Friday, 16th April 2004
In the days that followed Malfoy's awakening they established a sort-of routine. Hermione would get up, tend to his wounds, feed him breakfast and then head off to work as if it was any other day. She would come home, tend to his wounds once again, cook dinner, and they would share the meal in his bedroom talking about the legislation surrounding werewolves and her day at work. So far, he had not abused his coin privilege, for which Hermione was grateful.
She had run in to Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry a few times; he seemed to be hovering around the Beast Division. When she brought it up to Malfoy, she was surprised that he only scoffed, having assumed that he would be upset at the news. He told her that his father had effectively disowned him as soon as he was bitten, though he suspected Lucius' mental health had suffered greatly at the hands of the Dark Lord, and it was this psychosis that had led him to abandoning his only child, rather than an inherently evil spirit. Hermione chose to accept this without mentioning that Lucius seemed sane...well, as sane as one with his history could be.
By the time she arrived home on the Friday, Hermione found herself looking forward to another evening with Malfoy and getting to know him. This thought unsettled her as she unlocked her front door, but it dissolved as she crossed the threshold and was engulfed by the enticing smell of warm spices emanating from her kitchen.
"Malfoy?" she called, shucking her coat and hanging it on the hanger as she kicked the door shut behind her. "Hello?"
He appeared in the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, wiping his hand on a checkered dishcloth. "Hello." He smiled. "How was work?"
His voice had mended over the past week, and though it was still rough around the edges, his usual arrogant lilt was back. Hermione couldn't help but smile back as she removed her shoes and pushed them against the wall.
"Fine." She moved past him and entered the kitchen. "It smells amazing in here." She peered into the pots on the stove and sniffed appreciatively. "What are you cooking?"
"Nothing fancy." He shrugged, stalking towards her. "Just a beef stroganoff and some pasta."
"Yum!" She grinned as she turned back to look at him. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a cook, Malfoy."
He smirked but did not respond, reaching around her to grasp the wooden spoon currently sticking out of the pot and stirring the contents with practiced finesse. Hermione ducked out from under his arm and moved to collect two glasses and a bottle of red wine from the cupboard. He accepted his with a murmured thank you, still focused on his cooking.
Hermione watched him work, sipping her wine, until he lay the spoon gently against the side of the pot and turned to face her once again.
"So your day was fine, huh?" He arched an eyebrow, bringing the wine to his lips. "That's code for 'it was horrible'. What happened?"
Hermione sighed but offered him a begrudging smile; she wasn't used to being so easily read, but Malfoy seemed unusually perceptive. "Much of the same, really," she answered, a bite in her tone. "The Capturers won't even agree to a meeting to go over my proposal."
"Your proposal?"
"To abolish the camps. Research shows that they have no positive effect on the reduction of werewolf attacks, and in fact -"
"Granger." He held up a hand, cutting short what was sure to be a passionate rant. "I know." There was no malice or impatience in his voice, despite hearing this exact rant from the brunette witch almost daily over the past week and a half, and Hermione released a long sigh. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know." She shrugged, resting the glass of wine against her bottom lip without taking a sip. "I'll speak to Kingsley on Monday. He was the one who reopened the division of Werewolf Support Services and I doubt that he envisioned it being completely overshadowed by the Capturers and the Registrars."
Malfoy made a noise of dissent through his nose, placing his glass down next to the stove.
"Have you...have you seen the...the camps?" Hermione knew she was crossing into dangerous territory with Malfoy by asking these kinds of questions, but he was a guest in her house and she was curious. She watched with bated breath as he stiffened against the counter, staring into the pot of stew.
"Yes," he said after a pause. "I passed one on my way here."
"I've never been to one," Hermione admitted in a whisper.
"Count yourself lucky."
Hermione sensed that she should stop trying to indulge her curiosity. His broad shoulders were held stiff and stretched, and his spine was ramrod straight. Malfoy was no longer looking at the dinner bubbling away in front of him, but straight ahead, as if the plain white tiles held the most fascinating pattern.
She knew it would not be prudent to continue prying, so she wrapped her lips around her glass once more and swallowed several mouthfuls of wine. As she was lowering the glass, Malfoy suddenly turned to her, a feral glint in his eyes.
"They're filthy," he stated, prowling towards her. "They have walls fifty feet high, enchanted and bewitched so that if you so much as touch the brickwork, you'll be propelled backwards into the opposing wall. If that doesn't break your bones, a Guard will do it for you."
He was close enough so that Hermione could count his eyelashes now, and she placed her glass beside her, unsure of what to expect. The wine sloshed over the side and spilled across her fingers. Instinctively, she raised her hand to her lips and licked the liquid from her digits. A low growl resonated from Malfoy's chest and Hermione realised too late that his gaze had settled on her mouth.
"Malfoy?" she breathed, her heart beating a quick rhythm against her rib cage. "What are you -?"
His hands settled, palm down and fingers splayed, either side of her on the counter. His breath was leaving him in ragged puffs which danced across her face. Hermione felt her eyes flutter shut, despite the small protests in the far back of her mind.
She thought she felt his finger tips graze her cheek, but then there was a loud rapping at her front door, and Malfoy leapt away from her as if she had slapped him. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped clumsily from the bench.
"Wait here," she murmured, placing one hand on her forehead as if the pressure from her palm could ease the dizzy sensation caused by being so close to Malfoy.
He watched her, his cool grey eyes catching every movement as she walked towards the front door. As she grasped the handle in her left hand, Hermione turned and gestured for him to stay out of sight. With a roll of his eyes, he turned back to the stove.
When he was appropriately hidden, Hermione called out, "Who is it?"
"It's Harry!" came a voice from the other side.
"And Ron!"
"Oh," Hermione stammered. "Um, I'm actually in the middle of…"
"Of what? You're not working on a Friday night, surely!" Weasley boomed.
"Well, actually -"
"Come on, Hermione," Potter wheedled. "Let us in, we brought wine!"
"I'm sorry." Hermione shook her head. "I'm...um -"
"Oh Merlin!" Ron's voice boomed over the top of her stammering. "You're not exploding from both ends like that time you took me to the Muggle fair and ate that weird looking sausage, are you?"
Hermione gasped, her cheeks burning so fiercely she wondered if she might spontaneously combust. A choking sound had her whirling towards the kitchen, her palms pressed against either side of her face in a desperate attempt to cool down.
Malfoy was leaning against the archway, the wooden spoon still clutched in his hand. His free arm was pressed against his middle as he fought the urge to double over, his shoulders shaking with the force of repressed laughter. His eyes were brimming with tears from the exertion of it all and Hermione realised in that horrible, awkward moment, that she would not have cared about Ron bringing up the worst case of food poisoning she had ever experienced in her life, if it had not been in front of Malfoy.
Oh shit, she thought. I care what Draco Malfoy thinks of me.
She wanted to bite back with some clever retort, but her body and brain seemed to have bought into the freeze option, rather than fight or flight. She could do little else than stand and stare hopelessly at her blond house guest, who was now leaning so heavily against the wall she feared he may slide down it.
As she stared, she watched Malfoy's eyes register an emotion other than mirth - though what it was she could not say - and he finally straightened, smoothing one hand over the front of his apron.
He did not break eye contact with her as he opened his mouth and called across the room in the deepest, most gravelly voice he could manage, "She's got company!"
Hermione groaned and staggered backwards, her back flattening against the front door, her cheeks now burning so hot they felt icy. There was silence on the other side of the door and she internally warred with herself as she tried to decide whether to confirm or deny what Malfoy had just said.
"Oh," Harry finally said, his voice strangled. "Sorry, Hermione. We'll - we'll leave you to it!"
Hermione released a slow breath as their footsteps shuffled away from her porch. When she was sure they had disappeared, she allowed her shoulders to slump back down to their usual resting spot and opened her eyes.
Stomping towards the kitchen, she prepared herself to launch into a rant the likes of which Malfoy had never seen, but she found him standing nonchalantly beside her dining room table, two plates filled with the delicious stew, and a third filled with freshly baked bread.
Her jaw dropped as she took in the scene. Malfoy unwrapped the apron from his front and folded it neatly before placing it on the counter. "Dinner is served," he murmured.
Hermione snapped her jaw shut and settled for glaring at the smirking blond. "I hope you're happy with yourself."
"I usually am," Malfoy replied, his eyebrows raised, feigning ignorance.
"Did you have to?" Hermione folded herself into the chair opposite and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm going to have to explain that -" she nodded towards the front door "- to Harry and Ron."
He shrugged. "So? Is it that impossible to believe that you might be entertaining a male guest?"
"No!" she answered quickly. "But I'd rather not have to explain who; they know practically everyone!"
"So say it was an old acquaintance who was passing through from out of town." He speared a piece of beef with his fork, a grin on his face. "It's not technically a lie."
Hermione made a noise of annoyance through her nose, but unclenched her arms and began to move her food around the plate with her fork. She rather thought she might like to stab Malfoy with it, and was about to articulate this when he spoke.
"Back to our conversation before we were interrupted," he said. Hermione stiffened; was he going to mention the almost-kiss? "Your day at work."
"What about it?" Hermione chewed a mouthful and wondered if she was disappointed or relieved that he hadn't mentioned what had almost happened.
"Elaborate on the rejection of your proposal."
She winced at his words and used the excuse of needing a sip of wine to stall him. "I saw your father," she finally admitted instead.
"My father?" Malfoy didn't miss a beat, though Hermione noticed his eyes had tightened considerably at the mention of Lucius.
"Yes. He seems to be in the thick of the hunt for you." She hesitated before continuing, placing her cutlery primly either side of her plate. "You said that he's a bit mad...he doesn't seem that way at work."
"Oh?" Malfoy set down his cutlery in much the same way Hermione had and reached for his wine glass. "How so?" He fixed her with a blank stare, but from the way his grey orbs swirled with icy contempt, Hermione wished she hadn't added the last bit.
"He-he seems quite determined to catch the wolf responsible…" Hermione said slowly. "But he hasn't mentioned your name at all."
Draco snorted indelicately. "Of course not," he spat. "Above all else, Lucius prizes the continuation of the Malfoy line."
Hermione waited, but he added nothing more. She continued to watch him as he stared back at her, his eyes glazed and unfocused. They stayed frozen like that for several minutes, Hermione hardly daring to breath as his chest rose and fell rhythmically with deep, calming breaths. Suddenly, he scraped his chair backwards and stood from the table, causing Hermione to jump in surprise.
"Thank you for the conversation," he said politely, though there was a definite note of anger underlying his tone. "I hope you'll excuse me; I'm afraid I've lost my appetite."
With that, he took his plate and wine glass into the kitchen. Hermione watched him silently, unsure of whether she should call him back and apologise or not, as he scraped the leftovers into the compost bin and then refilled his glass before stalking from the room with it clutched in his hand.
Well, she thought to herself, that was a disaster.