Hermione

Shell Cottage

Early April 1998

Despite the near death experience, Hermione found it difficult to think of much other than Malfoy. She occupied her days with internal debates as to why he was there, and what made him leave the Death Eaters.

Where possible, she tried to ignore how she felt about him being there, but at times it was a natural part of the exploratory process of the current conundrum.

The fact that she protested him leaving her side the night her fever broke rattled her, but could be explained. She had in fact been having vivid dreams of him as of late, so maybe in her fugue condition, her subconscious took the wheel.

She struggled to explain Malfoy's side of the puzzle, though, and the fact that he actually stayed with her when she asked.

He didn't like her. He couldn't. The year prior he had used her to get information about Dumbledore and Harry, and was viciously cruel when the unfounded rumor about them made its way through Hogwarts. But now, half of that story has fallen apart. According to Harry, Malfoy had never wanted to be a Death Eater, or kill Dumbledore. So which side held the lie?

The best theory was that Malfoy felt genuine remorse. He took pity on Hermione when she could have been killed, and in saving her redeemed himself from whatever internal struggle he felt.

Still, it was a bit far fetched to think he'd risk his family's safety for something like that.

Over the next two weeks, Hermione took to studying the out of place Slytherin in their confined cohabitation. Her only challenge was fighting back the odd sensations that took shape every time she saw him.

If he sensed she reacted oddly to him, he gave no indication. Any time they would see one another (which was often, the cottage was not large) he would be deferential to her, always making a wide path for her to pass. Coldly polite; that's what he was.

But sometimes, when their eyes met briefly, Hermione could swear there was more to the story.

It never lasted more than a half a second. His mask would break a fraction of an inch, and it was like uncovering a lost childhood memory; deeply faded and hard to make out.

He would catch himself doing it, and quickly break the connection. It left Hermione wanting to dig further. To understand why her stomach flipped when he looked at her. For the nonsense that she was feeling to make sense.

Over two weeks into their stay, Hermione shot up in her bed, a cold sweat blanketing her neck and limbs. Faint traces of Bellatrix haunted the back of her lids as she blinked away the nightmare.

Hermione needed to put a temporary distance between her and sleep, plus she desperately needed water.

Walking to the kitchen, her footsteps light so as to not disturb anyone, she noticed a soft light radiating from the kitchen.

Before entering, she stole a glance around the opening to the kitchen to see if anyone was there.

It was Malfoy, and part of her knew it would be him, though the confirmation of it sent a thrill up her back.

She had unfettered access to observe him as he sat at the narrow breakfast nook, his face hardly lit. He was preoccupied and was turning something over in his fingers. The piece caught the light briefly and flashed. It was a small metal thing.

His chin was turned down looking at the object, causing his blonde hair to fall into his forehead and eyes in a messy way. This was how he looked in detention, Hermione remembered as a warm feeling crept up her chest. She couldn't help but be drawn to this: his deep focus, how he could appear so boyish at times, but then his features would turn and he'd be a serious man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was a total juxtaposition.

An involuntary, audible sigh escaped Hermione, which caught his attention. Her cheeks went a perfect shade of crimson de betrayal.

In a stiff manner Malfoy moved to stand. His eyes remained fixed on her dimly lit figure.

Now that she had been caught, and she did need water, it wouldn't be the worst thing for her to talk to him. She took a tentative step in.

It looked as if he was about to leave, but Hermione spoke before he could.

"No you can stay. I was just getting water," she reassured softly. He watched her for a moment as she walked to the faucet before slowly lowering himself back to the table.

He looked nervous, and she never saw Draco Malfoy nervous. But really, why wouldn't he be? He was a defected Death Eater in a house full of members of the Order. It also did not seem lost on him that the two had an awkward sixth year together where he used her interest in him to get to Dumbledore.

"How, um, is your stay?" Hermione asked awkwardly, leaning against the kitchen counter. She noticed his eyes trail over her and it was only then that she realized what she was wearing: An over sized t-shirt that hung off her shoulder, and Fleur's too short pajama shorts, exposing the expanse of her leg. Casually, she tried to angle her arms over her body. He averted his eyes back to the table. She took the stolen second to take note of his garments, as he had just done. As would be expected, he wore what looked to be black pajama pants, and a black t-shirt.

"It's fine," he answered, but the words felt cold. His features turned contemplative before he continued, "I'm glad to be here."

Hermione's watchful eye on the blonde guest strayed as she turned to fill up a glass of water.

"A bit more cramped than the Manor, I expect?" she asked, trying to act halfway casual, which she found was easier to do than she had anticipated.

When she turned back, Hermione found that his lip tugged slightly into a smirk, sending her stomach into a free fall.

"I'd say the cottage is only a room or two smaller than the Manor," Draco quipped back, keeping his voice low. He let a moment pass. "Are you sleeping alright?"

"It's difficult," Hermione replied honestly.

He stood again, and took one step closer to where she was. His features painted a picture of concern.

"I'm sure it will go away," she reassured him, and he gave her a terse nod, shaking away whatever emotions he felt.

Now with a glass of water in hand, she found that her body was not moving back to her room. He picked up on her hesitancy.

"I suppose you should get some sleep then," he suggested.

Her head fell a fraction, feeling oddly crestfallen. "Yes, that's probably for the best. Good night…" and for some unfathomable reason 'Draco' almost rolled off her tongue. But she gulped it back. "Um..Goodnight."

Turning away from him a bit too quickly, she spilled half of her water in her hasty retreat.

The next day passed quickly: Harry, Ron, Griphook and herself had been mulling over plans on how to infiltrate Gringotts. Griphook was insistent throughout the day that they should bring the Malfoy boy in, that he would likely know more about the particular vault in question than even himself. Ron shut it down promptly, Harry looked thoughtful and said nothing, and Hermione just tried to hide her neck reddening just from his name simply entering into the conversation.

That night, Hermoine woke again at 2am, this time from a vivid dream involving her and Malfoy on some musty old couch in a big room. Hermione noted that her core felt tense and her heart was racing.

She wasn't thirsty, but her curiosity wondered if he would be in the kitchen again.

When she turned the corner to the kitchen he was there, in the same spot, this time with a book. His head was leaned against his propped up hand, looking down at the pages.

"What are you reading?" she asked, which startled him.

He looked at her and that quirk of a smile appeared again. Her nerves were helpless around him.

Lifting the book, he showed her the cover.

"Hamlet?" Hermione gasped, moving closer to the table. He raised an amused brow at her surprise. "You do realize Shakespeare is a muggle right?"

There was sadness in his eyes, but he gave a faint smile and replied, "I know."

A feeling that kept nagging at Hermione nipped at her heels. It was like trying to recall a fact, but it wouldn't leave the tip of your tongue.

"I know there were rumors he was a wizard, but after some light investigation it seems like the consensus was that he was fully muggle." Hermione rattled off, now facing Malfoy from the edge of the table where he sat.

"Only a light investigation?" he teased too casually. Hermione shrugged, knowing full well it was a several day endeavor.

"Can't sleep again?" he asked. She nodded and took a seat next to him at the breakfast nook.

"I guess," she replied as her cheeks warmed. "What about you, you've been up too," Hermione questioned. He just shrugged.

"Weasley snores," was his answer. Hermione stifled a laugh because she knew that to be very true. When she looked back, Malfoy was conscientiously watching her.

"I can't believe you Harry and Ron are sharing a room" Hermione pursued the subject further, moving her gaze away to be preoccupied by the stove. "I'm surprised you're all still alive"

"It is surprising," he provided.

Her eyes slowly came back to him and found he wasn't looking away as he tended to do after some time. Her skin felt prickly, and her insides shuffled about.

Seated in the nook, Hermione took note that they were closer than she had initially realized, with their arms just about touching.

His head turned to his side, now looking down on her. She watched as his eyes flicked back and forth monitoring her all the while she forced herself to maintain eye contact. It felt as foolish as staring into the sun.

A new form of gravity took hold and she felt herself move closer.

Like a magnet, as she moved in, he angled himself away. But a strained expression occupied his features until he let his face fall. "I'm sorry"

Hermione's eyes screwed up in confusion. "Why are you sorry?"

They were still very close, she thought. His scent was everywhere; she had to fight herself from taking long, soothing deep breaths.

His jaw twitched and his lips remained tight.

"I just am," he finally said, now in a rough tone. He looked away, "you should get some rest."

A rush of embarrassment swept Hermione back. How could she be so stupid and continue to misread whatever it was that she was sensing between them?

Slowly, she moved herself out of the booth, leaving the kitchen without looking back. She would return to her room where only nightmares would await her.