DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I also don't own Full House or any of its characters. Heck, I don't own anything except for the clothes I'm wearing, so I'm begging you, please don't sue me.
A/N: Here's chapter three, it was supposed to be longer but it's already thirteen pages as it is and I didn't want to bore you guys into a coma, so I cut it. Thanks for those who reviewed, by the way. I hope I get more reviews for this. Crosses fingers
Chapter 3: Porridge and Draco Malfoy
"Oh my God," was all Hermione could say. She slapped herself in the face, just to make sure she wasn't hallucinating; that Draco Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy, was lying on the foyer of her house, in a black business suit, unconscious but still incredibly handsome.
Hermione shook her head. No, she should not think about the way he looked at that moment. She got on her knees and pulled out her wand, in an attempt to cure the wound on Draco's head with a spell. Fortunately for him, though she didn't pursue the career, she was trained to be a nurse and could quickly heal an injury as fast as old Madame Pomfrey could.
Careful not to touch him, she muttered the spell and blue light issued forth from her wand to the wound and slowly, before her eyes, the blood slowly disappeared, the wound got smaller and smaller and soon enough, completely vanished. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She was just about to reach out and touch Draco's forehead when the blonde wizard suddenly stirred. Hermione backed away, as Draco slowly regained consciousness.
Little by little, he was able to open his eyes. For a moment, Draco lay still, trying to remember what just happened. He had just reached the new house he had just bought. He had opened the door, went inside and boom. There he was, lying on the floor, the harsh light of the fluorescent bulb overhead stunning him. What stunned him more, however, was to see Hermione Granger by his side, as he turned his head away from the light.
It had been almost four years since Draco had seen Hermione, but she looked exactly the same. Bushy brown hair and brown doe eyes, which at the moment were looking at him with a cautious gaze. He didn't want to seem hostile but the sight of her brought an automatic snarl on his features.
"Granger?"
"Malfoy?"
"What are you doing here? What did you do to me?" demanded Draco, slowly propping himself up in a sitting position. He saw Hermione stop herself from instinctively helping him up.
Still the same goody two-shoes, I see, he thought.
"I didn't do anything," she reasoned. But the guilty look on her face betrayed her.
"You're a bad liar, Granger," said Draco, spotting the metal candlestick at his feet, "but you hit hard,"
"I--- I didn't mean it. I thought you were a robber?"
Draco was insulted. "Do I look like a robber?"
"Well, you go creeping up people's houses in the dead of night! I don't know what else to think!" snapped Hermione.
"I didn't creep, Granger. I unlocked the front door and went in,"
Hermione flushed with humiliation. "Whatever. You still have no right to do so. Get out of my house!" she yelled, pointing to the wooden front door.
"Your house?" asked Draco incredulously, standing up; "your house? I'm sorry but I think you're gravely mistaken. This is my house. My house. I bought it," he declared smugly.
The revelation made Hermione's jaw drop. "YOU BOUGHT MY HOUSE?" she shrieked. She got on her feet. "You?"
"Yes, me. Why not me?"
"But--- but this is Muggle London. You can't be in Muggle London. You're a wizard and you shouldn't--- shouldn't be here---"
"I can be wherever I want," said Draco, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Besides, you're a witch but you're here. I don't see any reason why I couldn't be allowed to do the same. And why would I even need to explain myself to you, anyway?"
Hermione wanted to burst out crying, but dignity stopped her from doing so.
She couldn't believe her luck. Of all the people who could own her beloved house, it had to be the obnoxious Draco Malfoy. Personally, she really had nothing against the pure-blooded Wizard. His family did revert to their side in the end and Draco had no hand in the murder of her friends and family. But she had to admit, old grudges don't disappear that quickly. The horrible way with which Draco treated her when they were still in Hogwarts remained etched in her memory. Being taunted endlessly for seven years can hardly be forgotten. Harry and Ron's unreserved hate for Draco added to her impartiality for him.
"Seriously, Granger, is this really your house?" asked Draco, stepping into the spacious living room and looking around. "I don't really see you living in this kind of place,"
Hermione made a sound of indignation. "And just what did you mean by that?"
Draco looked at her with a sneer. "Well, I expected you to be living in small cottage with a hundred cats all around you; the classic cat lady," he teased.
The mention of the word "cat" woke Crookshanks and in seeing Draco, made a threatening hiss.
"Oh lookie! There's one of them right now!"
Hermione strode forward and scooped up Crookshanks into her arms. "Ha ha, Malfoy. If there's anyone unfit to live in a house like this, it would be you. Do me a favor and go back to your cold and dreary manor!"
"Unfortunately, that's not possible," replied Draco, checking his nails. "I already bought this house and I'm actually excited to live here. Here's another suggestion; how about you go and leave me in peace. How about that?"
"Listen, you conceited ferret," spat Hermione, Draco's eyes narrowing at the animal reference, "I didn't put this house up for sale. This house was sold without my permission. I don't care if you've already paid for it, but I'm not going to leave my house into your disgusting hands!"
"Okay, if you feel that way, then. I'll go," Draco said simply. Hermione was stunned with his surrender; she expected another insult.
"What did you say?"
"I said I'll leave," repeated Draco. "Just give me back my money and I'm out,"
"M-money?"
"Yes, the fifteen thousand pounds I dished out to buy this house. Well, it's just a small amount but it's still money. So?" Draco held out his left hand.
Hermione stared at it, at a loss for words. What Draco was asking from her was completely out of the question. She only had about twenty pounds in her pocket. And even if she sold everything she had at that moment (including Crookshanks), it would be far from enough.
"Come on, Granger, I don't have all night,"
Hermione stared at Draco helplessly, while he looked at her with triumph. Moments elapsed and Hermione remained standing.
Finally, Draco lowered his hand and sighed. "I see you're still poor as ever. Nothing to be done about that, I suppose,"
"You don't understand," Hermione began to argue. "I'm in a complicated situation--- very complicated situation. You see, my friends, well, not exactly my friends at the present--- anyway, they took all of my money when I went to Iowa, and when I came back, it seems that they have also sold this house, even Crookshanks! They sold everything I had! And if you take this house away from me, I don't have anywhere to go! I have no place to live!"
Draco merely watched her speak with amusement. After her little speech he put a hand to his chest. "Yes, very touching, Granger. I have always wondered where you've been all this time; really, I did. Now that my questions have been answered, you may go,"
"What? But I just told you---"
Draco didn't even let Hermione finish. With a wave of his wand, the front door opened. He then pointed his wand at Hermione and muttered a spell which pushed her forward and out the door, which slammed just as quickly.
Hermione landed on the grassy lawn on her butt. Crookshanks hissed menacingly. She stood up, brought out her own wand and disapparated. At least, she tried to; for she was unsuccessful. Draco, it seems, had already put the house under a spell which disabled her from getting inside by apparating. Hermione cursed him for his quick thinking. She stomped her feet in frustration.
A moment later, Draco appeared in front of her, carrying the bags she didn't mind to unpack. He threw them at her.
"Have a nice night, Granger. Nice seeing you again!" he said with a sadistic smile. A second later, he had disapparated.
"ARRRGGHHHH!" Hermione shouted in annoyance. "You can't leave me like this, Draco! Get back here, you evil rodent! You can't do this to me!" she continued to yell.
Draco apparently does not hear Hermione's shrieks and the front door remained closed. She badly wanted to slap Draco Malfoy for being so cruel to her, despite her explanations. She was so angry and so frustrated that all she could do was sink to her knees and cry. She continued crying for a few minutes but eventually stopped. The look of triumph on Draco's face gave her the courage to wipe the tears away. She stood up once again and gathered her things which were strewn on the ground.
"I'm not going, Malfoy!" she yelled again. "I'm not leaving my house, you hear me? I'm going to stay here, all night, until you open that door! I'm not giving up!"
Exhausted and with a sore throat, she walked towards the wooden bench in the front yard and sat down heavily. She was determined to stay there, whatever happened. She was not going to succumb to Malfoy and his stubbornness. Her parents' house wasn't going to his hands, that Hermione swore.
It wasn't before long that Hermione's endurance was tested. Night had fallen and it was becoming increasingly cold. Hermione quickly brought out her jacket and shawls and covered herself up the best she could. She adjusted her position and lay down the bench. Crookshanks was curled up beside her. The sound of Hermione's stomach grumbling and Crookshanks' pitiful meows mingled together. She tried to comfort her pet, but food was the only solution. Time passed and Hermione, though little by little becoming drowsy, was still famished. The cold was seeping under her flimsy blanket. Before long, she was shivering uncontrollably, but not even for one moment did she think of quitting her post. If she was to die frozen that night, then so be it.
Crookshanks' feeble purring was the last thing she heard before she fell into slumber.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Draco had a good night's sleep that night. Rays of sunlight passed through the heavy green curtains in his room the next morning. Yawning and stretching, he got up and went straight to the bathroom to take a shower. While getting dressed, he decided to tour around his new neighborhood, go jogging perhaps. So after a quick breakfast (one banana and a glass of milk, since he didn't know how to cook magically or manually), he put on his newly bought Muggle sneakers and opened the front door. To his surprise, there lying on the wooden bench, fast asleep, was Hermione Granger.
Draco felt his good mood slip away. Shaking his head, he approached the girl and began kicking the bench on which she lay.
"Hey, wake up," he said to Hermione's prostrate form. "Granger, wake up!"
After some more kicking, Hermione groaned in response. Her cat started to stir.
"Wake up, Granger, get up and get out of my lawn,"
But Hermione merely gave him another groan.
Draco exhaled. "Don't annoy me, Granger! I said wake up!" He gave the bench a particularly hard kick and down went Hermione, Crookshanks and all.
That seemed to do the trick. Hermione's eyes fluttered open and slowly stood up from the dewy grass. Crookshanks angrily hissed at Draco, his bottlebrush tail high up. Draco hissed back at the cat.
"What did you that for?" asked Hermione groggily.
"I told you to get out of my property, didn't I?" said Draco, "And when I tell you to do so, you should do so,"
"Who are you to tell me what to do?" Hermione slurred. "This is my house. You have no right to push me away!"
Draco sighed and tried to keep his temper in check. He rubbed his forehead. "We've been through this last night, Granger. I don't like repeating myself. OUT!"
He picked up Hermione's bags, shoved them at her and pushed her out of the picket fence and into the street.
"Go on! Walk! Shoo!"
Crookshanks attempted to claw at Draco's legs.
"Hey! Stop that, you fur ball! Go and follow your Mudblood master, go!"
"Let's go, Crookshanks!" called out Hermione. "Let's leave that loathsome ferret!"
With one last menacing glance, the cat followed Hermione into the street.
"Yes, that's it!" Draco shouted after them. "And don't ever come back!"
He watched Hermione's retreating back disappear at the bend of the road. Fully convinced that the girl wasn't coming back, he started jogging the other way and commenced his tour.
Draco jogged around the quiet neighborhood, passing lovely, medium-sized houses, huge trees and a few people, who he greeted with a polite nod and smile. He paid special attention to the young ladies who looked at him with flirtatious glances and sweet smiles. Draco returned the favor and just loved the sound of giggling they made once his back was turned.
He had to admit that it was a nice neighborhood. Clean and peaceful. Not much hustle and bustle. It took a good thirty minutes to reach the Leaky Cauldron, but since his business wouldn't require him to go back to the Wizarding World often, it wouldn't really matter. Perhaps he could just have the fire place at his new house connected to the Floo Network.
Draco continued jogging, until he reached the sea shore, a little ways away from the new house; in fact, he could just make out the back of the house from where he was standing. As his sneakers touched the fine sand, he stopped to breathe in some fresh air. The sea was a calm expanse of green and blue, rippling as the wind skimmed over its surface. The sky over it was a bright pastel shade of blue, too, with large, puffy clouds scattered around. Birds flew over him and the soft rustle of the leaves of the trees greeted his ears.
Draco closed his eyes. Now this is the life, he thought. Though he was used to the grandeur and opulence of being a Malfoy, his dark past predominated by the bloody War made him yearn for something like this, something that contrasted with the blackness with which he associated the past years.
Opening his eyes again, he took a seat on the sandy shore and for minutes, he did not know how many, he stayed there and bathed in the rare halcyon.
The grumbling of his stomach was the only thing to remove him from his reverie. Deciding that he should better figure out how to feed himself, he stood up, dusted himself off, and jogged back to his house.
He had such a good time having a look at the neighborhood that all thoughts of Hermione Granger flew out of his mind. It was indeed a strange coincidence that she should own the house he was living in now. In fact, it was strange enough that he should see the girl again after four years. The last thing he heard about her was when Potter got married. After that, Granger just... vanished. No news, gossip, rumors, that he thought she had died in secret. Probably heartbroken that Potter ended up marrying Weasley's younger sister and not her. He certainly did not think of finding her in a quaint Muggle neighborhood, in a house by the sea, living in happy solitude.
He also did not think that after shooing her out of the house, Draco would find her again, lying on the wooden bench; the same position she was in before he kicked her awake. Draco couldn't believe his eyes as he pushed open the entrance of the white picket fence and found Hermione and her cat snoozing away as though they didn't have the yelling match half an hour before.
Draco's patience was quickly waning. He walked forward to where the girl was and kicked the bench again, as hard as he could.
"GET UP!"
Crookshanks' eyes flew open that instant and resumed hissing and spitting at Draco.
"Oh shut up, you stupid cat!" he yelled at the cat. "Hey! Granger! Stop acting and get up!" He kicked the bench once more. The poor bench rattled dangerously, as though another kick would split it in half. But its occupant remained unmoving. Eyes shut and curled up under thin shawls, Hermione Granger continued sleeping.
Draco's right shin was already throbbing with pain, his legs were tired and he was absolutely hungry. He then resolved to poke the girl awake.
"Granger! Granger!" he called out repeatedly, at the same time poking Hermione's shoulder. But the girl didn't budge. Crookshanks started to lick Hermione's face affectionately, purring mildly.
"Ew," said Draco, as he watched the cat spread saliva on Hermione's face. "Granger, you better wake up! Your cat is drooling on you!"
Draco's words were useless, for Hermione didn't even make the slightest movement or sound. He started to worry that the girl was dead. He stooped closer, careful not to put his face at Crookshanks' immediate reach, and verified that the girl, luckily, was still breathing.
So why wasn't she waking up? he thought.
Suppressing his disgust, he slowly began to reach out to touch the girl, one eye keeping a close watch on the cat. The cat didn't try to claw at him, so he stepped closer and put his palm on Hermione's forehead.
Shit. She has a fever! Draco thought, quickly withdrawing his hand and began panicking. He did not have the slightest idea what to do with a sick person, much more a sick Hermione Granger. What he did know was that she seemed cold and letting her lie on the bench wouldn't do her any good. He considered going inside the house and pretending that he didn't know a feverish girl was on his yard, but he wasn't aware if someone had already seen him with Hermione. If he left her there and she died, she would give him more trouble. Burying her body would require a lot of digging and soil under his fingernails. And if someone knew he had something to do with Hermione's disappearance, his career would crumble down. So there was only one thing left to do.
He brought out his wand and with a flick, flung Crookshanks away from Hermione and out the fence. The cat meowed indignantly. Now that the cat was out of the way, he pocketed his wand and started to lift Hermione from the bench. He decided to carry her into the house for he thought that her floating body would attract the attention he did not want at the moment. With much effort, he was able to haul Hermione completely off of the bench and into his arms.
Draco's muscles strained with Hermione's dead weight.
"God Granger, you're as heavy as an ox!" he muttered.
Turning around, he walked towards the front door and after much fidgeting with the knob, the door clicked open and he entered. As fast as he possibly could, he went into the living room and deposited Hermione on the couch, careful not to break any bones. After doing that, he returned to the bench and gathered all the girl's things, went back inside and threw them beside the television. By that time, Crookshanks had already made his way inside the house and took the position on the couch, close to Hermione's face.
"Disgusting cat," muttered Draco. He stared at the unmoving form of Hermione.
What now? he thought.
Draco had been sick in the past, of course, but it's not like he was alone and took care of himself. He had seven servants at his beck and call, so when he was sick, he'd just lie down and let them do the rest. He never really paid much attention to what they did to him or what spells they used. As long as he'll recover and they make sure it doesn't hurt, he didn't care what they did. Same goes for his parents; when they were sick, the maids took care of them. And that took an instant. None of these shivering and moaning and acting all unconscious, like what Hermione was doing. Finally convincing himself that it was better to leave Hermione alone, Draco shrugged, sat on one of the armchairs closest to the couch, reached for the remote and turned on the TV.
The television was his newest obsession. After taking two hours just to figure out how to turn it on last night, he, since then, had fun watching the shows on the muggle contraption; especially those shows where the muggles acted all stupid: jumping off bridges, hanging themselves from 300-foot high cliffs and eating insects of every kind. Draco first thought that everything on the television was true and the thing was the muggle version of a scrying pool. But some of the things he saw were quite impossible for the muggle to do (like catching those lightning-fast deadly silver pellets by the hand, or flying); so he figured that the television was like a theatre presenting a thousand plays at the same time. He had to admit that muggles were pretty smart for having invented such an amusing form of entertainment.
He started to surf through the channels: some were cooking, some were punching one another and some were kissing. Draco was very intrigued about the kissing, so he stopped on a channel showing just that.
From the couch, Crookshanks began making those purring noises that annoyed Draco very much. He purred and meowed alternately, in that monotonous way which made Draco think of broken vinyl records.
Draco gritted his teeth. "Shut your trap, cat! Your master's not going to die,"
Crookshanks did not stop, though, and continued purring and meowing.
Draco stopped himself from throwing the remote control at the noisy animal. To vent his anger, he started surfing again, faster this time, his thumb rapidly pressing the change channel button, not even watching now but merely changing the channels, in the hope that the noise would drown Crookshanks' attention-getting sounds. Unfortunately, Crookshanks was louder.
Draco threw the remote on the floor in anger; it was a good thing that the whole living room floor was carpeted or the remote would've smashed completely. He stood up and faced the cat.
"What do you want me to do? I don't know anything about taking care of sick people!"
Crookshanks hissed at him.
"What? It's Granger's fault, lying there in the cold. I didn't tell her to do that!"
The cat stared at him as though to say: "Well, it's your fault she has no house anymore,"
Draco exhaled heavily and rubbed his eyes, for the lack of something better to do.
"Yes, just keep the towel on and I'll prepare some porridge for her to eat when she wakes up,"
It was the person on the television talking. Draco glanced back at the appliance and watched, to his relief, that the scene was that of a sick girl. Thanking Merlin for a solution to his problem, he whipped out his wand and conjured up a piece of paper and self-writing pen, resolved to write down everything.
He watched as the elderly lady sitting beside the sick girl washed a white towel in a shallow basin and after doing so, putting it on the forehead of the girl. He quickly did the same: he conjured up a basin and a white towel, and then made water flow from the tip of his wand. Setting the wand down on the coffee table, he tried to imitate the elderly woman's scrubbing motion. But because he had inexperienced hands, he gave it up soon and just wrung the water out of the towel, folded it and put it on Granger's forehead.
"What next?"
He watched as the lady arranged the blankets over the girl, making sure the thick cloth reached the girl's chin. He looked at Granger and her flimsy excuse for a blanket and quickly conjured a thick brown woolen one and made it fall on her, covering the girl and Crookshanks completely. The cat let out a meow of protest, so Draco reached out and lowered the blankets up to her chin, just like what the lady on TV did.
Returning his attention on the television, he watched as another lady (the one who had gone out of the screen a few moments before) came into the room, bringing a tray with a bowl of porridge and a silver spoon. Draco watched eagerly, waiting for further instructions on how to make porridge, but the girl continued sleeping and the ladies continued talking and then the TV showed a man selling a concoction that would "make you taller! Faster! Or you get your money back!"
"Hey! Bring the sick girl back!" Draco yelled at the television. "I don't know how to make porridge yet!" But the man didn't go away and he kept smiling for until ten minutes, and was then replaced by a girl with impossibly beautiful hair. Draco gritted his teeth.
"Great," he said, thoroughly irritated. And just when he thought his problems were solved, they became worse. He turned to Hermione, who was still sleeping. Her cat began purring noisily again. Draco stood up, finally, unable to bear the cat's sounds, and went into the gleaming kitchen. He pulled up a dining chair and sat on it.
Draco was exasperated. Not because he was clueless on what to do next. He knew what he was supposed to do; the only thing was he didn't know how to do it. Scrubbing a piece of cloth and putting it on Hermione's forehead was one thing; cooking porridge was entirely another. He stood up and went to the cabinets, opening them one by one, looking for a cook book at the very least, the one he sees the cook use at the Manor. He came upon a cabinet full of it and was just about to whoop with joy when he looked at the cover and found out that they were Muggle cook books, the kind where you actually need to mix everything by hand. Draco groaned and flung the book on the kitchen counter.
Now, his options were narrowed down into two: A) Leave Granger to starve to death and B) Learn how to cook and probably chop his fingers off in the process. Both were not very delightful to Draco but he had to do something. His eyes fixated on the book: 100 Recipes You Need To Know. He picked it up again, opened it and started flipping over the pages. In page 215, below a huge picture of a steaming bowl of soup was the recipe for Perfectly Palatable Porridge. His eyes quickly skimmed over the ingredients and the procedures. Draco sighed.
"When you wake up, Granger, you're going to pay for this," he muttered.
Grabbing a pink apron with a strawberry in front, Draco started to work.
Back in the living room, Crookshanks found it hard to sleep. The sound of cluttering and clanking silver and a hundred plates being broken to pieces reigned over the whole house. He gave a particularly loud meow, as if to say "Do you mind? Trying to sleep here!" but he was barely heard over the din. The television was still on and was making noise of its own. Crookshanks jumped down from the couch, reached for the remote and started pouncing on the volume button with his paw, trying to pump it up. He decided that he'd rather hear the senseless talking muggles than Draco's disastrous attempt at cooking.
Three hours had passed before Draco emerged from the kitchen, sweat drenching his shirt and his hair all over his face, carrying a wooden tray with a small bowl containing something that was producing steam. Tired but proud, he carefully set it on the coffee table before the prostrate Hermione.
"Ha! I'm a genius!" he exclaimed, as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Crookshanks, who was now sitting on Draco's armchair, gave a sound terribly like a snort. Draco looked at him mockingly.
"You're just jealous because you don't have hands and can't learn how to cook!" Draco smirked triumphantly. He grabbed the remote from under Crookshanks' paw and turned the television off. "Hey, you don't use my television, cat. Now, shoo! Get off my chair!"
At that moment, the telephone rang, startling Draco out of his wits.
"What in the---" he said, clutching his chest. The phone rang again and Draco looked at the apparatus on top of the side tables. He sighed in relief and picked it up. Dingle had already taught him how to use the Muggle machine, also the cell phone, telling him that they would be important if he was to conduct his business in the Muggle world.
"Hello," he answered in a deep voice, feigning his hesitation.
The line crackled. "Hello? Mr. Malfoy?"
"Who's this?"
"This is Cuthbert Dingle, Mr. Malfoy, sir,"
"Oh right. What is it?"
"Sir, I would just like to know when you'd be coming by, here, in the office," said Dingle's formal voice.
"What for?"
"Well, sir, it's your first day, sir. The people would like to meet you,"
"Well, I don't want to meet them,"
He heard Dingle clear his throat. "Well, sir, with all due respect, sir, you have your first board meeting today, sir,"
Draco looked at Hermione again. She had been pale before but color was starting to appear on her cheeks again. The shivering subsided, too, and she'd probably be awake soon. He looked at Crookshanks who was looking up at him evilly.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes," he said finally and without letting Dingle finish his reply, he put the receiver down and ran up the stairs to get ready.
Draco decided that since he had already done what there is to do, it wouldn't hurt if he left Hermione alone for several hours. She's already a grown woman and she could handle herself. And as for the cat, he couldn't care less if it dropped dead at that moment. In fact, he wished it would drop dead at that moment and spare him the trouble of having to look at it.
After a quick shower, he went into his large closet and picked up a handsome gray suit and silver tie. He combed his hair back, just like how he kept it when he was still at Hogwarts. After a couple more minutes of admiring himself in the mirror and thanking his genes for his gorgeousness, he went back down to the living room.
He went straight toward the couch and removed the white towel on Hermione's forehead. He laid his palm on it and felt that her fever had, indeed, gone down. He wet the towel once more, wrung it and placed it on Hermione's forehead again. He then walked to the sliding doors and with one last glance at the sleeping girl, went into the foyer and out the front door.
Draco walked to his silver car parked just outside the picket fence and got inside. His was a special car: a car installed with magic. A Wizard's car. He didn't even need to learn how to drive; he just had to tap the steering wheel with his wand, say the name of the place he wants to go to and the car would take him there, that was it. But Draco, having enough common sense, still made it a point to hold the steering wheel while he was traveling just to look like he was driving and that the car wasn't working by itself. He actually loved to act like he knew how to drive, mainly because he looked good doing it.
He now tapped the steering wheel, said "Malfoy and Maverick Consolidated, main building, Muggle London". The engine started and with a lurch, he was off.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Hermione groaned. Her back ached like hell. She knew it was because she was lying on a wooden bench in the front yard.
"Damn you, Draco," she muttered.
She clutched at the covers and snuggled deeper. She inhaled. She smelled something like porridge and her stomach resumed its grumbling. But that was impossible, for she was too far from the kitchen to smell anything remotely like food. But there it was. The smell of hot porridge. Hermione groaned again. She heard Crookshanks meow somewhere near her. She tried to shift position but her back really hurt. Good thing that the bench was soft...
Hermione tried to open her eyes. It wasn't easy for they were still heavy with sleep, but little by little they fluttered open and Hermione could just make out the dark stained glass of the coffee table. But there was no coffee table on the front yard. There was no carpet, either. And she could just bet that before she went to sleep, the front yard didn't have walls. After a few dazed moments, Hermione finally realized where she was and could hardly believe her eyes. She slowly sat up, taking in her surroundings at the same time. She was inside the living room, on the couch, with a very comfortable woolen blanket over her, instead of the thin shawls that covered her last night. Crookshanks was curled up on an armchair to her left, looking hungry but not cold. A wet white towel fell on her lap and she looked at it, also noticing the basin full of water on the coffee table. And beside it was a steaming bowl of porridge, just waiting to be eaten. Not even thinking if she was just hallucinating, she grabbed the bowl and the spoon and began devouring the porridge. It only took her six spoonfuls to empty the bowl. Crookshanks watched her with envy.
Hermione was so hungry that she forgot all about Crookshanks and apologized profusely for not leaving any porridge for him.
"Sorry, Crookshanks, I got a bit, er, carried away," she said, reaching out to the cat. Crookshanks jumped down from the arm chair and sat by Hermione's feet. She stroked his fur and smiled.
"Hey, let's go to the kitchen and see if there's more,"
Hermione put the blanket aside, stood up and made her way to the kitchen, all the while wondering what had gotten into Draco's head, letting her sleep on the couch like that and even leaving a bowl of porridge for her. She knew that she didn't exactly feel in tiptop shape at the moment and probably caught a slight fever due to being exposed to the harsh cold last night.
Well, it's his fault I got sick, she thought, maybe he got all guilty. She smiled at the thought of Draco actually feeling sorry for her.
When she reached the kitchen, however, she got a bigger shock.
The whole place was in a mess: the counter was filled with used plates and utensils, rice grains were spilled on the floor, together with bits and pieces of meat and vegetables; the faucet was left running and there was still fire on the stove. Hermione hurriedly rushed to turn off the stove and the faucet.
"What happened here?"
Crookshanks meowed in response, as if to say: "Draco"
"What did he do?" continued Hermione, getting to her knees and picking up several cook books, already stained with God knows what. "Oh dear. Don't tell me he tried to cook."
From the state of things, though, Hermione could not find any other explanation. She pulled her wand out from her pocket and started to clean up the mess. Plates deposited themselves in the dishwasher, with the spoons and bowls; the vacuum cleaner started sucking in the stuff spilled on the floor. The cook books arranged themselves back on the cabinets and the rag wiped the counter vigorously.
Amongst all the din, Hermione fetched Crookshanks some milk and cat food, which the cat ate greedily in the corner. She also got some fruits for herself and for a good twenty minutes ate her fill of kiwis, oranges, apples, strawberries and melons, decided to make Draco pay for starving her the night before.
Though she had to admit, the porridge wasn't bad.
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Draco was halfway there. But he still couldn't stop worrying about Hermione Granger. No, he wasn't worrying about her, per se; he's more worried about what she's going to do with the house. She'd probably throw a huge tantrum when she wakes up and then start thrashing the house. Or maybe she'd put all kind of spells on it so that he won't be able to get even ten feet from the house. Or she might start stealing stuff (she said she had no money) and then burn down the house. Draco grimaced. Okay, maybe he was being too morbid. Besides, Hermione had said that it was her house, so she would probably not do anything stupid that would wreck the whole place. Still, Draco didn't feel any better. The cat was another thing. Draco hated that fur ball. And the thought that it had a free reign while Hermione was sleeping disturbed him the most. The car was just going to turn a corner when Draco tapped the steering wheel and said "Stop."
He sighed. The first board meeting was important, that he knew. But he could not possibly concentrate on business when a feverish Muggle/Witch was inside his house. Shaking his head, Draco tapped the steering wheel once again.
"Full House."
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Hermione burped. She hadn't eaten that much in a long time. Well, not exactly long, but she was hungry and it made her exaggerate. Crookshanks was also contentedly purring on her lap, after eating his fifth bowl of cat food.
"I feel full, don't you, Crookshanks?"
The cat purred in assent.
Hermione was just about to reach for another orange when she heard the rumbling of an engine. She stopped to listen. Seconds later, she heard the front door open. Hermione stood up, alarmed. She had been wondering about where Draco was but the food drove almost everything out of her mind.
What am I going to do now? she thought, panicking.
As quickly as she could, she did what first came to her mind. She scooped up all the fruit peelings that could fit into her arms and stuffed them inside the fridge. She picked up Crookshanks (who fell from her lap in her panic) and ran to the living room, depositing the cat onto the armchair. As for her, she quickly jumped into the couch and covered herself with the blanket, just as Draco's head emerged from the sliding doors.
She heard his footsteps coming nearer and nearer. She kept her eyes shut, pretending to be still sleeping.
"Granger," Draco called. The girl was still asleep. He exhaled in relief. At least she hasn't done anything particularly vengeful yet. His attention turned to the cat. "Hey! Didn't I tell you to get off that armchair? Shoo! Shoo!"
At that moment, his eyes fell on the empty bowl on the coffee table. Draco's brow furrowed. If Hermione was still asleep, then who ate the porridge? He looked at the cat accusingly, but then remembered that cats don't exactly like porridge. Or do they? Maybe this one does. Unless...
Draco walked to the kitchen to confirm his doubts. And indeed, they were confirmed. The place was again spotless, definitely not the way he left it. Everything was back to their respective cabinets, and the bin was already full of trash. The counter was spotless except for a few rinds of orange. Draco raised an eyebrow. He didn't remember using an orange for the porridge. He approached the counter and looked closer. They were indeed orange rinds. He turned around and opened the refrigerator. And there, strewn everywhere were fruit peelings and leftovers, half-eaten apples and sliced strawberries. With gritted teeth, he made them disappear with a wave of his wand. He walked back to the living room and confronted Hermione.
"Granger. Granger, get up,"
Hermione groaned weakly.
"Wow, Granger, I didn't know you were such a great actress. Bravo," said Draco, starting to get angry. "Get up, Granger; I'm not going to say it again,"
"W-what is it?" answered Hermione, rubbing her eyes. "Is that you, Malfoy?"
"No, it's Santa Claus. Of course, Granger it's me. Get out of my house,"
"Huh?"
"I said get out. You had your rest and apparently, you also had your fill of my food. So go. Now."
Hermione was sitting now. "B-but I'm sick!"
Draco gave her a mock smile. "Aw. Too bad. Unfortunately, I don't care."
"But it's your fault I'm sick!"
"Well, if you could yell at me like that, I don't think you still are," snapped Draco. "Besides, I've already fed you and let you sleep. What else do you need?"
"My house! I need my house!"
"For the thousandth time, Granger, this is no longer your house. This is my house. And I'm asking you, no, I'm commanding you to get the hell out of it!"
Draco grabbed Hermione's things from the floor and headed towards the door.
"Where are you taking those?" Hermione demanded, following Draco, with Crookshanks at her heels.
"The same place you're going," And with that, he flung the bags on the front yard, pushed Hermione and kicked Crookshanks out. "Farewell, Granger," he said and banged the door shut.
Hermione stood there with her mouth open. She couldn't believe Draco's nerve, pushing her out of her own house. Crookshanks clawed at the front door but it was no use. She picked up her things from the wet grass and beckoned to Crookshanks to follow her.
"Let's go, Crookshanks, we have to find a place to stay in," she said sadly.
The cat purred at her, evidently not wanting to go, but was forced to follow Hermione as she went out into the road, leaving behind her beloved house.
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Next Chapter: Draco gets dumped. And everything starts at the banquet of the year.
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A/N: So….how was it? I worked really hard on it, so I hope a lot of people read it. Please R&R… it's my only consolation. Visit my blog, if you have time. To my kababayans, please read and review. It'll make me happy Cheerio!