Hermione awoke to a fussing at the door. She stirred, having drifted off on the couch. Squinting, she saw the door open and Scabior re-enter the flat. Godric, he was making a lot of noise. He was probably drunk again. Her eyes darted over to the mantelpiece clock.

2:34 a.m.

She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep as he warded the door behind him and turned to her.

"I know you're awake."

His words ran down her spine, chilling her. His voice always betrayed an ominous undercurrent. Like some sort of a warning. She sat up, pulling the thick, woolen blanket over her in the chilly air of the flat.

"Hopefully you found what you were looking for," she said pointedly, trying to mask her emotion.

Her eyes bored into his in the inky blackness and for a moment he thought he detected a note of something he couldn't quite place in her voice.

Hermione turned away from him, onto her side and pulled the blanket back over her.

"I did."

Her jaw clenched.

It was the way he said it. Smug, and he definitely knew exactly how to rile her. She was angry she had been left, locked in a flat with no indication of when he'd return or where he was going. Incensed, she threw off the blanket and stood. She was about to tell him off for being a disgusting, vile human being but she stopped when she saw the plain, brown bag in his hand. He offered it to her, slowly.

She looked down at his hand.

"What is that?"

"Open it."

She took the bag and he crossed in front of her to the wash room. He turned and muttered "lumos noctem"; immediately the living area was bathed in a soft, golden light.

Once he'd closed the door to the loo she opened the bag.

Her hands seemed to trip over the items.

Slowly she produced two pairs of elastic-waisted black pants, and a third pair in denim. She sat the bag down and held the pants up to her waist.

Maternity pants.

She pried about in the bag again. Four shirts of varying sizes followed soon after. One black, one grey, two white.

It took her a moment to register what he'd done. He'd gone out. And gotten her these things. Clothing she needed. For her.

Hermione's eyes welled with tears.

He emerged from the loo.

"Is it not right?," he asked, a little crossly.

She turned to him.

"No. These are perfect."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then she added, quietly, "thank you."

A tear slowly rolled down her cheek.

"Don't cry."

Suddenly, the dam she'd been struggling so hard to contain burst. The tears fell freely now.

He didn't like being the cause of her tears. He didn't know why.

Scabior strode over to her, reaching his hand out to wipe away the droplets.

Hermione surprised him by wrapping her arms around him. She took a deep breath.

He smelled like smoke and whiskey. And him. It was oddly comforting and strangely familiar.

Scabior seemed to falter a moment, unsure, before letting her cry in his arms.

She cried into him and his jacket and after a few moments she felt the muscles of his back stiffen. Vaguely uncomfortable, he gradually entangled himself from her and stepped back. He didn't like her so close. He didn't like her seeking comfort in him. It unnerved him.

"I'm not like that," he stated.

She looked at him with her big, brown eyes, confused. He clarified.

"I'm not that sort of man. Don't confuse things."

She looked at him through tear-stained eyes. It stung. His words and her empty arms. But she knew he was right. He was not a comforting man. He was not a boyfriend. He was who he was, and he had boundaries. And so too, did she. But how she wished things had been different…

He was so confusing. He obviously cared…somewhat? He'd given her hand a quick squeeze at the Healer's office, he'd held her close when apparating, brought her sweets, and now this…she hadn't imagined those things. Had she? She needed to find out; to push a little more.

She started speaking.

"I thought you went out for…well...maybe…for…a woman…to…," she blushed furiously, "…sleep with…"

His brow furrowed. She thought he went out to get laid?

Hermione continued, speaking quickly, her breath whooshing out of her.

"It bothered me. I know it shouldn't. But it did."

He looked at her as his brow slowly softened. His face became more neutral.

Had he heard her right?

She must be barmy. 'Must be the hormones', he thought to himself. 'Did she actually just say she didn't want you sleeping with another woman?'

She was eyeing him strangely now. He narrowed his eyes at her. Old habits die hard, and he enjoyed a bit of cruelty. He enjoyed pressing her buttons.

Time for him to move in for the kill.

He cleared his throat and spoke. "How do you know I didn't?"

Her breath caught for a moment, and her lower lip trembled. She hesitated before speaking.

"Did you?"

He seemed to consider the question for a moment. He wanted to say it was none of her business what he did or didn't do, but stopped himself. He was trying to make this work. Whatever "this" was.

Suddenly he was angry. He'd been out for a few drinks, sure, but he'd been doing something nice for her and she automatically assumed the worst of him? Didn't she see he was trying to make their situation livable for the foreseeable future? He'd been running around like a besotted husband buying maternity clothes for fuck's sake. Didn't any of that count for something?

"None of your business."

She felt her face heat and her hands tingle with anger.

He turned on his heel and strode to the bedroom. She followed behind, close on his heels.

When he reached the door frame he turned and spat, "Since you are so comfortable out there, I'll take the bed tonight."

"Fine!," she shouted back at him, moving directly in front of him, blocking him. "I don't care what you do! I could care less whether you live or die, you vile, hateful man!"

"Vile, hateful man? Oh you are too-"

"You are one to talk! You loathsome cockroach!"

"Ooh, I bet you just wanna squish me-"

"You are disgusting and I-"

"Well have at it, sweetheart-"

"Stop it! I've had enough of-"

"Alright, princess, take you and your high and mighty attitude-"

"Yes and another thing! You are a horrible person, I take back everything I said before, I hate you, I'll never forgive you, I hate-"

Hermione never got the rest of her sentence out for without any indication or warning he had grabbed her by the back of her neck, shoved her flush against the bedroom wall, and crushed his heated lips to hers.