isolation by bex chan

Gifts

Hermione felt the mattress shift beneath her, and she stifled the groan that tickled her tonsils as Draco closed the door behind him.

The cold always seemed to replace him in her bed when he left her alone, feigning sleep and feeling disappointed, but this was how it had been for the last few days, and she knew better than to mention it to him. He had made it clear that he wasn't willing to broach the subject of their bizarre relationship, and they had fallen into an pseudo-routine since Monday.

The mornings would always begin like this one; Draco abandoning her between their tell-tale sheets and silently sneaking back into his own room. She would then prepare him some food for the day, before heading to the library or to McGonagall's office to continue the time-consuming mission to get everyone home safe. Evenings provided them with burning expectations and awkward glances, that she personally hated. She knew it was simply a side-effect as they adjusted to their situation, but they were both fiery characters, and she missed their witty arguments and heated debates.

She had a feeling they would be at each other's throats sooner or later; probably once her insecurities and nerves had faded a little, and Draco had accepted that he was attracted to a Muggle-born.

When the evening turned into night, she would slip away into her bedroom and leave her door unlocked so that he could join her. There had been a couple of nights when his pride had apparently smothered his interest in her, and he had returned to his own room. That was okay, for she felt her muscles needed some time to recover, but she found herself wanting him just to sleep with her and chase away the lonely nights.

But he never did.

He would come into her room; kiss her like a fate-fearing man, strip them bare and satisfy them both, always insistent to make sure she was sated, even though it had seemed to take hours sometimes. She knew from Lavender's and Padma's chats about sex that it was difficult for women to consistently find that blissful release, but Draco determinedly worked on her receptive points until she trembled and moaned, and left them both exhausted.

But he never held her in the aftermath.

He never offered any whisper of affection once they were finished.

He never stayed for more than a few hours.

She would hear him leave and her heart would ache for a moment, before she reasoned with herself that it was he was still battling his prejudices.

And then the routine would start again.

.

* * *

.

It was the last Saturday before Christmas, and she had agreed to meet Ginny for a trip to Hogsmeade to get any last-minute gifts. Ginny would be going back to the Burrow on Sunday, and while Hermione acknowledged that her friendship with the Weasley sister had been a little strained this term, she would still miss her.

"I have a surprise for you," Ginny grinned as they headed into the village. "And I reckon it might actually put a smile on your face."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "I'm intrigued."

The pretty redhead reached into her bag and removed two presents; one fist-sized in clumsy, red wrapping, and the other a slightly larger box with gold wrapping. Hermione's confused eyes flickered between the two gifts before giving Ginny an expectant look.

"Are these for me?"

"Certainly are," the younger witch nodded. "They're from Harry and Ron."

Hermione felt her mouth fall open. "What? How-