"I don't like quiche."

Hermione flung open the oven door, sending another cloud of smoke into the kitchen She was not amused. "What the fuck is wrong with you!"

"What? I don't like quiche. Lets go out for dinner instead, my treat." Hermione stared at him. Her face was livid, her cheeks were red and her eyes dark. She balled her fists and dug her nails into her palms.

"You can't just buy me off! She screamed.

"Oh come on." Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't take it like that."

"How would you feel if I deliberately, deliberately burnt something you made for me?"

"Well if it was a quiche I don't think I'd mind." He answered. Hermione made a sort of high pitched noise in the back of her throat and spun on her heel. "Running away Gryffindor?" he shouted after her.

She did not reply but when she reappeared with Draco's Kusudama he understood her meaning quite clearly. He understood it even better when she began to pull it to pieces.

Draco watched her in silence, his lips pressed into a grim line, as Hermione ripped it beyond repair. When she was done, she pointed her wand at the pile of paper at her feet.

"Incendio!"

The pile of paper burnt up in an instant, leaving nothing of the beautiful creation but ash.

"Don't worry Draco." Her tone was not exactly comforting. "I'll buy you a new one."

She flounced out to the spare room. Draco did not go after her. He looked down at the ashes at his feet.

'I'll buy you a new one...'

That stung.

***

Much later that evening, when Draco decided she had probably calmed down enough, he filled a plate with sandwiches and took it to her door. He knocked loudly; still not entirely calm himself.

"Granger? We need to go over what I found out at the Ministry."

"I don't want to speak to you."

He dragged his hand through his hair. They had to get moving, just because he would never be suspected of helping her didn't mean it wasn't dangerous for them to stay there. They had forgotten that. They had been too wrapped up in their domestic concerns. Suddenly their late suppers and origami seemed very foolish. They needed to get to headquarters, where they would at least be safe. If it weren't for Hermione's promise of Harry's displeasure, Draco wouldn't even consider helping the prisoners still in the Ministry.

"I'm sorry." he growled.

Hermione opened the door. "What?" she asked blankly.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Draco scowled at her. She was playing it way was she? He was tempted to tell her he was sorry for ever helping her escape.

"For burning the supper."

She took the plate of sandwiches. "I'm sorry I ruined your paper flower thing."

"It's called a kusudama, Mudblood. And you didn't ruin it, you burned it."

"Yes. Well, I'm sorry." She walked away from the door to sit on the bed.

"'I'll buy you a new one'." muttered Draco. She looked up and held his gaze. "Just what was that supposed to mean?"

"Something along the lines of 'Let's go out for dinner, my treat'." she answered sharply.

He seethed a little. "You think I'm just some spoilt little rich boy don't you."

"Draco," she laughed suddenly. "You are a spoilt little rich boy."

"Don't laugh at me."

"Draco, how can you even cast doubt on it? You've always been spoiled, you'll always be spoilt."

"Well it's a wonder you put up with me at all! Why don't you just go back to Potter and Weasley, god knows Weasley's never been spoilt. And Potter the perpetually modest will-"

"Malfoy, shut up." she said calmly. She had not meant to upset him. Well... she had but she felt bad about that now. "I didn't mean it like that. You are spoilt, yes. But Ron is an oaf and Harry is a vigilante."

"What's your point Mudblood?"

"Everyone has flaws. All we can do is try to make our virtues outshine them."

"I don't think I have the kind of virtues you're talking about." He crossed the room and sat down beside her, taking a sandwich.

"That's a bit defeatist."

"Ok, well tell me what you think of my "virtues" then."

"You're quick-witted."

"That's not a virtue."

"Well I think it is. I can't stand bores." He looked at her unnervingly.

"What else." He pressed

She thought for a moment "...You're cunning."

"What does that even mean? Don't just quote the Sorting Hat at me."

"I'm not! You're cunning in that you are clever in deceit."

"Thanks a lot."

"I may not admire it personally, but cunning is still a valuable thing to have."

"What else is good about me?"

"Urgh, I can't spend all night massaging your ego Draco!" she sighed. "We really have got to come up with some sort of plan."

"Humour me."

"You're determined." She answered crossly. "I'll give you that much. Even if you have been using that to run yourself into the ground."

"Sneaky, snarky and self-destructive?" His eyebrows knit in mock distress. "You make me sound like Snape."

"You have only your vanity to blame. Now tell me what you found out today at the Ministry."

"Fine." he put the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and lay back on the bed, with his hands behind his head. "There's ten of them."

"As many as that! Oh God Malfoy, we have to get them out!"

He went on talking as though she had not interrupted. "They're all on level ten, except for Pomfrey, who is usually in a medical room on level three; 'Magical accidents and catastrophes'. She patches up the Deatheaters and Snatchers."

"What kind of rooms are they in?" Hermione asked, leaning back on an elbow to talk to him properly.

"Cells like yours."

"Well their doors aren't charmed in the same way as our interrogation room was. But they do have some pretty hefty magic on them. Do you know how often the prisoners are let out?"

"I doubt they are, at all." Malfoy drawled, lifting up and arm to cover his eyes. Hermione obviously knew how to work the muggle lighting and the bright bulb above him hurt his eyes. Why would anybody need such a bright light?

"Fuck it." Hermione threw herself down on the bed. "Have you got access to the cells?"

"Not usually."

"Could you get it? If you used some of that Slytherin cunning you might be able to find an excuse."

Malfoy turned his head slightly and lifted his arm to look at her. "Just how sneaky are we talking?"

"Well you wont be needing to go back afterwards so you've got quite a large license."

"I could tell them I've got an idea about how you got out. And insist on being allowed to poke about the cells at my leisure and on having regular access to the prisoners."

"That might work." she bit her lip thoughtfully. "I suppose if you were able to warn them first-"

"No."

"What?" Hermione sat up. "Why wouldn't you tell them about it? They need to know we're coming. That way they can be prepared. Not to mention the sense of hope it would give them!"

"No."

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"I don't trust any of them. Some of them have been there for months Granger. I wouldn't be surprised if they betrayed me to the guards for an extra bread roll at lunchtime."

"That's quite a dark viewpoint." She said, looking at him with something a lot like concern etched across her face.

"I'm a dark wizard."

"No you're not." She tugged at his hair playfully, "You're practically albino." she bit her lip. "Well, if you aren't going to tell them what we're up to, how can you guarantee they wont panic and ruin everything?"

"I can't." He sat up and looked at her. "But if they're stupid enough to get caught they deserve to stay." He rose from the bed and made for the door.

"Would you go with a Deatheater, just because he said he'd help you?"

He stopped but did not turn around. "You did."

"Yeah, well I'm the exception."

She saw him smile to himself. "Goodnight Jane."

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He turned again to look at her. "To bed. Some of us have work in the morning Granger." He cocked his head, "Unless you want me to stay?"

Hermione found she desperately wanted him to stay. Which was odd. "No...I think we've gone over all we can tonight. We need to know if you can get into their cells before we can plan anything else."

"I may leave then?"

"You are excused."

Draco bowed, smiling to himself when she laughed.

"Twit."

Once Draco had closed the door, Hermione undressed and put on the nightie he had bought for her. She was relieved not to find a scrap of red satin as she had been expecting. But then, Draco had already had his fun with the Slytherin dress. She pulled the white cotton over her head, discovering that her modesty was perhaps not as safe as she had thought, as the fabric shrunk to fit her. But it was still a long way off the red number she had dreaded.

She put the light out and climbed into bed. For a long time she lay there while her mind worked furiously to come up with a foolproof way of breaking ten prisoners out of the Ministry of Magic. It was not going to be easy. Eventually she drifted off. The novelty of sleeping in an actual bed must have worn off however, as she didn't feel nearly as contented as she had the night before.

***

It was not until she was teetering on the verge of sleep that Hermione remembered the feeling of Draco Malfoy's warm body pressing against hers as she slept. Her eyes flew open suddenly and she sat up.

What the fuck was she doing?

What the fuck was hedoing.

Breaking her out of the ministry, buying her clothes and now gratuitous spooning? She was so used to Luna cuddling up to her at night she had not even found it strange when the pair of them fell asleep together on the sofa. But the sofa was neutral ground; her bed most certainly wasn't. There wasn't anything in it... the poor boy thought his mother was dead, he was probably just getting so cuddly with her because she had almost stepped into Narcissa's shoes. Cooking his meals, making sure he got enough fresh air and sleep...

No. That wasn't it. Or at least not all of it. He was not just affectionate towards her, Hermione realised, he was actually a little possessive. The whole affair with the watch was pretty unsettling. She had glossed over it at the time- wanting to get cracking on their rescue plans- but now...she had to admit it was creepy.

"Fuck off Weasley we're asleep"

That was not the kind of thing men usually said about other men's girlfriends. He hadn't even apologised. He just smiled at her while she tried desperately to claw back the moral high-ground from Ron.

Then there was the clothes. The gesture was innocent enough, if a little intimate. The expense would mean little to him and he was obviously only doing it to avoid having half his own wardrobe shrunk to Hermione's size. She thought about how funny he had looked, squeezed into her clothes, when the were in the ministry. He'd probably have split them completely had he not enlarg-

'Wait!' thought Hermione. 'He does know how to stretch them back! He did it right in front of me... Oh but that still doesn't mean he'd want to share his clothes with me. He must have said that out of skewed politeness. No, the action in itself is completely admissible.'

"I just told Malkin that my girlfriend had come to stay..."

That was the alarming element.

"You're blushing."