Deny

Hermione awoke to the sound of the television blaring in the other room. She winced as she threw her comforter aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She pulled on her robe, huffing angrily the entire time, and drew it close around her before she stormed into the sitting room. Draco was sitting on the couch, remote in hand, staring at the telly.

"Do you mind?" She asked, gritting her teeth. He gave her his trademark smirk.

"Not at all." He focused his attention back on the telly, and she stomped petulantly.

"I'm trying to bloody well sleep, Malfoy!" she snarled, her hair almost crackling with electricity from the anger that coursed through her. He pushed a button on the remote control, and the telly switched off.

"Sleep?" he asked incredulously, standing. "It's after two p.m.!"

"So?" She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her toes against the floor impatiently. He rolled his eyes.

"I turned the damned thing off, what else do you want?"

"Peace and quiet!" she said, shifting her hands to her hips. "Perhaps it's time I laid down a few ground rules for you while you're staying here."

"Peace and quiet?" he snorted. "You mean you want this place to turn back into the funeral home it's been for the last four years?" She froze and her eyes widened, reflecting how startled she was.

"What?" she asked quietly, feeling her heart speed up. He smirked at her again - that damnable self-satisfied look that made her palms itch to slap it away.

"Don't think that you're alone here in your little corner of the world," he spat, his voice belying his bitterness. "People check in on you from time to time, believe it or not. It's no secret to anyone how you've become a recluse."

"Then why did Dumbledore want me to keep you here?" she retorted, stung by his words. He saw the emotion written across her face.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, Weasley?" he bit out, ignoring her question. Her cheeks turned bright pink, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Save it," he snapped angrily, throwing the remote down on the sofa with more force than was necessary. She watched as he turned and went down the hallway, slamming the door to the guest room behind him.

When she was sure that he wasn't going to come back out, she sank down in the armchair that she favored and wept. How dare he? How dare he come here and invade the fragile peace that she'd managed to rebuild for herself? And how dare Dumbledore, especially if Malfoy spoke the truth and was having her checked on, send him here?

She cried until her throat was sore, then got up and went into the kitchen to get a drink to soothe the pain. She poured a half glass of milk, then sat down at the kitchen table with it. Malfoy is wretched! He hasn't changed since Hogwarts. Then again, she mused silently, sipping the cool liquid, He must have changed a little, to have joined the Order.

She let her mind wander, and curious thoughts filled her head. Why had he joined the Order? When? Was he trusted? Who was after him? Were they trying to kill him? Had he just given Dumbledore information, or had he done something else? She shook her head, trying to shake the questions away, but they remained. And they begged for answers.

She swore softly under her breath and placed the empty glass in the sink, wondering why she'd agreed to this whole arrangement in the first place.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Draco kicked the foot of the bed in frustration. The woman had never failed to bring out the worst in him, no matter what he tried. He'd tried meditation. He'd tried ignoring her. He'd even tried mood charms, but nothing worked. She irritated him to no end, and no matter how many barriers he tried, she always managed to get through to him.

He sat down heavily on the side of the bed and cradled his face in his hands. Perhaps not talking was the way around her, as yesterday he hadn't spoken to her, and she'd been somewhat civil.

He snorted.

After Voldemort had Crucio'd his father and Professor Snape to death for their failure on one of his missions, he had jumped ship from the Death Eaters and run straight to Dumbledore. Everyone had been surprised as hell, but to their credit, no one had said a thing to him. They were satisfied that he was the double agent and that it was his neck on the line, not theirs - and he had been just as happy to stay away from them.

After all, it wasn't as though he'd actually liked any of them. Unwelcome memories of the girl Weasel sprung to his mind unbidden, and he turned and buried his face in the pillow. Had it really only been two weeks ago that they'd been together? She'd offered her hand in friendship - secretly, of course - and for reasons he couldn't explain even if he tried, he'd accepted. Things had quickly morphed from friendship into much more, and he'd found himself falling in love with her.

Then someone had seen them together, and it blew his cover. Not only did it put him in jeopardy, it put her in danger as well. He hadn't been able to protect her. In the end, no one had been able to save her. Voldemort learned of his treachery, and he'd ordered Ginny Weasley killed.

She'd been buried on a Thursday, and Draco had felt as though his heart had been buried with her. Now he was being hunted by the Death Eaters, and needed a sanctuary. For a solid week, he'd stayed at Grimmauld Place, believing it to be as safe as Dumbledore said it was. He'd been woken in the middle of the night and without a second thought, he'd disapparated, appearing just on the outskirts of Hogwarts' lawn. He'd rushed inside and straight to Dumbledore's office, where he'd broken down.

Now, here he was, stuck in her house. When he thought about it, he guessed that they had a lot more in common than he'd originally wanted to believe. They'd both loved Weasleys, and they'd both buried their loved ones. He had to wonder, albeit grudgingly, if the hole in her heart was as big as the one in his.