A/N: anything you recognize isn't mine. small drabble as a Christmas present for a friend, hehe...yeah, I'm terrible, just getting it up now...

A Very Happy Christmas

It had been a long year so far for Hermione Granger. Searching for Horcruxes, fighting to keep Hogwarts open, studying for her N.E.W.T.s - and on top of all that, she'd been named Head Girl. The respopsibility was so overwhelming, she almost turned it down. Almost. Until she heard who the Head Boy was, that is.

No, the trio had decided Hermione should be the Head Girl, so that she could keep an eye on Draco Malfoy. The things Dumbledore left behind had somehow convinced Professor McGonagall to not only let him back in, but charge him with the safety of the students. Honestly, if Hermione didn't know better, she'd think Dumbledore was losing his touch.

But Hermione did know better, and that's why she gave it all a shot. And somehow, somewhere along the way, his biting sarcasm and quick wit became humourous (probably somewhere around that time he called Ron "brilliantly insightful" for mentioning the fact that he was Head Boy despite the circumstances, and that he'd now be sharing a common room with one of Harry Potter's best friends). He kept to himself, mostly, these days, but Hermione had noticed a few odd things about him. He rarely interacted with his old friends, and when he did it was usually unpleasant, owls from his parents rarely came, none of which ever contained chocolate frogs but most of all - he was downright pleasant toward her sometimes. He never called her a Mudblood, he never made fun of her for being Harry's friend or being smart, and he never mentioned the fact that she was constanly doing something she refused to tell him about. She supposed it was because of some combination of these reasons that she'd kind of sort of maybe fallen for him a little bit.

Sometimes when they were alone, they could just be there. They didn't have to talk, or study, or do anything, really...they could just sit around the fire, drinking cocoa and just...be there. She didn't understand how such an experience or thoughtful nature could come from such an arrogant prat, but she was beginning to realize that the front he put up every day had probably saved his life on more than one occasion. Maybe he could appreciate silence. Maybe he could appreciate real company.

Whatever it was, she didn't really care. For once, for Hermione, the result was more important than the process. With Draco, she didn't have to pretend to be anything anymore. She didn't have to pretend to be nice, or smart, or even honest - she could be herself. When they fought it could be explosive but most of the time they didn't fight - he never really expected anything from her, save a hard time.

And it was because of all that, that instead of staying on her own armchair, with her own cup of hot cocoa, doing her own homework, she closed her book, stood up, and sat down on the floor in front of his armchair. She smiled at him as she did it, and he didn't quite respond, but she didn't expect him to. She held her cocoa with two hands as she pulled her knees up and rested her head on his knee.

"Happy Christmas, Draco," she said quietly. She heard something she hoped was a chuckle, and felt him move. She picked up her head and looked up, just as he slid down next to her, leaving one of his arms around her shoulders. He didn't look at her - he stared into the fire, just like he always did - but she knew. She grinned and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Happy Christmas," she heard him say, just before she fell asleep.