AN: *hands reader a bag of gummi bears* There you go! For taking the time to click on this little story. I'll give you another bag if you leave a review! *shameless grin*

Disclaimer: *Draco's drawl* You really think I own Potter? Tuh, don't make me laugh.

Dedicated to: All who reviewed! And will review!

Chapter Ten: Of Cookies and Chivalry

"When a lady is down, offer her your hand. That is chivalry."

"I disagree. When a lady is down, offer her your hand. If she accepts it... well, that's chivalry."

- (I thought this up in two seconds.) A conversation between two British gentlemen.

Hermione was angry. She was angry at Harry, for breaking up with her. Just. Like. That. She was angry at Draco, who could have been a bit more compassionate.

And most of all, she was angry at herself, for accepting this Paladin Duty, and leaving all her friends behind... for one man who couldn't care less about her.

She was angry, tired, scared, lonely and sad. But most of all, she was broken-hearted.

Three knocks on the door.

Hermione raised her tear-smudged face from the damp pillow and called out: "Who is it? And whoever you are, go away!"

A few seconds silence, then Draco's voice. He sounded like he was holding back a laugh.

"Only one person in the whole world could be possibly be standing outside your door now, Hermione... and tough luck, it happens to be me."

Hermione sighed. I don't need this now... "What do you want?" she called back, more in exasperation than ever.

Silence again. Then. "More like, what do you want? Chocolate chip, sugar, or peanut butter?"

Hermione closed her eyes, and slowly counted to ten. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six... ohwhathebloodyhell...

She stormed to the door and flung it open with a well-placed Alohomora charm.

Draco stood in the doorway, one cool eyebrow raised, a smirk on his lips, and holding a plate of...

"Cookies?" Hermione stared at the warm pastries disbelievingly.

Draco shrugged. "Angry women are best placated with saccharine." He set the plate down on her desk. "They're less likely to bite that way... or so I've been told. And I'd rather like to keep my skin intact, thank you very much." He turned to leave, but then stopped and looked back at Hermione as she stood there in her rumpled nightclothes, swollen eyes and frizzed up hair.

"And by the way, you look like something the cat dragged in after a long, drunken mating night."

Hermione snapped out of her dazed stupor and glared fiercely at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco interrupted her with a lazy hand. "Yes, yes, I know. Sod off, Draco… Can't you think of anything more creative? If we're going to be stuck here together, we might as well bicker properly."

Hermione's arms dropped limply to her sides, and she suddenly looked very tired. "I was about to thank you for the cookies, but since you seem to be in such a receiving mood today, never mind. Now go outside and play."

She pulled out her wand, flicked it, and the door slammed shut just as Draco opened his mouth to protest.

She heaved a sigh, drawing her hand across her eyes, and in that soft sound was the misery of three years of lost love. Hermione was about to flop back into bed, and fall into a troubled sleep, but then the plate of cookies on her desk caught her eye.

And in spite of herself, she smiled.

~*~

Draco stood outside her door, listening closely. He heard the barely audible splash of milk being poured into a cup. If he listened very closely, he could hear the plate being slid across the desk.

But what mattered most was what he couldn't hear anymore.

Hermione's sobs.

He set off down the hallway, and the afternoon light streaming in from the dusty window illuminated his smile.

~*~

She picked up a cookie and bit into it appreciatively. Every gulp of cold milk, every mouthful of warm chocolate, the thoughts just flashed through her mind like a slide show gone horribly wrong.

I knew this was coming... maybe I should have broken up with him first... doesn't he know? doesn't he care... what if Draco was right... about Harry shaggi- no... loving some other girl... doesn't he trust me not to fall for Draco? does he think I'm that desperate? doesn't he know how much I still love him? these are good cookies... and anyway, I can't love Draco...

I can't.

I shouldn't.

I will not.

I'll try not to.

Hermione swallowed the last bit of cookie and picked up her wand. It's just about time to begin reinforcing those wards again.

~*~

"Ouch!"

"Careful, Hermione. If you're going to be crashing into me like that every time our paths cross in this godforsaken hole, I'd better invest in some dragon-hide armour."

"Oh, shut up, Draco."

He chuckled softly and turned back to whatever he was doing to the rosebushes outside the house.

Hermione sighed disgustedly and picked herself up off the ground. She turned to the wall beside her and began putting up Screening Charms, muttering to herself all the while.

"Can't even... Shroudovia! pick a lady up off the ground... inconsiderate..."

Draco continued fiddling with the bushes. "I would have offered my hand if I knew you were going to take it." he pointed out matter-of-factly.

Hermione sniffed. "What if I was going to take it, but you didn't offer it to me in the first place?"

Draco shrugged. "I'd know if you were in the mood... or the state of impartiality to take my hand." Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and continued setting up shields.

"How would you know? What are you... psychic?"

"No... but put it this way... I know what women want."

Hermione faced him, and with her hands on her hips, she was the very picture of offended femininity. "Oh, really?"

Draco looked up at her, a slight smirk on his lips. "Yes. I do."

Hermione smirked right back at him. "Well, what do I want, then?"

Draco shrugged. "Me."

"Oh!" Hermione turned bright pink. "You... you conceited bastard!" she huffed, flouncing off to the other side of the house, and the loud cracklings from Illusion Charms began to sizzle the afternoon air.

"You're only affected because you know it's true." Draco's voice was calm and exceedingly infuriating. "No, it's not." Hermione sniffed once more.

He came around the fence, smiling. "Well, whether it is or not, come look at what I did to the rosebushes." She glanced at him. He spread his hands. "You didn't trust me on the swimming pool... now will you trust me on the rosebushes?"

Hermione slipped her wand into her pocket. "Well. What mischief have you done this time, Draco Malfoy?"

He led her over to the bushes. "The kind you would appreciate."

The once-barren rosebushes were now blooming with roses the color of fresh blood. The heavy heads hung over the thorns like so many smears of paint from an artist's careless paintbrush. And in the chilly afternoon air, the perfume was ambrosial.

Hermione couldn't keep the smile from her lips. "Oh... they're beautiful." Draco nodded. "I know." She shot him an annoyed glance before exclaiming "Wait... it's September! Draco... they'll die in the cold."

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment, then he shrugged once more, an elegant lifting of the hands. "Well, all the better to enjoy their beauty now. The shorter their life will be, the more beautiful they are."

Hermione looked stricken. "We can cast Warming Charms, or No-Frost Spells... they're too beautiful to lose..." but Draco had already turned back to the house.

"No, Hermione. Leave them as they are."

He paused, his hand on the door handle.

"And... thank you."

He went in.

Hermione stood in the garden, breathing in the scent of the dying roses, watching the sunset, and doubting herself all over again.