CHAPTER 23

Hermione stepped out of the shower.

Draco watched her with a raised eyebrow, as she began to dry her hair with a towel. She was dressed in a short nightgown, and her brown hair was one big mess around her face. Instinctively, he smoothened down his own "luscious locks" as he liked to call them.

Hermione finished drying her hair, and after combing it out, walked towards the bed.

'It's a nice room,' she said.

Draco shrugged. He knew that.

'I suppose.'

Hermione went on talking. 'I like the bed- this four poster thing looks antique.'

'If you say so.'

'The only thing is- why does it have to be furnished in green and black? That looks horrible Slytherin.'

'Whatever you- wait a minute! What do you mean horribly Slytherin! Did you, by any chance, mean "magnificent"? Or perhaps "Marvelous"? 'Cos the horribly doesn't really fit.'

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

'I'm a Gryffindor, Draco. Do you think I would say Marvelous Slytherin. No. Say it with me, NO. Of course it looks horribly Slytherin. I think you should get it refurnished.'

Draco stared at her.

Okay, she is really settling down with this I'm-the-wife-and-the-boss-around-here thing. Wait a minute- no! I'm a Malfoy! I can have my room furnished whatever color I want!

He set his lip.

'NO you aren't. You aren't doing anything of the sort. I like the room like this, and like this it will stay. It's my house. My room. Not yours.'

Hermione pursed her lips, but said nothing. There was a silence. Draco pulled a cigar out of his pocket, lit the end, and popped it into his mouth.

In a second, the cigar was yanked out of his month.

His eyes flew open.

'HELLO? WHAT HAPPENED TO MY CIGAR? I WAS, LIKE, SMOKING THAT!'

'I know,' Hermione replied, coolly. She was standing there, with her hair like a tent, clutching his cigar. Draco's eyes bulged.

The bloody cheek!

'Give it back,' he muttered.

'I don't think so,' Hermione said, briskly. She tossed the cigar out of the window.

'Hey!'

'You shouldn't smoke.'

'And just why not, may I know.'

'Ever heard of smoking kills?'

'And you don't want me to die.'

Hermione puckered her face, and said in a mock high-pitched voice.

'Oh, you aren't so bad,' she said, copying him.

Draco scowled. 'And am I supposed to take that as a compliment?'

'As you wish.'

Mocking him. Again.

He rolled his eyes.

'Fine. So I lost one. I'll just light another.'

'Which is going to follow the first one straight out of the window. No. I don't care if you feel like smoking and making a prat of yourself somewhere else, but you are utterly forbidden from smoking in front of me.'

Draco snapped.

'And just who are you to tell me not to smoke, Mudblood?"

The minute the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it. Hermione's eyes narrowed, and her mouth pursed. Without a word, she crossed the room, and slipped into the large four-poster bed. With a wave of her wand, the lights went off.

Draco sighed.

I had to. I just had to.

He put away the cigar box, and crossed the room in the darkness. Just as he slipped into bed, he heard Hermione's voice.

'And I would just like you to know, Mr. Malfoy, the only reason I'm in the same bed as you is because I like my job. Under normal circumstances, I would rather spend the night with a cactus.'

Draco ground his teeth. Talk about famous last words.