((I may continue this! I had more to write but I didn't want to hit post limit (I write drabbles live in the post instead of a doc else I'd never post it) soooo part 1?))

--in the lock.

As he walked back to the stove, he heard movement down the hall. Probably Granger fussing with the settee, adjusting cushions.

"Earl grey or chamomile?" he called, pausing at the entrance to the hallway. The shuffling stopped.

"Earl grey, please!" Granger called.

From upstairs.

--crossed the kitchen to where he'd thought he'd heard the noise. Sure enough, tucked in an alcove behind the pantry, the door to the garden was open. The latch was hanging down, clinking against the inside edge of the door.

He closed it, sliding the latch into place, and twisted the key forever--

--quiet. Steam rising from the kettle threatened to burn his hand—Draco turned and shook out his left hand before moving to the cupboard for tea and sugar.

Granger had a 'back door', one that led out to her pokey little garden, he remembered. Abandoning the tea with the cupboard door open, he--

--the top and spout before moving it to the hob.

A sound like nails on a chalkboard resonated through him, the noise coming from somewhere behind him. Draco spun, his hand still gripping the top of the kettle.

He stared and waited for another sound or any movement, but the kitchen was still and--

--it with water. The tap gushed but it wasn't loud enough for him not to hear a metallic clang from the other side of the kitchen. Draco looked up, waving his hand to wandlessly turn off the running water.

Silence.

He turned the tap on again and filled the kettle, snapping down the lid on both--

--hallway and a left turn away from the sitting room. His head did hurt, and his eyes were sore from not blinking. He would have put up with it but he also hoped she wouldn't start up the movie again once he returned with their tea.

Lighting the hob, Draco picked up the kettle and began filling--

--"Well, you can sit and analyse that all you want," Draco said, pulling himself up from the settee. "I'm going to make a drink. Would you like one?"

"No thanks," Hermione mumbled, deep in her own thoughts. Then, "actually, yes please."

————

Draco sighed as he entered the kitchen, down the--

--tapes she watched around the age she'd already started attending Hogwarts. It was a tad overstimulating, she supposed—she'd always preferred to direct her own movie masterpieces in her head while reading a book.

Perhaps introducing digital screens with a film was a bit much to begin with.--

--adjusting his posture. "I don't know how anyone is supposed to keep up with what's going on. It's just constant, one scene after another, there's no time to think or take it in. I'm not the problem, it's an absurd expectation upon the human brain."

Hermione pursed her lips. She'd had a few VHS--

--waved his fingers in the air in mockery, "silly little electriconomics."

"Electronics," she replied automatically. "Oh. It is the TV, isn't it? It's hurting your eyes. That's normal, though, especially since you don't—"

"It is not the television," he argued. Then he seemed to relent somewhat,--

--fine before the movie, they'd already eaten and it wasn't too late in the night...

"Is it the television?"

Draco made a loud noise of frustration, slapping his hands on his thighs. "It's nothing special, Granger. Don't act like anyone who didn't have a Muggle childhood can't handle your—" he --

--don't be ridiculous."

"Do you have a headache?"

Draco opened his eyes to glare at her. Goodness, they /were/ a bit red. "No. Stop hovering. Just put the thing back on."

Her eyes tracked over him, ignoring his ire entirely. He looked tense and his face showed some level of tiredness. He'd been--