► //: never knew, never knew -
And he’d surprised her yet again. It was too easy to fall into the step of their school days, to snark at him like she would’ve in Charms class or in a busy corridor ( “Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you, Malfoy?” ) almost as if nothing had changed.
But, then again, that’s where she was wrong. Everything had changed — he was a double agent, for heaven’s sake! If you’d said that Hermione would be working with Malfoy on battle plans to dismantle Voldemort’s ranks a year ago, she would have dismissed it as a completely unrealistic scenario.
Now they were alone, surrounded by maps and diagrams strewn across the long table; Malfoy even had let his mask down for a brief second. Strangely enough, Hermione found herself silently agreeing with his quiet words. Propriety, decorum, the general rules of etiquette had all been forgotten in the face of such dire circumstances, proving to be nothing but superfluous rules of a society that quickly was deteriorating. (But still, Hermione clung on to them. She wanted some semblance of continuity in her life.)
That brief, candid statement had caught her off-guard, and she found herself feeling quite unsure of how to respond to him. Perhaps…well, she’d just let the statement slide. It seemed more of a musing than something that warranted a response.
His second comment, however…
“If this isn’t coffee, what else would it be? Just because you think that something ghastly like coffee tastes fine without a little bit of sugar doesn’t mean we all do,” she responded sniffily, continuing to stir her coffee without the least bit of shame.
Hermione sat down across the table from him, taking a long, satisfying sip from her mug. It was sweet and only slightly bitter, warm but not exactly hot. In other words, exactly the way she liked it. She couldn’t stand the taste of regular coffee, even though the drink smelled deceptively delicious. It was just too bitter to down — hence the amounts of cream.
“See?” Hermione placed her cup on the table primly. “My cup of coffee tastes fine.”
“Careful Granger, “ He chastised, raising an eyebrow at her. “I wouldn’t think it wise to insult the very thing that keeps you going.” He takes one long sip and sets it down across from hers. Pitch black against the creamy white. Such a stark comparison. Just like themselves. In everyones eyes, they were truly opposites in every way.
His eyes flit up to meet hers, and his caught for a moment, wondering how he’s never realized how much they might have in common as well.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you almost always have a cup, or a pot going.” He shakes his head and lets out a short laugh, more of a scoff than anything. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were an addict.”
He took another sip of the blistering hot coffee, relishing in the bitterness. Dark, bitting, and dreadfully alone, much like himself.
He lets his tongue dart out to catch a drop on his outer lip, and gives her a are you for real look at her last comment. “You only think its fine because you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s called having taste, Granger. I’d suggest trying it.” He sits back in his char (or rather, falls back.) It’s really a miracle he can muster any sort of banter (was it banter? or just more unnecessary comments and him falling into old rhythms?) at this point. He knows he looks a mess, hair untidy, usual outfit pressed and tailored. But after having to make a hasty get away from his previous post, and of course not sleeping in who knows how long, he’s just happy he can form any sense of coherent speech.
“Did you hear anymore on Project Judith?” He lowered his voice while questioning this, and leaned in a bit further. Project Judith wasn’t something he liked to bring up, but with the way things seemed to be going ... he thought now was as good of a time to ask as any. It was a back up to the back up to the back up plan. Something he prayed would never see the light of day.
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