9. Dinner Again

The coming of December brought an unusual chill to Malfoy Manor, snow covering the expansive grounds, freezing the pond on the north side of the property. Hermione Granger shivered, stepping out of the bath, wrapping herself quickly in her fluffy terrycloth robe. Her teeth chattered as she sat at the vanity, fingers numb as she reached for her comb to run it through her tangled hair. The comb stuck in her matted curls, her frozen fingers not nimble enough hang on to the silver handle.

She sighed irritatedly, slamming the comb down, staring moodily into the fire. She longed to just be warm, the way she was when she was in the common room in Gryffindor Tower just sitting with Ron and Harry, the way she had been before she had pushed Draco Malfoy's body away from hers. She scowled.

It had been nearly a month and a half since he had taken her to Diagon Ally and they had nearly… she shook her head, refusing to think about it. He had, thankfully, gone off on one of his long trips the very next day without a word and hadn't been back since. It was somewhat of a relief, knowing he wasn't going to sneak up behind her and taunt her mercilessly about her "weakness for him." She scoffed.

She didn't know why she was getting so worked up over it. She had been distraught, and her defenses were down. She wasn't responsible for her actions. And it's not like she'd never had sex with Malfoy before. She cringed.

He had been working for the Order then, slipping them vital information about Voldemort's whereabouts and she was researching non stop, just trying to get a little bit of an advantage. It was about three in the morning when he had come stumbling into headquarters, back from his mission. Everyone had been in bed and they had talked; about the war, about family and school, and what life used to be like. When he had lifted her up on that table, she had been so numb and desperate to feel anything that she hadn't cared who he was, or who he had been before. She had just wanted him to make her feel alive.

And boy did he ever... After they had redressed and he left the room they had never mentioned it again. She and Ron finally got together and she just never told him, even though every time they were in bed, even if it was just for a split second, she would think of Malfoy, and the way he had felt, pressing her into that table, pressing into her. After he had betrayed them, she had pushed the encounter from her mind and never thought of it again.

Until a month ago. Until he pulled her out of her dress, laid her on her bed and kissed her senseless. She had moaned his name for chrissake! She squeezed the bridge of her nose in frustration. Ever since then, sex with Malfoy had always been in the back of her mind. The way his fingers felt skimming up her thighs, the way his lips felt pressed against the valley between her breasts, his body pressed so warmly against hers. She shivered, whether it was from the cold or the memory she wasn't sure.

She pursed her lips, snatching up her comb. Ripping it through her hair, she turned back to the mirror. She let out a little gasp, when she saw him standing in her doorway, traveling cloak still wrapped around his shoulders, dotted with snow. She swallowed hard, her eyes trained on his in the mirror, as she set the comb down slowly.

"You're back," she stated, and internally winced. She'd said it as if it wasn't obvious. She waited for the snarky comeback.

"Indeed I am," was his reply. "I was hoping you would do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening?"

Well, that was certainly unexpected. She turned away from the mirror to fully face him, her face painted in confusion. His features were blank, giving her no indication of what he was thinking. She narrowed her eyes, imagining that this could be some sort of trick.

"The last time we had dinner all you wanted to do was give me orders. Well, why don't you just give them here and save me the displeasure of your company," she spat, spinning back to face the mirror, ripping the comb through her hair again.

"Jesus Christ Granger!" he spat, face twisting into a scowl. "I just didn't want you to have to eat alone on Christmas Eve."

The comb slipped from her fingers again as she gasped, her eyes finding his in the mirror. Christmas Eve! But it couldn't be! Had she really been there that long? He was leaning in the doorway now, hands stuffed in his pockets, one eyebrow raised at her.

"I…I…" she stutters.

"What kind of person forgets Christmas?" he scoffed, an amused smirk playing across his lips. "You're like that one bloke from the muggle story. The one that says 'Bah Hamburger' all the time."

It was then that Hermione did something she never thought she would do ever again. She laughed. She laughed so hard she could barely breathe, folding her arms on the vanity and laying her head on them. When she looked up again, he was still standing in the doorway, scowling at her in a way that reminded her of him when he was eleven years old, so angry and haughty and egotistical.

"Its 'Bah Humbug' Malfoy," she said her voice still shaking with laughter. "And maybe if I had some kind of calendar I'd be able to keep track."

"You aren't supposed to give prisoners calendars. It just gives them hope," he replied curtly and the smile died away from her face. "If you want to have dinner with me then be downstairs in twenty minutes."

And with a flourish of his cloak he was gone from her sight.

A few moments later Sawney came in, carrying one of the most elegant dress robes, Hermione had ever seen. Dark green satin with deep red brocading and silver buttons down the front, gold ruching along the low neckline. It took the house elf nearly fifteen minutes to convince her that Malfoy had not cursed the robes as he had done before. Still, once Hermione was completely dressed, she loosed the top button from its hole, just in case.

Making her way down the grand staircase, she wondered what his motive was. She wondered where he'd been and if he'd be leaving again. She wondered if he'd been thinking about her like she'd been thinking of him. She walked slowly down the hall, sticking close to the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before entering the room. His back was to her, gazing out the large picture window overlooking the gardens, which were now just large mounds of snow and bare branches, just silhouettes in the dark. He was dressed simply in a white shirt and grey trousers, shock blonde hair barely touching his collar. She leaned in a little more and a board creaked, unceremoniously announcing her arrival.

He turned suddenly, and his face went from blank to something else, something warm, when he laid eyes on her. He slipped his hands into his pockets and gave her a nod of acknowledgement as she stepped into the room.

"You look stunning," he said thickly, stepping around the end of the table to pull her chair out for her, the same chair she had so unwillingly occupied months ago.

"Thank you," she responded simply, taking her seat, shivering when he rested his hands on her shoulders momentarily before taking his own seat.

They were silent then, both staring at their empty plates. Hermione's mouth was horribly dry, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. Why was she feeling this way? It was just dinner with Malfoy. She'd done it before. But she couldn't help feeling that some how now was different. Something had changed while he was away. Something in her. She was contemplating this fact so intently that when food appeared on her plate she gasped slightly in shock.

"Not what you expected?" he asked, and she looked up to find his hands holding his knife and fork, poised to cut into his piece of turkey.

"No," she said, forcing a smile. "Just…it's nothing."

She picked up her fork and began eating. The silence in the room was thick, and she wondered briefly why he wasn't taunting her. She shoved the thought away quickly, worried that maybe he would know she was thinking it and start in on her. But she knew he wasn't in her mind tonight. For some reason she could just tell. Something very strange was happening indeed.

"How was your trip?" she asked suddenly, and he stopped with his wine glass halfway to his lips, looking at her bewildered.

"Fine, thank you," he replied, eyeing her before taking a drink.

"Was it…" she paused searching for something to say, "enjoyable?"

He nearly choked on his wine. Coughing, he responded, "Not exactly."

"Business?" she pushed and he set his glass down, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Yes," he said, picking up his fork again.

"Where did you go?" she asked, and jumped when he slammed his fork down.

"Dammit Granger, what is this, twenty bloody questions?" His cheeks were pink. He was flustered.

"Well I don't know," she responded defensively. "You're always running off. How am I supposed to know its some big bloody secret?"

"Just…" he stopped, sighing exasperatedly, "don't ask questions, alright?"

"Have you forgotten who you're speaking to?" she deadpanned and he looked at her and blinked. "It was a joke, Malfoy. Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, remember?"

What the hell was she saying? Was she actually joking with him? What had gotten into her? No she couldn't be joking with him. She didn't joke.

"Are you flirting with me, Granger?" he asked, a slow smile creeping over his handsome face and she grimaced.

"Of course not," she said quickly, her face growing hot. No she was definitely not joking with him. She mentally kicked herself.

"Really?" he asked, leaning his forearms against the table and gesturing with his hand. "Because it seemed like you were maybe getting a little flirty."

"Shut up, Malfoy," she scowled, snatching up her wineglass and drinking deeply.

And for once he obliged, tucking back into his food, a small smile playing across his lips. Yes, something was most definitely different between them. She snuck glances of him out of the corner of her eye, watching the way his mouth moved when he chewed, the way his hair fell elegantly into his eyes and how with a simple shake of his head it would sweep gracefully back. The way his long, slender fingers wrapped around his silverware.

He's beautiful.

She nearly gasped at the thought. And it was then that cold realization came crashing down on her. She felt something for him…something other than disgust and revulsion. Something other than anger and hatred. She felt…she didn't know.

The five and a half months she had spent at Malfoy Manor flashed like slides through her mind. Her first night there, confused and angry, hating him so deeply. Her first dinner with him, the way he had taunted her until she was in tears, until she hated herself for letting him break her. When he had saved her from Warrington, the way he had swept her up in his arms, holding her close to him, letting her know she was safe. The fight they'd had in his study, his words so cold and callus, his body so warm and solid over hers. Their trip to Diagon Ally, how he had put Pansy in her place, how after he had shown her how cruel this new society could be, gave her anything she wanted. How he had stood in front of her in the Leaky Cauldron, protecting her from Warrington yet again, her hand clutching his sleeve, hiding behind him like a scared child. And his words to her when she was sobbing on the floor, how they had sickened and excited her, how she knew even though all she'd ever known him to be was a liar she knew his words were true. The way he had slipped her so effortlessly out of her dress, the way he had kissed her so earnestly.

All these thoughts were crashing around so violently in her brain she was almost in pain from it all. These memories mixing with thoughts of the war, disgust at his betrayal, anger at all the death he had caused. And then as if her thoughts had been a hurricane and it had moved as such that her mind was now in the quiet eye of the storm, one single thought rose to the surface.

I think I love him.

And as quickly as the quiet had come it was blown away by the horrible racket of condemnation, revulsion, and guilt. Ron's face floated into her mind's eye, grinning sheepishly, blue eyes shining lovingly back at her. That was love. This, whatever it was with Malfoy, was not love. She could never love…

"A monster." His voice was low, and it shocked her so deeply she gave a small yelp.

He was looking at her, his steel colored eyes impossibly cold. She hadn't even realized he had been in her head. She was so wrapped up in her emotions she had failed to notice it. She simply stared at him, sitting stone still, hands flat on either side of his half empty plate.

"You think that under any circumstances I would ever love you?" he asked and she gasped a little at this, his voice impossibly cold and menacing. "You think that I, the Dark Lord's most trusted servant, would ever feel anything but revulsion towards you?"

"I-"

"And comparing me to Weasley!" he cut her off, laughing mirthlessly. "A brainless oaf who was too stupid to even run. He wasn't hit with a curse, Granger, he bloody tripped!" Malfoy threw his head back with a laugh. "He fucking tripped and got himself-"

"Stop," she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

"tortured-"

"Stop." Her voice shook.

"and killed."

"STOP!" she sobbed, slamming her fist down hard on the table, squeezing her eyes shut.

"He cried like a little girl when I cruciod him," Malfoy said lowly, and Hermione clenched her jaw, jutting her chin out as she looked him dead on. "He sobbed like a bitch."

"What and you think this makes you some big, strong man?" Hermione asked, tears sliding down her cheeks. "You think that by torturing him, taking his life, that this makes you somehow superior to him? What made Ron a man was the way he loved. How brave he was, how strong he was, not physically but emotionally. How he took on Harry's cross as well as mine. Killing him didn't make you superior, Malfoy, or more of a man. It just made you a killer."

His face was blank, eyes cold and she wondered how she had ever seen light in them. How she had ever held any emotion except hatred in her heart towards him.

"You say you could never love me, Malfoy?" she said, pushing herself back from the table and standing. "I say you can never love anyone."

And with that she gathered her skirts and left the room.