Chapter Three
Christmas Day
Part Two
"For gods sakes breathe!"
Dizzy... Cold... So cold... Sick... Blue... Wet... Freezing... Pain on her chest... Pushing air into her lungs... Bruising her ribs... She wished for it all to stop...
"Not you... Not now. Damn it!"
Hermione tried to focus, but the blackness held the promise of painless serenity. It tempted her, and she wanted to go, but no, she couldn't. Without a reason why, she knew she had to stay.
Focus, Hermione. What happened? Oh, she fell through the ice. Malfoy tried to save her, proof in the barely felt the sting in her arm where his nails scraped. He tried to save her... But why? Why did she fall?
"Please! Don't be impossible now!"
He wanted her to redeem his name. She was used. Malfoy used her. He was trying to save her only because he would be blamed for her death. Harry would convict him for it all, but that brought no comfort, because she knew better.
After all that he'd been through, the death of his parents, the things he'd seen in the war, the things he'd done, she was convinced that he was changed, even if in the smallest amount. He grew a backbone, doing what he wanted to do. He was no longer that scared boy staring up at the moon wishing more than anything that he was on it. No, he was the man, who confessed his wrong-doings, who apologized, and blamed himself. He was the man that was bent upon winning her over.
Hermione never needed to be persuaded of his change. She saw it years ago, and she was seeing again. It took a fool not to see it.
"Hermione," he cried. "Come back."
The water pushed up and flooded out of her mouth, washing over her pale cheeks. She felt burning hot hands roll her to her side as she emptied it all. It was like fire, her lungs heaving with excess effort, her nose passage raw. The dress was glued to every small curve she had and although that fact remained in the back of her mind along with the worry of what he was seeing, it was far from her more realistic worries. Like nearly dying.
"That's it," Malfoy sighed, "good. Thank God."
"Do you even believe in God, Malfoy," she asked irritably, her throat cracking and she grimaced.
"For once, Granger, shut up," he spat, removing his jacket and wrapping her in it, the warmth slowly thawing her. His arms slid beneath her legs and back and he lifted her.
She closed her eyes before he disapparated them, and the sudden heat that caressed her skin told her that they were inside of the mansion. She wanted to go home, to her bed, to heal herself without help. However, that was not going to happen, and she didn't have the energy to argue with him about it.
There was little bounce in his step, and the swimming of everything made it hard to concentrate but she knew that she was being moved for she was descended onto the couch. She was soaked and had to be soaking it as well.
"I'm wet," she informed him, assuming that the damage to his couch would anger him later.
"Gee, Granger, I would've never guessed when you fell into the pond that you'd come out wet. I don't remember you being this incorrigible." His voice flitted in and out, as if he was moving.
"Ferret," she wheezed the epitaph.
"I told you to shut it. I'm going to get you to St. Mungos."
"No, please." She opened her eyes and saw him pointing his wand at her, and the next instant her dress and bushy hair was dry. She no longer felt exposed, but she continued to feel like a downright mess. It was one thing to not pretty herself up every day like most women did, it was another to feel horrid. Akin to one having the flu.
Beside the couch he bent to a pile of blankets in a basket and began laying them over her. They were all matching of thick indigo wool, the heat suddenly coming back to her and she noted that there was a new fire roaring in the hearth.
"That's another step," he muttered out of the blue.
"What are you going on about?"
"You didn't flinch when I pointed my wand at you. Admit it, you trust me."
Talking was like nails in her throat, but she did anyway, not able to not retort. "It's logic, you would've hurt me already if that was your intention."
"Then what's the matter with you?"
"Wasn't I supposed to shut it?"
He narrowed his eyes and stood, banging through the swinging door. He came back minutes later with a steaming mug. He pushed it into her hands ruthlessly and demanded, "speak."
Hermione sat herself up taking a hesitant sip. The hot chocolate coated her throat, warming her from the inside out. "I'm not a dog," she reminded him.
"Right, dogs obey."
She glared at him, but decided to let it pass in payment of him saving her life. "Thank you."
"You'd think I'd let you die?"
"It's not like you haven't given it a go before." She thought of the Room of Requirement where curses were being shot off. The night that Crabbe died. "Sorry," she apologized under her breath.
He shook his head. "I'm the one that's sorry. Crabbe wouldn't have died if it wasn't for me. I used him and Goyle, their stupidity. Dumbledore wouldn't have died and your friend's brother wouldn't be scarred. I could've had a real chance."
Another sip, another rush of warmth. "What made you think you had a chance at all?"
"C'mon, you know I'm right. We'd be great together."
"I'm sorry too."
He bowed his head sadly, and her heart went out to him. For his misunderstanding.
"No, Malfoy – Draco." At his name he gazed up through his transparent lashes. "I'm sorry that I didn't do anything to help you. If I knew -"
"I wanted you?"
"If you didn't want the life that your parents gave you... And if you wanted me," she added. It didn't show – or maybe it did – but she tried to hide how badly she was trembling inside.
"Want you," he corrected, something that startled her, not because she was not used to being corrected (she wasn't), but because he still did want her. Wanting her in the first place was a shock, wanting her then, after their shaky Christmas, was almost insane.
Insane or not, she reached into the bosom of her dress and pulled out the chain that hung a silver crescent, the black etchings in Celtic design. "This is your present. Merry Christmas, Draco." She slipped it over his head, tracing the link to the crescent. "Your own moon."
Draco swallowed thickly, his adams apple bobbing. "You remembered that?"
"It was the only time you were nice to me..."
"Thought your memory was better than that. Remember at the Qudditch match, I told you to keep your bushy head down?"
"A warning."
"It was shameful then, how relieved I was to see you on the train."
"It's the past."
"So no more," he ordered, a spark emitting from him. "We're not going to feel bad about the past anymore. Are we agreed?"
"We're in agreement."
He took the mug from her placing it on the table. With his wand in hand he hung it over them, and out of the tip grew a mistletoe. "Make it official?"
She giggled. "Really?" She became serious as he hadn't moved it away. "Are you sure about this? Don't let it be the holiday season -"
"It's not the season, Hermione, will you stop agonizing over every little thing and give yourself over to someone -"
She kissed him in interruption, pressing her lips hard against his. It wasn't expected, the shock that it gave her. What the blankets, fire, and hot chocolate couldn't do, the kiss did, and suddenly, she was in flames, the clatter of the wand falling to the floor disregarded.
He twined their fingers bringing her arms around his neck, pushing her into the couch. Soft lips brushed hers, the scent of musk surrounding her, tasting mint inside of her. She couldn't get enough of it. It was too good and she couldn't believe it was coming from Draco.
When it became absolutely necessary to take a breath, the first thing that he pronounced was a promise, "I'll be good to you, I swear. You'll never want. You'll never spend another Christmas alone – even if it's what you want." He wiped her hair from her face and kissed both of her lids.
It would have been the perfect end to a semi-perfect day, but over his shoulder she saw out the window, the lightly falling snow. Her heart leapt in joy.
"Draco! It's snowing!"
He looked out the window too, and grinned. "It is." He helped her off the couch, his arm looped around her waist, partly to help her, partly in final claim. There was a pride about him, showing his congenital swagger. Yet it was genuine happiness.
Hermione peered up at the leaden sky, a precise match to his eyes. She watched him, the flakes clinging to his hair. There was a slight smirk, lost in his train of thought.
She was lost in her own pondering of the kiss, the snow, the real magic that was the holiday. It was unnatural, that an old enemy would give her everything that she had been wanting and more. In the same sense, it wasn't all that unnatural, because rather they clued each other in or not, they both were aware of who the other was.
With no more consideration of how they came to be she gently she pulled him down by the collar of his dress shirt, meeting their lips again, for what would be once out of a million times.
Miracles did happen, and as any logical person would have reasoned, she had proof. He was her miracle.
A/N: Merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone! I hope this short and simple Christmas story is satisfactory.