A/N: I'm sorry, sorry, sorry for such a long time between this chapter and the last (*eek* pls don't send crazy Aunt Bella's reincarnation after me!)... Anyways, to make up for it I've done as I promised in the last chapter and created a fluffier chapter (not so heavy on the angst this time guys and gals ;)) so I hope you enjoy! Thanks again for all those sweeties who are reading/following/favouriting etc- you rock! p.s It's summer holidays after tomorrow for me (yay!) so I pinky promise to write after I've gotten back from France (8 days after this friday I'll be there)- anyhow on with the chapter!
When Hermione awoke it was to a pair of worried grey and silver eyes which loomed over hers. She blinked, then blinked again, sluggish from sleep. "Malfoy?" she croaked out, dazed.
"You were having a nightmare." he explained, leaning back a little from his cross-legged position on the bed. Not her bed, Hermione noticed, but a cosy emerald bed with well-worn cotton materials. But then again, Hermione thought sadly, she hadn't slept in her bed for nearly a year; and nor would she in the near future since she'd obliviated her parents memories. Draco frowned down at her, blonde hair falling into his stormy eyes. Hermione was struck by how handsome he looked in the dusky twilight and how his company drove off the fading demons parading her nightmares. Don't be stupid, Granger. She scolds internally: He's only worried because of what happened earlier. He would never fall for a muggle-born like yourself.
"Hermione?" he prompts, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. She smiles before she can suppress it. "I'm shocked Malfoy-" she drawls, bunching fistfuls of the green covers in her hands. She smirks in a very Slytherin manner; "I always pictured you were more of a silk kind of guy." He chuckles, amused by her pondering of his bed material. To be perfectly honest, he found silk a little… Tacky. Most used the fabric as a way of boasting their wealth and grandeur as though they had something to prove when really the slippery cloth was much less comfortable than the homely, warmer cotton.
"How long have I slept?" she asks him once his laughter dies down. Draco glances at the clock on his bedside table- it was charmed to look like a real snake and would slither and hiss before spitting out the time- "Sixxxxxx thirrrty-sssseven". Draco rolled his eyes and muttered a small spell to freeze the moody snake into transforming back to a normal alarm clock form. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding and turned to say thanks to Draco. Instead she found him lost in thought, his eyes cast slightly downwards and his lower lip lightly chewed as he frowned in concentration. It was interesting to observe him, the observer, for once and she used his 'thinking time' to take in his presence. He had washed since what Hermione liked to call 'the incident' and now smelled of green apples and some masculine kind of body wash. She could faintly smell the coppery scent of blood but seen as though he had latched onto that foul man's neck- she wasn't that surprised that the bloodiness wasn't fully gone. He'd also changed- into grey sweatpant and a white top. She wondered whether these were his pyjamas then cursed herself for wondering such trivial things.
"Want to stare a bit longer, Granger?" he teased, an amused smirk on his face. Damn, why did he have to be so attentive all the time? As if reading her thoughts, he snorted. "Don't worry- I'm not using legilimency on you and reading your thoughts or anything. I could see what you were thinking on your face." she frowned and this made him laugh again. His laughter really was nice- it was carefree and joyful, at odds with the demeanor he usually represented. Confusing, much? The laughter prompts her into letting out a shy chuckle herself and the amiable moment settles the air a bit more.
Suddenly, she breaks off from her laughter, recalling in vivid detail what happened earlier, replaying the images like it was on some torturous mind-loop. Draco, noticing her pause, quietens and ever so gently traces her cheek with the tips of his fingers. "What's wrong?" he questions, caringly. Hermione shakes her head, her eyes shadowed. It feels like a graveyard of words have died unspoken on her tongue. It is especially bizarre considering words were always the things she valued most, the written texts treasured and revered by her knowledgeable brain, and many a time words were the only thing left when she lost everything dear to her. Now even words had deserted her…
Draco stared at her- when had it come to pass that me and Granger would end up boarding in my Manor, hiding out and protecting one another instead what we were taught to do: to kill (or in Granger's case most probably just immobilise) the other into submission. A quote from some muggle book he had once come across rose into his mind, matching Hermione's speechlessness and turmoil harmoniously. "'There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.'"
Hermione listens to his soft, melodious voice in rapturous wonder. "Th-that was beautiful." she utters. Draco's silvery long lashes droop in modest gratefulness.
"No, seriously Draco, where did you hear that?" A mischievous smirk overrides his shy expression and he taunts, a daring inflection in his voice: "Wouldn't you like to know." She scowls at him- Ah, here is where jerk Malfoy was hiding. She shuffles up to a sitting position against the headboard and shuffle-crawls out of his bed. The embarrassment and horror hits her over the head like a brick when she realised that- Oh my Godric, I've just slept in Draco Malfoy's bed. This is succeeded by a rush of snarky thoughts over how many girls must've been in the Slytherin Prince's bed and all the germs that must've collected with the compilation of skanks. She forgets about his presence as her thoughts darken at the paranoia of him bragging to his Slytherin comrades of 'bagging' his renown mudblood enemy.
She forcible tampens down her temper and unconsciously tugs down the hems of his Quidditch shirt to cover her hands. After counting to ten in Cantonese, she spins to the Slytherin and very calmly says: "Please do not be spreading rumours of me sleeping in your bed." The humour in Draco's face vanishes without preamble and a hard edge settles in those expressive colourful eyes. He stands up with flourish and approaches her smoothly and quickly, much like a wild cat stalks its prey. When he gets within half a metre of her, Hermione steps back, unsure of what he was going to say or do to her.
"Granger-" he starts,his voice a slightly strained "-look around you for a moment." She does not take her eyes off of his. He continues, anyway: "We are trapped in my own bloody house for Merlin's sake! I've hardly got a band of Slytherin friends knocking at my door now have I? Firstly: we didn't do anything together and nor should we. I, after all, have no reason to become anything more than comrades, if not…"he trails off.
"Friends! Were you about to say 'friends', Malfoy?" Hermione exclaims, astonished. The blond merely averts his gaze downwards and rakes a hand frustratedly through his slightly damp locks. "Forget it, Granger." he mutters, a bitter twang resounding from under the sneer he tries to mask it with "I never should've en thoughts such foolish things. You clearly see the notion as so ridiculous you had to-"
"Malfoy, it's not that-"
"-you had to mock even the idea-"
"I'm just surprised you-"
"-of arch-enemies coming to a truce of sorts-"
"-but Malfoy-" Hermione tries once more, voice pleading, forgetting Draco's earlier comment of not calling him by his family name in her haste to convince him that she was not going against the idea of them being friends, as he'd assumed. The hard edge morphs into a steely glint.
Very quietly, he says: "Hermione, I am only going to remind you of this once, so you'd better get it into your curly head of yours now." he pats her on the head once, it's rather surreal as it juxtaposes his hard tone and menacing words. "Do not call me Malfoy again. Call me Draco or nothing." Her pretty pink lips open, perhaps to question his motives, but something stops her questions before they become vocalised. She gulps. She nods her head once to affirm she will follow the ,no doubt meaningful, command.
As abruptly as the hard glint appeared, it disappears, a smirk gracing Mal-oh wait, no- Draco's face once more. He bounds away from her spritely. "Let's go to the kitchen!I'm famished." he declares, his air of regality triggering a startled giggle from the bemused witch. Honestly, Draco was so topsy turvy he was basically a rollercoaster of emotions balled inside that Greek God-like body of his. She follows him from the room dutifully, noting the new door attached to the library and how the hallway was mercifully clear from dust and debris.
"Wow, you cleared all of the study area whilst I was asleep?" she can't refrain from asking. Draco nods, ne blonde tuft still standing up at the back giving him an adorable cowlick hairstyle which a young child might have. "Yeah. I cleared it up with the aid of one of Mother's most faithful house elves- Mimi and a couple of her willing friends." Hermione's S.P.E.W project springs to the foreground of her mind and as they walk down the staircase she rants on her elf rights campaign and how house elves must not be mistreat or used for slave labour. Draco listens, attentively, assuring the passionate witch that Mimi was one of the unique ones- she was never abused and her and her companions were treated as personal handmaidens to Narcissa Malfoy to avoid and mishaps with the less merciful malfoy of the family: his father.
At the kitchen, they both take a moment to remember the first incident and the words which had been spoken there.
"Tell me where the quote was from." Hermione digs, still curious as ever. With practised word-play Draco weasels his way out of the answer, shrugging it off as something he 'just saw one time'. Hermione rolls her eyes at his evasive behaviour. They decide on making a very Bish corned beef hash- which was a thick stew full of vegetables, beef stock, and the highly acclaimed corned beef. Draco cuts the vegetables with Hermione hovering next to his right shoulder, overviewing his culinary skills and making mental notes herself in order to perfect her own skill and replicate his work to an adequate if not outstanding level. Draco smiles at this, a happy, genuine flash of lips and teeth, and it gives his face a pleasant glow which is all too quickly distinguished before Hermione sees his expression. When Hermione digs out the corned beef, Draco's lips curl into a sneer at the common item, wondering secretly to himself whether suggesting they add shrimp and calamari to the well-known recipe would sound too snobbish or not.
Hermione mimics the sneer, almost catching the look of disgust he's thrown at the time, except her eyes gleamed with mirth and her lips twitched into half-smiles. As she rambles through Draco's kitchen she mutters words under her breath. "You're not talking to yourself are you?" Draco mocks.
"No, asshole." she fires back, temper flaring. "I'm looking for your tin opener."
"And that requires muttering because…?" Draco drawls, voice deceivingly bored.
"Because..." she pulls out a wicked sharp knife from a random drawer, squints at its misplacement among the kitchen towels, then with a dismissive shrug puts it back "I need to open the tin of beef." she finishes.
She feels an odd sensation and freezes. Draco's hands are on her hips and his body, cascading lulling waves of heat, is mere inches behind her. His hair tickles her neck as he leans forwards and brushes his lips against her earlobe. Her body involuntarily shivers and a thrilling flood of anticipation and fear rush through her. She hopes that for once Draco Malfoy doesn't notice her reaction to him. The smile against her flushed cheek confirms he knows every single thing she just felt and felt her shiver against him. Returning his lips to her ear, he taunts "So, I'm an asshole now, am I?" she doesn't respond, still as frozen as though under some sort of spell. Condescension drips from his mouth like warm honey- "And here I thought we were friends." An ounce of Gryffindor returns to her although her words come out rather garbled at first: "We are friends. I was surprised earlier when you suggested it, not dismissive like you thought. But of course you're too much of an dimwit to pay attention to my feeling and so in turn acted like a prat." Her voice betrays her nervousness and it quivers slightly despite the emboldening words. He chuckles darkly against her skin, sending a rippling of goosebumps to break across her flesh.
"Tut, tut, Angel. Who knew you had such a dirty mouth on you?" he whispers seductively. This send Hermione's brain whirring at one hundred mile per second, too fast for coherent thoughts and actions… Which was the only reason for her to lean backwards, closing the inch or so separating their bodies from touching. The solid and warm embrace of his body almost triggered a dreamy sigh to escape from Hermione's lips but she bit down the sigh with a frustrated bite of her lips. What was happening to her? Why was he acting like this towards her? Wasn't she just a mudblood to him? A peasant like in his father's eyes?
You're not what I expected. Mudblood or not, Granger, there is something… Different about you. She jerks abruptly: What the fu-
Language, Granger. Chides the smooth velvety voice of Draco Malfoy. In her mind. Her freaking mind! Since when did Draco learn to use Occlumency!? Don't you dare answer me in my head again! Go away, trespasser! She shouts internally. With a visible wince, Draco draws back from her mind and her body. Hermione's body was stiffened up in rage as Draco explains he learnt the trade from his Aunt Bella during his beginning practices in becoming a Death Eater. His voice is nonchalant through his speech, yet there is a certain firmness in his jaw and shiftiness in his gaze, which betrays Draco's unease. He stops talking when he's explained enough.
Turning back to the bubbling stew, she stirs the mixture willing her temper to calm. The dish smells divine and reminds her of hours spent helping her mother in the kitchen, bringing a well of tears to her eyes, which are quickly brushed away. Unexpectedly, Draco once again bursts into laughter.
"What?" she snaps at him. The bane of her existence stands smugly, wand loose in his hand and the metal lid of the tin lying a safe distance away from the tin revealing the beef. The lid has been removed in a nearly-perfect circle and no jagged edges around the tin remain, lowering the risk of her hurting herself.
"Why.." he speaks between fits of laughter "Did you… Not just use… Magic… To open the tin?" Hermione feels shamed and humiliated at the realisation that he was right- now that she thought of it, there was an easy spell for opening food stuff which had been taught back in fits years and was oft used in the Weasley household. "For the smartest witch of our year, you can be really dumb sometimes." Draco wheezes out, shooting her a smile to try soften the blow. She death glares back at him.
Angrily she grabs the beefs and plonks it into the stew so jerkily that it splashes huis Quidditch shirt. She smiles beatifically up at him as the smile slides off of his face at the spillage. "So sorry." she chimes sweetly, not sounding the least bit sorry. Draco shrugs, biting back the instinctive response of reprimanding her for dirtying his clothes. He realises he doesn't want to argue at the moment and concluded that this is because he's hungry and his indigestion might return had she gotten truly angry with him.
The dish is made, easy taunts and names passing between the two unlikely friends. Draco feels an unusual amount of pride for the broth dish and even goes so far as to dig out his best china for the occasion. Hermione watches his pride with amusement, strangely endeared by how domestic cooking a meal with Draco was. She forcibly pushed aside her loss towards the Weasley's family meals and her own loving mother. Once they were seated and the table was set up nicely they both stare down at their meal in admiration. A wicked glint appears in Hermione's eyes as a plan starts to form behind her eyes. Draco is too pre-occupied into taking elegant spoonfuls of broth to notice. Halfway through, he regards his companion and how she had not so much as touched the meal.
"What's wrong?" he asks her. "I'm sure there's nothing wrong with it- there is ample seasoning and-" he breaks off seeing a very Slytherin-like smirk unfold on the Gryffindor witch's face. Refining her 'Draco sneer' (which was a cross between Pansy's bitch face and cool disinterest) she jeers; "I cannot eat that!" she contemptuously sniffs the air as though the very air is too lowly for her. Draco's mouth gapes open in shock. "T'is PEASANT food." she declares grandly. And with that, she erupts into hysterical giggles while Draco looks on at the strange fierce creature that Hermione Granger is.