Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling!  I'm sure everybody is aware of this by now.  : ) 

Spoilers: All FIVE books!  I'm not sure if anything is given away in this chapter, but please do not read as a precaution!

The Secret Keeper

by phantasm

Chapter Four: Someone Just Like You

"Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get, it's what you are expected to give -- which is everything"-- Anonymous

***

"What exactly is this?" Hermione asked, intrigued, as she jabbed the filled pastry puff with her fork prongs relentlessly. "A Hot Pocket?" 

What she really wanted to do was to skewer out Malfoy's eyes with that same fork, and wave them around madly in the air… but then her food would most likely be taken away by angry House Elves… and she was starving- so she would hold off.

For the moment. 

Draco hoped she didn't notice as he wrinkled his nose in disgust.  A "hot pocket"?  What in the bloody hell was that?  His father had told him since he was a child that Muggles were vulgar and uncivilized ("much like House Elves," said Lucius Malfoy with a sneer), but even in his great understanding, heated fabric did not pique his cultured taste buds in the slightest. 

"Seafood Crustatta," he replied in the most amicable voice he could produce, even though he was still thoroughly disgusted from the thought of heated pockets. 

Hermione stared at him blankly.  Draco fought the desire to roll his eyes and scream Duh!!! in a very uncivilized fashion.

"Well, you know… gulf shrimp, bay scallops, lobster cream sauce…" he followed, hoping to spark some recognition.  Mission Failed.

She gave the pastry another sharp poke, ignoring him completely. 

"Made by House Elves, I presume," she asked snottily, although it was intended as more of an accusation than a question. 

"No."

This piqued Hermione's interest.  With a house as large as the Manor, it would be nearly impossible- and very costly- to cook without House Elves. 

"You see…" Draco trailed, unable to find words to put this the nicest, "Kreacher has started some kind of… House Elf rebellion against you, and they've been having a penchant to poison the foods you are to eat.  We've had to hire a chef to accommodate for this… difficulty."

She would have cared about this Kreacher Rebellion (or whatever else he was saying), had she not placed the whole Hot Pocket (or whatever it was called) into her waiting, salivating mouth.  She gagged.

"Maybe… you should slow down a bit," he advised with a revolted, wide-eyed stare, as he handed her a glass of water.

She grabbed the cup from him angrily, gulping the cool water down eagerly, then shoved the still-half-full glass back into his hand.   

"Maybe, you should shut the hell up, Malfoy.  If you hadn't locked me in a cellar for… god knows how long…. I wouldn't be this damn hungry in the first place!"

Draco couldn't find an appropriate response for this outburst.  Frightened House Elves peeked around the doorframe to check on the commotion and gave her a dirty look. 

She angrily skewered another Crustatta with her fork and stuffed it down her throat, with a ferocity that made him think that she was imagining his own eyeballs as the puffed pastry.  He shuddered.

For thirty minutes, Hermione devoured each course delivered to her within seconds.

And afterwards, she felt thoroughly disgusted with herself.  Not because she was concerned with her figure (who the hell did she have to impress?)- but more along the lines of the fact that she felt as if the majority of her lunch would soon find its way back to her plate. 

"I suppose I should show you your room, then, now that you've finished" stated Draco, as he rose from his seat. 

Hermione gave him a suspicious look.  Draco had been disgustingly cordial to her ever since he carried her out of that goddamned dungeon (although he put her there in the first place). 

"What, first you fattened me up, and now you're trying to konk me out so you can eat me?" she asked as venomously as she could, but as she said those words… that actually seemed a possibility.

What if fried Mudblood was a delicacy among the Death Eathers?  She was suddenly very afraid.

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust.  He disliked touching Mudbloods, and the thought of eating Mudblood- was even more repulsive than hot pockets.

"Of course not."

"Then… why are you being so… not mean?"

"Er…"

"You didn't call me Mudblood once while we were eating," she reminded pointedly. 

Once again, he couldn't find an appropriate response.  He couldn't imagine she'd accept, "Voldemort wanted me to get close to you so you could tell me where your boyfriend is hiding."

"… Because I felt bad," he said lamely, unconvincing even to himself. 

She would have questioned his sudden show of morality if she had not wanted so desperately to take a nice, hot bath in her room.

Silence.

"Well, we should get going then," he added awkwardly, extending his hand to help her out of her seat.

She stared at his hand with a mixture of the deepest loathing and disgust, as if his skin had broken out into oozing boils.  Rejecting it completely, she painfully pushed herself out of her seat. 

And for this, Draco felt grateful.  Mudblood hands were probably filthy and dripping of Muggle oils. 

Being led from the kitchens through the vast corridors of the manor, this was the first time Hermione could appreciate the splendor that her spoiled nemesis was surrounded by every day.  Granted, she had been trapped in a cellar (so even a shack would look splendid in comparison), and she did expect the Malfoy home to be outrageously large- but his home was even more grandiose than imaginable.  Ostentatious- just as its inhabitants.

Bright tapestries papered the walls in flood of rich color- crimson, royal blue, gold and silver.  Each banister was a immaculately crafted in ornate swirls of gleaming gold, encrusted with a countless number of fiery rubies and opals.  Hallway after hallway, miles of pure marble surrounded her feet at all directions.

After climbing five flights glimmering granite steps, and passing through hundreds of endless corridors, Draco finally stopped at a polished gilded door to his right and gave the elaborate doorknob a slight twist.

"Well, here you are," he said after a moment of Hermione's awe-struck silence.

"…enkyou," she mumbled hurriedly, slightly pink in the face after the trek through the manor.

"What?"

"Thank you," Hermione repeated quietly, half-hoping he wouldn't hear it, wondering why the hell she was thanking the person who had locked her in cellar with a groping dismembered hand.  But this room was certainly preferable to the cellar- which was why she very forcefully was refraining from saying what she truly felt.

"There's a washroom connected to your room," he said, apparently not knowing what to do with her gratitude, either, except to ignore it completely.  "You might want to take a bath."

He was certainly correct.  Dried blood and dirt had caked onto her face like a horrifying mask, and her hair was matted down with oil and ridden with rat droppings and dust. 

"I might want to take a bath," she sputtered suddenly, breaking the thin, temporary peace while shooting him down with an angry glare, "What do you mean by that?"

Her pacified state turned sour instantly.  Well, of course she wanted to take a bath.  But who was he to-

"Well… you have some dirt on your face and your hair-"

"What, am I not suitable enough for your prissy pureblood eyes to look at?"

"No, that's not what I-"

"-When this is all your fault to begin with?"

She huffily stepped through the doorway and gave the door an angry shove behind her.  It slammed an inch from his nose.  He could still feel the wind whip across his face. 

Slamming a door of his home in his face?

He supposed that he couldn't go barging in there and jinxing her- that probably wouldn't make her fall desperately in love with him. 

But how was he to go about this "wooing" business? 

Impress with costly and exotic foods. 

Which obviously did not work, because she could not tell the difference between a Seafood Crustatta and a "hot pocket." 

Impress with Le Grande Tour of the impressive Malfoy Manor.

She had not uttered a single word. 

Impress with the best guest room.

Obviously unimpressed.

Utterly lost, he decided that the best course of action to follow now would be to take advice from one of them, the other spectrum of the human species. 

But now the question was- Who was the girliest, most appropriate person to ask?

***

Blaise sunk into the smooth leather folds of her armchair, basking in the warm glow of the fire, feeling suddenly as if this could easily turn out to be the most important day of her life. 

Draco had wanted to have a talk in the living room. 

About what, she could only imagine.  But she was sure she had a good idea…

And so she sat, waiting, wearing an intricate (and very costly, she reminded herself with a smug grin) gown of crimson and gold, spun by ancient mermen in the deepest depths of Atlantis.  A dress reserved for only the most significant of days-  but, if this day was going as planned in her mind, it could turn out quite unforgettable…

Finally, her prince had appeared, stepping through the arched doorway beams with his head held high, pale streaks of hair glittering across his forehead in the blazing firelight.  She greeted him with a dazzling, Blaise Zambini-patented smile. 

They exchanged formalities, which she thought was utterly unnecessary, seeing that she had shared his same bed (damn customs), and he swept over to take his seat across from her.  Settling himself into his armchair, Blaise couldn't help noticing the troubled expression that had settled over his features. 

'Probably nervous,' she mused.  'Stunned by my beauty, and all…'

Too soon to allow her to relish in the moment, he began to speak.  

"You know, Blaise, I know this is an awkward question to ask… and maybe I should have asked Pansy, but- ."

 "Oh, Draco," she cut in abruptly, in desperate attempts to keep Pansy's name out of the conversation, "You can ask me anything you want."

'Especially a question along the lines of 'Will you marry me, Blaise Zambini',' she thought with a grin.  That was, entirely possible, in her opinion, he'd beaten around the bush long enough with her.  Of course, this question was only to be accompanied by a stunning, paper-weight sized ring (no less than 10 carats).   

(It was only natural, of course.  Narcissa's ring was large enough to legally be considered a weapon.) 

Blaise couldn't see a ring-sized box in his hands.  Perhaps it was hidden in his chair cushion? 

Or maybe, he'd planned to do some fancy "Accio 10-carat Engagement Ring" spell, and it'd come whizzing through the air?

Either way, Blaise would have been completely content. 

She could only imagine the look on Pansy's face when she found out.  She suddenly felt giddy. 

"Well…" he began lamely, unable to find the right words.

"Well…?" she repeated, her excitement quickly becoming overwhelming.

"I was wondering… what exactly do girls exactly like in a guy?"

Blaise deadpanned.  What kind of question was that?  Certainly not the one she had been expecting…

But she still maintained her hope.  He was probably just getting around to the question, setting her up for a super spectacular whopper of a ring. 

"Personally, I really really like diamonds," she said sweetly, trying to coax him to go ahead and do what she knew was inevitable. 

"Is that all?"

"Especially if they're over ten carats, princess cut, H clarity, from a well known dealer (like Tiffany and Co, for example) and-." 

"Anything else?"

"I guess… girls like handbags.  You know, Hermes, Burberry is superb-"

"Well, what about girls who don't like material possessions?"

She honestly couldn't believe her ears at that point. 

"All girls like material possessions," she said, cerise lips forming a perfect O, lined eyes unnaturally wide, looking utterly scandalized. "Or at least the decent ones, do."    1

"What I meant was, what kind of traits do you look for?"

"Traits?" she repeated blankly.

"Generosity, strength, chivalry… things like that."

"Oh.  Well… I guess I like… Pure-blooded, wealthy, amazing snogger… you know, someone just like you," she said with another dazzling smile. 

Draco sincerely hoped she didn't catch the aghast look that flickered over his face.

"Uh… thank you, Blaise."

This was just too much to take.  They had been talking for almost ten full minutes, and not even an 'I love you Blaise,' had wrestled itself out of his lips (but then again, now that she thought about it, when had he ever said that to her?).  Could it be possible that… He loved someone else…?

'No,' she answered her own question in her mind angrily, angry at Draco for not popping the question that should have rolled of his tongue years ago, angry at her brain for producing such a stupid thought.  For who else was as wonderful, beautiful, clever-

Yes, she would restrain herself for now. 

"Any time," she responded, and with a strained, choking voice, almost as if on the verge of tears, added, "And… if you have anything else to ask me, you know where my room is."

He didn't begin to comprehend what she meant by that, but thankfully, she pulled herself out of her chair and disappeared into the hallway, layers of silk bustling behind her in a long golden train.

So, he didn't learn exactly how to go about wooing someone like Hermione in this most enlightening conversation with Blaise.

But he assured himself that from this point forward, he would limit his exposure with Blaise unless he desperately needed bed company. 

***

Authors note:

A bit of nonsense to carry me over to the next chapter…

I took a teensy break from writing… and another huge thanks and a bear hug to my reviewers:

Flexi Lexi, arbitrary, Princess of Darkness, Pailay… thank you so much for reviewing the last chapter.  It always makes my day when I see I have reviews. 

Just some responses:

Flexi Lexi: I'll try to do more with Pansy.  Ah, I feel so guilty.  I swore to myself in the beginning that she wouldn't be a mindless bumbling idiot when I started writing… and I'm starting to turn her into one.  I APOLOGIZE!  : )  Your "oh Draco/Hermione, you rock my socks" did have me laughing out loud though.  That was an interesting way to get your point across… I might even have to use that in the story.  Hm…

arbitrary: "anyway, just wanted to let you know that there are people anxiously awaiting the next chapter" gah!  What lies!  But it made me feel super duper spectacular when you said that, so thanks anyway : )

… ahh… I'll finish writing these later!  I'm too impatient to post! 

FINISHED: 7/23