He waited.

He just sat there and waited.

Quietly.

Patiently.

In hopes that maybe she'll return.

She always does.

He just hoped that this time, it's not to tell him how much he's screwed up. It will be a lot worse hearing it from her when her hair is ruffled and her face is beet red. It will be a lot worse when her fists are clenched and her cheeks are stained with tears.

It will be a lot worse if she said she no longer loved him.

Hermione goes through these stages of anger.

First, her lips will always be pursed and her eyes will be downcast.

Then comes the snide remarks- subtle enough to not even notice.

After, the snide remarks will stop, but the glares get worse. She won't talk to anyone- won't say what's wrong. And Draco found it all so bloody irritating.

It becomes a prolonged guessing game- absolute torture.

Last, she finally blows up.

Draco was still waiting for the last part.

Sighing heavily, he got up and headed for the kitchen, looking for something-anything-that would keep him occupied. Draco thought about cleaning, hoping that when she returns it would put her in a good mood. But he decided against it, realizing he couldn't do it now. His mind wasn't in it.

So instead, he settled for a drink. Their kitchen was small. Light blue paint was slowly peeling away and the tiles needed cleaning. A small round table was placed in the middle, acting as their breakfast and dinner table. There was no dining area.

Draco's father wasn't please at all about the place. In fact, he was disgusted, blaming Hermione for corrupting him. As he had put it, no one in their right mind would ever live here. Often times, Draco silently wondered if Lucius was right. He's questioned Hermione's sanity on more than one occasion.

Draco heard the front door open and heard it slam shut.

Bloody hell.

Her bag fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and he could her heading toward their bedroom.

Or her bedroom. He had to sleep on the couch the night before.

Slowly, he put down his glass and followed her, not having a clue what he was going to do or say. When he reached the room, her hair was in a high bun and her blue blazer lay strewn on the floor with her heels on top.

"Hermione," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

She didn't answer. Instead, she walked toward the closet and got out a suitcase, laying it on the bed. Roughly, she stuffed clothes into the suitcase, not bothering to fold them or to smooth out the wrinkles. She grabbed another bag, and proceeded to stuff her shoes in there, making sure to leave nothing behind.

Then, it finally registered what she was doing, and Draco's heart started to beat a little faster. He watched her sling the bag over her shoulder and pick the suitcase up. For the first time, her eyes met his. She made no effort to hide her feelings there.

"Move, Draco," she whispered forcefully. "I need to pass."

"Oh, yea? And where do you plan on going," he inquired, crossing his arms and blocking the doorway.

"Like hell I'll tell you."

"Then you aren't leaving."

"You have no say in what I do, Draco," she stated, a tinge of red appearing on her cheeks. She made a start for the door, stopping in frustration after realizing that she couldn't push Draco out of the way. He knew that if he wanted her to stay, this was not the way to do it, but he just couldn't let her leave like that. Not in such an abrupt manner. Not before they talked.

"Oh, love," he murmured, leaning down so her brown eyes were leveled with his, "I beg to differ."

He watched as her cheeks turned crimson, and felt the suitcase drop on his foot. In an effort to stifle his groan, Draco bit his lip and bent forward, allowing passage through the door.

"I've no time to deal with you, Draco Malfoy," she huffed, grabbing her suitcase once again and heading out the door. "You shattered every ounce of trust I had the moment I found out."

"Wait!" Draco blurted out, limping after her pathetically in an effort to catch up. "Can we just talk? Please!"

Hermione spun around, strands of hair falling out of her bun in the process. Although he was so much taller than her, Hermione had absolutely no problem coming up to Draco and telling him exactly how she felt. She was not scared of him.

"Enlighten me, Draco. What will talking do?"

"Fix things." Draco, having ignored his now throbbing toe, went back to a neutral expression, which irritated Hermione to no end. Hermione laughed wryly.

"You've got to be kidding, Draco. You think talking will fix things?"

"I hope it will."

"Draco, you've got a baby on the way!" Hermione sank into the chair, the loose strands of hair cascading over her face, the tears streaming endlessly. "There's nothing you can say to fix things. Nothing."

A/N: To those of you that took the time to read this, thank you! I wrote this late at night, so I realize it is rather short. Criticism is encouraged, as it helps my writing. Stay tuned for the next chapter, it shall be updated tomorrow.

Lani