Gestures

Draco was fed up. He wanted to be patient because he knew that anger and frustration toward her would only push her further away…if that were possible. Still, it had been a month and he was tired of it. She fixed her own meals the Muggle way and stayed in the room he had given her the rest of the day.

"The room…" he mumbled to the empty space. "How could I have forgotten?"

He had planned to move her into the room next to his after she recovered. She had clearly recovered. Without another thought, he pushed out of the chair and marched up the stairs. First, he had to make the room a bigger gesture than just a nicer room. The room was decorated in shades of black, green and silver like everything else had ever been in the Malfoy family. A few flicks of his wand turned the walls a deep maroon and the bed a softer shade with gold trim. He added an etching of the Gryffindor crest to the foot board for good measure. The bathroom received the same color treatment before Draco stood in the doorway and surveyed his handy work. Surely it would be to her liking.

As he pulled the door shut something inside his robe poked his side. "Of course!" he exclaimed as he pulled it out. If he was looking for a grand gesture, that was it. After a quick run back into the room, he made his way up another set of stairs.

He wasn't quite sure what Hermione did all day in the small room, but he really hoped it wasn't something she didn't want him to see. He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before he actually opened it; he knew she wouldn't tell him to enter.

She was curled up in the fetal position on the bed and she barely looked at him when he walked in. Apparently she didn't do anything all day but lie on her bed and cry. He did his best to ignore it or he would cry too.

There wasn't much to move except her and her clothes. He started with the clothes. He had the lot of them suspended in the air when it happened.

"What're you doing?"

His heart skipped a beat and the clothes fell to the floor as he whirled around to her with wide eyes. She was propping herself up on the bed, looking at him with the same cold expression she always did, but her voice was clearly concerned. She probably thought he was taking the clothes away from her.

"You spoke," he whispered.

"I am capable."

"I never doubted your capability, only your willingness."

She stared at him for a few tense seconds and reiterated her question. "What're you doing?"

He shook his head to bring himself back to reality. He had waited so long to hear her voice again and those few words were not nearly enough. "I'm moving you. I never intended for you to stay in this room."

He retrieved the clothes from the floor and headed to the door.

"I should have known you'd put me in the dungeon eventually," she whispered.

This wasn't going at all like he had planned. He hadn't exactly expected her to fall at his feet, he wasn't that diluted, but he didn't realize that she would take everything so wrong. She'd been so levelheaded at sixteen.

It was going to take him a while to realize just how much she had been through since then.

"If I were putting you in the dungeon," he said softly. "Would I carry your clothes for you?"

She fell back onto the bed without another word. It didn't matter how much she had been through, she still couldn't compete with logic.

Draco put the clothes in the enormous walk-in closet slowly, hoping against hope that she had at least been a little curious and followed him. No such luck. He sighed as he left the room; he'd have to move her too and something told him it wasn't going to be easy.

She hadn't moved when he returned for her. She had to know what was coming. He stood in the doorway for some moments, watching and hoping she would move of her own volition, but she didn't move a muscle. "It's really not the dungeon," he whispered softly.

Her eyes finally looked over at him. Deep down in a long forgotten part of her soul, she knew that he would never put her in the dungeon. Consciously, however, her hatred for him kept her from admitting this. Still, he could do whatever he wanted to her and there was no one around to stop him and no law to make him think twice.

"I can always carry you." It wasn't a threat, but he would do it.

This got her out of the bed. She didn't trust herself enough to let him carry her; it would be much too easy to strangle the life out of him. So she crossed her arms and followed him down to floor below. He made a big to do about opening the door and stood aside so she could enter.

She walked in slowly, her arms still crossed. It was beautiful; it was more than she could have ever asked for, especially with her station. Yet, she refused to be touched because she knew very well that the changes to the room could have been made with a few flicks of a wand. Besides, she was pretty sure that the door in the corner led straight into his room.

Her eyes roamed over him. He was trying to hide his emotions but he was clearly hopeful. It only made her anger grow. She didn't know exactly what he had done to her while she had been unconscious, but she had awakened in a very different state than she had arrived and that was enough for her embittered mind.

Then she spotted it. Its light color stood out on the dark quilt on the bed and her heart skipped a beat when she understood what it meant. A room decorated in her colors was nothing compared to this. She picked it up, curling her fingers around it slowly, and feeling the familiar magic she had feared was gone. "You're really giving it back?" she whispered without turning around.

He leaned against the doorway and watched her. "You're a witch, Hermione; I have no right to rob you of that."

Her eyes closed slowly. Sometimes he did make it difficult to be angry. At least, until she remembered that he had only done it to get on her good side in the first place. Then the anger returned.

He was spared her verbal lashing when the doorbell sounded throughout the house. He sighed and turned to leave before he swung back around and looked at her seriously. "Stay here," he said firmly and closed the door gently behind him.

She rolled her eyes and waited a few seconds before she silently followed him, her wand grasped with white knuckles. She crept down the stars and stood on the bottom step, just out of sight from the front door.

"Goyle, hello."

She could hear the nerves in his voice. It obvious, to her anyway, that he was hiding something. She could also tell that he hadn't stepped aside so Goyle could enter.

"Fancy a hunt, Malfoy? Crabbe and I spotted a traitor with the witch when we caught her and I'm gonna go after him. Had any fun with her yet?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

"Uh, actually she didn't survive. She didn't wake up for a week so I just took care of her. Starved, I'd imagine."

Hermione's heart sped up. He'd just told the only people who knew she was there that she was dead. What was he planning on doing to her?

"Eh, wasn't much anyway, was she?"

"No," he agreed tersely.

"Hunting, then?"

"No, don't really feel like it today. Cheers though."

"Alright, don't know what you're missing though. It's great fun."

Draco cleared his throat. "I'm sure, another time perhaps".

"Suit yourself."

The door closed without another word and she heard Draco sigh heavily. She waited only a few seconds before she turned and crept back up the stairs, her heart pounding in her ears even after she was safely in the room with the door closed. She would have to be careful around him from now on; apparently there was still more to him than met the eye.