Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters.

A/N: Sorry this chapter took a while. Quite a lot of work went into it and I wanted to make one particular scene as perfect as possible since we've all been awaiting it for some time. I'm not sure, to be honest, how I feel about how it turned out, so please let me know what you think in a review! Thanks to all who read, reviewed, and waited patiently for an up-date.

Stolen

Chapter 24: Necessary Kindness

Salmon; now that was certainly a nice change. Salmon was one of her favorite meals and this was very good salmon, excellent in fact. Hermione had to say that it was the best salmon she had ever tasted, perfectly cooked, just the right amount of seasoning. It all but dissolved in her mouth as she devoured it alongside her imported Alaskan salmon berries, fresh as if they'd just been plucked from the vine, even moist and cool. They were orange, shaped like a blackberry only larger and more engorged. The glossy spheres exploded with juice that was mild, both sweet and tart. She moved on to the poached eggs.

While her meal may have been satisfying, her conversation with Draco had been far from it. She had hoped that once he came home she would regain what few liberties she had been allowed in this house during her first visit. Apparently, she was mistaken. She was to stay put in her room as she had been for over a week now and when he had informed her of this it took all she had to keep from crying. It was odd how one could go days without feeling the need to go outside, but if one was suddenly locked up their sole desire became the fresh air. She felt that need now and pinned for that taste of freedom. Although she had lamented her restrictions at Hogwarts, compared to the manor at school she had been completely free.

Now her existence was cramped into an equally lonely, tasteful room. She was literally sick of the place, every inch of it. She hated the Malfoys for her imprisonment, blamed them for her boredom and loneliness as days passed without a soul to talk to. At last, her fiancée had arrived and she had been so happy to see him, surprising both of them. It wasn't Draco's face that lit her own, but what his reappearance at home had meant: she would be free again.

Alas, that was not to be, she once again reflected, sighing. She would continue to take her meals alone in her room and only leave the confines if she was with him. Her tongue stayed in place for once and not made trouble; she would take what she could get. She'd breathe fresh air tomorrow and at least she was eating as fine of food as they were, rather than the sandwiches and tea that had been delivered to her at meals times the past week. She guessed Draco may have had a hand in that, so she wasn't about to blame him for all her troubles the moment he arrived. He'd be in no mood to be with her tomorrow if that were the case.

After all, none of this was his fault. He did not order muggle borns from the school, nor refuse to let her finished her exams, nor drag and strike her before an entire hall of people, humiliating her. In fact, he had tried to help her, actually went after her. Of course, she had put him on the spot and she knew how unfair that had been, that he had not really had a choice then. However, in his eyes, besides dread and embarrassment and shock and conflict, she had glimpsed something else. Draco may have wanted muggle borns purged from the school, but even he thought it was unfair to keep her from taking her exams. Nobody felt more strongly about exams than Hermione Granger, not even those that mandated they be taken and she as much as anyone else deserved to take them. He saw nothing wrong with banishment or humiliation, but in her case what they had done had seemed cruel, even to him. Secretly, she had been impressed with him then. Just when she was about to give up hope, concede that he was a cowardly and selfish creature, cold and indifferent to others suffering, he changed her mind. Now, if she could only magnify that understanding, that empathy, she may actually help make him into a man capable of compassion.

He was fascinated by her caring for creatures and people he saw as below him, but if she could show him they were creatures of feeling and thought, perhaps he may see cruelty there as well. Perhaps, if she could show him sympathy and consideration, he may become curious enough to return it. Then again, maybe not. For now at least it was her plan of action. She would simply treat him as she wished to be treated. She'd have to be decent, show kindness. Itt couldn't be too painful, she mulled.

The last thing she expected was for Draco to need no prompting.

"You ready?" a familiar blonde head popped in her doorway, jerking her from her thoughts.

"Ready for what?" she asked in earnest surprise.

"I thought you wanted to go outside. We're going for an evening walk." He smiled and slipped out. Even as she scrambled for shoes and a coat that familiar thought crept into her head: stop, don't, wait. That proverbial chill told her all was not well, but she went anyway. Inexplicably, she went like a moth drawn to the flame, unable to resist its seductive luster. Rather unexpected this courteously of taking her out that very evening, but as long as she was getting out of that room she hardly thought to complain.

They slinked out the back onto the stony paths edged by hedges no longer embellished with colorful flowers, but covered in frost. The grounds of the Malfoy estate were dim and foggy as they wandered around the bare trees from which the very last their autumn leaves were tumbling to the icy ground. As the earth crunched under their boots, Hermione noted the sound seemed louder in the quite of winter. In fact, the entire garden seemed a different place. What had once been bursting with color and bustling with life and become still, hushed, and chilled. Everything seemed lightly coated with white or grey. The evergreens were dark as ever, bold and vibrant, as if protesting the clandestine attitude of the rest of place. Her breath puffed out before her as they walked. She could taste the fresh air-she had never noticed that before- and it was sweet. She breathed deeply although its cold was almost stinging.

"Rather gloomy isn't?" she was about to ask to make small talk, but Draco seemed oblivious to this aspect. He soaked in the cold, the colorlessness, the quiet of the winter garden. To her, it looked dead, but to him it was somehow inviting, mystical even. Who was this strange man she was engaged to be married to who enjoyed thunder storms and shadowy winter gardens? This was not the Draco Malfoy she had pictured.

That boy lived in a cold, marble mansion and thought of nothing but himself, longed to be in the center of attention but never the center of trouble. This boy was different. He thought that a little bit of trouble, such as sneaking into the school kitchens, was exciting; so he was not a total coward. He liked more privacy than she would ever have guessed and appreciated the quiet as well. His house was as large and lavish as her wildest dreams, but as much a home to him as the burrow was to the Weasleys. It may not be the one she would prefer, but for him it was home nonetheless. His life here was easy, simple, planned out neatly and respectably for him. The rules were clear: hate anyone below you and do as your father says, want for nothing. His life was comfortable and he liked it that way, loved his family even. He had no reason not to after all.

But how did someone with such a comfortable life come to love things covered in gloom and be utterly seduced by the fiercest of storms? 'Just when you think you have someone figured out,' she mused. 'Then again, how can you ever really know a person? Harry's father and Sirius had never really known Peter Pettigrew, never thought him capable of what he did. Likewise, they had never really known Snape either, known what good lay hidden inside of him.'

She knew Harry though, didn't she? And Ron? They knew her, right? Just then, something occurred to her this new idea brought forth. It hit her like a cold wind on the back of her neck: she did not know Draco. What was she thinking? It was dangerous not knowing him.

Was she really thinking that? Did she really want to get to know Draco Malfoy? He was bitter and arrogant and pigheaded, but there was no denying he was also intriguing. How could she possibly hope to change something she did not understand? But would he ever stoop to knowing her? That's when something marvelous occurred to her, the answer to a question most people her age and much older struggle and agonize over.

'How do I know what he thinks?' she asked herself and Hermione's logical self was kind enough to answer with the very simple reply: ask him.

"Draco," she blurted, instantly regretting it.

"Hmm?" he answered watching his statue of Horace the eagle very closely as if at any minute it may take off and soar away.

"I think- well, I think I'd like to get to know you. We should get to know each other…you know?"

"Get to know me Granger?" he scoffed. "Are you bonkers? We've been living together for the past several months, known each other for years, we're engaged for Merlin's sake and you wan to get to know me? What are you talking-"

"No, know you. You. You know, who you really are, not just whatever you're pretending to be for now."

He shook his head in what may have been either confusion or disbelief. "I've spent more time with you than anyone else besides my family, unless you count Crabbe and Goyle which I don't because even together they don't have half you're a brain compared to you. You've been trying to figure me out since day one," he said, leaning of the fountain pool side. "If you can't do it then I guess I'm in trouble."

"You mean you don't know who you are?"

"What do you mean? I'm a Malfoy, a Slytherin, a pureblood, a dashing young man, a wizard. That's who I am."

"A person is more than just their titles. I'm not just a mudblood and Gryffindor."

"Then what are you?" It was not an insult, or was not intended to be, she could tell.

So she answered, dumbly "I'm Hermione, just Hermione. Don't you even want to get to know me a little? I mean we are to be married after all."

"I know you, Hermione." He responded as if talking to someone very daft.

"Do you?" she answered smartly.

"Yes. You're a bookworm," he began.

"Yeah." She laughed. "But that's not all of me either." How did people miss all that there was behind that nose buried a volume?

"True. You're also a fair dueler."

"I suppose." She nodded modestly.

"Champion of equal rights."

"Hope to be." Don't blush Hermione. For Merlin's sake, he's only said a couple nice things! Not even nice really, decent maybe.

"Let's see, what else? You are horrible at skiing and ice skating, a compulsive knitter, a loyal friend, a teacher's pet,"

"I am not a teacher's pet!" she objected heartily.

"Whatever. Perfectionist. Do gooder."

"Ooh." She fumed.

"Muggle born. Sensitive. Naïve."

"Leave it to you to say that-"

"Brave when you feel you have to be. Compassionate." The last word looked like it caused him pain, but he was firm on it. "See you're not the only one doing their homework. I've been paying attention too."

"So what about you?"

"What about me? You're just Hermione and I'm just Draco. What else do you want to know?"

"Who are you besides a Slytherin and a Malfoy and pureblood and a teenage boy?"

"That is me."

"Not all of you."

"If you say so." He said frowning, turning to walk on. Without his eyes on her she was able to ask.

"Which part of you likes thunderstorms?" He stalled, his back to her unmoving. "Is that the same part who likes winter, who likes Poe, who taught me to ice skate?"

"Or tried to," he recovered from his shock with laughter at her expense. She ignored it.

"It seems like you surprise me every other day." She continued. "I just want to be able to tell the difference. Show me what you like to do." It was a business like request, polite, genuine, but not pleasant.

"You want to see what I like?"

"I guess." She answered, not quite so sure anymore as she stood in the cold, trembling.

"Alright Granger," he said with an air of seriousness she did not feel was quite appropriate. "Have it your way. Tomorrow you and I will spend sometime getting to know each other." He smiled mischievously.

"Alright." She agreed. It wasn't as if she could say she had other plans now. The two continued on their walk under the moonless and overcast night sky. They encountered not a soul. "Where are all your animals?" she asked, checking over her shoulder, experience telling her one couldn't know what they might bump into out there.

"It's cold out. They're trying to keep warm aren't they? Merlin, I thought you were clever. What's the matter?" he asked observing the way she looked over her shoulder. "Scared something might leap out at you, Granger?"

"Well, you do have a bear."

"I told you he's harmless. You look affright. Hold on to me Granger," he mocked dramatically. "There's danger lurking around every corner. Maybe right...here!" he shouted and jumped towards her, grabbing her by the arm. In spite of herself, she yelped in surprise and they both laughed. As their laughter fell on the cold air and dissipated the silence that followed made both glance oddly about. Their hands felt awkward; as if they were suddenly made aware they had these body parts and did not know what to do with them. The empty space between their heavily clad forms was almost tangible. Neither spoke for a second. Then, Draco moved forward, ending the moment.

A light snow began. Large flakes wafted down and caught on their hair and eye lashes. They threw glances at one another and, catching sight of each other doing so, turned away and redirected their attention. Against the black sky, the small white dots looked somewhat like thousands of stars falling out of the blackness of space and gently gliding to earth, Hermione reflected. She did not share her observation. Draco was not one for romantic thoughts like that and he would surely laugh and put her in a foul mood. Their walk did not last long, as both of them were tired and freezing. Soon, the pair arrived back at the door through which they had come. Wordlessly, they removed their boots by the fire and returned to their rooms together. They reached her door first and glanced over her shoulder as she moved forwards to unlock it, thanking him shortly and bidding him a polite goodnight. She felt a hand lightly take her elbow and she turned to see Draco's face close to hers, his cheeks looking as red as hers felt from moving from cold to the warmth of the house. Lightly his lips brushed her said red cheek making them redder as he bid an obligatory goodnight as well and continued on to his door without so much as missing a beat.

It was just a peck, a meaningless gentlemanly notion. He had not even smirked. What on earth had possessed him though? She remained at her door, frozen in mid motion, door half opened, mouth equally so wondering just that. It seemed for once in her life Hermione Granger's brain had turned itself off.

It became increasingly clear that once he discovered his unique ability, Draco's new favourite pastime became annoying and puzzling Hermione. He would sit back and grin as her head spun 

in confusion and if she could have only put her finger on just what he was up to she had a strong feeling she could have punched him for it. Hard. Again.

The next few days passed quickly for Hermione as she had so much more to do than the in the previous week. She recorded in her diary every suspicious bit of Draco's behaviour, but could surmise nothing productive from it. He was at least being nice, other than the usual teasing her of course which was to be expected from anyone she supposed. It wasn't much, just necessary kindness, but it was enough for a change.

His hands moved over hers gently, with care, as he instructed her on how to hold a falcon. He explained how one was to get them used to one's presence first so it took days of visiting and a few nervous, fidgety introductions to the birds before she was allowed to handle the prize animals, and though she was honoured she couldn't say she was particularly enthused. He told her skilfully how to touch the backs of their legs to get them to step backwards onto your hand. He let her hood one with a little leather hood with the Malfoy crest branded into it. She laughed at how funny they looked until he explained the significance of it. The raptors' senses were so acute that their intake of stimuli needed to be limited to keep them calm and focused. She was then grateful as it was primarily the reason it wasn't attacking her and pecking her eyeballs out. He then explained the different types of falcons they had, and even a brief history of falconry. Although it cannot be sure when and where it began because it has been around for so long, it is believed to have been a sport since at least 4000 B.C. It flourished everywhere from China and Japan, to Arab nations and across Europe. Emperors from Rome and the Far East practiced the art as well as many famous king and queens of England, like Queen Elizabeth I. It was very popular in the British Isles, brought there by the crusades. Today, though not as well known, it is still practiced by high classes of nearly every country. In some places, they are said to use eagles large enough to catch things like deer, wolf, and there were rumours of even tigers. She was fascinated, soaking it in, and it was obvious he relished being the one who was doing the tutoring for once. He knew the terms-feak, varvel, crop, crines, and mantle-and soon so did she. At least she was learning something, if not from her beloved Hogwarts. He smiled rather than smirked, and even though his tone was pompous she had to say it was an okay change.

Falconry, however ancient and prestigious a practice, was barbaric in her opinion. She had no desire to see the bird, however graceful, swoop down upon a rabbit or ferret or another bird and kill it. She had even less desire to watch the winged beast tear apart its bloody lunch in the cabin. Draco was fascinated, not minding the blood dripping, the face of the dead little animal lulling lifelessly as its body was ripped it to shards, nor the tearing sound it made. It made her sick to her stomach, but Draco loved it the power in these majestic creatures. The birds, although intimidating, were impressive to watch, their sheer speed and agility. Their eyes had thought in them, startling intelligence, but were also piercing- and those talons and sharp beaks!

Draco's father's bird was a smaller bird of prey, Hermes. He was the speediest and of the traditional breed of Merlin (with blue tongue and mouth as Draco showed her), while the larger, Ares (Draco's falcon), was the black and white Gryfalcon. Despite the nervousness and the intolerable teasing, the afternoons passed nicely in the wood.

They took tea in the green tea room alone. Hermione scanned the paper for hints of Order business, dissecting all the rumored bits about Harry's condition. Draco enjoyed the view, his unicorn and falcons gallivanting in the chill air as it seemed to animate them more than ever. Lunch and dinner she took alone, him with his family. To be honest, he seemed grateful for the company. She supposed being an only child he had mostly had to entertain himself and now whenever he wanted to share something with someone or got bored he had only to call on her and she would happily go along with whatever to escape the confines of her room for a while. He was well aware of the power he had over her, but was smart enough not to abuse it for the most part. For that, she was thankful; although, admittedly, she did harbor some resentment towards being at his beckon call. At times, she felt like a doll, put on a shelf and forgotten until he got an urge to take her down a play with her. Each day however, she got her wish. She began to open her eyes in understanding of what Draco's life was and had been.

One day Draco was in a sour mood as his father had insisted he help train the pups. Apparently, the Malfoy family bird dogs were not just for looks. These English pointers were of purer blood than the Malfoy's themselves, well known for their champion heritage and success in fox and bird hunts. Such well-bred and well trained dogs were a commodity highly sought after amongst pureblood family circles. The dogs were trained on the premises and Draco's father passed down the knowledge and right to his son. Draco begrudgingly headed out to do his duty with Hermione in tow. The puppies were incongruously cute and soft. Hermione, who had prepared herself for a terribly boring afternoon outside in the cold among dogs snapping at her heels, was pleasantly surprised with a good time coddling the pups Draco was not working with. Rather than see him be cruel to the litter, she was profoundly astounded to see he was nicer to the dogs than to most people. It was with patience and skill that he instructed them, throwing scented balls and dangling a scented knot at the end of a lure. With a steady hand he ran his fingers along the tail, making their point more defined. Each time they did he offered them praise and a treat, laughing at their cute, lumbering trots and repeating the process over and over again. She had never seen him so focused, so dexterous, so patient, or so pleased. Again, he explained the working of the trade he knew so well like a master illusionist finally spilling his most enthralling secrets. So he had that smug pride permanently cemented to his face? Where was the hurt in that? They were the best after all and he made them that way. He had a right to be proud of something as much as anyone else.

He smiled at her then, and she smiled back. It was simple, innocent, but it was nice. By the time they got back inside they had missed supper, so they decided to retire to their rooms and order up some food from house elves. At Hermione's door they began to part ways as usual when Draco's arm stopped her, but instead of an abrupt kiss on the cheek, he asked softly and -dare she say it- somewhat bashfully, "Care to join me?"

"Me?" she asked, eyebrows jumping upwards. He certainly was unusual.

"No," he rolled his eyes. "The idiot behind you." She scowled.

A half hour later the two were on the couch in front of the fire with a blanket covering their legs from the growing chill. On the table where their stew and fresh bread bowls had been the wireless radio sat next to an empty tray. The two sat quietly for a while listening, commenting now and then to make nice conversation, to keep the moments from becoming awkward. She felt unusually and exceptionally relaxed and felt no need to do anything, no need to speak except to be courteous. However, that condition was not entirely naturally induced.

She had known better then to do it, but the worry over Harry (word was he wasn't doing well), Draco's confounding behavior, and the news that all of the guests would have arrived by tomorrow night combined to put her it what had to be called 'one hell of a state', as Draco so elegantly put it.

"Not a drop, thank you." She had told him at once when he first offered her the bottle, but as time passed and he seemed to unwind so nicely she thought a little wouldn't hurt, and once she had some a little more would not kill her. Mostly, she had tried it because he had dared her and she was not about to be outdone by a Slytherin. It would be a disgrace to her house. The good stuff, or so it was referred to as, burned going down, not sharply stingingly but like something molten and hot running down her throat. It wasn't half bad, truth be told, and the after taste was not as coarse as wine. Ogden's firewhiskey: there was a reason the man was rich.

Hermione Granger was by no means drunk, but she had had a drink and it had done her good, or so Draco informed her. According to him she didn't look like a rabbit getting ready to dart anymore. He wasn't even trying to take advantage of her. In fact he barely seemed to notice she was there. Casual, proper conversation turned more genuine as the night went on, but nothing intimate arose. Once it got very late, a mystery radio show Hermione had never heard of came on the two listened intently, enjoying themselves. But soon Hermione found her eye lids dropping and her attention waning even though the story emitting from the wireless was suspenseful. A hand absentmindedly rubbed the back of her arm and she looked up sleepily to find that she had been leaning into Draco for some time. When did that happen? Oh well, it wasn't hurting anything she supposed. It was surprising to her that he had not protested the closeness, but then again they were both very comfortable.

That hand was annoying though. It was stroking her arm so lightly that it raised the skin almost into goose pimples. Still she did not pull away even when soothingly the hand began to press its nails into flesh, scratching softly. It almost tickled. For a while, all her concentration was on her the broadcast to which she was listening, but steadily her attention was utterly captivated by this strange and thrilling sensation caused by a nonchalant touch. How could so little a touch arose so much in her body? That particular word triggered the blurrily, haphazard realization of what was truly happening. Arouse.

With a small gasp she instantly responded to his cool hands now rubbing her back and side where the shirt had slid up a little. Her own hand, which she came to find, was resting on Draco's chest, moved of its accord into a clenched fist, scratching his torso. Though no one uttered a word, but he his body reacted immediately, as if by magic, arching into the touch before she could apologize.

Hermione, who had never found herself endowed with any graces that could effortlessly elicit such a response in most young men, found herself grinning secretly with pride for a single graze had rendered her powerful, and she liked it. She enjoyed the effect she could have on a man as much as she enjoyed the effect he was having on her, though she dared not admit either. Gradually, as the contact intensified almost imperceptivity, Hermione became more and more surprised at her response. Their strokes became more vigorous or suggestive as hints of passion began to peak through. Her heart fluttered with nervousness as if she had mounted a threstral, knots tied themselves in her chest and she shivered as the feelings swelled and crashed over her, giving no indication outwardly that any of this was happening at all. Her attempts at concealment only made it more enticing until she could ignore it no longer. Quite suddenly, she made the connection that the hand that was teasing her skin, was not just a hand, but Draco's hand and the body she was light pressed against was his.

They had not been facing each other, only barely touching and leaning into one another under the blanket, staring into the flames and listening to the program. So how had it managed to be so proactive? Unnerved, she moved away, sitting up abruptly. Draco made no move to ask her if she was alright, no move to rejoin her. Indeed, he stayed in his comfortable position as if nothing had happened. She felt wrong. She felt sick. And yet, she wished- no, her body wished- that hand would rub her shoulder again and she could sink into him and feel that sensation again. She felt hungry for it.

'Move away, Hermione,' she mentally told herself. 'Quick before you're tempted to-'

Amazingly, as if reading her mind, Draco did reach out to her. It was a comforting rub, like a massage, on her shoulder. He was going out a limb, she knew, offering himself up for rejection and admitting he wanted it continue.

All thought literarily flew from her mind as she was seized by selfish impulse. She laid back on him slowly, carefully a more purposeful position than the innocent first. This time she was nervous. The show on the radio played on as they continued their newest secret game. It was an elaborate, unspoken game of dares and teasing as hands glided over, scratched, and rubbed easily accessible flesh soon bravely dipping just under shirts. Both felt themselves grow warm and lean into touches. Both tried with increasing desperation to restrain themselves from making sound, quell their thumping hearts, steady their breathing that sporadically poured in soft gasps and barely concealed moans. It continued throughout the mystery show in the wireless and well into the next one, but she was no longer really listening, only pretending to, catching a word here and there. Bodies began to shift into more fitting positions accommodating each other naturally until they were no longer just close but overlapping in places and wrapped together in others.

She was possessed by some force that had laid dormant in her. What was she doing? She no longer cared nor looked to see where this was headed. This was too exciting, too thrilling to neither rush it nor cease it completely. She did not dare continue but could not bear to stop it. His hands were both on her now, one still working her back and side while the other's fingers brushing through her hair, along her face, across her lips. Her heart pounding and stomach quivering, she dipped back her head until their faces were so close breath grazed one another's neck, setting the spot on fire. She fluttered her eyes lashed in spite of swearing to never do such a thing and she could feel the chills run along his skin. As she moved her head into the crick of his neck to inhale his smell her nails dug in slightly and the smallest of wet kisses was planted right on her collar bone. She had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping, but despite what her mind told her to do her body did not let her speak a word of protest. She had lost control.

She moved her head up again and their faces were close together. That made her gut drop. A cold dose of reality. That was Draco's Malfoy's face before her, his hands lingering on her stomach, his warm lips barely rubbing the corners of hers. She saw them move, they almost met, and then she went cold. He could not play this any longer. It was getting too dangerous. She turned her head sharply. She felt him hesitate, insulted or hurt. With great effort she pushed herself up, leaving him confused for a change. This time he followed her.

"What's wrong?" he asked simply. Emotion that had left temporarily left her body in place of hormones flooded her. Hermione shook with contained anger. She looked at him coldly. He tried to read it, but she rose to leave. She was furious with him. That pig! A hand touched her arm, but rather than seducing her, it disgusted her. She did not pull away, but did not respond.

"It's alright, Hermione," he said in a pathetic attempt at comfort. "It's no big deal," No big deal? No big DEAL? Maybe it wasn't for him and what did that make her to him?

"Ooh!" She exclaimed under her breath as she turned, fuming. "Neither is this." She said cold and collectedly as she spun on her heel and left, the door slamming behind her.

A/N: Well, one step forward, two-steps back again. This chapter was the bit of Dramione time I was talking about. Yes, that was a bit risqué and unexpected, but sometimes such things happen when you coup two good looking teenagers alone together. What was your favorite part? Your least favorite? Now to hear from Draco and that family Christmas dinner… I hope you liked it half as much as I liked writing it. Don't forget to review!