Draco realised his mistake too late. "I sleep fine," he said, giving her pointed look. "Even if your Gryffindor beds are ridiculously uncomfortable."
The brunette paused and tilted her head; her honeyed eyes dancing up and down the length of him cautiously. "So...what were you doing in the kitchen?"
"I was trying to make a drink," he rolled his eyes, gesturing to her kettle. "But your fucking Muggle shit is broken-
"It's not broken," she muttered a little distantly, shifting her weight. "I'll get changed and I'll make us some-
"I don't want you to make me-
"Oh, don't be so childish," she frowned, but it faltered when the wind roared again. She dented her bottom lip with anxiety as she weighed up her pride against her fear and sudden loneliness. "Look, I need to ask you a few questions anyway, so-
"Questions?" Draco echoed. "Why should I answer any-
"Malfoy, stop it," she scorned with an irritated huff. "I'm not trying to pull anything-
"Sure-
"The questions I have are about your stay and how to possibly make it more...comfortable for you," she explained, heading to her room. "So, stop being so-
"You have ten minutes," he warned, leaving the kitchen and collapsing heavily into the couch he had slept on the other night. "Hurry up, Granger."
It took Hermione less than two minutes to change into a baggy t-shirt and her loose bottoms, and she also gathered her blanket, knowing the bellowing night would banish her to sitting room again. Draco tapped his foot impatiently against the coffee table's leg as she prepared two cups of steaming chocolate, and Hermione nibbled at her tongue to halt the biting words at the tip.
"Right," the witch exhaled, setting down their mugs and relaxing into the opposite couch. "I'm going to Hogsmeade this weekend and I thought you might want me to get some things for you-
"I don't need you to get anything for me!" he spat, rising from his seat with furious movements. "How many times do I need to tell you, Granger? Are you bloody deaf? I don't need anything from you-
"I knew you'd react like that," she told him, her tone prim and controlled like this was simply a business meeting. "Look, it's not my money; it's Hogwarts' money, and seeing as your father was one of the Governors, it's technically your family's money."
It wasn't true. Hermione would be paying for anything that he requested, assuming it was within her price range. She'd expected that he would take her offer as an insult to his pride, and had invented her little white lie to convince him. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted him to have a few comforts to call his own; perhaps to possibly calm his mood, or maybe it was something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
The pretty Gryffindor couldn't help but look at him differently after his escape attempt, and the way he had cupped her cheek with his bloody palm. She'd never once considered the possibility that Malfoy could be gentle in anything that he did, and his sticky caress had completely thrown her; made her more aware of his needs and feelings. Seeing the Dark Mark should have appalled her and reignited her anger towards him, but it hadn't. Instead, she found McGonagall's voice swimming in her mind.
It might do you well to remember that he was forced into his mission when you are dealing with him.
Hermione told herself she didn't care, not quite anyway, but she'd moved from hatred, to indifference, to something else. She just didn't know what. She studied him with her calm gaze as he warily retook his seat, resting his chin against the back of his knuckles.
"And you're offering to collect these things for me?" he asked sceptically. "Why?"
"Purely selfish reasons," she grinned. "If you have some luxuries, you might be a bit more pleasant."
Draco scoffed. "It will take more than some toys to make me pleasant towards you, Granger," he told her firmly, eyeing her with a half-lidded stare. "Aside from that unlikely notion, you're not expecting anything in return?"
"I know you wouldn't agree to anything I asked anyway," she shrugged. "And you have nothing I want."
He felt his jaw twitch. "Fine," he rasped out. "I am getting rather sick of those red bed covers, so get me some green ones. And that sodding shampoo of yours-
"Hold on a second," Hermione said, reaching for her bag. "I'll write this down."
As she removed her parchment and her quill, one of her allergy shots tumbled out of her bag and rolled across the floor to tap Draco's feet. The pale wizard picked it up with his lean fingers and analysed it carefully, turning it over and cocking an eyebrow at the illustrations along the cylindrical object.
"What, Muggles can't read now?" he mocked. "Should have guessed-
"They're directional pictures," the brunette retorted angrily. "If I have an allergic attack and someone finds it, the pictures explain how to give me the shot."
"Why don't you just do it yourself?"
"If I reach a certain stage I won't be able to," she explained. "They're a precaution-
"And if you don't get the shot?" he asked, shooting the witch a wary look and realising he was too interested in her answer. "What happens then?"
"I could die," she stated, and Draco didn't like how flippant her comment sounded. "Just chuck it here, Malfoy. Let's get on with your list."
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