your discretion."
Apparently, this was not a new or surprising request, for the innkeeper merely nodded and neatly scooped up the money. "Discretion is our motto, young man. Now, you enjoy your stay at our fine establishment."
Satisfied that his plans had not gone too awry, Malfoy removed the Nutrisoil cap with a sigh of pleasure and ran a hand through his hair to unflatten it. It was just such a normal, 'boy' thing to do, and Hermione was struck by the fact that she liked seeing him be himself. He didn't do it very often.
In fact, the more time she spent in his company, the more she liked about him. Though you really needed to peel away all the many layers of insulating arrogance and ambivalence
He was still these things, but they were not the sum of him. All the cloak and dagger nonsense did him good, apparently. He had a very attractive tint to his cheeks and his eyes were, for lack of a better word, sparkling.
"I think I like Knockturn Alley," he informed, giving her a lascivious smile.
Hermione didn't doubt it. It was his kind of place.
**
The last time they had shared a room together, they had been blind drunk, laughing, happy, freshly tattooed and completely out of their minds with magic-induced lust. This time around, they were sober, both in body and in mind. There was a dark cloud of responsibility hanging over them, though Hermione was not to know that Draco's concerns were not only about his inheritance.
The spying business was weighing heavy.
Their room was the third, skinny, red door, along the curving corridor on the fourth floor. They had been given a key and a wash towel the size of Hermione's palm. The tiny little towel, to their joint amusement, was actually monogrammed. Hermione silently claimed it as a souvenir, to giggle over in better times.
"We put in a water closet, but best not to stay in there too long lest in collapses in on ye!" cackled the janitor. Who was also the bellboy-slash-doorman-slash-cook.
"Lovely," Malfoy said, blinking exactly twice. He launched up the stairs, careful not to touch the banister or the walls or the working ladies going up and down the establishment, lest common-ness proved to be something you could catch.
They had an awkward moment when they reached their room and stopped short at the threshold. Malfoy fiddled with a strap on his backpack and ushered her forward after the door was opened.
"Ladies first."
Surely she could not be blamed for thinking the worst of him before she considered the fact that he might have just been trying to be civil? A polite and courteous Draco Malfoy was rather like a ballroom dancing Harry Potter.
If you saw such a thing, you'd want to take a photo.
Hermione peered into the room, highly suspicious. It wasn't nearly as bad as she had anticipated. It was about the size of her room at Hogwarts. The bed was tiny, with a threadbare coverlet that had been darned to such an extent that it was more neatly joined scraps, rather than original duvet. But the floorboards were scrubbed clean and there was a pleasant lemony, furniture polish sort of scent. Beside the tiny bed, was a small dresser with a ceramic pitcher and base that screamed 'rustic'. There was also a window, but it was boarded up such that only slivers of afternoon sunshine managed to sneak through. The ceilings were slightly concave, but that was expected when you used expansion charms.
Perhaps someone had arranged an accident? Perhaps the expansion charms were faulty? Perhaps there was an inter-dimensional portal in the floor which would swallow her and spit her out over the Thames?
Hermione gave Draco a canny look. "You first."
He frowned at her and hiked his backpack further up his shoulder. "Get in, Granger."
"You get in!" she snapped, with growing hysteria.
He opened his mouth, gave her a disgusted look and then without any warning, picked her up. Hermione barely had time to squeal before she was unceremoniously carried into the room and dumped onto the bed. He loomed over her, looking acutely insulted.
"Still alive? Still in once piece? Limbs still attached?"
Blushing, she gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry! I' m just naturally er, cautious."
"If I really wanted to harm you, I'd..." he trailed off.
Hermione sighed. The bed was really quite comfortable. "Yes, yes, you would have done it by now."
He wasn't staring at her anymore. He was staring at her leg. More precisely, he was staring at her damnable dragon tattoo.
Her