Christmas was approaching, and a cheerful atmosphere filled Hogwarts. Students wore joyful expressions, and the Great Hall looked magnificent. The walls were adorned with garlands of holly and mistletoe, while twelve towering Christmas trees stood proudly throughout the room. Some were draped with glittering icicles, and others twinkled with hundreds of candles, filling the castle with warmth and festivity.
Unlike many students who went home for the holidays, Harry and Ron had both signed the list Professor McGonagall provided for those staying at school. No one was surprised by Harry's choice, but Ron had decided to stay because Mrs. Weasley was going to Romania to visit Charlie.
"Hey, Harry, have you noticed Hermione's been acting strange ever since we found out who Nicolas Flamel is?" Ron whispered at the table.
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I even saw her spacing out in class today."
"I saw it too," Ron agreed. "And she disappears right after lessons."
"Something's definitely up," Harry murmured, tapping his fork against his bowl, the metallic clink ringing softly.
"We should figure out what's going on," Ron said.
Harry nodded again, both boys thoughtful.
Meanwhile, Malfoy was having his own troubles.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong lately — specifically, that Pansy was avoiding him.
At first, he thought it was his imagination. But after several days of her ducking away whenever he approached, he realized it couldn't just be coincidence. Normally, except for the hours he spent in the library, Pansy would be at his side — sitting next to him in class, chatting during meals, or pestering him about homework. Malfoy would often help her with assignments or teach her simple defensive spells after class.
But now, she was nowhere to be found. She'd even run away the moment she saw him.
Just like now.
"Pansy," Malfoy greeted as he spotted her sitting by the fire in the common room.
Pansy jumped up as if startled, clutching something behind her back. Without meeting his eyes, she stumbled over her chair and bolted out of the room.
Malfoy sighed, watching her go. "Is this retribution?" he muttered helplessly.
Elsewhere, Hermione sat in the library, flipping through a massive tome. Now that she knew who Nicolas Flamel was, her obsession with the restricted section had waned. Many sources were available in the regular stacks, and with her target identified, her search had become easier.
"No, focus," she whispered to herself, shaking her head.
Ordinarily, Hermione Granger was the very picture of concentration. But ever since that day, her thoughts had been elsewhere — constantly returning to him.
She recalled the unpleasant encounter on the train, the awkward apology in the library, the unexpected trip to Honeydukes in Hogsmeade, and that terrifying moment when he faced the troll. And then, there was that final cold glance — the one that had unsettled her most of all.
Hermione had tried to banish those memories from her mind, but she couldn't. She would drift off in class, lose focus during homework, and even now, sitting in the quiet library, she found herself staring blankly at the page.
Whenever she remembered their happier moments, she couldn't help but smile. Yet that smile would soon fade, replaced by a faint ache in her chest.
"Hermione, you need to forget about him for now," she told herself firmly, patting her cheeks as if to snap herself out of it.
Finally, Christmas arrived.
The students either returned home or stayed behind, and Malfoy was among those leaving for the holidays.
Half a day's journey wasn't too long, but by the time the train pulled into the station, he had already dozed off once. When he stepped onto the platform, he immediately spotted Narcissa waiting for him, elegant as ever in her winter cloak.
"Heavens, darling, how have you lost so much weight?" Narcissa gasped dramatically, pinching his cheek. "Is the food at school that dreadful? I'll have to tell your father to bring it up at the next board meeting!"
"It's just your imagination, Mother," Malfoy replied dryly, eager to change the subject. "Didn't Father come?"
"He said he had something important to attend to," Narcissa huffed, her tone dripping with disdain. "What could possibly be more important than spending Christmas with our son?"
"Alright, Mother, perhaps we shouldn't stand around talking here. The weather's awful."
"Of course, dear. Let's go home quickly. You must be freezing! The fireplace at home is much warmer than the one at school," Narcissa said with a fond smile.
Malfoy rubbed his forehead with mild exasperation.
Using the Floo Network, they were home in moments. Apart from the dizziness, Malfoy admitted it was a remarkably convenient way to travel — fast, if a bit nauseating.
That evening, after a sumptuous dinner, he retired to his room. Narcissa sighed as she watched him go, lamenting that her son had grown up and no longer shared his secrets with her — though, in truth, he never really had.
Back in his room, Malfoy wasn't idle. He was thinking about Christmas presents.
"Although we don't spend much time together outside of class, I should still get Crabbe and Goyle something," he muttered, setting aside a box of snacks.
Then his thoughts turned to Pansy.
"That troublesome girl… what's gotten into her lately?"
After some hesitation, he pulled out a parcel he had bought in Hogsmeade — an oversized quill with pristine feathers and a bottle of rainbow-colored ink. He had noticed that the feathers on Pansy's old quill were all worn out, so this seemed like the perfect replacement.
Finally, his gaze fell on one last note — the one intended for Hermione.
He hesitated for a long time, then sighed softly. "I suppose I should still help her."
He wrote a few brief words on a small piece of parchment, tied it to an owl's leg, and watched it disappear into the night sky.
With his Christmas duties complete, Malfoy lay down, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over him. There was still something important waiting for him tomorrow.
The night passed uneventfully.
When morning came, Malfoy rubbed his eyes, yawned, and made his way to the living room. A grand Christmas tree stood near the fireplace, its branches heavy with glittering ornaments and colorful lights. Beneath it lay a mountain of brightly wrapped boxes — gifts from friends, classmates, and even distant relatives he barely knew.
He picked one up and recognized the handwriting on the attached letter.
"How is it? Does it feel like I've abandoned you? Not a nice feeling, is it?"
Malfoy smirked. That was unmistakably from Pansy.
"But I'll still give you a Christmas surprise. This young lady has generously knitted you a pair of gloves. How's that? Aren't you grateful to me now?"
Malfoy chuckled softly, unfolding the box to find a pair of woolen gloves inside.
They weren't very pretty — the stitches were uneven, and the colors didn't match perfectly — but somehow, they warmed his heart more than any elegant gift could have.
"So that's why she was avoiding me," he said to himself, smiling faintly. "She wanted to surprise me… and she was embarrassed."
Despite her bold words in the letter, Malfoy could imagine Pansy's shy expression as she wrote it. For all her teasing, she was gentler than she let on.
He placed the gloves aside carefully, feeling oddly content.
Next, he opened the packages from Crabbe and Goyle — a collection of sweets labeled banana-flavored slug lollipops and orange-flavored chicken lollipops.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Brilliant," he muttered. "When we get back to school, I'll make sure to show them how Petrificus Totalus works."
Finally, at the bottom of the pile, he noticed a small folded note with delicate handwriting.
It contained only two words: "Thank you."
Malfoy stared at it for a long moment before a faint smile crossed his lips.
"That's enough," he thought quietly.
That Christmas morning, the Malfoy Manor was filled with warmth — not just from the crackling fire, but from the quiet, unspoken feelings woven between each gift, each letter, each moment of connection.
For all his pride and arrogance, even Draco Malfoy couldn't deny that this Christmas had been a little different — gentler, quieter, and somehow, more meaningful.
And though he would never say it aloud, he found himself looking forward to returning to school.
After all, there were still a few people he wanted to see again.
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