That goddam woman!
He ripped the door open with every intention of following her. But as he stepped into the hall she'd already slammed another door shut a few rooms down; locking it with a distinctive click.
Letting out a growl of frustration, his balled fist slammed into the doorframe beside him, the wood giving a muffled thud at the contact. What the hell was he supposed to do? Wait for her to calm from her little bitch fit and start all over?
His stomach clenched; painfully this time. He should probably eat.
But then he'd need to deal with the old man. He sighed through his nose. He didn't want to deal with the questioning or the sour looks or any other interaction. Pretending to be pleasant wasn't his strong suit. He didn't have the patience for it. Nor had he ever needed to.
His hand slid down the frame until he tucked it comfortably under his arm. Then again – he could use the opportunity to escape. What if he told the old man he'd been kidnapped? Would they take his word for it? It wasn't like it was a lie. He'd been practically dragged across forests and fields with a massive injury – pretty much the most traumatizing physical experience he'd ever endured. His eyes flashed down the hall to the glowing light of the kitchen. Could he convince them? Could he convince them to sneak him away –without Granger noticing?
On second thought, he mused as he turned back into the room, Granger didn't seem concerned about leaving him alone with the couple. Meaning she would've done something to stop him.
Probably by doing something absurd; he stopped walking and looked down at the bed's wooden frame; like tie him to the bedpost, he thought, memory going back to how he'd woken up without restraints earlier. Quirking an eyebrow, he brought his arm up, slapping his hand over the post's rounded stump. She did seem to have a fixation for tying him up. And she apparently had a knack for it too. A small smirk pulled on his lips. Maybe the reason she was so good at it was because she'd had practice…elsewhere. He snorted, picturing how cringe-worthy she'd be in the bedroom; tying him up, fumbling on top of him, awkwardly struggling to pull down his pants.
The smirk disappeared from his face and his hand slid off the post. Lips turning down, he ground his teeth as he stared at the bed in front of him.
As if I'd let her.
Eyebrows furrowed at the thought, he took a couple of steps and sat on the ugly cover, hunched over with his elbows supported on his knees. Considering what had happened, he shouldn't be making light of it at all, let alone trying to picture it. His eyes flickered to the door where he'd cornered her. At first, he'd done it to harass her. It was something he was used to. Something he was comfortable with. Something he was good at. But then she looked up at him, and he just…froze. Her lips had parted and her eyes glossed over, dragging themselves heavily up to his. He hadn't torn his gaze away.
Blast it.
He shook his head, stopping his thoughts in their tracks and stood up from the bed.
He needed food.
He turned the corner into the kitchen finding Ab sitting back comfortably at the small table reading a newspaper.
"Anything interesting?" Asked Draco, feigning curiosity and projecting an air of politeness, as he took a seat beside him. The plate in front of him had been warmed and the steam smelled delightfully exquisite. He dug in.
"Same old, same old," responded Ab, giving his thumb a lick before turning a new page.
Draco didn't answer, packing food into his cheeks, savoring every glorious flavor that presented itself to him.
"My," mumbled Ab, giving him a sideways glance. "You two sure seem to have an appetite."
Draco paused at the comment, imagining Granger stuffing her face as fast as she could. He frowned, playing with his fork a moment; he knew better than that. Mindful of his manners, he continued eating, this time slower.
"I hope the room is to your liking. The blanket was hand-stitched by my wife way back from when we first started seeing each other."
He held back an eye roll.
"We thought it would make you feel more at home. The gold and silver colors really 'pop' in the light."
"It caught my eye," he answered, barely keeping his annoyance in check.
Ab turned another page letting Draco eat in silence. The sound of the shower pitter-pattered from down the hall.
"Trouble in paradise?"
"It's not paradise," he answered quickly.
Aballach gave a low hum, turning his attention back to his newspaper as Draco ate.
"You know, she seems like a very bright witch for her age."
Draco's fork paused midway to his mouth. "So I've been told," he responded darkly, before bitterly taking another bite.
"I must admit, it's not my place. But you two seem…standoffish to one another. Did you guys have a bad go at something?"
"A lot of somethings."
"Ah," said Ab. "Whatever it was, I hope, for your sake, it was insignificant. Jane has not only a beautiful mind but a beautiful heart. And she clearly cares about you very much."
An eyebrow rose. "Come again?"
Ab gave him a weird look in response. But Draco didn't care about pretenses at the moment.
"Jane looked after you as you slumbered. She stayed at your bedside and read books. Sometimes she even read to you aloud.
"…did she now?"
"Are you really so surprised?"
"No," he said after a moment. He knew better. Ab would never know that it wasn't kindness that she exhibited towards him in particular, but rather the innate workings of her incorrigible moral compass. That dam thing never failed to point north – she would have done it for anybody. It was just her personality. "I guess I'm not."
It was her insatiable pity, the bleeding Gryffindor heart that beat the tiniest creature – even for house elves, so he heard. And apparently death eaters too.
Ab gave a thoughtful nod of his head, and returned to his tabloid, reading article after article as Draco filled his stomach.
He was halfway through his plate before the woman, Norma, entered the room. Draco eyed her well since he hadn't gotten a good look at her beforehand.
She was a big lady, sporting a dense, tightly curled fro that bounced on her ears as she walked up to the table.
"Where's Jane gone too?"
God, he just wanted five minutes without thinking about her.
"Shower," he mumbled.
"I hope the bed was warm enough," she followed, clearly uninterested in Granger's whereabouts. "I'm sure it will be tonight," she added, her tongue sticking out through her teeth and winking at her husband, who smirked in return over the edge of his paper.
Draco brought a hand to his forehead in an awkward attempt to hide his face while stuffing a mouthful down his throat to avoid the comment.
"Oh, come now," teased Norma, seeing his expression, her plump abdomen bouncing in time with her laugh. "Don't be shy."
She pulled out the chair beside him and sat.
"We don't mind, we don't mind," she rushed, with a wave of her hand and a wide smile on her face. "I'll make sure to wash the sheets not once," she counted on her fingers, "not twice, but thrice tomorrow."
His fork clanged against his plate as he brought his other hand to rub at his face.
This was not happening to him.
Hermione angrily tied her hair into a bun and turned on the shower. What was wrong with her? She thought, getting undressed.
The spell should have held. She should have realized it had broken in the first place. She should have sensed it. But there hadn't been any give, no magical tug or notification whatsoever to alert her the spell no longer held. If she hadn't witnessed the obvious disruption herself, she would have thought the spell to still be holding – she never ended it after all. So what went wrong?
Stepping into the spray, she let the hot water roll over her, enjoying the heat as it dulled her senses.
On top of that, she also hadn't glamoured the dark mark yesterday amid the panic. It was a simple spell that would have done the trick, lasting the couple of hours needed as they worked on him. Squeezing her eyes shut she huffed in frustration. She was so preoccupied, she just didn't think of it. She brought her hands up, resting them on her temples for a moment, before letting them slide to the back of her neck, losing herself deeper in thought. It wasn't like her at all.
On the other hand, Ab and Norma seemed rather ignorant of it, she noted as she began scrubbing the sweat away, a lovely smell of peach gliding across her skin. They didn't look at them in fear or mistrust, nor had they asked her about it. Perhaps they thought it was simply an irregular tattoo. And they'd been nothing but hospitable and gracious hosts. Nothing at all to give away they suspected Draco to be a death eater. They were just really nice people. Her fondness of them kept growing by the hour. It was very possible she and Malfoy were jumping to conclusions.
Then again, they did ask about him quite a bit, she thought, rinsing off the suds. Where he was from, who his family was, what he was thinking of doing after graduation… all questions they asked her as well, mind you… and then they almost touched on their "relationship."
Dodged that one rather well. Still. Staying put wasn't the best idea. Malfoy hadn't been awake for a whole fifteen minutes and they were already at each other's throats. Between arousing suspicion and simply overstaying their welcome, it was best to leave as soon as possible. She was missing some potion ingredients; they could use some new sleeping gear, hygiene products, and food. It seemed like the logical next step. Turning off the shower and wrapping the towel around her – she decided they would head out first thing tomorrow.
Draco was able to finish his meal quietly. Norma was, by far, the chattiest chatterbox that ever chattered. Ab had carefully folded his paper and set it down on the table beside him to give her his full attention, smiling and laughing at her daily stories and "adventures." Her days didn't sound like anything exciting to him. She did things like collect herbs and gossip with other women. Typical country folk stuff: useless jargon. His eyes drifted over to Ab. He didn't see what was so intriguing about Norma's day, he must really be in love with her – he had to be, to be able to endure the ramblings of the mundane life she described to him so enthusiastically.
After waiting an eternity for a pause in her babble, he interrupted her as politely as he could, and thanked them for the meal, insisting he needed to go wash up. Thankfully, they let him leave without a fuss.
The shower sounds had been turned off as he made his way down the hall. He imagined Granger in front of a bathroom mirror, desperately trying to detangle the mess of sopping wet hair the shower had created. Quickly grabbing a towel from the bedroom, he stalked to the door she'd previously entered, bent on kicking her out so he could finally get rid of what he assumed to be a week's worth of grime.
He didn't have a chance to knock as the door flew open wide before him.
There she was; the bane of his existence, standing there in nothing but a white, damp, cloth, one hand on the door handle, the other holding a wad of her old clothes – wand pointing out from the bundle. Her mane was mostly dry – hair falling out of the bun she'd attempted, with the occasional wet strand that hung slick against her neck.
His eyes wandered down from her startled expression to the humid drops sticking to her collar bone, and his gaze followed a single bead that fell, quickly going over the swell of her breast before dipping out of his view behind the tightly wound towel she'd secured around her torso.
"Holy shit Granger," he said, boldly staring at her chest. "I almost forgot you had tits."
She couldn't stop the red from coloring the surface of her skin – but she did push the heap of clothes she held into his face, effectively pushing his head back and forcing him to take a couple of steps into the wall behind him.
"Don't be crass, Malfoy," she hissed. "I thought you were raised better."
She pushed past him; scurrying back to the bedroom.
Stunned, he watched her flee, half in amusement, half in disbelief. Her bottom bounced with the last hurried steps before she shut the door with a bang.
How had he not noticed that? She didn't exactly wear loose clothing. But she never flaunted her femininity either; unlike most of the Slytherin women. Hell, even his mother occasionally showed cleavage. It showed confidence and power – a sort man didn't possess.
He forced his eye forward and entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and grabbing at the back of his shirt, smoothly pulling it off.
Granger had an impressive figure. She wasn't the notable D-sized cup Pansy had, but the orbs she carried captured his attention well enough. And that ass had enough pep to bounce a sickle off of it…and then some.
The thought of that alone brought a rush of heat to his equipment, and he hurriedly finished undressing and leaped in the shower – pushing the dial to cold and turning it on full blast as fast as he could.
No.
He would absolutely not picture, imagine, fantasize or jerk off to that mudblood, Granger.
Author's note: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! I read and consider every one of them. Chapter 22 in the works! Hopefully out in 2 weeks.