20. Error and a Piece of the Divine

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, or any of that.

Note: Phew! Merry Christmas to everyone! I made it! Special thanks (and a million special cookies) to Eilonwy for betaing this. And for spending part of her Christmas exchanging about 40 emails on one particular page of this. You are amazing!

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas Day!

ooo

Chapter 20 – Error and a Piece of the Divine

Harry and Draco returned safely when they said they would. Then they left two more times before Christmas, once for three days, once for a week. Each time Hermione wouldn't eat and could barely sleep the day before their anticipated return. She was unable to concentrate on her tasks during those days, and spent most of her time at work, forcing herself to read or shelve books or something to keep her mind occupied. She saw Andrew at work, and they got coffee together on occasion, but she told him that she didn't share his feelings. He had asked her if there was someone else, and she'd said yes, because it was true, there was someone else. Two someones, actually, who plagued her thoughts every waking moment.

When they returned from their trips, Hermione would hug Harry, and then all three of them would sleep. Harry and Draco looked progressively more tired and haggard each time they returned, and Hermione worried about them constantly, even when they were safely inside the four walls of the house.

Suddenly, it was almost the end of December.

Three days before Christmas Hermione was packing a bag to take to the Burrow, where she planned to spend the holiday. She'd be there an entire week, and she was greatly looking forward to it. Harry would come only for Christmas day to keep up the appearance of being highly busy, even though really he could stay longer.

She finished packing and walked to the closet which held her new robes. She'd only worn two since she moved in and she considered taking one with her. But they would want to know where she'd gotten it, and she didn't even really know where they came from. Plus she was certainly unable to afford them anyway. She sighed and closed the closet door. She was ready to go. There was only one more thing she wanted to do before leaving.

Hermione put her bag at the top of the stairs, then walked down the hallway. She knocked on Malfoy's door, not realizing she was holding her breath.

"Yes?"

"It's Hermione."

"Come in."

She opened the door. Draco was stretched out on his bed, his back against the wall, a book in his hand. He put it down and looked at her expectantly, his face devoid of emotion.

"Uhm, I just wanted to see what your plans are for the holiday."

He smirked. "Let's see. Sit here, read some, fly some, read some more, eat, get drunk, and repeat."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Come on, really, what are you doing?"

"I told you," he said, mildly daring her to say more.

Hermione stared at him intently for a moment, but saw no sign of his relenting. Her shoulders dropped as she said "Fine," and turned to go.

"Wait, don't go," he said softly, in almost a whisper. She turned around and merely looked at him, returning the expectant gaze he'd given her just a moment before. "You're going to the Weasleys, right?"

"Yes."

Neither spoke for a minute, only watched each other. It was as if they both knew there was something to say, but neither wanted to say it. Despite her stubborn nature, and her intense desire to win in all battles, including silent ones, Hermione decided she wouldn't leave without asking him what she'd knocked on his door to ask.

"Do you, uh, have somewhere to go? You know, on Christmas day?" She shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, then back again. She bit her lip; now she'd come to it. "Because if you don't, I could, you know, stay here." Draco raised an eyebrow. "If you want, I mean, I – no one should be alone on Christmas." Draco was dumbfounded. She would stay, miss the Weasleys, miss the Christmas feast and the presents and the jolly good time, just to keep him company on a somewhat more special day than most? There was no way he would let her do that. And he actually did have plans.

"I do have somewhere to go on Christmas."

Hermione let out her breath in relief. She would have kept her word, but it wasn't something she especially wanted to do. "Really? Are you going home?"

Draco laughed. "Uh, no. Not quite. Lucius would rip me apart, in as many ways as he possibly could. And my mother would cry, and say she's missed me, and then go for the traditional Christmas bottle to wash away my memory once I'd left. No, I don't really have a home to go to."

"Where are you going? If I may ask."

"You may. I will be visiting the couple you saw in New Zealand."

"Oh. Who are they?" she asked, hoping he would just sort of forget that he'd refused to tell her.

But he didn't, of course, and he said, "Now, now, you know I'm not planning on telling you for 20 years."

She sighed. "Can't blame a girl for trying, can you? Uhm, well, Happy Christmas, then."

"You too, Granger."

Hermione gave a little wave and closed his door. Draco listened as she walked down the stairs and then out the front door, and Disapparated with the characteristic pop! He listened for a long time after she'd left, not sure what he was waiting to hear. He always hated it when she left; the house lost its light, and it was nearly as depressing as before she and Harry had moved in. But at least he knew she was coming back, and that made it just slightly more bearable.

ooo

Christmas day was perfect in Hermione's opinion. It snowed at the Burrow, six inches, and all the Weasleys plus she and Harry had a gigantic snowball fight before opening presents. Harry and she told them a little about traditional Muggle wars, and Fred and George insisted they do a mock Muggle war, something like 'Capture the Flag.' They set up rules and boundaries, and split into teams; the fight lasted all morning with no winner.

The war was suspended for lunch, and then after lunch everyone took their presents down into the main room to open them together. Hermione's gifts were all predictable – food, a sweater, books, pens, fancy parchment. Finally, she was down to one gift, but she had already opened something from everyone in the room. She frowned as she picked up a slim envelope, wondering who the giver could be. Only her name was written on the front of the envelope, in strict, careful letters.

Hermione turned the envelope over to examine the back; a red wax seal of a toucan fastened the envelope shut. She smiled at the bird, and felt an overwhelming surge of curiosity to see just what Malfoy had sent her. When she broke the seal, a small piece of parchment fell into her hands. In the same strict letters was written, "Fifteen years; three cherries." There was no signature, but it needed none. The smile took over all the features on her face, and she relished the connection she shared with her former worst enemy. She met Harry's eye and he winked.

ooo

On a tropical island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, Draco woke to a very different Christmas day from Hermione's. The sun was shining, a slight breeze was blowing, and Steve and Jane Granger were outside sitting in beach chairs, sipping lemonade. Before joining them, he opened the small pile of gifts at the foot of his bed.

Harry's gift was a gag – a miniature flying broom with flashing lights and a voice screaming, "Go England, Go!" Draco laughed and set the thing free to fly around his room. Steve and Jane gave him a set of books by a famous wizard named Rick Steves about traveling through Europe the Wizarding way.

He expected no more gifts, though he felt a slight pulling of something very curiously in the area of his heart that he didn't have another gift to open, just one more. He sighed, finally accepting the fact that a gift wasn't going to materialize in front of him. He put the books on a shelf, and set the hideous broom trinket on the night table. He was just about to join his friends when a snowy white owl flew into his room.

Draco smiled. "Hello, Hedwig, what are you doing here?" he said, petting the owl and removing a thick letter from her leg. Draco gave Hedwig a treat, thanked her, and sent her back to Harry.

The envelope, however, did not have Harry's handwriting on the outside. It was much more circular and loopy, and the envelope was sealed with a wax imprint of a silver otter. He frowned, and opened the letter cautiously.

Dear Draco,

It's a few days before Christmas, and I'm sitting in Ginny's room, thinking about what a wonderful time I'm having. I thought of you, and wondered if you too were having a good time. Then I turned to the list of gifts I bought for everyone, just to triple-check one last time, and I realized that I hadn't put you on the list, and so hadn't bought you a gift.

But then, what do you get for the man who has everything, or at least can get anything he wants at with no trouble? Anything really nice I can't afford, especially on my current salary (which, as you know, is next to nothing). And anything less would be something you didn't really need anyway, like that flying broom thing Harry got you. Seriously, what are you going to do with that?

I thought and thought and thought, and then it hit me. Something I've been trying to give you all this time, since you showed yourself to be something other than an impossibly evil monster, even before you fell back into our lives. I wasn't even able to think about it until very recently. But when I woke up this morning, I felt different. I can't tell you how, or put a name to it, but I felt different. And it hit me just now what it was. I felt it, all through me. Like it was part of my blood. I don't know what's so special about today, but today is the day.

I want to tell you about it first, though. You told me, months ago, that I shouldn't hate, that it does awful things to people. You're absolutely right. I experienced it first-hand after you killed my parents. I hated you with everything I had. I would lie awake at night, imagining different ways to kill you, slowly and painfully. It became something of an obsession. At the Ministry, I asked to take over your case, and I made myself sick a number of times because I spent every waking breath, every ounce of energy, trying to find you. And I was pretty sure I wasn't going to turn you in when I found you, either.

Harry and Ron really worried about me. I became sickly thin, but I didn't care. I didn't want to eat, I didn't want to take care of myself. All thought was bent on you, on destroying you as you'd destroyed me. Months passed without a single word of you, and it nearly drove me crazy. Harry even suggested I talk to someone, but I was beyond rational, and naturally told him to stuff it. I didn't need to talk to someone, I needed to kill someone. You.

I came up with the perfect plan toward the end of November last year. I lived for it. Every day I woke up and imagined your face when I finally found you and pointed my wand at the place where your heart should be and took your life. I really think I might actually have done it. It scares me, still, to think of how close I came to doing something that could never be taken back, could never be erased. I can think about it clearly now, and I am certain that you would have haunted me even more if I'd killed you than you already did. I probably would have ended up in St. Mungo's.

Back to the plan. I went to your house the day before Christmas; of course I knew where your house was. You were my obsession; the idea of killing you was my oxygen. I brought an Invisibility Cloak, and supplies to last a few days. I would sit, outside your house, and just wait for you to come home. Surely you would come home for Christmas. I had plenty of books to entertain me until your eventual arrival.

But you didn't come home Christmas Eve. You didn't come home on Christmas Day. I saw your parents leave in a hurry before noon and then return just before dinner. But you never came. Even if you had Flooed, I figured I might still see you. Somehow. Though, admittedly, rational thought wasn't highest on my list of priorities. I stayed that night. You didn't show the day after Christmas either.

My stomach sank as I realized you weren't coming at all. I packed up my little camp and went to the Burrow, utterly defeated. Harry and Ron were there for me, as I cried and cried; I cried so hard that I didn't think I could ever stop. I told them where I had been, and why, because of course they didn't know, and they'd been insane with worry. They were shocked, especially by how much thought I had put into my plan, but at the same time, I know a part of them understood.

That night, I released my hate. I cried for hours, releasing all of my anger over my parents' death. Harry, Ron and Ginny took turns sitting with me, holding my hand and calmly reassuring me that I would be okay, that I was strong, that I would be okay. I cried because of my parents, and I cried because of what I had become. I had plotted and designed the vicious murder of another person. It scared me. I didn't want to be that person anymore.

It took a while, a few months, to feel the slow lifting of that weight off my heart. But it lifted, finally, and I felt free from that prison I'd created for myself. Because you were right; hating you ate up my insides, it left me hollow, and probably would have killed me, whether I killed you or not.

I had two months of a tentative kind of peace, and then you reappeared in my life. I was scared that I might start hating you again, and would want to kill you all over again, but I didn't. I didn't really feel anything. I was numb, and I was thankful I didn't return to that person I had been.

So I no longer hated you. But I still couldn't stand you; you'd still killed my parents, and that would never change. It was hard at first, living with you. Sometimes I forgot that I didn't hate you, and sometimes I forgot that I ever had. Part of me couldn't see you as the big, bad Death Eater. I saw you as a twelve-year-old boy who'd called me a dirty name, standing with his broom and showing off for the older boys. A boy who didn't really know what life was about yet.

Then, I started to see that you weren't that boy either, anymore, and it was like a hammer to the head. I didn't want to accept it, because I didn't know you any other way. I told you once I had you pegged, but I have since learned what you told me then – that I know nothing about you. And then I realized you deserved a fresh start. I didn't hate you, and I needed something from you before the end – I needed to have you hear me say this, what I'm about to say now. For both of us, maybe. Maybe you really are sorry you killed them, I don't know. I didn't say anything that night you apologized.

Now, just because I do this doesn't mean I approve of what you did. I obviously do not, in any way, and never will. Nor does it mean that I accept this about you. But I have discovered, in these months I've been around you, that you can be so much more than what you expect of yourself. And I think I know that something like this won't ever happen again, right? If you are truly sorry for what you did, then you couldn't do it again. Maybe that's why you stopped.

And I'm not saying I have this special ability to give you the perfect thing. This is the only thing I can give you. I will always miss them, and I will never forget them. But I can forgive you for taking them from me. I will never understand why you did it, and I don't really think I want to. Maybe in twenty years you can tell me, and maybe I'll be able to listen. Though I'm not holding my breath.

But, all that said, I forgive you. For both of us.

Happy Christmas.

Hermione

He stared at the letter. He read it again. And then for only the second time in his adult life, Draco Malfoy wept.

ooo

After ten minutes, when he'd begun to compose himself, there was a soft knock on his door.

"Come in," he said, wiping his eyes.

Jane Granger entered his room, one of two in the little bungalow he had built together with Jane and her husband, Steve. There were windows everywhere, with no glass; only tarps to keep the rain out. There were two bathrooms, a kitchen, a sitting room and a large porch. It wasn't much, but it was his; it was all he needed.

Behind the house was a deck and a large garden. Draco had charmed the ground to become soil, since nothing would grow in the sand. The Grangers grew all kinds of vegetables, plus they'd even planted a few fruit trees – apple, orange, and cherry. Spring was when Draco enjoyed visiting the most. The garden gave off a sweet scent, and all the flowers were in bloom.

There were trees that provided shade for the garden, to keep away the constant sun. And there were even two palm trees close enough to each other to hang a hammock from.

"Draco?" said Jane, "Are you up?"

He turned to look at her. He was sitting on the bed in the same place he'd read Hermione's letter. She saw he had tear streaks running down his face.

Jane sat beside him and pulled him into a motherly hug. "There, there, now." Draco started spilling tears again, silently. "What's this about?" she asked.

He sniffed, not even ashamed to cry in front of this woman. She'd been there the first time he'd wept as well. "Your daughter," he started, his voice shaking, "just forgave me for killing you." Mrs. Granger held Draco even more tightly. "She's just – amazing."

He didn't see her smile. "We're rather attached to her ourselves," she said.

"I – there's nothing I can even say to this." Draco handed Hermione's mother the letter, and she read it, tears filling her eyes as she did.

When she finished, she returned it to Draco. "My poor little girl," She whispered.

"It's not fair; she should be here with you, not me."

"Draco, tell me honestly . How is she?" Jane asked, handing Draco a tissue.

He wiped his eyes. "She seems fine, I suppose. Good, considering everything that's happened. Harry worries about her being so absorbed in what's going on that she doesn't let herself have fun, or experience the good things in life."

"Like what?"

"Well… he's talked a good deal about…" Draco looked toward the window. "Love."

"Uh-huh," said Jane, drawing Draco's attention back to her. She quirked an eyebrow.

Hastily, Draco added, "Which is ridiculous, if you ask me. I think she's right about not getting into something with so much going on."

"But Draco, caring for someone is what makes life worth living. Hermione cares for Harry, which helps her do the hard things she does for him and for the War. From what you've said, it sounds like she cares a good deal about you too."

He grimaced. "That's just it. I'm not sure I want her to care about me. You and I both know the outcome of this venture might be quite… negative for me."

"So you push her away, keep her at arm's length, because you don't want her to be hurt."

"Right."

"Because… you care about her."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, I care about her. Remember how worried you were about her when all this first happened?" Jane nodded, her expression displaying how very well she remembered. "You were nearly sick with worry, especially when I told you how she'd looked at your funeral. It's gotten better for you now, after all this time, and after hearing from me how she's doing.

"Well, I still worry about her, just as intensely. When she's ten minutes late coming back from work, I'm imagining everything that could possibly have happened to make her late. Sometimes it's so much I feel physically sick. And it's not just my promise to you. I'm not completely sure what it is. All I know is that she can be infuriating when she wants to."

Jane laughed softly. "I know exactly what you mean. But she's a grown woman, Draco. She can take care of herself, and even if she can't, she needs to be allowed to make mistakes."

"Not when those mistakes could cost her life," he said vehemently.

"Draco," she said quietly. "I am quite certain that if she cared about you, it would not cost her life. We trust that you're keeping her from any real danger."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I do my best, but she's not always cooperative." He paused, thinking. "Though I think she's starting to understand just how serious all of this is." He shifted again. "And, Hermione's life isn't in danger from me, but if something were to happen to me – "

"She'd get over it," Jane said matter-of-factly. "You're avoiding the issue by talking about distant possibilities. The question then becomes, what if something doesn't happen to you?"

"You know my feelings on this matter. I – I'm not ready for anything, and even if I were, you are her mother! And you know me, probably better than anyone, so I fail to see what we're even talking about. You should not be encouraging me in this manner." He ran out of steam and his shoulders slumped. "Don't you want someone better for her?"

"Better," said Jane, thoughtfully. "What an interesting word. Better in what way? Who cares more about her than you? Who else would do anything and everything to protect her? Who else, Draco?"

"Her friends care about her."

"Not like you do."

"But I'm nothing!" he shouted. "I'm – nowhere near good enough. I want to finish this mission, and move on with whatever life I end up with. And I want her to do the same."

Very quietly, Jane said, "What if she wants you in her life? What then?"

Draco shook his head. "She's smarter than that, Jane."

"What if, Draco? What will you do?"

He looked at her, and saw that she wasn't asking just to ask; she wanted an answer.

He sighed. "I don't know. Honest. I – I don't even want to think about that. It's too much for me right now, and I have more important things to concentrate on."

"More important?"

Draco chuckled. "You sound like Harry."

"And what do you say to Harry?"

"That I'm not good enough."

"So I can safely say that this is about more than just protecting Hermione from the War."

"That's exactly what I've been trying to say!" he said, exasperated. "I don't want her to get too close."

"You've said that, but is that on her behalf, or yours?"

He shifted uncomfortably and couldn't meet Jane's eyes as he said, "Hers."

"Wrong," she said plainly. "You don't want her close because then you'd be forced to do something about it."

"And I told you, I don't know what I would do."

"Hermione may or may not feel anything special for you, I have no idea. You do feel something for her. Why shouldn't you have the chance to be happy with her?"

He adamantly shook his head. "That's never going to happen."

"Why not?"

"I may… feel things for her, but I am very much in control of myself. Even if I could be convinced that she was the only witch in all the world who could ever make me happy, I would not consign her to such a fate. I would not even give her a whisper of what I'm feeling. She deserves better."

"What if she wants you?"

Draco looked away. "This is pointless, vague speculation. I am fulfilling my promise to you. I have no hope for myself."

"I understand how you feel, but you know this is for the best. A time will come when you'll be able to tell her the truth, and I do mean all of it."

"I hope so," he said.

A knowing smile crossed her face as she patted his arm. "Come on, dear. Enough of this upsetting conversation. Let's have Christmas breakfast, shall we? Steve made pancakes and bangers, and I just finished making some fresh-squeezed orange juice."

He smiled. "Sounds delicious."

Jane sighed, knowing it was nearly pointless trying to talk to Draco about Hermione. She could see, through his letters, and on the few occasions she had seen him, that Draco cared much more deeply for her daughter than he let on, probably more than he let himself admit. But she was confident that time and Hermione would work together on him.

ooo

"Did you get everything you wanted for Christmas, Hermione?" asked Ginny.

The two girls were sitting with Harry and Ron on the Weasleys' front porch, sipping hot pumpkin juice while sitting on two large porch swings. Harry and Ron looked at her.

"Yes, I did, or at least, very nearly. You?"

Ginny cast a careful glance at Harry, and then looked at Ron, and nodded.

"Ron? It was too bad Luna couldn't join us."

He shrugged. "She had previous plans. She went on another trip with her father. Something about finding some rare something-or-other. You know her."

"Yeah, we do," said Ginny, laughing.

"What about you, mate?" Ron asked Harry.

"I'm here. What more could I ask for?"

"Ron?" asked Ginny.

"Besides Luna, yeah. If only this War would end soon," he said, taking a drink.

"It's ending," said Hermione. "Slowly, surely, it's coming to its conclusion, whenever and whatever that is."

"It's hard to think about Christmas with so much going on," said Ginny, kicking her feet.

Hermione met Ron's eyes, and he said, "Now, Ginny. Remember what I always say."

She looked up at him and smirked. "And what's that, Ron?"

"We shouldn't stop living just because there's a war."

"Because if we do, they've won already," said Hermione, smiling. "I must say, Ronald, that I quite agree with you."

Both he and Harry raised their eyebrows. "You do?" Harry said.

"Yes, I do. Ron said that to me, along with a whole list of other things, a little while ago. I didn't agree with him at the time, at least, not completely. But now, I think I do."

"Good, Hermione. Ron's completely right, for some strange reason," said Ginny, putting an arm around Hermione and squeezed her. Then she looked at Ron. "When did you get so smart?"

He grinned at Hermione. "It rubs off on me sometimes."

Harry was the last one finished with his pumpkin juice, and he set it down on the porch heavily. "Well, I think it's time for me to go."

Hermione felt Ginny stiffen and said, for her friend's benefit, "Must you, Harry?"

He looked at her, then at Ginny. "Yeah. It's late, and, well, I should go."

Hermione stood and hugged Harry. "It's too bad you weren't feeling well enough earlier to play bean ball with the rest of us."

"Yeah," he said. "It sounded like you had a great time."

"We did," said Ron, standing now too. "Harry," he started, but Hermione saw that he couldn't continue. They hugged too, and Hermione joined them, crying just a little. Ginny was openly crying, watching them, and Hermione pulled her in to into the hug too.

After what felt like nearly forever, Hermione pulled away from her friends.

"Ron, I need your help with something," she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "Inside."

"Okay."

"Bye, Harry," Hermione said, and with one last quick hug, went into the house with Ron.

ooo

Once he was certain no one would see them, Harry pulled Ginny into a tight hug.

"I miss you every day," he whispered after he pulled back, wiping her tear-stained cheeks.

She nodded. "Me too, Harry. Are you okay? Are you safe? What's going on?"

"I'm okay, and I'm safe. Seeing you is…. the best Christmas present I could have asked for."

"I know," she said quietly.

"I promise you I'm being careful. I fully intend to come home to you when this is all over."

"Can you tell me anything about what you're doing? Anything at all?"

He smiled. "I can tell you that it's good. And it's working."

Ginny smiled fully and wrapped her arms around Harry's neck. "Well, then that's going to have to be enough, isn't it?"

He kissed her softly. "For now, love," he said, then kissed her passionately for a few minutes. When they pulled back for air, they were grinning. "I had a good time with you today."

"Mmm, me too. When will I see you again?"

He shrugged and pulled out of her arms. "Who knows?" He picked up his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. "As soon as I possibly can."

"Okay. Have you said goodbye to my parents?"

"Earlier, yeah. I love you, Ginny Potter." She smiled, but he could tell she was nearing tears again. "Be strong, Gin. For me." She nodded, and hugged him one more time.

"Later, Harry," she said.

He nodded, and left the porch, and then, with a look back at his wife, Disapparated.

ooo

A/N: Thanks for reading and Happy Christmas - again:) I'm working diligently on the next chapter, and I hope to post it soon. Maybe by New Year's. And I'm also working on my challenge fics, and the Christmas one should be posted very soon on Live Journal. I'll post it here as well. Thanks again for reading, and I really hoped you liked this one!