The next morning, Hermione wakes with a groan and a dire need for water to soothe her parched throat. Sitting up quickly is not an option, if the pounding in her head is anything to go on, so she rises slowly and wordlessly accios a pain reliever for the headache. Her hand only shakes a little as she flicks her wand, so the spell goes off mostly without a hitch. She nearly misses catching the small white pill, but no one is here to see that.

After taking the pain reliever and finishing off a glass of water that is already on her night stand in short sips, she swings her feet over the edge of the bed and stands up. Her legs wobble and her headache seems to triple in strength. Taking a few slow breaths, she waits for the initial unbalance to pass before pulling her matted hair into a loose bun and moving to the door with unsteady steps.

"I'm never drinking again," Hermione bemoans, dragging open her door and stumbling down the steps.

She follows the sound of softly clinking pots and sizzling--though to her hangover-addled mind, the sounds are like gunshots--and is fully prepared to scold whoever it is. Instead, she comes to a shuddering halt in the kitchen doorway.

"Malfoy? What're you doing?" She asks, narrowing her eyes to see through the harsh light in the kitchen.

Draco glances over his shoulder and grins at her before turning back to the pain atop the stove. "Making pancakes. Can't you smell them?" Now that he's mentioned it, Hermione tentatively sniffs at the air, worried it might upset her stomach, but the smell is rather pleasant. Her stomach rumbles loud enough for him to hear, making her blush and wrap her arms around her middle.

It takes every ounce of her will power to keep from eating the finished ones he has pilled on the counter to his right. Mouth watering, Hermione moves further into the kitchen and stands a bit to his side to watch him work.

"They aren't burnt," Hermione observes. She looks around the room, examining every detail. "The house is still intact, too." Draco nods and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing appears to be on fire and I haven't seen any more owls from your mother, so she isn't making a surprise visit." He nods again and finishes up the pancake he's been working on before placing it onto the stack of completed ones. Hermione turns a suspicious look back on him. "What did you do?" she accuses.

He flicks off the stove and faces her. "I haven't done anything wrong. I'm just fulfilling a request made last night, or rather, early this morning." There is mischief gleaming in his gray orbs that makes Hermione fidget with discomfort.

"What could have driven Draco Malfoy to do something so common and muggle-like as cooking?"

Draco chuckles and plucks the pancake from the top of the stack. He tears a piece off and pops it into his mouth, making a soft humming noise in satisfaction as he chews. Hermione nearly bursts from her skin with impatience as she waits for him to respond. Finally, he swallows and says, "I figured you'd still want them. This is my peace offering." He smiles with accomplishment, and maybe a little too much glee at Hermione's confusion.

Hermione huffs in annoyance but nonetheless takes a pancake for herself. She has to make herself nibble at it rather than shove the whole thing into her mouth at once. "What do you mean still want them? I wasn't even here last night because I went out with Harry and Ginny and I..." Hermione trails off, eyes widening in horror as realization dawns on her. "Oh Merlin, what did I do last night?" She groans, covering her face with her hands.

Fighting back an outright laugh, Draco says, "nothing much." When Hermione looks like she might breathe out in relief, he quickly adds, "you just acted like a complete child and begged me to make you pancakes before you passed out at the kitchen table." He pauses and can't keep in the snicker. "It was all wonderfully hilarious and a fantastic way to end the night." He bites into another pancake and reaches for a bottle of syrup with his free hand.

Hermione groans again, shuddering with embarrassment. "You better tell me exactly what I said or I swear I'll make you regret everything in life," she warns.

A tapping on the window stops him from replying. Tossing him a scowl, which he replies with a bright grin, she opens the window and takes the letter from the owl. "I still want answers," she says.

Draco must reply with something because his voice is filtering through her ears, but the words don't process. Her attention zeroes in on the familiar scrawl of the letter

"I only just wrote yesterday," Hermione whispers to herself, unaware that it's loud enough to her housemate to hear.

He arches a pale brow in question. "Who's it from, Granger?" Draco ensures that he speak louder this time, as she didn't seem to have heard him before. It seems to work.

Hermione looks up, expression one of mild disorientation before focusing on him. "No one," she says far too quickly. "Just a bit of new from work." She slants her gaze back to the paper that is jerking along with her trembling hands. "I know I said we'd study muggle religions today but this is urgent and I need to respond immediately, so if you'll just excuse me, I'll be on my way." Hermione gives him a curt nod and dashes for the back door.

She leaves without shoes or a coat, and a thin pair of socks is the only thing to protect her feet from the snow-covered grass. Cold winter wind blows across her skin as she dashes through the trees. Iced-over branches whip at her uncovered arms and the snow batters at her feet, soaking right through her socks. She hardly notices any of it.

Hot, angry tears are slithering down her cheeks and the letter is clenched tightly in her fist. Her nails rip small holes into the paper and one side is entirely crumpled. Her feet automatically carry her to her destination with no need of her thinking of the path. This, of course, leaves her mind completely free to wander.

How dare he write back? I'll really give that red-headed git a piece of my mind this time. If he thought last time was bad, he's in for it now.

All of her pain and sadness has transformed into a crushing and suffocating rage. No longer did she feel like the heartbroken girl. She's given him plenty of warning, told him to stay well away from her and her life. Time and again now he has ignored her. She's done with the passive threats. They never seem to work anyways.

She has all the anger and every bit of the power she needs to blast him into the next century. If he knows what's good for him, he'll stay well out of her way.

Hermione's destination comes into view and comes to a stop in from of a dilapidated shack with a door that's half-hanging off it's hinges. She's only a about two hundred yards from her back door, far enough into the woods on her property that no one would never stray towards the shack.

It doesn't appear to be much to anyone but her. There is snow piled high onto a sunken-in roof that makes it seem like it will collapse down at any moment. The wood that the shack is made up of is so old and splintered that it appears that the shack has weathered a thousand storms and the next would finally be the one to blow it apart. The door creaks and shifts with each blow of the wind, creating an uneasy air. It would make anyone shy away, but Hermione smiles.

Then, much like the wall dividing Diagon Alley from the muggle world, she pulls out her wand and presses the tip of her wand into the center of the door. She taps it twice, then moves up to the top left corner for the third and final tap.

Before her eyes, the hut morphs into it's true image. The wooden walls fall away, revealing red stones of varying hues and a shining ebony door to replace the beaten one. The stone cracks and slides into place, taking the shape of the hut in a much more stable manner. The hinges of the door clink and lock up tight and the door swings shut. The roof rises to a gentle peak, sending a small wave of snow to the ground, and then everything is still.

What had been a terrible shack is now a small building of her own creation. In a way, her safe house.

She'd worked on it for the entire summer after Ronald had left, employing the help of Harry and George. It had kept her busy, and left her with a space that was completely her own whenever she needed to get away, and the two boys had been more than happy to help her. The concealing spell had been her own idea, after they had finished up the small building. No one but George, Harry, and, through Harry, Ginny, knew about this place.

Hermione grabs hold of the golden knob of the door and twists it. The door opens silently, granting her access to the inside, and Hermione walks into the dark room beyond the threshold.

Leaving the door to close on it's own, as she'd charmed it to do, she pulls out her wand. "Lumos," she mutters. Light bursts from her wand, illuminating the room in a white glow as she maneuvers around furniture to the fireplace at the farthest wall. "Incendio!" She points her wand at the logs lying in the pit. Fire erupts and catches on the timber, giving the entire room a gentle warmth. "Nox." The light from her wand flickers off and she holds the piece of slender wood loosely in hand.

Hermione walks to the desk that rests in the corner on the right side of the fireplace and tosses the letter before moving to the door on the opposite side of the pit.

Unlike the outside door, this one is an almost pearly color that glimmers against the dark crimson stone of the walls. She pushes the swinging door open and moves into the only other room of the building that is lit only by the sunlight coming from the windows. Sighing to herself, Hermione looks around the room.

Numerous bookcases line the walls from the floor to the ceiling and are overflowing with hundred upon hundred of books that she has gathered through the years. Books from every subject that has ever caught her interest, fiction and nonfiction, from fantasy to reality.

Hermione runs a hand over the closet shelf of books and smiles with the familiarity of the leather-bound spines. She aches to draw one out and flip through the pages as she reads by the light of the fire. It would certainly help her mood.

She can't do that, though. She has important matters to attend to.

With no amount of ease, Hermione forces herself away from her hidden library and moves back to the other room where her letter awaits.

She's barely made it two steps into the room before noticing something is amiss. The hairs on the back of her neck rise and she has that pinprick sensation of being watched. She had learned long ago to trust her gut-feelings and right now her gut is screaming that she isn't alone anymore.

Slowly, her eyes roam around the room and linger near the front entrance. It's darker there, dark enough for someone to conceal themselves in the shadows. Something cold and fearful slithers down her spine and Hermione lifts her wand.

With a quick flick, she shouts, "petrificus totalus!"

Just as expected, there is a sharp gasp and a thud as something heavy crashes to the floor. A steely resolve settles over her and her jaw tightens. Someone invaded her safe house. They know this is where she comes to. No one should know about this. Shoulders squared and steps heavy, she stalks forward to find out who her attacker is.

"Lumos," she snarls, casting light on the figure that is trapped in the full-body bind. For the second time within the hour, she's left staring incredulously at the pale blonde who, this time, is laying as stiff as a board at her feet and looking rather angry about it. "Malfoy?"

Author's Note: In my original posting of this story, this chapter seemed to confuse a lot of the readers. I tried to make it as clear as possible this time around as to where Hermione went, so I hope everyone understands it this time around. Besides that, I'd just like to say thank you for reading and I'll see you next week with a new chapter!!