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Chapter 7: Decisions:

It was early dawn. Draco had no idea the exact time, but the sky had that pinkish, purplish hue that comes with the rising sun. It was unseasonably cold. It was still too early in the year for a proper frost, but a sprinkling of frost hovered over the blades of grass, nonetheless.

Potter and Bruno Martini, for that was the fake Kevin's real name, took Draco and Hermione to a safe house shortly after they arrived back at her parents' house. They were whisked away like spirits in the night. Hermione slept through the whole ordeal. She was still sleeping. She had no idea they had removed her from her childhood home.

This so-called 'safe house' was little more than a shack. A hovel. Potter called it a cabin. Draco called it a one-room hellhole. There were one bed, two chairs, a table, a fireplace, (which they were told they could not light) and a cabinet that was at least well stocked with food. There was a small sink and a cook stove on the far end of the main room. There was a small bathroom off the main room, but it was little more than an outhouse. There was no shower. Martini assured Draco that they would only have to be here for a day at the most. He said there were powerful charms protecting the house. He told Draco not to do any magic, because that could be traced.

So, there they were.

Draco heard Hermione stirring. Potter, and whatever his name was, had both gone before dawn. He was glad. He didn't want them here. They left when Hermione's fever broke. Draco walked over to the bed from the chair he was in and put his hand on her face. She opened her eyes and said, "Hi."

"Hi," he answered back, and then added, "You gave us quite a scare."

"Who is 'us', Malfoy?" she inquired.

"Potter and the man you know as Kevin Riley, aka Bruno Martini. He's an undercover agent for the Ministry, and he had infiltrated that terrorist group that you were investigating. I'll tell you more about it later," he decided.

"Could you get me some water?" she asked. He left her bedside, got a glass and some water, came back to the bed, and handed it to her. She took a tentative drink, and then put her head back down on the pillow.

"Where are we?" she asked calmly, almost as if she wasn't surprised that they were no longer at her house. He decided to explain everything to her. Well, he would at least explain the parts of the story that he knew. She appeared almost serene after hearing what Draco thought was a rather outlandish story.

Then, unexpectedly, she asked, "Did you find anything interesting while you were snooping in my room?"

He found that to be an odd thing to inquire, and an odd time to ask, so he smiled and told her, "I found a charming pair of black lace knickers in one of your dresser drawers."

"No you didn't. I don't own any black lace knickers," she answered with a smile.

"They might have been your mum's," he volleyed back to her.

"Or maybe my dad's," she lobbed back to him.

He smiled again and sat on the bed beside her. "We aren't safe anymore, are we, Malfoy?" she asked, intuitively knowing that was the one thing that he was having trouble telling her.

"The Ministry has arranged for us to stay here for the time being, which is protected by a very strong Fidelus charm. We'll only be here a few days. Everything will be fine," he told her. He felt he was being deceitful to her. He did think they were in a great deal of danger.

She asked, "Then where will we go?"

He shrugged.

"This place is a dump," she stated, as she sat up in bed.

"My sentiments, exactly," he said with a smile.

"Is there a bathroom here, or do we go in the woods?" she asked, bringing her legs around the side of the bed.

"There's an outhouse out back, I'll show you," he joked.

"An outhouse! Couldn't they have at least taken us to a house with running water?" she exclaimed, believing him.

"There's a bathroom. I was joking, but it's only a slight step up from an outhouse. Oh, and don't worry, there's plenty of bowls here. I know how much you like dishes. There's even a sink in which to wash them," he smirked.

It took her a second to realize he was making a joke at her expense, but she didn't care in the least. She stood up, and swayed for a moment. He stood beside her and offered her his arm. They walked arm in arm to the little bathroom. She asked him if they brought her any clean clothes. He went over to get her some and handed them to her. She went in the bathroom and shut the door. He walked over to the cabinet, to find them something to eat. All of the sudden he heard her scream.

He ran to the bathroom and opened the door. She stood there, clutching her shirt, but completely naked except for a pair of underwear. He looked at her and yelled, "WHAT! What's wrong?"

She seemed to be oblivious to her semi-nude state, as she pointed to a rather larger spider in the corner of the little room.

"Are you kidding me?" he almost shouted, "I thought you were being murdered." He turned to leave.

"Kill the spider for me!" she said as she tried to cover herself more.

"No, kill it yourself," he said, still walking away from her.

She put her shirt on quickly, sans bra, and walked to the doorway. "Please, Malfoy, I don't feel well. Just kill the damn bug."

He walked back in the room, smacked the spider with his bare hand, wiped it on the wall, and said, "Are you going to use your injuries as an excuse for everything? You helped take down Voldemort, for Merlin's sake." He walked out and shut the door. Then he grinned to himself. He liked killing that spider for her. Silly as it may seem. It made him feel needed. It's what men did for women. They killed bugs for them.

She came out a moment later, dressed, but in a rather sour mood. She walked gingerly back over to the bed and lay down on her side, with her face away from Malfoy.

He walked up to her and told her he had her potions ready, so she should come sit at the table and take her medicine, and then eat the breakfast he prepared.

She told him to go to hell.

He told her he would see her there.

She told him he was a git.

He told her she was a know-it all, bookworm.

She told him he was a prick.

He told her he was ashamed of her for using such vulgar language.

She started to cry.

He started to wonder what the hell was going on, because he thought they were having a bit of fun; lively banter back and forth. No wonder he didn't have a girlfriend. He couldn't figure out women.

"Don't cry, Granger," he said as he sat on the bed and touched her arm, "I don't really want you to go to hell, and you aren't that much of a 'know it all, bookworm'." There, that should make her feel better. Why was she still crying?

"What have I gotten us into, Malfoy?" she asked as she turned around to face him. "We're wanted by a terrorist group, we're forced to stay in this god-forsaken place, and it's entirely my fault. You're right. You shouldn't have gotten involved." She had tears on her face. He took his shirttail and wiped them from her cheeks.

"Granger, you're such a ninny sometimes. You didn't get me involved. This group apparently had me targeted from the beginning. In fact, if you hadn't called my attention to the existence of this group, I might already be dead. Plus, we'll get out of this alive. Everything will be fine. Let's stop hashing out all of these unpleasant matters." He patted her head as if she was a child, and then offered her his hand. "Now, come to the table and take your potions and eat your breakfast."

After they ate, she went back to sleep and he merely roamed around the room. There were a few books and a deck of Muggle cards. That was the extent of their entertainment. He was half-tempted to wake Granger up, so he could have some company, but she was still recovering and probably needed her sleep. Of course, if she woke up on her own, that was a different story.

He deliberately dropped one the books on the floor and it made a loud thump. She turned to her other side, with her eyes still closed. 'This might be a challenge', he thought.

He walked around the room and tipped one of the kitchen chairs over. She sighed and rolled to her back. Still asleep. He looked around, and went over to the bed and sat next to her. What could he do now? He was shocked when she spoke to him; be it under the ruse of still being asleep with tightly closed eyes; but she asked, "What are you going to do to try to wake me up now, smother me with a pillow?"

He grinned, an evil grin, and grabbed the pillow out from under her head. This made her eyes opened. She put up her hands and said, "I was joking! Don't you dare smother me."

He laughed and said, "I don't have to smother you to make you stop pretending to be asleep. I merely had to suggest it, and now you appear to be wide awake."

"What do you want?" she said, muffling a yawn. "I'm tired. I'm still recovering you know."

"I'm bored."

She told him, "Well, I'm not an activities director, so go figure out something to do on your own. I heard you drop a book earlier. Read." She shut her eyes again.

'What's an activities director?' he wondered. He watched her continue to pretend to sleep, because that was what she was doing, pretending, every once in a while, her eyelids would flutter. He bent closer. She had a very nice mouth, quite kissable. Kissing could help pass the time. He thought that maybe he should suggest that to her and that would wake her up. Before he could say anything, she opened her eyes and said, "If you promise to stop staring at me, I'll talk to you for a while, but you'll have to lie beside me on the bed. I'm not joking when I say that I feel quite tired."

Now he felt guilty. He got up from the bed and said, "You rest. I'll go read." He picked up the book he threw earlier and went to sit on the fireplace hearth.

Now she was staring at him. He was painfully aware of the fact and he put his book down. "Do you need something?" he asked with an air of annoyance.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked.

Was he being nice to her? He wasn't aware. He would have to stop being nice immediately. He thought all of this, and wanted to say it aloud to her, but he couldn't. The reason he couldn't? He wanted to be nice. "UGH!" he said throwing the book again.

"What was that all about?" she said with a smile.

"I had some perfectly wonderful, witty comebacks to your little question, but I didn't say them because I did indeed want to be nice. What's happening to me?" he asked her as he walked over to the bed again and sat back down.

"Maybe you like me," she said.

"I don't think that's it," he said, turning on the bed so he had his back to her. She put her hand on his back and his skin under his shirt felt like it was on fire. He actually flinched, and she removed her hand quickly.

"So, you don't like me?" she said, seeming a bit hurt.

"I like you," he said softly, almost under his breath, with his back still to her. He wouldn't have flinched at her touch if he didn't like her. She moved over to the other side of the bed, and without invitation, he laid down next to her. He turned to face her.

"Do you like me as much as you like chocolate?" she asked with a grin.

"No, because you're not as sweet," he smiled back.

"Do you like me as much as you like yourself?" she inquired.

"Much more," he answered honestly. She would think he was joking, but he was telling the truth. "Go back to sleep, Granger, you're interrupting my reading." He got off the bed, retrieved his book, and lay back down beside her. She shut her eyes again. He stole a quick glance at her. He liked her very much.

(Coming up in Chapter 8, Draco and Hermione are separated, and Draco isn't happy at all.)