Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own it and no copyright infringement is intended. Respect to J.K.'s world and characters.

A/N: In a sorry attempt to make up for the horrendous wait I've posted another short chapter I'm rather fond of because it's creation stopped my block and allowed two more chapters I'm editing to be created. Hope you enjoy. Please review!

Stolen

Part IV: Not Yet Certain

The Impossible Man

Draco was grateful that their work kept them in the kitchen where no one could see him. It wasn't just about hiding from the police and the Death Eaters and the Order. He was also wary of seeing people he didn't know in this god-awful apron. Servant garments! If anyone who knew him saw him they'd have no need to kill him for he'd surly die of embarrassment. If it was someone he didn't know they might take him for some sort of common bus boy with brown hair. He grimaced and it had nothing to do with the disgusting pot he was scrubbing by hand.

"Almost done," Hermione encouraged at his side, wiping her nose with her elbow, where suds stopped and her sleeve began. It left a few tiny soap bubbles there so he shook his head at her and rubbed them off with his finger, dried by his apron. She laughed slightly, looking away. He eyed her pile of dried dishes. She'd washed twice as much as him again. She had more experience, she'd explained a hundred times, being her usual helpful self. Her constant attempt to be positive was annoying and he didn't enjoy being less capable than anyone, even if it was servant work. At least this task was mindless, the warm water numbing. Of course he preferred cooking. It was much like potions class, you learned the recipe, followed instructions, and it came out right. A good smell was rewarding in its own way, he had to admit, and they all commended him for his ability in that department, praise which he readily accepted. Who would have guessed Draco Malfoy would be a good cook? He shook his head at the thought.

"You did better today." She told him. "Want to take some potatoes up for supper? They smell great and I'm starving."

"Sure." He answered. "Do you think Felix and Agnes will want some of that bean soup with ham and some of your scones?"

"I'll go ahead and pack it you'll sweep up quickly." She offered. He sighed and grabbed the broom. It had been weeks since he'd protested in outrage at being assigned such a job. At first, it had been an insult to his name until he'd realized that was no longer his name. He was no longer a Malfoy and so it was no shame for his family, for the generations that had maintained such dignity, for him to be sweeping the floor.

"I'm going to head out." The hostess Stacy said, hanging her apron on a corner hook.

"Where's the fire?" asked Hermione friendly, packing four containers.

"Party tonight. Do you want to join me?" Draco didn't even look up. Parties were out of the question. In fact leaving the building was out of the question. "I mean you don't really go out that much." She commented shyly.

"We're trying to help out Felix and Agnes." Hermione replied defensively, not that she would go to a party if it hadn't meant risking her life, he thought with dry humor. Who was he kidding? She probably wouldn't go if staying in meant risking her life. He chuckled at the floor.

"I doubt they'd be lost for one evening by themselves," was Stacy's quick reply. He didn't need to look up to know Hermione's expression had changed.

"Not tonight." Her tone was final.

"Suit yourself, Anna." Stacy shrugged. "Night Sean."

"Night Stacy," Draco replied automatically with a smile. She smiled flirtatiously back as she slipped out the back door into the alley way. The wind whipped in as the door shut. He wondered how it felt outside now. It seemed so long since he had the simple pleasure of fresh air.

Hermione huffed irritably as she finished up. He thought it was funny that she got so annoyed with Stacy, though he had to admit the girl had gall to flirt with him before the eyes of his supposed fiancée. It was good though because a lack of concern would be a dead giveaway as if his ignorance of all things manual and electric or their weird reclusive tendencies weren't already bleeding obvious. Thankfully, the young people that worked there weren't the most observant. Stacy barely even noticed Hermione, or Anna, existed, but she was plenty eager to speak to Sean.

Yes, it was Sean now and it had been for weeks. He didn't think much of the name, but it had its advantages. Sean could sweep a floor, for instance, without his pride being demolished- something Draco could never have done. Sean also found he liked unspeakable muggle food creations like Captain Crunch and Pop Tarts. Sean had allowed himself a great deal of laughter and even a bit of pride when he'd finally solved the mysteries of operating the microwave oven. It wasn't so bad if Sean found himself reading muggle romance novels about vampires aloud when Hermione had burned her hands in grease and nearly cried because she was unable to hold her book. Sean had little qualms admitting he liked the wretched things, or at the very least wanted to know what happened in the end. Hermione had not said a word when the bandages had been removed and he had continued to be the one to read. Nor did she do more than smile when he asked her to tell him about the new book she was reading afterwards. She simply went back to the first page and began reading aloud from Rebecca. They had to have some way to pass the time didn't they? Sean could feel almost no chagrin whatsoever as he sat with the friendly Felix in his den and watched silly muggle sports and ridiculous programs on the telly. Yes, there were advantages of being Sean, though Sean had no family and no money. Sean spent his days working in the kitchen of a restaurant, brooms and dishes and aprons. Sean never went for walks, or out to parties. In fact Sean never went anywhere, save the muggle supermarket a couple times and church once to please Agnes.

Sean could do things Draco never dreamed of doing though, like look at Hermione from behind as she locked up the place and tell her, as they walked upstairs, that her hair really did look nice in that blonde braid. Sean could laugh at her blush as he hugged the muggle woman who had taken them in. He could sit next to Felix as he smoked and kindly agree to a game of chess where the pieces remained stationary and lifeless on the board while the news broadcast their images for the hundredth time. He could snigger as he heard Hermione going over her ideas that would save the restaurant hundreds of pounds. She was in charge of the entire inventory now; her sharp wits had made themselves known quickly. That mind refused to be wasted. She sought out school work. Sean could admit he was perfectly happy to remain in the kitchen with simple tasks and savory smelling foods. Felix and Agnes had embraced his new found talent as well, allowing him to experiment in the kitchen and even adding a few creations to their menu. Draco wouldn't dare do such a thing.

"Who shall read tonight?" asked Agnes from across the small, round wooden table in the perpetually spotless kitchen. Draco swallowed his soup and bit into the buttery scone, not bothering to answer.

"It's my turn." Hermione announced. Agnes smiled, Felix grunted, a typical response. They were the most generous, amiable company anyone could have hoped for and their loss, still fresh in their hearts, was unimaginable. Still, they were constantly caring towards the couple they harbored, protective even. Hermione and Draco made sure not to be a bother and never left a thing out of place in Gretta's old room, but they felt so welcome in this small, warm home, they hardly allowed themselves to feel guilty for the danger they placed these selfless people in by being there. They tried very hard to help in what ways they could; working hard in the restaurant, keeping the flat clean, providing pleasant company in what would otherwise be a tragically quiet household. They did what they could but it was very little in comparison to what they received Draco felt. Why were these people so unthinkably nice?

There was more to them even than that, Draco reflected as he took his seat on the settee, pulling Hermione to his side, a hand wrapped absentmindedly around her waist. This couple baffled him in more ways than their kindness and their surprising wit. Perhaps more miraculous than the fact muggles could be so astute, so well read, so loving, was the fact that they were still in love, though they had been married thirty years. It didn't look like you'd expect it to, like he expected it to anyway. It wasn't flowery or all golden, like love in books and paintings. It was sort of raw, but it was better somehow.

Thirty years. Never in his adolescence had he ever once seen a relationship he'd envied. Sure he'd seen people he envied, girls he wanted, coveted. He'd never wanted to go very long without a girl on his arm, but there was never a couple whose relationship he'd wanted. School age romances made him sick in their sweetness and were over before very long. His parents certainly didn't give him much to hope for, or the rest of his family and acquaintances for that matter. Adults had always just seemed to make due, to be comfortable. From what he'd seen, most people cheated, most people fell out of love eventually, but thirty years? He stared at them as Hermione read, resting his chin in her shoulder thoughtfully, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

It had been no easy task, keeping them convinced that he and Hermione were truly in love even with all their practice. They had very little privacy, very little space, and these people knew better. They knew real love and weren't to be easily fooled by a cheap counterfeit. So the younger pair had had to make theirs look like the real thing. They held hands until it felt normal and kissed each other on the cheek in thanks for any small token. They stayed close to each other, which was probably wise anyway. Agnes had spied him brushing her hair on more than one occasion as she passed their room. They read together, they shared a bed, they never argued. Hermione seethed with jealousy when Stacy flirted with him, he had snapped at a boy in the supermarket for making a cat call to her. For the time being, at least, they seemed convinced and he had to admit, forced civility made both their lives easier. He felt very clever having fooled this couple so well, very clever indeed.

Thinking of that to himself, he pushed his head into her hair and inhaled to hide his laughter, tickling her neck. She fought a giggle. It brought a sort of weird satisfaction to make Hermione smile, a real smile. It felt nice to laugh easily when she made a joke. He'd never guessed she had a sense of humor. It was nice to reminisce about their professors with their benefactors, as they called them, to have someone who also remembered the world that had vanished before their eyes. It was nice not to sleep alone, to share nightmares.

When Hermione finished the chapter it grew quiet in the den. Draco looked out the window were a slight rain fell on the dark night. He plucked a sweet from the jar on the sill handing one to Hermione as well whose head now rested on his shoulder. She yawned, calling Felix's attention.

"Not tired already are we?" asked his gravelly, paternal voice. "It's a Saturday night for goodness' sake. When I was your age I'd be out 'till two or three in the morning."

"But we can't go out," said Hermione reasonably.

"Well that's no reason to sit around sleepy like a couple of old people!" he said in disgust. The rest of them laughed at that.

"What? I'm much older than you and I can still have fun."

"Oh really?" Draco challenged from the settee. Felix took them all by surprise. He stood with a happy gleam in his eye and limped into the kitchen. Agnes leapt from her seat with surprising spring.

"Help me move this furniture out of the way, won't you dear?" she asked. Hermione and Draco exchanged worried glances but did so without hesitation. That vivacious gleam was a tad disconcerting. What where they going to do? Summersaults?

It soon became clear as Agnes moved to the old record player and took out several albums. "Something lively Agnes dear," requested Felix as he came back in, a bottle and four glasses in hand. "A good party in my day only took a few people, a good drink, some music and dancing. What do you say?" He asked, offering Draco a glass.

"Cheers." He replied, drinking it with shrug. A wide grin stretched across Felix's face and Agnes clapped her hands. Hermione laughed and took her glass too, a little bemusedly. They danced to a few swing numbers first, mostly fast. There was no need to feel self-conscious around Agnes and Felix though they danced well even with Felix's bum leg. He told them of smoky nights in his prime at dance clubs like The Calico Cat and how he'd met her there, in his uniform. Her hair was up in curls; her dress was yellow with a pink trim. How could he remember all that? She had smelled like Jasmine and he had smelled like scotch. They all laughed and danced to some Frank Sinatra. Draco pressed a kiss to Hermione's cheek.

"Tell us about how you first met." Agnes sighed from Felix's shoulder.

Draco's brow creased. His nose wrinkled. The truth came out before he could stop it. "She asked me if I'd seen a toad."

Hard laughter followed this, then more drinks, and a new album was on, this time the Beatles. They sang along here and there, not bothering to worry about the neighbors. It was Saturday night and Draco felt warm and merry, they way he was supposed to feel. Maybe it was the drinks. When the last song ended, a slow one by Bing Crosby, Draco dipped Hermione and leaned in to kiss her, copying Felix as usual to avoid suspicion, but then he stopped. It looked like Agnes and Felix had forgotten they weren't alone. They weren't doing anything private but their eyes were, it was hard to say, it was as if they were alone not only in the room but in the world. The closest he'd even come to that look was hearing it described in countless books. Draco looked down at Hermione, who looked at them too. He pulled her up and spun her once. She blinked up at him confounded. The grandfather clock struck one. Time for bed, the agreed in a wordlessly nod, and they slipped off to bed.

Lying next to Hermione in the dark Draco's mind wondered, fuzzy with the alcohol. Something was bothering him but he was too tired to figure out what was nagging his mind, keeping it from rest, and tearing up his nerves. He tried to focus on the memory of this evening, possibly the best party he'd ever been to, he thought groggily.

"Draco I was thinking about what Stacy said."

"That we don't get out enough? Me too." Was that what was bothering him?

"Well yes that's true but I was thinking more about what she said about them being fine for one night alone."

"Of course they would. They don't need us at all do they?"

"Exactly. Hasn't it occurred to you that they haven't had a moment alone since we came here?"

"Oh." He knew he was getting restless, but he had been too selfish to imagine how inconvenient this was on their hosts.

"Maybe it would be safe to go out a bit one night, maybe it would even help relieve suspicion. If they had any clue we were here, they would have come already right? Didn't the news say they thought we'd fled to France?"

"Well yes," he reluctantly agreed. It still felt too risky.

"Maybe we should leave for a weekend. It would give them a break and if someone did spot us we'd still spear to be on the move." He couldn't argue with that. It made perfect sense. Damn that girl.

"Fine," he agreed with a sigh. "But no more decisive talks when I'm sleepy."

She giggled and it sent a funny sensation down his body. He had the funniest impulse to reach out and touch her. He must have had more liquor than he thought. They had touched, woke up in overlapping positions. It hadn't been too awkward. She'd woken up crying and he'd put his arms around her comfortingly, mostly so they could go back to sleep, He'd let her wrap herself around his waist when nightmares had left him shaking in a cold sweat. It had helped. Surely it wouldn't be too weird if he reached out for her now. It was a cold February night.

She didn't stiffen at his touch. That was good. He could feel her expectancy, and knew she wondered what he wanted. He tugged her towards him and she followed trustingly. He couldn't imagine why. What was she wearing he wondered suddenly then shook the idea from his head. Only boredom and severe isolation could make him see Hermione Granger in such a way he'd wonder what she was wearing under the sheets. Felix could remember what Agnes had been wearing the night they'd met, even the perfume she'd worn and he couldn't recall what he'd seen Hermione in only moments before. What had she worn today besides her work apron?

Still, he tried very hard to remember so as not to embarrass them both by asking. He thought it was a knee length nightgown, perhaps some sort pink in color. No purple. It was lavender, but faded, knee length. And tiny white flowers speckled it. She'd also worn tall white and lavender striped socks. Her arms must be cold uncovered. He absentmindedly rubbed her shoulders. She shivered.

He pressed himself against her, draped an arm over her. He let his face wallow in her hair. That shampoo did smell really good, strawberries. Bending his head forward slightly he kissed her, just a little. It was small kiss he'd meant to place in hair that hand landed somewhere behind her ear or along her neck. He suppressed an odd urge to laugh as he caught her sharp intake of breath. What had worn when they'd met, he vaguely wondered. Hogwarts robes probably. She'd asked if he'd seen a toad. And what had he said? Sorry no. He hadn't known then, hadn't guessed, she was a mudblood, Potter's friend. Of course she hadn't been Potter's friend then, hadn't even met him. Ha. He'd known her longer than Potter had, he thought amusedly. What would Potter say if he saw them now? Like this?

Tired, he closed his eyes and welcomed sleep confident that Hermione Granger would allow no more than this, but would not object to being close to him either. Something he once thought was impossible. Yes, the impossible. He'd done the impossible. Draco Malfoy hadn't done it, Sean had, he reminded himself. Draco wouldn't be caught dead with Hermione Granger in his arms, but there were sometimes small advantages to being Sean.