Chapter 96

"I was wondering what Harry and Ron are doing now," she confessed slowly. "And hoping that they managed to enjoy Christmas on some level."

"I'm sure Mr Weasley managed to create some form of entertainment," the Headmistress offered with a knowing grin. "You should not worry so much about them. If they were in trouble or really needed to get a hold of one of us, there are ways they could do so; Patronuses, Owl, et cetera."

"I know," she agreed absently. "I just wish I could have gone with them."

"I hope you don't resent me for asking you to remain here with me," McGonagall sighed. "The only reason Remus agreed to let them go was because they assured him they would only be gone a week. Had any of us known that they'd intended to leave for these many months, it would not have been permitted."

"I knew they wouldn't come back after a week," Hermione mumbled. "Harry was too determined to find the Horcruxes."

"Well, I must admit that they are doing better than I predicted," she said in a thoughtful tone. "Have more faith in them, Hermione. Perhaps I need you more than they do at the moment."

The brunette cocked her head to the side and regarded her mentor hesitantly. "Professor, will you forgive me for asking a blunt question?"

"Depends what that question is."

"Well," Hermione began awkwardly. "You obviously like children, or you wouldn't be a teacher, and you're very good at giving advice, so I was just wondering why you never had any children of your own?"

"But I have had many children," she replied, and Hermione's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Thousands actually. Some good and some bad, but they all hold a place in my memory."

"Your students."

"Of course," McGonagall nodded, giving the young witch a meaningful look. "And every now and then, an exceptional one comes along who makes me feel as proud as any mother."

Hermione smiled as she felt a warm rush of gratitude and respect for her mentor. "Thank you," she sighed. "For everything."

"You're very welcome," the Headmistress said, rising from her seat with some age-induced difficulty. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I agreed to meet Filius and Horace for some lunch, but if I may ask you a question before I go?"

"Of course."

"This arrangement with Mr Malfoy," she started with a measured voice, and Hermione tried not to flush. "I can see that things have…altered between you, and I am wondering whether I should be concerned?"

Hermione wondered for a moment her lips were slightly swollen from kisses, or if she had accidentally failed to conceal a bruise on her throat that would be suspiciously shaped like Draco's mouth. She hoped that the tensing of her shoulders wasn't obvious, and that the guilty shadow in her eyes was successfully hidden beneath her lashes.

"No," she mumbled finally, feigning certainty. "Everything's fine."

As McGonagall offered her an accepting nod and turned to leave, Hermione laced her fingers together and released a comfortable sigh when the snow started to fall again.

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Draco nursed his self-made coffee between his palms and inhaled the steam.

It wasn't as good as Granger's, but it would do, and as odd as it sounded, he actually felt like he'd accomplished something on his own today. Despite the fact that he had done it the Muggle way, he felt neither degraded nor foolish, but simply relieved that he was capable of doing such a mundane task. And if he'd done it, then perhaps Muggles were not quite as different as he'd assumed…

His head snapped up when Granger entered the room; frosted with snow and looking decidedly cold, but still charming. It almost disturbed him how alluring she was to him now, even in her baggy, Muggle clothing and with her slightly dishevelled appearance, but there was a sad bow to her lips that made him curious.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, perhaps a little sharply.

"Nothing," Hermione breathed wearily. "I'm just a little tired."

"Liar," he accused, his ashy eyes tracking her as she moved past him into the kitchenette. "You are transparent at times, Granger."

"It's nothing," she insisted. "I just get a little down after Christmas. January always feels so bleak."

"It's not January yet," he pointed out, leaving his seat and coming up behind her. "Christmas was only yesterday."

"I know," she nodded. "But I know that next year is going to be awful, and I…I wish that things were different."

"Different," he repeated, reaching up to coil one of her curls around his finger. "You mean you wish that you were with Potter and Weasley."

The muscles in her back stiffened beneath his touch. "I miss them," she confessed sadly. "Just as I'm sure you miss your family. But I…" she trailed off, and Draco could imagine the blush staining her cheeks. "I would never…choose to erase what has happened between us. Even it meant seeing Harry and Ron."

A scary and dangerous bout of something close to affection hit him in the gut, and he continued to toy with the lock of her hair. "And what would they do, if they knew about us?"

"I don't know," she murmured, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. "I think they would shout and scream, but I would hope that they love me enough to understand eventually, but I would be lying if I said they don't despise you."

"And I despise them."

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