"Draco, can you hand me that book? The red one with the black spine...yes that one, thank you." Hermione smiles as he holds out the book for her. She's only just touched it when he's letting go, and she can't catch it in time before it falls down onto his bare foot. "I'm so sorry," she gasps.

Draco hisses out a slow breath and growls, "I always knew you were a clumsy witch, but I figured you'd have enough wit to hold something without dropping it. Stupid girl. " The pain in his foot was fleeting, already gone, but the effect of his words didn't act the same way.

Hermione snaps, "I didn't mean to drop the book! It slipped, and it was half your fault anyway, you absolute prick!" Her palm slaps the kitchen table as she shoots to her feet. "Accidents happen in the real world, so I'm terribly sorry that not everything is as perfect as it was in your pretty little manor and your perfect life," she says. "I thought you had changed, even a little, but you're still that same git from school."

There truly was no explanation for her rage. The argument was over a fallen book, but it seemed that wherever Draco was concerned, even the smallest actions could cause a screaming match. With two people who were as short-tempered as them, it's no wonder they argued so much.

"I have changed! You're just too stupid to see that. I've been nothing but kind these past weeks, and you still can't seem to see that I'm trying to be better," he barks, standing up to tower over her. "I want to be better, but every time I try, you go and act like an annoying brat. I'm tired of trying to prove myself to you. If you want me to be the hateful boy I was, then fine, that's what I'll be. Just don't go crying when you get your feelings hurt, Granger!" He spits out her name like it's poison.

Hermione huffs and sticks her nose up. "I don't cry over your words, Malfoy. You can be the prat I know you are, but all it will get you is my hatred and difficult days. Don't forget who holds the power in this situation." She storms out of the room, stomping up the stairs and slamming her door so hard that the walls themselves seem to shake.

"So stupid," Draco mutters, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the strands in hopes that it might relieve some of his tension. He hadn't meant for the argument to take such a foul turn, and any progress he had made with acting kinder to her was destroyed. He was back to square one, with her not trusting him at all.

Draco kicks out at the table to release some of the remaining rage, none of which is directed at the girl upstairs, but at himself. He hurt her again, just like so many times in the past. He was supposed to be showing her that he was good and that he wouldn't hurt her, and he'd ruined his chances. She wasn't the stupid one, he was, and he'd willingly admit it to himself. If he wasn't so stubborn, he'd go and ask for forgiveness and right the wrongs he did to her.

But he is stubborn, so he wasn't going to apologize.

He's about to leave for his room when a tapping at the window makes him jump. Looking over, he sees Hermione's tawny owl pecking at the window pane. With a cautious hand, he pushes open the window, the only thing he could touch without the jolt of electricity due to it being too small for him to fit through, and lets the owl swoop inside.

Untying the letter from the creature's leg, he feeds it a treat and then breaks the seal to read the letter addressed to him.

Dearest Draco,

I apologize for not having written in so long, there was business with your father that I had to tend to. Don't worry on it too much, it's all handled now. He's doing well, or as well as someone can while locked away. Alive, at least.

I do hope that you've been kind to young Hermione since we last spoke. Have you been treating her right, Draco? If I hear that you aren't, I'll be there so fast that you won't have time to run. Be good to her, understood?"

He pauses and winces, the argument running through his head. Narcissa would hear of it eventually, but he prayed it wouldn't be soon.

Now, onto a different subject matter. I'm curious as to your own mental state while being so isolated from everyone you've known. I can't imagine it's easy for you to be so far away and have nothing familiar and comfortable nearby. If you are unwell, perhaps I can ask that the Minister allow you an old friend to visit. Miss Parkinson would be particularly eager to see you.

Write back with your response, and I'll try to accommodate whatever you need.

With love, Mother.

Draco sighs and searches for a clean sheet of parchment and pen, settling down at the table to write a letter.

Dear mother,

I'm not upset over your late response. I've been busy here anyways and would have had a hard time responding. Is everything alright with father? He hasn't made threats again, has he? You know you have nothing to be afraid of when he's locked up, so don't listen to what he has to say.

As for Hermione, the news is the same. I'm trying though, so that's what matters. We have our arguments, but we can always move on from them. Don't worry on it too much.

Regarding your proposition, I'm afraid I have to decline. While I'm sure that Pansy would love to visit, in every sense of the word, I wouldn't enjoy it quite as much. It's odd, but I don't feel isolated here. There is a comfort that I can't explain. Sleep comes easier and I can stomach the thought of food again. Being away has helped, and perhaps being here has made it even better. There is a warmth that can't be ignored when I'm here. Thank you for your concern though, I truly appreciate it.

With love, Draco.

He folds the letter up and ties it to the owl, sending it away and closing the window behind it. Only then does he head to his room, not at all concerned about what he had admitted to his mother. If anyone understood, it would be her.