Draco hadn't expected it. Her voice was so utterly gentle and soft, as if she were scared of frightening a injured doe.

He tried to remember when the last time someone had actually genuinly asked if he was alright, but bitterness and longing and hurt welled inside his chest when he couldn't even recall a single time. So, his response came as bitter as his heart was.

The sharp, humorless huff escaped his throat, and he glanced at her. "Since when do you care?"

A frown crossed her soft features, her brows furrowing over her dark amber eyes. "I do care."

It was like a stab to the heart to hear those words. From Hermione Granger, nonetheless. "W-what?" He choked.

"I said, I do care. You're a git, but...you aren't...you aren't alright, Malfoy. And...it's...dangerous." For once the Gryffindor seemed to be at a loss for words.

"How can you tell if I am or am not alright, Granger? You aren't in my head." The words were so sharp and bitter, and somehow he couldn't keep his tone from wavering.

"I...I saw, Malfoy."

He snapped his gaze around like a adder to pin a freezing glare on her. "You don't care about me. Whatever you say, whatever your stupid friends say, I do not trust you or the rest of your idiotic Griffyndor friends. Weasel broke you heart, and I'm sorry. I know how that feels, and I wouldn't wish that on even you. But do not tell me you care when I know you don't."

"What is your problem?!" She snapped as he rose to his feet.

"My problem?" Draco neared her in a single stride, dropping into a crouch in front of her. Her gaze was defiant, but he swore he could scent the fear coming off of her in thin waves. Hate Werewolf senses... "My problem is you, Hermione Granger. You, waltz into my house as if you own the place. You, bring uninvited guests into my house without asking. You, who haven't shown a shred of remorse or even a hint that you might care until this morning. That's my problem."

He didn't move as he watched the scowl cross her face. Then a smirk replaced it. A fucking smirk then told him she didn't give a hell about him or his opinions. "You let me live here. You said I could do what I want as long as I left you alone. And just because I might act like I don't care doesn't mean I actually don't."

"Oh, fuck off, Granger! That's has to be one of the lamest excuses of the century."

She leaned closer, the smirk still plain on her face. Her eyes glittered. But it dawned on him that her eyes weren't glittering with spite or loathing, they were hazy and glassy with exhaustion and fever. With her so close, he could feel the heat waves of fever rolling off of her, and he could scent infection.

"You have a fever."

Hermione jerked back suddenly, pressing a palm to her forehead. "This conversation in over!" She stood, stalking past him and out of the room, slamming the door closed.

Whilst Hermione had cleaned and repaired most of the Manor, one room was left untouched. The ballroom. And quite frankly, Draco didn't blame her for leaving the room to suffocate in cobwebs and dust.

Like how every room in the Manor had been, it was dark and broken and suffocating. The shattered chandieler that Dobby had set down to stop Bellatrix from murdering Hermione lay in a corner of the room were his mother had made futile attempts to repair the precious piece before her own death.

Blood still stained the walls. The floors. The table and chairs. Screams still echoed im the room, but Draco wondered if it was just a effect of his own insanity, or if the souls of those who had been killed still lingered in that very room.

He remembered Bellatrix torturing Hermione as clear as if it were yesterday. The way her body twitched and jerking in inhuman ways in effects of the Cruciatus curse. The way the blood stood starkly against her pale skin, snaking down her arm from the words engraved in her forearm. Mudblood.

He knew he should have done something. He loathed Gryffindors and the precious Golden Trio. But not enough to wish death or such inexplicable pain to them. But, like all Malfoys, he was a coward. Even Weasley was less of a coward then he, himself, was.

Draco glanced out the window as the sun dipped low in the sky. There was a soft thud of feet as Pansy darted downstairs, and he assumed Granger must have returned home from work.

He wished she hadn't.

He wished he had never agreed to let her stay. Or let Pansy stay.

But, anymore, he no longer had the will to fight with either of them. He pulled open the door, and slipping into the hallway, and heading towards the stairs. Granger was quicker, it seemed because she stopped dead at the top of the stairs as he approached, wide-eyed.

A book was clutched to her chest, her back hanging off her shoulder. Her hair was, for once, not frizzy and in a high bun, and her eyes were clear, the scent of fever no longer rolling off her. "Malfoy," she dipped her head hesitantly, but instantly regained her level-headed stature. She had spoken to him since Friday, and it was now Tuesday, except for the occasional hello or goodbye. And her notes.

She seemed to like the phrase "Please don't die or Andromeda will kill me, — Signed, Granger." Which was both infuriating and oddly reassuring at the same time. When he saw her briefly, he was always aware of her watching him, pity in her amber-brown eyes. Stupid Granger and her stupid pity.

Then he noticed the book clutched against her chest. It was so old that the cover was almost completely faded and the spine was peeling. She held it with care, as if trying no to break it further. She then held it out to him, noticing him staring at it.

"It was in the library. It's old, but it's really good."

He took it slowly, taking care not to let his hand touch hers, and flipped it over to read the cover. In cracked, faded black letters, it wrote: 'Dawn by Lauren T.'

"You found this in the library?" He jerked his head up to look at her. "Here?" She nodded quickly. "Yeah. It was shoved in the very back wall."

He glanced back down at it. "I used to love this book. I read it so many times, that's why the spine it like this," he drew a finger along the spine carefully. "I couldn't find it after sixth year, I thought someone threw it away."

For the first time in his presence, he saw her eyes light up entire. "It's so good! I cannot believe I haven't read it before. Rosie is such a interesting character, I don't think I can get bored of her. Sure she's a little brash and nit-picky and talks way to much, but—"

"Funny. I know someone just like that." Draco interjected her rambling. She proceeded to scowl at him, eyes narrowed.

"And I happen to know someone who is just like Jake. That someone is very tall, blonde, arrogant and annoying." She retorted.

Draco rolled his eyes, shoving the book into her hands. He was, though he wouldn't say aloud, surprised to find there was no bitterness or loathing in her voice. Though, when his gaze lingered on hers for a moment, he could still see the thirteen year old Hermione, so fueled with hatred, punching him. The way her eyes were no longer brown at that time, but a flaring deep amber. Somehow he still saw it, even now.

"Right. Well, I have a paper to write and dinner to cook, so I should be going." Hermione spoke suddenly.

"Right— what? Dinner?"

"I find it quite pointless that we each make our own food and end up wwasting it. So I decided we can each take turns cooking, since we are forced to live together. I hope you can cook?"

"I'm a Potion's Master, Granger. What do you take me for?"

"Mmmm," Hermione hummed, gliding past him. She tossed words over her shoulder as she walked down the hall. "Dunno. A Malfoy?"

IM SORRY LOL

Sorry it took so long to update. I'm sorry all this is boring. I have so many ideas in mind, but D and HR need to come to the point that they actually like each others presence and I'm having a hard time doing that lol.

so.

im trying.

sorry.