Considering how to best bring up the fact that she was eating his sandwich, Draco dropped his eyes from her obnoxiously Gryffindor face - he wasn't sure how to describe it, but there was something decidedly Gryffindor about her features - and instead let the cracked turquoise tile on the counter catch his attention. His stomach growled defiantly.

"So… Granger," Draco started.

"No." She interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"No."

They stared at each other for a few moments, and as always Draco wanted to squirm under her scrutiny. It wasn't the life or death feeling he got from staring into the Dark Lord's eyes, which induced a squirming feeling all of its own.

"I made myself a sandwich," and that as all she said before returning her attention to the book she had summoned from the coffee table in the living room.

"Fine." Draco replied sourly, turning his back to her and facing the stove.

He just stood there for a few moments, staring at the empty pan, and just when he had decided he was going to start buttering the pieces of bread, she interrupted him.

"You should run the pan under cold water, because if you use a hot pan it'll burn your sandwich or it won't cook all the way through and you'll have unmelted cheese and…" Draco had successfully suppressed a sigh, knowing that it would only offend her, and she seemed to have realised that she was rambling because she abruptly stopped talking, paused for a few seconds and said, "Run the pan under cold water, dry it off and use a different burner."

Easy enough, he thought dryly to himself, feeling a bit miffed by his inability to ignore Granger's instructions.

After finishing that, he set to buttering the bread and turning on the burner, which wasn't as difficult as he'd initially expected. Draco - and his pride - was glad that he hadn't had to rely on her Muggle expertise. His stomach grumbled.

The entire ordeal continued fairly uneventfully, apart from Granger interjecting her handy little tips every now and then, and eventually, Draco was sitting across from the bushy-haired Gryffindor, who had finished eating and was contentedly reading her book and completely ignoring Draco's existence.

"What are you reading?" Draco asked as he daintily picked up his sandwich.

"Why?" she replied, her brown eyes flicking upward momentarily to give him an appraising look.

"Am I not allowed to be curious?"

"No."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her when she'd stopped paying him any attention.

While he trusted Granger's culinary skills, he wasn't so sure of his own, but he figured that a poorly made sandwich wasn't going to kill him.

He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then smiled triumphantly.

It was quite the culinary masterpiece.

When he glanced up at her, her round eyes were once again focused on him.

"What?" he demanded, the sandwich still held delicately in his hand. It irritated him that he'd allowed himself to be seen grinning like a bloody idiot.

"Nothing," she snapped back almost instantaneously as if she had prepared for his response.

Draco continued to happily eat his dinner while she read the book she had flattened out on the table - almost as if she was purposely keeping him from seeing it - and ate those weird pieces of old bread.

It hadn't taken very long for Draco to finish his sandwich and he couldn't say he was particularly full, but he certainly wasn't going to ask her for more food. Now he sat staring at the empty plate in front him, acutely aware of the sound of the wind and rain and the crashing waves of the ocean, as well as the occasional crinkle of paper as she turned from one page to another.

Then, just as he was considering making a break for it and going back to the safety of his big, empty house, she shook a few of the crunchy whats-its onto his plate without ever breaking eye contact with her book.

"Potato crisps," was all she mumbled, and Draco was bit perturbed by her complete lack of change in behaviour. He was by no stretch of the imagination a guest, but he wasn't Potty or the bloody Weasel, someone she was used to having around. She seemed all too comfortable in his presence, and while he knew she no longer saw him as a threat, he liked to at least think she'd be at least a bit discomforted by having an ex-Death Eater sitting less than a metre away from her.

With all that being said, he didn't particularly want her to feel uncomfortable.

"You know Granger, there's no rule that says we can't entertain a bit of polite conversation," Draco suggested as he, from a distance, examined the "potato crisps".

"S'pose there isn't," she replied smoothly, and Draco resisted the sigh that wanted to escape him.

Deciding to give himself a little while to think, Draco risked mortal danger and popped a crunchy-whatsit into his mouth.

Granger glanced up at him for a fleeting second.

A few minutes of silence, apart from Draco's crunching, passed and Granger finally spoke.

"Why?" she asked as she removed her bookmark and sent the book back to its proper shelf.

"Hm?" Draco responded, not understanding what she was asking.

"Why does it matter if we talk or not?" she retorted, flipping the page much harder than was necessary. He hadn't expected for her to get so riled up.

"Well, I just think it's a little odd that you refuse to have a conversation."

"We have nothing to talk about." Here Draco was, trying to facilitate some sort of friendliness and Granger was being a stubborn twat.

He'd really just come here to eat, since she apparently stopped functioning when there was thunder.

"What are you reading?"

"What?"

"What are you reading," he asked insistently.

His demanding tone had Granger narrowing her eyes tempestuously. "It's a Muggle book."

Arching over the back of the chair, Draco dropped his head and looked at the sink behind him. "I do believe I asked a different question."

He heard her sigh and grumble some obscenities.

This wasn't about pushing buttons, Draco had been feeling strange about the entire dinner delivery - not that it had stopped him from eating a week's worth of glorious food - and if it was going to continue, he knew he was going to have to at least be able to tolerate her.

That, and the fact that he had quickly realised that when she got all riled up about something she seemed to snap out of her trance that came with a thunderstorm.

"It's called The Importance of Being Earnest," she finally replied.

Draco pulled himself back up straight only to rest his chin against the counter. "And why is it so important to be Earnest?"

"Well, there's this one character, John Worthing and his friend -" she stopped suddenly. "I guess you'd have to read it to understand." He recognised that she hadn't intended to sound condescending, but it irked him regardless.

"The Importance of Being Earnest?" he repeated, and he was well-aware of his poorly concealed curiosity, but Draco figured that sounding interested would fare better than sounding condescending.

"That's what I said," Granger replied churlishly, and Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from shooting back and equally irritating response.

If he had wanted to avoid starvation, or at least having to teach himself how to cook, he'd have to keep his lip buttoned.

Watching as she summoned a frosted glass, as well as a bottle of red wine, Draco licked his lips and considered asking her if he could also have a glass, but he knew that was a bit past their current level of congeniality. Glancing from the bottle - which realised he had been staring at - he found Granger's honeyed eyes on him again. Without a word passing between them, another glass was summoned. Although instead of pouring it by hand, she instead used wandless magic, which Draco felt much have held some sort of significance for Granger, he just wasn't sure what it was yet.

The rain had lightened just enough for Granger's shoulders to relax and for Draco to feel safe Apparating home. He guessed it was some time around eight or a little later.

"Is it some sort of Muggle self-help book?" Draco asked, still not ready to let this subject drop, for one, it was the only thing they had managed to discuss without arguing. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but it seemed that way. "Because honestly Granger, I think you'd be better off investing in a book that would help you be slightly less earnest."

Much to his surprise she actually cracked a smile, though to be fair, she'd quickly hidden it by taking a sip of her rapidly disappearing wine. As she lifted her hand he noticed a faint shimmering on her left forearm.

"Why don't you just read the bloody thing and get it over with?" she was grinning, clearly pleased with the idea that she had caught Draco being curious about something Muggle. She probably assumed the result would be Draco being horribly offended by the mere thought, but the idea had crossed his mind.

Draco raised a questioning brow, "Would Hermione Granger really trust me with one of her precious books?"

Responding first and foremost with an eyeroll and said, "You say that like I'm Madam Pince," she paused as she picked up the paperback book. "You can borrow the book as long as you don't dog-ear the pages or leave food crumbs in the binding."

"Food crumbs?" Draco scoffed, not putting any thought into what he was saying. 'The only food I've been eating is what you give me."

Despite both of them being well aware of this, the confession seemed to solidify the reason for him being being there and for their socialising. This was all the result of Granger fulfilling her innate need to be the hero and mother figure by supplying Draco with food because he was too lazy, depressed, and stubborn to learn himself.

Draco felt slightly better now that it was clear why he was here, but he also felt slightly… less better, a small knot beginning to twist in his stomach. He took a sip of his wine.

The silence stretched on longer than he had intended and he noticed that Granger had started to fidget.

After a few more moments of her picking at her nails and Draco gulping down the rest of his wine, she finally spoke.

"Uh, yeah… anyway here you go." She stumbled with her words as she slid the book across the table. "You can give it back whenever you finish it." Her eyes never met his gaze, her stare firmly fixed on the turquoise tiles of the counter.

"Thank you." He said quietly, his soft words contrasting with the harsh scrape of his barstool as he stood. He could hardly suppress his wince from the sudden sound, and he wondered if Granger noticed. "I think I'll Apparate back now that it's only raining."

"O-Oh yeah, now's probably the best since it's not lightning."

"S'pose so," he murmured lamely, and before either of them could attempt to mend the horrible awkwardness, Draco had Disapparated.

…

"Fucking bizarre," Hermione muttered to herself.

The entire ordeal had been awkward and strange… although not unpleasant. Of course there were the usual tense moments, but that was to be expected really. She doubted that she would ever be able to be in the same room with Malfoy without being pissed off by him at least twice.

Hermione continued to analyze the entire evening as she hand-washed the dishes.

First of all, she was still a bit surprised by his willing appearance at her house, of course, he had been the one to say that the only he ate was when she was feeding him, so she supposed that he might have been getting conditioned to expect that from her and when he didn't he sought it out himself. She supposed that made sense.

Then there was the curious business of Hermione letting Malfoy in. That was possibly too strange to contemplate without another glass of wine, and so she poured herself one before returning to the sink. She would return to that thought later.

Perhaps she had chosen to teach him rather than just make him food because she wanted to help, the least she could do was teach him one useful thing. She was a bit surprised that he had agreed to letting her instruct him and basically boss him around. Not that she was complaining.

He'd used Muggle technology, tried crisps without much complaint, and borrowed a Muggle book. Hermione was beginning to think that he'd maybe gone a bit barmy after the war. Maybe he was just taking the piss. That was entirely possible, Malfoy could just be trying to confuse her and trick her into some elaborate practical joke.

Just as she had finally started to relax, he'd had to go and make it awkward all over again. Hermione didn't understand why it had turned so… quiet and suffocatingly awkward. Hermione cringed just thinking about it.

If she had to be completely honest with herself, which she was having no problem doing now that she was almost finished with her second glass of wine, she had started to enjoy his company. Hermione had spent all that time alone during the storm and it wasn't like she'd gone out of her way to make any friends, so when Malfoy came to her house she wasn't too entirely opposed to the idea, she was more opposed to him.

Then he'd put it right out there in the open.

The only food I've been eating is what you give me.

There it was, the entire reason any of this bollocks had happened in the first place, but for some reason it made her feel more disappointed than relieved as it had when she'd first assured herself that was the only reason she was putting up with him.

That night after the remaining pangs of embarrassment had dissipated, Hermione stood in front of her bookshelf.

…

Hermione was beyond confused when she woke up to find sunlight streaming in through her thin curtains.

The appearance of the sun was enough to brighten her spirits. Brightened her spirits so much, that she almost forgot to apply her Disillusionment Charm.

After showering and getting dressed, Hermione checked on her flowers, and she was relieved to see that they had survived and were looking quite lively.

For the rest of the day, Hermione played records, read The Old Man and the Sea, and collected seashells along the beach.

When the sun was just starting its descent, Hermione was sitting on the steps of her porch, waving her wand in intricate and meticulous patterns as she attempted to transfigure a bowl of sand into a glass vase.

She had no idea why, but the sand just wouldn't stay formed together long enough for her to finish turning it to glass.

Beginning to grow frustrated by what was supposed to be a simple spell, Hermione ignored the beads of sweat on her forehead and gave it one last try.

She had the sand slowly swirling in the air and starting to congeal together, which was certainly a good sign, and then she began the final step of the spell.

The sand, which was now in the form of her envisioned vase, shimmered to glass, but before she could give the last swish which cemented the permanent transfiguration, the sound of someone clearing their throat startled her from her concentration.

…

She'd been completely oblivious to his approach - which suited Draco just fine - but he was fairly sure that fifteen seconds - he'd counted - of watching was bordering on creepy, so he unnecessarily cleared his throat.

Those fifteen seconds were long enough for Draco to thoroughly look her over though…

Hair loose and falling past her shoulder blades, perspiration at the hairline, a white t-shirt that was possibly a size too small with a smudge of dirt on it, and denim shorts that revealed much more of her thighs than he'd ever desired to see… Granger had most likely spent her entire day outside, and was probably in dire need of a cold shower.

The simple transfiguration spell she'd been so focused on completely unraveled as her entire body stiffened and she spun toward him. The glass shattered and as it fell it dissolved into sand.

Draco was, for a fleeting moment, enraptured by the small "o" Granger's mouth had formed, but he quickly raised his eyes to meet hers.

"Fuck's sake, Malfoy!" she exclaimed. "Do you always sneak up on people?"

He smirked, "Well, most people I keep company with are a smidge more aware of their surroundings."

The awkwardness of the previous night melted away, and Draco found an odd comfort in the familiarity of their bantering.

"Hm." Her brows rose slightly. "I wasn't aware that you were keeping company with me. That's a new development." The humor was evident in her voice, and while Draco knew it was safe to reply with a quip of his own, he was unsure of what to say… so he opted for silence.

"Well, anyway…" she trailed off, dumping the sand back onto the beach and standing from her seat on the wooden steps.

Her failed attempt at changing the subject only fueled the silence.

It was when she brusquely invited Draco in that he realised where the awkwardness was coming from. They weren't used to speaking amiably with each other. He wasn't sure if knew how to be anything other than rude to Granger.

Draco once again found himself in Granger's abominably small shack, and he counted her visible discomfort caused by his presence as a victory. He chose to ignore his own discomfort for the sake of winning.

Having taken a seat on the couch, Granger sent Draco into a bit of an internal quarrel with himself.

To be entirely honest with himself, he'd prefer sitting where Granger was, if only to avail himself to more opportunities for observation. On the other hand, Draco was painfully aware of the fact that Granger was the type to overanalyze everything.

In the end, Draco chose the seat at the kitchen island.

…

Malfoy was all sharp angles and frantic eyes.

Hermione had the chosen the couch simply because it was more comfortable than the wooden bar stools. Although the apparent turmoil Hermione's decision had sent Malfoy into was deeply satisfying.

After a few moments of deliberation, he chose his usual seat at the counter.

Hermione knew that he knew she was looking at him, but she had to admit that he had mastered the delicate art form of maintaining a poker face.

There wasn't even the twitch of his eyebrow - as far as she could tell - to give any hint that he was aware or disturbed by her staring.

This was first and foremost a sign of his time with the Death Eaters, Malfoy had the same stoicism as Snape. Despite this she couldn't help but feel this was some sort of jab at her. Malfoy was making it perfectly clear that her presence was of no consequence to him. She was neither a threat nor a nuisance - yet - and while she didn't particularly want to be either of those things, she wasn't sure she liked having no effect all.

She was overthinking the entire thing and she knew it. Malfoy probably had no concept of regular social interaction. For more than half of his life his socialising was more than likely dictated by Lucius - Papa Malfoy and Death Eater extraordinaire. By the time Malfoy was old enough to give Lucius the bird, he'd been so worn down by fear and the impending war that he had followed the primary example set before him.

Hermione always did her best to not think of Malfoy too much, because when she did, she found it easier to see why he was such a prick. She preferred to simply dislike him, it made everything much easier.

Malfoy finally acknowledged her staring with a quick, inconsequential glance that was so nonchalant that Hermione almost believed he hadn't noticed it.

"You don't mind if I read, do you?" he asked, already pulling a miniature book from his pocket.

"Not at all," Hermione answered, watching as he returned her book to its normal size.

The silence returned, and while Malfoy settled in to read The Importance of Being Earnest, Hermione closed her eyes, slouched down, and rested her head against the couch.

It had been so long since she had been outside that Hermione was really feeling quite knackered, and if Malfoy wasn't here she might've considered taking a nap… or just calling it a night.

After a couple minutes of wondering if her body would even relax enough to fall asleep while he was here, Hermione became aware of how dirty and grimy she felt.

She might not be able to fall asleep, but she was pretty sure she could could take a quick shower without too much issue.

One good thing about Malfoy was that he had zero interest in her, possibly even a negative amount of interest… Which suited Hermione just fine.

"Y'know what Malfoy?" she asked without waiting for any sort of a response, "I think I'm gonna go take a shower."

He responded with a slight nod and disinterested grunt of acknowledgment, which also suited Hermione just fine.

Barely suppressing an unladylike grunt of exertion, Hermione pushed herself onto her feet and shuffled around the coffee table in front of the couch, past Malfoy, and down the small hallway with two doors. The one at the end of the hallway led to the bathroom, and the door on the left led to a small unused room that Hermione had thought about making into her bedroom.

The door to the bathroom got stuck sometimes… Well it got stuck most of the time, so Hermione had to jiggle the handle a bit before she could get it open.

The door to the bathroom also opened on its own sometimes, so Hermione made sure to charm it shut before she started stripping down.

After turning on the showerhead she got an awful crick in her back, so she instead filled the tub and added a bit of bubble bath. Malfoy was perfectly capable of entertaining himself, and he could find something to snack on if he got too desperate.

While the tub filled and enveloped the small bathroom with a relaxing vanilla and citrus scented steam, Hermione took the time to brush her hair until it was soft, something she never bothered to do until her last few years at Hogwarts, and carefully wrapped her curls around into a bun, securing it with a ponytail holder. For good measure, Hermione cast an anti-frizz charm of her own design on the swirling steam.

…

Draco wasn't sure how he felt about this book. He'd sometimes find himself smirking along with the jokes, but then what did that say about Draco?

Here he was laughing along with jokes about upper-class ideals, and while the play was first performed just over a century ago - and had been written by a Muggle - the similarities were still there.

He wondered if his mother had read this. She would probably enjoy it.

At this point, Draco had developed a conspiracy theory.

Granger had purposely drawn him into borrowing the book. She'd known that he would be curious about it, especially if she didn't allow him to see the cover. Especially if she refused to entertain the idea of Draco having any interest in it, let alone reading it.

Obviously Draco knew none of that was true, or even plausible in any way… Granger didn't seem quite that cunning. It was far too Slytherin of an idea.

Now he was wondering why Granger would say she was going to take a shower when it was obvious she was taking a bath.

Draco closed his eyes and reminded himself that, generally speaking, Gryffindors rarely made any sense. He returned his attention to the book and made a great effort to ignore the growing smell of vanilla and what Malfoy thought smelled like tangerines.

He was determined to finish the play, if only to find a way to use it to irritate Granger.

Definitely not because he was finding any pleasure in reading it. Obviously.

...

Hiya everyone! Sorry for the long wait, but as always, I'm awfully busy with getting ready for college and work and all that nonsense. I head off to college this Saturday, so I hate to be the bearer of bad news... buuuut my updates will probably get even slower, the next time I'll be able to update probably won't be until around Thanksgiving... But I'll write at every chance I get!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review with your feelings so far! I love hearing from everyone!