AN #2: Harry Potter's world belongs to JK Rowling. I only write using it to improve my own writing skills. Nor do I own Much Ado About Nothing. However, Danielle Varens is all MINE, and I reserve the right to use her however I wish.
Draco breathed deeply through his nose before letting a grin completely overtake his visage. It was wasted, of course, as he was the only person around to see it, and the door he was about to knock on didn't care. Had he been in a bar, at least three people would have propositioned him based on that smile; forget the rest of the package.
He rapped on the smooth mahogany and the smile vanished, replaced by a carefully schooled apathy.
Right. Because Draco really didn't care how Granger reacted to him.
He heard movement within the chamber, and mutterings, and the grin's ghost fleeted across his lips. He'd probably interrupted her in the midst of a good book.
She'd probably been drinking tea, too.
She needed a personality, STAT.
He rolled his eyes at his own allusions.
"Yes?" Granger snapped, flinging the door open and stepping back to lean against the wood.
Draco blinked as his eyes travelled over her. He'd seen her in her pyjama before, but always in the mornings, when neither one of them was awake enough to be either amiable or attractive.
That, he now realized, was probably a good thing.
The skimpy girl boxers and tight t-shirt left little to the imagination, revealing that Granger was a petite woman with a curvy build and ample breasts, although little padding otherwise. She hadn't removed her makeup yet, but she had tamed her hair into a low ponytail that caressed her throat, the curls seeming to gleam golden in the warm light that spilled from her room.
Draco swallowed and deliberately shifted his weight against the door frame, crossing his left foot over his right ankle.
"Good Lord, Granger," he drawled. "Are you always so pleasant in the evenings?"
Her amber eyes narrowed and her lip curled. He might have heard a growl, but he must have been wrong. She was much too refined for such animalism.
"What. Do. You. Want?"
He arched his left eyebrow.
No, that was definitely a growl.
He studied her again.
She was not so much leaning against the door as she was slumped against it. There were black smudges beneath her eyes, and the skin around her mouth was slack. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her collarbones stuck out. Her shoulder blades protruded awkwardly. Even through her t-shirt, her ribs seemed a long ways from her abdomen. Her pelvis, as it sloped into her shorts, was angular to the point of pain. Her legs seemed spindly, as though impossibilities kept her upright.
Draco's gaze moved past her into her room. Shelves, floor to ceiling, took up most of three walls, and all were stuffed with tomes. Potions, herbology, history, literature, geology, astronomy... the topics were myriad. The fourth wall contained a window, before which was set a roll-top desk. Beside the desk was her wardrobe. Both were tightly closed. Her bed was in the center of the room, taking up much of the space. It was round, and crowded with pillows to the point he couldn't see the bedspread.
A sound of impatience brought his gaze back to her glaring presence.
"It's October second," he finally replied.
"So?" she asked, mirroring his one eyebrow raised expression.
"So I ran into your dearest friend Varens on my way to Quidditch practice," Draco said, making a show of rolling his eyes. "Silly bint was dressed completely inappropriately for the occasion. Do hope Potter chewed her out for it. Anyways," he rested his elbow in his hand and examined a finger. "She insisted that we must start planning some masque tonight." He peered at her over the nail, and performed a perfect mini-sneer. "Don't suppose you happen to know anything about all this?"
A furrow stole across Granger's brow and she rolled up from her slump, stretching lithely.
Merde. Draco scrambled to pop his eyeballs back in their sockets before she noticed them on the floor.
"I've not the least idea what Danielle is on about, Malfoy," she informed him, stalking past him into the common room, settling on her violet suede sofa with a huff. "Why don't you explain?"
He smirked at her, ignoring the shreds of his composure, and sauntered to his room.
He paused in the doorway, posing really, his chin turned just so over his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around the jamb.
"Damned if I know."
The door shut with a soft click, easily drowned out by Granger's enraged epithets.
It was a very good thing that Draco Malfoy didn't believe in Hell, as Danielle Varens had explained the masque in detail that afternoon.
And it was going to be a lot of fun.
~*~
Mmmmmm.....
Something smelled delectable. Sweet.
Hermione nestled into the warmth that surrounded her, smiling contentedly, her nose twitching.
But what was that smell?
Had Dobby tried to make her breakfast in bed again?
She cracked an eyelid and scanned the room suspiciously for the house elf.
No Dobby in the part of the room she could see.
She closed the lid and snuffled into the blankets as though still asleep, rolling over. Her curls tickled her nose.
Huh.
No Dobby here, either.
Both chocolate eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily.
Where was that smell coming from then?
Hermione arched up to sit in the center of her bed, the blankets falling around her waist as she stretched her back and legs before rolling off the bed. She paid no attention to the various ways in which her clothing rode up and slid down her body.
Her nose lead her into the little kitchenette off the common room, where Malfoy stood before the little two burner stove -
Hermione blinked and rubbed her eyes with her fists before checking again.
Yes, Draco Malfoy was making hot cakes in his pyjama and dressing gown.
The Slytherin Prince casually moved to flip a cake without a spatula, glancing at her as he did so.
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. The hot cake landed on his toe.
"Owwwwww!" He howled. "Merlin bless it, Granger! Go put some clothes on, would you?"
Hermione reverted to her usual morning persona.
"Oh, you big baby!" she snapped, her face screwing itself in towards her nose. "It's hot cake batter, and the cold side landed on your foot."
She stalked over to him, leaned down and yanked his foot out from under him with a strength born of anger.
Luckily, she thought his gasp was of surprise.
"See?" she drawled, pointing at his big toe as he caught himself against the wall. "You are just jolly-good fine." She all but threw his foot down, snarling, "Get over yourself," as she strode from the room, curls bristling.
She couldn't help but feel that any Sunday that began with Malfoy flipping hot cakes could only get stranger.
