A/N: Thank you to those that have followed, favorited, and reviewed and a special thanks to the-bravo-angel from Tumblr for the lovely art and Riddlesgurlforever for the prompt! Please R&R C:

Happy reading!


000

Hermione felt herself being jostled roughly. She groaned as she rolled over to her side, away from the persistent badgering. The shoving didn't stop and only picked up at an annoying rate. She tried to ignore it but was hard pressed to do so, especially when an equally irritating voice joined the shaking. She stretched luxuriously, arching her chest in the air. She heard a curse but refused to open her eyes.

"Get up, Muggle," came the haughty demand. "Is it your intention to sleep forever and have me do all the work?"

Muggle, she repeated in her head blearily. All of a sudden, thoughts from the previous night began to come back to her. Gods—it feels like it's been ages, she thought. Against her will, she rolled over onto her back slowly and opened her eyes, swollen from sleep.

She was greeted by an insolent face sneering down at her; striking blond hair framed a bright halo around the pompous figure's head. She peered up for only a moment before the brightness became too overwhelming and she was forced to shut her eyes again, this time rolling onto her stomach.

"Oh, no, you don't," came the voice once more. She felt herself being wrenched to her feet. She tried to anchor herself to the ground but the soft, white sand slipped easily through her fingers. "You've rested long enough."

"What the bloody hell," she swore—she was so not a morning person. "Haven't I done enough already? Am I not permitted a moment's peace?" She scrambled away from his harsh grip and glared up, defiantly.

"A moment?" The man Hermione now realized was the Captain—Malfoy, as her memories came groggily, snarled at her. "Or two days, because that's how long you've been asleep."

She swallowed audibly as she surveyed the scene around her. They were gathered in a clearing edged by palm trees but they couldn't be far from the beach because Hermione could still hear the gentle lapping of the waves.

She gasped as she remembered her final moment before fainting from exhaustion. "I passed out," she said, thinking aloud. Her eyes flew back to his and her glare turned accusatory. "That means you must have carried me back here."

A flicker of irritation passed his face. "The tide was-." He clenched his teeth and his eyes grew steely. "Look here, Muggle; I can't very well have my only slave being swept back into the sea."

"Muggle," Hermione huffed. "I have a name, actually. So you'd best start using it if you hope to get a response from me." She turned promptly to leave.

"Why, you insolent wench," he muttered, reaching out a hand to halt her. "Where in Salazar's name do you think you're going?"

"I'm parched," she said. "Is it too much to hope you've located any fresh water?"

"I-," he faltered, and a muscle clenched by his eye. "I haven't."

"What have you been drinking? Hell, what've you been eating, for that matter?"

He said nothing in response and Hermione gasped in surprise.

"You mean to say," she began incredulous. "You've had nothing to eat or drink in two days? Gods, you are helpless out here, aren't you?"

It was the wrong thing to say, Hermione soon realized, as he grasped her easily around her throat. Malfoy's stare was murderous as he throttled her, and she had to wonder at her uncanny ability to make people lose their temper.

"You filthy Muggle bint," he spat. "That you would dare speak to me in such a way. Clearly you've a death wish." He squeezed ever so slightly around her slim neck for emphasis.

As the adrenaline rushed to her head, she did the only thing she could think of and kicked him squarely in the groin. He let out a yelp of pain, dropping her, and Hermione turned once again to flee the scene. She was pulled back into the insufferable man's clutches once more and she let out a sigh of exasperation; he was a fortress for so lithe a figure.

He pushed her to the sandy floor, grasping her wrists above her head and putting a leg around her hips, effectively pinning her.

Leaning down, he spoke in a dangerously low tone, "So you do have a death wish."

Hermione took that moment to rear herself up and head-butt him. He swore and her head throbbed immediately from the impact but at least she'd caused him pain, as well. "Filthy Muggle tactics," he muttered.

"You seem very at ease with using these Muggle tactics."

"If you value your life-"

"If I value my life what?" She tried in vain to sit up. "It seems to me I saved your life and it's you who owes me. Don't you wizards have a name for that?"

Malfoy furrowed his brow in annoyance.

"Oh, yes," she said, smirking. "As I understand it, it's called—a life debt."

His features steeled again, but he loosened his grip on her. "That hardly applies to Muggles."

Ignoring him, she took that moment to pull herself into a sitting position. "Now, you clearly need my help to get through this. What is it you do again? Oh yes, shout out orders to others and cart slaves across the oceans—a lot of good that'll do you here."

"I also am quite proficient in magic." He straightened up imperiously. "Not that I need to remind a pathetic Muggle like you about that."

"Enough with the names. I'm Hermione. That's what you can call me. Give it a try."

He scowled. She raised her eyebrows. "Have it your way," he said. "Hermione."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" She smiled. "And what shall I call you?"

"Well...Captain is a bit formal. I suppose you can call me Master."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. If you aren't going to be forthcoming, I suppose I'll simply have to figure it out myself. Blond hair, sharp features, ever-present sneer; obviously you're a Malfoy—so that's what I'll call you."

"I'm impressed," he said sitting back. "My reputation precedes me, even to lowly Muggles such as yourself."

"Right, then," she said, ignoring him as she got to her feet. "So what have you done so far? Have you procured a shelter? You must have been drinking something."

He nodded over to the vegetation edging the clearing. "Those big leaves over there. They accumulate water during the night. I save it in that conch shell. I usually fill half a shell a day."

"Not bad," she admitted, pacing. "Only, that's not near enough water to sustain us. On the raft, this island looked rather large—it is an island, isn't it?"

"As far as I can tell. Though it must be uncharted; I didn't see it on the map."

"Well, it looked like there were hills, at least one larger one. It stands to reason there would be a freshwater source if we go more inland."

"I suppose," he said. "In my explorations I haven't ventured too far into the vegetation—without my wand I couldn't be sure I'd find y-where the supplies were again."

"I see. She nodded. "Your exploring abilities inspire much confidence." He merely scowled in return. "You know, you shouldn't rely one hundred percent on magic. There is a certain amount of basic knowledge and logic you need to possess."

"I am more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much," he snapped.

Hermione put her hands up, "Alright, alright. I'm sure that's true. Never mind that, there were some barrels—I secured them to the raft. Did you get them—and what about the raft? It'd make a good shelter."

"It's over there," he said, motioning to a nearby palm tree.

"Very good. Have you opened them—the barrels?"

"I got one of them opened. The other seems to be magically sealed."

I'll deal with that later, she thought. "Well, what's in the one you opened?"

"Black beans and white rice."

"And have you cooked them?" she said, running over. "I'm famished."

"I can't seem to get a fire going," he muttered. "And as hungry as I am, it's very unpleasant to eat the beans and rice uncooked."

Hermione held back a snicker. "I'd imagine." She quirked her lips in amusement. "Where's your kindling?"

"Right there. "He pointed.

She went over to it. "This won't do," she said, kneeling down. "You're supposed to use the twigs to make the tepee and put the tendering in the center. Fetch more branches and twigs of various sizes."

Malfoy grumbled as he left the clearing. Hermione turned her head just so, watching him leave. Once she was satisfied he was far enough away, she whispered, "Incendio." Immediately a small fire came to life. She smiled proudly at her work.

"Malfoy! Never mind, I've got it. I guess you'd gathered enough stuff after all."

"Really?" He quickly reappeared at her side. "I've tried to get it going for the past two days and you get it going in a few seconds."

"I suppose that should teach you not to write off everything just because it's Muggle." She did not feel the least bit guilty for her deception.

He said nothing in return, merely frowning. Hermione took a large stick and worked to secure dried leaves around it with a bit of vine. She dipped it into the fire before kicking the flames out, then handed the makeshift torch to Malfoy.

"Now, the next order of business is to make a shelter. Preferably by a water source and hopefully by something large we can lean the raft on. We've got to venture more inland for this, so let's go."

She made her way quickly towards the raft and meager supplies. She placed one barrel on the raft and looked expectantly at Malfoy. He sighed as he hurried to grab the other barrel. They both caught hold of the ropes still anchored to the raft and began pulling it with them to the edge of the clearing.

"We've got to hurry," she said. "There's much to do while there is still light in the day."

"Says the one who slept through the morning."

Hermione cast a sideways glance at him. "You'll be singing a different tune once I fix us some food."

"Really?" He perked up at this. "Can't you make some now? Merlin, but I miss my house elf."

"Soon. First we have to find a safe place to set up camp. And we'll have to come back to the beach to fetch some shells and things to cook with."

Hermione hurried on eagerly, feeling optimistic at the work ahead of her. It would be grueling to get everything set up, but she was confident she could, with the help of Malfoy, make their camp livable and maybe even comfortable. For the first time in a long time, she was looking forward to the work ahead of her.

000

Draco was exhausted by the time Hermione was finally satisfied with the location of the raft. Just as the intolerable girl had predicted, there was indeed a freshwater source inland and not very far off from the beach; he was surprised he hadn't heard it, actually. He had been unwilling to venture farther; without his wand to point him he was worried he would have trouble finding where he left her. The island was quite large, as he soon discovered from walking to one end of the beach just to see the shoreline curve and the view of a strikingly high cliff. He meant to explore further, but was tired, thirsty, and hungry. Besides that, he needed her to wake up so he could continue his explorations. Now that she was awake, he found himself wishing she was in her eternal slumber once more—the girl did know how to prattle on.

"Now, isn't that better?" she called. "By lowering it onto the barrels, we raise the structure higher and can actually stand under it."

"Yes," he huffed, unbuttoning his shirt. He was quickly becoming hot and the workload was really making him feel stifling. Hermione had insisted they make what she called a lean-to structure—placing the raft up against a natural surface. The trees were too small in width, but when they'd discovered the hillside with the waterfall that fell into a calm pool beside a cliff, she declared it was the perfect place. He couldn't agree more.

They had both scrambled up to the pool's side and fell to their knees as they began scooping the water greedily into their mouths. Draco had tasted salt water for days, despite the meager droplets from the leaves, and relished the taste of the cool, crisp liquid as it quenched his thirst.

"You know," Hermione had said, interrupting his bliss. "We really should boil this water for at least two or three minutes. Just in case."

"Mhm," Draco had said, more so to shut her up, but neither of them stopped drinking. They both had fallen to their backs afterward, enjoying the shaded canopy that encased the pool and the soft, solid ground—so different from the white sandy beach.

She was the first to get up. "Alright, then," she started, seemingly comfortable in spouting off orders. Draco would be offended if he'd had the energy to be, but as it was he was content to let her think she was in charge…for now. "We'll place the raft just there, against that cliff. Should be a sturdy enough spot."

"I still don't understand how this raft came from my ship," Draco said. "It's convenient—yes. But I don't see what it used to be part of."

"Hm. Perhaps it was the product of some of those renegade spells hitting it."

He supposed that could be a possibility. "Perhaps."

She placed the torch she had so easily created into the earth, and they started setting up their structure. Draco quickly became exasperated as the bloody wench constantly changed her mind. Finally she'd settled on a spot and said, "Would help against the island winds," and he'd set it up, only to have her declare it wasn't tall enough. They put down the barrels and soon anchored the makeshift structure on top of it and against the cliff. Draco wished he had his wand, if not just to put some well-placed sticking charms, but thought it would have to do.

"That'll do for now," she said, and Draco tried not to let his irritation at her dismissive tone break through the surface. "This is the perfect spot, actually. There are guava, papaya, and mango trees. Not to mention the endless supply of coconuts. Those mangoes look fairly ripe; let's shake that tree."

He hadn't even thought of locating fruit trees, and none of these fruits looked familiar to him. He wondered how she came to know so much about seemingly everything.

Together, they shook the tree, and Draco allowed for a small smile when six of the odd fruits came falling to the ground. They sat in a comfortable silence then, eating through the mangos quickly. He found he was still starved for more, but Hermione looked like she was ready to get back to work after their small supper.

"Do you think you can go back to the beach and get some more of those conch shells? Or anything that will do for the bowls or cups would be good. I can go into the pool and grab some rocks. Also, I want to collect some palm leaves to use as padding for the structure."

Draco hesitated, not because he was fearful of leaving her alone-no, certainly not because of that. He merely wasn't sure if he could trust the girl.

As if she could tell what he was thinking, she said, "Fine, I'll go with you to the beach. But we could get done much more quickly if we split up, you know."

"We'll get it done quick enough," he said, and they trudged off in the direction of the shore.

In no time, they reached their destination. Draco looked out longingly to the endless sea of blue, wondering what had happened to his ship…and his men.

Again, she seemed to have the uncanny ability to read him. "Hopefully they were taken prisoner. The pirates probably thought they could ransom them to the king."

"I doubt Potter the Pirate takes prisoners," he said with a sneer. "Even so, I wager my father will dispatch a ship to look for me. It won't be too long before I'm found."

Hermione gulped as she knelt to pick up shells. "You're right; we should keep a bonfire burning at all times," she said, working diligently. Draco stayed standing as he surveyed the beach. "Malfoy, who is this Potter?"

"No one you need to concern yourself with," Malfoy said hotly. "I'm going to grab some of these rocks and make a fire pit so others can see our signal."

"What if it's Potter who sees the signal? Or other pirates."

Malfoy hesitated. "Perhaps I won't light the signal yet. They could very well still be in the area." He thought he saw her breathe a sigh of relief. "Don't get too comfortable," he warned. "I wouldn't want you to get too used to speaking to your betters so freely. It won't be long until we reach society once more and you'll need to take up your rightful place."

She fixed him with a scathing look. He smirked in response.

"Now that you're done with the fire pit we aren't even going to use yet, why don't you gather some more of those big, fat rocks and roll them over here. We need to fix them in a V formation where the water is calm. Likely this is where we'd find the most fish."

"What good will that do?"

"At high tide, many of the fish will find themselves in our lagoon. During low tide they'll be stuck in there and easier to catch. We will have to make some sort of spear, though."

"Alright," he said as he walked toward the rocks. Already the small meal they'd shared seemed to be wearing off; he was not used to manual labor. Once again, she seemed to notice, too.

"How did you lose your wand?" she said. Having gathered enough shells in her frock, she dumped them on the sand and came to help him with the rocks.

He rolled two rocks at a time as he answered her. "During the fight. I did not realize how quickly my men would be overcome. It was just me and two others left fighting. There were so many spells coming at once, I had no choice but to dodge them. I jumped on the ledge of the ship and another hit me square in the chest. That's when I blacked out, falling overboard, I suppose. My wand was in my hand."

"You should keep a spare or something," she said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. Draco eyed her in irritation; everything was so simple for her, wasn't it? "Place the rocks closer together," she said. "We don't want any of them slipping out."

Once they were finished, they both got up, dusting the sand off their clothes. Draco was turning around toward the jungle when something caught his eyes. "Look there." He pointed.

Hermione turned, noticing immediately what he was pointing to. "It looks like a crate of some kind." They both took off running toward it.

"Supplies from the wreckage," he said as they made it to the crate. "We had a few of these on board. Hopefully there is something in here that'll be useful."

Draco lifted the lid allowing a flicker of excitement to surface. He was quickly let down as he saw the contents. "It's only clothes," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

"It's just what we needed," she said, fingering the expensive dresses longingly. Draco wondered if she imagined wearing something so extravagant; her eyes widened at the sight of it, but she soon snapped out of it. "These will make great pillows. And look, there are trousers and shirts under the two dresses…and a feather down blanket."

"Yes, but those are soaked."

"They won't be for long," she said, waving him off. "What else do we have?"

Noticing the small wooden box, he opened it. "It's some useless spices," he said, throwing the box her way.

"Those aren't useless," she replied, snatching up the box. "Salt, pepper, garlic, and chili. I can fix up some savory food with them."

Draco's mouth watered at the sound of it.

"There's another box," she said, handing it to him. "Can you get it open?"

He popped open the box. "It's a collection of blades."

"I bet we can sand that one, use it as a spoon. And that one would make a good spear if we could secure it to a stick. See, Malfoy, highly useful things in here."

"I suppose," he said, as they began placing the goods on top of the dresses. He folded them back up and slung them over his shoulder.

He watched her wade into the water, lifting her skirt so she could step onto a nearby rock. She crouched low, seeming to look for something. "There's a big one," she called.

"Watch out for Shrakes," he said. "Nasty magical fish, and they run rampant in the Atlantic."

She reached into the water and grabbed ahold of something. "Here's dinner," she said with a proud smile and waving a clam in the air. She quickly made her way back to Draco and he offered his hand, helping her back up the beach.

She handed him the clam, then knelt down to gather up the shells once more. "That was successful. Let's go back to the camp."

They walked steadily back through the clearing, albeit slower now with their added load.

"Look," she said, pointing to a bright orange bird perched on a tree branch. "It's a Fwooper."

"Ugh, and I don't have my wand to cast a silencing charm. We're going to go crazy listening to it."

"No, we won't; that's merely an old wives' tale. It's a good thing it's singing; we know it won't rain tonight and these blankets can dry."

"Wait, how do you know so much about Fwoopers? Those are magical creatures. You aren't even supposed to see them."

"Perhaps I can because you're here," she said quickly. "Also, Lady Hornby had a picture book. It was on the table in the living room and I always dusted it."

"You can't actually read?" Shock flitted across his face. "Tell me you can't."

"I can't read." Then she skipped ahead of him as she made her way to their clearing and the waterfall. Draco watched her go; she was a slip of a thing. Her white dress was not so dirty now, having gone through a thorough scrubbing in the ocean, as did he before their fortunate arrival.

She smelled like the sea and he was sure she could indeed read.

"Hermione." He caught up to her as she deposited the shells by the camp and he dropped the load. "You served Lady Hornby then?"

"Yes." She slipped off her shoes and headed for the pool. "Can you take these rocks and make a fire pit by our camp? The torch is still lit, but we need more tinder." Draco began doing what he was told, if only to get her to cook already. "I served the Hornbys since I was a child," she said. "Most often, Olive."

"I went to school with her."

"Oh, I know," she called as she began collecting flat stones. "The notorious Draco Malfoy came up many times."

"Really?" Draco felt perturbed, yet slightly thrilled, at what she knew of him…and the way she says my name, he thought. Shaking off the odd sensation, he continued on listlessly. "I don't know why she'd need to mention me. She has no business doing so." The slag.

"To devise a plan to get you to marry her, of course," she said flippantly, as she rinsed and scoured the rocks. "Surely you must know many of the eligible witches who set their desires on you."

There was that thrill again. Draco swallowed. "Oh. Surely not so many."

"Yes. Believe me, it was exhausting to hear the meticulous planning, from all Olive's friends—the Greengrasses…the Parkinsons…the Bulstrodes." Then she looked up at him, and Draco was startled by the seriousness in her face. "But you didn't get caught in their trap right out of school like so many wizards. You actually got to lead a life of adventure, sort of." She climbed up the bank, the end of her wet dress dragging in the dirt as she made her way to the fire, and began stacking the stones as if they were plates.

She gets it, Draco thought, she gets it and I'm not sure if anyone has before. "That isn't it at all," he lied, watching her clean the clam with the blade. "I simply have work to do before I take up my station. Work that happens to be highly profitable."

"Yes, I'm sure carting slaves to the marketplace is highly profitable indeed. What a noble profession."

Draco winced inwardly at her crass words. He never really thought of it like that, but then he'd never met someone like her before. She was quite competent for a Muggle. Must be a fluke or something, he thought.

"There." She set the clam meat down. "Now, tie that vine hanging from the cliff to that tree and lay the clothes and blankets over it so they can dry. I'm going to relieve myself so if you wouldn't mind, give me some privacy. Also, I do need some kind of pot for the beans and rice."

With his stomach growling once more, Draco hastened to comply with the demanding girl. As he secured the vine and began hanging the drenched material, he marveled at all the work he was being forced to do. He longed for a hot bath with a dozen or so healing and aromatic potions. Was this how it was for the Muggle slaves? It must be maddening.

Before long, Hermione came trudging back with something colorful and sparkling in her hands and looking immensely pleased with herself.

"Is that a bloody Firecrab?" he said.

"A dead one. Can you clean it out? I think it will make a good pot."

"Wizards use them for cauldrons. Hermione, how did you kill it? They have a Ministry rating of XXX!" He ran a hand through his hair, disbelief and awe flashing over his face. "It takes a Rictumsempra to contain it and they are rare as well as valuable."

"It was already dead," she replied, shrugging. Draco fixed her with a probing look. "What? Don't tell me you think they're immortal or something."

"That's now the second magical creature you've identified," he said, crossing his arms in suspicion.

"Well, of course it is," she said, working diligently to prepare the clam. "I did serve in a magical household ever since I was a child."

Shrugging off his skepticism, he took the blade and began extracting the crab, all the while eyeing the rubies and emeralds encrusted in the shell. He had always identified with emeralds, even naming his ship after them—the Emerald Snake, which was now lying on the bottom of the sea, most likely.

It was his house color as well—emerald green. But that damned ruby red, it reminded him of another house, Gryffindor, and now—the fire and determination ever-present in her eyes. He shook the silly feeling off abruptly. He was tired and hungry and clearly not thinking straight. He quickly gave her the Firecrab's shell, surprised to see she'd made a makeshift stone hearth over the fire.

"Here you go, princess." He offered her the shell and she took it, rolling her eyes at the sarcastic pet name.

"It's magical so it won't burn up. But take care of it because it can fetch a hefty price when I return home. Merlin, I could retire with the galleons I could get."

Draco slumped down against the shelter and watched her work. She brought the water to boil inside the pot and added a scoop of beans and rice. She started cutting up slices of mango she then set aside, and began sprinkling spices into the cauldron. Through the smoke from the flames, Draco thought she almost looked like an actual witch. "So why did the Hornbys let you go? Clearly you're a competent slip of a thing."

Hermione froze briefly in her actions before resuming. "There were…incidents," she said. "I wasn't involved directly but I always seemed to get the blame somehow or another."

"Care to elaborate?"

"They just thought I was clumsy or cursed or something."

"Maybe you are cursed," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe you're the reason my ship was attacked."

She looked up quickly to meet his gaze and seemed startled by the intensity of it. She stared captivated for a moment before visibly shaking herself and offering him a plate.

"Grilled clam with mango slaw over seasoned rice and black beans. I think you'll like it."

Draco did like it; he liked it very much. Actually, he thought, this is probably the best meal I've had in my life, and not just because I haven't eaten in two days. He gave her a wily grin and then watched as she ate daintily with her forked twig.

"It's getting dark."

"Oh, yes." She got up to check the blankets closest to the fire. "I think this is ready." She took it over and sat next to him by the fire.

"That was quick," he said, brows furrowed. It was like he'd cast a warming charm; the blanket was already dried and warm to the touch.

"Yes," she said. "I'm exhausted."

"My mother used to tell me stories, by the fireplace." Draco felt contented and comfortable, watching the air around the fire in a trance.

"Oh, I know stories," she said enthusiastically.

"Oh? Well go on then, tell me one."

"It's about a merman," she hinted. "Have you heard it?"

"No, but sounds interesting."

Hermione settled back against the cliff, snuggling in the blanket they shared. "Well, it starts with a girl—Mirabella Plunkett was her name," she began. "She went with her family on holiday, to Loch Lomond. Straying away from the crowds, she ventured further down the shores and thought she saw something in the water. She leaned over the water's edge and spotted…a merman."

"A fresh water merman?" Draco was entranced by the way the fire danced in her eyes and lulled to a calm state by the food in his belly. "The fresh water merpeople are said to be ethereal in appearance."

"Yes. And so was this one. Why, he was the most strikingly handsome person Mirabella had ever seen."

"I imagine it was love at first sight," he said, sarcasm laced in his voice.

"Yes, but don't tease; it does happen, you know, and this is a true story." She slapped him playfully on the arm. "Anyway, the merman reciprocated her feelings. Yet, the Plunkett family did not take the news that their daughter had fallen in love with a merman in stride."

"Oh. A meddlesome family, then; I can empathize with that."

"Yes. In fact, they outright forbade her proposition to marry him. They were very displeased, you see."

"I can imagine."

"Her family did not revoke their decision, so dead set were they on not seeing the marriage take place. She was so upset, the last time her family saw her is when she transfigured herself into a haddock. Her little sister witnessed her do it; Mirabella's fish form flopped into Loch Lomond and was never seen or heard from again."

"So that's why she's on the Chocolate Frog card; I always wondered."

"I suppose. I only heard the story in passing, mind you. But I like to think Mirabella found a way to turn herself into a mermaid, so she could be with her one true love forever…and not just stuck in her haddock form."

"A romantic, then," Draco said. Hermione merely smiled in response. "I always saw Plunkett's portrait hanging in Hogwarts; it was just by the Entrance Hall. She was quite a stunning girl, with long, red hair…but her eyes…they were quite haunting. And she holds a hddock in her portrait." His voice had taken on a dream-like quality, but he quickly shook himself, adopting his usual snideness. "Probably because that was the form she was stuck in for the rest of her life. It's impossible for two people from different worlds to ever be together."

She was a little surprised by Draco's abrupt shift. "O-oh. Yes, well, I guess it is a bit of a fairy tale. Who knows what really happened? Well, I'll be getting to bed then. I'll clean up in the morning."

"Alright," he said, handing her the blanket. "Try not to sleep two days this time."

"I'll be up before you. Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Good night, princess." She was too tired to chide him on the nickname.

Draco watched her disappear into the shelter, wondering where he'd fit in the cramped space. He'd wait until she went to sleep, then he'd find a corner to curl up in. Hermione, the bloody girl was alluring—he was hard-pressed to deny it. She was determined, competent…and beautiful. What? Where had that come from? He certainly did not think she was beautiful. With that wild mane and stormy eyes...why, he'd been chased by beauties most his life, and she was definitely not like them. He was probably just sleep-deprived and thinking silly.

Among all the traits he noticed about the strange Muggle girl, he was most astounded by how knowledgeable she was. Was there anything the girl was not an expert on? Her magical knowledge was troubling, but he supposed Muggles did pick up some things while serving witches and wizards.

Hearing the steady sound of her breathing, Draco ventured into the shelter. He grabbed a corner of the blanket and nestled in the corner. His last conscious thought was a memory, a memory of how he'd quietly brought the water he'd collected in the shell the day before and dripped some into her mouth, satisfied when she'd instinctively drunk the liquid.

000