A/N: A lovely Dramione one-shot for you here - if you like this, and you haven't read 'The Bench' then you might like to go and check that out. Personally, I like 'The Bench' better, but that was easier to write, whereas this took me really quite a while, which I don't like. Also, I haven't read it through, because it's 1am and I'm tired and I have post-itis. I'm pretty sure it's okay, but if there's anything major in there, be a dear and let me know so I can edit it.(Talking of typos/brain lapses, there's a couple in 'The Bench' which I haven't chnged because I'm lazy and they weren't major enough, just a warning. I think it's only two though, so you know). Apologies for an awfully rambling A/N, but I do feel the need to write them at the beginning of each story. This is set during 'the seventh year that never was' and it can be as AU or canon as you want it to be, your choice. With that said, read, review, and enjoy!
She'd have to get her hands on some dreamless sleep potion, she decided as she padded down to the common room, arms folded across her middle, hair looking thoroughly windswept.
She needed a nice, warm drink, something strong...coffee, perhaps, decaffeinated, of course, because otherwise the task of getting back to sleep would be rendered completely impossible.
Ignoring the Fat Lady's warnings of, "You'll be caught, you know, young lady!" she crept along the corridors, ears listening for any sound of movement; teacher, ghost, poltergeist... She scowled as she thought of Peeves, still feeling a little tetchy that he'd decided to bombard her with slug pellets when she was on her way to Arithmancy. Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls found it deeply amusing, of course. Hermione, on the other hand, did not.
She tickled the pear in the portrait of fruit and it turned into a door handled, which she pulled on gently, before entering the kitchens. Dobby came bounding up to her, wearing Ron's jumper which was clean, although a little big, and a tea cosy covering his large, bald head. "Miss Granger! How may Dobby be of assistance?" he asked, bowing deeply before her.
"Could I have a cup of coffee please, Dobby?" Hermione requested kindly, "Decaffeinated, if you have it."
"Yes Miss!" the elf squeaked in reply. "One moment, Miss! Take a seat, Miss!" one of the other house elves pulled out a chair in front of a round wooden table and Hermione sat down, making sure to thank the elf as she did so. "Would Miss like anything to eat?" Dobby asked, appearing at her side with a tray bearing a cup and saucer, a large pot of coffee, a jug of milk, a small bowl of sugar and a plate of biscuits.
"No thanks, Dobby. I'll just drink this and go back to my dormitory."
"If I don't report you first," came a sneer from the doorway. Hermione looked up, though she needn't have. She already knew that the person she would see would be tall, blonde, pointy-faced and pale.
"And how would you explain what you were doing out of bed?" she asked. "Remember what happened last time you so admirably reported me out of bed? You ended up wetting your pants in the Forbidden Forest."
Malfoy's lip curled and he sat down opposite her at the table. Within seconds, Dobby was running over to him, placing a tray similar to Hermione's in front of him. He scowled as he put two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and stirred it, his spoon clinking against the cup noisily. His face twitched when he took his first sip, and Hermione knew he had burnt his tongue, but would not, under any circumstances, especially not in front of her, show any signs of pain. Hermione smiled to herself and shook her head, stirring her own coffee while she waited for it to cool down.
She nibbled on one of the biscuits, occasionally taking a sip of coffee, ignoring Malfoy as much as was humanly possible. When her pot of coffee was empty, she leaned back in her chair, yawning tiredly. There was still one biscuit left untouched on her plate, and she noticed Malfoy eyeing it with a frown.
"Are you going to eat that or not?" he demanded finally.
"I don't see what concern it is of yours," she replied icily.
"Well that is a perfectly good biscuit and I won't allow you to let it go stale, especially as they've normally run out by the third week of each month."
"But it's been on my filthy muggle plate, Malfoy; surely you wouldn't even dream of touching it, let alone eating it. I think my fingers might have even accidentally brushed against it when I picked up one of the others. Won't you be sick?"
"For shortbread, it's a risk I'm willing to take."
The possibility of seeing Malfoy on any more night-time wanderings was enough to put Hermione off sneaking down to the kitchens again for the next few weeks. She gave in however, during one particularly sleepless night after she had tossed and turned just a little too often.
"The same again, Miss?" Dobby asked when she entered, hair tied in a loose plait and resting on her shoulder.
"Please, Dobby," she replied tiredly, stifling a yawn.
Moments after she had sat down, a tray was placed in front of her, the only difference from last time being that the biscuits were chocolate covered, instead of the shortbread that Malfoy cherished so much. With a smile, Hermione remembered that it was halfway through the third week of the month. "Why don't you just get more of the shortbread, Dobby?" Hermione asked curiously as she bit into one of the chocolate biscuits.
"Professor Dumbledore says there can be too much of a good thing, Miss. He says certain students will not appreciate putting weight on, and he is doing it for their own good."
"He knows Malfoy comes down here, then?" Hermione asked in a low whisper, even though the only other eavesdroppers were house elves, many of whom were off cleaning the common rooms and classrooms.
"Dobby thinks so, Miss," he replied in just as low a whisper. "Master Malfoy and yourself are the only ones who come to the kitchens for coffee and biscuits. All the rest come for cakes or missed meals. Dobby is only too happy to provide!" Dobby puffed out his chest proudly, feeling that there could be no finer or more noble a job than being a house elf. Hermione disagreed, but at least he was getting paid for his work. One elf down, only a few thousand more to go.
The door opened and Malfoy strolled in, looking particularly sour. He was dressed in only a black silk dressing gown, which showed off a fair amount of his pale chest. He sat down at the table and folded his arms, only accentuating his sulky image. "Something wrong, Malfoy?" she asked as Dobby set a tray in front of him.
"Pansy," he hissed venomously, "she's only just let me get out of there. Tell me Granger, do all girls wish to talk about feelings after-"
"Spare me the details, Malfoy," Hermione interrupted.
"I was going to," Malfoy responded, "as much as I detest you, Granger, I believe it would be inhuman to share the details of what goes on when Pansy sneaks into my dormitory in the middle of the night. The only thing that it could be compared to is the Dementor's Kiss...quite literally." Hermione grimaced at his analogy and sipped some of her coffee.
"Why don't you just tell her to go away?" Hermione asked, providing a simple solution to a gruesome problem.
"It's not as simple as that, Granger. Us folk with more noble ancestry-" Hermione snorted and he continued as though he hadn't heard her, "-have our marriages arranged from a young age. Dearest Pansy," he said her name with distaste, "is, regrettably, my bride to be."
"So being pureblood isn't all it's cracked up to be, then?" Hermione asked, challenging him.
"In this particular case, no. But just because you are married to someone it doesn't mean you have to like them. You sleep with them until you are provided with an heir, and then you never need touch them again. You can go and get satisfaction from whatever witch you please, and the wife will say nothing because it is your money that is keeping her off the street, and your money that is keeping her in fine robes and goblin-made jewellery. So all in all, it's not such a bad lot."
"Except you have to sleep with Little Miss Pug-Face until she pops out Baby Pug-Face."
"I'll have you know that my son will be incredibly handsome and will inherit all his looks from his father. It has been like that for centuries."
"Only because you're all inbred, of course you're bound to look alike. You know, you're much more likely to get serious diseases when you come from inbreeding. You need to branch out a bit, because otherwise your grandchildren will likely end up deformed, whether they've inherited Pansy's genes or not."
"What are you insinuating, Granger?"
"What d'you mean?" she asked, frowning at him over the rim of her coffee cup.
"When you suggest that I 'branch out'. Is there an ulterior motive, or are you merely concerned for my descendants?" Hermione nearly spat out her coffee.
"And what are you insinuating, Malfoy? I'm just saying I think the future wizarding population would appreciate it if they didn't have noses growing out of their ears! Honestly, you think I'd ever even consider-?"
"Oh I think you would. And I quite agree, but when you're a Pureblood, you find your future wife at a family gathering, it's the way it's always been."
"Yeah, and there was a time when witches were always burned at the stake! Things change Malfoy! And it's a ruddy good job they do too!"
"Well anyway, I've made my choice, because if I don't follow through, I will find myself without an inheritance, and I'll have to work for a living."
"The cheek of it..." Hermione muttered. "I mean who works for a living?"
"Not me," Malfoy replied. Hermione stood up, having drained the lat of her coffee. "Goodnight, Granger."
It was only a few days later when she headed back down to the kitchens again, wearing a pair of pyjama shorts which showed a little too much leg for Hermione's liking, – ("who's going to be looking at your legs while you're asleep?") – and a pale blue camisole. The stone floors helped cool her feet down, but the thick walls were keeping all the heat inside the castle, even with the leaded windows thrown wide open as possible.
Finally she reached the kitchens, tickled the pear in the painting and stepped inside. "Something a little cooler, today, Miss?" Dobby asked, bounding up to her, wearing just the one hat due to the heat.
"Yes, please Dobby, what have you got?"
"Master Malfoy is having pumpkin juice and ice cream! Would Miss be wanting the same? We have many flavours of ice cream, Professor Dumbledore likes it very much, Miss. Why just this evening he had three whole scoops of Raspberry Ripple, but we also have vanilla and chocolate and banana and pistachio and strawberry and caramel and-"
"Vanilla would be lovely, Dobby," she replied, making her way over to the table wear Malfoy was sitting, pouring liberal amounts of chocolate sauce on his ice cream. He raised his eyebrows in greeting and she gave him the faintest of smiles before sitting down opposite him, smiling when Dobby arrived with a jug of pumpkin juice accompanied by a glass, and a bowl which was overloaded with scoops of ice cream. "Thanks, Dobby," she said, reaching towards the chocolate sauce. Malfoy snatched it out of reach.
"Granger, this sauce is in the same category as the shortbread, have the toffee one."
Hermione was about to retort and get her hands on the sauce by magical means when Dobby appeared at her side once more with a new batch of chocolate sauce, which Hermione took gratefully. Malfoy scowled and Hermione kept a firm grip on the sauce, in case he tried to snatch it.
"Honestly, Malfoy," she said, dribbling the thick brown sauce over her ice cream, "the way you get with food, people'd think you were poor."
"Which is why I only come and get the good stuff when no one else is around. Believe me Granger, if your taste buds were refined enough to really taste this stuff, you'd be getting as much as you can of it."
"My taste buds are fine, Malfoy. And besides, last time I checked, I was here, so you're scoffing when I'm around." He didn't answer, and she decided to antagonise him some more. "You've got some sauce on your chin, by the way," she said offhandedly, adding when he reached up to find his chin sauce-free, "no, the second one." He glared at her and dug his spoon back into his ice cream while Hermione tried to hide a smile.
Finally, Malfoy's mood seemed to improve (Hermione did not decide to voice the connection between his happiness and the quickly diminishing chocolate sauce) and he decided to insult her, after the small blow she had given his ego earlier. "My God, Granger, could you be wearing any less? Just crawled out of Weasley's bed, have you?"
"I didn't know you were so interested in my clothes, Malfoy. And for your information, no, I have not just crawled out of Ron's bed. But it's a very poor attempt at annoying me, because last time we were both here, I believe you'd just escaped from a truly dreadful ordeal with Pansy Parkinson." His face reddened ever so slightly at this, and Hermione continued. "I don't think I could be blamed for thinking that your heart's not really in it anymore, which is a shame. Your reputation will go to pot, won't it?"
"Are you saying you prefer being insulted properly? Because it can be arranged."
"Well if you're going to do it at all, at least put some effort in. Of course I'd prefer you not to do it at all, but I'll wait until there are pigs flying without magical aid (and your two cronies don't count) before I'll expect that." Hermione went back to her ice cream and Malfoy shrugged, grabbing the chocolate sauce and pouring the last of it over his once-white ice cream.
"You're just in the mood for an argument, aren't you, Granger?" Malfoy asked once he had swallowed the last of his ice cream. "What with the heat and not being satisfied with Weasley's poor performance in bed-"
"How would you know if he's poor in bed? Something you want to tell me?"
"Granger, the day I have sex with Weasley is the same day that I stop insulting you altogether."
"So, let me guess, you're going to insult me a lot more now, just to make sure I know that you're completely straight, and engaging in such activities is something you'd never even consider." Malfoy smirked at her.
"Sounds about right, actually, Mudblood." Hermione laughed and he stood up. "Goodnight, Granger."
"Night, Malfoy," she said boredly, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
It was only as he reached the door that Hermione noticed he was only wearing his boxers on his lower half, and she mentally scolded herself when she realised she was actually admiring his lean, although very pale, legs.
It was a Saturday the next time she went to the kitchens. She had wanted to escape from the party that was currently taking place in Gryffindor Tower, Gryffindor having beat Slytherin at quidditch again. A glance at her watch told her it was nearing eleven o'clock, which was very early for a wander down to the kitchens, but she went anyway, knowing she wouldn't be missed. Harry and Ron would assume she had gone to bed, and Parvati and Lavender would be either sitting in a corner gossiping, or else eating off the face of some unlucky male Gryffindors, rendering themselves unable to disprove Harry and Ron's theory.
She was mildly surprised, however, to see Malfoy in the kitchens when she arrived. Dobby rushed up to her, glancing worriedly over at Malfoy every other second. "Miss, I must warn you, Master Malfoy is not in the best of spirits," Dobby told her in a hushed whisper. "He has been drinking Firewhisky, a little too much, in Dobby's opinion, and I don't think he is in the mood to be joined. I can bring something to Miss in her dormitory, if Miss wishes?"
"Granger!" Hermione looked up and saw Malfoy half turned around in his seat, his glass of Firewhisky recently refilled. "Come to rub it in, have you?" he slurred his words and Hermione realised that when Dobby said 'a little too much', he actually meant 'a lot too much'.
"No I haven't," Hermione told him firmly. "But I will if you start being rude and unreasonable. I came down here for some coffee and some quiet, because you can only get Butterbeer and noise in my common room."
"Well sit down then," Malfoy said grumpily, kicking the chair opposite him so it flew out from under the table. Hermione sat down and Dobby came trotting over with a tray. Malfoy eyed the tray and tutted. "If you're going to stay at least get drunk with me," he demanded, pushing the bottle of Firewhisky towards her.
"Malfoy I am not yours to command, I shall be drinking coffee, thanks very much." He rolled his eyes and grabbed to bottle, splashing some into his glass, not caring that it was spilling everywhere due to his clumsiness. "D'you want some shortbread?" she asked after a few moments silence. She slid the plate across the table, and he regarded her cautiously before taking one of the biscuits.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
Three hours later and Malfoy was completely trashed. The bottle of Firewhisky was empty (Hermione had not helped in the slightest, honestly, she would never ever touch the stuff) and Malfoy was slumped over the table. Hermione stood up and took a minute to get her head straight, ignoring the slightly disorientated feeling that was swirling around inside of her. She was about to leave when she realised that Malfoy would never get back to the Slytherin common room in the state he was in, and even if he did, she doubt he'd manage to do it without getting caught.
She was shocked at feeling as though she should help him, but decided that after being beat three hundred and twenty points to forty, he didn't deserve to get a week's worth of detentions on top of it. "Malfoy," she said tiredly, shaking his shoulder gently. "Come on, get up," he stirred slightly, and Hermione sighed. Even if she could get him to the entrance she'd only be able to leave him there, in the hope that some Slytherin would find him before he was caught. She didn't even know where the common room was, and she doubted that Malfoy would be able to give accurate directions.
"Dobby used to have to carry Winky when Winky was like this," Dobby said sadly, looking at Malfoy with his great big eyes. "But once Dobby had reached the Come and Go Room, it was very easy to get Winky comfortable."
"Of course..." Hermione said quietly, "the room of requirement." She grabbed Malfoy's arm and pulled him to his feet, draping his arm around her shoulders so she could support him. "Wake up," she said loudly. He merely groaned. Hermione slapped his face lightly and he blinked. "Come on," she told him. "I'll see you soon, Dobby."
"Will Miss be ok with Master Malfoy?"
"I'll be fine, Dobby," Hermione replied as she opened the door, making sure that she gave Malfoy a painful dig in the ribs. "As long as Malfoy actually does some walking."
"All right Granger...calm down..." he started to move his legs properly, and Hermione winced at how loud and drunken his footsteps were.
"Malfoy, you've got to keep quiet, I need to be able to listen out for teachers!" Hermione hissed.
"Yeah? You're Head Girl; you're allowed to do whatever you like, aren't you? And I'm a Prefect and Quidditch Captain, so...so...there." Hermione shushed him impatiently, peering around corners for teachers, Filch, or Mrs Norris.
After a very trying twenty minutes, Hermione finally reached the room of requirement, thinking carefully as she walked in front of the entrance, Malfoy leaning against the wall and putting all his concentration in to remaining upright. When the door materialised, Hermione pushed it open and grabbed Draco by the arm, dragging him into the room where two beds were set up and another door was open, leading into a bathroom.
"What, Malfoy?" Hermione asked impatiently.
"I'm gonna be sick."
And he was.
"I go down for some coffee and what do I end up with?" Hermione asked as Draco retched again, emptying his stomach into the toilet. She'd gotten past the point where his vomiting made her grimace, and was now just plain bored. "I'll tell you what I end up with: sitting her at a quarter to three, watching you be sick and it's all out of the goodness of my heart. I could have left you in the kitchen you know. You owe me for this. A lot."
"Keep your voice down, Granger," Malfoy moaned, his voice echoing into the toilet bowl before he heaved once again. "My head's killing me."
"Well you should have thought of that before you drunk an entire bottle of Firewhisky."
"I wasn't alone in that," he muttered, finally sitting up and taking the tissues Hermione handed him, wiping his mouth before taking the glass of water that was presented to him.
"That's hardly the point!" Hermione snapped. "Besides, I'm not the one who's just emptied my stomach into that toilet. Now come on, go to bed and sleep it out." She stood up and flushed the toilet, all traces of vomit disappearing with a quick gush of water. She held out her hand and Malfoy took it, allowing her to haul him to his feet.
"Ugh, my head..." he groaned, using Hermione for support as they walked back towards where to the two beds were. He flopped onto the bed and Hermione pursed her lips when he didn't bother removing his shoes. She pulled them off quickly, dumping them on the floor and then went over to a table in the corner, which had various bottles of potions, each labelled with the name and purpose. Hermione picked up three bottled and walked back over to Malfoy uncorking one of the bottles and handing it to him.
"Drink," she ordered.
"I've drunk enough tonight; if I drink any more I'll be sick."
"Now you say that," Hermione sighed. "Look, Malfoy, drink, or I'll hex you." He followed orders, downing each potion with a disgusted expression on his face before laying down and closing his eyes. Hermione begrudgingly threw the duvet over him before walking over to the other bed, too tired to go all the way back to Gryffindor tower (and, although she wouldn't admit it, wanting to be there in case Malfoy decided to choke on his own vomit). She toed off her shoes, pulled the duvet back and got into bed, yawning just the once before she succumbed to sleep.
The next morning, Hermione arrived at the Gryffindor table in the same clothes she was wearing the previous day, (although they had had few cleaning charms placed on them) freshly showered but looking quite awful. Ginny immediately shoved Harry along on the bench, making room for Hermione.
"Where were you last night?" she hissed, making sure Harry and Ron couldn't hear.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, taking a pot of coffee and pouring herself some, handing it to Neville once she was finished, who began to pour his own cup.
"You know perfectly well what I mean, Hermione," Ginny told her, her eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown. "You disappeared during the party – was it with Seamus?" the last bit was added after inspiration seemed to have struck Ginny. Hermione thought it was very stupid inspiration, but she wouldn't tell her, in case it came across as defensive.
"No Ginny, I did not disappear with Seamus. I went to sleep." Hermione was now spooning sugar into her coffee, but her third and final spoonful of sugar landed on the table, in the place where her mug had been. She looked up to see Malfoy sitting at the Slytherin table, raising the cup to her as though toasting her, before moving it towards his mouth to drink it.
Hermione was far too quick, and waved her wand at the cup. Malfoy began to drink, but promptly sprayed all those within five feet of him with Firewhisky when he spat the 'coffee' out. Hermione smirked at him uncharacteristically and he glared back at her. She gave him a warning look and he looked away, not wanting to give the Gryffindor any more reasons to cast spells which would humiliate him in front of the entire school.
Ginny was looking between Malfoy and Hermione in shock, mouth gaping as she looked from one to the other. "He looks just as bad as you!" she whispered excitedly once she'd regained the ability to talk. "You were with him last night, weren't you?"
"Shut up, Ginny!" Hermione warned her.
"But...oh my God!" several people turned to look at the two girls and Hermione grabbed a rack of toast, pulling Ginny along with her as she stalked out of the great hall, planning to give her friend a proper lesson in discretion.
He avoided her eye, and the kitchens, for the next month, which suited Hermione very well. The shortbread supply didn't run out at all, and she was able to enjoy coffee and biscuits at unreasonable hours in peace – no insults, no vomiting, no drunks, and no chocolate sauce freaks.
She was just about to bite into a brilliantly red strawberry, which she hoped would be as juicy as all the others were, when the door opened, and Malfoy stepped inside, yawning as he did so. His hair was yet to face the horrors of gel, and was falling softly onto his face, apparently an annoyance because he kept batting it out of the way. He looked at Hermione and groaned.
"You know Granger, I've been doing very well at avoiding you so far, why did you have to ruin it?" Hermione gaped at him.
"Me ruin it? If you were better, you would have known I was in here. Besides, you owe me big time for hauling you upstairs and sitting in that bathroom with you for half an hour while you were chucking up!"
"I didn't ask you to stay, did I?" he said lazily, sitting down opposite her, letting his eyes travel towards the melted chocolate that Hermione had been dipping her strawberries in.
"I didn't really have much choice! Not after 'Granger, I'm going to be sick'. I couldn't just leave you. I'm a decent person Malfoy, even if you are not." Malfoy rolled his eyes and ignored her, turning to address Dobby when he appeared at his side.
"I'll some of what Granger's having," he told the elf, "lots of chocolate – I've been losing weight without that shortbread." Hermione held in a laugh and picked up another strawberry, dipping it in the chocolate before lifting it high, allowing the excess chocolate to dribble off of it and back into the bowl.
They sat in silence eating their strawberries and making a mess with the chocolate, Hermione grabbing a serviette each time she did so and wiping it to save the elves work, Malfoy just glancing down long enough to make sure he didn't put his elbow in it. Hermione was soon full, unable to manage another chocolate drenched strawberry, and sat back, sipping her pumpkin juice quietly while Malfoy ate his own strawberries.
Hermione finally got up, noticing that it really was getting quite late, and that she needed to be in Charms at nine o'clock the next morning, which in turn meant she needed to sleep. "Goodnight Malfoy," she said, stretching before she left.
"Goodnight Granger," he called, having swallowed a strawberry and able to bid her goodnight.
He stopped avoiding her after that. He either ignored her when they were in classes, or made some snide remark that wasn't really all that snide. Hermione actually laughed at most of them, because they tended to be in reference to something they'd said whilst drinking coffee in the early hours. She supposed it was his own little way of being nice to her while still keeping up his evil reputation. Because after all, she could have told the whole school that he'd thrown up non-stop for half an hour, and she could have told the whole school that he'd had to rely on her, of all people, to get him somewhere to sleep that night, and on top of that, she could have left him right outside Filch's office, which he would have understood, given the fact that they'd never really got on all that well. Plus, he thought to himself, he'd have done that to her, because he wasn't a decent person, she was right.
It was simple coffee the next time she went down to the kitchens. Coffee and shortbread. It was the same for him. She was still fully dressed, having stayed in the common room far too long reading, and he'd obviously been to bed and had got up again, because he was wearing his boxers and a plain black t shirt.
"Black makes you look even paler," she said to him, biting into her shortbread absentmindedly. "You should probably go for lighter colours, make you look less like you've been dunked in whitewash."
"I like being pale, thank you," he replied. "It shows that I am not poor enough to have to do manual labour, and that I'm rich enough to sit inside all day with fine wines and such." Hermione rolled her eyes and sipped some of her coffee. "I notice you're not pale," he added, trying to get her attention. She didn't give it though, and he scowled, wanting at least some sort of acknowledgement. All he got was the sound of the pages of the Evening Prophet turning while Hermione perused its pages, not really reading the stories, having already read it cover to cover that evening. "I said, Granger, that I notice that you're not pale."
"I heard you the first time, Malfoy. And there's no need to shout, I'm not deaf." She turned another page and frowned obviously thinking. "Slang for Dragon Pox medicine – six letters."
"What?" Hermione asked, looking up and finally giving him her attention.
"George," he repeated. "Oh come on, Granger, you must have heard of it! It's called George after Saint George, who slayed the dragon. It's been around for centuries. Surely you've read it in a book?" Hermione made a sound of uncertainty.
"Well I suppose it does fit in with Gorgovitch..." she mumbled.
"That loser who can't even catch a cold, let alone a quaffle? Why's he in the crossword? He not important enough, surely?"
"I don't suppose any of this will help you out much in a life or death situation, Malfoy, so I doubt it needs to be of great importance." She drained the last of her coffee and stood up, at the exact same time that Malfoy got to his feet. "Right," she said uncomfortably. "Yeah." He looked just as awkward when he followed Hermione to the door and stepped outside.
They walked in silence along the corridors, both ignoring the other. They stopped dead when they heard muttering coming from around the corner. "Ruddy students, bringing in mud and Merlin knows what else..." Malfoy's hand groped to the side of the corridor, finally landing on the door handle of the broom cupboard and pulling it open, grabbing Hermione and dragging her inside.
For a few moments, all they could hear was their rapid breathing, and Hermione pressed her ear to the door, trying to listen out for Filch. After a minute or two, Malfoy finally spoke. "This is unfair."
"Shut up!" she hissed, before she even had time to process what he had said. "Hang on, what d'you mean, 'unfair'?" she asked.
"Well, firstly, you're this close to me," their bodies were touching in the tiny space that was the broom cupboard, "and yet all your attention is on another man. And secondly," Hermione gulped as she noticed his hand was resting on her hip, and it wasn't due to the small space, because there were plenty of places to put hands (he knew that better than anyone), "because you're wearing far too many clothes, Granger."