AN: AhahaHA! I like this! "I wrote it over the weekend, a gift from the gods, as easy and as sweet as anything. I was a writer transformed. I laughed and spat at the feet of writer's block. And then I sat and stared glumly at my computer screen for weeks, because the gods have a sense of humor." - Neil Gaiman

Disclaimer: Oh no. I am not J.K. Rowling! I'm just screwing around with her characters, and with Draco most especially... *mmm…* sorry, got carried away.

Dedications at the end of the chapter.

Chapter Four: Of Daily Schedules and Hot Chocolate

Barely even friends

Then somebody bends

Unexpectedly

- Beauty and the Beast

The next three days at the Hellhole were exactly that. Hell.

Everything seemed coated in shades of gray, or maybe it was just the September weather... but whatever it was, it succeeded in creating an atmosphere so cold that all conversation seemed impossible.

There was no "pass the salt" anymore, for the two residents of the house rarely ate at the same time.

Hermione now used Draco's wand, without his permission, and without his protest. He left it on the table outside her room every night before he retired for bed as a sort of offering, and the wand was always replaced there by Hermione when she was finished with her Auror tasks.

Hermione would get up at five a.m., eat a cold, haphazard breakfast that she had cooked for herself, and reinforce all the wards around the house. She would have been finished with that task at seven-thirty, and she would return to the house to begin Scanning for Dark materials, but avoiding Draco's closed room at all cost.

When all her Auror tasks have been accomplished at ten, she would return to her room, leaving the wand outside her door, and ignoring the owner of the wand, who would be eating his breakfast in the kitchen and reading parchments of no consequence whatsoever to her. She would stay in her room until twelve, and then she would come out for a quick lunch without Draco, a routine check and patrol around the grounds, avoiding the little corner of the garden that Draco had deemed "his", and return immediately afterwards to the confines of her bedroom.

The rest of the day would be passed in silence, with Hermione leaving her room for a silent dinner with Draco at six. Yet another patrol, more reinforcements, all performed in silence. A quick shower at eight, and Hermione would leave the wand outside her door, with a note scrawled on parchment taped beside it, telling Draco in a brief, formal manner to "alert me for note of anything suspicious."

She would get up regularly during the night at two-hour intervals, picking up the wand that lay outside her door, and bundling herself up in thick clothes and a Warming Spell, and patrol twice through the small cottage and thrice around outdoors, Scanning suspicious objects, but always keeping away from the little spot that Draco had hidden from view with nicely draped blankets.

Typically Draco... she once thought bitterly. If he had to be doing something typically snarky, he'd definitely use Marks&Spencer bedsheets to drape it with.

Snooty, slimy git. Ron was so right.

~*~

Draco's activities around the Hellhole, however, were not snarky or anything of that sort... but rather lazy compared to Hermione's gritted-teeth dutiful actions.

He'd only come out from his always-locked bedroom by around ten, and after passing by the stone-cold remains of Hermione's breakfast that she left on the table, he'd set to work around the kitchen, cooking himself a nice, traditional, and most especially delicious typical English breakfast. Without magic, of course, as Hermione was still using his wand, after snapping hers a few days ago.

This, he'd lay out on the table, with two settings, one for Hermione, and one for himself. He'd then proceed to eat half of the prepared food, leaving half for Hermione, who never ate it, preferring to stalk in after her Auror duties, ignore the prettily prepared breakfast, mutter something about having eaten already, and disappear into her room, leaving the wand outside for Draco's use.

After eating, he would charm the plates into cleaning themselves, and using a complicated little enchantment he had dug up from his father's libraries, he would uncook Hermione's uneaten breakfast, returning the eggs to their uncooked state and charming them back into their eggshells, replacing the muffins in their plastic wrappings, the coffee evaporating into coffee grounds and flying back into the canister...

Draco amused himself with this until twelve in the afternoon, where he proceeded to cook everything all over again, and leaving it on the table, under Warming Spells, and he would disappear outside into the grounds, waiting for Hermione to finish eating, and basically just doing whatever he wanted to do.

At one, he would return to the house, occasionally passing a silent Hermione, who wouldn't so much as mutter a thank-you for the lunch. Draco would re-cook the food, and eat his lunch, and taking a little catnap afterwards on the couch, which he had already cleared of the dust and the flower arrangements.

The rest of the day would be spent in his little corner of the garden, listening to the buzzing of the Scanning charms Hermione used outside his little haven of draped Mark&Spencers sheets.

Dinner at six was a silent, yet delicious affair, but as usual, Draco did not receive, and did not expect any thanks for the meal. He contented himself with his little corner of the "lawn", and was usually there for the rest of the night.

Hermione never heard him come in a for a night's sleep, and frankly, she couldn't have cared less.

Occasionally, while drifting off for another two-hour nap, she'd hear soft footsteps outside her door, and she knew it was Draco picking up his wand. It was always back on the little table when she went outside to patrol, however, and she was slightly glad that he did not give her any more reasons to get angry. (Well, besides being so utterly angelic, of course.)

~*~

After about a week of the mutual silent treatment between the two residents of the HellHole, Hermione woke up at her usual time, feeling that something was not right. A "not right" sort feeling that wasn't sinister or evil... but a "not-right" feeling that meant something was out-of-place.

And if you could rightfully call Draco Malfoy waiting downstairs for her at five a.m. in the morning with a warm, delicious-smelling breakfast and a slight smile "out-of-place", then the world was coming to an end for Hermione.

"What's this?" she asked bluntly, staring down at the hot chocolate and the warm muffins sitting on her side of the table. "It's breakfast, and you can be assured I haven't poisoned it." Draco gestured towards her seat. "So sit down."

Hermione continued to stare at the breakfast in a surly manner, and Draco sighed patiently, annoyingly. He reached over and scooped a spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, and grinned at Hermione, still chewing. "See?"

Hermione sat down warily, thinking sourly that Draco Malfoy must be the only wizard in the world to ever chew, and talk with his mouth full, and still look incredibly aristocratic and elegant.

The breakfast was by no means poisoned, and was quite tasty, as far as Hermione was concerned. But she seemed to take no pleasure in the well-made meal as she quickly shoveled everything down and stood up to leave, the wand in her hand. But she stopped, and looked down at Draco, who was daintily chewing a tiny bit of croissant, and watching her expectantly.

"Thanks." she said shortly, and was out of the door before Draco could swallow.

"Ungrateful wench." he said cheerily, and took a sip of his hot chocolate.

~*~

The day passed quite normal, well, as normal as things got around the house. But there were little surprises sprinkled all throughout the day that made Hermione wonder if Draco was not up to something suspicious. She had once glanced up from ruffling through the Poisonberry Bushes to meet Draco's glance, as he had just ducked out of his corner of the garden. He stared back for a moment, then smiled. Smiled.

Hermione stared back, shook it off, and resumed her search of the bushes.

And then lunch. As usual, thanks to Draco's remarkable cooking ability, it was a delicious affair. And as usual, Hermione got up without a sign of gratitude.

But unusually...

"Ahem."

Draco looked up at her with a raised eyebrow, so cocky and so charming that Hermione didn't know whether to smile, or hit him across the face.

She settled for something in between.

"Thank you." she said dryly.

"And you're welcome!" he replied brightly, and resumed reading his book, which was intriguingly titled American Gods, by some unknown author named Neil Gaiman.

Hermione turned to leave, then stopped. "Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to read at the table?" she asked. Draco looked up from his book, blinking benignly. "No, but she did teach me how to skin a cat thirteen different ways. I can teach you too, if you'd like? We can start with your Kneazle... Cookshenks, if I'm right?" he offered, with a sly grin.

Hermione paled. "No, never mind."

~*~

But the biggest surprise of the day was waiting for her in the Poisonberry Bushes that night, under the cold stars and among the diamond shadows.

She woke up at the alarm of her Muggle clock. Time for another night patrol. she thought sleepily, bundling herself up and casting a Warming spell with the wand outside her door.

Hermione stepped outside, holding Draco's wand out as she had been taught, and looking around, saw nothing unusual...

Her eyes widened, and she cast a Silencing charm on herself as she warily approached the tall, hooded figure at the other end of the garden. It struck a cold thrill of fear into her heart, and she almost wished that Draco... anybody was here beside her.

The figure rustled through the grass, stepping softly, elegantly, even. It seemed to be peering into the windows of the house. Hermione steeled herself. She was an Auror, fully trained, one of the best ever.

She could have hit it with a Stunner right then and there, and as that idea came into her mind, she raised her wand, and opened her mouth.

But the figure wheeled around, as if sensing her, and caught her of-guard, standing in the middle of the garden, vulnerable and exposed. Hermione froze, and yelled out the first spell that came into her mind

"Culitivatum!"

The figure drew back in horror as... roses began to sprout from the chilly September ground, the pale white heads seeming to glow in the pale moonlight.

Hermione stepped back, horrified. What had she done?! She had completely misfired, and with one of the stupidest spells anyone could have ever thought of!

To her surprise, the figure began to laugh, a deep, throaty laugh that was only slightly muffled by the hood covering his/her/it's face. It bent over, and picked one of the roses off the ground, still chuckling. Hermione watched with narrowed eyes. Suddenly, the figure swore magnificently, and jerked its pale white hand away from the equally pale rose. A drop of blood trickled down it's finger, and the figure cursed once more.

Hermione was stumped. Only Draco could curse like that, but his voice isn't that gruff... it's rather melodic and tenor... she mentally kicked herself. Here she was, evaluating the sound of her Paladin Subject's voice, while he - and most especially she - was in imminent danger.

"Who are you?" she asked loudly, raising her wand and pointing it straight at the figure.

"I'm human, I assure you of that." the figure told her in a rough voice.

"How can I be sure of that?" she asked. "I'm counting to ten, and at the end of ten, I'm Stunning you, unless you can tell me in five words who you are and what you're doing here."

"One."

"I didn't know such an ugly house-elf could count."

"Two." That hurt.

"Ah, put that wand down."

"Three... four." That jab hurt. And it sounded vaguely familiar too.

"Silly wench."

"Five... six... seven."

The figure waved the rose threateningly at her. "I could kill you right now, if I wanted to."

Hermione almost laughed. It so obviously didn't have a wand. If it did, it would have had it out by then.

"Eight... where's your wand then?"

"Aha! So, you want to see my wand!"

"Nine... what are you talki... oh!"

"Hmm... you aren't a very good Auror, you know that? A simple joke can so easily mislead you."

"That was no joke. It was quite lewd, actually."

"See what I mean?"

Hermione frowned, and stopped counting, but kept her wand raised. This figure was so obviously harmless, but he could still physically attack her.

"Okay. Who are you?"

"My god, Hermione. By now you should have identified me. Even with that voice-altering spell…"

And he lowered his hood.

---

This kind of dragged, didn't it? And by now, you all probably know who that figure was. Oh well. Review!