“Hey, Hermione, when are we going back to Hogwarts?” Draco asked the next night as they walked around outside.

“Saturday … four days from now. Why?”

Because I only have two days to get back to school, he thought sourly. “No reason. Just curious.”

They walked a bit farther when he stopped suddenly.

“You know, our final exams are really soon. Oh no! I left my potions book at school! I was supposed to study …” he groaned.

“Couldn’t you just have Professor Snape mail you a copy?”

“Oh, yeah, good point … but maybe I should go back to school, to get it, you know?”

“No, not really. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, nothing!” he hastily replied. Except I need to make an appearance before my father kills me.

“Right,” she answered suspiciously. “Well, tomorrow we’re going into town. We need to buy my cousin a Christmas present.”

“Like the Muggle town?”

“Right,” she repeated.

“Okay.”

“Want to go in? It’s getting chillier by the second.”

He nodded, and then bounded to his room. He didn’t know what to do; his family would kill him if they knew where he was and he didn’t want Hermione to know that he’d lied. She’d already sacrificed so much.

Finally, a solution came to him. He Disapparated and landed in Goyle’s foyer.

….

“Is it for her?” Goyle asked, his jaw firm. He was pacing back and forth in his room. His walls were black, but you could write on them in chalk; scribbles covered every inch and most of it was more than unintelligible.

“It’s not just for Hermione. It’s for us. So we can be together.”

“Your father won’t like this. He’s already come around twice. You’re lucky mother’s out.”

“I know, I know,” Draco pleaded. “Just please do it. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

….

They arrived back at Hermione’s house about four hours after they’d set out. Mrs. and Mr. Granger insisted upon dinner and a movie, which was no problem to Draco. Spending time with their family was enjoyable.

“There’s no fighting or screaming,” Draco sighed. “It’s really nice. Here, at your house … it’s just so much different that mine. When we’re not arguing it’s all silence, and isolation. They don’t really want me there. Well, Mother does, but only some of the time. Sometimes I think she’s scared of me; she rarely sits in the same room with me for longer than an hour.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Hermione whispered. They were sitting on the front lawn, holding hands and watching the cars drive by. “Do you ever miss it, though?”

“Yeah. I mean, they are my family after all,” he nodded. “They’ve always been there for me when no one else has.”

“I’ll be here for you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. It’s still freezing outside.”

As they walked in, a fresh wave of smells cascaded over them. Turkey, stuffing, and gravy flooded the table and more things could easily be smelled cooking.

“Oh, yummy,” Hermione grinned, closing her eyes and taking in the delicious aroma.

“What’s all this?”

“Christmas Eve dinner. Don’t you have it at your house?”

“Not exactly.”

They took off their jackets, hanging them on the hall tree, and walked into the kitchen to clean up.

“Oh, just in time,” Mr. Granger said, folding up his newspaper. He laid it to the side and stood up. “Would you two set the table?”

“Sure.” Hermione showed Draco where the plates were and she grabbed silverware.

They sat down to eat and Hermione led them in prayer, which was surprising to Draco.

“Why?” she asked, biting into a cranberry.

“I don’t know,” he lied at first. “Well … don’t hate me for saying it … but I didn’t know that you would believe in anything that wasn’t supported by fact or logical reason.”

Mrs. Granger snorted. “Not exactly. One time, when Hermione had the chicken pox-”

“Mum!” Hermione protested.

“No, no, tell me!” Draco smiled, intrigued. “I want to hear.”

Hermione turned red as her mother continued with the story.

“Well, she was eight years old and has the nastiest bout of chicken pox I’d ever seen in my life. It was so bad she even had minor hallucinations, and we couldn’t give her the shot for them because she’s allergic. Anyway, she was in the living room and she thought that she was a mermaid! She was flailing around, trying to speak some made up language, when her father came up, grabbed her, and tickled her so hard she peed-”

“Mum, stop it!” Hermione interrupted again, this time positively red.

Draco was laughing into his cup of eggnog. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“No, really, it wasn’t!” he assured her. “Once, I jumped off my roof because I’d heard of the Muggle superhero Superman. Well, twenty stitches and one broken leg later, let’s just say I learned to separate reality from make believe. At least you had a reason; you were sick.”

“Your parents didn’t take you to a Healer?” Hermione asked, shocked.

“Nope,” he replied, setting his cup back down. “Mum said that since I was acting like a Muggle I should get their medicine too. It taught me a lesson. That was one of the most painful things I’d ever done. I respect anyone who’s ever had to do something like that before.”

“Good. Then you’ll like me,” Mr. Granger said.

“He’s a dentist,” Hermione informed him.

Draco winced. “Ouch.”

The thought of someone pulling your teeth out distracted him until he realized that Mrs. Granger was gone. By the time he’d turned around, Hermione and her father had left the table. He followed them to the sofa where they sat. He was surprised when a present was tossed into his lap.

“They do this every year. Each Christmas Eve I get to open one present, always from my dad, and it’s always pajamas. You wear them to bed and the next morning while taking pictures. Open yours!”

Hermione was right. Draco’s box contained a dark, silky green pair of pajamas and Hermione’s was a light blue nightgown.

Before they went up to bed, Draco thanked the Granger’s profusely. “They really are nice.”

“I know,” Hermione agreed. “Hey, you know at the dinner table, where you said I only believe in things supported by fact? Well, you’ve made me believe in love, and there’s no fact to support that.”

She kissed him and went into her bedroom.

….

At around four in the morning, a couple of loud knocks woke Draco from his light sleep.

“Come in,” he said, sitting straight up.

Hermione threw herself into the room, crying. “D-Draco! It’s Hag-Hagrid! He’s been hurt!”

Draco took her into his arms, trying to soothe her.

Goyle had done his job.