Chapter 8:  The Unwelcome Guest

Summer Before Seventh Year

Most people spent the whole year looking forward to their summer break. Most people longed for those couple of months that interrupted the routine of school. Most people looked back at their summer holiday as a time of relaxation, of a time lost in the past where the days had been warm, the sky clear, and the nights twinkled with such a production of stars that a person could imagine that they had saved their best shine for June and July.

Hermione was many things, but she wasn't most people. And the summer months seemed to draw slowly past. There was nothing for her to do. Ron and Harry were hours away at the Burrow. The cool stone halls of Hogwarts were even farther. Hermione was left with nothing to do but muck about her home in a distant London suburb that looked exactly like every other distant London suburb.

They had invited her to the Burrow. But hopes that this year's summer could be as good as last year's were dashed quickly. Hermione's mother, in what could only have been an early case of empty nest syndrome, insisted that she stay home with them. Hermione had been furious, of course. She was very used to making her own decisions. Her parents were very loving but they had always handled childrearing with a laissez-faire attitude. Their sudden interjection of unusual authority had left her angrily shocked.

She was so bored at home. All she had to look forward to was the upcoming letter from Hogwarts, which must be coming in a few weeks containing her supply list, and, Hermione mentally crossed her fingers and toes, a head girl pin.

Hermione curled her legs underneath herself as she settled back into the chair in the parlor. From her Arithmancy book she pulled forth a letter from Ron and Harry. It had arrived yesterday morning. There would probably be one tomorrow as well. The three friends had taken to writing each other very regularly. Hermione found that she enjoyed reading about even the tiniest things. She could so easily picture them in her mind.

Dear Hermione,

What's the dear for anyway? I mean, couldn't I just say 'Hey Hermione', or 'Hi Hermione'? Who thought up this 'Dear' dribble? I feel like I'm writing to a teacher, although if you get to be Head Girl you'll almost be a teacher.

Hermione smiled at this. She had been afraid of Ron's reaction when she told them that she wanted to be Head Girl. She had told them she had turned down the prefect offer last year because she wouldn't have time what with the spell, but in truth, she had been afraid of how they would react. But this year she wanted it so badly, they just had to understand, and as it turned out they had.

You really ought to get to Diagon Alley. I know that your mum doesn't fancy you riding that underhole thing, Harry says it's an underground? Does that even make sense? Harry and I are in Diagon Alley almost every day. I'm working, of course, but Harry is being a bit of a loafer. He spends all his time there eating ice cream and trying to get me into trouble. You really should come; it's not the same without you.

And if you're not here then Percy talks to us. Can you believe that he still hasn't moved out of the Burrow? The first thing that Fred and George did when they got off the train after their seventh year was pack up and get out. Percy is such a mama's boy. Don't tell him I said that.

The handwriting changed from a sprawling, messy jumble to neater, sharper letters. Harry had taken charge of the letter.

We got a letter from Snuffles. First time we've heard from him since he left. You probably got a letter too since Ron and I each got one so none of this will be news to you. Can you believe that he's in Japan? Do you think he could have gotten any farther from England?

Hermione didn't think he could have gotten any farther from England. And even though this was her fourth time reading through the letter she still felt a surprisingly painful burning in her chest because no, Sirius had not written her a letter.

"Hermione?"

Startled, Hermione slipped the letter back in her book and turned towards the voice. Her mother stood smiling at her.

"Hello, I didn't hear you come in." Hermione closed the book.

"Yes, well mothers have to be stealthy or we would never have a chance to be with our daughters."

Hermione flushed slightly, it was true, she had been childishly avoiding her mother. "Sorry."

Her mother sat down in a chair to the right and reached over to pat her daughter's arm. "It's all right, I know you were angry with me for not letting you go to your friends. I'm just going to be losing you so soon. I hadn't realized it before."

"You're not going to lose me, that is silly." Hermione replied defiantly.

"It's all right Hermione, every mother loses their daughter. I just thought that I had a few more years." Her mother's eyes looked far away for a moment. "You're so very pretty Hermione. And you're always surrounded by boys."

Hermione blushed at the sudden compliment and the implications that went along with it. "Mum..." She pleaded half-heartedly.

"Is there anyone special that I should know about? Maybe Ron or Harry?" Her mother's voice was carefully prying.

Hermione's blushed deepened, "Of course not!" But an image of Harry's brooding godfather ran unbidden through her mind.

Hermione's mother grinned triumphantly as she felt that Hermione had as good as admitted to being madly in love with one of her best friends. She leaned forward in the chair about to launch into a barrage of questions when there was a distant pounding sound.

"What was that?" Her mother asked.

"Someone at the door?" Hermione asked, "Are we expecting anyone?"

"No, but I'll bet your father has locked himself out again. I told him that he could just wait until tomorrow to pick up the groceries." Mrs. Granger sighed in consternation.

Hermione grinned and stood up, "I'll let him in. It's not his fault that he gets easily distracted."

She made her way through the parlor and out into the hall. Hermione reached the foyer and opened the door, a commiserating smile of welcome on her face for she too easily misplaced the keys to their home. But as the door swung open Hermione stepped back with a gasp and an instant flash of pure panic. For standing on her front step as if God himself had placed him there was Draco Malfoy.

The blonde Slytherin stood leaning against the doorframe, a mostly empty bottle with a dark liquid sloshing about its insides was clenched tightly in his hand. Majority of the liqueur appeared to have marred the front of his robes. "Hullo Granger," he drawled.

Hermione took another step back and Malfoy followed. He reached out for her and Hermione thought he was going to strike her but instead his arm settled around her shoulders and the weight of his body was suddenly pressed against hers.

"Hermione? What's going on? Who is it?" Mrs. Granger's voice sounded worriedly down the hall as she appeared at the far end. "Who is that?"

"Ahh, one of the mudblood's parents, how charming." Draco grinned as he breathed into Hermione's ear.

Hermione shoved him off of her with a hiss of disgust and the Slytherin boy sank to the floor. Her mother reached her and stared in shock at Malfoy.

"Hello," Draco grinned cheekily up at Mrs. Granger, "I know your daughter from Hogwarts."

"What has happened to you child?" Her mother asked as she kneeled down in front of Draco and took the bottle away from him. She gingerly lifted his arm and gasped.

Hermione peered around her mother and saw, for the first time, what her mother had seen immediately. The dark stains on his robes hadn't come from the bottle; they were blood. Hermione felt her stomach turn as her mother examined a gash on Malfoy's arm.

"Hermione," her mother commanded as she got to her feet, "go make a pot of tea and find some aspirin for your friend."

"He's not my friend," Hermione replied fervently, "I despise him. He's a horrible..."

"Now Hermione!" Her mother's voice was sharp and Hermione knew that she would broach no more argument.

Inwardly fuming, Hermione watched as her mother led Malfoy up the stairs and into the bathroom. She then turned and stormed into the kitchen. She set a kettle of water to boil and sat on a stool with her elbows propped on the counter. As her ire faded, worry took its place. What was Malfoy doing here?

Almost a half hour later, a clean and bandaged Malfoy was guided into the kitchen. Hermione's mother settled him gently onto the stool next to her daughter's.

"I'm going to ring Dr. Isaak, see if he can't pop over for a minute and look at Draco's arm. I think it'll need some suturing."

Hermione watched as her mother left the kitchen to phone their neighbor. She turned back to Malfoy who was slumped against the counter, his wet hair hanging in front of his eyes. He was dressed in some of her father's old clothes. If the situation hadn't been so entirely odd, Hermione might have giggled. Instead Hermione dutifully poured one of her most hated adversaries a cup of tea.

"Your mother's nice," he said finally after he had taken a tentative sip of tea.

"I know," Hermione replied coldly as she brought her own teacup to her lips.

"My mother's dead," Malfoy said softly as he studied his tea.

Hermione fumbled with her cup and almost dropped it, as it was she set it down so hard that the edge chipped. "What?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

"You'd think that twenty years of marriage would have meant something. I never thought that he would." Malfoy's voice faded off.

"Your father?" Hermione whispered.

"He didn't need her anymore I guess. She wouldn't lay off about the Death Eaters. She was furious that I had."

"That you had what?" Hermione's voice was trembling and she stood up.

Malfoy suddenly began unwrapping his arm, haphazardly pulling the bandages away. "It doesn't come off you know. Blood comes off, but this...this stays forever."

Hermione watched, horrified, as the bandages dropped away revealing several deep gouge wounds that started oozing blood again. But before the blood could hide it, Hermione saw the dark mark.

"She didn't want this you know," he muttered.

And Hermione started to cry. He looked up at her with a mixture of surprise and chagrin.

"You did this?" She motioned towards his arm.

Malfoy nodded slowly. The blood was still flowing slowly down his arm from the self-inflicted wound, but he wasn't even aware of this as Hermione gently touched his shoulder. And when she put her arms around him, he didn't even try to hold back his own tears.

~*~*~*~

Hermione leaned against wall and watched as Dr. Isaak began stitching up Draco's arm. He flinched slightly as the doctor pulled the suture tight. Hermione turned away and entered the hall, not wanting to see any more blood tonight. Her father had come home a few minutes earlier and he was sitting with her mother in the parlor talking to Draco. She turned away as the phone began to ring shrilly from the hall table.

"Hello, Granger residence." Hermione answered disinterestedly.

"Hermione?" A voice called through the receiver, "Hermione is that you? Are you all right?"

It was hard to immediately identify the voice, "Harry?" She asked cautiously.

There was a muffled sound and Harry's voice was distant, "It's Hermione."

"Harry, what's going on?" Hermione was confused.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Harry sounded worried.

Hermione glanced back towards the parlor, "yes, of course I am. Are you all right?"

"We're fine, are you sure that you are?" There was another muffling sound and then Harry's voice was far away again, "she says that she's fine."

"Harry, what is going on?" Hermione asked again trying to regain his attention. "And when did the Weasley's get a telephone?"

"We're not at the Burrow, we went into town to use a phone." Harry paused as if trying to think of a way to phrase what he wanted to say, "it was the strangest thing, we were playing exploding snap and then we...we both thought something had happened, happened to you."

Hermione leaned against the wall, "Malfoy," She said quietly.

There was a pause on the other end, "did you say Malfoy?"

"Yes," Hermione was staring unseeing at the front door from which Malfoy had just intruded into her very normal muggle life, "he's here."

"Malfoy's there?" Harry was incredulous.

There was a sudden scuffle on the other end followed by a bit of cursing and then Harry's voice was replaced by Ron's.

"What do you mean Malfoy's there!?" Ron sounded horrified.

"He showed up, about a half hour ago, he's a real mess." Her voice was surprisingly accepting of this fact, the oddness of Malfoy being in her house was nothing compared to the fact that Harry and Ron had known that something was amiss.

"Well, get out of the house, we'll be there as soon as we can. I'll owl dad on the way and he'll go to the Ministry and..." Ron was still listing off his plans for bringing down the wrath of the Ministry when Hermione cut him off.

"No, no don't come." Hermione said quickly, she needed some time to figure this out, some time to explain how her spell could be doing this to them.

"Not come? I don't understand; if Malfoy is there then you're in danger." Ron sounded hurt.

Hermione threaded her fingers through the curled phone cord; "I don't think he's a danger to me Ron, only to himself."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ron asked sharply then to Harry, "She doesn't want us to come."

"I'll explain it tomorrow." Hermione's voice lowered, "I'll come to Diagon Alley tomorrow, I'll tell you everything that I can, just not right now, not tonight." She could hear the hesitation through the line and added, "Please trust me." It was the trump card of course; trust. And Ron had nothing that could fight against it.

"Are you sure?" He asked although they both knew that she was.

"Yes, please don't worry. Everything will be fine."

"I don't like this Hermione. And neither does Harry." Ron's voice softened, "be careful won't you? You know what Malfoy is like."

"I know." Hermione told him and hung up the phone with a soft good bye.

They were still talking in the parlor, Malfoy, her parents, and Dr. Isaak. Hermione slipped silently past the room and into the kitchen. But she only had a moment to sit down at the table when they entered as well.

"Attacked by a dog! What is this world coming to? Honestly Richard."

She turned to see her parents leading Malfoy into the kitchen. Malfoy, for his part, was looking rather pale. Hermione figured that muggle healing was not quite to his liking.

"Sobering up then Malfoy?" Hermione asked delicately, not really intending any harm.

He seemed to relax somewhat at her slight, pleased to be back on more familiar ground and yet oddly happy to not have her insult be stinging.

"Really though Draco," Hermione's mother guided Draco to a seat at the table, "you should never drink that much! Not good for you at all." She tutted kindly and Draco seemed to bask in it.

"Hermione," her father said bringing the attention of the three to the other side of the table, "you should have told us that your friend's family was going abroad."

"Imagine," her mother said as she patted Malfoy on the back, "staying above that tavern off of Diagon Alley. Utter nonsense."

"Your friend will be staying with us until you go back to Hogwarts." Her father added while her mother nodded in agreement.

Hermione looked at her parents in shock and then shifted her glare towards Draco, she might feel bad for him, yes. But stay at her house? As if sensing her thoughts he shrugged his shoulders at her as if to say that this wasn't his idea.

As if this was the most natural situation in the world her parents walked the doctor out of the house and went to bed, insisting that Hermione show Malfoy the guest bedroom before she snuck off to her own.

She sat at the table still wondering how her pleasant evening at home had gotten so convoluted.  Hermione got to her feet and went to pour another cup of tea. His gray eyes followed her movement with vague interest. She ignored him, however.

"I told you the truth you know," he said finally, a painful note of desperation in his voice.

"I know,' she replied softly.

~*~*~*~

True to her word, Hermione slipped unseen from her bedroom the following morning before the sun had even erupted through the horizon. She stopped momentarily outside of the guest room across from her own door. The thought of Malfoy alone with her parents made her insides squirm. But he had seemed so broken the night before and she had to talk with Harry and Ron.

It was only a few blocks walk to reach the nearest underground terminal. Hermione had ridden it thousands of times in her youth but rarely alone. Lines of worry crisscrossed her face, chasing after each other as her frown deepened. It wasn't the trip that concerned her though, how in the world would they understand?

Even though it was wretchedly early still, the tunnels were crowded and noisy. People jostled each other in their mad rush to get in before the doors closed. Hermione grasped a pole for support and clung breathlessly to it. A tremor of fear shook through her.

"Some bloody good Gryffindor I am," Hermione cursed then bit her tongue when she heard the words that were meant to stay unspoken with her own ears.

Not as soon as she would have liked, they came to a stop, and Hermione was forced out along with the throng. Glancing at a map on the graffiti covered wall she saw that the Leaky Cauldron was only a mile or so away. Hermione decided that she would far prefer walking the rest.

As was expected, they were waiting for her. The nearly empty tavern hosted only a select few for breakfast that morning. But Harry and Ron were there, in the far corner, with a pot of tea and a plate of pumpkin scones that still steamed. Hermione sighed in relief. Just seeing them made her feel better.

They waved as she approached and to her surprise Harry rose from his chair and hugged her before releasing her into Ron's arms. There was a flustered silence as the trio blushed and then Hermione sat quickly.

"Okay, so let me get this straight, Malfoy came to your house last night?" Harry asked as he forced a scone into Hermione's hand.

"Came and stayed," she said between bites.

Ron went three shades redder than normal, "why? What does he want?"

"I'm not sure really," Hermione mulled as she chewed a particularly tough raisin.

"Hermione," Harry's voice held every bit of authority that he could muster being on the verge of seventeen. "Hermione stop dancing around the point, what happened last night?"

Hermione lowered the scone and studied her hands, she owed Malfoy nothing, and yet, she was reluctant to betray what had seemed to be such an intimate conversation with him. "He was drunk."

"Yeah, I'll bet that ponce can't hold his liqueur." Ron's grin died as Hermione and Harry both shot him a glance.

"He has the Dark Mark," Hermione's voice was little more than a whisper. She had almost called him a Death Eater but even though she had seen the mark, even though she knew what it meant, she would never see Malfoy as belonging to that faceless evil.

Ron and Harry both swore loudly, drawing curious glances from the few other patrons. Hermione shushed them quickly.

"You don't understand," Hermione tried to say but Ron was fuming.

"You left that.that thing with your parents? Are you mad? Why haven't you called the Aurors yet?" Ron was so frustrated that he got to his feet.

Harry nodded his agreement.

Hermione waited until Ron had stopped cursing Malfoy's name before she tried explaining again. "He tried to cut it off."

Ron sank back into his chair without a word.

"Lucius Malfoy killed his mother, at least, that is what he told me." Hermione fingered a crumb on the plate before her.

"Do you believe him?" Harry asked. Ron seemed incapable of words.

Hermione pressed her finger down, feeling the crumb give way into many tiny pieces. "I do."

"What should we do?" Harry wondered aloud to himself.

"Do? We? Why do we have to do anything?" Ron had finally found his voice again, "this is Malfoy we're talking about. That's too bad about his mother, but he did go down for the tattoo before that right? He's evil, he chose to be evil."

"Well," Hermione withdrew her hand and wiped her fingers on the knee of her robe, "maybe he can choose to be good now."

Ron groaned, "you're so bloody idyllic Hermione."

"Thanks Ron," she snapped.

"This isn't helping," Harry cut in before they could start a row.

They sat silently, eating and drinking, lost in their own worries. Hermione worried more than the others. She had to tell them, now before she lost her nerve.

"There's something else," Hermione said quickly.

Ron and Harry looked up together, "What?" They asked.

"It's...it's about the spell." She didn't have to elaborate on the word spell; they all knew what she was referring to.

Ron cast a nervous glance towards Harry, "well, what about it?"

"Haven't you wondered why, in the middle of a game of exploding snap, the two of you thought I was in danger?"

"We have killer instincts?" Ron offered warily.

Hermione ignored his attempt at humor. When she spoke again the words tumbled so quickly from her mouth that it would have been unintelligible for anyone else in the world, everyone except Harry and Ron. "I think that the spell has made an empathic bond between us. I don't know how or why but I started noticing it a few months ago. When the Aurors were in Hogsmeade I felt things that I had never felt before, I hated them so much, but I didn't understand. I think that I did not understand because they weren't really my emotions, I think they were yours Harry."

Hermione looked quickly away. She chewed her lower lip nervously. Harry and Ron seemed too stunned to say anything. Hermione poured herself another cup of tea and drank it all in a gulp, the searing liquid turning her face pink.

"How long will it last?" Harry was the first to form his thoughts into words.

"I don't know," Hermione groaned.

Ron suddenly smiled, "that explains it then!"

Hermione and Harry looked at him quizzically. Ron was looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

"For the last month or so I've become very concerned about the NEWTS. I've never cared about that stupid test before. I mean it's ages away. But I started color-coding all of my notes from last year in case I needed it to study." Ron looked a bit sheepish now, "I thought I was going out of my mind."

"Because God forbid you be concerned about your grades." Hermione responded snidely for she had been color-coding her notes. Then in a softer voice, "so you aren't angry then?"

Harry looked at Ron and they reached their decision together. "No," they said in unison.

"These things happen." Harry told her kindly.

"Hey Harry, what am I thinking?" Ron scowled hard at Harry.

"No Ron, I don't think Percy fancies other wizards." Harry responded with a wicked grin.

"Damn, and I was so sure. Hey Hermione, we're telepathic now!" Ron laughed.

"I can't ever depend on you to be serious can I Ron Weasley?" But Hermione wasn't angry. She glanced down at her watch, she had been gone almost an hour. "I had better go, you know that my mother doesn't like me riding the Underground alone."

"Do you want me to go back with you?" Harry asked her.

"Thank you but no, I can take care of myself."

~*~*~*~

Hermione's plan for taking care of herself was to completely pretend that Malfoy didn't exist. He wasn't sitting at her kitchen table reading the paper when she got home, he wasn't being obnoxiously charming to her mother over the eggs, he wasn't drinking orange juice from her glass, and he most definitely was not enjoying himself.

The problem with Hermione's denial was that it was just that, denial. For Malfoy was doing all those things when she returned home. And for all intents and purposes he seemed to be completely at ease in the too big muggle clothing and enjoying the presence of people that he had met for the very first time yesterday but had spent his entire spoiled life professing to hate. Hermione scowled at him from the doorway. He glanced up at her and gave her his most snarky smile. Hermione huffed and walked right past him.

Her parents might be insisting on him staying, but she didn't have to like it, did she? Hermione settled into the armchair in the parlor. She reached into her bag for her Arithmancy book, nothing could calm her frazzled nerves like a bit of studying, but it wasn't there.

"Looking for this?"

Hermione spun in her chair; Malfoy was standing right behind her, the book held easily in his hands, the smallest of smirks on his face.

"You went through my bag?" Hermione was horrified.

"And your room too after you snuck out. Where did you go anyway?" Draco tossed the book into her lap then collapsed onto the sofa across from her.

"You...you went into my room?"

"I was bored," Malfoy defended easily. "And I never pictured you as the purple knickers type. I always thought of you as belonging to the virginal white clique as far as panties were concerned."

"I...you." Hermione's blush would have put a Weasley to shame. "Wait a minute, you've actually thought about my knickers?" Hermione asked him sharply when she was able to speak again.

Malfoy flopped over onto his side, letting his hand drop to the ground to trace the Persian rug, "Granger, I'm a teenage boy, if you breathe and are female then I've probably thought about your knickers."

"Really?" Hermione asked with a bit of interest, "everyone?"

"Just about," Malfoy replied.

"Well, what about Millicent Bulstrode, what does she wear?" Hermione felt an evil grin quirking at the corners of her mouth.

Malfoy looked up at her suddenly, "that is truly foul Granger, truly."

Hermione found herself laughing and stopped abruptly. She was not sitting in her parlor laughing over something Malfoy had said. It simply wasn't possible. Hermione had never been a fan of the surreal.

"I had better go explain why I didn't come to breakfast," Hermione muttered aloud.

"I told them that you had gone for a walk." Malfoy was watching her.

"Why did you tell them that?" Hermione asked suspiciously, why would Malfoy cover for her?

"Well you obviously didn't want them to know where you were going and I guess that I owed you one." Malfoy blinked large gray eyes in her direction and Hermione felt uncomfortable.

"Thanks," she muttered before leaving the room.

~*~*~*~

Having Draco Malfoy in her house was nothing like Hermione ever would have dreamed. Maybe it was because he had been so spoiled his whole life or maybe because he had never needed to earn his keep but he seemed to relish settling down into the routine of the Granger's household. He read when Hermione read, he watched the telly when she did, he helped Hermione's mother set the table, he even helped Hermione wash the dishes after every meal. The cleaning was usually accompanied with some measure of complaining but only Hermione heard it. Malfoy was nothing if not a gentleman to her parents. And there seemed to be little that Hermione could say to convince them that Malfoy was as far from being a gentleman as it was possible to get.

Hermione had learned to tolerate his presence. It had taken only a few cutting comments from her parents about her rudeness for her to learn not to insult Malfoy in their presence. And he didn't seem about to be leaving anytime soon.

They didn't talk about that first night. She never mentioned the Dark Mark or Voldemort and he never cried over his mother again. Secretly they were each thankful to one another for this measure of silence.

If her parents ever thought it odd that Malfoy had no belongings they never brought it up. Hermione figured that they hadn't noticed. They got very caught up in their work.

It was on the fifth day of their strange household arrangements that the letters came. One to Hermione and one to Malfoy, each from Hogwarts and each considerably heavier than the usual supply letter.

Hermione opened hers with shaking fingers, paying no attention to Malfoy who seemed to be cherishing his letter as much as her. She tilted the envelope up and a shiny button emblazoned with two large letters slid into her hand.

"I'm Head Girl," Hermione whispered aloud hardly able to believe it.

"So am I," Malfoy responded.

Hermione looked up at him sharply.

"Head Boy I mean, the girl thing is all yours." Malfoy was holding his own silvery badge in his hand, turning it to catch the light.

"They made you Head Boy, really?" Hermione wasn't as surprised as she thought she should be. No matter how much of a prat Malfoy was to her and her friends he was excellent student. She knew that his marks were always just a few points below her own.

"What, a Slytherin can't be Head Boy?" There was a familiar sharpness in his voice that hadn't been there for several days.

"No of course they can, Voldemort was in Slytherin after all and he got to be Head Boy." Hermione bit her tongue but it was to late.

Malfoy paled at the mention of Voldemort and he closed his hand so tightly over the button that Hermione was afraid it was going to break.

"Malfoy," Hermione caught his attention quickly wanting to apologize, "Malfoy...congratulations."

A little bit of color returned to his face and he smiled, not his usual smirk, something kinder and more human, "you too."

~*~*~*~

Hermione yawned sleepily and sat up pushing her dark blue bedspread down. The early morning light was shining across the floor of her room. She could see the distant Anglican steeple through her window. Her door opened and Hermione turned to it expecting to see her mother. Instead an annoyingly awake Malfoy flopped onto the bed by her feet.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hermione squealed as she scrambled away from him.

"Oh come on Granger, you can't stay in here forever. Your mum is going to the, what did she call it? Oh yes, the supermarket, in a little bit. She said that we could go if you got up in time." Draco grinned at her.

Hermione just stared at him without speaking for a moment. It was bizarre; her enemy was sprawled across the end of her bed acting as if they were friends. "You've gone mad haven't you?" She asked finally.

Draco looked offended, "I'm just making the best of a bad situation Granger, and this muggle lifestyle is actually quite fascinating." He climbed off her bed and crossed the room to her desk and looked at her computer. "All this technology is very exciting."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this." Hermione moaned and rubbed her temples "you actually like it here. How is that possible? You hate muggles, you hate me."

"I hate Potter and Weasley, but you're not so bad. In fact," he paused and looked at her appraisingly, his gaze lingering on the length of thigh visible below her old nightshirt, "you've got some good things in your favor."

"Oh! Oh you." Hermione tried to pull her shirt down farther while flushing scarlet. She gave up and grabbed the nearest thing to her, a book not surprisingly, and threw it at him. "You get of here!"

Draco dodged easily but headed towards the door, "but what about the market?" He asked plaintively.

"I'm coming! Just get out!" Hermione snapped at him.

Draco smirked and slipped back out into the hall leaving Hermione to collapse back against her headboard in disbelieving frustration. After a moment she could hear her mother calling up the stairs to her and Hermione got out of her bed and began to prepare herself for what was already shaping up to be a very long day.

~*~*~*~

He certainly did seem to be enjoying muggle things. Hermione never would have dreamed that such a pure blooded Slytherin, an actual death eater, albeit one on the lam, could be so impressed with technology. He seemed especially attracted to the automated money machine outside of the grocers.

"So you mean, all you have to do is type in some little code and this machine, which shares a brain with hundreds of others, just pops your money out for you?" He asked her mother excitedly.

Draco was also very interested in her parents. He had been here a full week and a half now and he spent a great deal of his time listening to her father go on about the newest advancement in dentistry or those mad men in the Parliament. He was especially fond of following her mother around. He just seemed to bask in the motherly attention that had always belonged to Hermione. An outside observer might even go so far as to say that she was becoming a bit jealous.

Hermione's parents seemed to be equally impressed with the young Slytherin. Maybe it was because Hermione already knew about all the progress in dentistry, or perhaps because she sometimes found the motherly affection smothering, but whatever the reason, they reveled in Draco Malfoy's presence, while Hermione was left to fume silently to herself over the unwelcome houseguest.

She walked several steps behind her mother and Draco as they walked through the store. He would stop every now and then to run his hand across some brightly wrapped package or read the ingredient list with a mystified expression on his face as he wondered just what Thiamin Mononitrate tasted like. Hermione scowled at him and felt quite suddenly like a spoiled child disappointed that her parents had brought home a baby and not the puppy she asked for.

A spasm suddenly went through him and his arm, that still held a thick bandage that was hidden under the sleeve of his shirt, tensed. Hermione frowned and stepped towards him but a voice called out, momentarily distracting them.

"Dr. Granger! Oh Dr. Granger what a coincidence. Look kids, it's your dentist!" A dumpy looking woman with a litter of children was heading towards them.

Hermione's mother sighed but then smiled and stepped towards the woman exclaiming, "Martha, how have you been?"

"Some coincidence," Hermione muttered as she stood next to Draco, "that woman has never come in for a check up. She lays in wait for Mum. The grocers, the butcher, the park."

And as they watched, Martha lined her children up so that Dr. Granger could examine each and every one in the middle of the store.

"This might take a while dear," Hermione's mother called over her shoulder, "why don't you take Draco around the town?"

Hermione nodded and she turned, not waiting to see if Draco followed, and walked out of the store.
"Does it hurt?"

Draco looked up at her in surprise. Hermione hadn't spoken a word to him after they left the store. He was sitting on a rusted bench that overlooked a duck pond in the small park that she had led him to. She stood, always certain to keep several feet between them, against the trunk of a great tree.

"Does what hurt?"

"The mark," she continued even though she saw his eyes darken angrily at being reminded of the cross he now had to bear, "I saw you tense in the grocers."

He balled up his fists and glared straight ahead, "yeah," he replied finally, "it hurts sometimes."

There was a broken period of silence before Hermione spoke again, before she asked the question that she had wanted to ask for quite some time now.

"Why did you come to me?"

He had been expecting this query, had been pondering an answer even before he descended upon the Granger's doorstep in a drunken heap, but he still wasn't quite sure how to put it.

"I needed to go somewhere, someplace that my father wouldn't think to look. My dislike of all things muggle is fairly well known. He wouldn't ever consider that I would lower myself so much."

Hermione's eyes darkened, "and how did I end up being the lucky hostess?"

"You tutored Blaise in Ancient Runes last year." Draco responded quickly for it was obvious that his last statement had upset her. "He would have failed that whole semester."

"But what does that have..."

"He told me that you didn't have to. That you were assigned to be a tutor, but that you got to pick who you helped." Draco paused and looked at his hands as they rested on his knees, "you were the only one that I thought would help me, not because you wanted to or expected something back from me, but because you knew that I needed it."

Hermione sighed and finally moved to sit with him on the bench.

"And," Draco suddenly added as and after thought, "your house was the closest one to the pub where I got my whiskey from."

"You don't seem nearly as bad as I had thought," she said softly.

"Well just because I want to vomit every time I hear about Prince Potter that doesn't mean that I'm an all around bad chap." Draco smirked at her. "So, shall you call me Draco now?"

"Why on earth would I want to call you that?" Hermione asked sharply even though her eyes held a glint of amusement.

"Well, that way I won't feel nearly so strange calling you Hermione, now will I?"

~*~*~*~

The time went by much faster with Draco in her house. Hermione still found it incredibly bizarre to wander down for breakfast every morning in her crumpled pajamas and find an equally tousled young Slytherin sitting sleepily before her, his chin resting in the palm of his hand while his near transparent eyelids fought to stay open. But they had settled into almost a routine that, as surprising as it was, turned out to be rather enjoyable for Hermione.

Draco was very different from Ron and Harry. Unlike her friends he enjoyed talking about schoolwork. And there was very little in the world that Hermione would rather talk about. He was quick witted and funny in a sarcastic sort of way. Although she would adamantly deny it, Hermione found herself beginning to like the boy. They still fought of course, and it wasn't that she had forgiven or forgotten all of his past sins. But the summer was warm, Harry and Ron were far away, and Hermione hated to be lonely.

But deep inside of her, she knew that this couldn't last. She didn't know how but she knew that things were going to be changing soon that something was going to be happening. Hermione could almost taste it on the air. She had been dreading it for days. This was why when she woke up late one night on the twentieth day of Draco's stay; she wasn't surprised.

Hermione kicked her covers away and slipped off the bed. She stole stealthily across the room and out into the hall. A draft was blowing from somewhere and Hermione wished that she had taken the time to pull a sweater over the thin nightshirt that she was wearing. The draft dissipated and Hermione realized that it had come from downstairs, from the front door.

A shaft of fear ripped through her. Hermione crossed silently to the guest room, the door was ajar, and Draco was gone.

Hermione spun down the stairs, jumping the last step because its creak was loud enough to wake the neighbors. She opened the front door and snuck out into the night. The grass was wet, whether from dew or a late night rain Hermione wasn't sure. The moon had been hidden behind dark clouds and a flash of lightning flickered ominously. She stopped by a tall hedge at the end of their yard; she didn't see the hand that extended from its shadows to grip her shoulder.

Hermione tried to scream but another hand clasped around her mouth.

"It's me, Hermione, don't scream." Draco hissed in her ear.

Hermione relaxed and then twisted out of his arms. "What are you doing out here?"

He was wearing his robes again. There was a glint in his eyes that reminded Hermione of that day so many months ago when he had attacked her. It wasn't a frightening look, just one of grim determination.

"I'm going home." He said simply then looked away.

Hermione didn't understand for a little while, she heard the words but they didn't make sense. "Home? What do you mean by home?"

"Back to the manor, back to Lucius, I think I can make him understand that my leaving was a mistake, that I was just upset." Draco was talking to himself it seemed.

"Why would you want to do that?" Hermione took a step back form him.

"It burns," he pulled his sleeve up, "all the time. I can't stand it anymore."

"So you're going to give up just because it hurts?"

"No, I'm not giving up. Look, I can't explain it right now, I need more time." Draco took her arm pulling her closer, "I have to do this."

"You're a stupid prat Malfoy," Hermione snapped angrily.

"I know," he agreed and then he kissed her.

Krum had kissed her before in her fourth year and Neville once last year but this was different. This was so different. It was warm and soft and he knew how to do it and it was gentler than she could ever have imagined Draco Malfoy being. And it was so obviously meant to distract her that it made her want to scream. But there was no one to scream at for the moment she pulled away he disapparated with a pop.

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