YAYYYY. so i totes know where i'm going with this story.

i have it all mapped out.

not written. but. mapped out.

WEEEEEEE.

Hope you enjoy. :]

DISCLAIMER: Applies to the whole story from now on. Yes. Woot. AWESOME. Kbai.

Milky Nutella

The night was growing dark as the two young Aurors roamed about the small beach cottage.

Hermione was downstairs, hair wet from her satisfying shower, and peeking into the cupboard to see if there was anything worth scrounging. She was clad in an old slightly singed pair of pajamas she had found in Fluer's room.

Sighing, she twisted her hair slowly, thinking. She could hear the shower going above her. There was a jar of pickles, a jar of Nutella, a large head of garlic, and lastly a box of spaghetti.

As well as what looked to be some moldy bread and rotten strawberries, she noted.

Cringing, she took the Nutella, pickles, spaghetti, and garlic. She set them down on the counter. The stove was still working and there was cooking oil under the sink (she had checked).

So she'd make spaghetti with fried garlic and oil. Perfect. The pickles would be for a side dish. And the Nutella mixed with some of the milk she had packed, would be dessert. Turning she went over to get backpack to get the milk.

"I had to wash my hair SEVEN times. This is disgusting," a familiar voice came from behind, donned in only his light blue boxers and a tight white tank top.

"Draco Malfoy! Put some clothes on!" she gasped, covering her eyes, milk pint in hand.

"Oh come off it, Granger. I HAVE clothes on. Stop being such a prude," he retorted, sliding the food aside and pushing himself up to sit on the counter. "What's for dinner?"

She huffed and stuck her nose up in the air, avoiding looking at him. "Spaghetti with garlic, and a side of pickles. And milky Nutella for dessert."

He grimaced. "Sounds dreadful." But suddenly his stomach growled. "On second thought, can't wait. Get to it."

Hand on her hip, she sauntered over to him, setting the milk down next to him. Glaring at him, and choosing to ignore his comment, she averted her gaze to his arm. He had his bandage and splint off.

It looked practically healed, small pink bite marks on his rough skin. Touching it lightly, she shivered. His skin was so harsh there, so tough, contrasting greatly with the smooth skin just on the other side of his arm.

How could he do this to himself? Her eyebrows furrowed and she concentrated even harder, pushing away any feelings of pity. He would kill her if she ever showed any compassion for him. He was too proud. So proud.

He looked at that calculated look on her face that he only saw when she was so absorbed in her work. The kind of look that you get when everything else disappears and you forget your surroundings. He felt himself shiver at her gentle touch.

She was right. He was more sensitive on that arm. Clearing his throat softly, she shook herself out of her reverie and blushed up at him.

"Sorry. Just. Um… being thorough," she murmured, faltering slightly, eyes shifty.

"Mhm, sure," he replied, smirking and winking at her. She flushed bright red. Gods, how he loved getting under her skin.

The moment was tense. Letting go of his arm, she straightened up. Their food was to his right. She grabbed the garlic and pasta box, walking away from the sneering man. He just watched her and soon (after a lot of clatter and clangs) there was water boiling and garlic frying.

"Why do you have to do that? It… it… it gets me all… all flustered!" Hermione blurted, stirring the garlic in the cooking oil.

He jumped down from the counter, half a pickle in his hand. He stocked over to her, looming above her.

"To keep you on your toes. I bet Potter and Weasley create stupid small talk that makes you want to fall asleep," he whispered, taking in the delicious smells wafting from the pan and chomping down on his pickle.

Shoving him aside, she pulled the pot of boiling water with spaghetti in it off the burner and over to the sink. Pouring out the water and draining it as best she could she summoned a pair of plates and they drifted out of the cabinet and next to the sink.

Serving them, she put the pot in the sink and went back to the stove to turn off all the burners. The pan of garlic was steaming as she brought it over to their plates. Pouring the oil and small bits of garlic with a wooden spoon, she set the pan in the sink as well.

"Could you get the forks? In the drawer to your right," she asked him distractedly as she walked their plates over to the partially ripped up couch, past him and in the living room.

"Gladly. And two cups of water?" he asked, clinking around in the drawer.

"Yes, please. I'm parched," she replied, sitting down and holding their plates due to the lack of a table.

He walked over, two cups in his hands, pickle jar under his arm, and the two forks in clutched in his mouth. She giggled at the sight, balancing the plates on her lap as she took the forks from his teeth. He snapped those pearly whites at her and she shrieked and giggled louder.

He smiled down at her and sat down, setting the drinks down on the torn up carpet beneath them and the pickle jar inbetween them. She passed him a plate and fork, and soon they were both eating gratefully.

"Oh Merlin, Granger, you are an amazing cook," Draco announced, mouth full of spaghetti, lips greasy from the oil.

She scrunched up her nose as she chewed her own pasta and swallowed. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Draco. You look like Ronald when you do that."

"Hey, there's no need for such grave insults. I just COMPLEMENTED you," he replied, after swallowing and licking his lips clean (thankfully).

She chuckled and shook her head. "You're just starving. You could eat a Flobberworm and think it was a delicacy."

He laughed unabashed. It was a nice sound, ringing in her ears. She smiled at his unguarded features. She liked this side of him. This person… she could deal with. He turned and shot a smile back at her, bending down and grabbing his cup of water.

He sipped and they finished their dinner in silence. Her mind drifted to their mission. To finally find the headquarters of the Rogues. Many Aurors had come close, but even more had gotten there… but never come back.

Her heart clenched at the thought of Ernie McMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley being captured, tortured, even k— No. she couldn't go there. Her eyes burned slightly, but she shook it off.

"You okay?" Draco asked tentatively.

"What? Oh. Yes. Perfectly fine. Here let me clear your plate and get dessert ready," she offered, getting up and picking up their plates and forks, and racing them to the sink.

"Granger, I've been around you long enough to know when you're lying," he called out into the kitchen, as he got up to follow her.

"You DON'T know me, Malfoy," she growled, gripping onto the edge of the sink.

"You're right, I don't. And you don't really know me that well either. And if we're even going to survive this fucking mess, you're going to have to learn to trust me," Draco said definitively, voice as aristocratic as ever.

Her shoulder relaxed slightly, but she was still tense as she turned. Nodding she went over to him and grabbed the Nutella and milk, spooned and poured them into a large bowl she had retrieved from her backpack earlier.

"Well. Go ahead. Get to know me, already," she said impatiently, looking up at him with expecting eyes.

"Alright, Puffball, what's your favourite color?" the blonde began, leaning back on the counter.

They were in for a long night.

Meanwhile, another blonde was plotting something for these two not too far away. Unfortunately for them it was not in their favour.