Chestnuts Roasting Over The Open Firewhiskey: A Hogwarts Christmas Tale

Walkmaning Away

A few days later, Draco found himself reflecting on their conversation at the owlery while he dove on his broom. He pictured Granger's wild hair blowing softly in the wind from the windows, her nose pink from the cold, and her strange muggle jacket. Pink and puffy, it was not something he had imagined the serious girl would choose. But it was the guarded expression, the brown brows knit in irritation, and the pursed lips that his mind kept returning to. It was a face he was all too familiar with, shown to him whenever he insulted her precious Chosen One or Weaselbee. True, he had never been friendly with Granger, and certainly not with her little band of friends. He was sure she still remembered his hexes and his comments about her appearance in previous years, but it was a single word that he felt might have caused her to regard him with such suspicion: mudblood.

When his father was arrested, Draco felt like the rug was pulled out from under him while a blindfold was pulled off his eyes simultaneously. The man he has idolized his entire life attacked children, attacked his classmates who were his age. Since June, Draco's view of the world had dramatically shifted as the delicate pillars that held his pureblooded perspective shattered. The prejudiced words he had parroted his whole life suddenly took on a new meaning he wasn't privy to before. Now that the consequences to these viewpoints had come to collect, Draco realized what he had been indoctrinated into since birth. Simply put, he didn't care about blood status anymore. He didn't care about the orders from a truly deranged wizard with delusions of grandeur. He didn't care about his father's demands or expectations. He didn't even care about his own life. He only cared about how he could keep his mother safe through the coming senseless war.

His snitch darted in front of him and took off. He shook his head as if to dislodge Hermione Granger from his head. "Focus Malfoy," he demanded of himself. As he flew away from the quidditch pitch in pursuit of the snitch, a figure caught his eye walking across the covered bridge to the Forbidden Forest. Well, not walking, really. Stumbling? Dancing? Dancing. If one could call that dancing. He descended, trying to get a better look. It was Granger in muggle clothes again, bouncing her shoulders in time to some unheard melody. He watched he bob her head, her caramel curls rivaling Medusa's coils in their liveliness. He landed on the side of the bridge she was dancing away from and watched for a moment. Before he could stop himself, a mocking laugh escaped from his mouth. He hand clamped over his mouth to avoid detection, but it was too late. Granger had already turned around and seen him. She ripped the contraption off her head with conviction, her face red enough to match the Weasel's hair. "How long have you been following me?" Hermione yelled. "What kind of ferret creep watches a girl dancing alone?"

He bristled at the ferret comment, irritated that she remembered that day and felt the need to throw it in his face. "Now, don't flatter yourself Granger," he retorted in the most condescending tone he could muster. "I saw a figure struggling to walk and wanted to make sure they were ok. Only when I landed did I realize it was you and your rather pathetic attempt at dancing."

"Pathetic!" the witch squeaked in indignation.

"Oh my, so touchy," Draco felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, so he schooled his mouth into the arrogant smirk he watched his father give time and time again. "Not a confident dancer?"

"Confidence in my dancing skills is not the issue, Malfoy, I assure you." This feistiness was more of what he expected when they last met in the owlery.

"Prove it then," he challenged, gesturing an invitation to start with a smirk.

"Do you need something, Malfoy?" she sneered at him. "Or did you just come looking for a private show? I believe Parkinson would be more than happy to oblige this sick fantasy when she returns." Draco grimaced at the mention of Pansy, who was probably still mad at him for their rather spectacular breakup. She had refused to talk to him since he dumped her in September, ignoring his explanation that he was trying to keep her safe. He couldn't go into more details without putting her into danger, so she felt he had blown her off. Things had been rocky with several of his housemates since.

"What is that thing anyway?" Draco asked, pointing to her walkman, eager to move the conversation away from him watching her and from Pansy.

"Oh, a walkman. It's muggle technology," she started, watching him intently as she spoke. Draco fought not to squirm under her pointed gaze. "So you can listen to tapes. Or, uh, recordings of your favorite songs," she explained, her voice confused now. Draco realized it might be because he wasn't leaping at the chance to insult muggles. He pursed his lips and gave a nod of understanding. There was a beat of silence and the two stared at each other.

"My mum sent it to me for my birthday last year, but she didn't realize it wouldn't work at Hogwarts" she continued, clearly interested in avoiding the quiet expanse between the two of them. Draco wondered how well the witch did with awkward silence with people she didn't hate. "Mr. Weasley, he works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office at the Ministry of Magic, I don't know if you know, anyway, he and I spelled it together to withstand the magical influence at Hogwarts. It doesn't work most of the time at Hogwarts," Hermione babbled sheepishly, looking down at the tape player before peering back at Draco with focused curiosity. "I mean, I tend not to pull it out unless I am alone because muggle technology makes so many people uncomfortable here..." Hermione trailed off, not taking her eyes off of him. They both knew who she was talking about: him, his friends, the other pureblood elitists. "And it only works when there aren't many people on campus due to the magical interference. So I've gotten to use it more often during break."

"Well, that's sensible," he said, looking down and kicking imaginary dust on the wooden planks beneath his feet. "I've got to go off and find my snitch now then. Best of luck with your...dancing attempts," he drawled the last two words out in amusement before jumping on his broom and flying off.

Hermione turned and continued on her path to meet Hagrid, analysing the encounter she'd just had. Her second unusual conversation with Draco Malfoy in a week. "What is he playing at?" she asked herself, trying to think of what she might have that he could possibly be after. Whatever he wanted, Hermione wished her friends were here. "I am a good dancer," she reassured herself, thinking of Krum's whispered compliments while putting her headphones into her pocket.