Updated A/N: Significant changes to Hermione's characterization here. This was bugging me for a long time. Substantial changes ahead for Chapter 3 as well.

Chapter 2 – Definite Advantages

They emerged from the suffocating blackness of Apparition with a pop in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. "Welcome home," Draco said ironically. Hermione growled and jerked her arm from his clutches. He chuckled under his breath. Since she was obviously going to be difficult no matter how hard he tried to soothe her, he might as well have his fun while he could. He reasoned that it might make things easier for Hermione if they fell into their usual pattern of behaviour. Safer, too, at least where we can be observed.

"Now, now, Granger," he purred. "If you continue to behave like that, I'll be sure to find a suitable punishment for you, so mind you keep a civil tongue in your head." Draco smirked meaningfully, and Hermione blanched. He had to give the Gryffindor princess credit – she lived up to her reputation for bravery, but she wasn't stupid. Gryffindor could play the game, all right, but it was Slytherin making the rules just now.

"You just realized there's nobody to run crying to if I make good on my threats, didn't you?" Draco sneered, getting fully into the façade. "That's right, mudblood. You can scream all you want; Saint Potter isn't coming for you this time."

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked. Her hands were balled into little white fists at her sides, and her chest was heaving dangerously. He had pushed her past her limit. She opened her mouth to say more, but Draco's wordless silencing spell hit her before she could make a sound. Her soundless howl of rage was the most entertaining thing he had seen in a week. She flung herself at him and attempted to slap him, a move he easily blocked, grabbing her wrist.

"Granger, Granger, Granger." Draco shook his head theatrically, fetching a deep sigh. He twisted her arm behind her back, pulling her near him, and placed his lips next to the shell of her ear. "You forget: I have a wand. You don't. That's not going to change. Unless you fancy spending the rest of your life under a magical gag order, I suggest you shut your mouth." A predatory smile crossed his lips. "You're cute when you're angry."

"Ah, Draco, you've arrived at last! Your father sent word you'd be coming home with…" Narcissa's voice trailed off as she rounded the corner and Hermione Granger came into view. For a moment, the statuesque, imposing blonde resembled the grubby, bedraggled young woman; both had the same sick, open-mouthed look of anger on their faces. "Really, Draco, you do have an odd sense of humour," his mother said at last. He grinned.

"Look at it this way, Mother – at least we get to skip that awkward 'getting to know you' stage."

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was immersed in a cloud of scented foam in the huge, claw-footed porcelain tub in her own private bathroom. She had expected to be locked up in the dungeons beneath the manor, but Draco had sent her upstairs with a house elf to her rather luxurious third-floor quarters. The elf had taken Hermione's measurements, drawn a bath and Disapparated with a crack!

The large bedroom looked out over the back garden, which sloped pleasantly down to a small creek along the back of the property. Across the creek lay a thick wood, just beginning to turn shades of yellow and crimson and gold. As the sun went down, Hermione could see fish jumping in the creek, trying to catch the first evening bugs. It was undeniably pretty here. The bathroom featured a large picture window behind the bathtub, and the last of the sun's rays sliced into the water, warming her as she floated in the womblike calm.

Might as well enjoy the calm while it lasts, she thought. Malfoy seemed as much a prick as ever. At first she thought she was going to have to share his bed immediately, but then realized that the bedroom was meant for her alone, in spite of the king-size bed. The place reminded Hermione greatly of the Gryffindor common room; there were two large, overstuffed wing chairs near the fireplace, a chessboard between them. The entire wall around the fireplace was lined with huge, leather-bound books – everything from Arban's Thaumaturgica to a battered copy of what looked suspiciously like the Necronomicon. The bed, its hangings, and the upholstered chairs were all a deep blood red, bordered in gold. It seemed highly unlikely that any room in Malfoy Manor should be decorated in Gryffindor colours, and she wondered whether it had been Transfigured for her benefit. The palatial bathroom attached to the bedroom was tiled in black marble with white porcelain fixtures, and a quick survey of the cabinet had yielded everything a young witch could possibly require to preen herself. Good thing, too, since she was going to be married in the morning - married to her mortal enemy. Hermione sighed and reached for the shampoo.

I bet I'll spend most of my time in my room. At least they don't want me to be some sort of servant – they've got plenty of those, Hermione thought. She shuddered at the thought of having to take orders from Lucius Malfoy, remembering how he'd treated Dobby. Hermione's new personal body servant, Smidgen, seemed to like it well enough here; from the little she had seen, neither Draco nor Narcissa had treated the little elf badly. She was currently digging up something for Hermione to wear. As much as I hate to admit it, life as the wife of a prestigious pureblood heir might have its advantages. She felt sick at the thought, considering that Harry was mouldering in the ground, and the Weasleys locked up with the other "blood traitor" families in Azkaban. Still, perhaps Malfoy was right – perhaps she should shut her mouth. This could be her golden opportunity - the chance to hide out in relative luxury while figuring out a way to finish the work Harry started. She would find a way. Perhaps she could use some of Draco's Slytherin resourcefulness to her advantage.

She giggled, coming slightly unglued from the weirdness of it all. I guess I'll have some pureblood in me after all. That wasn't so bad either, when one came right down to it. Malfoy's a prick, but if those rumors I heard are anywhere near the truth... Wishing to distract herself from that train of thought entirely, Hermione hastily rinsed her hair and stepped from the bath. She reached for a towel from the stack next to the tub and wrapped herself in oversized, fluffy, white warmth. She padded into the bedroom, wrapping her dripping curls in another towel as she went.

Draped over the back of one of the chairs was a set of fine, midnight blue robes, lined in ice blue silk. Embroidered silver moons and stars danced along the hemline and the cuff of each sleeve. The robes were something she would have expected to see in the pages of Witch Weekly, or maybe in those private dressing rooms Madam Malkin kept for her more privileged customers. A delicate silk slip and knickers set lay folded on the seat, awaiting her. After squeezing the water from her hair, Hermione dropped both towels into the laundry hamper in the corner and slipped the silk underwear over her skin. It felt like cool water transfigured into clothing – the single most luxurious thing she had ever worn in her life - and it was only underwear! She thought of the cages in the Muggle Market and felt slightly nauseous wondering how Dean was faring, not to mention the other Muggle-born witches and wizards in captivity.

Hermione dressed slowly in the robes and walked reluctantly to the mirror. The neckline was a becoming cowl style that dropped just shy of revealing cleavage, and the cool tone of the fabric set off her porcelain skin nicely. Since she had no wand to charm her hair, she picked up a large, wide-toothed comb from the vanity in front of the mirror and began detangling the rapidly drying curls. Once she had finished, she opened the little chest on the vanity to find something to hold her hair back with…and promptly dropped the comb to the floor with a clatter.

Inside the chest was a blue topaz the size of a Galleon, set in intricate white gold filigree and hung from a sturdy-looking chain. It was flanked with delicate drop earrings to match. Perched in the middle of all this was a folded piece of parchment. Trembling, she plucked it from the chest and unfolded it gingerly, as though it might explode.

I will give you your ring after dinner, but for now, please accept this as an engagement gift. I'm sure you will find it suitable for your new robes. We dine promptly at eight o'clock.

Draco