A/N: This is my entry for round 2 of the third season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition! I was supposed to write about an inter-house friendship, so I chose Draco and Hermione (big surprise, I know). My prompts were: (style) third person present tense, (word) mirror, and (occasion) Christmas. The word count is 2,876 (excluding the A/N). I hope you enjoy it!

Two determined, haggard young wizards face off in the eerie greyness of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom as water drips from the ceiling. The only sound to be heard is the heavy breathing of the enemies coupled with the sloshing of water as they move around with their wands outstretched, warily watching each other. Finally, the fair-haired one opens his mouth to spew a curse, but he is a fraction of a second too late as the Chosen One's reflexes, honed from years of Quidditch, prove to give him an advantage as he sends his own curse flying at the Slytherin.

"Cruci – "

"Sectumsempra!"

"All right," Hermione says to herself as she walks through the currently empty, silent hallway of the first floor of Hogwarts. "I just have to finish that Arithmancy paper, read the next chapter of the potions book, revise for Charms, and – ". She pauses as she hears some muffled shouting followed by a thud from the girls' lavatory.

What was that?

She bites her lip, wondering what could be going on in Myrtle's bathroom, of all places, then decides to go investigate. She pulls her 10 ¾ vine wood wand out and carefully steps through the entrance to the lavatory, dozens of offensive and defensive spells waiting on her tongue should she be confronted with danger. And then she sees him and lets out a startled gasp at the horrific sight of Malfoy with bright red blood marring his delicate white shirt as his skin is sliced to pieces, his alabaster face so pale that his skin is almost translucent. Horrified brown eyes stare as the Chosen One's schoolyard rival collapses to the ground, clutching frantically at his chest as blood spurts from his body.

"Harry!" she shrieks, sprinting towards the dark-haired wizard. "What did you do to Malfoy?!"

Harry looks at her, surprised, then breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of his bushy-haired best friend.

"He was going to Crucio me!" he exclaims, thoroughly rattled by his encounter with the Slytherin. "I panicked and used something I saw in my potions book."

"I told you to get rid of that book," she admonishes, brown eyes blazing. "This is just more proof that it's dangerous!"

He sighs deeply and runs a hand through his unruly hair. "I'm sorry, ok, 'Mione? I'll return it to the Room after this, I swear. But right now… holy mother of Merlin, is he even alive?" he wonders, staring at the weakening Malfoy, his heart hammering as Malfoy's heart begins to give out.

Splash. Splash. Splash.

Hermione sloshes through the cold water of the bathroom to the prone boy, and then kneels by his side and examines his wounds. Finally, she grimly points her wand at Malfoy's chest, evidently having figured out what to do to help the injured wizard.

"Vulnera sanenteur," she whispers in a song-like voice, gazing intently at Malfoy as the gashes covering his body slowly seal back together, and his breathing begins to steady. Harry lets out a sigh of relief and leans against one of the sinks while Hermione mutters spells under her breath, checking the rest of Malfoy's wounds. She's never liked the pale, sneering bully and probably never will, but the sight of Malfoy covered in all of that ruby red blood was disturbing, and she has too much compassion to leave him in such a state without at least attempting to help. She shakes herself slightly, trying to rid her mind of that haunting image, then glances up at the row of mirrors above the sinks and frowns when she sees the image of a figure standing by the doorway.

"Potter, what exactly are you doing in the girls' lavatory?" Hermione's head jerks towards the door in shock and Harry slowly turns around, his fists clenching involuntarily at the disdain dripping from Snape's voice.

"I was just -"

"Professor, Malfoy's hurt." Hermione's strong, level voice interrupts Harry's sure to be far-fetched excuse. "I've healed him as best as I can, but you should probably take him to see Madam Pomfrey for a blood replenishing potion."

Snape's eyes widen in alarm as he finally catches sight of his comatose, blood-covered godson lying in a heap on the floor, and he rushes towards Malfoy. "What have you done, Potter?" he shouts furiously, his worry for the younger wizard abating slightly when he sees that his breathing is steady and that due to Hermione's help, he is no longer bleeding himself dry.

"Malfoy was going to Crucio me, so I used a spell called 'Sectumsempra'," replies Harry, flatly.

"What did you say?" Snape's voice is equal parts disbelieving and horrified as he stares at Lily's son in shock.

"Malfoy was going to Crucio me so I used Sectum - hey, where are you…?"

Before Harry can finish his restatement of the events that transpired, Snape hurriedly scoops the Malfoy heir into his arms and rushes out of the bathroom in a flurry of fear and billowing black robes.

In the end, Snape decides against severely punishing Harry, for he does not want anyone to know about the dark spell that he himself created, and instead assigns the Boy Who Lived to several arduous weeks of detention.

"You should count yourself lucky that Snape didn't have you expelled," Hermione says to Harry in a severe voice as the two friends exit Gryffindor tower through the Fat Lady's portrait.

Harry sighs, wishing that Hermione would just stop bringing up the debacle. "I'm still paying for it, though," he mutters, dreading the upcoming weeks of sorting potions ingredients and polishing cauldrons.

"Yes, well, you shouldn't have used such terrible spell in the first place, and inside Hogwarts no less! Honestly, Harry, why can't you stop and think sometimes instead of blindly rushing into everything?"

"I have no idea," he answers truthfully, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, I'd better get to the potions room. Are you sure you want to visit Malfoy on your own? You could go back and ask Ron – well maybe not him – but someone, at least, to go with you."

"I'll be fine," she says lightly, adjusting the strap of her leather book bag. "Malfoy won't be able to hurt me, not in his state. Don't worry about me."

He sighs, then grimaces in acquiescence. "I guess I'll see you back in the Common Room, then."

"Of course," she replies, then sets off towards the Hospital Wing, deep in thought. A few minutes later, she steps through the doorway of the infirmary and greets Madam Pomfrey with a small smile.

"I hope everything's all right with your friends," the older witch says, looking carefully at Hermione, so used to seeing her with Harry and Ron that she is slightly more concerned about seeing the Muggleborn witch alone.

"I'm here to see Malfoy, actually," Hermione replies. "Is it all right for me to give him his homework?"

Madam Pomfrey pauses, curious as to why a Gryffindor would be here to see the injured Slytherin. Finally, she decides, "I suppose so. He's at the end of the room, by the window. Be sure to not overtire the poor boy about his lessons – he lost a lot of blood yesterday." The mediwitch then putters off to the storeroom, and Hermione quietly walks down the row of sterile white hospital beds until she reaches the last one, which is inhabited by none other than the one-time bouncing ferret. Pausing, she takes a deep, calming breath, then pushes open the curtain.

"Hey, Malfoy," she says, smiling stiffly.

"Granger?" Malfoy is surprised by her presence, his grey eyes wide open.

"I have some of your homework." She pulls out a stack of parchment from her bag, then places the notes and assignments on the table by his bed.

"Er, thanks," he replies, staring at her drawn face.

"So, uh, do you feel any better?" Hermione is not sure what to expect from the pureblood wizard – he hasn't cursed her yet, which means that he's not too annoyed by her, but that may be because he is still weak from yesterday's episode.

"Sort of," he says tersely, starting to get suspicious of Hermione's reason for visiting him.

"That's good," she nods, biting her lip. "Well, I guess I'll be going now." She looks down at the floor and turns to leave, feeling slightly embarrassed that she had bothered to check on him.

"Wait."

Hermione stops, then slowly turns around.

Malfoy sighs, running a hand through his pale, fine hair. "Snape told me what you did yesterday, and I… uh, I just wanted to… to, you know, to say..." He clenches his jaw, looking slightly ill, and then sighs again and mutters, "Thanks."

Hermione smiles, her dark eyes lighting up, and replies, "You're very welcome, Malfoy."

He doesn't quite smile back, no, it's more of a grimace accompanied by a slight softening of his mercury eyes, but it's a start, at least, and every friendship has to begin somewhere.

Tensions are always high during a war, and this cold, grey day is no exception.

Hermione moodily peruses maps of various parts of London, scribbling down notes about potential places for the Death Eaters to attack and which places are the most important to protect. She has just finished with the map of Diagon Alley when she hears raised voices in the entryway of 12 Grimmauld Place, the headquarters for the goings-on of the Order of the Phoenix. Grabbing her wand, she gets up from her chair by the fireplace and exits the library, hoping that the shouting does not mean that someone was hurt on a mission.

When she reaches the hallway, her eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected members of the group gathered by the door.

"You can't make him go back!" Snape is furious, holding a semi-unconscious, blood-spattered Draco Malfoy upright. "They'll kill him!"

"We can't let him stay here, though, until we've made sure that he's not a spy," Lupin says firmly, looking worriedly at the younger wizard.

Snape sighs deeply and glares at the werewolf. "Fine," he says, reluctantly. "But there will be no interrogations until he is well, do you hear me?"

Lupin nods, then motions for the others to make way for Snape to take Malfoy up to the make-shift infirmary. Hermione follows him, as she is the only Order member present that is skilled in healing, and wonders if this pattern to their interactions will always be the same. She sure hopes not, in any case.

Snape softly sets Malfoy on a vacant bed and turns to Hermione. "They tortured him when they found out he was planning on deserting. He was Crucio'd, among other things." He pauses, then adds, "Please… keep him safe for me."

Hermione is surprised, and not a little touched, by her former professor's obvious concern for his godson, and smiles gently. "Of course," she replies, and then he nods tersely and sweeps out of the room.

Grimacing at the sticky blood covering her patient, she first Scourgifies Malfoy, then sets about checking his vitals and cleaning up his wounds. After he is mostly clean again, and no longer in quite as much pain as before, she grabs a wooden chair and sits next to his bed, taking a short break before returning to her maps.

She has nearly dozed off when she hears a hoarse, "Granger?"

She blinks and stands up in alarm. "Malfoy! Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Can you breathe? Do you have a headache? Can you move anything? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I'm fine," he says, amused by her rapid-fire questions. "I feel sluggish, though."

She nods, relieved by his answer. "That's from the pain relieving potion. You're probably going to start hurting again when it wears off," she warns, peering closely at her former enemy. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm fine. Well, I am now, but I might be dead soon if your Order doesn't let me stay here."

She frowns at him. "Why did you decide to desert the Death Eaters, anyway?"

He looks away and doesn't say anything for a long while. Finally, when she has almost decided to just leave, he says, quietly, "I stopped believing in what they stood for a long time ago. My escape plans, however, were not very well made, and I got caught before I was able to leave."

"Oh." She doesn't press him for the details, but later, when the Order is about to vote on if they will let him stay, she quickly interrupts Moody's long-winded tirade with a firm "I believe that he is not a spy. The wounds they inflicted on him were potentially life-threatening, and… I trust him." She pauses, and then adds, "He passed the Veritaserum test, didn't he?"

And so, after the vote, the Order gains a new member and Hermione, a new friend, although Malfoy would rather kiss a troll than admit to being chums with the bushy-haired witch.

"Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…"

It's Christmas, and the Order members are all gathered at Grimmauld Place, singing carols and eating and laughing, letting themselves relax for the first time in a long while. Today, there is no war, no death, no imminent pain and destruction; today, there is only joy and celebration and love, and all manner of shiny tinsel and ornaments.

Hermione is sitting on a couch with Ron, who has his arm wrapped around her, feeling at peace, blissfully ignoring the fact that a mere four days prior, the Order had lost Katie Bell to the evil, terrible Death Eaters during a sneak attack on an Order safe house. But it is Christmas, and on Christmas there are no bad thoughts, so she pushes the darkness from her mind and instead concentrates on the warmth from her red-haired boyfriend.

"I'll be right back," Ron says, reluctantly getting up when he realizes that he has finished his glass of eggnog.

She smiles, then looks around the room as he leaves, her good mood bolstered by the presence of almost all of her friends together, alive and happy and mostly healthy. Well, all but one of her friends, she realizes as she notices a distinct lack of white-blond hair in the crowd.

He must still be in his room, she guesses, getting up from her seat and heading for the stairs. Didn't I tell him to join us? Silly Ferret, she admonishes, exasperated by his reclusiveness. When she reaches his door, she doesn't bother to knock and instead just turns the doorknob and steps inside, squinting as her eyes adjust to the dim light. Looking around, she finds him sitting morosely on his bed.

"Draco, what are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to come downstairs earlier?"

"Sorry, Granger, but I'm not really in the mood for festivities," he retorts sardonically, glaring at her through the darkness.

She sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. "I really don't see why you refuse to join everyone. You're one of us, you know that, right? No one here can dispute the fact that you've done a lot to help us since you came here, and no one would object to your presence downstairs."

"All the same, no one would object to me staying here," he says, flatly. "I'm not exactly chummy with all of you do-gooders."

Hermione is silent, looking pensively at the shadowy figure of the troubled wizard. And then she states, simply, "I disagree."

He lets out a slightly sarcastic laugh. "And why is that?"

"Well, I'm your friend, aren't I? I'll be upset if you stay in here, all by yourself, on Christmas."

He doesn't say anything for a while, and the two sit in silence, listening to the dim sounds of laughter coming from the parlour. And then –

"Why is it that you're always helping me? It's getting bloody annoying, to be honest." He does his best to sound irritated, but she merely laughs softly because she knows that he's just pretending and that she has won this battle, and so he sighs, with the beginnings of a grin tugging at his lips, and slowly gets out of bed and walks to the door.

"Well, are you coming?" he asks, his hair glinting in the flood of light from his opening of the door.

She smiles, and then they walk down the stairs together with him nodding as she cheerfully praises Molly's cooking, especially the eggnog which she declares that he has to try. When they reach the bottom, he looks at all of the people milling around and glances uncertainly back at the staircase, not particularly wanting to be engulfed by the mass of giddy wizards. Seeing his distress, she pulls on his shirt sleeve and leads him through the crowd and sits him on the couch with a promise to return with some eggnog and perhaps a couple biscuits as well, and he smiles a true smile for the first time, his grey eyes lightening to a pale, clear silver, and she smiles back, thankful that she was able to help him once again.

And this, so it seems, is the pattern of their friendship.