A/N: Apologies for (m)any mistakes, have had no time to send it for beta-reading or look through thoroughly myself (what's new). Also unsure over certain British expressions (e.g. lunch or dinner?), please correct me if wrong. Apologies also for bad ending of this chapter; just too tired to write further. Thank you for the reviews and people who added this story to their Alert list. Two reviews is really rather depressing, but to those two, thank you very much. :)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling

INGENUE
Day 02: Of thoughts and doubts

"I think we may have a problem."

Staring at Malfoy's serious face, Hermione felt her shoulders tense. Oh, here it came, she thought in a kind of groggy frenzy. Malfoy had figured out it was not worth keeping her alive. Bloody hell, she was going to die sitting on her bed with her head throbbing, the sun searing her face, and dark circles under her eyes, not to mention a very oily nose and forehead. What a depressing way to die, she thought briefly, pointless and pathetic, not to mention incredibly unglamorous…

"I have to stay here for longer than I expected. I was hoping to leave by tomorrow, but it appears I'm going to be delayed," Malfoy said. He paused. "For another eight days."

"Eight?" gasped Hermione, though she couldn't help but release a quiet sigh. She wasn't going to die, after all. She closed her eyes rubbed her temples aggressively. Gosh her head was hurting her. She didn't think she could have gotten more than three hours of sleep, and damn that sun was annoying. Bloody Malfoy, just because he wanted light and her window didn't look onto any streets or neighbour's windows (and she'd liked the privacy that gave her!) and the sun wasn't in his bloody direction, he had to draw the curtains and bake her to death. Oh, that would be rich, he magnanimously spares her life and she dies of sunstroke due to his need to have sunlight. Come on, he was a Slytherin, did he need sunlight anyway? Shouldn't he operate in the dark? Oh wait, that was a vampire.

Hermione cracked an eye open. He was just staring at her. Did he do nothing but stare at her? He was like a stalker, except he was a kidnapper. Hermione blinked both eyes open and stopped massaging her temples. Clearly, it wasn't helping her think any better. She needed to wash her face. She glanced towards the bathroom and automatically extended her feet towards the ground.

There was a thudding sound and Hermione's feet shot back onto the bed, her heart beating wildly. How could she have forgot? She snapped her head in Malfoy's direction, hoping her eyes would not meet a spell from his wand. She blinked.

Malfoy had dropped his elbow onto her table and was resting his face against his fist. "It's nice to know you don't have any other opinions about this little matter," he said with just a tint of waspishness. "I know I'm going to be bored to death here."

Was he…glaring at her? Hermione felt like throwing something at him. And who parked himself in her room and trapped her on her bed, anyway? She wondered what would have happened if she actually had stepped of the bed like she had almost accidentally done. Why did she have no sense of the danger she was in? She looked at Malfoy. Probably because he didn't act like he was as dangerous as he ought to be.

"I mean," he was saying. "You don't have anything in this room except books! And nothing exciting too! Nonsense like 'The East-Asian Financial Crisis'. Where are the trashy romances? And what about that wonderful Muggle contraption, the uh, right, the telly."

Hemione gaped. There were many things she could take comment with in that little speech of his. She chose the most astounding. "Did you just call a Muggle item 'wonderful'?"

Malfoy appeared unfazed at what Hermione was sure had to be a slip-up. "Oh well, it's one of the few things they can take pride in. I don't think anything of that sort will be prevalent in the wizarding world soon, since we're so adamant on not diluting the academic focus of our culture. From what I've heard, the Ministry has been blocking attempts to introduce different variations of this telly thing since mid-1800s. You probably wouldn't think it possible, since Muggles have this huge thing with freedom of choice and expression and whatnot, but the Ministry has lots of support from various lobbies, most notably the academics. The largest name would probably be -"

Malfoy stopped suddenly, but Hermione was too preoccupied to consider that now. "I didn't know you could actually think," she said, forgetting that it wasn't exactly the most polite thing to tell your captor.

Malfoy seemed slightly fazed at that. He was twirling his wand (Hermione's had disappeared – she supposed it must be in his pocket) while staring at her. Hermione had the feeling he was looking through her.

"Well," he said finally. "I suppose we never had much chance to discuss other issues…"

"No, it's not only that," Hermione interrupted. "Harry and Ron and a lot of the other Gryffindors would never talk about things like these." She couldn't believe she was actually excited that Malfoy appeared to be more intellectual than the rest of her friends.

"Oh," Malfoy snorted. "It's a Gryffindor thing. I guess it's not really their fault. I've noticed that most Gryffindors' parents try to bring their up their children in this rose-coloured attic for as long as possible, obsessed with preserving their 'innocence' for as long as possible. Courage and whatever else is great and all, but there's so much improbable idealism it's almost nauseating. It's not till they get out of school and mingle with the real world do they start getting a bit more mature.

"Slytherins grow up in a political environment. We are brought to each other's society dinners when we are old enough to speak, so that we can learn from the grown-up's conversations, mingle with the next generation's elites. Sometimes favoured Ravenclaws were allowed to join. That's another bunch that's more worldly, though they tend to be more moderately aligned. You should hear someof the debates the elders got into. Absolutely stunning."

Hermione kept quiet. She thought of the Draco Malfoy they knew (had known?), the incredibly immature brat whose idea of a debate involved calling people names, and whose only interests laid in his ego and bullying Harry. Was it really possible for him to change so fast? It sure as hell didn't seem like he had any manner of political, not even intellectual, inclinations before fourth year. Was he lying? And if not, why was he lying? To make the Slytherins seem grander than they were? Was it part of his Slytherin pureblood hangover? He had to be lying, or otherwise why woujld he reveal so much about the environment Slytherins…and Death Eaters lived in.

A realisation gripped Hermione; a realisation so painfully obvious she wondered why it had not occurred to her sooner. Was he lying about everything? He probably was. It only made sense. Every word of truth he said would give her ammunition against him. As a Slytherin, he surely had enough cunning to understand that, and Malfoy was cunning if nothing else. She remembered the countless times he had turned situations to his advantage. Like Buckbeak. A flash of anger rippled through her as she remembered that incident. She looked up at him, feeling the anger pulsate within her. Images were returning to her now. Malfoy's smugness in almost causing Hagrid his job…Malfoy helping Rita Skeeter smear Harry's name…Malfoy abusing his power as member of the Inquisitorial Squad… She couldn't believe she was letting him sit comfortably in her room, this as-good-as-murderer, this damned disgusting excuse for a human, she couldn't believe she was letting him sit in her room and order her around…while she passively ate up his words without question. She'd been around Gryffindors too long – but this was no Gryffindor. This was a Slytherin, and a Slytherin through and through.

His next sentence was so abrupt it took her a while to register the words.

"Do you think the Sorting Hat and the Hogwarts houses were one of the worst traditions of the school?"

For the first time in a quite a while, Hermione was completely floored. "Huh?"

"I mean," Malfoy said. "The houses not only perpetuate stereotypes, they encourage students to conform to those stereotypes by grouping students with similar interests and backgrounds together. With the students' opinions and thoughts bouncing off each other in close proximity, the stereotypes are naturally amplified."

Hermione thought it through. He had a point. He was Draco Malfoy and he actually said something that made sense, something that had never occurred to her before. So what was the point of having houses? She thought about the consequences of mixing Slytherins with Gryffindors. Maybe it was to prevent Gryffindors from being influenced negatively by Slytherins. But then again, it could work the other way around, with Slytherins being positively influenced by Gryffindors. Or maybe Gryffindors and Slytherins would still clique together even if the house system was removed, by virtue of their predispositions.

What was more important, Hermione realised, was why Malfoy had asked her this question. What did he hope to achieve? It seemed completely out of the blue and irrelevant to their current situation. Unless, was he trying to bridge the gap between them by hinting that Slytherins and Gryffindors should not have had any division in the first place? Oh my gosh, Hermione thought, practically feeling a light bulb go off in her head. Was he trying to effect Stockholm syndrome in her and then elicit information from her, or somehow use her against Harry and the Order? Like that would ever happen, Hermione thought heatedly. She would never fall for Malfoy's trap. She was smarter than that. No wonder he had been so talkative too, and so intellectual. He knew that would make her view him favourably. And that must be why she had stopped fearing him so quickly, despite him having tried to kill Dumbledore and probably knee-deep in Death Eater activities. He had purposely portrayed himself as acerbic but harmless, in order to allay her suspicions.

Malfoy was looking at her somewhat oddly, but Hermione met his eyes with a renewed surge of confidence. She could play his game too.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Malfoy cut in first. "Clearly, talking to you is going to be a very boring affair, so I think I shall not bother."

Hermione felt her stomach churn. She would show him what talking to her was like (and boring definitely did not describe it). "Well, though on first glance it seems as though you have a point, I believe that since people of similar kind naturally flock together, you would probably still end up with a grouping similar to the four houses in existence. If that were the case, having them together would probably create greater disharmony than if they were in separate houses, especially if they have extremely divergent opinions."

Malfoy's back straightened a little and it seemed like he was going to make a retort, but instead what came out of his mouth was, "As I said, boring. I'm not going to waste my time talking with you."

Hermione was flabbergasted. Boring!? In what way was that argument of hers boring? She could think of at least three ways to reply to it; it was thought-provoking! Just like his argument. She stared at him. He had turned away from her and was resting his elbows on the table, staring out the window.

She couldn't believe he found the lack of clouds in the sky more interesting than her. She ground her teeth softly. What was wrong with him? One moment he was chatty as a Weasley, the next he was as reticent as a…she searched around for good analogy. She failed. Goodness, her brain was giving out on her, she thought grumpily. She must have overworked her brain trying to analyse Malfoy's actions. She wondered if there was any meaning to his sudden reserve. She didn't see how that would improve her relationship with him. She creased her eyebrows. Surely it couldn't be that the whole thing had not been rehearsed, and Malfoy had shut up because he realised he'd been revealing too much? Surely he was smarter than that? Hermione's head was starting to pound. She had to stop second guessing her second guessing, it would surely kill her brain cells someday.

She focussed her eyes on Malfoy again, as if she could somehow read his intentions from his physical being. She realised she had not actually observed him properly yet, being too caught up with the whole situation. It had been stupid of her, because she could actually make quite a number of deductions based on just his appearance alone.

She realised that it was not fully her room light that had distorted his appearance yesterday. Although his skin tone hadn't changed, he was actually thinner. The hollows in his cheek were unmistakeable, and it didn't help that his clothes were about one size too big and falling off his small shoulders. It suddenly occurred to her that the reason for his oversized clothes was due to his persona when he drank Polyjuice potion. She remembered that man was rather stout. She cast around for the brown coat she remembered he had been wearing, and yes, there it was, hanging behind her door. Her door. Ignoring the little flicker of annoyance, she pondered the meaning of his clothes.

The coat, as like his outfit, was very Muggle. Clearly, he had done his research on how to fit in with the Muggle society. But why was he hanging around Muggle areas in the first place? He didn't have to dress like a Muggle to kidnap her, surely, or were the Death Eaters trying to keep the affair low-key? That made sense. She suddenly remembered that Malfoy had never told her why he needed to hide in her room for a few days. Wouldn't it have made her less suspicious if he had spun a credible story? The first thing he would want to convince her would be that he was not here for any reason linked to Death Eater activities. He wasn't doing any such thing. In fact, by not telling her anything, he was fuelling her suspicions of his motive. Unless…was he really hiding from something else, as he suggested, and he really wasn't interested in her per se, but just her room as a hiding spot?

His overall haggard appearance would seem to corroborate that possibility. It made sense. From what he'd said the night before, it appeared he'd be using the Polyjuice potion for a while. Maybe he was under pressure and hiding from something, and her unexpected appearance presented a good option for him. After all, neither the Order nor the Death Eaters would think he was hiding out in his enemy's location.

A sudden grumble interrupted her thoughts. Her eyes locked with Malfoy's in surprise. Then it dawned on her.

"Hey, I can't help it if I'm hungry," she said defensively. "It's probably way past lunchtime. What time is it?"

Malfoy reached for the clock sitting on her table and turned it to face her. "Past two," he read off.

"Oh," Hermione said. Was it still that early? It felt like she'd been stuck in this room with Malfoy for millennia. A sudden thought occurred to her.

"I wonder what happened to my parents. Why didn't they come in to ask me to eat breakfast?"

"Oh, your mother did come in this morning to ask about breakfast, but I told her to let you sleep on," Malfoy said.

Hermione felt a twinge of anxiety prick at her. From how he'd been acting, she didn't actually think Malfoy had done anything to her mother yet, but she was still worried about what had gone on when she had been asleep. Anything could have happened…

"So, do I get to eat lunch?" Hermione asked.

"No, because I intend to starve you to death after going through the whole trouble of not killing you and therefore having to camp out at your house for the next eight days."

Hermione didn't even bother replying him. I bet he thinks he was being funny, Hermione thought irritably.

"I found some leftover sandwiches in the pantry-"

"You've explored my kitchen?" Hermione gasped. "My house?"

Malfoy looked at her. "Well, naturally. Not when your parents were around, so don't worry. I wouldn't want to deal with anymore troublesome situations."

Hermione just stared at him.

"So yes, we can have those sandwiches for today," Malfoy continued. "I've told your mother to buy the next day's lunch for you one day in advance for the next week, so you don't have to worry about food." He paused. "I'm such a nice kidnapper," he added thoughtfully.

Hermione worked to prevent her mouth from twisting into a funny shape. And what had he said about kidnapping yesterday? He really had it all worked out though, she had to credit him on that. Of course, he did have most of the night to plan out the rest of his days here.

"What are you going to do about bathing?" she asked, secretly hopping to trip him up.

"Just don't bathe for the next few days! What do you think?" Malfoy replied crossly.

Hermione stared at him. Well, sure, she was being held captive, but if he was letting her have regular meals, surely he could work something out with hygiene too? Did he intend to go for the next eight (oh gosh, why did he have to stay so long?) days without cleaning himself?

"Just kidding," Malfoy added.

Hermione wanted to throttle both him and her. Damn it, she actually fell for it!

"I've made adjustments to the bathroom yesterday, so it should be safe for use now," Malfoy said, and Hermione tried not to snort. Way to use euphemisms, she thought dryly.

"I will have to speak with you when you are using the bathroom," Malfoy said, and pre-empting her question, continued, "To keep you too occupied to try any funny ideas you might have. I don't believe you are the multi-tasking sort."

Hermione felt like she'd been slapped with ice. How did he know that? Was she that easy to read? And she sure as hell did not like having her faults pointed out to her by the boy she used to despise…that she still despised.

Goodness, why was she thinking in the past tense? She was really starting to see him much too positively now. She had to admit she was quite impressed with the thoroughness he had thought through his 'kidnapping', but it was most likely a coordinated planning by Death Eaters over a significant length of time. She refused to believe anything Malfoy. Because if she did, it meant she would have to believe a lot of his words, and it was practically impossible to tell what was real and what was not. It was much safer to take all he said with a healthy pinch of salt, because if she kept distrusting him, she would be kept on her toes at all times, and ready for whatever he might throw at her.

She looked at him with renewed determination. She was not going to fall for any of his traps anymore. She was ready for this.

"It's lunchtime," she said, a genuine smile on her face.

"There are two ways to slide easily through life; to believe everything or to doubt everything. Both ways save us from thinking."
--Alfred Korzybski