A/N: I've been on a Dramione kick and wanted to explore something that was a bit more canon compliant than Saving Prefect Granger crack or random smut. Also, I am really excited about cold weather. Generally I'm not one for Christmas but there's something special about the chill in the air, and the idea that I can wear all black without having heatstroke (very important in my life). I needed to write a Christmas-y Harry Potter fic to start the season off right.

With special thanks to Tobiume: for beta-ing, exciting Hermione/Draco chats, and for making great suggestions.

Rated T: for a drunk and disorderly Malfoy, a few bits of strong language, and sexuality

Bitter

"Mum! Mum! Look! Look! I'm catching snowflakes on my tongue!" A small dark-haired boy with freckles all over his face was hopping up and down, his mouth open.

An older redheaded girl with a serious sort of face placed her hands on her hips. "Mo-ther, are we finished now? What if Dad is sleeping? We were supposed to read together! I promised him!"

"Mum! I'm catching snowflakes, see?"

"Mmhm," replied Hermione, touching a quill to her lips. She was lost in thought and gazing at a rather long sheet of parchment marked with various present ideas for her husband Ron. Ron was overly picky and very difficult to purchase for, unlike Hermione, who would tell Ron outright exactly what she wanted in great detail months in advance. Each Christmas was the same. He always claimed he did not want or need anything but then would suddenly become enamored with some new gadget or clothing item three days before the holiday. In the beginning of their relationship, Hermione, eager to be finished up with the gift shopping by mid-November, would always have to rethink her plan of action days before Christmas because Ron had finally expressed interest in gifts he really wanted. At first, it had slightly ticked her off but she realized at once that was a petty way of thinking. She heavily enjoyed when Ron got excited about gifts, and especially when he expressed amazement that she'd known just what to get for him. It was worth every moment of stepping into shopping districts on the days so close to Christmas.

Still, pragmatic Hermione had a difficult time braving the raging crowds. To start up a nice Christmas tradition, she'd begun bringing Rose and Hugo along to assist her in picking out Ron's presents. For a change of pace, they'd started going to Hogsmeade. The children absolutely loved the decorations and the festive atmosphere, and it made Hermione wonderfully nostalgic for the leisurely moments in her school days. However, they tended to fall apart after an hour or so of shopping. Hermione couldn't really blame them, although they were a handful when out in public. They favored quarreling, touching breakable objects, and speaking in loud volumes that had Hermione alternately apologizing to shopkeepers and shushing them.

"Mum!" the girl said in a louder tone, startling Hermione from her thoughts. "You're getting ink on you!"

"It looks like you have a mustache!" the boy grinned. He looked to his sister. "Rose! Mum's got a mustache!"

"Does it suit me, Hugo?" asked Hermione casually, wiping around her mouth with the sleeve of her robes and smiling at her son.

Hugo made a face and laughed. "Not a bit!"

Hermione grinned, and waved the list around. "We've one more shop to go to—"

"Oh, no." Rose shook her head solemnly. "You said the last stop was to get the Chudley's Canons book! And then we had to go all the way back to the cauldron shop because Hugo left his hat—"

Hugo stuck his tongue out. "I didn't mean to!"

Before Rose could start yet another argument, Hermione placed the list back in her shopping satchel and placed her arms around her children's shoulders. "I was just thinking of a quick stop at Honeydukes, but if that doesn't sound enticing to you lot—"

"HONEYDUKES!" cheered Hugo, doing a mad little dance of joy. Even Rose managed a small smile, and clung to Hermione's arm as they walked on.

It was amazing to Hermione how sometimes her children would remind her of herself and Ron, and then they'd suddenly be their own little people with very interesting new ideas and questions about the world. Hermione had never particularly thought much about being a mother, but she loved it. She had loved teaching the children to read and write, and had reveled in their joy for the written word. She loved how Ron's sense of humor sparked up with the children, and their excitement in making him laugh or react. It wasn't ever perfect, but she absolutely loved her family, even when they drove her completely barmy.

The snow was falling in great quantities, reminding Hermione of when Mrs. Weasley dusted her signature pumpkin cakes with powdered sugar. Icicles glistened menacingly from the peaks of shop roofing, and brightly clad carolers in the center of Hogsmeade square were boisterously singing that they would not leave until they got their figgy pudding.

"There it is, Mum! There it is! Beat you there, Rose!" Hugo cheered, and readied himself.

"I'm not going to run in the snow," said Rose stiffly.

"Aw!" protested Hugo.

Hermione nudged her. "You'll have fun," she coaxed. She saw a lot of her old self in Rose, and longed for the girl to be a dreamier sort of person. Even though Ron's general consensus was something along the lines of "you got less mad as time went on, so let her be", Hermione still wanted Rose to let loose and enjoy herself.

"If you don't, I'll eat all the sugar quills before you get inside!" Hugo shouted, and with that, he was off like a seeker who'd spied the snitch first.

Rose made a pained look at Hermione, but then gave chase, her dark red robes billowing out behind her. "You can't eat them all, Hugo! That's just not possible!"

Hermione smiled as she hurried behind them, taking in the beauty. Marrying into the Weasleys had made her appreciate Christmas a great deal more. Everything about this season gave Hermione a cozy, happy, familial feeling and she was able to lose herself in the simple joy that the winter season seemed to bestow upon everyone.

"I beat you!" Rose shouted just before sliding on an icy patch of sleet and careening forward into a willowy man in the doorway of Honeydukes.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" said the man loudly. Of all the people she could have bumped into, Rose would get a Scrooge. Hermione was instantly worried this was going to send Rose into an anti-fun streak for days. She headed over swiftly to deal with the situation.

"S-sorry," Rose stammered out, looking at the snow. Hugo was by her side, staring up at the stranger with eyes wide as digestive biscuits. "I slipped—"

"Where are your parents anyway?" the man snapped. "They really should be watching you more closely—"

"Right here," called out Hermione good-naturedly, stepping behind Rose and putting her hands on the girl's shoulders. "I'm sorry she jostled you—they're eager for sweeties and you know how children can be when they—"… The man looked at her straight in the face and Hermione choked on her words. She found herself staring into the icy eyes of none other than her childhood nemesis Draco Malfoy.

Life was strange. She hadn't seen Draco for years, but Harry had mentioned his name just last week. They were all discussing how awful it would be to have to acknowledge him when their children all went to school together, as they'd heard Draco's son was just about the same age as Rose and Albus Severus. Hermione had very delicately said how she'd really prefer he live his life as separately from her as possible. Ron had instead chosen to dream that Malfoy's wife enjoyed boxing his ears or strategically poisoning him in small amounts. Harry had point blank said he'd die happy if he never had to see Malfoy again.

And now here he was, right in front of her. He didn't look much different than Hermione remembered as he was wearing his signature sneer and a cloak of deep emerald and black. He had a large package under one arm, and his pale face was perhaps thinner than she recalled. His widow's peak was more pronounced and his light hair floated just over his left eye. It was odd to realize that he looked older while she personally didn't feel older, and she wondered what he'd find different about her, if anything. She saw his mouth twinge slightly and knew he was recognizing her, too. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence.

"Well, of all the good luck! Season's greetings to you, Granger," Draco said with mock thrill in his drawling voice. She winced as it echoed across the open, snowy space behind them. "Are these things yours?"

"They're my children, yes," Hermione replied, her face burning just like it used to in their school days when Draco would insult her. If he dared speak an ill word against her children, she wouldn't know whether to hex him or resort to punching him. She tried to reason with herself. Surely the years had changed his attitude at least a little?

"Hi!" Hugo said loudly. "I'm Hugo!" Rose silently fixed her gaze upon Hermione, watching her mother's reaction.

"Ah, but how charming," Malfoy said, raising his eyebrows. "Scorpius! Say hello," he suddenly barked, and it was then that Hermione noticed a very small, pale boy who was clinging to Draco's side. She was astonished at how much like Draco the boy looked, and instructed herself not to instantly loathe him based on how much he resembled his father—after all, this was a boy of no more than nine years old! The boy cowered behind Malfoy, peering up at Hermione and her children with an anxious expression.

Attempting to be cheerful, Hermione gave a slight wave. "Good evening, Scorpius. Are you excited for Christmas?" She felt like she was facing past and present Malfoy at once, and it was a decidedly eerie feeling.

Surprisingly, Scorpius seemed to be a million loads shyer than past Malfoy. He clung harder to his father's side and gave a very slight nod, flushing a pale pink color.

"Scorpius," Draco said tersely, "we spoke about this. When someone greets you, you should acknowledge them, not stand there like a mute dimwit." He prodded Scorpius' shoulder and shoved him forward slightly. Hermione's eyes widened.

"Yes, Dad," whispered Scorpius and looked at Hermione with a grave expression. "My name is Scorpius and I am pleased to meet you." He stuck out his small pale hand, which Hermione noted was shaking slightly.

"That will do," Draco said, and pulled Scorpius' hand back instantly.

Hermione couldn't help but let her mouth drop open. "Rose, Hugo—why don't you run inside? At this rate someone else could have eaten all of the sugar quills!" Giggling, Hugo headed in, and Rose sent a last questioning glance at her mother before going inside the shop. Hermione turned back to Malfoy. "Good evening to you both," she said briskly and reached for the door. That was about all Hermione could stand to see of the life Malfoy was now leading. She rushed in and quickly did a visual check of the store, locating her children by the taffy station. They waved to her and she hung back, fingering a marshmallow bar and trying to catch her breath.

The shop was stockpiled high with sweets of all sorts, as well as old-fashioned whirring machines that were at work pulling toffees and wrapping various types of fudge. Beautifully colored Christmas displays showcased gift baskets, totes, and special hand-crafted candy jars. Hermione watched Rose and Hugo, and tried to take herself back to nostalgia—Parvati's obsession with Drooble's and the dorm's short-lived bubble blowing competition, taking Viktor Krum for a tour and learning the names for different sweets in his language as he brushed against her casually, and watching in disdain as Lavender Brown hung over Ron. So much for nostalgia, she thought wryly.

She heard the bell on the door of the shop cling, and her breath caught in her throat yet again. She wished that a juvenile bully from her youth didn't still give her such a physical response. Away from Malfoy, it was different. Hermione could play Devil's Advocate to a degree. In the company of her friends, she'd been very good at rationalizing Malfoy's behaviors, analyzing his family and making very astute assessments of the choices he'd made and the path he'd walked in order to make herself stop hating him. As she often told her friends, Malfoy wasn't worth wasting hate upon. He was too pathetic and his life story was too sad, too tragic. Hadn't she told Ron a thousand times that he wasn't worth ill will? But seeing him live and in person was a much different matter. And that poor boy. She shook her head.

"You can pick out three different kinds," she heard Draco telling his son in his loud voice, giving her a start, "and keep track of the time. Your mother is meeting us for dinner at seven o'clock sharp and I am not going to explain to her that you were dawdling again when you have a perfectly good watch and are quite old enough to know how to use it!"

Hermione slowly walked toward the opposite side of the store, watching carefully as Rose and Hugo took samples from a raven haired witch holding a tray of peppermint bark.

"Granger," Malfoy called, making Hermione stop in her tracks in horror. She feigned ignorance and continued on, smoothing the front of her deep blue robes as she went. "Granger, let me have a word."

For some reason, that simple sentence set Hermione off. She spun around with a glower on her face. "Let you have a word!" she said in a snappish low voice. "I expect you want to insult my children again! Or do you, for the second time, want to have your son avoid shaking the hand of a—"she lowered her voice—"Mudblood?"

Draco smirked and crossed his arms, leaning against a shelf stacked with lollies and licorice. "As much as I am amused by your dramatics, I'll have you know that I had no intention of the sort. Your children are very fascinating—a very invigorating blend of yourself and Weasley. Which, by the way, is he well?"

"He's very well," Hermione hissed, but was thrown off guard by the quick response. It wasn't nice by any means, but it was less sharp than she expected.

"Yes," Draco nodded. He prattled on at the top of his voice, seemingly uncaring that he was attracting concerned glances from passing shoppers. Hermione backed up as far as possible without actually leaving. She knew later Ginny would tease her about her tendency to be too polite. "I heard he was given that promotion, though I expect he's still sour that his wife is in a more esteemed position than he is. Poor, poor Weasley."

"Actually, he likes it," Hermione responded instantly, and began to smile as she spoke. "He said it gives him comfort and that he wouldn't have it any other way. He's very supportive."

"Say, what do you see in that bloke anyway? You were always so intelligent." Draco stared at her in interest.

Hermione stared at him, not sure if she was shocked he was asking her questions about her marriage or if it was the underhanded compliment that had caught her off guard. "Don't you care about where your son's off to?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest, and made a point to look at her own children who were currently taking apart a small chocolate display. She knew she should intervene but she wasn't about to let Malfoy off the hook so quickly.

Draco flung his hand up to wave her off and smacked an advertisement on the shelf, sending it to the floor. Hermione wore a slight smile, glad to see Malfoy do something idiotic for once. She expected him to walk away, embarrassed and defeated like the few times at Hogwarts when he let it show that underneath the cool exterior, he was not as composed as he seemed.

But oddly, Malfoy didn't even notice. He just kept right on talking. Hermione was beginning to feel like she was caught in a sort of comedic nightmare. "You saw him. Getting lost would do Scorpius a bit of good! He hides behind me, he's entirely too sensitive and it's quite worrisome! This world isn't kind, Granger. You know it. I know it." Draco stepped closer to Hermione.

She tried to step backward but realized she was up against a display stand. With nowhere to go, she cringed and waited, sending a glance in her children's direction.

"Do you know," he drawled, dropping his voice into a less abrasive tone but still half-shouting. Hermione waited patiently, her ears ringing with the sound of his obnoxious voice. "Do you—know that there's no way to remove this? It's a part of me, Granger." She was not entirely certain what he meant until he held out his left arm.

Hermione bit her lip and looked around for something, anything to change the subject. "Malfoy. Not to be rude, but I really should be—"

"No, please," he said, and she was surprised to hear that he was pleading with her. "Just listen to me. For once." He stepped in closer to her, adjusting the package, and held out his thin, long arm. "You know, sometimes I swear I can still feel it burning. Sometimes I wake up covered in sweat and I feel it, and you know what I do? I jump out of bed as fast as I can and start to get ready because I assume he's back in power. I dream about him, and it's very real, like he's in my house. In the room with me. Standing over me. Watching me." He leaned in toward her ear and his breath was hot on her neck. "Sometimes I see bodies littered across my bedroom floor like rubble. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Hermione braced herself on the display in back of her, and her nostrils suddenly bristled at the scent of alcohol, strong and sweet, on his breath. "Malfoy," she said quietly, trying to retain poise, "I believe you might be intoxicated."

"Ooh! Well spotted, Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor! The know-it-all strikes again!" He sneered at her sardonically.

Hermione dropped her voice, her eyes narrowing into slits. "First off, you absolutely need to keep your voice down. We're in public! This is a store full of children. And that brings me to my second point! Your son!" Hermione's hands went to her hips and she pointed her finger at him accusingly. "How on earth are you drunk right now?"

Malfoy smiled bitterly, his somber soliloquy about Lord Voldemort apparently now a distant memory. "How? What type of question is that? Why, Granger, you're a brain! Work it out." He went on talking with no room for Hermione to draw a breath. "Astoria had a dress fitting, and I was to meet her there with Scorpius but of course the newest robes for boys were in and of course she just had to have the latest style for Scorpius. She told me to shop around while I waited because she didn't want me complaining in front of her today. So I did. I looked around for a blasted half hour. I know this town like I know my own wand. It's tedious, it's always been and always will be and when I got back to the shop she wanted me to wait again and to come back in forty minutes. What kind of fitting takes that long!? And so I just thought, damn it to hell, I will do as I please. And I wanted a vodka julep and so I had a vodka julep! And then I came to collect them and she sent Scorpius along with me because she was making a secret purchase." He made a hateful face. "As though I need another set of formal robes—"

"Just one vodka julep," Hermione said, unable to mask her sarcasm. "You really can't hold your liquor, can you?"

"I had four, thank you very much!" Draco responded with a sneer. "I can handle my liquor ex-excell—" He paused. "I can handle my liquor quite well, Granger."

"I can see that," she said, humoring him, and looked around. "I'll tell you what, Malfoy. I'm going to find your son and we can all walk over to where you're meeting… what was your wife's name again?" He was her enemy, and he was being a prize asshole here in public for the entire world to see, but Hermione wanted to make certain he didn't do something careless like leave Scorpius behind.

"Astoria," Draco answered and rolled his grey eyes to the ceiling. "You wouldn't have known her anyway. She was two years below us, and a Slytherin—"

"Astoria," Hermione repeated. "Greengrass? Was she related to Daphne?" Daphne was in the same year as Hermione and Draco, and as far as Hermione could recall she was a quiet girl who wore expensive jewelry.

"Oh, yes, Daphne is her sister. Daphne's great fun at family gatherings. Thinks she knows all my business. Thinks she can keep me in line," Draco said and rolled his eyes again. Hermione wasn't certain whether to laugh or plan an escape. Fortunately the children were all occupied, she realized, finally spotting Scorpius who appeared to be strenuously arranging gumballs by color on a scale. Draco seemed to notice her wandering eyes, but misinterpreted the look, leaning into her again, his hair falling further over his face. "Now don't get funny ideas, Granger. Astoria is a vision of classic beauty." Hermione wasn't certain what so-called funny ideasMalfoy thought she had, but she had no time to wonder. He quickly pulled out a dragon hide pouch from his cloak and produced a small, very professional family portrait.

Despite herself, Hermione leaned over it to inspect. She did not exactly recognize Astoria beyond her resemblance to her sister. She had dark, sleek hair and delicate features, and was wearing very elegant white robes. She looked like she held a lot of power despite her small frame. In the photograph, Draco was making his usual sneering face and clutching her arm with his other hand on Scorpius' shoulder. In contrast to the photographs of Hermione's family, this lot looked like they all had an aversion to physical contact.

"She's lovely," Hermione offered kindly, relieved she didn't have to lie. "Though when I read the wedding announcement, I was a bit surprised you hadn't married Parkinson." She damned herself for making any reference to something that might lead Malfoy off on another tangent but it was too late.

"You're a very per—per—perceptive person, Granger, I will give you that," he said and crossed over to stand next to her, leaning over her so that his mouth was level with her ear again. "Let me tell you what amazing events transpired after the war—"

"Malfoy, it's fine—"

"Shh, shh," Draco said, and ran two fingers down her forearm. Hermione set her jaw, feeling rooted to the spot. He must be really drunk if he's touching me, she thought, not sure if she was amused or sick about it. "At first I assumed it would be Daphne. The Greengrass family is highly affluent and their mother is a great friend to my parents. Mother and Father hinted to me early that it very well might be a Greengrass daughter who would be my wife one day. I didn't really notice Astoria at school as I was caught up in my own affairs. I'd see her sometimes on holidays mingling with her relatives but I thought she seemed like a silly young girl." How much like Malfoy, Hermione thought, very aware of the place at the sleeve of her robes where Draco was ever so gingerly clasping her material. If his aim was to make her hang onto every word, she had to admit he was skilled. "And Pansy wasn't really in the running but I went for her anyway. Or maybe that was why. Father thought it was a fine idea. Said he liked that I had someone to bring to social outings and told me to have my fun."

Hermione nodded, feigning interest. "Well, that is really something, Malfoy. I've really got to be—"

He tugged her arm against his side and held her close to him, his long fingers gripping her sleeve. "Granger, listen to me. You're the only one who will listen. When my family fell from grace with the Dark Lord, the Parkinson family continued to make their hatred against Muggle-borns and squibs known and so Father disallowed me to speak to Pansy after the war. He knew it wouldn't make the Malfoys look good, if we talked like we'd changed but socialized with known blood purists—"

"So you're willing to lie to the public to make yourself look better but you're all really still biased?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself. "That's rich, Malfoy. I'd been hoping you and your family had at least learned something—"

"You're not listening. It has absolutely nothing to do with what I believe or what I do not believe. The war changed me, Granger! But I didn't want this!" he said strongly. To Hermione's great discomfort, he made a dramatic gesture toward Scorpius who was still at work sorting sweets. "This isn't supposed to be my life!"

"Draco," Hermione said quietly, trying to think of a plan to end this situation immediately. If only there were some sort of draught to end drunken disorderliness, but she'd never been in a situation where she'd needed to know if that even existed. "You need to find your wife. You need to find her and tell her to put you to bed—"

"I don't want to sleep in that bed," Malfoy whined, his grip on her sleeve tightening slightly. "It's either the nightmares, or just cold and quiet. You wouldn't imagine the silence, Granger. The silence."

"Malfoy, please—"

He waved her away. "Astoria is a vision of classic beauty, don't doubt me when I say that, but when I close my eyes during our love making, my mind wanders to other women, Granger. And when I'm bored, I don't like to do what I'm supposed to. You can imagine where I'm going with this, I assume!"

"Draco, lower your voice!" Hermione snapped, realizing this had gone too far too fast.

"You can imagine… what I mean," he stammered, his voice finally much lower. "Tell me, do you understand what I'm saying here? Do you ever feel unfulfilled?"

Hermione tugged her arm out of Draco's grip, caught his wrists and looked him straight in the eye. "I feel relieved," she said in a curt whisper. "I thank God everyday that the war is over! Yes, sometimes I look back on all of it with utter regret and I get very sad but I'm usually quite happy! I'm extremely fufilled—"

"Well!" Draco tutted. "Well! Well done, Granger. Your side has won again! Yes, it wasn't enough to save my life—now you're just so perfectly happy with your two brats and your—your Weasley!"

"You're drunk. You're drunk and hateful and you need to leave," Hermione said firmly, releasing him from her grip.

"I'm not hateful!" Malfoy argued, and Hermione snorted. "I'm not. I very much want to love my family, and sometimes I do—but it's complete madness to act like nothing happened, to go to work and go through the motions and pose as though none of it happened! I don't like it! I like who I was! I like how I used to feel! And so help me, it feels fantastic to fuck it all up—"

Hermione shook her head, and recognized this was just going to get worse. She turned on her heel, but the ever persistent Malfoy followed her again and held her waist tentatively, his pointed chin slightly touching her shoulder as he leaned into her ear. "It makes me feel alive," he went on, sneering in a sick way, "and even when I don't forget, at least I feel alive. At least I'm not drowning in boredom and denial." His voice lowered to a low whisper, and she felt his breath on her again. It sent tingles down her spine. The stench of booze was so strong and thick that Hermione had to hold her hand over her mouth and nose. "Pansy says I should leave Astoria—she says we should hide somewhere and spend our inheritance as fast as we can and then see what we're left with. Pansy may be a slag whose greatest achievement is how little she cares for other people, but she's vindictive, and cruel and she lets me be cruel. Just like when we were children. And we fight, and scream at each other until our voices hurt and then I shag her without mercy and let me tell you, Granger, Pansy Parkinson has never given two shits whether or not I muss up her satin sheets or leave stains on her best dress robes—"

"If you don't let me go in ten seconds I will curse you and then I'll tell your wife about your indecent behavior," Hermione hissed.

He let her go at once, but when she wheeled around, he was smiling calmly. "I'm not afraid, Granger. At least it would be interesting. Am I correct?"

"Interesting is a funny word for it, Malfoy," Hermione said, "but then again you always did have bizarre ideas about reality."

He actually laughed then and nodded once, dropping his voice to a rough murmur. "Come with me, Granger. I daresay you could use a drink or two. Come with me and you can tell me all of the mundane details about life with Ron Weasley. Come with me and challenge me—you were always fantastic at that! Help me feel like myself again."

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "I think you need to leave."

Malfoy sneered at her, and very slowly wiped the tip of his finger over her top lip. "Come tell me why it is you've got ink on you… Very becoming, Granger—"

She swatted his hand away at once. "I'm not entirely sure what it is you think you're suggesting, but I'll go out on a limb and say that you are going to feel like a great duffer when you sober up. That is, if you remember any of this tomorrow," Hermione retorted, her face hot. Of all the insane things to happen, she never believed Draco Malfoy would be proposing for her to get drunk with him, putting his hands all over her, his lean fingers on her arm. He staggered a bit and held onto a table of chocolates. Hermione wanted very much to be disgusted or offended, but it was too sad.

"Dad?" said a clear, high voice. Scorpius had appeared at his father's side and was holding out a silver pocket watch. "Dad. It's almost seven o'clock—"

"Oh piss it," Draco said, still wearing a rather smarmy smile as he gazed from Scorpius to Hermione and back again. "Now, what did I tell you? You should have gotten me earlier—"

"I'm sorry! But you were busy," Scorpius told him quietly. "And you don't like to be disturbed when you're busy—"

"Very good, Scorpius. Now come along and we'll pay before your mother has a nervous breakdown. You know she can't stand for lateness." Draco took his son by the shoulder and led him to the front of the store, knocking over several signs on his way.

Hermione sighed, feeling a great sense of both relief and… something else. She couldn't put her finger on the feeling. Rose got her attention from the front of the store, where Hugo had got his tongue stuck on a particularly intense ice mouse. She gathered a handful of Galleons and her children's findings, keeping a watch on Malfoy and his son as they stood at the registers. She added one of the large breath-freshening spearmints that Harry swore by to her order and once she'd paid, she handed the shopping bag to Rose and they headed toward the exit.

Draco was buttoning Scorpius' winter cloak as though it were the world's most strenuous task, and Hermione could tell that the alcohol was settling strongly in his system. Four strong drinks in less than an hour would have made a large man feel the results and she could see that slender Draco was in severe danger of toppling over. Clutching her children, Hermione matched back up to Draco and handed him the mint. "For you," she said. "It's the least I can do." Giving her a surprised glance, Draco stood up slowly and hesitated before unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth. "Now I wish you a happy Christmas, Scorpius!" she said with false gaiety, but she doubted Scorpius noticed. He was busy unfastening all of the buttons that Draco had closed wrong.

"My darlings!" Hermione looked toward the door, where Astoria Malfoy had just appeared. She was very fashionable in person, with pearls and a white fur cape that cascaded over her shoulders. "I figured you'd be caught up here. You were in such a snit when you took off. You do always know how to work yourself into a mood." She gave Draco a very quick peck on the cheek. "Hello!" she said to Hermione, smiling.

Hermione was unsettled by how charming she was, how affable. Her high cheekbones and silky hairstyle made her look like an old-fashioned movie star. "Hello," she responded. "Malf—Draco's just told me great things about you—"

"Really? How lovely," Astoria said, and patted Draco's neck affectionately. "You look familiar, dear. You are...?"

"An old classmate," said Hermione with a small smile. "Happy Christmas to you all," she said quickly and glanced nervously at her children. "Come on! Dad's going to think we've all run away!"

"Happy Christmas," Astoria replied kindly. "Oh, Scorpius! What's become of your buttons? Let me help you!" She knelt to assist her son in fixing his cloak.

Draco sent Hermione a last look, a look she couldn't quite decipher, before she and her children made their fast exit out of the store.

"Finally!" Ron called out as soon as they returned. "It was too quiet here. I was starting to feel unsettled." He turned to greet them from in front of the oven, where a pot was simmering on the stove and stirring itself. The radio was on, playing his favorite Quidditch announcer's program, and the entire house smelled wonderful.

"Dad!" shouted Hugo, and rushed to Ron's arms. "I got you your Christmas present! You'll love it! It's candy!" Ron bent down and lifted him up, mussing Rose's hair with his other hand.

"Fantastic," Ron cheered. "Just what I needed!"

"Did you make stew, Ron?" Hermione asked, pleasantly surprised. She slipped the shopping bag of gifts under the sink and washed her hands, noting he'd actually washed the dishes this evening.

"I figured I'd better do something beyond twiddling my thumbs or else I'd catch it from you," he said slyly and kissed her.

"Ick!" Hugo protested, pushing their faces away from his and shaking Ron to let him down.

"So how was it then? What held you up so long?" Ron wanted to know, handing a stack of dishes to Rose and grabbing a loaf of bread out of the oven. His cooking had much improved lately, though he'd only mastered stews and pancakes.

Hermione made a face at him. "I'll tell you why later tonight—"

"Mum met up with a friend," Hugo said, hanging off Ron's arm.

"A friend, eh? Who was it then?" Ron wanted to know, throwing Hermione a quick glance before throwing a giggling Hugo over his shoulder, eliciting loud shrieks from the boy.

Rose paused in placing dishes at the kitchen table. "Mum's friend was loud and sort of scary. I didn't really like him."

"I thought Percy was finished with his Christmas shopping!" Ron joked and Hermione swatted him.

"You leave Percy alone," she said.

"Yes, Daddy. Uncle Percy isn't scary. He's just annoying," said Rose very matter-of-factly.

Ron cracked up laughing and couldn't catch his breath for at least five minutes.

"Alright, I've been thinking all night about who this loud and scary friend is, and I'm very sad to say I've come up with so many people we know that maybe we should start running with a different crowd," Ron told her with a look of mock concern and pulled his sweater over his gangling, freckled chest. He pulled off his trousers in favor of plaid pajama bottoms and pulled on a t-shirt.

Hermione laughed shortly, tightening her towel around her chest and put her toothbrush down on the bathroom sink, spitting twice. "You won't guess, Ron."

"Top three picks! Slughorn, Seamus, though they're more stupid than scary... I'd guess Lockhart, but I think he's still locked up for being a nutter-"

"Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, taking a seat at the edge of their bed and pulling her hair out of a clip, letting the brown curls curve down her shoulders.

"Draco Malfoy?" sputtered Ron, whipping around. "You ran into Draco Malfoy in Hogsmeade Village! The week before Christmas! Isn't that a bit too cheery for him?"

"Oh, he was cheery enough." Hermione had wondered all evening just how she was going to describe the story to Ron. She knew he'd likely twist the entire thing into either a joke or a way of proving that Malfoy was an idiot, but the more Hermione had thought about it the more miserable it was. Astoria seemed, as much as first impressions could offer, like much more than a controlling wife who only liked spending money. She actually seemed kind. That made the entire situation worse, somehow. Despite herself, Hermione had wondered if Draco had been able to get through dinner without making more of an ass of himself. She wondered if Astoria noticed, and worse, if she was used to it. And Scorpius seemed so cheerless and rigid. Rose was a serious girl, but she was also outspoken and unafraid. Hermione couldn't shake the image of Scorpius hard at work, dividing candies by color.

"What does that mean? That sounds terrifying," Ron said, dropping beside her on the bed.

Hermione stood up and exchanged her towel for a robe, noting that Ron stared at her naked form approvingly until she was again covered. She started at the beginning, with Rose bumping into Draco and Scorpius' fearful, quiet way of talking. "And when I tried to get the kids inside and get away from him, he followed me and wouldn't stop talking—"

"What a self-important twat!" Ron chuckled. "Some things never change, do they? Doesn't he have any damn shame?"

"Well, perhaps normally? But he started getting really serious, talking about how he has nightmares about the war, and got in my face and I smelt alcohol on him. It turns out he'd had four cocktails while waiting for his wife to be finished shopping—"

"He was drunk? In public?" Ron burst out, mouth hanging open. "My, I'll bet Lucius Malfoy would just love that—"

"Really drunk," Hermione nodded. "He was knocking things over and basically yelling—"

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry," Ron said, wearing a small simper on his face. "Malfoy? The Malfoy? Tossed to hell at Honeydukes Sweets?"

Hermione continued nodding. "It was really awful, Ron. I think he's depressed—"

"I'd be depressed too if I were him. He made the stupidest decisions in the world and made himself look like a complete dunderhead to everyone we went to school with. I'm just sorry I couldn't have been there to laugh in his face—"

"Ron!" Hermione warned. This was just what she'd been afraid of. "It wasn't funny, not at all. He pointed right at his son and said he didn't want him, basically, and he admitted he's been cheating on his wife with Pansy Parkinson—"

"Godric, that's nauseating! How long did that wanker talk to you that you know his entire freaky life story?"

"He kept holding me back—it was like he hadn't spoken to anyone about anything and I was his captive audience—"

"He kept holding you back?" Ron repeated. "He touched you?"

"Oh, Ron. It was nothing, really. I pushed him off—"

"Still! I ought to write a Christmas card to good old Lucius and tell him what his son's been up to! Honestly, Hermione! You're too polite! You shouldn't have let him go on like that—"

"I didn't want him to do something even more stupid," Hermione said. "If he hadn't have had his son with him I could have dealt with the situation much easier—"

Ron nodded slowly. "True. Boy, I wish I could have seen his face. I've got to owl Harry about this. How does he look, anyway? Fat? Lots of age lines? Worse than me, I hope," he chuckled.

"He looked… the same," Hermione said. "It was very odd, almost like no time had passed. His wife came to collect him in the end. She was very nice—"

"Well, yeah. Compared to Malfoy, a basilisk is nice!"

"Truly nice," Hermione argued, pulling the sheets from the bed and reclining. "I wonder if she knows he's cheating on her—"

Ron followed suit. "Parkinson isn't the quietest woman around. You'd think she'd be screaming it from the hilltops. And that's about all the thought I want to give to Draco Malfoy's sex life." He shuddered and put an arm around her. "I'm sorry you had to deal with all that."

Hermione sighed and snuggled into the crook of Ron's arm. "I guess I didn't realize it would be difficult to see him struggling. I've taken so much time hoping he learned a lesson, and it seems like he's completely unhappy. And look, I know you might say he deserves it, but it was really bittersweet to see him that way."

"I love that you're so caring, you feel for Malfoy," Ron said. "Honestly, you're probably the nicest person alive."

"I suppose it just made me feel lucky," Hermione responded. "I have everything I ever wanted."

Ron kissed her, and she kissed him back. He rolled on top of her and began to kiss her neck, her ears, and her chest. Hermione moaned, softly and blew out the candle on their bedside table. Ron continued snogging her, and moved his hands down her body.

Hermione closed her eyes and felt warmth spark throughout her core. Her mind went back to the thought of Malfoy, his hot breath on her neck and in her ear, and she moaned, gritting her teeth and trying to push the thought away. "Harder," she urged, and they kissed and touched in the ways they liked and their bodies connected in the same way they'd been doing for the past eighteen years.

An hour later, Ron spooned her and snored lightly as she read by the light of her wand. She set the book down, unable to settle her mind. As though she was being taken by force, Hermione pulled her thickest cloak over her pajamas and stuck slippers on her feet. She pulled the violet hood over her mane of hair and walked quietly through the dark house. She braced herself for the cold air, and stepped out into the back garden.

The snow was falling like white gum drops, dancing in the streetlights. Ice glistened in the frozen pond behind their home. Hermione breathed deeply and tried to collect her thoughts. She could still hear Malfoy's voice, ringing in her ears. Come with me and challenge me. Help me feel like myself. She wondered what his plans had been, exactly. Would he have tried to hit on her? Tried to entice her into his adulterous lifestyle? She doubted he'd changed enough to sleep with a Muggle-born but his actions had said otherwise.

Her knees a bit wobbly, she sat on the porch swing and stared out into the dark. She shivered and wrapped her cloak around her knees. She'd seen the bodies, too, once or twice. But she hadn't thought about them in quite some time. The night was still and the only sound was the occasional snow dropping off the roofs of houses.

If she listened hard enough, she could almost hear the silence.

-fin-