Ten out of Ten by Morriganmercy

Day 7

- NOT MY STORY! All credit goes to @morriganmercy on a03!

The seventh day proceeded much the way the previous one had. Hermione entered the kitchen to see the chalkboard where Malfoy had updated their progress to 2, but instead of researching in her room all day, she moved her books to the kitchen table.

He joined her intermittently throughout the day, reading a bit and taking some notes, but she could tell he hadn't found anything promising. At one point, he reached for her left hand where it rested on the table and laid his right one over it. She turned her palm up to accommodate him, and they sat for several long minutes with him running his thumb absently over her knuckles as they worked. She appreciated his initiative and noted pleasantly how convenient it was that neither of them had to give up the use of a dominant hand to maintain the contact.

When he got up, he squeezed her fingers lightly before releasing them and then dropped a hand onto her shoulder as he passed.

She sat staring at her page after he left the room, considering that small touch. It was something different, but certainly not more intimate than him touching her leg. She shifted slightly in her chair. Still, it was good that he was willing to extend the boundaries, even if had felt more friendly than anything.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud thump from the upper floor. She looked up at the ceiling and her brow furrowed in confusion as the noise continued—a decidedly rhythmic thumping. She assumed it was somehow related to Malfoy's perusal of the house, but she couldn't imagine what he could be doing that would cause such a ruckus. Just as she was about to get up to investigate, the noise stopped. She waited for several more moments, but it was quiet.

Shrugging, she focused back on her book. This history was a case study of one couple's experience with a marriage law instituted in eighteenth-century Switzerland, but Hermione had a feeling the translation was—

She looked up as the noise started again.

What the hell was he doing?

She glanced at the clock above the stove, and the thumping continued for roughly the same interval as the first occurrence—about two minutes. Then, it was quiet again.

After the third cycle, Hermione was determined to make sure her house wasn't undergoing any permanent damage, but when she was halfway out of her chair, she heard the sound of Malfoy descending the stairs.

She had a question ready on her tongue, but when he entered the kitchen, her jaw was too busy dropping to articulate any human speech.

Malfoy was shirtless and sweating and panting. Because of course he was.

She watched, completely stunned, as he retrieved a glass from one of the cupboards and filled it at the sink. He tilted his head back and chugged the water before refilling it from the tap. He repeated this twice more before his thirst was satisfied enough for him to look at her, and when he did, he smirked.

"I know, it's hardly fair," he said with mock exasperation, drawing a hand down his torso. "All this and then the scars, too? If Potter knew how much they would do for me, I'm sure he would have picked a different curse."

Hermione gaped at him. Well, she gaped even more openly to be exact. While it was true that he was in incredible shape and the network of thin white scars branching from shoulder to hip did somehow seem to accentuate the breadth of his chest and definition of his abs, she could hardly believe he was referencing his physique so flippantly. And to her.

"You almost died," was all she could come up with.

His brows flicked up in amusement. "Well, beauty is pain. I'm sure there's a sign around here somewhere with that on it."