The deep copper tub was nearly overflowing with calming hot water with only his head and knees above the surface. But try as he might, he still couldn't wash away the image of Granger.
She was stunning, there was no arguing that. But there was more. There was always more with Hermione Granger.
There was the simple clean scent of rain and soap that emanated from her, no matter what. The golden glow that would spark inside her eyes when she got excited. Even her mad mess of curls made him ache in ways that were utterly foreign to him.
And yet it was not her physical beauty that had caused him years of internal disquiet. It was the very wild life that radiated from her. It was intelligence and confidence. As a boy, he had been taught that she was disgusting because of it.
As a man, he was utterly drawn to her.
Knowing this did him no good, however. He had been her tormentor, her most hated schoolmate. He was only an obligation to her and the very thought reminded him of the reason for his self-imposed exile.
So he tried to focus on his current problem. The wound on his leg had closed, the flesh having come together stiffly, but the black and grey veins that ran from it were still there. It was a scary sight, to be sure. He had seen such terrible curses and spells when his father had taken him to Voldemort's camp.
There had been muggles… Innocent people used as playthings. He had known then, that the war wasn't about blood loyalty. It was evil people following blindly the orders of a mad man. He wanted nothing to do with it.
But his Aunt Bella had threatened the life of his mother. Her own sister. He couldn't let the only person to care for him be tortured by a psychopath. He had had no choice… right?
Draco cut his bath short, not wanting to spend any more time thinking about the past, Granger, or his fate, though it seemed all three were rarely far from his thoughts.
He had intended to go directly to bed, skipping the meal he had created, but somehow found himself seated across from her at the small table. Her eyes had smiled upon seeing him and he couldn't stop the damn flip of his stomach.
"You make one hell of a stew." She commented, lifting her bowl to take a deep drink of the both. He smiled slightly, looking out the windows. Draco was unsure why her praise meant so much. Perhaps it was because it was the last thing he expected from her.
"I have found I enjoy cooking." He paused, not sure if he should tell her more. Speaking of his past, and with her of all people, was not a thing he ever wanted to do. But the words were formed and the setting was comfortable... "I wasn't allowed to before."
Her gaze was upon him with striking intensity but her face was open and honest. She seemed to be, as strange as he thought it, genuinely interested.
"I'll be the first to admit I had been pampered." Draco started cautiously, unaware of how to truly connect with her, not sure if he wanted to. Hermione, however, snorted with mirth and stood. He was about to retreat to his rooms in defeat when she motioned for him to follow.
He did, without second thoughts.
They walked to the couches, one facing the other, with warm cotton blankets strewn across fluffy pillows. The fire warmed the room but with the night came the cold sea breeze that tried to creep in between the cabins walls. He sat across from her and watched with stunned silence as she poured two glasses of amber Firewhisky.
"Pampered is a kind way of putting it." She remarked jokingly, sitting with her feet tucked under her body. She cradled the glass, taking small sips.
"Spoiled." He amended, his own cup nearly empty after his first drink. The warmth seeped through him making the stiffness in his shoulders less noticeable. "But I also was forbidden from doing a great many things. Punishments were... never easy."
She nodded, this time there was no mocking in her movements. He hesitated, knowing that telling her about his past could be a terrible mistake. But something inside him wanted her to understand. Needed her to.
He'd analyze this need later, but for now, in the warm firelight with quiet company, he spoke of things long buried.
"As a boy, I spent more time with our house elves than was proper. But they were kind." He sat back with his head resting on the back of the couch. "My father had forbidden me from entering the kitchens when he caught me there once. Dobby had tried to teach me how to bake muffins, after I begged him to. My father was furious."
The room became far away, the sounds of embers popping and soft wood crackling were the only things to fill his ears. But the noises Dobby had made that night as his father tortured the poor thing, filled his mind. He sighed heavily, trying to remember the better nights, where he and the elves would bake in secret.
"I really did enjoy the times I had there. Creating food was its own kind of magic to me." He admitted, watching the fire's reflection the window. "My mother knew. I think that's why I enjoyed it so much. It was our secret and she'd loved everything I made."
"So you should pursue cooking." He heard Hermione whisper, though her statement was solid and sure. He found her eyes and was surprised to find them wet. "You've got no one holding you back now."
His dry laugh sounded hollow even to his own ears. Damn, he hated himself sometimes.
"If only that were true, Granger. I would have the whole wizarding world breathing down my neck if I tried to." He closed his eyes, rubbing his worn and dry hands against his face. "They would love to see me burn."
"That's not entirely true, you know." She offered softly. Draco wanted to believe her but he simply couldn't. He wasn't up for fairy tales tonight.
"I like my life how it is." He lied stiffly, hoping she couldn't see the truth that bled through.
"Uh-huh. Just like I loved mine." She scoffed, rolling those eyes again. He could only stare, slack jawed and astounded. What could she possibly hate about her life?
"Seriously, Draco?" She questioned, as if she could read his mind. His stomach clenched a bit at the way she used his first name. "You talk about them judging you, but try being put up on a pedestal. THE pedestal. I couldn't do a damn thing wrong, even if I tried. I didn't want the attention then and I sure as hell don't want it now." Her cup was empty and its fire burned bright in those amber eyes. "And the cameras, reporters, the bloody questions. God, it was enough to drive a woman bonkers."
He felt a flash of wild attraction twist his stomach and he tried to stomp it down. To no avail.
"They wanted me to work at the Ministry. They thought I'd be a perfect teacher. They had big big plans for me. But I wanted none of it. So I left with haste and refused to let them have power over me." She huffed heavily, the steam finally seeming to evaporate.
The heat still remained in him, however.
"Looks like we are not so different." He mumbled, his voice deep and quiet. He wasn't sure he had actually spoke out loud until she grinned. It was a little lopsided and a tad more drunk, but a grin nonetheless.
"I could have told you that, Draco." And with that he felt his control slipping fast.
He was two stupid seconds from kissing her solid. Something he'd only dreamed about in secret. He needed to leave the room and do it before he could do any irreparable damage.
But he needn't worry. Her soft snoring reached his ears before he had a chance to flee. The silly girl had been so exhausted that the little drink and a good yell put her right to sleep.
"Hermione, you silly Witch."
He walked over silently and adjusted her slumped form to a more comfortable flat one. A few pillows, a blanket, and a glass of water later, he went to find his own resting place.
The night held many strange dreams for Draco, but none that he wish to wake from. A good thing too, seeing as the next day would test him in ways he thought had long since passed.
