Author's Note: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE REVIEWS, FAVORITES, AND FOLLOWS! You guys are friggin awesome.

Hope you enjoy the chapter! If you have the time, I'd really love to know what people think of the gifts I chose. But if you just want to read, that's cool too! No pressure.

They had spent the day just the two of them. Her parents had left early to visit with her mother's sister Rebekah, and everyone had already agreed it would be overwhelming for Draco to be introduced to muggles who didn't know about the existence of magic. Draco had cooked her breakfast (cheese and tomato omelettes) by himself, which he was very smug about, and she had (only slightly begrudgingly) admitted that it was "quite tasty". They studied in companionable silence until noon, occasionally seeking the others opinion about a particularly difficult question.

Draco had contemplated what to make for lunch, but Hermione insisted they go out somewhere, and they walked to a neighborhood deli. Afterwards she showed him the primary school she had attended, and he had been fascinated by the playground. Ignoring her protests, he had magically unlocked the gate and strode inside, curiously inspecting the swings, the slide, and the merry-go-round. She had watched him with an only slightly-aching heart, and asked if they could leave (her memories of the playground mostly being of her trying to not be noticed as she read a book, alone).

Once home, they played scrabble until her parents returned. Then Draco had helped her father make dinner; they'd eaten, and afterwards her father had built a fire and they'd huddled around it, drinking cocoa and telling stories, before watching 'Meet Me in St. Louis', which was her mother's favorite Christmas movie. Draco had not seemed to enjoy the movie at all, but he suffered in silence. Her parents turned in, and Hermione intended to do the same, until Draco suggested that they open each other's gifts a little early. It was almost midnight and therefore basically Christmas, he had pointed out.

The gift was clumsily wrapped the muggle way; Draco had probably done it himself. She pictured him sprawled across the floor, brows furrowed in intense concentration as he tried to figure out how her parents' tape dispenser worked. The image was impossibly adorable, and she chuckled to herself as she tentatively began tearing at the green paper. Typical, that it was green paper he had chosen.

The removal of the paper revealed an ordinary brown box with a piece of folded parchment taped to the top of it. Scrawled across it in surprisingly beautiful penmanship (not that she ever thought about it much, but in her mind, Draco's handwriting would not have been very neat, but she supposed it actually made sense) were the words "READ FIRST". He too had written a note explaining his gift. Grinning, she began to read:

Hermione,

I am forced to admit that it took me an embarrassing amount of thought to figure out what I wanted to get you. I finally settled on getting you something that would seem rather obvious: a book. But this book has particular sentimental value to me.

When I was very young, my mother would read to me before I went to bed. Nothing special, just your average wizard bedtime tales; Beedle the Bard, and the like. She was the one who taught me how to read, a skill I eventually mastered well enough to read without assistance around five. She encouraged me to read on my own, but I didn't for a long time. My father, though he has an extensive and impressive library as part of his private study at the Manor, was never much of a reader, and I wanted to be just like him.

However, around the time I was nine, I accompanied my mother on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley. We were walking by Flourish and Blotts when my mother ran into a friend, and they stopped to chat. Completely uninterested in their conversation, I turned my attention to a box on the ground outside of the shop. It had a sign above it that read 'Free, please take one', so I peered inside. The books at the top did not peak my interest, for whatever reason; I no longer recall what they were about. But toward the bottom I came across a book with a very intriguing cover. It showed a group of four children, dancing with a lion. I took it home with me, and read it obsessively over the next few days. It was an engaging tale of four siblings and their adventure in a magical world, and I enjoyed it enormously.

It was this book that ignited my passion for reading, a passion that you and I both share. Immediately after finishing the book, I asked my mother to buy me some more, a request she was more than happy to oblige. At the time, I did not realize the book I had taken from the box was part of a greater series of novels, which is perhaps fortunate. I reread it multiple times that year, but forgot about it soon enough, as one is wont to do at that age, and devoured the new books my mother brought home to me each week.

Still, the summer before our fourth year, I happened to be going through old belongings, and came across this book again. I decided I would ask about it when I went to Diagon Alley the next week to pick up my supplies for school. The young salesgirl had never heard of the title or the author, and I grew impatient with her and demanded to see the proprietor. He came out of his office, and I told him about the book and how I had come to own it years before. He kindly explained to me that it had been left by a muggleborn student in his shop, and unable to find the owner, he had added it to the box of books to be given away. You see, it was written by a very famous muggle author.

Well, you can imagine the mortification that followed. I swore the owner to secrecy and quickly left the shop. It had never occurred to me that muggles might write about magic. As soon as I got home, I banished the book to the back of my closet, vowing to never think of it again.

I still can't explain why I didn't just throw it away, or burn it, or something else permanently destructive. I suppose, even then, my subconscious knew how important the book was to me. I took the liberty of checking your numerous bookshelves to ensure you didn't already have a copy. You don't, although I'm sure you've read it before. It's a muggle children's story, after all.

Draco

Hermione was stunned. She had an inkling what the book was, but she couldn't be sure. With trembling fingers, she lifted the lid off the box, and gazed down at a rather battered copy of C.S. Lewis's The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. She slowly pulled it out of the box, and opened it. There on the inside cover, in significantly poorer penmanship, Draco's nine-year-old self had written 'Property of Draco Lucius Malfoy'.

Having already commented on the perfection of the wrapping job, he knew that Hermione had gotten his gift wrapped at the store, by a professional, which made him feel better about the poor job he had done of wrapping hers. She had chosen to put it in red paper, which was so typical. It came accompanied by a card, with a picture of a snowman on the front, which he set aside to read after he had opened it. Unlike his note, there were no instructions to read it first, so he decided it could wait. He tore the paper off and ripped into the box, doubtful but also eager to see what she had gotten him. His hand reached in to grab the plastic container, but he froze when he saw what it held.

It was a Wüsthof Classic 8-inch Chef's Knife, the same type of knife her father used. The same knife her father had lovingly showed him, explaining its versatility and expert craftsmanship, and how for the serious at-home chef, it was one of the best knives to get.

He was flabbergasted. Here he had been thinking Hermione loathed that he was already better at cooking than her, but she had gotten him a gift that showcased that fact. He looked up at her expectantly, but she was still absorbed in the letter he had written her, so he quickly grabbed her card to see what explanation she gave.

Dear Draco,

I knew immediately after your first night helping my father in the kitchen that a chef's knife would be the perfect present for you. It was obvious how instantly you were drawn in by cooking, and my father was able to see your potential talent easily enough. This is actually a gift from my parents too, as they chipped in to help me with the expense. They insisted I tell you it only came from me, since it was my idea, but really, you can thank them as well.

I know that you'll eventually be able to incorporate magic into cooking, and that if you become good enough at those sorts of spells, you might not need this knife at all. But, I really hope you don't, because you look very happy while you're doing it, even if it is the muggle way.

Merry Christmas,

Hermione

He looked up at her again, and this time she was looking back at him, obviously done with his letter. She was looking at him strangely, and it took him a moment to realize that the way her eyes were glistening meant that there were tears in them. His heart stuttered. Had she really hated his present that much? He'd been nervous to give it to her, but really he was rather proud of it-

Suddenly she flung herself across the couch at him, wrapping him in a fierce hug. He was startled, but also relieved. This meant she liked it, right? He tentatively put his arms around her and squeezed gently.

"Draco-" she began raggedly, her breathing hindered by the fact that she was now full-fledged crying, and hiccupping while doing so, "this is-(hiccup)-the sweetest-(hiccup)-most thoughtful-(hiccup)-present-(hiccup)-I've ever-(hiccup)-gotten."

He felt extremely pleased with himself.

Hermione was very embarrassed by the display she was putting on, but really, she couldn't help it. Perhaps if she had been prepared for such a touching gift from Draco she could have pulled herself together enough to prevent it, but she had been completely blindsided. She knew he had changed, quite significantly, from the self-important, judgmental prick she had once known, but it wasn't until now, in this moment, that she realized the full extent of his evolution. It had overwhelmed her. Harry and Ron, while always giving her wonderful gifts, had never gotten her something this thoughtful! A book from his childhood, his actual, personal copy, the book that had made him fall in love with reading.

Hugging him had been instinctual, she hadn't given herself any time to think about whether or not she should do it. She was glad, too, because he had returned her embrace quite enthusiastically. She stayed with her head buried in the crook of his neck until she calmed down. If she was honest with herself, she kind of wanted to stay there and enjoy the way it felt to have his arms wrapped around her, but she forced herself to pull away. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater, and smiled up at him sheepishly.

"Sorry," she said thickly, her throat clogged with phlegm, "I didn't mean to-"

He shook his head, silencing her. "Probably the best reaction I'll ever receive to a gift."

She laughed, then looked down at his package. He hadn't pulled the knife out of the box yet.

"Did you like mine?"

He looked down at the box, then back up. He regarded her for a few moments, and she waited for his verdict, full of apprehension.

"I love it," he said finally, definitively. She broke out into a huge smile and hugged him again, although more quickly this time.

"I'm glad. Give me a second and I'll make us some hot chocolate, but I kind of want to go clean up a bit first."

He nodded. "Yeah, you look a frightful mess." She chuckled, because she knew it must be true, although it wasn't encouraging to hear such an assessment of her looks coming from him. But then he smiled at her, his real smile, and she turned away quickly so he wouldn't see her blush.

"Before we go to bed, there's something we need to discuss."

Hermione was sitting across from him, her legs curled up underneath her. She fiddled with a loose end on the knitted blanket thrown across the back of the couch. He immediately became apprehensive. Was she going to back out of going to St. Mungo's with him?

"When I originally made plans for the holiday, I did so with the intention that the plans would be for me, and me alone."

He said nothing. Which was fair, because really, she was just stating the obvious.

"And my original plans included spending a few days at the Burrow with the Weasleys."

His body went rigid.

"I've written to the boys, and Ginny knows you came with me already, obviously, but I also wrote to Mrs. Weasley explaining that you had come home with me for the break, so I wouldn't be able to visit with them."

He allowed himself to relax. He wasn't sure what Hermione's plan would have been, to leave him here alone with her parents (which wouldn't have been all that bad, truth be told, especially considering that they were going back to work after Boxing Day so he'd have the days to himself) or to try and take him with her, but finishing out the break as they had been seemed like the best idea.

"But she sent me an owl this morning saying we should both come."

"What?"

"It would just be for New Year's Eve! Things get fairly crowded there, and it wouldn't be practical for us to stay more than one night, but they're having a small party and she really wants us to be there for it. Luna's coming, with Zabini as well, so, there's that."

Draco mulled this over. It would be uncomfortable for him, considering all the nasty things he'd said about their family over the years, but Potter and Weasley had been cordial enough when they'd met at the Three Broomsticks (although to be fair, they'd hardly acknowledged each other for the rest of the afternoon), and it would probably be perceived as an insult if he didn't accept the invitation now that one had been extended to him.

"Bill Weasley will be there, too. He's a curse-breaker for Gringotts."

"Are you trying to bribe me to say yes, Hermione?"

She cocked her head to the side. The look on her face was one part shame, one part fear, and one part mischief. Which was a disconcerting combination.

"I'm really hoping it's works. I've already told her we'll both be there."