Author's Note: Hello Lovelies! As you may have noticed, I don't have a specific updating schedule. It might be a little soon for me to upload the second chapter, but I was feeling rather inspired today! I'm still hoping for some response (hint!) :). As always, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! -CC
Not to Understand
Dawn. Bloody Hell! It was already six! Hermione was going to be in terrible trouble, absolute hell! Rhonda was going to roast her rump for this. She was late to make Master Malfoy's breakfast. She was late to start the laundry, the dusting, and the silver polishing. She was late.
Draco Malfoy was a strong believer in an early start with a hearty breakfast at exactly six-fifteen, and here she was sleeping, on his bed no less! Well not on it per se, but touching it. Also…oh of all the things she could be doing to break the rules she was touching him! She was going to starve for the next month! Touching her master! No one is allowed to touch Mr. Malfoy he was too much the superior, not that he wasn't everyone's superior these days. He was never to be touched by a person more than two ranks below him, and it was safe to say that Hermione was well past a measly two classes.
After she was able to stop gaping at their interlocked hands she looked up to see a pair of metallic eyes staring back at her completely inscrutable, guarded. Her lips parted with a thousand apologies upon them. How could she be so stupid as to fall asleep holding his hand? Draco smirked and began playing with her thin fingers like a child learning to count. Hermione snapped her mouth shut. It was against the rules to speak when uninvited. His hands were deceptively soft and lithe; oh if Rhonda even knew she was thinking that Hermione would be hung from the roof by her scrawny neck!
He returned his attention to her instead of her fingers and gave a mischievous little smile resembling the impish Malfoy she'd once known as a first year. Then rather suddenly, he came to his senses and released her hand as if she'd burned him. He flew out of bed to dress himself hastily instead of calling a house elf. "You're taking the day off. Do as you please, but stay away from me until I have been asleep for an hour, then you may come in and sleep on your mat." With that he swiftly exited the room and she was left alone in her bewildered state.
Hermione spent three hours in the library curled in the cool leather of an armchair with a downy throw, reading up on wizarding history from the eighteenth century. History had always fascinated her, the patterns, and the risks only the greats took. She enjoyed it well, but her passion was spell making. Unfortunately this was a rare topic, and something she was certainly not permitted to study. Books like those were in Master Malfoy's private collection, which was just as untouchable as he was. She did have the gall to peek at them from her comfortable perch. Each tome was massive and incredibly well-kept behind a gold-rimmed glass panel with an old-fashioned lock that could not be opened even by spell. That did nothing to soothe her curiosity. Not being able to stand her unquenchable thirst for one of those books, she replaced the half-finished history text and decided on a stroll outside.
Hermione made sure the coast was clear of Master Malfoy before entering the hall and raced to the servant's quarters to leave from there. Once outside, she relaxed considerably and even stopped occasionally to smell a flower here and there. Her master's temperament this morning still had her rattled though, and feeling as if she was being monitored. What had run through his mind when he was being so uncharacteristically playful? His orders confused her further. Why had he demanded she stay away from him instead of his usual "go to the library" on occasions when she was not needed? Why wait until he was asleep? Usually Malfoy did not sleep until she was situated; she supposed he liked things to be orderly before he lay down for the night. Would he even be able to sleep with something out of place…that something being herself? Hermione soon had to give up on her train of thought, as it would go nowhere. Sometimes no one understood the workings of the Master. After all they were not there to understand, they were there to do as they were told.
She had paused in her walk without fully knowing she was in front of the stables until she looked up. Smiling she entered and took pleasure in the smell of the freshly dealt out hay. "'Ermione, how've yeh been?" She heard a slightly gruff male voice call from the loft.
"Well enough. What about you, Jeremy?" She replied politely.
"Fine, fine; I get ta' work with the horses ever'day and tha's good enough fer me." He chewed on a bit of chaff and gave a toothy smile. He was three years older than she and from Scotland as was plain from his deep accent. He arrived at the manor a day after her, mystified and scared-stiff. They had become fast friends once she commented on his Scottish background telling him about the boy Oliver Wood whom she had gone to school with. "Say, I heard o' Master Malfoy's rough night through Cook's lass. Care to tell me 'bout it?" He casually engaged her as he inspected the mare closest to her. Hermione acquiesced leaving out the parts where she'd held Master Malfoy's hand and slept touching his bed. She may be friendly with Jeremy, but even he would gasp at that.
"I sure wonder what he means to tell yeh, 'Ermione. Will yeh tell me what it is after he says?" He asked, petting the nose of Anya, a gorgeous butterscotch and cream mare with his large calloused hands. She took the moment to recognize Jeremy's tender nature. He was a gentle giant with a sweet face and a contagious grin.
"I would, but I'm not sure he even knew what he was saying," she replied picking at the hay bale she sat on. "He was in so much pain." Jeremy looked at her curiously as if he had something he wanted to say but changed his mind. He instead climbed back into the loft and began to fork down more hay. Hermione called out her friendly goodbyes, and left through the back door, just narrowly missing the entrance of the man in question himself. Hermione slunk low, to where she was just able to see into the window.
Jeremy saddled Master Malfoy's storm cloud colored horse, Farren. Malfoy looked highly agitated, nervous even. She had the sudden realization that it had been years since she'd seen an obvious emotion on his angular features. Hardly giving Jeremy time to get out the way, he thundered out of the stable leaving the distinct impression that he was running away.