A red book with neat gold printing on its spine lay on the end of a bed with a ribbon holding its reader's place about half way through. An observer's mouth was pulled up and out by its corners. He'd read the one she recommended first. She was sure it wasn't a conscious decision; he wouldn't purposefully hold her opinion anywhere higher than that of a flubberworm but it was a nice thought anyway.
The last week had passed quite slowly. The storm took on a viral attitude: changing with each passing day but not necessarily for the better. The nights were curiously still and had a brain washing affect. It would wrap you up tight, make you feel secure, hum a sweet and low tune that fell on your ears with out any obstacles and let you fall asleep in its soothing embrace with the feeling that the next day could only be beautiful. Contrary truth was met when eyes and curtains were opened the next morning. There was the storm again, staring you straight in the face. Today there were some signs of let up; the wind and rain seemed to have used up all of their energy and were now casting a spring-like drizzle onto the earth. Grateful faces looked up into the sky and half-smiled at it, hoping to encourage a trend.
Narcissa had kept herself out of the house for the most part but it was a mystery as to where she went. When she was there, her presence was not welcomed. She would shoot angry remarks at Draco, use him as a scapegoat, remind him that he was worthless, you know…all the things a good mother does. She instructed the house elves not to answer to Draco anymore, which made Hermione a slight bit more useful, but still not much. Her visits rarely lasted more than an hour or two…just long enough to put her son in a foul mood. She would leave abruptly and usually without any indication of future intentions.
A funeral was held for Lucius but was treated like a VIP event at a club for Great Britain's elite. Narcissa informed Draco he wasn't allowed entry due to his 'betrayal' to his father. She explained that everyone would be there and that she was planning on announcing her disowning of Draco to them all. She was pregnant and this baby boy would be a much more suitable heir. He would carry on the Malfoy name with honor, he would join the leagues of the Death Eaters at a young age, and inherit all of the family wealth when Narcissa passed on. How she was so sure it was going to be male was beyond anyone but quickly dismissed. It was best not to argue with Narcissa.
Draco didn't appear to be too hurt when Narcissa had broken it to him but his emotions were often un-readable. After that particular dramatic exit of his mother's, he gently instructed Hermione to get him some water and opened a book. Apart from the booms of thunder and Narcissa, the days were passing eventlessly…almost boring. Draco would read and Hermione would clean. Draco would eat and Hermione would nibble on the leftovers that were offered to her. Draco would say something typical and Hermione would retort with something equally as typical.
'Wow,' they would both wish in silence, 'I really want the rain to stop.'
Hermione sat with her head on the glass of the French doors in the kitchen counting minutes and raindrops. She waited patiently. Draco had thought it would be amusing to make her bake for him. A small 'heh' escaped through her nostrils expressing her dislike for the situation; her mom was the cook, not her. She supposed it wasn't horrible; it was something to do in a huge empty house. The minutes were mixed with her thoughts and their succession was all messed up. She got up, opened the oven and poked a muffin. 'Hmm, 10 more minutes…' she thought to herself deciding it was better to underestimate than to over estimate…she didn't know how mad Draco would be if they didn't turn out.
She didn't mind him much. He was all she had. The only constant human contact, the only animate thing that made her feel anything besides consuming sadness, and the person that took her out of her very own metaphorical hell. She depended on him, in a way. She justified these thoughts by telling herself it was all with selfish motives. He was still the intolerable git he'd always been…he just had use now.
Was that really it? Was he just a tool? She scolded herself for even considering otherwise but she was never one to deny reality. She noted that her witticisms were often of a joking nature or plain defensiveness, never direct insults. Anger and resentment rarely came along with anything she said to him. Did she really allow herself to soften up? No way. She passed it off on the trauma she'd recently undergone; it was making her delusional.
The smell of warm spices hit her nose and she jumped up to check the oven. Draco appeared at the bottom of the staircase and what brilliant timing he had! The muffins were done. She pulled them out and placed them on a cloth that was laid across a table that stood sturdily near the doors.
"Are you done yet?" Draco asked with an undertone of unhappiness. He looked exceptionally tired.
Hermione motioned toward the tin that sat on the table with an 'isn't-it-obvious' expression. "Feel free to help yourself, I'm not getting burnt."
He glared at her momentarily, sat in a chair, put his head in his hands and let out a long breath. He seemed to deflate. The feeling of discomfort very low in the stomach that Hermione was becoming more and more intimate with returned to her. Did she really feel bad for him? He'd been horrible to her all throughout their schooling, he'd bought her as a slave, he hated everything she was…why would she care?
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Draco said shortly.
Knowing she couldn't push him into anything, she surrendered and sat across the table from him. Her eyes glazed over as she focused on the air just in front of Draco's head making it look like he'd put her in a trance. He peeked through his fingers, saw what looked like Hermione giving him a death glare, and decided to kick her out of her transfixion…literally. It worked quite well; she jumped almost completely out of her chair. 'Almost' due to her hitting her head on the counter behind her. She slipped back into her seat and then further, eventually hitting the floor.
"Oh, right. You're pathetic. Get up."
She didn't get up. Draco looked under the table and saw her sprawled on the floor, legs and arms jutting out at all angles and her head sitting in a pool of blood.
"Granger?" he gave her a little kick to encourage movement. "Grangerrr," a slightly harder kick.
Not even a twitch. He hopped out of his seat and crawled under the table and on top of her, with a finger to her neck checking for a heartbeat. Nothing was felt and a small wave of panic washed over him. He pulled her head up to his chest and frantically pushed her hair around, looking for the open skin. A wand was pulled out of his pocket and seconds later the split in her head was melded back together. Hermione's head resting against his chest was exchanged for the opposite. With his ear a few inches lower than her clavicle, Draco could make out a distinct thump of heart; he must've missed it earlier. Gravity does not ignore the unconscious and that made for a very dead looking Hermione; her head and limbs were hanging loosely and moving only with an outside force.
Draco sat back against one of the table legs with the senseless girl in his arms. He didn't care that he'd hurt her or anything; hell, he didn't even like her but he certainly disliked loneliness much more. A mix of horror and disgust spread across his face, "eww," he said aloud. He did care. The realization was terrible. She was the only person that he 'had' at the point; if she was gone he would be completely by himself and while Hermione wasn't the company he'd look for, or yet, ever consider…she wasn't bad to have around.
She did what she was told, which was nice, but that wasn't the whole of it. He'd actually grown to consider her mentally equal. She, of course, was not equal in any other sense but he had to admit, the girl was intelligent. The book she'd forced him into buying was absolute nonsense… but not in a bad way. It was passionate expression of everything. It was critical of all, revealing to its reader everything in its truest nature, stripped of all the euphemisms that had covered its ugly self. It was enlightening and inspiring while its influence corrupted you; completely morphing all perceptions. It was the world's poetic tragedy.
He hadn't admitted to her that the book was the most fascinating thing he'd ever read; he didn't want to give her the pleasure of knowing she was appreciated. Small conversation would start about the book but just as Draco's heart began to race and excitement and passion would flood in, he would pull his toes out of the water. The wall was high and thick and he didn't plan on letting Mr. Gorbachev anywhere near it.
Also, the girl did hardly anything wrong. Sure, she made mistakes sometimes but this is a different kind of wrong, a less concrete version, Draco's version. He could find at least ten little things that killed him about everyone. He had a million pet peeves; little lies people let slip, the way people looked for compliments, interjections people would over use, unnecessary gestures that accompanied speech, closed minds, lack of eye contact, ignorance, narcissism, he could go on for years. But with Hermione, there was nothing. He hated her but not because she annoyed him. Actually, he hated her because there was nothing to hate. She hadn't been too attractive when school began but that wasn't much of a problem anymore. She was extremely stubborn, but then so was he…it only proved she was strong and intelligent enough to get herself right the first time.
"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. Surely he was playing tricks on himself. This was too much.
A groan was let out as Hermione raised her hand to her head, "why did you kick me!" Draco pushed her off of him lightly and got up. Hermione observed her surroundings and fully assessed the situation. She checked all over her head and felt nothing out of the ordinary. A smile spread across her face, an "aww!" escaped from under the table and she too pulled herself out from under the it. A 'what-the-hell?' look greeted her and the smile on her face widened.
"You helped me." Draco rolled his eyes at her and turned to walk away but was stopped by arms around his waist. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to figure out the correct reaction to such craziness. "You're insane. That blow to the head must have put you over the edge," he decided but didn't remove himself from her grasp. Hermione pulled her head back and looked straight into gray eyes, "thank you!"
"Yeah, whatever…get off me." Draco finished the rotation he'd only gotten halfway through and went upstairs. Hermione followed and sat, cross-legged, on the floor about a meter from the bed where Draco was propped against pillows. She put her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hand, a smile on her face and stared at him.
"What do you want, you freak?"
"You don't hate me."
"I can assure you, I do."
"Then why did you help me?"
"I told you, Granger. You are no use dead."
"But you had to have known I wasn't going to die from something so minor."
"Something I'm beginning to pity. Sorry, simple mistake on my part."
"Why did I wake up on you?"
"GRANGER, STOP WITH THE QUESTIONS. And I was just thinking you weren't annoying." The latter half was added mistakenly. Hermione's smile now bared her teeth. "Don't worry, you've completely erased any misjudgments I had."
"I don't hate you," Hermione admitted innocently.
"You are so weird!"
"But if I were normal, I would be boring."
A pillow was propelled at Hermione's face and she allowed herself to exaggerate its power. She fell back onto the floor and pretended to have been knocked unconscious again.
"There is no way you are that lame. It was a pillow, for Merlin's sake!"
She didn't stir. He threw several more pillows and then small box of Bertie Bott's Jellybeans but she remained motionless. He moved off his bed and squatted over her with a foot on each side of her legs just below her hips. With her shoulders in his hands, he shook her. A small smile returned to her and he stopped the shaking with her face very close to his own. Hermione winked open one eye and looked at him.
Draco grunted and released his grip on her shoulders, "You're becoming more and more bold with each passing day."
A/N: Sorry about the wait: school, work and other viciousness. & Sorry if this story is not going as you hoped…I suck at plots /
