Hermione was already seated for breakfast and on her second cup of tea when Draco entered the room, seating himself at the head of the table opposite of her.
"Sleep in?" She asked, looking at her teacup rather than at him.
"I don't sleep in, Granger. I had an errand, not that it's your business." Draco said.
The truth was he hadn't slept much at all. He kept waking up from bad dreams, then would lay and think about the visit from his aunt, and how he kept finding himself being decent to Granger on minute and foul the next. Finally he abandoned his attempt to rest all together and got out of bed before dawn.
The house elf scurried in, filling Draco's cup and draping a cloth napkin over his lap.
"Glad to see you didn't get wet," she said, sipping her tea.
"Excuse me?"
"It's raining again."
"And? For Merlin's sake it's called a drying spell. Honestly, I thought you were supposed to be bright."
"Drying spell, of course," she said as the house elf piled eggs on her plate.
Draco waited, knowing enough about her to never assume she's finished talking.
"It's just-"
Ah, there we go.
"-I thought perhaps you apparated farther out of the area, some place where it isn't raining."
She prodded her eggs with her fork, still looking anywhere but at him.
"I just said it was none of your business, meaning don't worry that bushy head of yours over my whereabouts because whether I was in Knockturn Alley or fucking Antarctica, it is equally none of your concern."
She chewed her toast thouroughly, swallowed, and took another bite.
When Draco felt sure her mouth was too occupied to retort he picked up his own utensils and began cutting his sausage.
"You wouldn't last 10 seconds in Antarctica."
His knife and fork clanked loudly slammed them back down.
"Bloody hell Granger, didn't your parents teach you any manners? Like how to refrain from spewing snarky comments or at least how to not talk with your mouth full?"
"Of course not, they were muggles."
"So because they were muggles they were too daft to teach you basic fucking manners? That's ridiculous."
"Isn't it?"
Finally she was looking at him, and the triumphant protrusion of her jaw made what little appetite he had slip away completely.
Already exhausted from the night before and in no mood for her attitude, Draco stood up and threw his napkin into his plate, abandoning his breakfast.
The house elf scurried forward.
"Is Mastor finished already? He isn't eaten all of his breakfast. Is Master not liking what Chauncey cooked? Chauncey will cook something else! He can make Master's favorite instead-"
"No," Draco snapped, "in fact, take our guest's plate as well. She is finished eating."
Hermione, who was not finished eating, did not object when the elf gathered her half full plate and untouched fruit cup and hurried away with it to the kitchen.
She stood up and pushed her chair in.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To my room."
"You mean my room."
"Excuse me?" she asked, her face flushing with red.
"My room. Every room under this roof is my room. You are only a guest, remember that."
"Don't worry, one does not just forget they are a prisoner," she said bitterly.
"Prisoner? You know who is a prisoner, Granger? My father. Locked away in a grimy cell guarded by dementors, eating slop and listening to the other prisoners around him slowly descend into madness as he feels his own grasp on reality start to slip away. Tell me, would you like to trade places with him? I'm sure he wouldn't be opposed."
He thought she looked ashamed of herself, for which he was glad, but then she opened her mouth again.
"It's his own fault he is in Azkaban."
"He was put in Azkaban oncr for following the Dark Lord's orders. Now he has been put back in for not following the Dark Lord's orders, who if you've failed to notice is in charge now. So tell me, what was he supposed to do?"
"Rebel."
"Yes, there is always that. It's worked out great for you thus far. Not so sure about Potter and Weasel, though. How are they doing, by the way? Forgive me for not asking sooner, unfortunately your lack of manners appears to be rubbing off on me."
If her face was red before, it was absolutely scarlet now.
"Where were your goons when you were getting captured, anyway?"
She didn't answer.
"It's rude to-"
"I don't give a damn what you think is rude, Malfoy! You know what I think is rude? Holding someone against their will! You can say I'm not a prisoner, but just because my living conditions aren't as deplorable as Azkaban doesn't make me any less captive."
"You wouldn't make it out there."
"I was making it!"
"Until you got captured."
"By your people!"
"Lucky for you."
"How fucking so?"
"Language, Granger."
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"I am not. It isn't lady like."
"You presumptuous, ferret-faced prick!"
"Thank you?"
It looked as if steam may erupt from her ears, a more intense version of the look she would get when Snape ignored her in class, refusing to call on her despite her frantic hand raising.
It was strange to recall times like that from their school days when he never in his wildest dreams would've imagined having a row with Granger in his dining room over breakfast.
She folded her arms across her chest stubbornly waiting for the next blow.
"Be mad all you want, Granger. If you were still out there, you'd be dead by now."
"There are worse things than death."
"Bloody hell were you always this dramatic? Do you seriously expect me to believe you think being dead is better than being here?"
"That's not what I said."
"That's kind of exactly what you said."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what the fu-"
"I meant I am not afraid to die! Especially if it's for a reason, like fighting the injustices of our world, or protecting someone I love! It is better than doing nothing! Death is not worse than standing by and allowing terrible things to happen just because you're too afraid of what might happen to you if you try and stop it!"
Draco did not have a response prepared for this, which allowed her to take advantage of the silence.
"You would have died for your mother, wouldn't you, Draco? You would have died trying to do whatever you had to do to keep her safe. I know you-"
"I swear, Granger, close that insufferable hole in your face before I-"
"Kill me?"
"That's not what I was going to fucking say!"
"Do your worst, Malfoy! I'm not afraid of you!"
"You should be!"
"Too bad."
Draco's head was pounding with the exsertion of arguing. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had challenged him.
"Look, Granger, if you would rather go out and get yourself killed-"
"What do you care if I do?"
"I don't!"
"I know!"
They were inches from eachother's face when a small squeek made them both look around.
They had been yelling too loud to notice Chauncey, who stood in the doorway with a stack of envelopes in his trembling hands.
"S-so sorry Master Malfoy, Chauncey is not meaning to interupt, he is just bringing in the m-morning post. He will wait outside the door till you is calling for him."
The elf bowed out of the room hastily, tripping over his own feet as he went.
Draco looked back to Hermione. The anger seemed to dissolve from her eyes which were now full of concern and maybe a little guilt as she stared at the spot where the house elf had been standing.
If she thought this was the worst Chauncey had seen, she should have been here when he had to serve dinner to the Dark Lord during meetings with the Death Eaters. There was one instance with a snake and a former Hogwarts' professor that even Draco couldn't shake. It had kept Chauncey up for 6 days straight before Draco thought to order him to sleep.
While he was distracted by the memory, Hermione tried to make her exit.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.
"Are you serious?"
"As a Cruciatus curse."
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm going to my- your- I am going to lay down."
"Not without asking to be excused, you're not."
He could see her bite the inside of her cheek furiously.
"May I be excused?"
He waited.
"Please," she added reluctantly.
"You may."
Her eyes narrowed and she walked briskly past him.
"See, Granger," he called after her, "manners matter."
Draco sat back down at the table and massaging his temples and called for the house elf.
With a pop, Chauncey appeared next to him.
"Master Malfoy called, sir?"
"I'll take the post now, and a fresh pot of tea. Add a few shots of firewhiskey."
"Right away, sir," he bowed.
Within a minute, Chauncey returned, setting down the teapot and three envelopes on the table before Draco.
The firewhiskey was prominent in the first sip, burning his hoarse throat while somewhat soothing the tension in his neck. He pulled the post toward him.
The topmost envelope was thick and addressed in delicate handwriting similar to his own. His mother wrote often, but her letters often made Draco miss her more and he didn't particularly look forward to them. He set it aside for later, too worked up at the moment to read it.
The second envelope was cream colored and sealed with wax, his monthly statement from Gringott's, nothing that required immediate attention.
The third was the smallest and looked as if it were hand folded from plain paper. It had no written address, no name. The only thing on it at all were two initials scrawled on the back.
"H.G."