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Muffins	By : flamingmoth Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 4656 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings in Harry Potter. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Muffins
- 1
Ron looked up from his Quidditch Weekly as Kreacher, dressed in a tidy white tea towel, opened the oven door and took out the muffins he’d been baking. He felt his mouth water as the hot pan sailed over to the counter by magic and settled with a soft clank.
“Would Master Ron like a muffin with butter?” the house elf croaked in his deep voice. Ron nodded eagerly. Kreacher had become pretty tolerable once Harry had befriended him and they had all enjoyed the results: a clean house, tasty food that none of them had to slave over and a generally more cheerful elf instead of one that skulked about and called Hermione rude names under his breath.
Speaking of which Harry, ever suspicious, was convinced that their pretty friend had something going with Malfoy. Ron personally thought the idea was ridiculous. Hermione and Malfoy lost no opportunities to blast each other verbally and it was apparent to him that they loathed one another.
“No, mate, it isn’t that way at all,” Harry protested one night after Hermione had threatened to throw a pitcher of milk at Malfoy’s head at dinner. “They’re like – like alley cats, spitting and howling before they, uh…yeah.” He faltered, not wanting to go there.
Ron shook his head ruefully. “It’s all right. The war’s got everyone stressed out. And yeah, even if Malfoy did come over to your side, Harry, he’s still an annoying, arrogant prat.”
Thinking of this as he gratefully accepted the hot buttery muffin Kreacher handed him, Ron smiled to himself. Malfoy might be a prat, but Hermione could handle him. Though he and Harry were sometimes a bit too overprotective – understandable since the Order’s ranks had been so decimated in the past year and a half – the brainy witch was very much capable of taking care of herself. Ron had seen her fell Death Eater after Death Eater and once, she’d stopped a horde of Inferi singlehandedly. One smirking, egotistical, preening Malfoy was not going to faze their Hermione!
He thanked Kreacher and stood up to leave just as Hermione and Malfoy entered the kitchen, bickering as usual.
“I don’t see why you think this is so hard!” the witch snapped as Malfoy cast his lean body into a chair with a deep sigh.
“Look, we’ve been over this dozens of times already. The Cruciatus Curse has no known counter-curse, otherwise it wouldn’t be an Unforgiveable in the first place. Not even Dumbledore could figure out a way to do it – and you think you can? That’s pretty full of yourself, Granger.” Draco snorted, folding his arms.
“I said nothing of the sort. What I said was that I think I know of a way to enchant an object to deflect the Cruciatus specifically. If only Snape was around – I’m sure he’d have some idea of the technique I’m talking about, it’s based on one of his advanced Potions lessons, after all.”
“Then go to the basement and try it for yourself. I’m sure Severus won’t mind your inquisitive hands all over his prized laboratory, nor the mess he’ll have to clean up when it all goes horribly awry and you’ve burned the house down around our ears.” Malfoy waved a negligent hand as he picked up a field report from a stack on the table and started to read it.
Hermione gave him an angry glare and fell silent. She sat down in a chair with her arms crossed, fuming. Finally she noticed Ron’s presence as he hung around near the kitchen door. “Oh Ron,” she said, her face clearing. “I didn’t see you standing there.”
“Obviously,” Ron said with a small smile, and for some reason, Hermione flushed red. Malfoy was pointedly ignoring her, but Ron had the feeling that he was aware of Hermione’s odd reaction to his statement nonetheless. A crease appeared on the ginger wizard’s brow. Maybe Harry was right, after all. He decided to sit down and suss out the situation some more.
“So what have you been up to, Weasley?” Malfoy asked in a bored tone.
“Not much. Just waiting for the meeting tonight.”
“How’s your shoulder?” Hermione asked with concern. Ron had been hurt during a surprise attack in Northampton and had been ordered by both Minerva and Dumbledore to take it easy for a while, which irritated him nearly as much as Sirius had been irritated to hide in Number 12 Grimmaud Place for so long.
He smiled at Hermione and shrugged with the unharmed shoulder as if to say “okay” and looked up in time to catch Malfoy glaring daggers at him for some reason. Hmm. But Malfoy quickly schooled his face into its previous bored expression before Ron could say anything.
Kreacher appeared at Malfoy’s side and inquiringly waved the muffin pan in his direction, not wishing to interrupt the conversation. The blond wizard cocked an eyebrow and nodded at Kreacher’s murmured inquiry about butter, and actually thanked him once the elf had brought his plate. After the house elf had also offered one to Hermione (she refused) he left the kitchen, replacing the pan of still-warm muffins on top of the stove.
“You seem to get on well with Kreacher,” Ron observed.
Malfoy shrugged. “I was raised to be decent to house elves. Mother was particularly fond of Kreacher anyway, for some reason.”
“I thought – Harry once told me he’d seen your father hitting Dobby with his cane!” Hermione said with more than faint accusation in her voice.
The blond wizard leaned back in his chair and said coolly, “I imagine he did. Mother didn’t like it, though. She said it was ill-bred to treat the help that way.”
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Ron had heard enough. “Right, like you’ve ever cared about how you treated anybody you consider beneath you, Malfoy,” he said with as much disdain as he could manage.
The dreadful silence that stretched out after that almost made Ron wish he hadn’t spoken at all. Hermione was very tense beside him, and Malfoy…well, though the former Death Eater didn’t scare him, he was still highly uncomfortable on the receiving end of the look Malfoy was giving him now.
“If I didn’t care now, I wouldn’t be here at all, Weasley,” was all Draco said, in a soft, slightly menacing tone. Then he went back to eating his muffin, ignoring Ron entirely. He had a trick of palpably dropping people from his attention that had infuriated Ron since the day they’d met, and it didn’t fail to infuriate him now.
“Right. I’m off, then. See you later, ‘Mione,” he said darkly, standing up and tucking his magazine under his arm. He stalked out of the kitchen in a huff and had gotten halfway up the stairs to the first landing when he realized that he was acting like just as much of a prat as he accused Malfoy of being. Though Ron had long ago stopped believing that Malfoy might be a traitor in disguise (having once seen a swarm of Death Eaters converge on him with murder in their eyes during a fight not long after Malfoy’s defection), he still didn’t like him much…but that didn’t excuse his own behavior.
“Sod it.” He turned around and headed slowly back down the stairs, past the shrouded portraits of Mrs. Black and Sirius’s long-dead ancestors. He dreaded making an apology to Malfoy, but he was also certain that Hermione would try to intervene in his absence. As he’d half-feared, angry voices sounded from within the kitchen. He slowed down, pausing outside the door and peering in just enough to see Hermione stand up and smack her hands down on the table, leaning against it and staring at Malfoy.
“You’re always like that with him, Malfoy! I know he’s got a temper, but you’re so…so condescending! He’s not your inferior!”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Malfoy said, curling his lip. He rose to his feet as well, mirroring Hermione’s position so that their faces were very close. “Don’t make excuses for him. If he wants to act like an immature git, let him. No one’s ever made excuses for me.”
“That’s not true,” Hermione hissed. “I did. I was the one who argued Dumbledore and Harry into allowing you into the Order, you know.”
Apparently not. Ron saw him start a little with surprise, but he covered it well. He straightened, running a distracted hand through his pale hair. “No, Granger…actually, I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” Hermione suddenly sagged as if worn out from fighting. She turned around and took a few steps toward the stove, looking down at the remainder of Kreacher’s baking efforts without really seeing them. Malfoy watched her with a strange look on his face, one that Ron could swear he’d never seen before on the pale git. He had trouble figuring out what it meant, though, until he noticed the way Malfoy’s hands gripped the back of the chair he was standing over and the swift dart of his tongue over his lip, moistening it before he spoke again.
He almost dropped his Quidditch Weekly. Malfoy wanted Hermione! It was as plain as the pointed nose on his face.
“Why?” Malfoy asked with only the merest bit of hesitation in his voice.
Hermione didn’t look up at him. “Because I’ve never really believed that you were as evil as everyone said, even though you tried your best to hurt and embarrass me all through school.” She made a disgusted sound. “Call it witch’s intuition, if you like. It didn’t make sense to me then and it doesn’t make sense to me now, even though I’ve been proven correct.”
There was a pause, then Malfoy said in a low voice, “Have you, now?” The atmosphere in the kitchen changed as Malfoy came around the end of the table, right up behind Hermione, not touching her, just standing close behind her, close enough that surely she could feel his body heat. Ron swallowed. He had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling that he was witnessing something private and that perhaps he ought to leave, but scandalized curiosity kept him where he stood, just out of their line of sight.
“I think that your record of service to the Order and to Harry’s cause has put to rest any doubt the others might have had,” Hermione said formally, liftng her chin. She still didn’t turn around to face Malfoy. Her arms were crossed defensively over her chest nonetheless. Unseen by her, Malfoy smiled darkly to himself. The sight almost made Ron call out in alarm, but Malfoy’s next words put that idea out of his head. “And what about you, Granger? Do you still have doubts about me?”
Hermione wasn’t stupid. There was no mistaking his tone of voice. Ron saw her face go a bit pink and she lowered her head a tiny bit before answering.
“If you’re asking whether or not I still believe you might betray us, then the answer is no.”
Malfoy shifted closer. He exhaled, his breath moving a few stray hairs on top of Hermione’s head. “That wasn’t what I was asking, Granger, and you know it.”
“What are you asking, then?” Her voice was soft and carried an undertone Ron had never heard her use before, certainly not when they had been dating. He felt a sudden surge of anger and protectiveness, though not jealousy; that was over and he was a free agent now. But still, this was his best friend – with Malfoy, of all people, standing over her, one second away from –
Malfoy’s hands came up on Hermione’s shoulders. He spun her around to face him but didn’t let go. She let her arms drop to her sides from surprise and he took the opportunity to pull her a tiny bit closer, so that he was looking down straight into her eyes. The room seemed to crackle with the unspoken desire radiating from the two of them. Then Ron saw something he’d hoped never to see again from Malfoy, something that left him filled with a mixture of both relief and a curious disappointment. Malfoy lost his nerve. He let go of Hermione and took a few steps backwards, looking away from her.
“I don’t know. I – perhaps I’m just tired. It has been rather a long day,” he said, once again assuming the collected, slightly superior demeanor he used with Hermione. She gasped and nearly fell forward – she’d been leaning into his touch, Ron realized – and then a look of absolute fury crossed her face.
“Malfoy, you…you FUCKWIT!” she shouted, and before Malfoy knew what was happening, Hermione had blindly groped around and hurled the first thing that came to hand straight at his head. It exploded on contact, making Malfoy yelp with surprise. Ron stared as if entranced as a blueberry muffin disintegrated all over Malfoy, leaving a purplish smear on his forehead and a rain of crumbs on his shirt.
“That does it, Granger!” Malfoy ground out. He set his teeth and took one, two, three steps towards Hermione, seized her again by the shoulders, and began to snog the daylights out of her.
Ron nearly fell over with shock as Malfoy kissed his friend as if he’d never held a girl in his life and was trying to make up for lost time. Hermione didn’t even struggle. She just stood completely still. As Malfoy’s hands came around her and one dropped down her back to slide over her arse, she let out a muffled moan and twined her arms around his neck. The blond wizard groaned in answer and pushed Hermione back against the kitchen counter, bending her back over it slightly.
Ron was now prying and knew it, but once again his feet wouldn’t move. The sight was just so…horrifying, he told himself. It certainly wasn’t hot, watching his beloved friend/ex-girlfriend kissing that deranged but admittedly good-looking pureblood prat. Nor was it in the least bit enticing, seeing the way they threw all caution to the wind as Malfoy’s lips moved to Hermione’s neck and she pushed her body tightly against him, her hands now doing some exploring of their own. Bits of muffin were still cascading from Malfoy’s face and shirt, though Hermione didn’t seem to mind at all.
It wasn’t until she pulled Malfoy down close and started licking the blueberry stain from his forehead while he slid his hands up her jumper that Ron was galvanized into turning on his heel and tiptoeing quietly away, shocked but also feeling strangely pleased. It looked as if Harry had been right, after all. Personally, he thought that Hermione was far too good for Malfoy but there would be no convincing her of that, not after what he’d just seen and where it was likely to lead. Ron grimaced and hurriedly pushed the thought away.
Well, he’d certainly gotten far more of an eyeful tonight than he’d expected. Once Hermione actually worked up the nerve to tell him and Harry about this new development, Ron would be the first to wish her well. He really did. They were fighting a long and terrible war, and she deserved whatever happiness she could find. Even Malfoy deserved that, he supposed. But then Ron made a face and groaned. The worst part was that he wasn’t going to feel like eating any more of Kreacher’s delicious muffins for a long, long while.
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Muffins