"I remember this fitting better."

Draco, sprawled across one of the couches in front of the cream suite's fireplace, looked up from the book he'd selected from her collection. Stepping out of the bathroom, Hermione was wearing what looked like a light purple sack. She had pinned her hair out of the way, and it looked alright, sort of. Better than the dress, at least. "Is that really what you picked?"

"I don't have many party dresses," she said, indignant. "I don't like parties. They're all bad music and people that would rather talk than read, and adults that behave like they're children and children playing silly little games with silly rewards for sitting through all of this rubbish. It's a system of bribes on top of acts nobody really wants to do, except they were invited and said they would go and now they're stuck there."

"Right." He lay down the book, picking up one of the packages that had been sitting on her coffee table ever since they had returned from visiting her parents several days ago. Shaking it experimentally, he smiled in triumph. "Open this one."

"It's not Christmas yet!"

"So? I heard your mum say that you could open one of them early. Choose this one. Don't you want to know what they got you?"

"She, actually. Dad puts everything in green wrapping paper, mum uses red, and the ones from both of them will have little pictures all over the paper. It's just the way it is."

"Your parents colour code your presents? Really? Why?"

She shrugged, slumping onto the second couch. Heaving a sigh, she rubbed her face. "Phew. It's just what we do. I wrap all the presents for mum in purple, and all the ones for dad in newspaper. That second bit is because he stopped reading the paper, since he likes watching the news now. We always have newspaper left around Christmas."

"Okay." He tossed the present to her, grinning as it landed on her. "Come on, open it!"

"No. It's not Christmas."

"Make up a new reason or just open it. I bet it's something you need."

"I don't need anything."

"Except a dress for the party."

She groaned. "I don't know why I agreed to go to this thing with you."

"Because I asked you to stay here at the Manor over Christmas and this was already planned. Come on, open the present. Please?"

"You only want me to open it because you think it'll be a dress that looks nicer than this."

"Yeah, what's with that thing?"

"I wore it to my aunt's wedding a year ago. I didn't want to go, which probably doesn't surprise you, but mum made me go dress shopping and this was the first thing I grabbed. I don't like clothes shopping. I'd rather look for books."

"Of course you would. Either you open it or I do. And there are two other ones for Christmas. Plus what I got you. And what mum got you. And if we're lucky father will hide in his study and not try to ruin Christmas."

"Your father's the Grinch? Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"The what?"

"Muggle stories. Again." She cleared her throat, sitting up and letting the present fall into her hands. Sighing, she began to carefully pull at the tape securing the paper. Draco almost growled in frustration.

"You're one of those people?"

"I don't like ripping the paper unnecessarily. Sue me." Despite her carefulness, the paper was removed quickly. It fell away from a heap of grey fabric, and Draco clapped his hands together in triumph.

"Told you!"

"You would know that one, wouldn't you?" Reluctantly, she got to her feet and returned to the bathroom, glaring at the mess of fabric in her arms. Draco remained where he was, reaching over to straighten the small pile of presents on the table: one from both of her parents, and one from her dad, and two from people who must have been extended family, perhaps her grandma and the married aunt? There would be at least two more added on Christmas morning, when the two of them and Narcissa gathered in an out-of-the-way sitting room to exchange gifts near the tree that his mother had watched the elves put together. For now, though, this would have to do. Five presents. Four, now that she had opened the fifth.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

"Okay, maybe I did need to open this early."

He looked up again, but not before finishing his count. Five. She was wearing it already. It was much more flattering than the sack she'd had for two years, a shiny grey fabric that faded to brown, covered with almost imperceptible floral patterns. The bodice, attached to thin straps that looped over her shoulders, was given shape by the ruffled line of ribbon down the centre, to the point where the skirt attached. It looked much better. She could pass for someone who actually cared about pureblood vanity, wearing that dress.

"I know it looks nicer than the other one, but I'm not doing my hair up for your little party. There's no point, I'm not trying to impress anyone. Why are you still staring at me?" She crossed her arms, fixing him with an accusing stare. Laugh. I dare you.

"Much better," he said instead, and was rewarded with the dawn of a smile on Hermione's face.

✦

She'd found a jacket by Christmas, a denim thing that must have been in her trunk because he could swear that he hadn't felt denim in any of her presents, and besides, she certainly hadn't grabbed it when they had gone to her home. She had tossed it on over her pyjamas, faded golden flannel, on Christmas morning when he knocked on her door to get her. He offered to take the presents she was carrying, but she shot him a suspicious glare and shook her head.

"I don't think so, Draco. You'll probably open them or toss them over the railing or something."

He was offended by the accusation, but only showed it by rolling his eyes at her. A ridiculous habit, but she always did the same, didn't she? "Mind over matter. If you don't mind, it won't matter what I do."

"You're not carrying my presents," she said flatly. But once they reached the green sitting room, she put everything neatly in a pile before hugging him. "Merry Christmas, Draco."

He was unfamiliar with the gesture, though of course it wasn't the first time. He hugged Narcissa fairly often, more when his father wasn't around to look on in silent, eerie judgement, and so he knew to return the hug. No one close to his age had ever hugged him- but of course, prior to Hogwarts he hadn't exactly been willing to talk to those his own age, much less touch them. They were simply too stupid, too ugly, too poor, too proud, too rude. Almost all of them were things that made him a hypocrite.

The two of them stopped hugging when the door opened again, stepping apart quickly as though they had been caught in the midst of some forbidden act. Narcissa shook her head the tiniest amount, so little that she was certain Draco wouldn't notice the act. "Good morning," she greeted. The woman was already dressed properly, unlike the children in their pyjamas. Fine black trousers and an emerald green blouse had her looking as intimidating and elegant as ever.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione chimed, sitting beside her small collection of gifts.

The trio opened their presents together, more of a family than Draco had ever considered he might have before. Hermione had even managed to purchase a small gift for Narcissa, a small silver pendant that the older witch stared at in bemusement. "What's this?"

"It's a locket. You open it and you can fit two pictures in, side by side. I thought you'd like to use it so you can always have Draco close to your heart." Hermione continued to explain that she didn't have any photos of Draco and she wasn't sure if a magical photo would move out of the visible photo, either. Narcissa turned the locket in her fingers, popping it open. White gold, a small emerald glittering on the front, a floral design framing the gemstone. It was a beautiful peace, if rather simple compared to some of the more extravagant things she owned.

"Where did you get this?"

Hermione blinked. "Mum sent me some catalogues to look through. I circled some things I wanted her to get, so I could gift them to others, since I don't have any money. That necklace seemed like something you might like."

The girl sounded shy, but the older witch was pleased. She called t the house elf to fetch a photo of Draco and of Lucius, so that she might duplicate them and set them into her locket. A lovely idea, really, incredibly clever for a muggleborn girl of eleven- no, twelve- years. A girl who was peering closely at a generic magical toy, a doll that whispered to its' owner in the night. Promises of protection, mostly. It wore a bracelet that matched the one Draco had sent Narcissa to choose for Hermione.

Draco, meanwhile, was poring through a book Hermione had given him, one of three. "What's a 'Cinderella'?"

"A muggle story. I told you that I'd tell you some, didn't I? That book is full of the new versions, the ones that Disney tells muggle children, muggleborns, half-bloods, and whatever purebloods watch them. Anyone who'll look, more or less. The second book is the Grimm versions."

"Grim?"

"Yeah, brothers Grimm. They collected the original versions, the ones made up to scare children or teach them to obey whoever was meant to be in charge."

"And what's this last one?" He was picturing a large black dog and a trying not to recite a story about dying that he'd known or a very long time.

Hermione grinned. "Football."

✦

Malfoy Manor was, of course, huge. It was so large that it had its' own ballroom, which, while it wasn't quite as big as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, certainly could have fit two of the house tables in. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which stretched up the lower two storeys of the Manor. Windows at either end of the room and along one wall opened out into the gardens, part of it cleared of snow so that the guests might take a break from the dancing and gossip. Huge double doors occasionally granted entrance to these cleared paths, though not all of them were accessible. A platform raised half way up the wall opposite these doors served as a stage for the band. Guests milled everywhere across the marble floor, not reacting to the ostentatious artwork that decorated the ceiling, or to the beautifully severe portraits that hung between the windows.

Hermione, however, could not look away. In particular, a portrait labelled as Charlotte Shafiq neé Malfoy seemed to have caught her eye, though she would claim that this was because the witch in the portrait was staring right back at her. It's probably because I don't look like everyone else. She didn't, of course, as Hermione wasn't exactly what one might call 'fashion conscious'. She had the new dress on, yes, and her shoes were nice enough- a gift from Narcissa, who said the low black heels were enchanted to keep her from losing her balance. She'd ruined any chance she had of looking elegant by pulling on her denim jacket, though, because it made her feel more comfortable. And so she entered into a silent staring contest with a portrait of a witch who had lived and died in the Middle Ages.

"What are you doing?"

"She's staring at me. And she started it."

"That's a painting. That's aunt Charlotte, by the way. Wave."

Hermione did as instructed, then felt rather foolish. She decided that the best way to express this was to elbow Draco's side- hard. "Why are we in here? There are only adults around."

"We're looking for people we know. Our age. At least, that's what mum told me to do."

"So Pansy Parkinson." She didn't even try to suppress her groan, and ignored Draco's laughter. "Worst Christmas ever."

"I don't know, I think mum liked the necklace you gave her."

"Sorry. Worst Christmas ever for me."

"Help me find Parkinson. And others." He sighed, grabbing her hand to drag her through the crowd.

It took a good half an hour, but they found several other children. Pansy Parkinson was washed out in green satin, a large flower at the waist of a gown made to echo the designs in her mothers. Even she didn't look pleased with this arrangement, standing near Theo in his formalwear. The Greengrass sisters weren't quite dressed to match, but Daphne's ruffled skirt and beaded bodice were awfully complicated alongside Astoria's, a bow at her waist and all in similar shades of pink. Millicent Bulstrode was lingering near Tracey Davis, silent as a bodyguard in a muggle film. The others they found were located accidentally, as Draco had forgotten they would be there: Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and the Patil twins- spotted by Hermione, much to her surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

"Rude," Padma chided. The two girls were dressed in matching saris, and both knew Hermione from school: Parvati from her dorm, and Padma from Transfiguration and History of Magic, where the girls sat together."And our father owns a business that Malfoy is interested in buying. Or at least that's what we were told."

"What are you doing?" asked Parvati as Padma rolled her dark eyes. "On a date with Malfoy junior?"

"What? No. I'm here for Christmas."

"Are you, now?"

"Oh, shut it, Patil. Hermione and Draco are betrothed. They just seem to handle it better than the rest of us."

"What's to handle better, Parkinson? It's not like any of us know who we've been paired with."

Seeing Hermione's curious gaze on her sister, Padma touched her arm to get her attention. "We weren't always well-off, so we couldn't afford to buy a proper seal. If you can't, the Ministry gives a makeshift one to whoever they choose for you. We don't need to know their sizes, so we don't know who they are."

"Well, my family can afford to buy half of London, if they want, and even I don't know who I'm to be matched with. I always thought that Draco's father had threatened someone into letting him know who he was paired with."

"What? That's ridiculous, Parkinson. Draco picked me at that meeting, of course he knows who I am." Hermione wasn't sure how many times she'd said this to other students, but Pansy's eyes seemed to darken at this information.

"He chose you? Out of everyone? A muggleborn?" She scoffed openly. "Yeah, right, Granger- if that's true, I'm a blood traitor."

A what? Hermione wondered. "It's true!" She raised her hand, the Malfoy heraldry glinting on her finger. "We even did the ritual, the one where the purebloods' father draws his wand and casts a spell tying the couples' hands together. It's symbolic of the wedding, you see, it's like a magical proposal. It stops the bond from being broken. And it's irreversible."

If she expected Pansy to speak, she would be disappointed: Daphne Greengrass was the one staring at her now. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"

"Well, she's not lying." Draco, offended on her behalf, shuffled closer.

"Hermione's not a liar," Padma offered in support. Looking conflicted, Parvati nodded.

"He chose you? People got to choose their pairs? And here we are, possibly gifted at the mercy of some muggleborn with a third nostril!"

"A third nostril?" Hermione echoed, confused. "Nobody at Hogwarts has a third nostril."

"Our pair goes to Hogwarts? Do they really?"

"How do you know all of this? You can't possibly know anyone who did the choosing."

"Well, no, I don't, but Professor McGonagall sat us down with Harry and Ron and told us all about it, how it works and why they changed the rules after Draco picked."

"Harry? As in Harry Potter?"

"Changed them?"

"Well, yes," Hermione told the group, growing more and more confused as she described the reasoning explored in The Rationale Behind the Ministry and by her head of house. Crabbe and Goyle, true to character, appeared to be becoming steadily angrier. Padma and Tracey seemed to be fascinated with this information. Pansy, Daphne, Parvati and Millicent, however, were united in their growing annoyance.

"This is rubbish!" Pansy finally snapped. They didn't notice as the adults began to frown at them, their party interrupted.

"No, I promise, it's absolutely true. It's just what I've been told."

"Favouritism, that's what this is," Daphne hissed loudly. "Favouritism towards the Malfoy's and the know-it-all Gryffindor!"

"Excuse you, Greengrass, just because you don't have a single smart bone in your body, doesn't mean Hermione's anything bad!"

"Oh, like you care, Patil! You think we don't see you and your girlfriend staring at Granger every chance you get? You think she's pretty, do you, with her buck teeth and her boring brown eyes and that birds nest she calls hair?"

"I do not," Parvati yelled at the Slytherin, her face red, "I repeat, do not have a thing for Hermione!"

Draco was trying to work out how on earth this argument had started when he noticed Hermione had fallen unusually quiet. Peering at her, he saw that she had moved to hide her teeth and her eyes were watering, the brown glimmering behind unshed tears. Acting on instinct, he stepped closer to her, close enough that he was in front and pressed against her protectively. "Shut up."

"How dare you-"

"How dare you? You get invited to the Manor and you talk like a child on a playground, picking fights! You don't even see what you cause, do you, the pain you give to others? You're a bully, Daphne Greengrass, and it's no wonder your only friend is the only Slytherin who will be scared into it!" He was referring to Sue Li, a pureblood blood-traitor that was cold as ice and more likely to curse someone than bother to speak with them. The Li family went ignored by the Malfoy's almost constantly, because they simply weren't good enough.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?"

Draco looked up at his father, burying his nervousness in his anger. His chin jutted out petulantly. "I won't let her come into our home and insult what's mine!"

The Malfoy patriarch's eyes remained cold as steel and the exact same colour. His own mouth was set into a disapproving line, the same line he wore when alone in a room with Hermione, something that had only happened once as he ventured into the library. "Take your pathetic mudblood and go," he ordered.

"Fine," snapped Draco, taking Hermione's hand again. He pulled her out of the ballroom, all eyes on them. He basked in this attention, didn't dare let it bring him down.

When they were alone, though, he stopped and faced Hermione. She was staring at a spot just over his shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. The tears had begun to fall. "What are you crying about?"

There was a multitude of reasons: she had been right and she hadn't fit in at all at the stupid party. A Slytherin had made fun of her teeth, something that hadn't happened since she was in primary school. Shame that she was bothering to cry. Unfamiliarity, loneliness, doubt. That was the worst, of course, the doubt. Hermione hated not knowing with absolute certainty what her place was: outcast, welcome, or otherwise. "Your dad hates me," she told him. It was one reason.