Deny

It was almost two thirty in the morning when Hermione decided that she was hungry. She and Draco had been up arguing most of the night, and she hadn't really had anything more to eat than a turkey sandwich. She frowned as she got out of bed and pulled her robe on. Usually she didn't even finish a whole sandwich, let alone crave more to eat after she'd gone to bed.

She tied the robe closed and opened her door gently, trying to make as little noise as possible. She was grateful when she peered into the hallway and saw that Draco's door was closed. She tiptoed down the hallway and opened the refrigerator, looking for something that sounded good to eat. She was about to reach for the cheese when his voice startled her from behind.

"I didn't think you ever got hungry," he said, his voice thick with amusement. She sighed as he turned on the light.

"All right, so I don't eat as much as you," she said, shrugging. She put the cheese on the table and went to look for the bread. "I've never eaten as much as any of the men I've known. What are you doing up, anyway? I thought you were oh so tired."

"I was. Fell asleep for about twenty minutes, and then woke up with a growling stomach. Obviously I'm not the only one."

"I don't understand it," she admitted, pulling two slices of bread out of the bag. She started to put the cheese on top of one slice when he stopped her. "What?"

"You can't just eat a dry cheese sandwich," he said incredulously. He took the bread and cheese to the stove and pulled the butter out of the fridge. She watched as he began making grilled cheese. "And you're hungry because you don't eat right. You look like a skeleton."

She blinked. "I do not!"

"You do, and you know it. I think you like it - you probably consider it some sort of penance for yourself, for his death."

"I do not!" she protested, tears stinging her eyes. "You don't know me well enough to pass that kind of judgement!"

"I do know you," he said calmly, as he flipped a sandwich in the frying pan. "We spent seven years together at school, remember?"

"Just because you made fun of my Muggle heritage and my friends in school doesn't mean that you know me."

"Fine," he said, turning around with the spatula still in his hand. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that I'm wrong, then." She tilted her chin up defiantly and met his eyes, and instantly deflated. "See?" He turned back to the stove and began to plate the sandwiches.

"Anyone who knew anything about me could make that assessment," she said softly. "Just because you thought it doesn't mean anything." He sat a plate in front of her, then sat down across from her at the table with his own plate.

"You keep telling yourself that," he said, biting into his sandwich. She sat back and stared at him. He rolled his eyes and nodded towards her food. "That's not going to eat itself, you know."

"And?"

"Look," he said, catching some oozing cheese with his fingertip. "We spent seven years at Hogwarts together - I think I learned how to exploit your weaknesses pretty well - or at least, well enough to always get a reaction out of you. It isn't difficult to unnerve someone who wears their heart on their sleeve."

She looked down at the sandwich and saw that he'd cut it in half for her.

"You didn't kill him, and you weren't responsible for his death. He died of natural causes, didn't he? At least, that's what Gin told me. So now the question becomes, why are you refusing to eat anything more than the smallest amount you can survive on? I think we both know why."

"Why is that?" she asked, refusing to meet his eyes.

"You're doing penance for the fact that you're still alive, and he's not." Her eyes shot up to stare at him in surprise. He wasn't looking at her; he was polishing off his very messy sandwich.

"And how would you know that?"

"My mother did the same thing," he admitted, sucking cheese off of his fingers. "She punished herself for my father being gone, and her still having the rest of her life in front of her."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, her expression softening. "I'm so sorry to hear that." He shrugged, and then met her eyes.

"Everyone makes their own choices about how they live their life, Weasley. You of all people should know that. If you've set your sights on starving yourself indefinitely, then you'll succeed at it. But you know that you couldn't have saved him." He picked up his plate and washed it off, then put it away and went back to bed.

It was only then that Hermione began to eat.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

She awoke with her stomach growling so loudly that she was sure Draco could hear it in his bedroom. She had time to ponder her change in appetite as she showered and dressed. Had her body kept the hunger at bay this entire time, or had it just developed when she'd gotten a new project to work on? She'd always loved doing research, and she hadn't done it in such a long time - perhaps this research with Draco was just what her body needed to get itself back to normal.

She made her way slowly down the hallway and went straight into the kitchen, where she smelled something burning. Her eyes widened as she took in the frying pan full of charred bacon. She had just picked it up and dumped it in the trash can when Draco came running in, shirtless and with his hair flying in several different directions.

"What's going on? Is something burning?"

"The frying pan has just resurfaced," she said, holding it up and giving him an apologetic smile. His eyebrows shot up.

"So it has," he murmured, staring at it. "What were you just thinking about?"

"What?" she asked, startled.

"Maybe your thoughts can provide us with another emotional link, and clue us in on the way you get things to reappear."

"Oh," she said quickly, nodding. She didn't want to tell him that she'd been thinking about their research before the pan had reappeared - she didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What were you thinking about? Was it Weasley?"

"Oh! Yes, yes it was Ron," she lied. He cocked his head to one side and studied her face carefully, as if he was trying to determine whether or not she was telling the truth. Finally he nodded and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Makes sense," he murmured. "You're agitated by his death, and things disappear. You think happy thoughts of him, and things reappear. Better make a note of it." He turned and went into the study and began scribbling on his notepad. She sighed and dropped the pan in the sink, then opened the fridge.

"Hungry?" he asked, reentering the room, notepad in hand. She jumped, startled, and he chuckled. "Great Circe's Ghost, you'd think you had no idea I was here."

"I knew you were here," she said defensively. "It's just still a sort of a shock to the system to hear you being civil to me."

"Oh, that," he sighed, pushing past her to the refrigerator. He withdrew several eggs. "I thought about what you said, and you're right. We're going to have to work together on this wandless magic thing, so we'd better get along, for a while anyway." He cracked the eggs open and began frying them.

She sat down at the table and stared at him. "So why are you cooking everything now, too? Is that part of the temporary peace treaty?"

"No. I just figured that if either one of us wanted edible food, I'd better take over the cooking." She frowned.

"My cooking is not that bad." He turned and leveled a glare of epic proportions at her, causing her cheeks to feel warm. "So I'm not the best cook in the world! My food is still edible!"

"Barely," he quipped, turning back to the stove.

"So I'm no Molly Weasley," she said, more to herself than to him. To her surprise, he snorted.

"That you're not."

"You had Molly's cooking?" she asked, surprised.

"I was sleeping with her daughter," he reasoned. "And she suspected it. So they had me over for dinner a few times, and yeah, I had her cooking."

"What did you think?" she asked curiously.

"I know now why the Weasleys were constantly eating," he said lightly, sliding the fried eggs onto plates. She smiled and watched as he made toast. "That woman was a powerhouse." She could hear the note of sadness that entered his voice, and wondered at it.

"You liked her."

"I never said that," he denied, sitting her food in front of her.

"But you did."

"Liked both of Gin's parents," he confessed, wrapping his slender fingers around his mug of coffee. "Thought they liked me too, but that didn't stop them believing the very worst of me when it really counted."

"You can't fault them for that," she said gently. "Their entire lives, they fought against your father and everything he stood for, and they thought that you were a carbon copy of him. You couldn't expect them to just forget all of that at a moment's notice, could you?"

"Their daughter did."

"Ginny was an exceptional person, Malfoy. She never wanted to believe the worst of anybody, and she gave people second, third, and sometimes even fourth chances. She had a big heart. Not everyone is like her, not even the people who raised her." He didn't respond, just met her eyes over the rim of his mug. She cleared her throat.

"Thanks for the eggs, they look great."

"Right."

"Where did you learn to cook? And using Muggle devices, no less?" She shoveled bites of egg in between her words. He grimaced.

"Where did you learn table manners?" he asked scathingly. "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to speak with your mouth full?"

She responded by opening her mouth wide and showing him a large portion of partially chewed eggs. He couldn't help himself, and laughed.

"I learned to cook after I left home," he said. "And I never used magic, because I didn't want to be found. So there you have it."

"It's good," she said, suddenly feeling inexplicably shy. She finished the eggs and sipped at her juice, wondering at the changes time had wrought in them both. If anyone had ever told her that she'd be sitting at her own kitchen table, eating peacefully a meal that Draco Malfoy had prepared for her, she would have laughed them into oblivion. Yet here they were, sitting at the table in a comfortable shared silence, just like an old married couple.

Her eyes widened and her throat constricted. Had she really just thought that? She must be getting too comfortable with him already to be having such thoughts, and the truth of the matter was that she was uncomfortable with the ease with which the thought had popped unbidden into her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. She opened her eyes and nodded, although she was very careful to avoid his eyes.

"Fine, I was just - I just remembered a nightmare I had once." His frown deepened, but he said nothing.

"Are we ready to get to work on cracking those charms?" he asked.

"Actually, I need to go to the grocer's today. We're running low on supplies."

"That sounds good. It'd be nice to get out of here." She gaped at him.

"You want to go?"

"You think I want to stay cooped up in here? Of course I want to go."

"But you'd be out in public with me."

"Don't be idiotic. No one in the Muggle world is going to recognize me, let alone marvel at the fact that two enemies are out shopping together."

"Oh, right," she said breathily. So he wouldn't be accompanying her if they were hiding in the Wizarding world, because being seen with her would ruin his reputation. Then again, if he had been able to hide in the Wizarding world, he wouldn't be here with her now.

"I should probably still wear some sort of disguise though, shouldn't I?" he mused to himself. "Do you think we could stop by some sort of boutique, so I could buy some other clothes?" For the first time since he'd arrived, she realized that he'd been wearing the same black jeans and long-sleeved shirt every day.

"Do you have much in the way of money?" she asked. His cheeks colored.

"I had thought that Dumbledore would give you some sort of funding to support me while I was here," he said quietly. It was clear to her that he didn't like being so dependant on someone else, and that he wasn't used to it, either. She cleared her throat and shook her head.

"Don't worry about it. Get whatever you need, and I'll discuss reimbursement with you when you get out of here." He looked grateful for a split second, and then his cool façade returned.

"Of course. You're going to need a lot in the way of edible provisions, as well," he said, nodding towards the pantry. "I think we've used just about everything." She gasped and went to the pantry, where she yanked the door open.

"How can everything be gone? This pantry was almost overflowing with food before-" she stopped herself and frowned. She'd been about to say "before Ron died." Draco eyed her thoughtfully.

"Time passes quicker than you expect it to." She turned to give him a look of surprise, but he had already gone into the other room.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Draco had begged, cajoled, and finally threatened her in an effort to make her hand over the car keys. She would not budge and she drove them into town, all the while listening to him grumble and complain about her driving like a snail. It was all she could do not to laugh until her stomach hurt. He truly was full of surprises; she hadn't expected that he would know anything about any Muggle inventions, let alone want to operate any of them.

When she had pulled into a parking space and turned the car off, he frowned. "Where are we? This doesn't look like a boutique or a grocer's to me." She snorted. Perhaps he wasn't as educated on Muggle culture as she thought he was.

"It's a mall." Famous last words, she thought. He jumped out of the car and headed inside, and it was all she could do to keep up with him from that point. He was in and out of stores so quickly that it made her head spin. He was in raptures in the food court. He loved the three new pairs of blue jeans that she bought him. He adored the new sweaters she paid for. And the thing he seemed to like best of all were his five new pairs of shoes. When she protested that he didn't need so many different pairs, he'd pouted at her. Pouted!

The saleslady had nearly swooned.

In an effort to prevent the teenaged girls working in the shoe store from mobbing her, she'd bought the shoes without further protestation. At least he hadn't made her carry any of the bags, she reasoned. She stopped at a small shop that sold cookies and asked him if he wanted anything.

"Whatever you're having," he said distractedly, rifling through one of his bags. She rolled her eyes and ordered two chocolate chip cookies and two sodas. When she handed him his cookie, his eyes widened. The cookie was twice as big as his palm. She sipped from her straw and ate the cookie quietly. "Why didn't Ginny tell me about malls?"

"She probably knew how you'd react."

"All the more reason to tell me. She would have had the privilege of being seen shopping with me. We would have been in public together."

"Again, probably another reason she didn't tell you." He frowned at her, and she giggled.

"And since when do you like places like this?" he wondered, taking the lid off of his soda and drinking. "You're a recluse."

"I've never been big on malls," she admitted.

"Then why did you bring me here?"

"I don't know," she lied, avoiding eye contact. She knew exactly why she'd brought him to the mall; had known that he'd been in hiding for quite some time, from the way he spoke and the way he acted around her. She knew that getting out would be good for him - not to mention that she knew how much care he'd always taken in his appearance, and she knew that he would enjoy indulging in this way. It was the only way she could think of to show him that she understood.

She understood the solitude and the constant feeling of being punished even though you hadn't done anything wrong.

They finished their sweets in silence, then left the mall and headed to the grocery store. Hermione was amazed at Draco's enthusiasm for shopping, no matter what he was shopping for. He squeezed fresh fruits and vegetables, he avoided canned foods for the most part, and he carefully inspected every meat that the store had on display. They left the store laden with more groceries than she'd purchased since Ron's death.

He disappeared the moment they returned to her home, heading towards his room with his new clothes. She carried the food into the kitchen and began putting things away, still marveling at his shopping ability. Ron had never been one for shopping, even for food. He had been more of a homebody, wanting to stay home with her and snuggle on the sofa in front of the telly. Actually, he liked doing anything, as long as they were both in the same room. She smiled to herself as she put the meat in the fridge, unaware that she was being quietly observed.

He'd gone into the room he occupied, intent on trying on every last article of clothing he'd just been treated to, when a thought struck him. She didn't like malls, yet she'd taken him to one. She didn't like shopping, that was painfully obvious when all she did was follow him from store to store and pay for things - yet she'd gone. This puzzled him. She didn't know him well, and they weren't friends. Why go to such lengths to please him?

It must be in her nature. Damned Gryffindor nobility, he thought, amused. She'd given selflessly so he could enjoy himself. And he had, damn it! It had been a long time since he'd been able to walk around like a free man; like the free man he used to be. It felt good, and he wanted to thank her somehow. He cursed silently - that Gryffindor nobility would rub off on him, if he wasn't careful.

He would thank her the only way he knew how at present - he would cook for her. It surprised him that she hadn't balked at the price tags of anything he'd wanted at any of the stores, and it made him curious as to how much money she had. He'd never known her to be anything but sensible, and he had to face it, most of the things he had gotten her to purchase were anything but sensibly priced.

He watched her put the groceries away, and was caught totally off guard when she smiled suddenly. He wondered what she was thinking about, then realized that she already looked better than she had four days ago when he'd shown up, dripping wet, on her doorstep. She didn't look like her old self, and he wondered if she ever would again, but she definitely looked better. Her skin wasn't looking as sallow, and the dark circles under her eyes were lighter than they had been. She was still far too skinny, but he knew that if she kept eating his cooking, that would be solved in time.

She started to put away the rack of lamb he'd chosen when he stopped her. "Don't put that away - I need to start on it soon." She looked startled, but left the meat on the counter. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded.

"Right, well I'll leave you to the kitchen, then. I'm going to go take a shower, and then I'll try my hand at a bit more research." He nodded, and she left the kitchen.

Close to two hours later, a very sweaty Draco appeared in the doorway of the study. Hermione was sitting at the desk, taking notes from a very large, dusty book in front of her. She was freshly scrubbed and he could smell the floral scent of her soap from the doorway. For a split second, he wondered why he hadn't smelt it the last few days after she'd showered, but then he dismissed the thought.

"Dinner's ready," he said. She jumped in her chair, and he chuckled. "I forgot how much you get into your research."

"Yes, well," she said, inserting a bookmark and closing the book. "You ought to remember - you interrupted me so many times in the library, I should think you'd have the surprised look on my face memorized, or something."

"What, you mean this one?" He made a face that she laughed at.

"That's the one." She followed him into the kitchen, closing her eyes as the rich aroma of the lamb met her nostrils. "That smells incredible. I didn't realize I was so hungry."

"I'd be surprised if you choked anything down tonight, after that chinese food that you inhaled at the mall." Her cheeks turned pink as she sat down.

"I haven't had it in a while, and Chinese is my favorite."

"Apparently. This isn't Chinese, but I think you'll find it acceptable." He sat a plate in front of her, and she stared at the huge piece of meat surrounded by vegetables.

"I don't think I can eat all of this," she protested, looking up at him. He handed her a large glass of wine.

"Don't offend me by not eating it," he said, taking his place across from her. She looked back down at the food.

"Thank you." His fork froze halfway to his mouth.

"What? Why?"

"I know you don't want to be friends, but thank you for being so decent to me."

"Yeah." She knew that that was all she was going to get out of him in the way of acknowledgement, so she didn't press her luck. She took a bite of the lamb and almost moaned.

"Oh my God, this is incredible," she said. A gigantic smirk appeared on his face, and she sighed. "Great. Now your ego is going to inflate to the point of smothering me, isn't it? I should know by now not to feed that thing."

"Now, now. A man always likes to hear that he's appreciated, even if he is, for all intents and purposes, trapped inside someone's home." She snorted.

"Trapped? Oh yes, definitely trapped. Damn me, forcing you to go to the mall and shop!" He chuckled.

"You know, I'm surprised that we were able to do that without being caught. It was very daring of you."

"Yeah, well. I learned daring from the best, you know." He cocked his head slightly to the side and eyed her thoughtfully.

"What was it like, being part of the famous trio?" She was caught off guard by his question and sputtered on the sip of wine she'd just taken. After she'd dabbed the wine off of her chin with her napkin, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Is this a trick question?"

"No, I'm honestly curious."

"It was fun," she said softly, staring down into her wineglass. "Hellishly frightening at times, but for the most part, fun. I never lacked for people to talk to about anything, and we were never lacking in adventures."

"You never felt like a third wheel?"

"Yes, I did, at times. Not very often, but when Harry and Ron played exploding snap, or chess, or started in on Quidditch, I felt left out of things. It wasn't anything that they did purposely, though. They tried to teach me exploding snap, and I just had no desire to learn. I knew how to play chess, but I've never been good at it, and Quidditch just never held any interest for me."

"Sacrilege," he teased lightly. She smiled wistfully.

"Ron tried to teach me after we were married. I knew all of the rules and understood them well enough, but I just couldn't get interested in the game."

"Sport," he corrected her.

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. He was quiet for a moment.

"Not being in Potter's limelight didn't bother you?"

"Not really. Harry had more than enough on his plate, and I didn't envy him any of the responsibility that he shouldered, though at times I would gladly have taken some of it from him in order for him to be able to live normally."

"You were never jealous of him? His popularity?"

"Popularity?" she asked incredulously. "You mean the people always trying to kill him? No, I was never jealous of that."

"Your husband was."

"I don't think that Ron understood the weight that Harry's fame carried with it. If he had, he never would have been jealous."

"I see."

"What about you? What was it like being the son of Lucius Malfoy?"

"Stressful."

"Care to elaborate?" She watched as he refilled her wineglass, then his own.

"I loved my father, contrary to popular belief."

"I never doubted that you did."

"From the way Ginny spoke, it would seem that everyone believed that I was abused, or something similarly outrageous. No matter what my father did for his beliefs, he never laid a hand on me or my mother."

"Your home life was good." It was more of a statement than a question, and he noticed. He nodded.

"It was."

"You miss them."

"I do."

"I'm sorry." He looked up at her.

"For what?"

"I'm just sorry that you're not able to be with your family any more."

"You didn't like my father, so I'm not buying that."

"Just because I didn't like him doesn't mean that I would wish a family to be broken up," she said, her voice laced with sadness. He thought about this for several moments.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"We need to get started back on our research first thing tomorrow," he said, abruptly changing the subject.

"Yes."

"What was that book you were reading before dinner?" he asked, clearing their plates.

"Hogwarts, a History." He nearly dropped the plates as he turned to gape at her. "What?"

"What's the school's history got to do with wandless magic?" She pursed her lips.

"Honestly! I know you've read it, but apparently you didn't read it very thoroughly. It has an entire chapter dedicated to Rowena Ravenclaw's ability to use wandless magic during the construction of the school."

"Really?" he eyed her thoughtfully. "I must have skipped over that part. I was never interested in the Ravenclaw heritage."

"There's a surprise," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Damn," he said, grinning cheekily. "You almost sounded like the Hermione I remember from Hogwarts." She gave a start as she realized that that was the first time she'd heard him use her given name.

"And how is that, exactly?" she asked, flustered.

"The sarcastic know-it-all." He washed the plates quickly and pulled a box from the pantry. She watched as he placed a thick slice of chocolate cake on a fresh plate and handed it to her.

"I couldn't possibly eat this," she protested, pushing the plate away gently. He scooted it back in front of her and handed her a fork.

"Eat," he commanded.

"I can't! My stomach isn't big enough to handle this after eating all of that lamb!"

"Eat," he repeated. She sighed and picked up the fork.

"Fine, but if I vomit-"

"I'll hold your hair away from your face for you," he snapped, cutting himself a piece of cake. "But you won't vomit. You're going to eat that cake and like it."

"You sound like my Mother," she mumbled, frowning.

"Sensible?"

"Pushy."

"You'll get over it, I'm sure."

"You seem to be overly fond of saying that," she grumbled.

Four hours later found Hermione bent over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into it. She felt miserable; she knew she shouldn't have eaten so much earlier. Why had she listened to Draco and eaten that cake? Before she could rationalize any futher, another wave of nausea rolled over her. Suddenly she felt hands pulling her sweat-drenched hair away from her face. Before she could speak, she threw up again. To his credit, he made no noises displaying his disgust.

When she started to fall asleep on the cool tile of the loo, he helped her stand up and walked her back to her bedroom. He helped her into bed and pulled the covers up over her. After pressing his hand to her face to feel her temperature, he went back into his room and laid down.

He felt horrible.

She'd told him that she'd get sick if she had to eat that slice of cake, but he'd made her do it, anyway. She needed fatty food to get rid of that emaciated look, but he should have realized that the rich lamb was enough for the evening. He sighed. He hated to admit it to himself, but he was growing fond of her. When she had a mind to do it, she was fierce with the quips and firing insults at him, and it made him feel the closest to normal that he'd felt since before his father died.