Hermione woke the following morning to the smell of freshly made tea wafting through Malfoy's flat and her stomach growling. She blinked several times in an attempt to clear the bleariness of her eyes and sat up, tossing the silky green duvet off of her herself. Rubbing the last bits of sleep from her eyes, Hermione immediately began to scan the flat for Malfoy. She found him in the kitchen, already and impeccably dressed

"Hey," she called out, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Malfoy turned around, a cup of tea in his hand. When his eyes landed on her, he instantly gave her a soft smile. "Morning," he replied quietly. "How do you take your tea?"

"Do you have any cream?" Hermione asked, making her way to the kitchen.

Briefly, Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "Let me get back to you on that," he replied, opening a cupboard from which he pulled a small pitcher of cream and a container of sugar. Malfoy removed the lid from the pitcher and took a large sniff. Seemingly satisfied, he pushed the pitcher towards Hermione. "Cream," he announced.

"Thank you," Hermione said, pouring a generous amount of cream into the cup closest to her. She took a large sip and grinned. "You make a fine cup of tea, Malfoy."

Malfoy grinned back, and Hermione felt her stomach flip inadvertently. "I learned from the best. My mother was quite the stickler about her tea." He patted the countertop beside him. "Sit, I'll make your breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Hermione asked doubtfully as she seated herself on the counter. "You have food here?"

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at her. "Of course not. The only thing I keep in my flat is a pitcher of slightly suspicious cream. The only food here is food that I've stolen." He smirked, producing several slices of bread.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "You stole?" she asked in disbelief.

Malfoy shrugged, setting to work buttering the bread. "I prefer the term borrowed. After all, is it really theft if it was already stolen?" He smirked at her again. "We'll just call this toast ála voleuse."

"You stole from me?" Hermione asked, feigning shock.

"Again, I prefer the term borrowed."

"You are insufferable."

Pulling his wand from the pocket of his trousers, Malfoy muttered a spell that lit the tip of his wand and quickly browned the tops of the bread. He turned to Hermione and handed her two slices. "Breakfast is served."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, taking a nibble of her toast.

They were silent for several moments as they ate, until Malfoy finally broke the silence. He was staring at her intently as he spoke, "Granger, about yesterday—"

Hermione felt the toast go dry in her mouth, and suddenly she was struggling to swallow. Apparently noticing the shift in her mood, Malfoy handed Hermione her tea. She took a sip gratefully, and managed to swallow the toast. "What about it?" she asked, her tone harsher than she had intended. Immediately, she winced.

Malfoy didn't so much as break eye contact. He was staring at her intensely. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said softly.

Hermione took another sip of tea, thinking. "I don't know," she replied after a moment. "I think so."

Malfoy sighed and set his half-eaten toast and cup of tea next to her thigh. "Look," he began. "I have to work in a little bit. You're welcome to stay here, but—"

"No!" Hermione cut him off. "No, of course not—that won't be necessary. I'm fine!"

"Are you sure?" Malfoy asked pointedly, raising a brow at her.

"Of course!" Hermione replied brightly, setting her toast down and sliding quickly from her seat on his counter. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she felt her nerves flare. Truthfully, she had absolutely no desire to return to the forest just yet.

Her little clearing had always been just that—hers—and no one, save for Malfoy, had ever been there. It had been hers—her safe place, her home, her comfort.

But now, the Snatchers had ruined all that. They had found her, and they had sullied her home. They had hurt her, they had almost—

No. No. No.

"Granger." Malfoy's voice abruptly broke her train of thought. Her eyes flickered back towards his. Both of his eyebrows were now raised, and he held her abandoned piece of toast in his fingers, holding it out to her. "Finish your toast," he said softly. "You have some time."

Hermione felt herself blush as she accepted the toast from his outstretched hand. She nibbled at it, but it tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

"Granger—" Malfoy began.

Hermione cut him off. "I'm fine, really," she insisted.

She could tell by his expression that he didn't believe her, but Malfoy simply nodded. "Okay."

They ate in relative silence, and again, Hermione felt awkward in Malfoy's presence. If she had to guess, he felt similarly. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his eyebrows deeply furrowed. At her last bite of toast and her final sip of tea, Hermione rubbed her palms against the back of her leggings, freeing them of crumbs. "I should go," she said.

Malfoy nodded as he finished his own toast. "I'll go with you."

Hermione instantly shook her head. "That's not necessary."

He raised a brow at her again, and Hermione felt herself scowl. "Really?" he asked pointedly. "You don't want to stay here, but I can tell you definitely don't want to go back. So I'll compromise with you."

"Compromise?" she asked weakly.

"Indeed," Malfoy replied unhelpfully.

"O-okay," Hermione stuttered.

"Wonderful." Malfoy immediately offered her the crook of his arm. "I'll do the Side-Along."

As Hermione took his arm, she realized that she was incredibly grateful for Malfoy in this moment. No, she hadn't wanted to stay in his flat, and true, she didn't want to return to the clearing. With Malfoy, however, the prospect seemed far less terrifying.

They arrived in the clearing in an instant, and Hermione found that Malfoy's Apparition was a far more pleasant experience the second time around, and incredibly precise: he had Apparated them just before where Hermione's wards began. He did not immediately drop her arm, nor did she find that she particularly wanted him to.

After several moments, and perhaps realizing that his arm was no longer required to support her, Malfoy dropped it to his side and took several steps back from Hermione, his gaze once again fixed on his shoes.

"Thanks," Hermione said, growing more and more dismayed by the awkwardness between them.

Finally, Malfoy looked at her. "Would you be opposed if I added a few more wards?"

"What?"

"Wards, Granger," Malfoy repeated.

"Here?" she replied dumbly.

Malfoy nodded, and where she expected exasperation from him, she only found patience in his eyes.

It was his gaze that snapped her brain back into action. "I mean—Yes, I mean—No. I wouldn't be opposed."

As if expecting her response, Malfoy immediately pulled his switchblade from the pocket of his trousers and made a long, thin slice down his left wrist. Hermione heard herself gasp as Malfoy's blood began to spill from the wound. With his right hand, he pulled his wand from his opposite pocket. Bleeding profusely now, Malfoy gestured for her, his blood staining the forest floor. "Come here," he said seriously.

Hermione instantly flinched away from him, wondering if he was going to cut her, too.

Draco seemed to understand her reaction, and he gestured again as ribbons of blood began to stain his forearm. "I'm not going to cut you. Just come here, Granger."

Cautiously, Hermione took several steps towards him. Malfoy instantly grabbed her hand with his bleeding one, entwining their fingers together and pulling her closer. His blood was thick and slippery as it began to create ribbons on her own skin. The smell of the forest disappeared, replaced with the thick scent of iron. "What—?"

"Shh," Malfoy cut her off, closing his eyes. She watched him in awe as he tapped the tip of his wand to their intertwined hands, muttering quietly to himself in what sounded suspiciously like Latin.

This continued for several minutes, and Hermione closed her own eyes, lulled by the way he spoke the language with such confidence. Eventually, his muttering ceased. Malfoy continued to hold her hand for just a moment before dropping it. He switched his wand into his bleeding hand, then pointed it at the place where her wards began. He began to mutter again.

A bright red light shot from the tip of his wand and Malfoy began to slowly move, still muttering to himself, until he had made a giant circle around Hermione's tent. Eventually, he returned to the spot he had originally cast the enchantment and closed the red circle. "Finite," he said, dropping his hand to his side. It was still covered in blood, darker now as it dried against his pale skin.

The enchantment seemingly complete, the circle grew, first towards the ground, and then towards the sky until the entire clearing glowed a vibrant red. The red intensified until Hermione had to close her eyes. Behind her eyelids, Hermione could see the enchantment flare to its conclusion and as quickly as it had appeared, however, it was gone.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked over at Draco. He had always been preternaturally pale, but he was nearly grey at the moment. She pulled her own wand free from the waistband of her leggings and rushed towards him. "What did you do?" she exclaimed, cradling his injured hand in the palm of her own. It was still bleeding heavily. Hermione pressed her wand to the wound and muttered a quick healing spell. The gash in his wrist immediately disappeared.

"Blood wards," Malfoy replied quietly. He sounded nearly out of breath.

"Yes, I can see that," Hermione said harshly. "Are you mad?" She cast a cleaning spell on his arm, and his skin was once again pure alabaster. She could feel him shaking slightly.

"Perhaps." He smirked, but it was weak and half-hearted.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but tugged at his hand. "Come on, you need to sit down."

Malfoy followed her with almost no resistance, and when Hermione lowered herself to sit on the steps of her tent, Malfoy dropped himself down beside her and immediately buried his face in his hands. "I'm a bit dizzy," he admitted.

"Did you have to use that much blood?" Hermione asked. "What even did you do?"

"Just a few blood wards."

"A few?" Hermione nearly shouted.

His head still in his hands, he nodded.

"You are absolutely mad!"

He finally looked up at her, his face pale and his eyes notably bleary. "Look, you can chastise me all you want in a bit, Granger, but in the meantime, can I have some water or a bit of tea?"

Hermione instantly softened. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Yes. Just—wait here." She stood and began to climb the steps, before thinking better of it. She took a step down and held out her hand. "Knife, please."

She expected an argument, but Malfoy merely pulled the switchblade from his trouser pocket and placed it in her open palm.

Knife firmly in hand, Hermione entered her tent. As soon as Malfoy was out of sight, Hermione closed her eyes a let out a deep breath. She had so much to process, between last night, and the blood wards, and Malfoy, and—

Too much to process, she promptly reminded herself. She could think about it all later.

But for now, Malfoy needed tea. And perhaps a second helping of toast.

Hermione pushed all of her intrusive thoughts away and began preparing a cup of tea and a piece of toast for Malfoy. She had no suspicious cream, but she added a lot of sugar in the hope that it would help him get his bearings back. For the toast, a generous slathering of butter that bordered on the criminal. Tea and toast in hand, she returned to Malfoy, who remained on the steps, looking positively unwell. She handed him the tea first. "Drink," she ordered.

With shaking fingers, he took the tea from her and began to gulp it. Hermione watched him, struck with the sense that she was seeing an different Malfoy entirely. He was always so composed, so elegant, so proper. But here, with her, there was no typical Malfoy air about him as he guzzled his tea and munched on his toast. He had always been so prim and proper at school. She found that she liked this Malfoy better.

Slowly, the color began to return to his face.

"Better?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy nodded. "Yes, thanks," he replied, his mouth full of toast.

Hermione couldn't help but smile.

"Does my pain amuse you?" Malfoy asked. In another time, the question would have been asked with a heavy dose of disdain and a cruel smirk. But here, now, Malfoy was smirking in a playful way, his tone suggesting that he wanted in on the joke.

Hermione tried to hide her smile behind the back of her hand, but found that she couldn't entirely. "I just watched you guzzle down a cup of tea and speak with your mouth full of food. Where are you manners, Malfoy?"

His expression grew irritated for the briefest second before he grinned back at her. "My ancestors would be rather appalled, I should think," he replied crisply, straightening where he sat.

"Ah, and he's back," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"A bit of blood loss makes for a poor constitution, Granger. Entirely forgivable, I should think."

She rolled her eyes. "Entirely forgivable," she agreed. They sat in silence for a moments—comfortable, once again—before Hermione grew serious again. "What—exactly did you do?"

"Blood wards," Malfoy repeated easily.

An evasive response, Hermione thought. She frowned. "Yes, I know that. Obviously. But—"

"Why didn't I have to cut you?" Malfoy interrupted.

That had been the part that had bothered her. How were blood wards supposed to protect her when it wasn't based in her blood? All the blood wards she knew about only protected those of the caster's bloodline. The wards would protect Malfoy just fine, but not Hermione. They were essentially useless to her.

Malfoy sighed. "I had hoped, foolishly, that I might get away with that bit. But then, I forget who I'm talking to."

"Indeed you did," Hermione agreed.

"It's old magic," Malfoy explained. "Pureblooded, I imagine." He visibly winced. "As you know, all blood wards require a blood sacrifice." He looked to her.

"Obviously," Hermione replied.

"So, I made a blood sacrifice," Malfoy continued without looking at her. "A rather large one, if you hadn't noticed."

"I noticed," she said icily.

Malfoy sighed again, running a hand through his hair, disheveling it. He didn't seem to notice. "Let me ask you a question, Granger." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"Go ahead," Hermione urged.

"What do you think happens to say—a tent—," he said with a smirk, motioning to her tent behind them, "that's been blood warded, and the last of the bloodline has died out?"

"The wards fade," she answered immediately.

He shrugged. "In a few hundred years, sure. But until then, do you just expect the finest—tents—of the wizarding world to remain vacant?" He paused briefly, not waiting for a response. "No, of course not."

Hermione stared at him, waiting for his point.

"You have to negate the blood wards," Malfoy said somberly. "You have to spill the blood of the caster. A lot of blood. Then the wards become yours."

Hermione's entire body went cold. "I didn't spill your blood, though," she said quietly.

"My blood was on your hands, Granger. And on what could be conceived of as your property. The magic was easy enough to manipulate."

Hermione's mind was racing. This was new information—more information. Too much information. She didn't want to think about it. Not about any of it. But he was looking at her, and he looked sad. This—this she could deal with. "That's why He killed your father, isn't it?" She shouldn't have asked it. She hadn't meant to ask it. But she had. She bit her lip, dreading his response.

She expected him to be angry. It would have been completely reasonable for him to be angry. Instead, he simply nodded. "Yes," Malfoy replied tightly.

"Oh, Malfoy," she said quietly.

He smiled bitterly. "I still don't want your pity, Granger."

"I'm not—I don't—" Hermione began to argue, even as her tongue tripped over her words. She didn't pity him, and she wanted him to know that. It felt important that he knew.

"I have to go," Malfoy said abruptly, shooting to his feet.

"Wait—" Hermione reached for him as he began to walk away, but Malfoy ignored her.

As soon as Malfoy was past her wards, he apparated away.

Feeling dejected at Malfoy's sudden departure, Hermione returned to her tent. Despite the earliness of the day, she could already feel exhaustion creeping back into her bones. She threw herself down onto her bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin, instantly lamenting that her thin blanket was far less comfortable that Malfoy's silk comforter. She admonished herself for that thought and with a huff turned onto her side.

As soon as she closed her eyes, however, the previous day's events immediately rushed back to her: The Snatcher, on top of her and tearing apart her shirt. Her leggings being pulled down, the Snatcher's hand as he touched her, as he flung her wand away, leaving her helpless. The scream and the crack as the Snatcher disappeared. The Death Eater. The certainty that she was about to die.

But it was Malfoy. Malfoy, who held her, and gave her a Calming Draught and a safe place to sleep. Malfoy, who gave her his dead mother's wand and a Portkey to a secret estate in Russia. Malfoy, who made her breakfast and slit his wrist so he could add blood wards to her clearing. Malfoy, pale and weak, with ribbons of blood sliding down his arm.

Suddenly, she was falling from a rather great height, the ground coming closer and closer with every moment that passed. Hermione braced for impact, and when she hit the ground, she jolted awake in her bed, her heart hammering in her chest and her entire body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She wiped the sweat away from her brow and cursed internally, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

She had no idea how long she had been asleep, and she was too hot, and the walls were much too close. She felt trapped.

Hermione ripped the covers away from her body and stood, grabbing her wand. She desperately needed some fresh air. She made it only a few steps outside the tent before her entire body froze. She was outside. She was alone.

She was exposed.

Her safe space was no longer safe. They had found her. Hermione could feel herself shaking, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She didn't want to be inside her tent, and she didn't want to be outside. Hermione could feel her skin crawling.

She wanted Malfoy.

What a ridiculous thought.

Malfoy wouldn't be coming—not tonight.

She felt somewhat dizzy, and she wasn't entirely sure why. She sat down on the steps leading to her tent, and buried her face in her knees.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

There wasn't enough oxygen in her lungs, and it hurt to breathe. Hermione closed her eyes. Her mind was becoming fuzzy.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In. Out.

A loud crack in the distance caught Hermione's attention, and as she righted herself, several black spots abruptly appeared in her vision. Even so, she could spot the platinum blonde of his hair. It was Malfoy, standing just outside her wards.

She made to stand, but she couldn't make her legs work. With shaking fingers, Hermione held her wand out in front of her and muttered a spell to allow Malfoy inside her wards.

"Oh, Granger," Malfoy murmured as he sat down beside her. "You're having a panic attack, aren't you?"

Hermione had never been so happy to hear Malfoy's voice. Jerkily, she nodded. "Think so," she muttered.

Malfoy's hand was on her back, lightly stroking between her shoulder blades. "Come on, Granger. Just breathe," he said comfortingly.

She forced a deep exhale. Her vision was beginning to return.

Beside her, there was a shuffle, and Hermione turned her head to watch as Malfoy removed his cloak, promptly wrapping it around her shoulders. "You're all right," he said, pulling the cloak around her tightly and securing it at the base of her neck. His fingers returned to her back, still stroking lightly.

The pain in her chest began to ease. Hermione inhaled. Exhaled. She sat up straight and turned to look at Malfoy, who was staring at her intently. "Why are you here?" she managed.

"I wanted to check on you," he replied. "A smart decision, it would seem. You were on the verge of fainting."

Hermione nodded. "I just—I guess I feel asleep. Nightmares, I don't know—and I needed to get out—" she gestured vaguely towards her tent, "—but then I realized I also didn't want to be out." She laughed bitterly.

Malfoy sighed and stood, offering his hand to her. "Come on, Granger."

Hermione stared at his proffered hand. "What?" she asked.

He nodded at his hand. "Come on," he repeated, unhelpfully. When Hermione still did not move, Malfoy sighed. "I can't in good faith leave you here. Come stay at my flat tonight."

Hermione blinked in surprise, still staring dumbly at Malfoy's hand. "What? No—Malfoy—"

Malfoy cut her off. "You just said you didn't want to be here—"

"But—yes, but—"

"Come on, Granger—"

"That is entirely unnecessary—"

Malfoy sighed again, before sitting back down beside her. "I'm serious, Granger. Come stay with me, just for tonight." He grinned at her. "Come on, don't make me beg. I'll make you some dinner, and you can have a shower."

A shower. Hermione's mind stalled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a proper shower, and the prospect seemed absolutely wonderful. Inadvertently, Hermione felt herself begin to nod, until her brain caught up with her. "Hang on," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You'll make me dinner? Are you planning on robbing me again, Malfoy?"

His grin widened, turning into a smirk that made Hermione's stomach flip. "I'll have you know that I received my monthly rations today. I'm not a gourmand, but I'm fairly certain I can scrounge something up for the two of us."

Hermione huffed. "You? Scrounge? Please. How absolutely plebeian."

Malfoy's head tipped back and he laughed, and Hermione felt her own smile grow. "What do you say, Granger?" he asked, holding out his hand again.

She sighed, and reluctantly took Malfoy's hand. "Fine," Hermione replied. "A shower does sound nice."

"Wonderful," said Malfoy as he pulled his wand free and helped Hermione into a standing position.

Before Hermione had a chance to have any second thoughts, Malfoy had apparated them, returning Hermione to the little flat she had woken up in just this morning. Malfoy dropped her hand and muttered something about finding her a towel and some clean clothes, while Hermione took several steps into the flat, looking to see if anything had changed from earlier. In her brief inspection, Hermione could only find one noticeable difference: a collection of items on Malfoy's kitchen counter. He had mentioned that he had just received his monthly rations, and as Hermione perused the items, she felt herself becoming angry.

Malfoy's monthly rations appeared to consist of bags of rice, pasta, potatoes and green apples. There was also loaf of bread that looked suspiciously stale, a container of cream or milk, and a pad of butter that had already begun to melt. Malfoy returned, carrying a folded towel and a set of pajamas. "Here, Granger—"

"That's what you get for the month?" Hermione interrupted, gesturing towards the pile of items.

Her tone was harsher than she had intended, and Malfoy's eyes widened. She watched him visibly swallow.

"I mean, I know the answer to that already—"

"Granger—"

"How does He expect you to live off that?" Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears, and she winced.

Malfoy sighed, then shrugged. "He doesn't, I suppose," he admitted. "I told you we weren't well-fed."

Yes, he had told her that. But faced with the evidence of that fact was a different thing entirely. He wasn't just not well-fed. He was barely fed. Hermione could feel her anger growing—a deep pit, low in her belly—and she began to flush. She turned back to Malfoy, who was watching her warily. "How are you even alive?" she asked, her voice softer now.

She was angry. But not at him.

Not at him.

Malfoy blinked, seemingly surprised by her reaction. He relaxed visibly and grinned at her. "Let's just say that I know a girl."

Hermione's stomach flipped again. Her flush grew.

Malfoy also began to redden, and his gaze fell to his shoes.

"Shower?" Hermione asked in a strained voice.

"Yes," Malfoy agreed immediately, his voice also strained. He shoved the towels and pajamas into Hermione's arm. "You remember where the washroom is, right?"

Hermione nodded jerkily, taking several steps away from him. She clumsily spun on her heel and hurried to the washroom, slammed the door, and clutched the towels and pajamas to her chest. Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest.

Let's just say I know a girl.

What did that mean?

Nothing. It meant nothing. It was Malfoy.

He was impossibly attractive, incredibly well-dressed, and above all else, he seemed to be a genuinely caring person. Of course he knew a girl. He probably knew several girls. Who had he just gone to the anniversary gala with? Ah, yes, Astoria Greengrass. A girl Hermione couldn't quite picture. If she had to imagine, perhaps she was tall and thin, a stunning blonde whose looks matched Malfoy's. And then, of course, there was Pansy Parkinson, with her dark, luscious hair, and impeccable fashion sense.

Yes, Malfoy certainly knew many girls, and certainly none of them were Hermione.

Conclusion reached, Hermione gave herself a little shake. It was a turn of phrase, nothing else, and it was time to refocus on the task at hand—a shower. A wonderful, glorious, long overdue shower.

For two years now, the only way Hermione had bathed was through magical means, or if the day was particularly warm, she could indulge in a bath in the lake. That, of course, was now out of the question since the Snatchers had stumbled upon her, and she had a sense that Malfoy also wouldn't entirely approve of that habit.

She chuckled at the image of an irritated Malfoy as she turned the shower on, relishing the feeling as the water warmed beneath her finger tips. When the water was nearly scalding and the washroom began to fill with steam, Hermione quickly undressed and stepped into the shower. The water burned as it dripped across her skin and Hermione sighed, certain that she had never felt something so lovely.

When she was drenched, she began to take inventory of Malfoy's washroom products, which were quite curious, as they all appeared to be off-brand, and Muggle. It was of no consequence to her, however, and she happily washed her hair twice before setting to the task of her body. As soon as she opened his Muggle bodywash, Hermione was struck with the smell that she had grown so familiar with as of late—mahogany and teakwood, woody and masculine, Malfoy. She deposited a liberal amount of it into her hand and began to work it over her entire body until her skin was pink.

Hermione turned the shower off with a bit of disappointment and quickly dried her body with the towel that Malfoy had provided before pulling on his pajamas. They were much too large for her, but she was certain, between the shower and the feeling of his clean clothes, that she hadn't felt so cozy in years. She dried her hair with her wand, watching in the foggy mirror as her curls sprung to life. She wrinkled her nose as her hair grew. She imagined if she'd had the smooth, luxurious locks of Pansy Parkinson, or the imagined Astoria Greengrass instead of her own wild, tumultuous curls which sat so chaotically atop her own head.

She pulled at a curl, watched as it straightened in the mirror, then released it. It immediately sprung back into an untamed spiral. Hermione sighed.

When she exited the washroom, she found Malfoy hard at work in the kitchen, an intense look of concentration on his face. Hermione grinned. As she got closer to the kitchen, she caught the scent of butter, cheese, bread, and roasting potatoes. Instantly, her mouth began to water. When had she last eaten? She couldn't quite remember. "What's for dinner, Chef Malfoy?" she asked jokingly.

Malfoy turned to look at her, his eyes scanning her briefly. His eyes lingered on her hair. He swallowed visibly, and something metal clattered to the floor. Malfoy looked away from her, rubbing at his brow. "Sorry," he muttered. "You startled me." He bent down, seemingly to retrieve whatever he had dropped.

Hermione suddenly felt self-conscious. Did her hair look crazier than it normally did? She hadn't thought so.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Grilled cheese and chips," he said, depositing two sandwiches onto a plate. "If that's okay?"

Hermione nodded. "Sounds lovely," she replied, suddenly feeling ravenous. She hadn't eaten anything since that morning.

Carrying the plates as he if he were an expert waiter, Malfoy gestured to the couch with a tilt of his head. Hermione allowed herself to drop inelegantly onto the cushions just as Malfoy handed her a plate. She took one look at the chips and her mouth immediately began to water. She plucked one from the plate and shoved it into her mouth. It was still hot, and perfectly salted. She glanced over to Malfoy, who was watching her warily. "You can cook?" she asked after swallowing the bite of chip.

Malfoy merely shrugged, and his face remained impassive.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a bite of her grilled cheese. Also perfectly seasoned. Perfectly salty, melted cheese, complemented by the crisp, tart bite of sliced green apple. "You can cook," she repeated, nodding. "Green apple?" She looked over at him.

Malfoy's eyes dropped to his plate. "Sorry, I should have asked. It's how my mother used to make it for me when I was home on the holidays. I—well, I love green apples," he explained, needlessly. Hermione remembered him often tossing a green apple between each of his nimble hands during the early morning lessons that Gryffindor and Slytherin shared. He smiled bitterly, now staring at his plate. "It's my luxury item for the month."

She swallowed her mouthful of sandwich, it turning to ash in her mouth. In another time, Malfoy describing a bag of apples as a luxury item would've been funny. Now, in this time, it wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all. Hermione stared at him. He was still staring down at his sandwich, and in that moment, he looked impossibly young. And sad. Instinctively, she knew he was thinking about his mother. Hermione was stuck with the sudden urge to move closer to him, to hold his hand—to hold him.

It was a strange urge, truth be told, and one that she had never actually experienced before. She'd had crushes before, of course—there had been her short-lived romance with Viktor Krum, and the on-again, off-again half relationship with Ron towards the end of her time at Hogwarts. But even as she thought of Viktor and Ron, she was struck with the realization that she had never had any physical attraction towards them. Of course, she had thought Viktor was handsome, and she had loved the way Ron's blue eyes twinkled when he smiled at her, and she had found them both kissable.

But this was different. She had never felt the overwhelming urge to take someone's hand into her own in order to sooth, to offer strength. The conclusion to her meandering thoughts was rather quite simple: She was attracted to Malfoy, in a way that she had never been attracted to anyone else before.

Hermione ripped herself from her thoughts to find Malfoy was staring at her, his cheeks reddened and his lips parted, looking very much like he had come to the very same realization.

a/n: My favorite chapter so far (: As always, thoughts are appreciated. See ya next week!