The door of her bedchamber creaked open slowly, Draco slipping through the smallest crack possible before shutting it soundlessly behind him.

Hermione was lying awake staring at her cream and lilac bed hangings. She could not get rid of the feeling of the Dark Lord’s skeletal fingertips pulling through her hair as she’d once again come-to kneeling on the dais, her head in his lap. Though her body usually fell after long periods of legilimency – which was why they practiced it so often seated – she had to wonder if the Dark Lord somehow manipulated her to land in that way.

He'd whispered words of praise to her as she’d come back into her body. Announcing to the group at large what her role would be in his inner circle when the time came and the name they would refer to her by when around other Death Eaters.

Couteau.

When they had finally been dismissed and the Dark Lord had apparated away with a crack , her mind had been reeling with the honor he’d bestowed upon her and therefore bestowed upon the Malfoys and Theo.

She had done it – she had proven herself useful to the Dark Lord.

“Hermione?” Draco said, pulling her back to the present. “Did you hear me?”

She shook herself, realizing Draco was standing beside the bed, his face cast in shadow from the lone tapered candle lit in the room.

“Sorry, love,” she said, wiping her face and moving over to give him room.

“I said, are you all right?” Draco repeated after a moment.

He didn’t slide in beside her like he normally would, instead hovered awkwardly beside the bed with his hands hanging limply at his sides.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” she said quickly, scanning his face.

She could just barely see the lines of tension around his mouth, shrouded as he was in darkness, and the stress he held in his shoulders.

“Are you?” she asked after a moment.

Draco took a deep breath, pushing both of his hands through his hair, then sat on the edge of the bed. Hermione pushed herself to a seat, reaching to brush a comforting hand down his arm.

“What is it, Draco? Talk to me.”

“What is the mission that the Dark Lord gave you?” he asked after a beat, his eyes trained on the duvet resolutely.

Ice trickled down Hermione’s neck and she bit the inside of her cheek.

“I’m sorry… I can’t tell you, not yet.”

Draco huffed a bitter laugh.

“You can’t or won’t tell me?”

She blinked.

“What?” Feeling ridiculous having this conversation lying tucked under the covers of her bed, she pushed them away, rising to her knees. “I can’t! The Dark Lord told me it wasn’t time but that soon you would know. I don’t want to keep this from you, I would rather you know!”

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I don’t like it,” he said through his teeth.

Hermione felt dread pool in the pit of her stomach.

“Like what?”

Curling his hands into fists he pressed them into his thigh as if it could stem the flow of his emotions. He was trying and failing to occlude.

“The fact that you have to do this. That you have to be a part of this.” He waved a hand around the room as if trying to illustrate the point.

But she knew he wasn’t referring to the bedroom, she knew this was about her proximity to the Dark Lord.

“It was the only way, Draco. You know this… Your father told you – I told you,” she said in a soothing tone, trying once again to run a hand over his arm but he pulled away.

He shook his head, his blonde hair flying into his eyes with the movement.

“No. It wasn’t the only way, Hermione. I could have protected you but you didn’t think to ask, you didn’t even talk to me about this. Just went ahead and made a choice,” he seethed, his grey eyes finally moving to her.

She could see anger in his eyes but also something else… Something that looked like hurt or pain that lingered beneath. Something she didn’t quite understand.

“Draco…” she said softly.

“No, don’t Draco me,” he snapped. “Do you fancy him?”

She blinked. She felt as though she’d completely lost the plot. Was he not speaking about the Dark Lord at all?

“ Who? ” she asked in bewilderment.

Draco spun the signet ring on his finger in an anxious gesture, his face set into a cracked mask of pain and anger.

“The Dark Lord.”

She couldn’t stop the scoff that worked its way through her throat. It was so ridiculous she wanted to laugh. The Dark Lord, though powerful, was monstrous and terrible. He was death personified.

“Of course not, Draco. He’s…” She couldn’t find the right word to quantify. “A monster.”

“That doesn’t stop you from practically sitting in his lap.” The words were like a slap across her face. “And the way he speaks to you. Pet this and pet that. Like you’re his.”

She gaped at him for a moment, anger skittering beneath the surface of her skin.

“Is that what this is? You’re jealous of the Dark Lord?”

Draco stiffened, his chin jutting high.

“I am not jealous,” he said firmly.

Hermione didn’t stifle her laugh this time.

“For your information, when I am in the Dark Lord’s mind I have no awareness of my physical body. It is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you when I wake with my head in his lap.” She couldn’t suppress the disturbed shiver that crept down her spine at the memory. Draco started to open his mouth but she cut across him. “How dare you accuse me of this – of being unfaithful to you with the Dark Lord of all wizards! I did this for you, Draco. For you . So that we could be together – truly together. So that we could someday live in a world where that would be possible.”

Draco shoved himself off the bed, his back turned to her. She could see the rigid line of his shoulders and the way his hands shook beside him.

“You don’t belong to me anymore, Hermione. You belong to Him now.”

Before she could even open her mouth to respond, to argue, to scream, Draco strode from the room and shut her door with an echoing slam.

…

Draco refused to look at her the next morning as they sat at the breakfast table. Theo sat between them, his eyes moving back and forth every so often as if trying to decipher a particularly difficult set of runes. Hermione barely ate, just pushed around the food on her plate while trying to ignore the way Pansy’s father stared at her with the same fascination she’d often seen on muggle children at the zoo.

“It is a great honor,” Pansy’s father said finally with a thick Greek accent. “To be chosen by the Dark Lord.”

Hermione swallowed and nodded once.

“Thank you, sir.”

The large man cast a vague hand in Pansy’s direction. “I hope that one day our family too will be so honored.”

Pansy’s face paled at the words and though she was in the midst of bringing a serving of eggs to her mouth, she quietly set the fork back on the plate.

“Honor,” Draco scoffed, twisting the signet ring around his finger.

“What was that?” Mr. Parkinson called from the other side of the table, having not heard him.

“Oh yes what an honor ,” Draco sneered. “To be the Dark Lord’s pet .”

There was acid in the words that burned Hermione to her very bones. She could see the jealousy working in him, pulsing through him like an infected wound. Lucius seemed to see it too as his grey eyes flashed with anger at his son’s outburst.

With dignified movements Lucius dabbed his napkin around his mouth, folded it, then placed it beside his plate on the table. Fluidly he rose and took up his silver tipped walking stick.

“If you’ll excuse us, Draco and I have some business to discuss this morning.”

With a quick look at Narcissa she immediately began to engage Mr. Parkinson in conversation as Lucius grabbed Draco from under the arm and practically pulled him from the room.

Hermione kept her gaze trained on the table but she could feel the eyes of Pansy and Theo on her. After a moment Theo grabbed her hand from beneath the table and squeezed.

“What happened?” he asked under Narcissa’s chatter.

She didn’t respond, instead just shook her head.

It felt ridiculous for Draco to behave in such a way. Yes, she had seen him jealous before with Ron but that was entirely understandable. Ron obviously fancied her. But for him to be threatened by the Dark Lord was not only preposterous it was… disgusting.

She wondered if perhaps it was not just jealousy of the Dark Lord but also that it had been she who had brought honor to his family rather than him. As heir it was his responsibility to make his father proud, to be the best at everything. She saw that all throughout school: Draco’s desperate attempts to fulfill the expectations set upon him by being the sole heir of House Malfoy.

And she had taken that from him.

Though it didn’t excuse the way he had spoken to her, she thought perhaps with that in mind she could better understand where he was coming from. Slowly she brought her head up and caught Narcissa’s eye.

May I be excused? She asked silently, floating the question in through Narcissa’s open mental door.

Narcissa gave her a short nod before turning back to the Parkinsons, a glittering smile on her face as the older man regaled her with a story Hermione had lost the thread of.

Her stomach twisted into knots as she made her way out of the dining room and down the hallway. Portraits hissed at her as she went, spewing curses and insults until it melded into white noise. It was rare that she ever wandered the hallways alone and the portraits seemed to relish the opportunity to get a few jabs in.

Mudblood.

Filth.

Dishonor on our house.

Blood traitor heir.

Scum.

Finally she rounded a quiet corner near Lucius’ study, intent to speak to Draco when she heard shouting.

“ I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” Draco roared.

Her heart fell into her stomach as she listened, pressing herself against the wall beside the door.

“Listen to me very carefully, Draco,” Lucius said in a warning voice. “The Dark Lord has no interest in Hermione in that way. Regardless of the fact that she is not of age , he is barely human anymore. He is more dark magic than man. You are allowing your jealousy to cloud your reason.”

“My reason is not clouded,” Draco snapped.

“Is it not? Do you truly believe that Hermione would ever choose anyone else over you? It is for you that she has put herself in harm’s way – so that she could be with you.”

“That’s not true,” Draco said, cutting across him. “It was to better the magical world. To give an opportunity for muggleborns to be seen as more than what they are now.”

“Do you know what your mother hears when she enters Hermione’s mind when she is in front of the Dark Lord?” There was a short pause before he continued. “She enters her mind to provide her support if she needs it for her occlumency. Do you know what she hears? She hears your name repeated again and again. Hermione is doing this for you, son – you above all others.” Lucius’ voice took on a dangerous edge. “This could have just as easily ended with her dead on our drawing room floor and this is how you repay her devotion to you?”

“She’s no longer mine,” Draco repeated from last night in a broken voice so low Hermione could barely make it out. “She belongs to him.”

“You must swallow your pride, Draco,” Lucius said in a softer tone. “She is yours, but what you do not realize is that when the time comes you will both belong to the Dark Lord. It is the only way to survive.”