Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I play with them as I like, but alas, they are not mine. Neither these characters nor this world in general belongs to me, or anyone not named J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: My hardworking beta, VelvetMouse, deserves a nice, hearty round of applause.

Two weeks had passed, and not much had changed. Hermione would get up to find Draco already eating breakfast. After three more days of him snapping at her, she had learned not to say much to him. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last thing she said to him, or when it had been, for that matter.

She didn’t know where he had gone when he had seemed so lost on the bench that day. She’d never asked, and he didn't seem to go anywhere after that.

She finished her breakfast before him today, so she went to her room to take a shower and get ready for the day. She always liked eating breakfast before her morning routine.

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She was dressed, with her hair in a bun to dry, when she heard the owl. It was the first correspondence she had heard, and so she immediately rushed into the kitchen.

Draco had two letters, one already opened. Without looking up, he placed one finger on the other letter, sliding it across the table with a flick of his wrist. There was only a single letter on the front: “H.”

She was excited to receive any news at all and opened it right away. It was written in Professor McGonagall’s scrawl, the same as any Hogwarts letter.

Draco had now finished reading his apparently, for he got up and left her to hers. She turned back to it and read:

‘H,

Tabby'

Hermione would have laughed if she weren’t so close to tears. She would have appreciated more information, but was happy she had gotten any kind of word at all. She supposed the nicknames weren’t actually supposed to be funny, but sometimes you have to reach out for a laugh. With Harry and Ron being called by their hair color, she could only guess that her nickname was “Brown.” She didn’t think McGonagall would be cruel enough to call her “Bushy,” no matter how appropriate the name might be.

She made her way back to the living room, hoping to hold a civilised conversation with Draco for once. He was sitting there next to the fire, watching his letter burn. She figured she should probably burn hers as well, at least to stay on the safe side.

When she moved to do just that, Draco looked up at her. She never really looked at him anymore, but now that she had, he looked as though he had aged decades since that day on the bench.

“Do you think they’ll move into the offense?” she asked, knowing he would probably know better than she, and hoping he would actually tell her if he did.

“I don’t know.” He didn’t sound mad, but more perplexed than she would have liked. “I have to go somewhere this evening; don’t leave the house unless you have to.”

She would have argued if it weren’t the first sentence he had spoken to her without an attitude. She decided to leave him to whatever thoughts could make him more civil, and ventured into her bedroom.

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She didn’t know if she should keep a journal or not, but had brought one nonetheless. She hadn’t written a single thing in it up until now, but believed it might keep her from going mad if she did. She decided to keep it vague, writing:

‘I can’t honestly say that I hate it here. It’s cozy, with a good library. I’ve become accustomed to the cold now, but still dread the winter. I sincerely hope we won’t be here that long.

I was glad to hear news that my friends were well. I’ve been so worried lately; about my family, too. There was no mention of them, but I assumed we wouldn’t have contact for several months when they left.’

She left it at that, not knowing what else to write, and not wanting to disclose too many details.

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After a morning of lazing in her room, staring out the window, which overlooked the town, Hermione grabbed a quick ham sandwhich for lunch. She went into the library, seeing Draco already there. She had finished a book on Healing the day before and wanted to try a particularly good Potions book she had seen on the shelf over.

She couldn’t find that particular book, however. She looked on the shelf it had been, as well as the shelves to the top and bottom.

“Looking for this, Granger?” Draco asked, waving a book around, his finger holding the page. It was indeed the book.

She wanted to keep the peace, so simply replied, “That’s alright, Malfoy. I’ll just chose another and read that when you’re done.”

“Oh? And if I keep it the duration that we’re here?” He didn’t have the usual cold sneer on his face, but more of a playful smirk.

She could only guess the feeling of utter confusion showed on her face because Draco was now laughing so hard it looked like it hurt. Still chuckling, he dropped the book in her chair and walked out. She had no idea what was wrong with him.

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‘Damn.’ She couldn’t read anymore. She had read the same paragraph five times now, without understanding a single word. She wanted to know what in the world had gotten into Draco earlier.

It had been several hours since then, but she was still thinking about it. Giving reading up as a bad job, Hermione walked back into the living room. Draco wasn’t there, but she had heard him rummaging around in his room as she passed. She would just wait him out.

It wasn’t a long wait, however. He came out less than ten minutes later, dressed in black robes and a black traveling cloak. Wherever he was going, Wizarding dress seemed appropriate.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the look on his face made her pause. She distinctly heard the clink of metal in his pocket as he turned a sharp corner out the door.