~H~

Hermione buried herself in school work to avoid thinking of what was to come. Simple Arithmancy equations were taken to ridiculous, hypothetical lengths; potions were tweaked, ingredients played with to determine if they could be used more effectively, similar to the way the Half Blood Prince had written; 12 inches of assigned parchment on the inner-working of Giant sociology turned into 50 as she wrote detailed descriptions of even the most minute cultural identifiers: all of it was just barely enough to keep her mind off of the impending trial in Croatia.

However, Christmas hols had finally arrived and Draco seemed adamant that she not study for a moment while they were away from Hogwarts. In a rather stunning turn of events, at least in Draco's opinion, Sirius had invited him to join Hermione at his home for the holidays. The Weasleys would be joining them on Christmas day, but for the majority of the break it would just be Sirius, Harry, Draco, and Hermione.

Hermione, for one, could not wait. As dark and dreary as the place had once been, Harry had managed to lighten the place up over the summer. Sirius and Harry had gone full Muggle over the summer by turning the remodeling of 12 Grimmauld Place into a sort of therapy. The Black family tapestry had stayed, at Hermione's insistence, declaring the importance of the preservation of history.

Sirius had doodled poorly-drawn portraits of those members who had been blasted off on Post-It notes, then stuck them onto the tapestry with permanent sticking charms. Hermione found the moving doodles amusing and commended him on his excellent tapestry repair work.

Draco had never been to the London seat of the Noble House of Black, and Hermione enjoyed the irony of a Muggleborn bringing him there.

~D~

Their arrival at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was oddly silent. The door swung open soundlessly and Hermione hung her coat by the door as if she owned the place. Years of etiquette had taught him to never open a house without the host or host's elves greeting you. Two years with the Dark Lord made him leery of entering strange houses that were too quiet for comfort.

A loud bang, followed by some very colorful cursing, from belowstairs made his wariness fade.

"Harry?" Hermione called, making her way towards what appeared to be the kitchen.

"Blasted cast iron, I swear it gets heavier and clumsier every time I use it," Harry was muttering as they made their way into the room, fire blazing merrily.

"Hullo, Hermione," Harry said as he fumbled about the kitchen some more. "Told Kreacher to take the night and I'd cook, seeing as I know your feelings on elves. Trouble is, I don't think he likes the idea of me cooking here and has charmed everything to make it difficult."

"Sounds like Kreacher," Sirius chuckled as he made his way in from the back garden. "Hermione, sweetheart. Lovely to see you."

Sirius and Hermione hugged while Potter swung round with a pot of pasta boiling over.

"Dammit, Kreacher! What did you do?"

"Don't you shout at him, Harry Potter!" Hermione scolded.

"Kreacher is doing nothing," Kreacher said from behind a door. "Kreacher is 'relaxing' and 'enjoying the time off' in his room. Kreacher is 'having fun.'"

"I don't believe Kreacher has ever done any of those things," Draco muttered.

"Right you are," Sirius said with a laugh. "And he doesn't mean to start now."

It was strange, Draco thought. He was in a kitchen, strange in and of itself, but beyond that he was joking and conversing with Sirius Black and Harry Potter. It was surreal.

After much muttering and cursing, Potter set down a passable meal of Swedish meatballs over egg noodles. It wasn't the worst meal he had ever had, and Draco had to say that was a point in Potter's favor. It was certainly a better meal than Draco himself could produce.

Hermione was animated throughout dinner, smiling and laughing. It was a relief to see after the quiet shell she'd been at the beginning of term. It was a relief. She'd lost her fire and it was magical to watch that spark return to her eyes.

It wasn't until they were finishing off the last of the spotted dick, courtesy of Black, that Draco realized the situation he was about to face. His heart stuttered.

"I had Harry do the housekeeping to prepare for you both," Sirius said, looking at Hermione, though Draco knew the tattooed, hardened Azkaban inmate was watching for his reaction. "Harry tried to set up two bedrooms. I told him that likely wasn't necessary. Was I correct?"

Hermione smirked.

"You were, Sirius. Thanks," and she kissed him on the cheek.

Harry looked gobsmacked, Sirius looked resigned. Draco maintained his mask of indifference, but just barely. He was thrilled for this proof that she was willing to be honest about their situation with her friends. He felt redeemed. There was no reason for someone as good as her to want to be someone as tainted as him, but he was selfish enough not to question her reasoning. She had her own demons, it was true, but it didn't negate his.

If the glint in Black's eyes were anything to go on, he remembered Draco's demons perfectly well.

Draco smiled blandly at him.

Draco was the last Black heir. Old magics prevented family offing the heir themselves, so he was safe from Black. Black could have someone else take him out, but from what he knew of the man, Sirius Black wouldn't allow anyone else to do the honors if he decided Draco needed to die. No, he'd probably lock Draco away and torture him into oblivion. Considering the madness Draco had seen in his aunt and what he knew of his great aunt, Draco was certain he wouldn't enjoy it. Draco, that is. Sirius would enjoy it a lot.

"Shall we?"

Hermione's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"We shall," he said, looping an arm around her waist. He chuckled quietly at the muffled grown from Potter.

~H~

A tapping woke her the following morning. She tried to burrow beneath the blankets, absorbing the warmth from Draco's bare chest.

The tapping didn't care, and continued on.

"Get the bloody bird," Draco muttered, voice muffled by her riotous curls.

After a lengthy stretch, and a poke in the ribs from her grumpy bedfellow, Hermione padded over to the window and let in Lillith, the barn owl she'd given her parents. Lillith hopped into the room, hooting indignantly.

Hermione could see why, the poor dear was weighted down with gifts from her parents.

Happy Christmas dearest!

We wish you were here with us, the beaches in Brisbane are lovely if scorching. Quite a change from the winters in England. We should finish off the sale of our practice here soon and then we'll be home. I know Cammy will miss having you home for the hols. Lillith seemed eager to bring you your gifts, I hope the stubborn girl understands the undertaking of flying these around the world.

Have a lovely Christmas, my love. Your father and I look forward to seeing you this summer.

Love,

Mum

Hermione smiled at the note and picked up the gifts to take them downstairs.

"What do you have there?"

"Presents from my parents," she said softly. "I'm taking them downstairs. Go back to sleep."

She felt him watching her from the bed as she slipped into her terry robe and slippers and felt strangely domestic. As though they'd done this a hundred times and would do it a hundred thousand times more.

It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, if this happened a hundred million times more.

Unsurprisingly, Sirius and Harry were still fast asleep. Hermione took the brief quiet in Grimmauld Place to putter around the kitchen leisurely, brewing some milk oolong, popping some scones into the oven and taking the clotted cream from the pantry. She missed her mother's apple cinnamon muffins, a Christmas tradition in the Granger home, but Sirius' offerings would do.

She made her way to the parlor with the tree and found Draco there already, lighting the fire with his wand.

~D~

"Christmas used to be my favorite time of year at the Manor," he said without turning around.

"I'd guess Voldemort changed that?"

He barked a laugh. "You could say that."

"Well, how about we make some new memories. Better ones."

"It's going to take a lot of memories to erase that bastard."

"Then we better start soon, haven't we?" She asked as she sauntered up to him, wrapping her arms about his waist, pressing her lips to his back.

"Mm," he sighed, turning. "I can think of some memories I'd like to have."

"I've never kissed anyone under mistletoe," Hermione said with a grin.

"We should remedy that," he said, producing a sprig of mistletoe above them with a flick of his wand.

"We should," she said with that smirk he was growing to look forward to.

She raised her face to his, eyes fluttering shut and he didn't hesitate before meeting her lips with his.

Her lips were soft.

Plush.

He wanted to plunder them forever.

His hand slid along her hip before wrapping around her back, his other slipping into the mass of curls. He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue and she opened for him. He smothered a groan as her tongue met his, stoking the flames in his belly. His head slipped a little lower and she arched her back, pressing her pelvis against him.

She'd be the death of him, and he'd run to it like a parched man ran to water.

"Mooorning."

They froze.

A/N: I know, I know, sorry for the little cliffy. But I wanted to get a chapter out so you could all rest assured that I wouldn't abandon this fic for another year. I'm going to try and write a little bit through the week so I can update weekly. We'll see how it goes, but your comments are genuinely what motivated me to get this written and out to you as quickly as I did. Hopefully, next week's will be a bit longer. Thank you, thank you to my 20 (TWENTY!) new followers and all of my wonderful commenters. Please, keep em comin'.

~Pooka