CHAPTER SIX: The Biteless Wonders

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I've been made aware that my personal author's note – though supposed to be a joke (hence the maple syrup) – have become just plain annoying. I didn't realize about the email alerts. I would never have stopped updating if you guys didn't review. I just hope you enjoy the chapters to come and, from now on, my author's notes will be reserved for must-knows about the story, to answer questions from anonymous reviews, and list any references used. If you still don't want to receive the email alerts, just remove me from your author and/or story alert list. No harm, no foul.

To make up for it, I'm posting all three chapters right now, as you may have noticed. Enjoy.

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"What the hell is Seneca?" asked Draco.

Hermione shrugged, her thumbs deep in her jeans pockets. "It was in your mother's notes, Draco. Surely she knows. She was the one who told me James was dead in the first place."

"She what?" growled Pansy. Ron's hand surreptitiously slid over hers on her lap but she was on her feet before he could give it a proper squeeze. "I knew a Slytherin had to be behind this. You Gryffindors don't have the balls."

"I thought they were supposed to be the brave ones," corrected Draco.

Pansy scoffed, pacing before Ron. "They're all bark, no bite," she snarled and shot Ron a nod. Draco squelched a very loud "Ha!" He of course knew she meant a literal bite. Hermione seemed to guess it too because she put on that sour-lemon face Draco had learned of early in their courting whenever he made a raunchy joke at his own expense.

A silence fell over the room and Ron, upon clearing his throat, continued, "So… what do we do? Just wait for Narcissa to pay us a visit? It's not like we can take Pansy to her."

"She doesn't need to be present to tell us. Fireplaces are safe to talk through, right? Sirius talked to Harry through one back at Hogwarts," suggested Hermione, hoping to blend into the background behind Draco. She didn't like having people furious at her, even if it wasn't her fault. The insecure little wolf girl in the back of her mind still cried when someone called her a MudBlood or teased her about her hair. All that had gone away since Draco but it seemed to be coming back to life now that Pansy kept nudging deeper and deeper into their lives.

Draco sighed. "I'll go call her but she usually doesn't get up till after noon."

"Forget it," said Pansy, stopping her tiresome pacing. "I don't need your help. I can find out for myself. Just point me to the nearest floo into Knockturn."

Draco laughed, causing Hermione to jump. She didn't find it at all funny. "I'm sorry but you're our hostage. As long as you're in here, you'll do as we tell you and that includes staying away from fucking Death Eaters! You will not give away our position and you will not get yourself killed out of sheer stupidity."

"What are you talking about?" she snarled.

He threw his arms in the air out of frustration. "Blaise is gone, Pansy! You're not under his protection anymore. It doesn't matter if no one has seen us together, which I doubt. You're not a crony. You. Are. On. Your. Own."

"No, she's not," said Ron softly, twitching at the mention of Blaise. Nobody paid him any attention.

"I am your last ally, Parkinson, the last one you can trust. And, as sad as it is, you are going to have to trust The Biteless Wonders as well if you want this figured out."

She crossed her arms, shook her head, and stormed past him towards the stairs. "Where is she going?" asked Ron. "Didn't you just tell her to stay here? Doesn't she listen to you?"

Draco laughed again, sadder than before. "She'll come back… eventually."

"She's being ridiculous! We can just ask Narcissa and get all this fixed. I'm sure the note is probably a forgery."

"It's authentic," said Draco, massaging his brow. "But Mother's not going to say anything and we both know it. She hasn't told a soul about what happened to her back in that castle and—"

"I bet she told Moody," joked Ron absentmindedly. He knew he was poking a soft spot.

"Moody?" echoed Draco. "I think the old coot has a thing for her actually. As if she were that—that—."

Ron shook his head, amazed. How could Draco figure out his and Pansy's secret trysts down to the smallest detail but not his own mother's? Was he that selectively dense? Even Hermione found it mildly funny but her lips didn't show it. Her mind was still back in her room the night before.

"Call up Narcissa anyway. Tell her what we know," she instructed, her face showing no emotion as she stared at Ron in order to avoid Draco's probing eyes. "Go on. Get."

Draco didn't question her look, merely interpreted as a not-so-subtle way of saying she wanted to speak to Ron alone. He nodded and obliged, shutting the door behind him. He didn't like it but when she got the sour-lemon look followed by the do-it-or-I'll-castrate-you look, he damn well did what she said.

"How long?" she asked, sure that Draco was out of hearing range.

Ron cleared his throat and looked down at his bare feet, slightly ashamed but feeling strangely rebellious. "How long what?"

"How long have you been talking to her?"

"To Pansy?"

"She didn't just figure out where you lived. You told her."

"Ginny could have told her."

"Ginny wasn't holding her hand the way you just did!" she finally shouted, raking both hands through her hair. "I don't like it, Ron! I don't like you shagging her. You just can't trust her."

He stared at her, bug-eyed, before bursting into laughter. "Jealous?"

"Pansy's not my type, sorry," she sneered. He laughed harder, standing slowly. She was genuinely angry and he knew it had nothing to do with jealousy.

"You are one giant hypocrite, Hermione. Do you realize that?" he said with a heavy sigh. He didn't want to be arguing with her over this. In his eyes, she had no right.

Hermione raised an arm and before her brain could catch up to her hand, she slapped him. He let out a loud howl and caressed his cheek. She realized her strength and quickly helped him to the bed. She cursed softly and looked around for something resembling a first aid kit or a wand but she'd rather poke a bear than try Ron's broken old thing.

"I'm sorry," she said with a sigh, sitting uselessly beside him. She'd broken the skin and he'd surely have a bruise there but the cut from the impact of her hand over his left cheekbone was thin and didn't really bleed. She thanked God. She couldn't handle the smell of blood, she'd noticed. Strangely enough, it didn't seem to rouse any of the sensations she'd felt before. There was no blood lust. There was no aching for more. If anything, she felt remorse, and she began to wonder if it hadn't been her blood lust at all last week. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I promise."

"I know," he replied, his voice unaffected.

"I'm not being hypocritical. Pansy never turned onto our side, Ron. Draco gave us information, showed us how to fight the others, long before he and I ever got together. It's not the same."

He shook his head, holding his cheek and the possible concussion back. "It is, 'Mione. Sometimes, you just have to trust someone even when nobody else will. I've gotten to know her. She didn't come looking for me and I certainly didn't go looking for her. We found each other because we were both left behind. You and Draco went away into your happy little bubble and left us there, alone. Then Harry got with Gin and Blaise left the school. We had no one! You have no one to blame but yourselves. Besides… she'll prove herself. I know it."

The judgment died away from her tone. She didn't want to be angry at him any longer, not after so many years together, but she had to make her feelings known. "It's not the same, Ron. She's not tied to you the way Draco is to me. You can't see into her head the way I see into his. I didn't have blind faith. I knew. She's just human, Ron, and humans make mistakes."

"And monsters can't?" he answered with strong finality. He stood up, unable to stay in the same room as her a moment longer. He left without a second thought or consideration to the true worries brewing in Hermione's brain. Above the threat to their lives, she frantically worried about Ron's heart and all the little pieces she'd have to sew back together after Pansy got through with him.

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"What do you mean she's not home?" Draco squeaked, spitting embers all over the carpet back at Grimmauld. Tonks stomped them out before shooting him a very cross look. "What are you even doing there? Where's Moody?"

Tonks' face changed in the fireplace, the way it always did when Draco talked of Alastor in front of her. Moody had been, more or less, her mentor for the last few years. Though they rarely, if ever, got along, she felt a strong connection to him. She longed to protect him, especially now that he'd opened his heart for the first time in decades. He wasn't thinking straight and Draco was just stabbing blindly at a sore spot.

"Leave him alone, okay?" she whispered, her eyebrows knitted together as though pleading. "I don't want to have to choose between my cousin and my friend but if I have to, he'll win, Draco."

Draco opened his eyes wide. "What do you mean? Why's he so special. I don't mess with him anymore than I mess with anyone else."

"Yes you do," said Hermione behind him, leaning sitting on the arm of the living room sofa. "It's okay, Tonks. Please tell Narcissa we'll be passing by the house in a few days for Christmas dinner and that we expect an answer. Pansy's probably gone off to find them on her own so we shouldn't worry about her. She'll come to us when she's ready. Do you both understand?"

Tonks and Draco nodded and the fireplace died out again.

"Good. Now, we haven't eaten since yesterday so let's get a move on then."

Hermione put both hands on her waist like a worried mother and waved Draco over with a seductive smile. He watched her walk off towards the kitchen, returning the smile. He was unbelievably confused. This wasn't her usual attitude. She was like a yo-yo all of a sudden. She wanted him. She was furious at him. She wanted him. She was furious at him. He was starting to wonder if he'd broken her with the pixie dust stunt but he had other doubts. He was considering the animal attacks and made a note to himself to check on Colin later, maybe get him a nice Christmas present. By looks of the plastic pieces scattered across that Hogwarts hallway last week, he was going to need a new camera.

As he followed her into the tiny, messy kitchen, he pondered Christmas for the hundredth time and what he was going to get Hermione. Rather than wrack his brain with it, he took the final remaining chair, rested his cheek on his fist and stared at her as she prepared them something to eat.

"Hey, 'Mione?" he asked bluntly. "What do you want for Christmas?"

She laughed and pulled last night's chicken from the fridge. "I don't want for anything, Draco," she said with a faraway smirk. She seemed almost as relaxed as back at her house and he was starting to wonder if she was just relaxed in the kitchen. Did she… like to cook? He'd never seen her do it before, not when she had her wand. There was no need to cook at Hogwarts anyway.

"I know you don't need anything which is what makes it so hard to shop for you."

She shrugged. "Sorry?"

He smirked and propped up his feet on the table. "No, don't be sorry. But I still want to get you something, even if it's frivolous. What's your favorite flower?"

She laughed louder, cutting into the chicken and spreading it out onto a skillet to warm. "I don't know. I've never been given flowers. Roses are pretty, I suppose."

"How generic."

"Lilies? Chrysanthemums?"

He thought about it but none of those flowers screamed Hermione to him. "No, forget it. Flowers aren't a first Christmas kind of thing anyway."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You know, you're not supposed to tell the person you're getting a gift for that you're getting a gift for them. You're especially not supposed to ask them what they want. You're just supposed to know."

"Oh as if you know what to get me."

"I've had your gift for days, sweetheart," she replied, shooting him a mixed look over her shoulder. "I have everyone's gifts all picked out, wrapped, and parked somewhere extremely secret so don't get any ideas."

He got tired of the uncomfortable wooden chairs and went to stand just behind her, his chin on her shoulder. She shivered, trying to shake him off. His pointy chin was digging into her bones. Still, he hovered about her as she took out cornstarch, soy sauce, ginger, brown sugar, and some chicken broth.

"What the hell are you making?" he asked, observing her hands intently. Why would he ever need to cook, especially with elves around? It was just too easy to snap his fingers or wave his wand or order in. "You don't have to. I'm sure I can just—"

"Shush. It calms me. Back home, during the summers when Harry would be at the Dursleys' and I'd stay up to watch the news, I'd go to the kitchen and cook to pass the time. I swear, I kept waiting for a picture of him dead in an alley somewhere to pop up all over the papers. So, shut up and let me cook. And I'm making my special sauce anyway, which you'll thank me for later. Would you mind shredding up that chicken breast into bits?"

He was right. She liked to cook. How very Muggle of her. Still, he was enjoying the peaceful smile and the humming. Oh how he loved the humming, the gentle sway of her hips in accordance to the song. He didn't recognize the melody but he found himself humming along, tearing into the chicken with his bare hands. She set the mixture into a saucepan and set it to the stove, waiting for it to thicken before adding the chicken.

"Get me some green beans or peas from the pantry, would you please?"

"Why would they be in the pantry?"

"They're tinned."

He walked over to the pantry and stood there, staring blankly. "What do you mean? They're in tin cans?"

(See my LiveJournal for the full recipe.)

She sighed and went to get them herself, handing him the wooden spoon and instructing him to keep stirring. She was right. It was immensely relaxing. She came up behind him, snapped off the lid to one of the drained cans of green beans, and poured it into the sauce. He got the chicken and poured it in after her. She shot him a small smirk for figuring it out beforehand.

"I figured you'd be good at this," she said as she admired his pensive face and constant stirring. He lowered the heat instinctively and continued to stir. Her eyes scanned his back, his firm shoulders and followed her spine to his waist. She fought not to wrap her arms around that waist, rest her cheek against his the vast expanses of delicious cold skin, pure skin…

"I don't care what Snape says. Cooking is so the same as Potions and he is definitely the home ec teacher. I've seen him in a polka-dotted apron so—"

Before he could finish his silly ranting, she cupped his face in her hands and brought his lips down upon hers. She squealed as the stirring spoon slapped her in the stomach, covering her in brown sauce. He looked down and hurried to the sink for a wet washcloth to wipe it off. She grabbed the washcloth from his hands, shook her head, and said, "Don't worry about it."

"You caught me by surprise."

"I know. It was my fault. I was just trying to shut you up."

He smirked and bent down to kiss her quickly. "Yea, I know. I'm just happy to see you smiling again, and talking to me."

She took the food off the stove and sighed, sitting up on the counter to better clean off the mess on her shirt. Of course she would be wearing a white shirt when Draco finally decided to be clumsy. He took some plates from the rack near the sink and set them out on the table. They could hear Mrs. Weasley shouting at Ron and Harry upstairs over something trivial like misplaced socks and Draco got that feeling of domesticity yet again.

The more time he and Hermione spent together outside of Hogwarts, the more he imagined them in a house of their own. He knew it was a strange thing to consider after only four months but they were werewolves, the only two of their kind not slaves to Voldemort. They were alike in their differences and imperfectly in tune with the other's imperfection. And, the idea of her moving on and finding someone else was threatening to tear his heart the way he tore up that chicken.

"Draco, you knew about Pansy and Ron, didn't you?" she whispered all of a sudden, going to sit at the table he'd set. He nodded and looked apologetic but she didn't lift her eyes off the food as she swirled it around. Draco dug into it quick, not realizing he'd been starving and had probably gone two days without eating. It was too easy when his mind was constantly on Hermione. "It's okay. I take it your silence means you approve."

He shrugged and took an even larger bite. "Whatever. Weasley's a big boy. I think he can handle her. I didn't use to think so but they've been at it for a month and he still hasn't let her steal claws into his pants. Dare I say it… he's even worse than you were."

She choked on a bite of chicken and reached for her glass of water. "How do you know they haven't—"

"Slept together? They just haven't."

"Does Pansy talk to you about it?"

He shook his head and poured himself more chicken. "Nope. He still has that I-haven't-gotten-any-'cause-I'm- secretly-a-pious,-moral-asshole look. Damn, this chicken is amazing by the way. Like… fucking amazing. Like, fucking amazing."

"Why thank you, honey," she said proudly. It was rare she left Draco speechless, that is, while fully dressed.

She scoffed at the sight of him attacking that place, smiling despite herself. She wasn't new to the domestic feeling but it warmed her heart to have him compliment her cooking, even to be able to cook for him. That look of pleasure on his face just seemed to scream sex to her. She knew this was going to be a problem. She had to think straight. She had to think about Pansy and James and Narcissa. Most of all, she had to worry. That was her job and she'd been brilliant at it so far but Draco's presence was like having her own personal Xanax follow her around. A Xanax with very delectable lips…

Snap out of it, Hermione! she told herself. You're still angry at him for being a douche! Oh when isn't he a douche? What's with the libido all of a sudden? Is it him?

"You don't approve of them, do you?" he asked after a few minutes of loud chewing and moaning, snapping her out of her lewd thoughts. He pushed his plate aside and watched her finish her food, in no hurry whatsoever. He reached over and smoothed her hair back behind her ear lovingly.

"I can't trust her like you can, Draco," she admitted. She pushed her plate aside as he'd done and whispered, ashamed, "Do you think I'm a hypocrite?"

"For what? Not trusting Pansy? I think you'd be an idiot to. Hell, I don't trust her fully and there's not a part of that girl I haven't seen."

She rested her hands in her lap and stared down at the sauce stain, fumbling with her fingers. "Ron said the same thing to me when we first—"

"Oh," he breathed, realizing what she meant. "Well… yea. I'll be honest. It's kind of a shitty thing to say after all we went through."

She shot him a cross look but didn't deny it. She knew it was going to be hard but she had to accept them and pray it didn't last long. She and Draco got up at the same time and carried their plates to the sink, which had been bewitched to wash them automatically. They didn't go upstairs though. They didn't go looking for other people. They lingered in that moment, in the kitchen, where they could still dream they had a normal relationship. It was nice knowing they still had things to learn about each other, that secrets couldn't tear them apart anymore. Secrets were an adventure now, a fight to discover every detail about each other as though it might bring them a little bit closer. It would be a short-lived adventure, they dreaded, but it was best not to dwell.

They didn't talk but it was nice to linger on those thoughts. And, it was in that moment of eerie clarity that Draco realized what he would get Hermione for Christmas.

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