Title: Dreams Come True
Author: scarletladyy
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Word Count: 5,230
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Kidnapping/imprisonment
Summary: All Hermione wants is to be home by Christmas, but Draco isn't sure he can make that happen.
Author's/Artist's Notes: The title, and the verse at the beginning of the story, are from the poem 'Dreams Come True' by John Mangalindan. Written for ama_dare for hpholiday 2013. Thank you to my beta, flipflop_diva.

Sometimes I wonder will my dreams come true?
And I ask myself, could it be with you?
I don't have the answer, at least not to share,
I'm afraid if I share them, you wouldn't care.

"Do you think you'll be able to get me to them by Christmas?"

It was a long shot, of course it was. Hermione knew it was. That didn't stop her asking, though. That didn't stop her fuelling Draco with guilt all over again about how he couldn't help her the way she needed the most.

Why couldn't she just let it go? Why couldn't she just learn to keep her mouth shut and accept what he told her? If he could get her to them by Christmas—and that was a very big if—he'd let her know, if only to shut her the hell up. Couldn't she see that he was putting his neck on the line and just be grateful she was even still alive, without making further demands of him?

Apparently not.

"You've got to stop asking that."

"I only keep asking because you never give me a straight answer."

Draco glared at her. "Isn't my silence answer enough?"

"It's a no, then."

"I don't bloody know, Granger. All right? I haven't a fucking clue."

Hermione was silent for once. Then, after a few moments, she added a meek, "You could have just said that."

Draco growled and ran his fingers through his hair. His life had been complicated enough before he'd come across Granger, about to be captured, and had to come to her rescue. For reasons he hates to admit to himself, he saved her and brought her to the only place he could picture at the time—Malfoy Manor, the very place Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters continued to use as their safe house. They'd never been in Draco's bedroom, but he knew he had to get her out of it as soon as possible just in case they did decide to snoop around.

It was very late November, and Christmas was only a few weeks away. Draco wanted Granger to be with her friends and be happy, but although he could Apparate directly into the manor, he couldn't Disapparate from it, and he didn't have a Floo connected to his room either. Getting Granger out would be tricky, and would likely require the majority of the household to be out. Days where Draco was alone were few and far between, because when most of the Death Eaters went on raids, Draco and his parents were left behind. His mother he could count on to keep his secret, but his father was desperate to be in the Dark Lord's good graces right now, and Draco wouldn't put it past his father to turn him in if he thought it would help.

"I've been here at least a week already, Malfoy. I don't know how much longer I can bear it."

"Excuse me?" Now she really was taking the piss. "You don't know how much longer you can bear it?"

"I miss Ron and—"

"Screw Weasley! I'm the one in danger here, Granger. I'm the one having to steal food for you, hoping it goes unnoticed. I'm the one sweating every time I hear footsteps in the corridor outside. I'm the one permanently worried in case they decide to check out my room." He paced backwards and forwards, his breathing laboured as he thought of her audacity. He chanced a look at her, and saw that she at least had the gall to look ashamed. "I'm the one whose family is in the firing line, too."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think..."

"No," he snapped, "you didn't." He very rarely lost his temper, having learnt to control it many, many years ago. It was a trick he'd learnt from his father as a boy, when his outbursts used to scare all his friends away. He still believes it to be the reason Crabbe and Goyle followed him around as they did, because he scared them shitless as a child. Hermione, though... she had the ability to test him to the limit. "Besides, I don't know why you want to rush me and cause me to make a mistake anyway. Do you know what they do to people like you?"

Hermione shook her head and looked away from him.

"Do you want to?"

"No!"

Draco wished he had that option too. What the Death Eaters did to Muggles, Muggle-borns and blood traitors was beyond belief. It haunted him, cropping up in his nightmares and in the moments he allowed his mind to wander during the day. Most of the time he was spared having to actually inflict the torture by appearing keen to watch it, and many others craved the act itself, but the two or three times Draco had been asked to participate still knocked him sick. There was no saying no; he'd had to join in and appear to enjoy it lest rumours start circulating and his family found themselves even further down the ranks.

"Would they really kill your family?" Hermione's voice was small, meek. It was as if she knew the answer to the question, but didn't really want to acknowledge it.

"Yes," Draco replied quietly. "Consorting with a Muggle-born would be bad enough, but you're not just any Muggle-born, Granger. They'd think I was a spy or something." He shuddered as he thought of what had happened to Snape. He'd never felt comfortable around Nagini as it was, but knowing she liked the taste of flesh and it was only the Dark Lord standing between them scared the living daylights out of him.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For, er, saving me."

In the week she'd been here, Hermione hadn't said that once. She'd been furious when he'd Disapparated with her, not understanding the danger at the time and thinking he was abducting her, perhaps to torture or kill her. When he'd managed to explain the gravity of the situation—that she'd be dead if it wasn't for him—she'd been embarrassed and uncomfortable. It's not like he'd done it just for gratitude, but he appreciated that she'd finally recognised his actions to be born out of good will.

"It doesn't matter if you can't get me back before Christmas, not really. I was just being impatient."

"I've never heard you admit that you were wrong before, Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Well, I didn't exactly say I was wrong."

"I'll take it." Draco saw her smile and was about to return it when his Mark began to burn. "Fuck," he hissed. "I've got to go."

When the Dark Lord called, you answered immediately.

~

"You will have the chance to prove yourself to me once again, Draco."

"Thank you, my Lord," Draco said, bent down on one knee in front of the Dark Lord. He'd feared he'd been summoned for another lecture, yet the news was good it seemed. Or at least, good in the loosest sense of the word.

"I am planning an attack on the Burrow on Christmas Eve. You will be there." Draco's blood ran cold and he felt chills run down his spine. He couldn't possibly take Hermione home now, not knowing there was going to be an imminent attack. "Don't let me down again, Draco. You will not get another chance."

"I won't, my Lord. Thank you for this opportunity, my Lord."

"Dismissed."

Draco nodded and stood, leaving the room as calmly as he could muster. The second the door was closed, he almost ran to the Floo. He had to get back home, but not to Hermione. He needed to think about what the Dark Lord had just told him, and what he was going to do with Hermione now he was privy to this new information.

He couldn't possibly tell her. Not in advance, and certainly not after the fact. It's not as if she'd even need to know he was there; he could quite simply convince her he'd be spending Christmas Eve with his family, which was exactly what he would have been doing anyway, and would still do if there was any time before or after the attack. She would nag him to death if she learnt that he was to be there too; she'd make him feel constantly guilty until he couldn't possibly go through with it, which of course would mean both their deaths. If Draco was dead, Hermione would be too.

It would just have to stay a secret from her. He doubted she'd ever find out if he didn't tell her; he'd be wearing his mask on the night and would be indistinguishable from all the other Death Eaters. None of the Weasleys or any other Order Members would be able to recognise him.

The attack itself... Draco had so many questions, and yet he was unable to ask a single one of them. Hopefully his father might know more, though whether or not he'd actually share was another matter entirely. Draco wanted to know exactly what the attack was going to be—would it involve completely destroying the house? Killing the people inside? Taking anyone captive? Was it just a scare tactic, or something more sinister? He hoped it was just a warning. If it wasn't, he feared he might end up having to do some of the dirty work in order to prove himself.

At least now he had a definitive answer to Hermione's question. He wouldn't be able to get her to them by Christmas, because he knew it wasn't safe to do so. Even if he got the opportunity, he'd be laying her open to their attack and the possibility of her getting hurt or killed. He couldn't do that to her. She'd have to stay at the manor until the Burrow was rebuilt—if it could be rebuilt, that was—and it was safe to take her back again.

If and when that would be, Draco couldn't possibly know. He also wouldn't be able to tell Hermione he could finally answer her question, because she'd want to know why, and he'd already decided he wasn't going to tell her about the attack.

The best he could do for her—because he wanted her to have a little hope, even if it wasn't much—was to act as though chances were very slim. An outright 'no' might destroy her, and he couldn't exactly say 'yes'.

The thought of lying to her turned his stomach, but he forced himself to ignore it.

~

It was a week before the planned attack, and a week before Christmas. Hermione had started to get desperate, asking him if there was any chance at all she'd be home to celebrate with her family and friends. It didn't matter how many times he told her he didn't think it would happen, she still asked the question. Day after day after day, and sometimes more than once a day. It made it harder to see her, but he had to admit, it was allowing him to hone his Occlumency skills.

"Draco!" Lucius chided. Draco looked up at the sound of his father's voice and began to pale as he realised that everyone's attentions were on him. He turned slowly to face the Dark Lord, who'd evidently been speaking to him. He hated that, yet again, it had been Hermione invading his thoughts and distracting him.

"I'm sorry, my Lord."

"What makes you special enough that you don't have to listen to me, young Malfoy?" The Dark Lord was eyeing him suspiciously. Draco gulped; he knew his answer had to be perfect.

"Nothing, my Lord. I was distracted trying to think of ways I could aid you."

"Oh?" The Dark Lord appeared bemused by this. Most likely, he knew it was a lie. "And what did you come up with?"

"Well—" Draco faltered for a moment. His mind was working as fast as it possibly could, trying to come up with an appropriate answer. He had to suggest something. "Perhaps if we attack during the night, rather than the early evening, it would be easier for us to catch them unaware and thus cause maximum destruction."

The Dark Lord placed his hands together, his fingertips joining. "I had considered that, young Malfoy, but I do believe their wards will be most stringent during the night. Who expects an attack during the day? Especially one on Christmas Eve. No, the early evening will suffice." He smiled sinisterly and gestured for the rest of the Death Eaters to do the same, causing low rumbles of laughter to echo around the room. Amused or not, everyone had to appear so. "Nott, how are your plans coming along?"

Draco felt like an absolute idiot and he was sure his face was bright red, but at least it appeared he was off the hook. With so little time before the attack, the majority of the plans had been made, and Draco knew his role. It wasn't just a scare tactic. The Dark Lord was well aware that Harry would be residing at the Burrow during Christmas, as he always was, and it was felt that this would be the least obvious time for an attack. Nott—who was leading the attack—and Avery were in charge of capturing Harry, while Draco and the rest of the Death Eaters were to keep everyone else at bay. Murder was certainly on the cards if anyone got in their way. Draco really hoped it didn't come to it, because after failing the last time he was supposed to kill someone, he wasn't sure what would happen if the situation reoccurred.

As for capturing Harry... Draco hoped they wouldn't succeed for a myriad of reasons. Namely, because Harry was the only hope of ever destroying the Dark Lord, and Draco wasn't sure he wanted to live in a Voldemort-ruled world. Hermione also crossed his mind, and how she would react if she were told Harry was captured. Any hope she was currently clinging onto, which Draco was still trying to make sure she had without letting it go too far, would be gone if Harry died.

But Draco couldn't, shouldn't, think about that right now. If the Dark Lord noticed Draco was distracted once more, he wasn't sure he'd get off so lightly again.

~

"It's Christmas Eve."

Carols had been playing throughout the entire manor for the whole day and would be tomorrow too. It was his mother's way of spreading Christmas cheer, and she wasn't going to stop it just because there were Death Eaters in the house. They just had to put up with it. Personally, Draco liked it. They reminded him of the excitement he felt at Christmastime when he was a small boy and the anticipation of the mountain of presents he'd face the next day.

"Oh?" Hermione smiled wanly. "I thought perhaps Christmas Day, with the carols."

Draco shook his head. "No. It's just my mother's always insisted on playing carols year in, year out throughout Christmas Eve and Christmas Day."

"It's nice. I like it."

"Me too."

"The decorations... they appeared this morning, too. Your mother again, I presume?"

Draco nodded. "She's never been one for putting them up early, claiming they cause clutter and dust." He shrugged. "She keeps them up for the Twelve Days of Christmas, though."

"They're beautiful." Hermione stood and walked to the window, looking out into the frost-covered gardens. It was late afternoon, and it wasn't long before Draco had to go and join the attack. He wanted to see Hermione one final time before he went, though he had no intentions of telling her exactly where he was going and what he would be doing. "They look hundreds of years old."

"Some are," said Draco, joining her. The windowsill had carefully placed moving snow globes on it, and small Christmas wreaths hung from the curtain pole. He wasn't sure if Hermione had noticed it, but there was also mistletoe in the centre of the window. He hadn't failed to notice they were both standing right underneath it. "I broke a snow globe as a child. Mother went ballistic, even though it was able to be fully repaired. I tend to stay away from them now and admire their beauty from afar."

Hermione's fingers traced one of the snow globes carefully. "What were your parents like when you were little?"

"Strict." Draco smiled sadly. "Firm. But loving, all the same. My mother was very private with her love; when we were home she would cuddle and kiss me, read me stories and let me stay in her bed when I was scared. In public, she offered an affectionate hand and no more, wanting to retain her icy exterior. My father showered me with gifts and showed his love that way, feeling as though it wouldn't be right for him to be as close to me as Mother was. Yours?"

"We were very close, a very loving family. In public and private. It pains me whenever I think about..." She shook her head. "Yes, it was nice. Just the three of us."

Draco wanted to pry and ask what she was going to say, but she probably wouldn't tell him anyway. "There's a party tonight," he said casually. It wasn't a lie; his parents always hosted a celebration on Christmas Eve. He just wouldn't be there for most of it. "Mother's invited nearly everyone she knows and deems worthy of attending. She's hoping I'll find a nice, pretty, pure-blood girl and begin courting."

"Oh?" Hermione smiled. "Don't you want to?"

"I've met them all before. I don't have a connection with any of them."

"What about... Pansy?" Hermione asked the question tentatively, as though she was afraid of what his reaction might be. "I thought you two were an item back in school."

"We were," said Draco. "She's the best candidate out of all of them, I suppose. We're close friends, but we don't work as a couple. That's why we split. We might end up marrying anyway, if our parents want us to."

"Don't you want to marry for love?"

Draco laughed. "What a notion. Love is last on the list, according to my parents. Marriages are means of political and social gains. Love, a connection, is a bonus. It's why Mother is so annoyed at me for not choosing a witch yet."

"I see."

"I do like someone," confessed Draco, though he wasn't sure why. Hermione was just there, and she seemed so willing to listen, unlike anyone else in his life. "But they don't know, and it can't ever be. She's not a pure-blood."

Hermione frowned. "You could if Harry won, couldn't you?"

"That would only mean I wouldn't die for it. My parents would still frown upon it."

"You need to live your life for you, Malfoy. Not for your parents."

How Hermione thought she knew it all. If only it were that simple. His parents' approval meant everything to him, and he was their only son, his father's heir. He couldn't let them down. Besides, there was no guarantee the witch in question would even want to go out with him. "I've got to go," he said, growing ever conscious of the time. "I need to get ready for the party."

"Yeah, course. Have a good time."

They were only four words, but those four words made Draco feel even guiltier than he already had. No, he would not be having a good time, but she wasn't to know that. She was only being nice, which in turn, made it worse.

~

Draco arrived back just before ten pm, while the party was in full swing by the sounds of it. He entered the drawing room by Floo, followed by his father, and his mother must have heard the wards activated because she came straight up to see them to make sure they were going to make themselves presentable and join the party. Celebrating was the last thing he wanted, but he needed to show his face at the party. He knew the select group of Death Eaters that had been at the Burrow tonight would also be doing the same.

He took a longer-than-necessary shower in the master bathroom, allowing the water to cascade down his body as his recounted the night's events. He didn't really want to, but he couldn't get the image of the burning Burrow out of his head, or the screams as the Order members were taken unaware on what should have been a joyous evening. They had failed to capture Harry, which Draco knew the Dark Lord would be furious at them for, but he was secretly pleased himself.

As far as he was aware, there had been no deaths, thankfully. There were many injuries, some more serious than others, but most, if not all, he hoped could be healed. He'd been forced to cast a particularly nasty spell towards one of the Weasley twins, one that would certainly cause a lot of pain and take time to recover from, but one, at least, he could recover from. The rest of his spells were minor or defensive; he was thankful that everyone was far too busy to really pay attention to him. As long as he looked as though he were doing some damage, they wouldn't pry.

After scrubbing his body clean several times, Draco finally acknowledged that he really did need to get out of the shower, before his mother came to find him again. The party would be going on until the early hours, so, in his mother's mind, he would still have plenty of time to find a suitable witch to court. He hadn't been lying about that to Hermione, either. He got no end of grief from his mother about finding a partner and settling down to produce an heir. It really was the last thing on his mind, especially with the war on, but his mother said he could use wartime to court and then marry afterwards.

Yes, because he had all the experience in the world to know how to cope with torture and murder at the same time as trying to create a marriage and a family. And then, of course, he'd probably never get over the woman he actually loved, which would doubtless get in the way of any marriage he had anyway. Why did life have to be so complicated?

There was a loud knock on the bathroom door. "Draco? Draco!" His mother. Of course it was his mother. "Come on, Draco. You're expected."

With a roll of his eyes that his mother would chastise him for if she saw, Draco spelled himself dry and took out the formal robes he'd hidden in the bathroom cupboard earlier that day. He knew he couldn't go back to his room to get changed, else Hermione would want to know why he was so late to the party and what he'd been doing all this time—she was far too curious for her own good—so he'd stashed his best robes away in a moment of quick thinking. Only, it hadn't been that quick thinking, because he'd forgotten to bring underpants and socks.

Great. Not only was he going to have to endure countless amounts of pure-blood girls trying to catch his attention, he was going to have to do it all while commando and with sore feet.

"Ahh, Draco!" His mother said the second he entered the ballroom. "There you are. Come, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Draco knew even before he saw the person in question that she would be female. He pasted a well-mastered smile upon his face as he was forced to greet the long, dark-haired girl. She looked vaguely familiar, but Draco couldn't place her.

"Hi!" she said brightly, smiling from ear to ear. "I'm Astoria Greengrass."

Ahh, she was Daphne's little sister. It was going to be a very long night indeed, if she was anything like her sibling.

~

When Draco awoke the next morning, Christmas morning, to the sound of carols, he was acutely aware that he wasn't in his own bedroom. He was in one of the west wing's guest bedrooms, judging by the décor. The west wing was largely decorated in blue, while the east wing favoured pink and pastel colours. It was something to do with his parents each taking a wing of the manor when they married and decorating it how they saw fit.

The bed he was in looked like it had been slept in by two, and indeed on the bedside table opposite to him was a small note. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and read it.

'Thanks for a great time! Astoria.'

'A great time'? What was that supposed to mean? Had they slept together? No, they couldn't have. Draco was naked, yes, but pure-bloods didn't sleep together until their wedding night, and he didn't think Astoria would have lost her virginity on the first night of meeting him. Perhaps they'd fooled around a bit. His memory of the night after he got back was vague, because he'd downed several Firewhiskys, not only to cope with the horrors of what he'd been forced to endure earlier on in the night, but the fact that he'd had to entertain Astoria and her squeaky voice for the rest of it. He couldn't marry her; he'd be an alcoholic in no time.

Mother would be expecting him down for breakfast soon, so he put on his formal robes and went back to his own bedroom. It was in the west wing too, so he didn't have too far to go, nor did he meet anyone on the way there. Several guests who were invited to their Christmas dinner stayed over last night, and he really didn't want to bump into them in last night's robes coming from another room. They'd get the wrong idea and rumours would start circling.

Draco unlocked and entered his bedroom, locking it behind him again when the door was shut. He looked over to the bed, where Hermione was just starting to wake.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted a quick shower and some fresh clothes."

Hermione nodded sleepily and smiled. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too," he said as he rummaged in his wardrobe. He didn't feel very merry, though. He usually enjoyed Christmas, with all the luxurious food and piles of presents, but his heart wasn't in it this year with the war on the forefront of his mind, and now with the concern of keeping Hermione safe.

"I see you found a witch then."

"Huh?" Draco looked over his shoulder at her and she gestured to last night's robes. "Oh, right. Yeah, no. Mother forced Astoria Greengrass on me and I think I passed out in a guest bedroom."

"Astoria Greengrass..." Hermione thought for a moment. "She's Daphne's sister, isn't she?"

Draco nodded. "I didn't think anyone could be as annoying as Daphne, but evidently, I was wrong."

"Right, yes." Hermione laughed. "I remember she had a rather vivacious personality."

"That's one way of putting it." Draco lined up three sets of robes: one for breakfast, one for Christmas dinner and one for the select gathering they were having this evening. Mother really did like to make a song and dance out of things. "Look," he said quietly as he fiddled with his robes. "I'm sorry I didn't get you home for Christmas."

Hermione shrugged and looked away from him. "Forget about it. I shouldn't have pressured you. It'll happen when it happens, I guess."

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "Maybe in a few weeks, after the New Year. Once everything's died down. I should be able to get the manor free one day. It's been so busy with Christmas and all the preparations..."

"Honestly, don't worry about it," Hermione assured him, though he didn't know if she was being sincere or not. "There'll be other Christmases. I'm just grateful I'm alive. I'll always owe you for that."

Draco smiled weakly. He felt awkward. Technically, yes, he had saved her life, but he'd also kidnapped her at the same time, and then been part of an attack on her friends' home. He didn't feel he deserved her praise at all. "I'd best get a shower. Mother won't be happy if I'm late."

"Sure."

Draco paused as he entered his en-suite, his hand lingering on the door-frame. "I'll try and smuggle some Christmas dinner up for you, some pudding too."

"I'd like that, thanks."

The smile on her face was genuine, and he knew with the little amounts of food he'd been able to bring her that she really would appreciate it. It might even remind her of home. She deserved a treat today, if nothing else. He didn't see her smile often any more; she'd smiled and laughed a lot in school. He'd cherished every single one of those smiles and locked them away in the back of his mind, to bring them out during times like these to provide a bit of happiness and hope for himself.

Hope that one day she'd smile at him because she loved him. What Hermione Granger didn't know was that she was the girl he loved with all his heart but, unfortunately, could never be with. She didn't know that he'd saved her because he couldn't bear the thought of living in a world without her. She didn't know how much he'd enjoyed having her in his bedroom for the past few weeks, even if it wasn't exactly how he'd thought she'd be in his bed. He wanted her there because she wanted to be there, not because she had to be.

Even if Harry won, Draco could not be with Hermione, because as he'd said so very clearly to her yesterday, his parents would not approve. He was a Malfoy, their only son, and they needed an heir. A pure-blood heir. He could not let them down; his happiness would have to be sacrificed. Like he'd locked away all of Hermione's smiles over the years, Draco would have to lock away the memories of her living with him, too. He'd have to bring them out whenever he needed a boost, or whenever he struggled to cope with a wife he didn't love.

Hermione had said she'd owe him for saving her life. If that was true, then perhaps, if Harry won, they could become friends. Perhaps, if she felt the same about him as he did her, they could become lovers. Secret lovers, of course. That was really the best he could hope for. He pushed the thought that Hermione would probably not accept being a dirty little secret to the back of his mind for now. If he was lucky enough for that situation to ever occur, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

For now, he'd take good care of her until he could return her safely to her family. When that day came, Draco knew he'd be devastated. He wanted her to be safe and happy, of course he did, but he also wanted to be with her. That day was not today, though, so he'd have a shower and get changed, play the dutiful son and appear to enjoy the day, and then tonight he and Hermione could have their own little Christmas feast.

Along with the all the others, it would be a memory Draco would lock away and cherish forever.