Christmas comes far faster than she had thought. Hermione exchanges gifts with her friends in the morning--two new novels from Harry, a beautiful silver charm bracelet from Ginny, sweets and a new dress from Blaise and Luna, a few trinkets from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that George had given her, and the stitched sweater she got every year from Molly. In return, she had baked each of her friends a batch of cookies. It would have been material gifts, but they had insisted she save her money for her own family--and then went to her Aunt Jemina's for a dinner.

After debating with herself, Hermione had decided she would bring Draco with her, if only to avoid the guilt of leaving him alone on the holiday.

She had begged and pleaded and, eventually, threatened him to be on his best behavior while around her muggle family. To her surprise and pleasure, he did not disappoint her, not even when Jeremy spouted a few sarcastic comments.

All through the evening, he acts the part of a perfect gentleman; he gives compliments, helps serve food, and even assists her aunt in the kitchen when called in for cleaning. With each gesture, her smile grows, but so does her suspicion.

When they get back to her home, she stops him in the hallway between the front door and the living room and pins him with a searching look. "What's gotten in to you?" She asks, placing her hands on her hips and blocking his way.

Draco tilts his head and stares at her with wide, innocent eyes. "What do you mean?" he shoots back. "I did exactly what you wanted me too, nothing less and nothing more." Hermione peers at him, watching the way his gray orbs glance to her then flit away to look at something else. Other than that, he is immovable and stoic. She already has her answer.

"You're not as good at lying as you were when you first got here," she states, smirking. "Or maybe I'm just able to see your tells, now."

He scowls at her, meeting her gaze head-on and doesn't look away. She doesn't miss the way his hands twitch. "I'm an excellent liar," he grumbles.

Hermione chuckles, still cheery with the holiday, then returns to the matter at hand. "I can tell you're lying, so what's the real reason you behaved so well with my family. I know you, a little too well, and I know you wouldn't treat a muggle so kindly unless you had a good reason to." She stops when she sees a flicker of fire in his molten eyes and adds, "you can hardly stand to be touched by one whenever we go out in public so don't lie to me." He swallows hard, jaw twitching. "Explain yourself," she prompts.

He mutters something under his breath, rolling his eyes, then speaks in a louder voice. "The other day, when you sent me upstairs so you could talk to Potter and she-weasel, I-" He's saved from finishing by a sharp rapping on the door.

Both of them start and whip around to face the door, Hermione with confusion and Draco with fear.

"That's my cue to run," he says, darting around Hermione and up to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Draco Malfoy, I am not through with you yet!" Hermione shouts on her way to the door. She pulls on a smile and twists the knob, pulling the door open. "Merry Christmas! What can I do-" Her words die on her lips as she stares in horrified fascination at the person standing on her front porch.

For just a moment, Hermione considers slamming the door and calling the authorities, or maybe the entire ministry of magic. Then she gives herself a small shake and tunes in to what her visitor is saying.

"Merry Christmas to you as well, dear, " The woman greets, a small grin on her lips. "Do you mind if we do formal introductions inside? It's a touch chilly out here and I don't want either of us to catch a cold."

Hermione, at a loss for words and unable to form hardly a thought longer than a confused exclamation of why does this woman want to be in her home? , merely nods her head and backs farther into the house.

The woman sweeps in, cloak billowing behind her. "Is your fire started? I fancy a sit by the fire, and perhaps a cup of tea." She looks away from the shell-shocked brunette and snaps her fingers. "Minxy?"

A moment of silence passes, then there is a sharp pop. A small house elf appears at Hermione's left, startling her enough to evoke a screech. The elf jumps, surprised as well, then settles. "Minxy is sorry for scaring the young miss," the house elf cries. "Minxy ought to be punished!"

Knowing what comes next, Hermione is quick to speak up. "No, it's alright, Minxy. There's no need to punish yourself," Hermione assures. The elf freezes, looking shyly up at Hermione, then smiles in silent thanks before turning to the woman.

"Lady Malfoy requested Minxy? Minxy is here to serve lady Malfoy," Minxy tells the elder woman, scurrying to Mrs. Malfoy with an apologetic grimace for her disturbance in the quiet home.

"Would you prepare three cups of tea then start the fire? After that, you may make yourself a drink and food if you'd like, then head back to the manor for a rest," Mrs. Malfoy commands kindly. "It is the holidays, after all."

Minxy bobs her head and disappears into Hermoine's kitchen, leaving the two witches alone.

Hermione manages to gather her senses to defend the creature. "Using a house elf like a slave is terribly" The woman interrupts her, leaving her speechless once more.

"Slaves? Merlin no!" Mrs. Malfoy denies, drawing back. "All the elves in the manor have been freed, but they stay with me to help because they want to. It's only me there, and I was far kinder to them than my husband had been." It's said with resentment, but Hermione feels it's directed to the man and not the house elves.

Hermione stares in wonder at the woman before her, debating whether or not to believe what she had said, then recalls the Christmas-themed sweater that Minxy had drapped over her small frame. She decides to believe Narcissa and realizes she is nothing like Hermione thought she was.

"Would you mind telling me where I might find my son?" Narcissa asks, pulling a brilliant smile and dragging Hermione from her thoughts.

"I'll-I'll go get...him?" Hermione responds intelligently, brow furrowing. She slowly backs away then makes a mad dash up the stairs. "Draco Malfoy, you get your arse out here and explain yourself," she hisses so that the woman downstairs wouldn't hear as she bursts in to Draco's room.

He's sitting on the edge of his bed, but he leaps up when she comes in, chuckling nervously, and walks closer to her. "What's wrong?"

Hermione smacks his arm, then does it again. She points at the floor. "Tell me why in the bloody hell your mother is standing in my living room while her house elf makes tea in the kitchen!" It takes a lot to keep from shouting. She takes a slow breath and waits for her pulse to slow. Once she's no longer thinking irrational thoughts of all the ways she could kill the boy in front of her, she comes to a conclusion. "Actually, I'll just go and ask her now," she declares, turning away and marching down the stairs.

Draco rushes after her, quietly muttering for her to wait, but she ignores him.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione greets upon finding the woman. "Would you mind too much if I inquire the reason behind your sudden visit?"

Narcissa drops her smile and stares at Hermione before turning a glare on her own son. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, why didn't you tell her of my impending visit?" She scolds, voice cool steel. "Not only have you made me look rude for showing up unannounced, but you made yourself seem ill-mannered for not telling her, and could have gotten both her and I in trouble if she decides to tell the ministry of this. You are a guest in her home and you should treat her with the respect she deserves, especially when she is housing you for an entire year." She takes a step closer to her son, staring down her nose at him, eyes alight with a warning. "Apologize at once."

Draco is quick to crack under his mother's sharp gaze and demanding tone, leaving Hermione amazed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I should have warned you," he mumbles, then speeds away to the kitchen, where he's heard greeting Minxy with enthusiasm.

The elder witch stares after him for a moment before turning back to Hermione with a soft sigh. "I hope you'll forgive me, Miss Granger. I had, in fact, written to him and told him that I would be coming." She looks contrite at not having directly informed Hermione. Hermione had never though that a Malfoy, even Narcissa, would show regret for being rude to a muggleborn. It leaves Hermione far outside her comfort zone, but she's pleased they aren't threatening each other.

"It's no bother, Mrs. Malfoy, I was just surprised is all," Hermione says with a small, nervous smile. She's faced down deatheaters and the dark lord himself, but none have unnerved her as much as the woman is now.

"Please dear, call me Narcissa," the woman insists. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to have a talk with Draco before we all sit and enjoy the rest of the holiday." With that, she swoops out of the room and into the kitchen. A flick of her wand has a silencing charm placed on the room.

Hermione sighs and picks up one of the books Harry had given her before settling down in front of her recently kindled fire, her legs folded beneath her and the novel resting in her lap.

In the kitchen, Narcissa immediately starts in on her son. "You like her, don't you?"

Startled, Draco drops the cup in his hand. It shatters noisily on the floor.

"Watch yourself!" she scolds. "You'll damage the floor if you do that." The cup is wordlessly repaired and levitated tot he safety of the counter. "Now, back to my question. Do you like the girl?"

Draco sniffs contemptuously. "I've no idea what you mean. I don't like her at all."

If there is anyone who ever assumed Draco got his smirk from his father, they have never seen the awful smirk that Narcissa can pull. A single glance at her when she shows it and the viewer will know immediately who Draco learned it from. "My dearest Draco, even just now, I could see how you followed her every movement like she was the only one in the room. You're worse than a dog," she says. "Now tell me, why does she seem like she doesn't know about your feelings. You have told her, haven't you?"

Draco curls his lip at the idea of him acting like a dog, but his expression settles as she had gone on. "I tried, mother," he sighs. "Believe me, I did. But something stopped me." He winces, face scrunching in embarrassment. His cheeks flame red as he goes on. "It's like I'm physically incapable of saying the words aloud. I can think them, and wish to speak them, but I can't make them a verbal statement." He's well aware of how ridiculous it sounds, and for a moment, he wonders if she'll laugh at him. But she isn't his father.

He isn't looking her way, so he doesn't catch the way her eyes widen and her lips part in a silent gasp. He does hear her muttering something incoherent.

"What was that, mother?" Draco turns to her with his brow arched quizzically.

Narcissa recovers easily, pasting on an impassive expression, changed only by a warm smile that she only ever gives to him. "I said, you must just me nervous, Draco," she says. "Don't worry too much on it. I'm sure you'll get over it soon." It's only through years of experience that she can keep her voice unconcerned and light-hearted.

Internally, she thinks, I must contact Lucius Immediately.

"If that's what you think, mother," Draco replies, sounding like he doesn't quite believe her.

"Of course it is," she nods. "Now come along, let's not keep Hermione waiting too long. Minxy, will you bring the tea?"