Smells Like Teen Spirit

Interstate Love Song

December 20, 1997

As cliche as it might be, Hermione had always found Christmas time at Hogwarts to be magical - something about the lights and the castle brought her a sense of warmth. She recalled with fondness snowball fights with Harry and Neville, drinking eggnog and Butterbeer with Lavender and Pavarti and laughing at whatever antics Justin and the other Hufflepuffs got up to.

This year, the holiday seemed inextricably linked with her mother - all of her memories and happy thoughts tainted by her absence. She walked along the edge of the Black Lake, Elliot Smith's Either/Or playing on her walkman. In the distance, she could see some Second Year girls with their Beanie Babies and a few Sixth Years smoking something at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

She couldn't seem to shake the melancholy, and feared her presence would suck the fun out of her classmates' holiday, so instead she watched the lake begin to freeze over, and the various magical and non-magical creatures within fight for warmth.

Hermione felt a soft tap on her shoulder and pulled off her headphones, turning to find Draco, guitar slung across his back and hair windswept.

"Shouldn't you be with the other Lions? I heard you lot were having some epic party." His tone was teasing but his eyes shone in concern.

She wondered what he was doing there - after all, the Gryffindors weren't the only ones celebrating the end of term and the coming holiday. But looking at the tattered book in his left hand, she found her answer.

"Doing a bit of writing?" She tactfully avoided answering his question.

He shrugged. "Honestly? I can't bring myself to celebrate going home."

She nodded. "I can empathize."

They stood in companionable silence, each stuck in their own thoughts. Draco shrunk and pocketed his notebook before pulling his guitar to his front, strumming a familiar tune.

I'm going out sleepwalking

Where mute memories start talking

The boss that couldn't help but hurt you

And the pretty thing he made desert you

"You listen to Elliott Smith?" she asked, surprised he'd stoop so low as to listen to Indie . She was impressed with his vocal range, the way he was able hit the higher notes so precisely. It was beautiful.

He laced a finger around the wire of her headphones. "I dabble outside of grunge from time to time. Either/Or is a good album."

"I know," she told him, her lip upturned.

"So," he returned to strumming the melody of "2:45 AM", "you never answered my question - why is Hermione Granger, who last I checked was determined to try new things and venture outside of her comfort zone, out here instead of at the surely raging Gryffindor end of term party?"

She closed her eyes, momentarily basking in the breeze and the soft sounds from Draco's guitar.

"I can't seem to get into the right frame of mind. I was in the Common Room, and all I could do was sit and mope. Even Neville's hip hop rendition of "Silent Night" couldn't get me in the spirit," she admitted, unable to look his way. Instead she focused on the still lake.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She could feel his gaze on her, though he continued to lightly strum the tune. The morbid lyrics of "2:45 AM" floated to the top of her consciousness: