The sound of pans rattling around in the kitchen had woken Draco out of his drunken slumber. He squinted at the light that blinded him through the open curtains of the window. His head began a dull pounding in time with his pulse just as he regained full consciousness. He could hear Hermione stomping around as she opened and shut cabinets rather loudly. It was her flat, he thought. She could do as she pleased - but the incessant banging was doing absolutely nothing for his mounting headache.

"Granger!" No response from the brown haired witch. Draco sat up quickly, pulling off his undershirt as he did so. He was hot and irritable and in need of food and a shower.

"Hermione!" Again, no answer. He slowly pulled himself to his feet, rumpled shirt in hand, and made his way towards the kitchen in nothing but his trunks. His hair was tousled, and there was a scowl on his face that could have rivaled even Professor Snape's. When he reached the Kitchen, he paused - taking a moment to lean his body against the door-frame and cross his arms over his chest. His cool grey eyes watched calculatingly as Hermione chopped tomatoes and mushrooms by hand as potatoes crackled temptingly on the stove. Hermione focused intently on throwing the veggies into a griddle as two eggs magicked their way out of the fridge and cracked themselves in the pan. Beans bubbled in a small pot - it smelled heavenly.

"Smells absolutely divine."

Hermione jumped. She turned quickly and put her hand on her chest to calm her breathing. Draco took the moment to appreciate the way the Gryffindor crewneck sweater fell off of her left shoulder to expose several freckles. His eyes danced in amusement, his lips maintained only traces of a smirk.

"You shouldn't scare people like that you know." Her words wore cold and accusatory, yet they fell on deaf ears — Hermione should have hexed him, instead the ire swirling in her irises transformed into burning darkness as her eyes rolled over the just noticed bare ness of his frame. Malfoy couldn't help but notice the way her brown eyes lingered on his chest, working their way down to the blonde hairs traveling down from his navel towards his trunks. He lifted his eyebrows at her as she studied him. A blush crept up her cheeks as her eyes came back up to focus on his again. She cleared her throat haughtily and waved her hand impatiently in the direction of the kettle.

"There's tea. And the food's almost ready if you're hungry. Plates are in the cupboard to your left." Malfoy's smirk was in full bloom as he passed behind her as she cooked, her neck and cheeks were in a full out flush. He lingered to the right of her shoulder and leant over to smell the contents of the current skillet she was stirring. He could almost see the way her pulse quickened at his proximity. Before she could yell at him again, he stepped away—onward towards the kettle in the corner.

There was silence between them as Draco watched Hermione, and she finished cooking. He marveled at the way that she had so eloquently merged the art of both Muggle and Wizarding culinary technique. He watched her flip eggs and perform wandless magic to stir the beans all without missing a beat. She absently turned her neck up toward a cabinet and Malfoy took that as his cue to grab two plates. He set the dishware on the small kitchen table and then proceeded to grab silverware out of one of the drawers. Within a few minutes Hermione had plated their food and both of them settled quietly at the table across from one another.

"Can't bother to put a shirt on before sitting at the table? Odd...I thought pure bloods were meant to have manners." There was annoyance in her voice, and Malfoy only smirked at her — his cool grey eyes honing in to her amber ones.

"It seemed you quite liked the view. Just doing my civil service, Granger. How else could I have repaid you for this amazing breakfast if not in hard pecs and washboard abs?" She actually scoffed. Her lips set into a hard line as she narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. She lifted a fork and pointed it at him menacingly from across the table, and with every syllable she spoke next, her fork acted as the punctuation.

"How conceited could you possibly be!? It's unattractive, and will grant you a one way ticket out of my good graces faster than you can say Hogwarts." The smirk left Malfoy's lips rather quickly, and he shifted in his seat to regard her with actual sincerity. He sighed before staring down at his plate and lifting an impressed eyebrow at the spread that had been set before him.

"Impressive." She scowled at him over a bite of toast. Malfoy took that as his cue to continue.

"What do you call this?" He forked a piece of sausage into his mouth and hummed after biting off a huge chunk of it. Clearly hoping to win back her favor by devouring the food before him — his eyes closed as he reveled in the greasy perfection of the bangers and toast.

"A Full English."

"A Full English what?" His lips wrapped rather graciously around a forkful of eggs and beans. He licked his lips before bowing his head to devour more.

"Just...a Full English Breakfast. Standard Muggle fare — good hangover cure too. Seemed you may need one after last night."Malfoy grunted as he inhaled more of his beans and toast.

"This is one thing that Muggles definitely do well."

Hermione's eyebrows rose in curiosity as she toyed with a forkful of eggs.

"You mean, as a full on Brit, you've never experienced the greasy magic of a proper fry-up? How un-English could you be?" Malfoy laughed — actually laughed at that and took a hearty gulp of his tea.

"As my family can trace their roots back to the era of William the Conqueror and Normandy. It should come as no surprise that our way of life, etiquette and...cuisine...leant more on the lavish and unequivocally French side."Hermione raised a singular eyebrow in question at the admonition.

"So basically we ate lots of croissants, fruit, cheese and tea...lots of tea."

"Well obviously you've missed out on the pride of and joy of England gastronomy, renowned and celebrated the world over." There was the hint of a smile on her lips as she spoke.

"Better late than never." Malfoy tilted his lips into a grin and decidedly took that as his cue to continue eating his fill - it didn't take long as it was all rather delicious. And quite truthfully he could already feel his headache dissipating as he sipped on his tea. He twiddled his fork between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand as he regarded his surroundings with an air of faint curiosity. After moments of silence, he turned back to Hermione who had stopped eating to regard him in much the same fashion. He felt his cheeks get hot with all of the things that they've never said to one another — and he felt his chest tighten as he truly considered her. He opened his mouth to speak but thought against it, only to open it again a moment later.

"Thank you...for breakfast."

"It was no trouble." She responded, almost carefully as she tapped the edges of her plate with delicate fingers.

"Feel free to invite me over whenever you're cooking." Hermione chuckled dryly as she stared at the whites of her pale knuckles. "Duly noted."

"And...thank you for not turning me to the wolves last night." At this admonition Hermione stilled. Malfoy watched as she sighed nervously, her brown eyes settling on the unopened Bordeaux still sitting on the counter, the two wine glasses untouched. There is static between them as they stare at one another in thick silence. When Hermione finally opens her mouth to speak — her voice is heavy and intrusive.

"Why did you come?" When she turned to look at him her eyes burned with an endless sea of questions that she needed the answers to just as much as she didn't want to be there to hear them. Because they'd been balancing on the precipice of a high edifice for several years now — both of them having prevented the plunging toward their death by stilling their tongues and trying to forget everything.

But ever since the day that Draco had arrived to Johannesburg only to come face to face with the witch who would be his compatriot for the coming weeks — he realized falling for her, was always inevitable. And yet she was as unattainable as smoke and vapors. There was never a day after that first reconnection in South Africa, where Draco didn't think of her. But instead he always blamed it on the swirl of rum or cognac that always seemed to foreshadow their midnight rendezvous'. And in the morning he'd put on a smile and bury the screaming of his heart for another bottle — another time. What they had was easy. No sense ruining it by asking questions.

"To share wine of course. Why else?" Draco shrugged with as much indifference as he could muster. Her eyes, turned distant and cold as she watched him.

"That's not what I meant."

"So what did you mean then?"

"I— you almost never visit during hiatus. We — I've come to accept the fact that you only call on me when we're halfway around the world..." She stopped on a sigh and swallowed. Malfoy hung onto every word as she continued.

"You kiss me, or...more when there's nothing else to attract your attention. I'm no less to blame than you are because I continuously allow it. Everything about you and me is forbidden and unspoken. And I can't help but feel uneasy with you sitting here at my kitchen table, half naked, no longer drunk, and not attempting to get into my knickers."

Malfoy's jaw set precariously into a hard angular line and his eyes go a stormy grey as he considered an answer that would give nothing important away. "I like your company. Exponentially more so after a good drink."

The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable in the late morning light. And Draco knew at once that's he'd said the wrong thing. Her jaw had gone rigid and her knuckles white, as she gripped the edge of the table. If not for her eyes, he would have mistaken her change in demeanor as nothing more than ire. Draco watched as she rose from her seat and waved a hand across the kitchen to clear away their dishes. She accio'd his belongings with a flick of her wand. His shoes, clothes, and the bottle of vintage Bordeaux all waiting for him in suspense at the door — suspended in curious agony.

"Granger..." He mumbled, rising from his seat with slow trepidation. "I didn't mean it like that." He swallowed again — his gaze following her brown eyes as she wiped a hand to angrily swipe an insubordinate tear before it dared to fall from her lashes.

"I want you to leave."

"Granger."

"Leave, Draco!" And it's the anger in her voice that startled him. It rocked him back on his heels with a force he hadn't been expecting. He hastily made his way to the door. It opened before he could grab the knob, and all at once his belongings were magically thrust into the hallway and the door slammed in his wide eyed face.

He reached for the Bordeaux and palmed the bottle wordlessly. It was a rare find. He'd been hiding it in the back of his cellar for months now — wondering if he should muster the courage to give it to its intended recipient. A South African De Toren V 2003 vintage, a reminder of the beginning of it all. With all of the might in the world he hurled it from his shaking hands and watched it shatter against the wall on the opposite end of the hallway. The fermented grape juice running jagged red patterns across the white of the wall — Draco could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears. A door opened just to the right of the shattered bottle and a man stuck out his angry head.

"Oy! I'm calling the police if you don't sod off!"

Malfoy's lips set into a deadly scowl. "Don't worry, I was just leaving."

He grabbed his things not caring to dress himself, and barreled down the stairs. Upon reaching the landing he turned — after not seeing a Muggle in sight — he finally disapperated with a loud pop.