just a small something. Something to keep you company while you read." He was very clearly fighting back a smile—and not succeeding, given the pink creeping into his face.
Hermione couldn't stop grinning as she turned the plushie over in her hands, tracing the soft fabric. It was absurdly endearing, and the fact that Draco Malfoy had picked it out made it even better.
"Does it have a name?" Hermione teased.
Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. "Do I look like someone who names stuffed animals?"
"You don't look like someone who would give me one, either," Hermione pointed out.
"Well. It doesn't have a name. I'm sure you'll come up with something ridiculous, like Mister Scales or Snuggles."
"As if I'd be so unoriginal." Hermione feigned offence. "Ferret," she decided.
Draco choked on his sip of hot chocolate, coughing as he shot her a scandalised glare. "Ferret?!"
Hermione grinned wickedly, clutching the plushie to her chest. "It fits, don't you think? Small. A little mischievous. But ultimately very soft and endearing." She smirked, tilting her head at him. "Rather like you, actually."
Draco groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I take it back. Hand it over—I'm confiscating the dragon."
"Absolutely not." Hermione hugged it fiercely. "This is my dragon now. You have no say whatsoever. His name is Ferret."
"His?"
"Yes, his. Do you have a problem with that?"
Draco huffed. "I regret this immediately."