Harry Potter: Among Shadows and Silence

He snapped his eyes away from her, finding himself studying her unfinished and cold mug of hot chocolate. And her wand. Just lying there, taunting him.

He dragged his body away from the sofa and meandered his way around the table as silently as he could, knowing all the while that this would probably lead to nothing. She'd told him herself that it was charmed to repel him, but it could have so easily been a well-placed bluff. He shuffled closer to her wand, crouching down and moving into a position just in front of the sleeping witch.

Her breath skimmed over the sensitive skin of his throat, and he fought the shiver that kissed down his spine. Reaching out, all his hope for a chance of escape died when warning magic buzzed against his fingertips before he could even touch it. He'd expected it. With a defeated huff, he leaned back against his haunches; Granger's dreamy sighs still whispering across the fine hairs on his skin.

He closed his eyes...relished the feeling...the smell of her this close...close enough to touch...

And like an army of flames, he was blasted back to reality. He flinched violently away from her, as though she was laced with poison, cursing himself to Salazar's tomb and back.

This was what her sodding blood experiment had done to him.

She was crawling through his system and into his head, screwing up his senses. It wasn't her muddy blood, it was something deeper; something carving his bones and drowning his cells. It was her. Granger. Her substance, her innocence; just racing though him and throwing shards at his sanity. Revolted by his actions, he fled her company on slightly shaking legs; praying some distance would purify him of her.

Hermione was startled awake by the angry slam of his door.

Shame really; it had been the best night's sleep she'd had in weeks. Even if had only been for a few hours.

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The winds were calm for the next four days, and he successfully managed to avoid her while he convinced himself more and more that she was festering beneath his flesh. On the Friday, exactly one week after their blood-bathroom incident, the walls had started to close in again. A craving for interaction with another human settled into his pores and, of course, Granger was the only option. He needed to hear another human's heartbeats because his own were getting too loud with his solitude.

Of all the fucked up things to plague his brain, needing someone else's presence was definitely the the thing that let him know he was going mad. He wanted an argument, or just something to remind him there was life beyond his bedroom door. He rationalised it by pointing out it was entirely circumstantial.. If there was anybody, and he meant anybody, other than her that could chase away his demons, then there would be no need for this.

Anybody, except Weasley. Pureblood or not, if bitchy McGonagall had shoved him into a room with that orange tumour of Wizarding Society, there would have been slaughter by the second hour.

That mental image cheered him a little.

He could hear her shuffling around in the kitchenette, clanging around with various utensils and causing more noise than was probably necessary. Combing his hands through his ice-blond hair and releasing a weary breath, he left the four-walled prison-come-bedroom to find Granger fussing with some pans and vegetables.

Hermione felt his presence before she saw it, and she spun around to give him a curious look. "Let me guess," she said evenly. "I was making too much noise again?"

"Yes," he grumbled, taking a few steps towards her. "What the hell are you doing, Granger?"

"Just sorting out some food for tomorrow," she explained with a delicate shrug. "I probably should have asked you this before, but are you allergic to anything?"

"No," he shook his head, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter. "Just you."

He'd meant the comment to be cold and crisp, but it had lacked that snide edge that had taken him years to perfect. Instead it sounded more...teasing? Well, Granger certainly seemed to find it harmless judging from her amused snort and the slight curl of her lips. He considered calling her Mudblood just for familiarity's sake, but something in his rather warped mind told him not to, and she spoke before he had a chance to question it.

"Have you finished reading Titus?" she asked, evidently a bit uncertain about how she was supposed to act around him. At least they had that in common.

He scoffed. "Give me some credit, Granger," Draco mumbled, resting his elbows against his knees and eyeing her back. "I was almost finished the other day. Of course I've finished it."

"Okay," she nodded, using her wand to help her finish her cooking. "And what were your thoughts on the ending?"

"Too rushed," he stated simply, his tone critical and brusque. "It was a rather amateur ending."

She hummed in thought as she turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I agree."

"What?"

"I agree," Hermione repeated, catching his stare with an uncertain flush. "It was too fast. Have you thought about reading another?"

He was already half-way through another one of her Muggle books. He'd decided to move away from that Shake-whatever guy, adamant that he would find some level illiteracy amongst her offered Muggle texts. He'd settled on some creepy-looking cover by a Muggle named Wilkie Collins, and had been pretty much absorbed by the pages from chapter one, much to his inner-disgust.

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