Disclaimer: I don't own these two. JK Rowling has that lovely courtesy. As does WB, I suppose.
A/N: Please read & review. Enjoy! Angel
Draco tickled the pear gently, smiling in a very un-Malfoy like way as it swung open. He entered the kitchen, thankfully seeing no house-elves scurry up to him. In all honesty, they scared him; always around underfoot, always wanting to do everything for him. Did they not see the joy he got from doing something himself? He went to the cupboard above the sink, getting the cocoa powder. He pulled the milk from the fridge, setting a saucepan on the stove with a flick of his wand. He hummed quietly, heating the milk. He bent to take a glass from another cupboard. As he stood, glass in hand, he heard the door swing open. The Slytherin ignored it, knowing he could probably threaten whoever was down here within the kitchens as well at 2 A.M. His grey eyes caught a glimpse of red hair, and then the wearer of said hair sat in a chair by the fire, back to Draco. The Slytherin sighed, getting another glass. He stirred in the brown powder, wondering why a Weasley could be awake at this hour. A noise caught his attention, and it sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. The seventh-year noiselessly poured hot liquid into the tall glasses, and carried them over to the fire. As he came closer, he could tell that the littlest Weasley was crying quietly. The boy set down the glasses with a 'clink'. She looked up.
Her amber eyes looked up at him, watering with unshed tears. Draco scanned her quickly. She seemed to be fine; no bruises that he could see. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.
"Don't you dare say a word, Malfoy." Her usually cheerful voice was devoid of emotion. Quickly, a freckled hand darted out of her robes, brushed at her eyes, and was swallowed up again.
"I was merely going to tell you that I had extra chocolate, and see if you wanted any. Silly of me." He murmured in an off-hand way, yet his tone of voice showed concern towards her state.
"I'm fine." The girl grasped the hot glass, taking a sip. She sputtered as it burned her tongue. "That's hot!" she gasped. The boy chuckled.
"What would you expect? Cold chocolate to come from a stove-top?" He took a sip, savoring the flavour. It was just the way his mum had made it; back when she actually took care of him. "Really, Weaselette, I thought you were smarter than that."
She glared at him, eyes bright. But the tears are gone, he noticed.
"Don't call me that, Ferret." She retorted, taking another swallow of the drink.
"Okay, Red. What's got you awake this morning?" He wondered aloud, curiosity evident.
"Nothing." She muttered to the fire. "I'm just peachy."
Draco sighed, rubbing his head. It was two in the morning, for Merlins' sake! He stood from his seat, perching himself on the armrest of the chair. He leaned towards her.
"I don't believe that for a second." He told her, his breath tickling her ear.
She looked up at him, their faces mere inches away.
"Good." She said softly. "You shouldn't." With that, she got up and left. Draco's cool eyes watched her walk away from the fire, away from him, towards the portrait door. As she reached it, she hesitated. Then she squared her shoulders and pushed it open, entering the cool, dark hallways. Draco slid into the previously occupied seat with a sigh.
Women were always trouble.