Chapter Six

Surprises Are Pleasant

Draco awoke the following morning to find the girl perched on the bureau. Her posture perfectly ladylike, despite where she sat, and she appeared to be examining something on the surface beside her.

Furrowing his brow, he climbed out of bed and went directly to his wardrobe to fetch himself some undergarments. "Good morning, Pet," he said, the words garbled by a yawn.

Hermione started, her gaze flicking toward him for a moment. "Good morning, Master Draco. Did you sleep well?"

He drew a deep breath and exhaled slow, his grey eyes roving the ceiling as he thought. "You know, I did," he said, nodding.

She gave a wistful smile and nodded. Now that she'd had a night to really rest, to adjust to belonging to the Malfoys, she didn't feel quite so turned-around as she had yesterday evening. Of course, she was ignoring that waking first, which had granted her a few peaceful moments to take in his features as he slept—gods, he really was beautiful—had anything to do with it.

All right, so perhaps that was a difficult point to ignore. Her new owners were both rather attractive, and they seemed to be treating her well enough—her notable lack of her own garments, aside. She hadn't realized what a pleasant jolt it would be to wake with his arms curled protectively around her. Even at the palace, when night fell, she was ushered to her own room to sleep.

A twinge of sadness curled around her heart. How was the prince fairing? She knew if Voldemort'd decided to execute the royal family, the entire city of Godric's Hollow would have heard about it by now. No—the usurper couldn't lord his victory over corpses—Harry Potter and his parents were certainly still alive.

Had he remained in the dungeon? Was Voldemort using him as a foot stool? Sighing and shaking her head, she pushed away those thoughts. She was hardly in a position to help them, so there was little use thinking about all that, just now. Instead, she turned her attention back to the display she'd set out beside her.

Draco's brow furrowed, wondering over the subject of her scrutiny as he strolled across the room to her. "What have you got, there?"

As he drew close, he realized why she looked different than she had last night—more than the lack of heated flush in her pale-peach skin, or her expression no longer one of savage bliss, but calm contemplation. She had removed all that jewelry which had adorned her, even while she'd slept, and laid it out upon the bureau. All she wore were the bejeweled sandals and he spared a moment to consider it odd that hadn't taken them off, as well.

"I may not have the highest opinion of our . . . new king, but I must admit he had lovely accents chosen for me."

Draco's mouth fell open in a little O of shock as he stepped up and wound his arms around her from behind. Leaning his chin over her shoulder to look at the collection of gold and gemstones, he thought perhaps it best she not learn of his father's history with their new king.

"Bad-mouthing the ruler of our land? Bold little thing, aren't you?"

She giggled, stroking her fingers over his forearms. There was a comfort in this, and she wasn't certain if it was odd, or perfectly rational of her to feel so. "Bold and forward, two of my worst traits."

"Hardly," he said with a chuckle. "What are you doing, anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "I took them off so you could decide what do to with them more easily."

He arched a brow, leaning a bit and angling his head to meet her gaze. "Why would I decide anything?"

Her features pinched in question. "Because they're yours? And far be it from me to say, but they hardly seem your taste."

He laughed, his head shaking. "You are adorable. But they're not mine, or Father's, for that matter—you are, but not your adornments."

Those wide, chestnut eyes searched his. She truly didn't comprehend what he was saying. "I don't understand."

"What's to understand? They belong to you."

Instantly the tip of her nose stung and tears pinged the corners of her eyes as she cast her gaze over the glittering assortment.

The sudden change in her demeanor, and how shallow her breathing suddenly was alarmed him. "Pet? What's the matter?"

She tried to speak around the lump in her throat. Waiting a moment, she swallowed hard and then tried again. "I've never . . . . I've never owned anything before."

Her tear-thickened voice caused him to jerk back from her, his arms up as though touching her might set him ablaze. "Are you . . . crying?"

She shrugged and turned her face away, covering her cheeks with her hands. "I'm very sorry for this display, Master Draco." She was a little ashamed, actually, she was supposed to have so much more control than this, but . . . . Her, owning something? She'd never imagined!

"It's . . . ." He forced a gulp and shook his head, but still kept his distance. "I just have never known what to do about crying females."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle through her tears. "Most men don't, as I understand it."

"Dobby," Draco said in a near-shout, causing her to jump a bit.

The little creature poofed into the room. "Yes, Master?"

He gestured toward the jewelry. "Bring Hermione to her room, and take all of that with you. Do whatever she decides with it."

"Dobby will do as you ask," the elf said with a nod as he toddled over and gathered the adornments into its skinny arms.

Draco held out a hand for Hermione's and assisted her to pop down from the bureau. "My own room?" she asked as her sandaled feet hit the thickly carpeted floor.

"Of course. And yes, everything in there is yours to do with as you please, too." He looked fearful a moment. "Just, please, don't cry, again!"

She laughed, wiping half-heartedly at her drying eyes. "No, I didn't mean . . . . If I have my own room, why did you have me sleep in your bed?"

His brows shot up into the pale fringe of his bangs. "Oh, no. You have a room for daytime, whenever we don't have need of you. At night, you will sleep in my bed, or Father's."

Her own eyebrows drew upward and she felt color flare in her cheeks as she said, "Oh, of course. I suppose, perhaps I should have realized. If you're sending me there, now, does that mean you don't have a use for me at the moment?"

He groaned, letting his head fall back a moment before gathering her in his arms. Pulling her tight against him, he kissed her—savage and hungry, just as he had last night.

Breaking the kiss, he let out a sharp breath and shook his head. "I wish I had time this morning to have use for you, but no. I am due at my grandfather's house for a visit."

He said that last word as though the syllables tasted sour against his tongue and she couldn't help a giggle.

He dropped his arms from her and turned back toward his wardrobe. "Father is out, as well. Overseeing the purchase of some new property, I think. You have the day to yourself until dinner."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Her own possessions, and time to do what she pleased? She didn't have any idea how to process either concept. Even in the palace where life had been wonderful, any time she wasn't servicing the Prince, her days had been tightly ordered.

Rather than pestering him with more questions, she simply nodded. "Thank you, Master Draco," she said, her voice light.

She trailed down the corridor after Dobby—aware of her naked state, but hardly able to do anything about it—toward what she thought was likely the guest wing. The room he opened for her as quite lovely, probably just as lovely as Master Draco's had been, if a touch smaller.

And something was missing.

"There's no bed here?" Of course, Master Draco had emphasized that she would sleep in their beds, but it was still a bit to absorb.

Dobby shook his head, smiling up her. "There was, Miss," he said as he pointed to indentations in the carpet in one corner of the room. "Master had Dobby remove it last night."

She looked from the wide space between the indentations, realizing how large and heavy the frame, alone, must've been. "But Dobby, you're so tiny. How did you ever manage?"

"Magic, Miss," he said his smile widening in pride. "What would Miss have Dobby do with these?" he asked, lifting the glittering armful.

She shrugged, looking about the furniture for any jewelry boxes. As her gaze touched upon the items in the room—two bureaus, a wardrobe, night table, all gorgeously polished cherry wood—her attention snagged on the curtains.

Thick, dark crimson velvet hung to the floor, pulled back with artfully cut strips of black lace to allow natural light into the room. But under the velvet, filtering the morning sunshine . . . . She stepped to the window, reaching out to run her fingertips along the smooth, creamy-white fabric.

It was heavier than that insufferable dress Voldemort had stuck her in. Yet—she pulled the material across her arm—it was sheer, as well, but only a bit, enough to give a hint of what was beneath. There was something artful about the way the pale material revealed just the lines of her arm beneath.

She looked from the material to the elf still awaiting her answer and the bundle of adornments burdening him just now. "Dobby?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Master Draco said everything in this room is mine to use as I please, yes?"

"He did, Miss."

She grinned at the idea forming—she could vaguely recall hearing the Malfoys' discussion on the edge of her sleep last night. Some rubbish about making her wait days for a seamstress. "Do you ever mend clothing for our masters?"

"Of course, Miss."

Bending to scoop the jewelry from his arms, she said. "Could you kindly fetch me your sewing supplies?"

The little thing seemed confused for a moment. Then his gaze followed the path of her actions—the window dressing, her body, the jewels—and he considered her state of undress.

His eyes lit up and he nodded as he understood. "Of course, Miss," he said again, before poofing from the room.

Her smile grew as she began pulling the dressing from window. She was only grateful Malfoy Manor was so secluded. There would be no neighbors to see the naked girl darting around the room from outside.

"Now, isn't this pleasant?" Lucius asked, lifting the goblet to his lips and taking a slow, measured sip.

Severus and Sirius exchanged a suspicious glance.

"It is," Severus said, arching a dark brow. "That is what has us worried."

Sirius bit back a laugh as he stage-whispered behind his hand, "Shhh, that's how you end up in a dungeon."

"Funny," Lucius said, shrugging as he set down the goblet. "But . . . all right, you caught me, cousin. I do have business with you two."

The ease with which he conceded only made the two dark-haired men sitting across from him more suspicious.

Severus pushed his untouched wine aside and folded his arms across his chest. Sirius, in contrast, drained his goblet before fixing his late cousin's husband with a serious look.

"Has something happened?" His brow furrowing, Sirius asked, "Is it Draco, is he in some sort of trouble?"

Lucius laughed. As though Draco could possibly get into any sort of trouble that Lucius, himself, could not get the young man out of?

"No, of course not," the pale-haired man said with a shake of his head. "I had a question about an item I recently acquired at auction, is all."

"Oh? And how could we possibly help you?"

Lucius smirked at Severus' acid-toned question—honestly, if this was how the man treated his friends, he would hate to be Severus' enemy. But this was why he'd chosen a pub so close to Solitude. The further from the heart of Godric's Hollow they were, the less likely for them to hear about the spectacle he'd made of himself when he'd bought the girl yesterday afternoon.

"Because it's a pet. One of your beautiful Solitude girls."

They exchanged another glance, before both shook their heads and chuckled. "You know we can't tell you anything."

Lucius nodded at the familiar statement he'd heard from Sirius' lips a hundred times. "I simply thought if I knew who had trained this . . . Hermione girl, I could know better what to expect of her."

Sirius' face fell and Severus' expression hardened into one of anger. But a moment passed before either of them could speak.

"We've told you before—as Sirius said, a hundred times—we can't tell you anything. And we wouldn't, not to you, you—"

Sirius placed a hand on Severus' shoulder, knowing the touch would cut the other man's rant short. "What he means is . . . even if we knew who her Trainers were, we wouldn't be able to tell you. It's bad enough that you about this, at all."

Lucius spread his arms, palms up. "Well, I suppose you are right. I am sorry to have wasted your time." He set an already signed hundred Note on the table between them. "The afternoon's on me."

He excused himself from the table to go to the washroom. As he walked around them and away, he could feel their eyes on him. The moment he was certain they weren't paying him attention anymore, he rounded back, close enough to hear them, but not to be readily seen.

"The auction block, Sirius! She ended up on the bloody auction block!" Severus railed in seething whisper. "She was supposed to be safe with the prince!"

Nodding, Sirius once more placed his hand on the other man's shoulder. "I know. Perhaps we should have expected something like this when Voldemort overthrew the Potters. But it could be worse."

Severus' entire frame seemed to slump. "How?"

"Voldemort could have kept her." Sirius licked his lips nervously as he looked around, his gaze missing Lucius on account of the partition the pale-haired man had thought to gracefully duck behind. "At least we still know where she is, and she's safe. We haven't lost her."

A half-grin curved Lucius' mouth. Now he understood that note of sadness in the girl's voice. They—three of them—had gotten attached to one another. Oh, how very scandalous, he thought, holding in a delighted chuckle.

Schooling his features, he headed back to the table. As he carried on a random conversation, he toyed with the notion of how wonderful it would be to unexpectedly get Severus, Sirius, and his pet in the same room, together.