Author's notes at the end of chapter

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

INGENUE
Day 01: Of accidents and thoughts

Midsummer madness. It could only be midsummer madness.

Hermione squinted at the Draco Malfoy sitting at her desk. She contemplated his very Muggle and very bedraggled outfit of ripped jeans and crumpled t-shirt, rather too large for him. She noted how the fluorescent light seemed to bleach his pale skin white and blacken the hollows in his cheeks. Rubbing the dirt out of her eyes, she observed how his dry blond hair rippled with each sweep of the overhead fan, stretching her feet out to enjoy the breeze.

What a realistic dream, she thought, even as she felt a funny stirring in her throat.

He cleared his throat rather ostentatiously.

And then she woke up.

The creak of the bedsprings roared in her ears as she backed up on the bed, the flower-printed coverlet scrunching up beneath her feet. How could it have taken her so long to realise? She was supposed to be quicker than this! But it wasn't everyday a likely Death Eater and killer appeared in her bedroom. She fought down the instinctive urge to scream, calculating it would not help her much. What if he attacked her? Her eyes were suddenly magnetised by the sight two wands in his hands – one of them hers. His hands were growing, crowding out everything else in her vision, bony white fingers that gripped the slender wands with a surgeon's steadiness.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down and tore her eyes away from his hands. What were her options? The closed door was nearer him than her, and was probably locked too. The window? The curtains were drawn, and the windows beyond presumably bolted shut. No other weapon was within reach – the bedside lamp was two arm's reach away and all her books were on the table next to him. She doubted her bolster and its design of cheerful yellow magnolias would fare very well against his wand(s).

Shit, there came the blinding panic again. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the coldness of her bare feet. She could do this. She just needed to calm down, to breathe, to think. She opened her eyes. She just needed to get a grasp of the situation, then she could get the upper hand, create an opportunity for escape.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and was surprised to find that her voice was steady. How did he get into the room? What had she been doing before this?

She remembered being at Eldens with her friends; the stocky man with the brown coat, brown hair, brown eyes; asking for a beer in a soft drawl –

"Oh my gosh, I asked if you were Draco Malfoy," Hermione breathed.

"Well, not exactly the smartest thing you could say considering the circumstances, but it sure helped me make a lot of decisions," Malfoy said.

"Excuse me for not dazzling you with my wit when I'm taken aback," Hermione snapped before she could help herself. She hated it when people called her stupid, because it was probably the one thing she definitely wasn't. But at least, if Malfoy was in the mood to be snarky, he probably wasn't going to kill her too soon. She realised it had only been several months that the words 'killer' and 'dangerous' had become identifiable with Malfoy's name. It wasn't that long ago he was just a stupid spineless git with an over-inflated ego. Hermione suddenly felt a bit calmer. After all, he hadn't actually killed Professor Dumbledore. That counted for a lot…right?

Malfoy cleared his throat again. "I'm not sure if you're aware of your tendency to space out, but I'd just like to highlight to you that it's not particularly productive."

Hermione blinked. She hadn't remembered Malfoy to be quite so annoying. But then again, memory was a funny thing. After Dumbledore's death, she had also remembered Malfoy to be a lot more threatening than he was being right now. At least she knew how to deal with annoying now. Punching people was what an immature, 13-year-old Hermione Granger did.

"How did you manage to kidnap me from the pub?" Only as the question left her mouth, did Hermione realise the possible implications. "What did you do with my friends?" Did you kill them? Did you kill the whole pub? But…Malfoy wasn't like that, right? Anyway, he wouldn't have bothered to keep her alive then. He must have something to negotiate with her. Hermione felt the tension in her shoulders ebb further. The situation actually seemed quite hopeful.

"I don't think kidnap is quite the term to use here," Malfoy said in some crossness. "I have better things to do than kidnap people."

Hermione was incredulous. "And kidnap isn't the term used to denote holding a person against his or her will?"

"I don't believe you aren't willing to be in your own room…"

"Not when you're taking me hostage in it!" Hermione exploded.

"Technically, a hostage refers to a person being held so as to coerce another to adhere to certain conditions. That involves at least three people, in case you were wondering."

"Well I'm sorry I don't have time to discuss semantics with you, because I'm more interested in finding out what the hell is going on!" Hermione shouted. She knew she was losing control; she hated it, and she couldn't help it. She was angry that she was losing to Malfoy – she oughtn't, he was a stupid git! And she was angry that she couldn't stop her anger from overwhelming her logic, that she knew she was acting rashly and she couldn't stop herself. She was seventeen already! She was –

"Hermione dear, is everything alright? I heard shouting."

Hermione jumped and backed her head into the wall behind her. She winced and clutched her head, staring fearfully from the door to Malfoy. She was pretty sure the giddy sensation she was feeling was not solely from the pain.

Don't come in don't come in don't come in, Hermione thought frantically. She had no idea what Malfoy would do to her mother. Would he kill her? She thought he wasn't a killer, but did she really know? She hadn't known he was very likely a Death Eater either, or that he had been trying to kill Dumbledore for most of sixth year, albeit in a coward's way. Who knows how a coward would react when pushed into a corner?

"Hermione? I'm coming in," her mother called, and the door slid open.

Hermione stopped breathing.

"Oh hi, Mrs Granger, I'm so sorry about the noise," Malfoy said politely, smiling slightly abashedly. "We just had some disagreements over the project, and you know how Hermione gets when things don't go her way."

Hermione did her best not to goggle stupidly as both her mother and Malfoy looked over at her with identical knowing smiles.

"Well then, I hope you two manage to sort out your differences, so you can get to sleep soon. It's already way past twelve! Goodnight, you two!"

With a final bob of her bushy head, Hermione's mother disappeared onto the side of freedom.

Hermione expelled her breath in something between a snort and a hiss. "Project? What project? And what do you mean how do I get when things don't go my way?" She did not appreciate the stupid smile he and her mother had jointly showered on her.

"I just told your mother we were doing an Arithmancy project together," Malfoy said.

"But she knows I'm not going back to Hogwarts!"

"I know," Malfoy said irritably. That made it significantly a bit harder. Fortunately she's a Muggle so it wasn't so bad."

Hermione frowned. "Huh?"

Malfoy stared thoughtfully at her. "How about I tell you exactly what you want to know about what happened between the pub and here, and you let me stay in your room for the next few days."

Hermione couldn't stop her mouth from opening just that bit more.

Malfoy cocked his head on one side. "Not that you actually have much of a choice, either way," he mused.

"Well thank you for just noticing that!" Hermione couldn't help but snap. She was feeling like there were a lot of things she couldn't seem to help. She hated how Malfoy wrested control from her so easily. He was definitely different from before. Hermione felt a little tingle in her arms. She just hoped that what she had seen so far was all the difference in him.

"But at least it'll shut you up, right?"

Hermione bristled. "We'll see about that," she retorted. She knew it was a downright stupid idea to challenge one's captor, but (and once again) she couldn't help it. When would she grow up and stop reacting so easily to insults? She was supposed to be more mature than that little girl who had punched Malfoy…though man, that was one good memory.

Malfoy sighed. "Since I'm going to be staying for a while, I think the both of us will have a much more pleasant time here if we cooperate a little, so I hope you don't push me to a point where I have to destroy that balance."

Hermione stayed silent. It was suddenly all too clear to her. It was all an act. This Malfoy talking to her now was as real as the one who had spoken so courteously to her mother. The real Draco Malfoy must have been the first one she saw. The Malfoy who held the wands in a surgeon's grip. Her eyes glanced downwards again. He was still holding them with the same surety, only now, the wand that wasn't hers was pointing towards her. Hermione felt herself shrink against the wall. Did she even have a chance against him? He had planned everything so carefully, even down to how he would act. She wanted to shudder, but she didn't dare betray any sign of weakness in his presence. All she could do now was play along with him. He appeared to be quick on his feet, but Hermione had some wits too. That was the only thing she was proud of. She could think. And she was sure that given time to calm down and truly absorb the situation, she could out-think him. She had to.

His 'request' had sounded simple enough – just stay a few days. But what was his motivation, really? Was this part of a massive Death Eater operation to lock down Harry's friends of friends of the Order? She was due to join Harry and Ron at the Order in a week. She would have gone together with them after their last term had ended, but she had wanted to spend more time with her parents before she submitted herself to what was likely to be the most dangerous segment of her life, not to mention explain and convince them of her decision.

"Right, remember what I said about the spacing out thing?"

Hermione started. Shit, she really had to start thinking faster, thinking smarter. How else could she outsmart him?

"Okay, so tell me how you got me from the pub here. I'm surmising you didn't kill anyone," Hermione said as neutrally as possible, crossing the fingers of her left hand out of Malfoy's sight.

Malfoy made a sound of disgust. "Do you realise how troublesome killing people is?"

"So what did you do then?" Hermione asked, ignoring the glibness of his last statement. Was he familiar with that 'troublesome' activity?

Malfoy shrugged. "Just a simple sleeping spell on you and memory altercation on your friends. They were very willing to hand you over to your old schoolmate after you were completely wasted and unable to even wake up. Tsk, and you're underaged too."

"Like you aren't!" Hermione shot back, then mentally slapped herself.

"Well, in my Polyjuice-d state, I'm actually 22, so I'm definitely old enough to make the conscious decision to waste myself," Malfoy smiled.

"Considering the Polyjuice Potion was wearing off already, I wouldn't say you were exactly 22," Hermione commented, trying to make her sarcasm sound as blandly conversational as possible.

"Yes, well, I was a bit careless," Malfoy said a little regretfully. "But I was trying to stretch out my supply, and having been to the pub several times, I honestly didn't expect to run into anyone I knew in that inconspicuous little space."

Malfoy paused reflectively. "But at least that tiny accident got me free accommodation, and I don't have to worry so much about security and disguise here."

"Security from what?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy ignored her, and Hermione kept that sentence in mind. "Your parents were pretty easy to convince too. I did have some trouble with the whole 'not going back to school' nonsense, but as I said, thank goodness for Muggles. It requires so much less magic to tweak their memories, especially when the scenarios are pretty plausible."

"But…" Hermione wasn't sure if she was putting herself in danger by asking this. "What about the wards on this house? How did you circumvent them?"

Malfoy smiled. "You don't have to worry about that, Granger. I'm pretty sure there won't be any pesky wizards knocking at your door."

Hermione felt her heart get just a bit louder in her ears. How could he talk about the wards so dismissively? She didn't know exactly what they were, but they were put in by the Order. Was he so powerful he could break spells she wasn't even sure of? Clearly, he had matured significantly as a wizard, but…when? Surely he hadn't seemed quite so intimidating in sixth year. It had only been slightly less than a month since he had disappeared with the group of Death Eaters…with Snape.

"What happened to Snape?" Hermione blurted out. "Do you mind if I ask?" she added hastily. This was clearly a bad question, because any answer would surely drag Malfoy's Death Eater associations to the surface. And she definitely didn't want to find out if he was. What if this question awakened currently dormant Death Eater tendencies in him, like a bloody switch? Oh my gosh, Hermione thought, I may die because I couldn't stop my damned curiousity!

"Yes, I do mind, actually," Malfoy said. "As it is, I've covered the events from the pub up to your room, so I've kept my end of the deal. Now it's your turn."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, confused. Was she supposed to take his words literally?

Malfoy looked amused. "Well, not that literally, but I don't really mind."

"That's a relief to know," Hermione said dryly. "So, what's going to happen, now that you've given me the green light to the red light?"

Malfoy looked amused. "That was quite witty," he said, not seeming to notice Hermione's shell-shocked expression. "But, sarcastic comments aside, you should probably heed your mother's advice to sleep now, since it is way past twelve, after all."

Hermione blinked. Who the hell would think about sleep when there was a dangerous possible murderer slash definite kidnapper in their room?

"And what are you going to do?" Hermione asked politely.

"I'm not sleepy yet," Malfoy said.

"So you're going to just sit there and watch me the whole night?" Hermione asked, aghast.

"No, because I actually do have sleep cycles like every normal human being," Malfoy deadpanned.

"But, er…" Hermione paused. How could she ask her captor this?

"Oh, and I wouldn't bother too much about getting off the bed if I were you. I can assure you, it won't be a very nice experience." He smiled at her.

"Okay…" Hermione decided it was better not to ask any further. She trusted (what a word) that he had some way for preventing her from escaping. But that aside, how did he seriously expect her to sleep while he was there? She definitely was doing no such thing, for as long as she could help it.

Rather grudgingly, she got under her covers and curled up on her side, facing Malfoy. If he was going to stare at her all night long, so was she, damn it. This was probably a good idea too, because it gave her plenty of time to think and weigh her options. She tried to ignore the fact that that meant Malfoy had an equal amount of time to weigh his options too, not to mention the extra few hours he had when he knocked her out. And considering the success of the plan he had worked out in those few hours, it didn't particularly seem like time would aid her.

She had always been somewhat of a slow thinker, which would come as a surprise to those who had become used to her readiness in verbal sparring or the split second between a teacher's question and her answer. But Hermione knew that although she was good at answers memorised from elsewhere (and only because she spent most of her time memorising her homework), she was not as quick as Harry in making instant decisions, formulating a coherent and feasible plan within minutes. Though never externally, her thoughts became agitated quickly, and in a verbal argument, she often caught herself spouting illogical arguments, often covered up by indulging in the ever useful logical fallacies. She had always been aggrieved by her ability to think on the spot, because who likes to feel stupid after putting in so much effort? And so she kept thinking, all the time, and looking underneath the underneath of the underneath, because that was the only way she could keep up; instead of making a good decision in a short time, she could make the best decision given a longer time. In a way, it justified the slowness of her thought.

And now here she was, presented with a problem truly to sleep on. Although she couldn't fathom Malfoy's thoughts, she thought she could perceive his situation to a certain extent. He was obviously in hiding from someone or something. The fact that he was only staying a few days (had he mentioned how many?) meant that he was expecting this thing to be resolved soon. Or maybe he was intending to head on elsewhere, away from whoever or whatever he was hiding from. It seemed possible that he was hiding from the other Death Eaters. If not, there ought to have been many willing and able to provide him with security from whatever he feared. Or perhaps, this whole thing was a set-up in itself, and he was under orders (or acting alone?) to carry out some duty involving her. To immobilise her ability to aid Harry in a possible upcoming attack? To elicit some kind of important information? To really be held as hostage, in Malfoy's pedantic definition of the term? After all, why had he not killed her, or just run off after knocking her out? Wasn't residing in her house like living in the lion's den? But then again, there was the saying that the safest place to hide is often the most dangerous, where one is least expected.

Hermione shut her eyes. Her thoughts were killing her. It happened whenever she thought too much, and that was often. The swell of competing opinions and possibilities in her head often threatened to overwhelm her. But she knew that it would pass, eventually. If she kept doggedly sifting through the sea, the ocean of options, answering her own questions, questioning her own answers, she would eventually arrive at the final answer she was seeking. She would just have to spend the whole night thinking. Because if nothing else, that was one thing she could do.

"Characters are not born like people, of woman; they are born of a situation, a sentence, a metaphor containing in a nutshell a basic human possibility that the author thinks no one else has discovered or said something essential about.

But isn't it true that an author can write only about himself?"
-- 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being', Milan Kundera

I would like to claim that this is a good fic, but I don't think it will be, if it follows the standard of the first chapter. It is just a plot I must write, no matter what. Given inspiration and time, it might conceivably be good (and it ought to be, because I am hooked by its core idea), but I've waited a year and inspiration has not knocked on my door, while HP7 is already practically in my living room. Because I greatly dislike writing AUs, I am trying to speed-write this fic with one chapter a day, to hopefully finish on July 21st, when the apocalypse lands, so to speak. I don't expect to receive many reviews, being on ffNET and posting the chapters with exceedingly short intervals between them, but I have to say this, because I do so love to see reviews – if you've read thus far, please do support me and leave a little comment; of improvement needed; of inconsistencies (probably many, as I only have had time to look through the chapter once); or just some words of encouragement. I really appreciate every review that I get. You don't know how much it does for my motivation to write. ((insert angst about insecurity and the need for acceptance by peers ))

Also, stick around for the ending, if you can; if nothing else, that is the part worth waiting for. It's also the part I'm waiting for. :)

cheers,
&Snooza