In a small voice Draco asked, “Have I ruined everything, father?”

She could hear a small chuckle from the older man and could almost imagine the way Lucius’ face would soften at the show of vulnerability from his son – could imagine how he probably would place a hand on his shoulder.

“Of course not, son,” Lucius replied in a gentle tone.

There was a small measure of silence as Hermione decided to step to the door and knock. The door swung open to reveal Lucius with a knowing smile on his face as he looked at her. She stood, wringing her hands in the door frame, trying to see Draco over Lucius’ shoulder.

“Come in, my dear,” he said, stepping to the side to allow her entrance.

Draco was standing beside one of the overstuffed arm chairs in Lucius’ study, his hand gripping the back of it like a life raft. His eyes were wide – almost wild – as he looked at her and she could see fear plainly scrawled over his aristocratic features.

“I was hoping to speak with you…” Hermione said softly.

Lucius pressed a kiss to the top of Hermione’s hair before stepping through the door.

“I’ll give you both some privacy,” he said and shut it behind him.

Draco cleared his throat, running a nervous hand through his hair.

Lucius’ study was dark, despite the sunlight that reflected off the freshly fallen snow outside. The walls were a deep grey, accented by black curtains and deep emerald green furniture. She had never been in here before but she thought it fit the man perfectly.

Draco finally unclasped the closest arm chair and took a tentative step forward.

“Hermione… I…” He swallowed loudly. “I owe you an apology.”

She took a deep breath, her own nerves fluttering in her stomach.

“Would you please sit?” he asked after a moment, gesturing to the two chairs.

Hermione nodded, her legs feeling wooden as she crossed to the chair and sat, her fingers knotting and unknotting in her lap.

“I’m so sorry,” Draco said softly, his eyes trained on the plush dark rug at their feet. “I was wrong.”

She shifted slightly in her chair at the look of pain on his face.

“Thank you,” she replied. “May I ask… why?”

The corners of his mouth tugged down and she could see his eyes moving back and forth quickly on the rug as if reading something she couldn’t see.

“I just…” he started, then took a breath. “You were right.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, seeming to look for something in her expression. She wondered if perhaps he was expecting her to rub it in his face or tease him but instead she only gave him a sad smile.

“I was jealous,” he continued. “Jealous of the way the Dark Lord spoke with you, touched you.”

“Oh Draco,” she sighed. “Did you know that for days after I can’t shake the feeling of his fingers on me? That it lingers like… like an itch you can’t scratch. It’s awful , to be touched in such a way – regardless of how pleased the Dark Lord is with me.”

Draco blinked, his shoulders shifting.

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes skated the room, trying to pull her thoughts into a logical order.

“The Dark Lord, I believe, holds me in a similar regard to his snake, Draco.”

“To Nagini?” he asked in disbelief.

She nodded, surprised at the name.

“He calls me pet because I think he does not yet see me as truly a witch – though I know now that’s changing. I think he means it in the literal sense, Draco, not in the way you’re interpreting it.”

She soothed herself with the words the Dark Lord had said. A disease you are slowly curing me of.

“I think now… after this next mission, it will change. But you don’t have to worry regardless, Draco. I’m yours and you are mine. I wish there was a way I could make that clear to you.”

Draco shook his head before shifting forward, his knees hitting the rug in front of them. He reached, his hands covering her knees.

“No, no, there’s no need. I was an arse – I let myself feel threatened. You have done nothing wrong, love,” he said quickly, leaning forward to press a kiss to her palm then to the skin of her wrist.

“Do you think…” she took a steadying breath, wondering if it was the best idea to bring this up but also not wanting to leave any conflict between them. “Do you think you were also jealous of… me?”

Draco looked at her in confusion for a moment before rocking back on his heels.

“What do you mean? How would I be jealous of you?”

“Well… It’s just that you should be the one impressing the Dark Lord. You should be the one with secret missions bringing glory to your house. And yet it’s me… a mudblood –”

“Don’t speak of yourself that way,” Draco cut across her.

“Bringing your family honor,” she finished.

Draco thought for a long moment, his eyes dancing over her face and away again towards the tall windows. The sun had moved behind thick grey clouds, darkening the room and brightening the fire.

“I never really thought about it like that,” he answered truthfully. “But I suppose… that is part of it.”

Hermione leaned forward to touch her fingertips to his cheek.

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

He shook his head, grabbing her hand gently and holding it to him.

“No, you have no reason to be. Father is right – it’s time for me to grow up and swallow my pride. You are a part of this family, Hermione. When he honors you, he honors us all. It doesn’t matter who brings the glory as long as it’s House Malfoy.”

“Do you really mean that?”

Draco pushed himself to his knees, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I do.”

She sighed in relief, letting her hands skim the length of his neck before curling into his hair.

“I love you,” she said against his lips.

“I love you,” he replied, then pressed his mouth to hers.

…

The morning Hermione was set to leave to go to Grimmauld Place, via first the floo to the Leaky Cauldron then the Knight bus, Pansy slipped into her room as Draco left to get dressed. One of her perfect black eyebrows raised as he passed her in the doorway before she stepped inside.

“Salazar, Granger,” Pansy said. “I had no idea Draco spent the night with you.”

Hermione yawned, stretching out wide in the bed before sitting up.

“It’s not like that, Pans.”

The black-haired girl crossed her arms over her chest.

“ Seriously . The house elves stop anything before it starts – it’s bloody annoying actually. But it just feels… safer when he’s here with me.”

A small smirk pulled up the corner of Pansy’s mouth as she flopped down on the bed beside her.

“What can I do for you at this small hour of the morning? Not like you to be awake at the crack of dawn,” Hermione said, stifling another yawn.

When Hermione looked back at her she paused, taking in the nervous expression on the usually cool and collected girl’s face. Pansy’s olive cheeks flushed a deep red before she threw back her hair and lifted her chin.

“I… wanted to know if you needed help packing,” she said with too much bravado to be believable.

“Okay… But Fimsy already insisted on packing for me even when I told her not to,” Hermione huffed.

Pansy laughed, fluffing up a pillow behind her and leaning against it, crossing her ankles.

“You and those house elves, Mione.” She shook her head.

A long silence stretched between them as Pansy played with the hem of her pajama top. Hermione merely watched her patiently for a while as soft grey light slowly began to spill into the room.

“Is this about your father?” she finally asked. “About him wanting to have you throw your lot in with the Dark Lord?"

Pansy groaned, throwing her head back against the pillows.

"Merlin no but now that you mention it.” She grabbed the pillow from behind Hermione and screamed into it.

After a moment of this she calmly pulled the pillow from her face, pushed Hermione forward, then replaced the pillow.

“Better?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Pansy replied in a dignified voice that betrayed none of the fear she felt.

“Have you tried telling your father you don’t want to?”

Pansy’s full lower lip jutted out and she shook her head.

“It’s not like that, Hermione. I don’t get a choice in the matter.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t get a choice in most matters, in fact. Did you know my father has been discussing a marriage contract with Marcus Flint ?”

“The boy with the teeth?!” Hermione gasped.

Pansy groaned.

“Yes, the boy with the teeth. I had to choose which to put my foot down on – the Dark Lord or the cursed mouth. I chose to let the Dark Lord slide in favor of not having to wake up to that nightmare every day.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now I can only hope he won’t turn his sights on someone worse – like Goyle.”

Both girls shuddered. Hermione grabbed Pansy’s hand.

“We’ll figure something out, Pans. No matter what happens.”

“Thanks,” she replied, leaning her head against her shoulder.

They sat like that for a while longer until the dreary winter morning had fully entered the bedchamber and Hermione wondered if perhaps the other girl had fallen asleep.

“Hermione?” Pansy asked in a tentative voice.

“Yeah?”

Pansy paused, then shook her head.

“Never mind.”

Hermione just nodded, letting the girl fall back into her thoughts. Then after another long stretch of silence Pansy shifted.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Pansy?”

“Do you know Luna Lovegood?”

Hermione stilled, surprised by the question.

“Yes… she’s a part of the DA.” It took everything in Hermione not to hit Pansy with a million questions. She knew the moment she overloaded the girl she would shut down. Better to try to be patient.

Pansy hummed, her fingers sliding across the cream duvet.

“Do you… do you think you could introduce me?” she asked in a voice so soft Hermione wouldn’t have known it was her if she wasn’t the only witch in the room.

Something like warmth and amusement curled inside Hermione as she thought of the reasons why Pansy would want to be introduced to Luna Lovegood.

“Yes, Pans. I’d be happy to introduce you.”