I was too impatient to wait till monday to post another chapter.

Oh yeah, and I forgot: None of these characters belong to me excepting Nod Depor. The rest all belong to the incredible J.K.Rowling and Warner Brothers. Lucky.

...

Deadly Umbrellas

"So what's for dinner?" Draco asked with an infuriatingly pleased look upon his face when the door shut behind Harry and Ron.

They owe me big.

Hermione thought dismally before fixing Draco with a severe look. He only smiled more.

They owe me real big.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione did her best to regain a smile.

"Ever had spaghetti?" Hermione asked and to her surprised Draco's face lit up. "I'll take that as a yes."

She started into the kitchen and he followed.

"Will there be garlic bread," he asked with somewhat childlike glee.

"That's a distinct possibility. Not that your breath needs it," Hermione returned.

"I like possibilities and I'll have you know I'm minty fresh. Care to find out for yourself?" Draco asked hopping up to sit on her counter as she stretched to retrieve pasta from a cabinet.

"I never mix business with pleasure Malfoy," she said, "and get off my counter."

"So kissing me would be a pleasure then?" He asked grinning widely.

"Hardly." Hermione rejoined firmly, ripping open the refrigerator door to look for tomatoes. He hadn't even been there half an hour and he was already turning her words around on her. When she closed the door he was standing just on the other side.

"Then you wouldn't be mixing anything, therefore why not find out for yourself," he said reaching out to tug on a curl of her hair.

Hermione thrust the tomatoes into his hands and shoved him back a couple inches.

"Make yourself handy instead of handsy Malfoy or sleep on the street." Hermione ordered. I will not blush.

"Yes mommy," he replied in a sing song voice. "And please, call me Draco."

"Not likely Malfoy, and don't call me mommy."

She busied herself putting a pot of water on the boil as Draco diced the tomatoes.

I think I'm going to like it here.

Hermione deftly cracked the stiff spaghetti noodles in half without any strain and plopped them into the bubbling pot.

If I survive.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione watched in amazement as Draco devoured, with exquisite table manners, the contents of four plates of spaghetti and a half a loaf of garlic bread, extra butter. Somewhere in the massacre of their meal her distaste for the hungry fellow across from her had been replaced with sympathy and concern. His eyes weren't as hollow and dark as Sirius's had been, but still there was a lost kind of look to them. He looked paler and thinner as well, she noted.

"How can you eat so much," she asked, appalled, as the last forkful of spaghetti disappeared into Draco's pristine mouth.

"Living on the lam for three years tends to make one very hungry," Draco rejoined after swallowing. "Your flat is cozy." He said looking around, " I like that."

Hermione snorted. Then she realized he was serious and felt incredibly rude and shocked.

"Thanks." She replied.

"I believe, I'm more in your debt," He returned. "I meant it you know. After staying in bus stops, train stations, and barns for sometime you learn to appreciate things. It's small, but I like it. You can tell it's yours."

"How so?"

"There's a book in every room. The colors in the living room suit you and the cook books in the kitchen are alphabetized. Bet you even color code your linens. While a tad neurotic, it's all around pleasant and warm. It's humble too. I know you have money for something bigger, but you like what you have."

He was somehow both very frank and flattering.

"I wasn't aware you liked things quaint," Hermione said simply.

"There are a lot of things you are surprisingly unaware of." Draco shrugged. Before Hermione could ask him to apprise her of just what those things were, the other member of the household arrived mewling wildly. Crookshanks was three years older and three years worse for the ware. He was a decidedly ugly cat, but Hermione loved him still. "What is that monstrous thing?" Draco asked, turning in his chair.

"That is my cat and his name is Crookshanks," Hermione said stiffly, then warned, "Careful, he doesn't like strangers."

She was very much taken aback when Crookshanks stalked bow-legged up to Draco, bottle brush tail held high and leapt soundly into his lap. There he sat purring delightedly as Draco with some astonishment stroked him behind his fluffy ears. He turned a satisfied smile on Hermione.

"Guess I'm welcome here."

"For now," Hermione replied.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco insisted on washing the dishes. Odd though it was, Hermione consented so long as she got to dry them. He did them by hand another thing that was very odd in her opinion.

"You learn not to use magic so much, when it could get you detected," He said in answer to her look, as he rolled up the sleeves to his button down shirt. Crookshanks purred around their ankles. "You also learn, how to walk quietly and just how much dumb luck you were born with." Hermione laughed and he added, "I happen to be in possession of an astounding amount of dumb luck."

"Where exactly have you been for three years?" Hermione asked.

"Plenty of places. Loads of good ones, loads more bad ones. Tibet even," He said.

"We looked for you all over." She told him.

"And my parents? Did you look for them," He asked. There was a hint of concern in his voice.

"Yes, we did. Elusiveness, must be a family trait. We haven't found them, but their listed as defectors instead of convicts, deadly force won't be used in taking them, if we ever find them that is."

"Probably holed up somewhere nice and peachy." Draco said with a smile.

"Sipping umbrella drinks as we speak," Hermione added jovially.

"Nah, Father would rather dehydrate and could think of ten ways to kill someone with that little umbrella and Mother likes her liquor hard." Draco rejoined almost nostalgically.

"They sound pleasant." Hermione said.

"I'm afraid, pleasant is not one of the Malfoy family traits." Draco replied simply.

The dishes were done.

"I'll show you where you can sleep and shower." Hermione said drying her hands.

"Is it cushy?" He asked, with overplayed excitement as he followed her out of the kitchen.

"A regular Taj-Mahal," Hermione supplied.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco was forever finding things in Hermione's apartment that were neurotic, intriguing, and useful altogether, much like his hostess. He had only been there a few hours but he had been astounded by many things: her brilliant movie collection, the absolute flood of books, and quite disturbingly a collection of porcelain cats. Cat lady. His latest figure of intrigue was a conveniently placed dry erase board, that read,

Don John File Monday!

Buy more orange juice.

Call Mom.

Paperclips.

Egad! She even works in the shower.

The steam of Draco's shower seemed to double back away from the board, which was it seemed cleverly charmed to repel water. Hermione's neat script was remarkably untouched. For now. Draco grinned as he washed shampoo from his hair. Her bath wash smelled nice, not at all fruity and very clean, like wildflowers. He slathered a liberal amount on him and lathered until he was fluffy white. That ought to rid me of the Weasel smell. He was pleased that after rinsing, the scent remained. He toweled off roughly and wrapped the towel around his waist. Let the games begin.

He exited the bathroom just as Hermione was coming to bang on the door. There he stood, mostly naked, slightly damp, and hair askew.

"Excuse me," He said grinning as Hermione glued her jaw shut mentally. It had rebelliously attempted to free itself entirely and drop to the floor. He padded down the hall without looking back and Hermione shut herself in the bathroom as quickly as humanly possible.

"Someone sick and twisted is running my life." She told the mirror.

"Not from where I'm standing," It replied suggestively.

Hermione gave a groan of disgust, disrobed, and stepped into the shower. That slimy git had used a quarter of her body wash. She washed her hair and let the heat of the shower expel most of the stress from her shoulders. I need milk. She thought and turned to her board. Just as she was about to will the words upon the board. Her list wobbled like hot air on asphalt and disappeared. In it's place a loopy scrawl emerged.

Don't act like you're not impressed.

Draco heard the barely repressed shriek of exasperation from his room down the hall. Twenty minutes later he heard her shuffle past his door.

"Sure I can't sleep with you?" He called.

"Positive." He heard her grit out, steps beyond his door.

"What if I get cold?" He wondered.

"There's an extra blanket at the end of the bed Malfoy. Go to sleep."

"Yes mommy," He replied just as giddily as he had before.

Hermione groaned in suppressed agony and trekked off to her room, where she attempted to fall instantly asleep, but something was missing.

That something was currently purring under Draco's chin.

"Guess I won't be lonely." Draco said aloud. He sniffed. He smelled of Hermione's wild flower soap and his pillow had definitely been involved with some scented fabric softener at some point.

Cushy. I like it here.

...

So, how did I do? I could use some opinions, even if it's something like "That'll do pig...that'll do." Thinks she's lost her touch, T. Cupp