Chapter 9

For what felt like an hour for Hermione (and what she knew was probably more of fifteen minutes), she received no disturbance from Malfoy. He seemed to be preoccupied with admiring the apple in his hand. So typical of the rich to waste food!

Normally, such a situation would be most conducive for thinking, and Hermione had lots to think about. Unfortunately, she happened to be severely restricted by the lack of knowledge about the subject matter. Furthermore, she had already done any possible said thinking the night before, twice. And she was hungry, which wouldn't have been much of a problem, if her stomach would just stop rumbling.

Deciding that voicing out her discomfort would be a better option than to be found out, she swallowed her pride.

"May I have some breakfast, or am I forced to be on a diet with you?" she called out tauntingly, looking pointedly at the mostly uneaten and (she assumed) mostly brown apple.

Maybe not all her pride.

Seemingly unaffected, Draco summoned the house elf languidly.

Crack! "What can Dippy do for Young Master Draco?" it bowed.

"Go take her order," he gave a lazy tilt of his head in her direction.

The house elf nodded, bowed again, and hurried to Hermione.

Unsure, she called out, "Do you want anything, Malfoy?"

"Hmmm… Let me see. Shall I send for breakfast, then go down for seconds? Or shall I just keep to this diet you've put me on? Whatever shall I do, Granger?"

Of course. He had to rip apart an innocent question, take it completely out of context, and be condescending about it. She scowled. Just starve, Malfoy.

Turning back to face Dippy, she requested in a far more polite tone. "Could you bring us breakfast like yesterday, Dippy?"

With no other sign of acknowledgement, the house elf Disapparated.

That hurt more than it should have. She'd faced worse from Kreacher when they'd been staying at 12 Grimmauld Place, with a higher frequency too. She really should be used to it by now, damn it!

Perhaps it was because of this, that she was surprised by what came next.

"My grandparents' orders. Respect no outsiders. Stuck well, it did. Of course, he's never been allowed anywhere near You-Know-Who."

"Oh" was all she could force out as a reply. She certainly hadn't expected him, of all people, to offer her an explanation.

"I know about your little pet project, Granger. Spin, was it? Spoon? Spool? Spill?" He scrunched up his face, as if thinking hard.

"S.P.E.W., Malfoy. The Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"Exactly what I said, Granger; spew," he shook his head patronisingly. "I do believe your hearing's going."

Feeling her right hand twitch, she clenched her fists and silently counted to ten. Fortunately (for the two), Dippy came back with breakfast between seven and eight; before she'd made up her mind to manhandle Draco.

Throughout breakfast, Draco caught her stealing glances at him a total of eleven times. He thought he had a faint idea what was niggling at her. She'd probably spent the morning pondering over it.

He certainly wasn't generous enough to volunteer the details if she didn't even find it important enough to ask. So he pretended not to notice. He wasn't a particularly patient man, but from experience, he thought he was the more patient of the two.

Finally it came (hah! I win!) "Did something happen yesterday night?"

"Yes," he scooped up the last bite of his eggs, "I patrolled."

She let out a huff in irritation, "You know what I mean, Malfoy."

He leisurely swallowed the last mouthful of scrambled eggs before turning to address her. "Corpse was gone, but your wand was still in the alley.

"You didn't bring it back… did you?" She'd meant it to sound casual, but couldn't fully disguise the hope in her voice.

"Granger, broken wands do not work," he replied her as one would a child.

She glared at him, but he could see her disappointment in him through her wrung hands, and in herself as she turned and stared fiercely at her empty plate.

She was so easy to read. He sniffed in disdain.

Dear Merlin, she wasn't going to wallow in self-pity, was she?

He took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee, spit it out, and magically warmed it.

"Besides, I think it was a set up. I saw Zabini."

"Blaise Zabini? Of Hogwarts? He was in ambush?" she asked, eyes wide, slightly concerned.

He shook his head, "No. I believe it was a set up regardless of his presence," he paused, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not discounting his involvement.

"Okay, we need to implement our plan, quickly. They're not going to show up at the door to catch us unaware."

He nodded for her to continue, eyebrow raised. Wasn't she just mourning over her lost wand mere seconds ago?

"Have you decided on how you're going to get the decoy?"

He shrugged. He almost asked "what decoy?" but had thankfully bit his tongue.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Malfoy, please don't forget that we are in this together, however our past relationship, or lack thereof."

"You think of something then. Aren't you supposed to be the brightest witch of our age, or some such nonsense?"

"As a matter of fact, I do have some ideas," she bit back. Composing herself, she continued, "One, nick something from one of the Death Eaters-"

"Are you bloody mad?" he yelled, sitting up ramrod straight.

Not missing a beat, she continued, undeterred, "Two, sneak in something from your own home."

"What, bring in a portrait of my ancestors and let them bear witness to how I've stayed true to the Malfoy Way? Besides, your reference to stealing disturbs me, Granger. Have you been stealing anything while I was out?" He's seen the extra toothbrush by the sink the previous night.

"Firstly, no, I have not stolen anything from you, Malfoy. That would require that I have a place to hide it from you. As you can see, I'm in confinement here, of which you have free reign. And if you're asking about the toothbrush, it's called borrowing without express permission." It wasn't her fault the toothbrush had magically appeared when she was staring into the mirror wishing for a toothbrush. "You can have it back after I'm done with it," she said drily.

His face scrunched up in disgust, which wasn't unforeseen, for she had intended for her words to have that effect. What came out of his mouth did surprise her.

"It's… red!"

What the hell?

She shook it off as a Slytherin pureblood thing. So much prejudice.

"Secondly, don't you have any secret dark artifacts lying around in the Manor?"

She had meant it to be sarcastic, but she saw his expression grow thoughtful at that. I don't want to know, she shuddered.

"Anyway, option three, you get something from outside. Say… Borgin and Burkes. You should be familiar with that establishment," her tone was frosty.

He glowered at her, a gesture she fiercely returned.

"Four, we have no decoy and leave it to fate whether or not they find me in here,' she continued with fake nonchalance. She was hoping it wouldn't come to that.

"Option four sounds mighty enticing, Granger. I could act as if I didn't know how you'd snuck in here to assassinate me. Good plan, Granger. Good plan," he had the audacity to break into applause. "It's decided then!" He palms went onto the armrests as he made to stand up.

Unfortunately, Hermione was faster, fuelled by anger. She quickly rose and forced him down with a finger to his chest, leaning into his personal space, "You really think whoever finds me would just vanish forever without suspecting you had a hand in my being here in the first place?" her eyes narrowed as she scrutinised him. "Even if I kept my mouth shut like the goody Gryffindor you think I am, surely they would only be too happy to torture you to your dying breath. Then they would Enervate you, then torture you. Again and again. I'm pretty sure they're an imaginative bunch; the Cruciatus would hardly suffice for them, especially for someone they would label a blood traitor…" she paused. "Tell me, Malfoy, are you skilled at Occlumency?"

He nodded, stunned by the breach of personal boundaries, the sudden aggression, and the perceived randomness of the question.

"I assume you've at least seen what they do to people who don't give them information, or don't have information to give. How would you fare, Malfoy? Those same people are residing rooms away from you. How often would you be thinking about when they will strike? When you'll be tricked into being their next victim?"

The initial shock had worn off, but he found that it was impossible to maintain a collected front. He chose to glare in defiance instead, but inside, his heart was racing and his imagination was running wild. Images of him being in the shoes of past victims swarmed into his mind and fought furiously for the surface. Death Eaters didn't torture for information, they had Veritaserum for that; they tortured because it was fun.

There had been no doubt that he would be implicated if she was found. He just hadn't had the guts to think of the consequences so explicitly. Now, he just felt like vomiting his guts out in a sorry attempt to distract himself.

Apparently, she wasn't done yet, because she leaned in even closer, her finger prodding into his chest. "Don't forget," she cooed, so similar to Bellatrix the night before that he had to fight back a shiver, "There is no way I could have made it into your room, on my own, wandless. We would both die." She stared at him in the eyes, as if searching for something. Seeming to have found it (probably fear, he surmised), she pulled back, but not before smiling artificially at him, "Maybe you should turn me in. It's been barely two days since they found out. Surely, someone would believe your story."

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and took a quivering breath. This was worse than the time she'd smacked him across the face. His hand unconsciously went to his cheek. Much worse.

"Well then, shall we continue?" she sat back down casually, still scrutinising him, "I believe we've crossed the last option off out list. What will it be, Malfoy?"

The following words that spewed forth, he could not control, "Why weren't you sorted into Slytherin?" He had an immediate, rightful, urge to smack himself. He had to calm the hell down.

"I don't know, Malfoy. Maybe it's because of my blood. Or have you not noticed in the last six and a half years or so?" she deadpanned. She leaned back, waiting for his reply (and for him to gather some of his currently lost wits).

He cleared his throat. "The first option is just downright stupid, not to mention suicidal. Option two is difficult to attempt, but possible. Option three would eliminate any element of surprise if someone were to learn of it from Borgin or Burke."

She nodded in agreement, "Yes, that would defeat the purpose wouldn't it. Option two it is. Any idea what you're going to bring back?"

"No, but it sure as hell isn't going to be a portrait." With that, he stood and went to clean up. To tell be truthful, he just wanted to get away from the scary lady.

A/N: I don't know what to say. I hope I didn't make too many mistakes in this chapter because I didn't vet it twice before posting it.

Thanks for the reviews/follows/favourites that came in! Keep 'em coming! Please?

This is the last of my prewritten chapters. Time to come up with new material to throw out of the window. Haha! =x