Chapter One

Disclaimer: JKR owns all recognizable characters and settings. No copyright infringement is intended.

December, 2003

The bookstore was crowded, and not just with people busily shopping for those lucky enough to be on someone's Christmas list, but with trees and ribbons and bells and snowmen and large boxes wrapped as presents and a number of other oversized baubles. In the midst of the obscene display of holiday revelry stood Hermione Granger Malfoy, reluctant cashier. And currently, it was taking every bit of restraint she possessed to keep herself from hexing the finicky customer in front of her.

With a simple wand wave and a gift wrapping charm, the book was packaged in cheerful holiday paper and all tied up with a fancy ribbon. "Thank you for shopping at Flourish and Blotts. Happy Christmas!" Hermione said, plastering a smile on her face as she handed the package to the pernickety old witch.

"Hmph," the woman responded as she inspected the package. "The ribbon is crooked."

Hermione's jaw tightened as she ground her teeth, her plastic smile never faltering. "I'm so sorry," she said with all the false sincerity she could muster. "Please, allow me to fix it." She reached for the package, but the crotchety woman waved a dismissive hand.

"You obviously don't know what you're doing. I shall fix it myself at home." She left the bookstore, muttering under her breath about stores finding proper help.

Hermione huffed in frustration and counted to ten before turning and offering a saccharine smile to the next customer. "Good evening. Did you find everything you needed?"

It had been a very long day, and she was more than ready to go home. Her head throbbed from an evening's worth of the combined din of Christmas music and chattering customers. If she had to endure Celistina Warbeck singing her holiday version of "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" one more time, she would not be responsible for her actions. She realised that "The Witches and Wizards of the WWN's Winter Wonderland" album was a huge hit, but if she never heard the Weird Sisters sing "The Twelve Wizarding Days of Christmas" again, it would be far too soon. Thankfully, her shift was almost over.

She rang up the last few customers by rote and then waved her wand to lock up the store. Standing behind the counter, she placed her hands on her aching lower back and stretched, attempting to loosen the tight knot of muscles she had acquired during the long hours of standing. She shouldn't have agreed to help close the shop that evening...not after an already hectic day at her full-time job at the Ministry...but she needed the money; every little bit helped.

After re-shelving a few books and helping to straighten up the store, Hermione walked to the backroom and grabbed her cloak. She took a peek out of the back window; it was snowing. "Wonderful," she muttered sarcastically, eyeing her winter cloak that had long since seen better days. Sighing, she reminded herself that she did not need to waste money on a new cloak; she could buy one next winter. She threw the worn fabric over her shoulders and fastened the clasp before returning to the front of the store. Waving good-bye to her fellow employees, she left the building.

The bitterly cold wind hit her full force as she stepped outside, and she hastily cast a warming charm before beginning the short walk to the Apparition point near the Leaky Cauldron. As she trudged up the cobblestone street, she took note of how truly magical Diagon Alley seemed just then, the dim light of the gas lamps casting a warm glow and reflecting off the falling snowflakes, causing them to sparkle like golden diamonds floating in the air.

Hermione smiled faintly as she remembered the last holiday season, when she and Draco had come to Diagon Alley to purchase a Christmas tree. It had been snowing just like it was now. They had bickered and teased as they each picked out their favourite trees, until finally they had settled on a large evergreen, only to return home to find that it was too big to fit through their front door. The smile faded as she remembered that this year there would be no tree, no walks in the snow ... no Draco.

It was hard to believe it had only been ten weeks since his death. She blinked back tears. It felt like an eternity.

Finally, she arrived at the Apparition point and, after pulling her cloak a bit tighter, spun on her heel and Disapparated to a small alley a few streets from her flat in Wimbledon. Walking briskly toward home, she shivered and recast her warming charm; the temperature seemed a bit chillier here than in Diagon Alley.

She always enjoyed this part of her day; walking home gave her time to unwind, to relax before facing yet another night without her husband. After all, why should she hurry home to an empty flat ... especially one that held constant reminders of all that she had lost?

Arriving at her building, Hermione wearily climbed the stairs to their ... her second floor flat. Warding the door behind her, she tossed her cloak onto a chair and walked through the small, white-walled sitting room and into the kitchen. She yawned as she peered inside one of the upper cabinets to pick out something for a quick supper. It didn't take long; the cabinets were nearly bare. She didn't need to keep much on hand when it was only herself.

"Hm," she pondered aloud. "What will it be tonight? Chicken-flavoured Super Noodles, or mild curry-flavoured Super Noodles? Decisions, decisions." With a shrug, she pulled out the mild curry package, then found a small pan and followed the directions, adding in some fresh, chopped vegetables left over from the salad for the previous night's supper. While the noodles cooked, she toasted a slice of bread and grabbed a glass of water. She nibbled on the toast as she waited for the noodles to finish cooking. Once she was settled at the kitchen table with her small but filling supper, memories resurfaced, reminding her of times when she had sat at the very same table, with the very same meal, only she had been sharing it with her husband.

Hermione hated supper. It was the one time of day that she remembered just how alone she really was. Not only was her husband gone, but so were her parents, and now Harry was off on some long-term, hush-hush assignment for the Ministry. And Ron ... well, Ron was a prat who had shunned her when she had chosen to marry Draco. The remaining Weasleys had sided with their son and brother, either out of agreement with his feelings or some sense of family loyalty. Her other close friends were all either dead, casualties of the war, or had left England, unable to live with the memories. The only child of only children, she had no family in the Muggle world, either. As for Draco's friends ... well, there was no point in even thinking of them; they had no interest in befriending her now that Draco was gone.

Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes for moment, as if blocking out the unwanted thoughts, before she picked up her fork and began to eat, her mind returning to the current state of her so-called life.

In a vain attempt to stave off the lingering memories and depression, she was now working seven days a week, both days and evenings. Besides her full-time job at the Ministry in the Department of International Cooperation, she also worked three evenings a week at the stationery store in Diagon Alley. When she had seen the advertisement for seasonal help at Flourish and Blotts, it had seemed like a good idea. Not only could she use the extra money, but she had thought perhaps staying so ridiculously busy would keep her from noticing the crushing loneliness. It worked like a charm, but she was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Most days, it was all she could do to go home, fix a light supper, and fall into bed. On the positive side, if things continued on as they were, she would have the last of the Malfoys' debt paid off by February and could begin to put some money aside ... and not a moment too soon. She could hopefully use those next few months to build up her savings a bit.

Even as she cringed at thinking ill of Draco's parents, Hermione cursed her in-laws' stupidity for the thousandth time. If they hadn't given most of their fortune to a power-crazed lunatic and then thrown themselves headlong into a mountain of debt in order to keep up appearances ... well, her life might have been a lot different. But she would work to pay it off all over again...a million times over...if only she could have Draco with her.

With a groan, she rose to her swollen, aching feet and took the dishes to the sink. She didn't even have the energy to spell them clean; they could wait until morning.

Just as she was heading to fling herself into bed for a good night's sleep, she heard a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock; it was after ten. Who would be visiting at this time of night? Picking up her wand, she approached the door.

"Who is it?" she called, her wand trained on the door; one could never be too cautious. She had learned Mad-eye Moody's lesson well...constant vigilance.

A gruff voice answered, "Your landlord."

Fabulous. What a perfect ending to a perfect day. Her landlord was one of her least favourite people. He was oily and sneaky; had he gone to Hogwarts, he would have been a Slytherin. Mentally whispering an apology to Draco for maligning his House with such thoughts, Hermione opened the door to the rather round, balding wizard.

As always, the man was dressed in expensive robes that were far too small for his large frame, the material clinging to him almost indecently in places. His hair...if one could call it that...was combed over to the side in an attempt to cover his balding head. He was as short as he was round, Hermione's average height making her feel quite tall in contrast. The thing she hated about having to deal with him, however, was the way he would sometimes look at her that made her skin crawl. She hadn't had to deal with the man directly since before Draco's illness, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

"Good evening, Mr McNaughton. What can I do for you at this late hour?" she asked pointedly, looking directly into his dark, beady eyes.

"It's the first of the month, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of your rent, missy."

Hermione barely managed to hold her tongue at his sanctimonious tone. "I'm so sorry. I had to work early today and must have forgotten to drop it off to you this morning. Let me get that for you." Mumbling under her breath, she found the envelope with the rent money on the small table next to the sofa and returned to the front door. She thrust the envelope toward the man. "Here you are. Good night."

She was about to close the door when a beefy hand halted the motion.

"Not so fast. I want to be sure it's all here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you accusing me of something?" She gripped her wand a bit more tightly.

"Do you have something to feel guilty about? I just want to be sure I get all the money that's due me." With a condescending smile, he ripped open the envelope and counted the money. "Where's the rest?"

Stunned, Hermione stared at the rotund little man. Swallowing down the feeling of panic, she asked, "What do you mean? It's all there. Two hundred Galleons, just like every month."

"Didn't you get the notice?" he asked far too innocently. "Rent's gone up ... effective today."

There had been no notice...awful, horrible, little man, raising the rent just before the holidays. Hermione was livid but somehow managed to rein in her formidable temper.

"By how much?"

"Thirty Galleons."

"Thirty Galleons!" It was an outrageous amount, and she was certain he was up to something. Quickly, Hermione added up what she had left after paying the month's bills. There wasn't nearly enough. She only had around ten Galleons to last her until the middle of the month, when Flourish and Blotts would pay her. There had been a few bills she could have held onto for a while had she known about the increase in rent, but she had sent everything off by owl post that morning. Damn it. She would have to play nice and hope the bastard would wait until her next pay check.

"I don't have thirty extra Galleons right now," she began through gritted teeth. Her parents would have killed her for all the damage she'd been doing to her teeth over the last few months. "I will have it by the fifteenth, however."

"The rent is due today, Mrs Malfoy, not the fifteenth." His lips curled into a smug smile.

"I realise that, but I don't have thirty Galleons. I did not receive a notice, so I was not anticipating the extra expense."

He did not appear sympathetic. Bastard. He knew enough about her circumstances to know that her budget was tight. Hermione was more convinced than ever that the slimy wizard was up to something...and it wasn't anything good.

Gripping her wand, she straightened her spine and glared at the man. "What is it you want?"

His eyebrows shot up in surprise briefly before his features resettled into a scowl. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting such forthrightness from her.

"I want my money," McNaughton stated, enunciating each syllable as though he were speaking to a child.

"I don't have it," Hermione responded in kind. "But I will on the fifteenth. I will, of course, pay the late fee as stipulated in our...my lease."

"I'm not waiting until the fifteenth. Your lease is null and void anyway, Mrs Malfoy. Your husband is dead, and he signed the lease, not you. You have absolutely no rights here, missy. I can raise your rent however much I want, whenever I want. I can evict you tonight if I feel like it." He paused a moment, his demeanour shifting from aggrieved landlord to something else entirely. His beady eyes raked over her, lingering on her chest and legs until she wanted to race to the shower and scrub herself clean. "On the other hand, perhaps we can work something out between the two of us, Hermione."

Her temper flared. Oh, he was right about the lease; she had simply hoped he would not remember that bit of information. But to proposition her! Did he honestly believe she was that desperate?

"Mr McNaughton, I am normally hesitant to remind people of my ... let's use the word status, shall we? However, it seems I must remind you that I am one-third of the golden trio, the vanquishers of Voldemort. I am a very formidable witch with friends in high places." Surely it was all right to stretch the truth a tiny bit. "I will pay the late fee, but I will not, under any circumstances, 'work something out' with you!"

By the end of her tirade her voice was raised and her face flushed with outrage. To her dismay, Mr McNaughton did not appear to be swayed in the slightest by her impassioned speech.

"Ah, but I think you will, Hermione," he said with a sneer. "You see, I have been paying attention. Your husband is dead. Your parents are dead. Your so-called friend, Harry Potter, hasn't visited in months. In fact, no one has visited in months. You, my dear, are on your own. There is no one to save you, no one to come to your aid ... except for me." His eyes hardened as he leered at her once more. "Play nicely, and I'll let you stay here. Refuse, and I'll toss you out on your arse before you can say 'golden trio.'"

Hermione saw red. "Are you threatening me?"

He smiled puckishly. "Threaten is such an ugly word, my dear. I much prefer 'encourage,' don't you?" he asked as he raised his hand and ran a podgy finger down her arm.

She snapped. "Protego!" Hermione cried, and the wizard fell backwards into the hallway, his head hitting the opposite wall with a crack. Hermione flew at him, placing her wand under his double-chin and pressing. McNaughton's beady eyes widened in fear, his body trembling from head to toe, and for a moment, Hermione thought he might lose his bodily functions.

"How dare you proposition me, you foul, pathetic excuse for a wizard," she hissed. "You are lucky that I won't hex an unarmed man. Otherwise you might have found yourself visiting the Spell Damage ward at St Mungo's this evening. You will leave me be, do you understand? I will pay you five Galleons now and the remainder by the fifteenth." It meant she might have to ration her food for a few days, but she had to have a place to live. "Attempt to encourage me again, and I will hex your little McNaughton..." She eyed his crotch. "...to kingdom come. Do I make myself clear?"

Unfortunately for Hermione, she had underestimated the slimy wizard. He made a strange motion with his hand, and in an instant, his own wand was pressing into her neck.

"You want to duel me?" she asked, her tone incredulous.

"No!" he shouted. His ashen face indicated that perhaps he was terrified of her after all. "I ... I want you out of this building. Tonight."

Hermione blanched. Damn. She had pushed him too far. She could always Obliviate him, she supposed ...

"And don't even think about trying to Obliviate me." Even in his current position, he managed to smirk at her. "Old landlord's trick: anti-Obliviate spell on the building so tenants can't claim they paid their rent when they didn't."

She sighed. Clearly, she had miscalculated. Where was her vaunted intelligence now, for Merlin's sake? However, she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. She pushed her wand a bit harder into the man's neck and glared at him.

"You will give me seven days to find a new home and leave the premises, or I will hex you where you stand."

"Three days, or I will tell the Aurors you attacked me just now."

She snorted. "Who do you think they will believe ... you or me?"

"Oh, I don't know," McNaughton said in that tone she was quickly beginning to hate. "How about the Muggle security camera up there in the corner? Caught everything on tape. Too bad it doesn't have any sound. All they'll see is you attacking and then threatening me. I'm simply defending myself."

Hermione eyed the camera quickly and then let loose with a string of curse words that would have made Draco proud. "Fine. Three days, but I want that security tape before I go, or I will ensure your dangly bits never see the light of day again." His look of surprise caused her own smirk to appear. "I see you had forgotten I am a Muggle-born."

A thought came to her, and her eyes narrowed. "I don't think I trust you, McNaughton. I want a wand oath that you will not only give me the tape but that you will make no copies of it, nor will you spread rumours about either me or my husband."

McNaughton appeared apoplectic. "My word is good enough, madam."

She shrugged. "Apparently, it is not. I want that oath, now ... or you can say toodle-oo to Mr Winky."

"Fine!" He pulled his wand away from her neck, wincing as she did the same. "Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

Once the oath was made, Hermione quickly backed into her apartment.

"Good-bye, Mr McNaughton. Oh, and one more thing."

She stopped and raised her wand, causing the wizard to throw his hands in front of his crotch. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Accio rent money."

The envelope flew from the pocket in his robes to her hand. She quickly calculated the pro-rated amount of rent and then took out all but twenty-five Galleons before handing him back the envelope.

He sputtered indignantly. "You can't do that!"

She mimicked his patronising smile. "Of course I can. You didn't honestly think I would be paying for an entire month when I'll only be staying here for three days, did you?" And then she slammed the door in his face, placing the strongest wards she could think of to prevent his uninvited return.

No longer in imminent danger, the adrenaline running through her system abruptly vanished, and Hermione found herself sliding to her knees, her wand clattering to the floor as her breath came in harsh gasps.

What was she going to do now?

She heard her neighbour's wireless turn on, and the cheerful sound of the Weird Sisters' "The Twelve Wizarding Days of Christmas" drifted through the parchment-thin walls.

Hermione didn't know if she should laugh or cry...so, she did both.

A/N: My Brit picker informs me that unlike the US, shop assistants are not expected to act cheerful during the holidays. In fact, she says, "I think being made to act cheerful would infringe our human rights or something!" After much consideration, I decided to keep that small scene. I felt it says something about Hermione's current emotional state, that she feels the need to force herself to be cheerful, even to a pernickety old witch. And for the American readers, pernickety is the Brit equivalent of persnickety.

My unending gratitude, as always, to DeeMichelle, Subversa, and LettyBird. You ladies are the best!