“Come on Hermione, you know you can come with us to Romania.” Ginny urged Hermione as she stuffed the trunk on her bed. Hermione’s eyes never moved from the book in her lap, as she listened to her fiery-friend beg her to come home for the holidays. Home. It was funny how that word had changed its meaning so many times in her seven and a half years at school. Her parents were her home, Hogwarts was her home, the Weasley's house was her home. Yet, none of those felt right now, either.
She hadn’t been able to reverse the spell on her parents, so they were still in Australia, unaware that they had a daughter out in the world. She couldn’t call them her ‘home’ anymore. The final battle changed Hogwarts and Hermione. Never would she be able to walk the grounds without reliving the lives that were lost where she stood. Hogwarts no longer felt like home. And then there was the Weasley’s. Grief and loss had a funny way of changing people, and while they would always be her family, this was the first Christmas without Fred and she knew they needed to grieve privately. So right now, she couldn’t consider the Weasley’s home either.
“No, Ginny. It’s okay. I don’t mind staying here. I’ve got a lot I want to work on. It will be nice to have the grounds empty.” This wasn’t a lie. Hermione had been excited to be able to walk around without first years whispering about her and her part in the downfall of Voldemort. If she heard something about the “Golden Trio” one more time, she couldn’t be responsible for what her wand would do.
“Suit yourself. But, when mum sends you a howler, it’s on you.” Hermione laughed, knowing full well that there would probably be a strongly worded post to her tomorrow from Mrs. Weasley.
“Have a good holiday, Gin.”
“You too. Merry Christmas!” And with that, Ginny was off and Hermione was left alone in the original girls dormitory.
There was one thing Hermione appreciated about the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall had seen to it that returning seventh years would have their own common room and dorms to the East of the castle. She assumed they would need space away from the younger students and their pestering questions. She had been right. Only a handful of seventh years had returned. Most had decided to take the Ministry up on their offer of an honorary degree and start their careers. Harry and Ron were prime examples, neither wanted to come back and had instead moved forward with Auror training.
Most of the returnees weren’t a shock to Hermione, aside from one. Draco Malfoy. She had been in the common room of the returning-seventh year tower when he entered. She was rendered speechless, to say the least. Draco had met her eyes only briefly before making his way to the male dorms, his trunk floating behind him. He had always made his hatred of Hogwarts obnoxiously known, so why had he come back when he had a free pass to never look back? A question she figured she would never know the answer to. How frustrating.
After Ginny had left, Hermione made her way back to her common room. She hoped she would have the whole place to herself. As far as she knew, everyone was going home for the holidays. Her hopes were soon shattered by the young man sitting on the couch in front of the fire. She stopped short as she entered the room, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.
“Granger.” Malfoy nodding at her, lifting a bottle of amber liquid to his lips. Hermione hadn’t initially noticed the glass in his hand. How did he get that? Alcohol was strictly off limits on campus. She thought better than to ask. They were of age now, after all.
“You’re not going home?” She asked,unwrapping her scarf and hanging it, along with her jacket on the rack by the entrance. The annoyance in her voice was obvious. She had really wanted to be left alone for a week or two.
Draco chuckled darkly, shaking his head in answer. Again, he took a slow sip from his tumbler.
“Shouldn’t you be at the Weasley’s, grooming each other for fleas?”
“They’re going to Romania this year, to visit Bill and Fleur. They had a little girl.” She explained, ignoring his insult. Draco nodded idly, as if he hadn’t paid much attention to her answer anyway.
Hermione made a move to leave towards her dorms when he finally spoke up.
“Want a drink?” She had barely heard him, his voice not much louder than the roar of the fire. She wasn’t used to this brooding Malfoy. Then again, she had spent little time anywhere near him since September. He kept to himself just as much as she seemed to.
Hermione moved around to the front of the couch, sitting on the floor across from him with her back to the fire. With a wave of his hand, a bottle and another glass appeared on the table between them.
“You know this is against the rules.” She said, despite reaching for the bottle.
“Oh yeah? I won’t tell if you don’t, Granger.” He smirked, and Hermione was given a quick glimpse at the Malfoy she knew and loathed.
Taking a quick swallow, Hermione choked as the warm liquid hit the back of her throat. That wasn’t Firewhiskey, or Butterbeer. Instead, it was a dark whisky. Good Merlin, that was strong.
“Muggle alcohol?” Hermione was shocked, assuming that everything muggle was considered less than the dirt under his shoe.
“It’s stronger. Muggles are more patient, it seems. They let their whiskey age, no spells to speed up the process.” Everything he said was short and to the point.
Hermione nodded, “Since when did you begin harboring this affection for muggles?” She made no effort to hide the sarcasm in her voice. She took a slower swallow of the whiskey, learning her lesson from before.
Draco eyed her, sneering slightly as she teased him. Since when the fuck did she address him that way? “Since firewhiskey stopped working.” He answered, leaning forward to pour himself another glass.
Stopped working? Hermione didn’t get the change to ask what he meant before he spoke up again.
“My turn.” He said, when he sat back against the leather.
“Well, you seem so keen on asking me questions. Figured I get a round too.”
Hermione hadn’t realized she had been asking questions, but she conceded.
“Okay.” Another swallow of whiskey, allowing the liquid to warm her from the inside out.
Draco hadn’t expected her to actually play along, nevertheless he took advantage of her agreement.
“Why didn’t you really go with the Weasley’s? Carrot Top break your heart?” He tried to hide his mirth behind his glass.
Hermione’s jaw tensed at the mention of her and Ron’s relationship. That was still a sore spot too. Not because he had broken her heart. Really, it had been the other way around. After the final battle, everything was just different. They weren’t the same people they used to be, and you just couldn’t make a square fit in a round hole. She had ended things over the summer, and while it had caused tension for a while, they seemed to finally be back on normal terms.
“It’s the first holiday since we lost Fred. I didn’t want to relive all that grief. They need this time together, anyway. And no, Ron didn’t break my heart. I ended things this summer.” She didn’t feel the need to elaborate beyond that.
Draco nodded along, knowing full well what she meant. This was his first holiday without his father. And while yes, he had been a bastard of a man, it was still different not having him home.
“So is it my turn now?” Hermione asked, after finishing off her glass.
“We’re making this a game, are we?” Draco asked, leaning forward and refilling her glass.
“Sure. Truth or Truth.” The one glass had already made Hermione a little more giddy. The girls used to play this late at night in the dorms. It was always when the best gossip was divulged, even though Hermione never really had a care for it. Still, she couldn’t deny it was interesting to listen in.
“The fuck is that?” Draco laughed, undoing the top two buttons of his white linen dress shirt. Hermione watched his fingers work to expose the skin along his neck and collar bone before answering.
“You know, like truth or dare? It’s a silly game. You get to ask someone a question and they have to answer honestly.” Another swallow of whiskey.
“And the dare?” He smirked. He knew of truth or dare, hell that’s how he had seen his first pair of breasts back in third year. He wondered if he could get a reenactment of that night?
“Oh, no. I don’t trust you with that. We’ll stick to truth.” Hermione could only imagine the embarrassing acts he would dare her to commit.
“Fine, you and that stick up your arse can have it your way. Ask away.” Draco waved passively, put out that he wouldn’t be able to dare the girl.
“Okay. Why are you staying here instead of going home for Christmas?” Hermione couldn’t tell if it was the fire or whiskey that was warming her body, but the heat caused her to remove her jumper, leaving her in a simple black t-shirt.
“Mom’s on holiday in France. Father snogged a dementor.” His voice had hardened, gone was the mirth from before. She made a note of this being a sore subject, something to not delve into now.
Hermione said nothing, opting instead to drink from her glass.
“Did you ever shag Weasel?” He was being bold, but he had had his share of whiskey and it was a question he had been dying to know the answer to since the Yule Ball.
Hermione gasped, appalled by his question. “Are you serious? We went from talking about the holidays to who I have shagged?.” She said, her palm splayed against her chest in shock.
“That’s not an answer, Granger.” He was a persistent little shit.
“No. I never slept with Ron, despite his efforts.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Hadn’t you ever wondered why he dated Lavender Brown?” Hermione felt odd speaking ill of the departed. But, Brown had been a bit of a hussy, offering it up to Ron when she had refused.
“Oh, I never wondered. She made her way through Slytherin before the moved on to your boy toy.” Draco couldn’t admit that he was glad to hear she hadn’t spoiled herself with Ron. What a waste it would have been.
“Who was your first?” Hermione asked, liquid courage coursing through her. The whisky had turned smooth now that she had acquired a buzz. Her second glass was finished quickly. Draco took that moment to refill both of their glasses.
“Astoria Greengrass. Third Year.” It had been a very good game of truth or dare.
“Shocked, really.” Hermione said sarcastically. Though she had to admit, she was thrilled to know it wasn’t Lavender. Hearing that Brown had made her way through Slytherin, she could only assume he had bedded her as well.
Draco chuckled, his eyes roaming over the witch across from him. The fire formed a golden halo around her curls; the shadows of the fire danced across her body, and it was enthralling. Truthfully Draco had momentarily lost himself in the vision of Hermione. The sound of the ice moving in Hermione’s glass snapped him out of his reverie, reminding him that it was his turn.
“What’s one place you’ve always wanted to be laid?” Draco asked, knowing his sexually charged questions were getting under her skin.
Hermione rolled her eyes, “In the stacks of the library, under the tree by the black lake, the room of requirement.” She listed a couple places, assuming she would surprise him by being so forthcoming.
Draco nodded, considering the areas she listed. The fact that the library had been her first mention wasn’t shocking at all, but it did cause his pants to tighten just enough to be uncomfortable. Damn the witch, and the whiskey.
“What do you actually think of muggle borns?” Hermione had turned the direction of their game, opting for a question she had been dying to know.
“My answer might shock you.” Draco warned.
“I dont give a rats arse about blood. I’ve seen purebloods and muggle borns alike bleed to death in front of me. There’s not a damn thing different in their blood.” His hand clutched the glass in his hand a little harder, living through the flashbacks of Lord Voldemort reigning over his house and executing people on his dining room table.
Hermione was silent, taking in his words.
“Told you so.” He raised his glass at her, taking another swallow of the warming alcohol. He had shocked her, indeed.
“What do you actually think of me, Hermione?” He asked, her name rolling off of his lips as if he had said it many times before.
“My answer might shock you.” She warned, playing off his words.
Draco fed into her line, “Go ahead. . .”
“I think you were an absolute fucking prat who lived to make my life hell.” Draco cringed, knowing where she was headed.
“I think you’ve changed, I think you have a lot of remorse for your part of the war. I also think you never wanted to do any of that. I think you’re scared to death because you finally are able to be who you want to be, instead of who your father bred you to be. I wonder if you even know who you want to be. I think you’re incredibly smart and talented, and I’m anxious to see who you become and the name you’re going to build for yourself.”
It was Draco’s turn to be struck into silence.
“Told you so.” Hermione took a swallow of her whiskey, suddenly wondering if he had laced it with veritaserum. Had the whiskey really loosened her lips that way?
Draco’s move to the floor next to her was gradual. He placed his glass on the table top as he moved beside her. Hermione watched him, her eyes locked on his as his situated himself. It was her turn now to ask a question, but the look in his eyes had silenced her. The last time she had been this close to him, he had left with a broken nose. Now though, hurting him was the furthest thought from her mind.
Finally, she spoke up. “What do you think of me?”
“I think you’ve driven me crazy for years. You’ve bested me in classes, despite your blood status. Which I know now doesn’t mean anything, but I was taught that it does. At the time, it really confused me. How could this mud-muggle born be better at magic than me? You challenge me, and terrify me. You’re strong, incredibly so. You’re a beautiful witch, Hermione.” As he spoke, gravity seemed to move them closer, leaning towards each other. His words were whispered between them, the air around them seeming to become charged.
Draco barely paused for a breath before asking his question.
“What is it that you want, Hermione?” He asked, his eyes searching hers. Their drinks were long forgotten, but Hermione was thankful for the courage it had bestowed upon her. Because now, she didn’t hesitate when pulling him closer and closing the distance between them.
Her mouth met his in a slow kiss which only deepened by his hand moving along her jaw, holding her against him. Hermione’s hands moved over his shoulders, and into the pale hair at the nape of his neck. With little force Draco moved her to his lap, allowing his hands to roam her back as their tongues met in a battle for dominance.
Hermione suddenly wanted to add a place to her list of fantasies. In front of the fire in an empty common room was enticing, as well. In fact, it was now at the top of her list.
All thoughts of the game were forgotten as they lost themselves in each other.
Hermione never did get to ask the question she had been wondering since September . . . Why had Draco Malfoy returned to Hogwarts?
Had she asked, his answer would have been simple.
