"What do you think about werewolves?"

They'd given her a week, one measly week, to grieve the life she'd lost and embrace the one she'd gained. Yet, time had spiraled away from her, spilling past her desperately grappling fingertips like so much fine sand. There hadn't been time for grieving as any moment alone she'd managed to gain had been little and rare. If it wasn't Luna hovering about her-for her friend had practically invaded her small space, unofficially moving in as if they were housemates back at Hogwarts and not grown women that, more times than not, kept sharing a bed-then it was the mistress of the manor, whose impeccable style and discipline seemed to extend toward more than just her son. Soon one week had stretched into another, and that week then stretched into another, until she'd managed just little under a month of 'weeks' with little grieving in between.

Only hype-adjustment.

"Nothing in particular," Hermione mumbled, her nose so close to the old parchment of the Dark Lord's flesh colored book that she could practically smell the age of the ink. "They are citizens are they not?"

She didn't bother looking up from the book she combed with meticulous care, she knew her current company didn't mind whether she made eye contact or not. If anything, she was surprised the woman was speaking with her, but she supposed it was only proper. After all, she'd been receiving various visitors all week around this hour in the Malfoy library. Noon seemed like the perfect, and unfortunately inescapable time, for forced tea.

"I suppose," Her visitor mused, with gracious airs more thoughtful than dismissive, "Do you suppose they're dangerous?"

Hermione quirked a brow but didn't dare lift her gaze from her page. It would have been too difficult anyway, the idle compulsion spell-to help encourage her, Luna had said-made it rather hard to break away from such important studies. "As dangerous as any other witch or wizard, I guess."

There was a snort from the corner as Hermione turned a page, only removing her gaze from the old book to scribble in the coiled together notepad she'd been given during her first week. It was a moment she would never forget, the approach of the manor mistress-

"You'll need this," Narcissa had said, her tone clipped and her gaze chilling. It wasn't anything Hermione hadn't expected, her expression was always the perfect mask of disinterest, but the gift had been somewhat surprising.

"What is this?" She'd asked, and while she appeared rather polite one could have called her enthusiasm for the wrapped bundle being extended toward her somewhat tapered. Yet, who could blame her? On the morning after her… first lesson with Bellatrix and the Dark Lord she'd been somewhat reserved. The memories-so vivid and real she could still feel the sensation of the whip that had torn her spiritually asunder-had refused to leave the front of her mind. They weren't haunting her, however, like she'd expected them to. No, they were…

Distant. Mere experiences of a previous person who now knew far too much to act so ignorant and naive. She had purpose now, no matter how obscure or dark and the night she'd returned to Luna's arms, to sob and shake and wonder why would be the last she spent wallowing in petulant sadness.

Self-pity had no place in her person, not now, not after that.

Amazingly enough, despite a lack of Luna that morning to push her forward, she had managed to leave the solitude of her new room and wander the manor all on her own, even if all she'd had was a freshly repaired green robe to wear.

That was when she'd been intercepted- "You'll need it."

"I hope it's a bundle of clothing," She mumbled, only to jerk with a huff as she felt a peculiar sting to her thigh. "Did you just…!"

Narcissa gave a lazy twirl of her wand about her wrist but didn't answer. Yes, the Lady of the Manor had just flung a stinging hex at her and didn't look the least bit bothered by it.

"It's a grimoire, your grimoire, to be exact."

"A grimoire?" With a slow lick of her lips she'd unwrapped the offered gift, exposing a beautiful brown colored cover with the engraved shape of a black-furred lioness at the center of the leathers. It was unexpected, this gift. "Why?"

For a moment, Hermione thought Narcissa's eyes had softened but perhaps it was a shift of light, "Every great spellcaster needs their own personal book of created invocations. It is my gift to you. A proper witch has a grimoire, don't let anyone else tell you differently. Write in it, often, every day if you can."

"As a diary, then?" Hermione had asked, curious.

"No, you silly girl." Narcissa drawled, though Hermione saw the twitch of a smile threaten to overcome her icy expression, "It's for you to create in. To write your spellwork. Your research. Your discoveries. And you best be quick about it too, the discoveries portion. He expects great things from you."

Which is why she wrote in it now. Had been writing in it, ever since she'd received it. Though she wasn't sure exactly why Narcissa had gone out of her way to deliver something so precious to her person she couldn't help but be thankful the older witch seemed to be… caring for her. In her own apathetic manner. Even her closet now had a decent mixture of her own clothing and a few pieces purchased by Narcissa, whose only reply when Hermione had asked 'why' had been-

"You ask too many questions, girl. Hush up now and dress for dinner. Wear the nice green robe I got you."

She was no longer a girl but one did not correct Narcissa Malfoy without finding their skin nearly reddened and stung.

"Do you think they're controllable?"

With a soft sigh, Hermione leaned back in the massive armchair she'd claimed for her studies. With book and grimoire left to the massive desk she pushed away and stood-though it took a great amount of will to leave the ominous secrets of the book, which seemed to always whisper just one more page.

"Parkinson," Hermione grumbled, "Why are you asking me these questions?"

The Slytherin gave a soft bark of shock, fumbling with the gold-banded book she'd pilfered from the library shelves. "I uh…"

"Is this about Lavender? Lavender Brown?"

"No!" Pansy exclaimed, though Hermione noticed her grip upon the book grew much tighter, "No… no she's perfectly fine and all. A very nice girl, that Lavender."

"She's your companion, isn't she?" With an idle wave of her hand Hermione moved from her desk to rescue the poor book Pansy seemed intent on squeezing. The last thing she needed to happen was for any of the objects in the massive ancient library to become broken or misshapen, least Narcissa come down upon her like some howling Dementor.

"She… is." Pansy replied, though the hesitation in her tone was enough to make Hermione pause.

When had this happened? When had Hermione begun to entertain guests like this? Like Pansy? When had she settled into her role as budding socialite under Luna's careful-if not strange-guidance and Narcissa's watchful eye? Was it the day after her lesson? When she'd been given the grimoire and Luna had finally returned with appropriate robes for her to dress in amongst her other personal effects? Or, was it that night, the night when Bellatrix had shown her face again and Hermione had… had…

Well, she supposed that night she'd made a proper fool of herself, screaming and clawing across the table as Luna and Draco held her back and Lucius stood in the doorway trying to hide an expression of amusement behind a gloved hand.

She wasn't sure what had taken over her, only that she'd wanted to hurt her, to stake some claim, to let her know that she REMEMBERED-

Narcissa had not been pleased at her lack of proper manners at the dinner table, that's for certain.

But the next time she'd seen her-at breakfast, to be sure-that rolling aggressive sensation had turned into something… odd, into something like need. It was a familiar longing for touch, something she'd blamed on the whip-since it wasn't like she didn't have someone to touch her, Luna enjoyed toying with her hair in the morning and holding her hand like she was some child when they wandered the gardens at night-but by the third day, when she'd bumped into Bellatrix in the library after a particularly intense conversation about what she would and wouldn't take for a familiar…

The companionable silence they'd shared had been nice. When Bellatrix had pushed her into the corner of the couch and whispered about the day she'd begin a more proper courting…. That had been nice too.

Goodness, maybe this was all proof that she was, indeed, going insane and it only took a little over a week.

"I apologize. Is my company… bothering you?" Pansy whispered, and she had never heard anyone sound so unsure when speaking with her, especially not this woman, her Slytherin rival, who had changed just enough in the time she'd last seen her. When she'd been a screeching selfish thing, demanding The-Boy, demanding sacrifice-

"No Pansy," Hermione sighed. It would do her no good to say something nasty and if she were honest she didn't mind her company and hadn't the last few afternoons Pansy had invaded the library unannounced. "It's fine. Shall I call for us some tea and you can tell me what's really on your mind?"

"No thank you," Pansy wrinkled her nose, "I try not to ah… drink the stuff. It's not bad, per say, but isn't it sort of odd? It's just leaves and water. I prefer firewhiskey myself."

Hermione didn't bother repressing her smirk at the thought of that, "Don't let Narcissa hear that, she'd have a fit."

"Why? Because proper witches-"

"Don't," Hermione held up her hand, her gaze set to shift about the library. Narcissa always had an odd habit of popping up whenever people spoke of her. She was as cunning and sly as she was beautiful.

Pansy nodded her understanding. The last thing she probably wanted was to be hexed again. Hermione doubted she'd forgotten about Narcissa's revenge when she'd found Pansy's feet upon her precious black-colored banyan wood serving table.

"So, what do you think? About werewolves?"

Back to this again.

With a groan, Hermione settled on the couch, one leg crossed over the other as she adjusted her robes and bounced a bunny-slippered foot courtesy of Luna. "I think they are dangerous, to a degree. As dangerous as any of us, really, but not uncivilized or savage. They are witches and wizards in there too, you know."

"I know, I mean it's not like Lavender is a savage, I'd never suggest such but…"

"But?"

With a sniff, Pansy settled beside her on the couch, her feet half-raised to place upon the serving table before she thought better of it and slowly lowered them back to the hardwood ground, where they belonged. "She can be a bit scary sometimes. It's in her eyes, you know? Sometimes I worry she might… change."

"That's impossible." Hermione said, right before they were interrupted by the soft pop of a house-self apparating into the space, a tray of biscuits and a kettle of tea in its possession.

"Flemming has brought Mistress Granger and friend their afternoon tea."

While Pansy grimaced Hermione only smiled pleasantly and motioned to the serving table, "Thank you, Flemming. I appreciate your gracious nature."

What had once been a twisted scowl-for Hermione had told Flemming not so many days ago, not to serve her, that she didn't have to, and had inadvertently greatly insulted the elf in doing so-turned into a broad grin.

"Flemming enjoys serving, Mistress Granger. It is her honor to serve someone from the House of Granger."

With a slight smile only tampered by mild discomfort Hermione nodded. "Thank you."

Then, with a bob of her head the house-elf left their afternoon tea on the table and disappeared with another soft pop.

"You're getting used to it." Pansy commented as she reached for a biscuit but avoided the tea.

"Yes," Hermione sighed, though didn't have time to mourn yet another lost childhood venture into preposterous 'equality' built notions and morals. The elves enjoyed their place and she was not as ignorant as she had been to the joy they received in their service.

She was starting to understand some of the joy in obedience.

For a moment silence stretched before them, though Pansy seemed to relax more in her presence while Hermione poured herself a cup of tea.

"As I was saying, that's impossible. She's infected but not enough to change, she said as much."

"Yes, of course. I know that, it's just. Those nights, when she isn't with them, she can get…"

Hermione glanced up briefly, noted the crimson flush upon Pansy's face and narrowed her eyes. "She can get…?"

"Handsy! She's so handsy!"

"Handsy…" Hermione chirped, trying to keep the incredulous tone out of her voice.

"Closer to the full moon, really." Pansy mumbled, embarrassed. Though, Hermione had to admit that she would have also been embarrassed if she had categorized someone's behavior as 'handsy'.

"Werewolves communicate through a lot of body language, Pansy. Touch, affection-"

"Biting? She's getting a little rough-"

"You're letting her bite you?" Hermione whispered, scandalized.

"I'm not letting her. That is… This is difficult to explain, this is a complex situation and I'm just looking for some way to control-"

"The handsiness?"

"Are you taking me seriously?" Pansy narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, of course." But Hermione was sure the disbelief upon her face said otherwise, "The wand, then?"

"I am not drawing my wand upon my companion!" Pansy hissed, the strength of her statement somewhat startling to Hermione who swore she heard more than just pride in the spat-out phrase.

"You don't want to hurt her…"

For a moment, Pansy simply sat, mouth open as she considered her words. "It's… only slightly concerning. Besides, it's like disciplining a house-elf in public. How undignified. Such a barbaric and desperate way of showing power. I'm a lady, Granger, not a bully."

Hermione quirked a brow and tried to keep the incredulous quirk of her lips under control.

She must have failed since Pansy was quick to sneer and drop her gaze before she mumbled, "Not a complete bully. Not anymore."

The silence that followed thereafter was slightly uncomfortable and more than once Pansy took a deep breath, as if to say something heavy, but failed to speak. It was interesting to watch the play of emotion cross her face and watch the shadows dance across her gaze. Perhaps, she thought Hermione couldn't tell. Perhaps, she thought she wasn't paying attention to the way she nibbled her bottom lip or the crinkle of her brow as she mentally worked through her words. She couldn't possibly understand the implications of her silence or the nervous curl of fingertips around a forgotten biscuit.

But she did.

"I won't hold it against you," Hermione said. It was enough to jerk Pansy back from her thoughts.

"You… won't?"

With a soft breath, Hermione exhaled across the rippling surface of her tea, thoughtful but not bitter. Not anymore.

"I'll leave the faults of our past in the past, so long as you do the same."

Pansy swallowed thickly and Hermione idly enjoyed the nervous twitch of her throat, "I'm not kissing up to you, you know. I'm… trying, genuinely trying, to be a pleasant associate. I'm not here to beg for forgiveness."

"And I'm not going to offer it, not easily." Hermione gave a listless shrug of one shoulder, "I merely see no reason to hold onto the actions done against me during our rather stressful school tenure. I'd have a lot of enemies now, if I did, and like yourself I enjoy the illusion of being a 'lady'."

Pansy sat a bit straighter, her lips turned down in a hard frown of offense, "It's not an illusion."

Yet, Hermione only smiled into her cup, "Oh really? I'm not sure how ladylike it is to allow one's companion to bite all over them-"

"I've told you all this in confidence! I better not hear another word about Lavender's biting outside of this library or I'll-"

There was a slow knocking sound from the front of the room, a noise created by knuckle flesh rapping against wood. Over the lip of her cup she saw Draco, his expression strained and his lips twisted down in discomfort. He was rather pale, as pale as Pansy, who stared at the threshold-and at the boy who stood in it-as if she were seeing a ghost and not an associate.

"What…" Draco rasped, "the bloody hell are you two talking about?"

Pansy was the first to leap from her seat with a strangled, "Nothing!"

While Hermione, at a much more casual pace, stood from the couch and reached for the ceiling. She groaned as she felt her muscles stretch and tighten beneath her casual robes and only once Draco seemed content with Pansy's babbling follow-up did she begin a slow shuffle toward the doorway.

"Girl talk, that's all it was, just a bit of girl talk. Talk just for girls, only girls, only us gals being pals!"

Hermione lifted a hand to pat Pansy's back in passing in what she hoped was a sign that she should and could shut up before she smiled thinly toward the newest arrival, "So you've come to escort me? How sweet of you."

Draco gave a snort, dismissing Pansy's statement with a wave of his hand as Hermione gained his full attention, "Nonsense. I'm a gentleman after all, this is no trouble nor a symbol of sweetness. Besides, you'd be late if I didn't come to remind you of your other obligations."

"One time, it was one time-"

"And he didn't shut up about it afterwards."

"Am I supposed to hear any of this?" Pansy asked, her gaze steady on them.

"It's fine," Draco answered for them but Hermione's only reply was a slow lick of her lips. Her 'personal' studies and goals were no secret among the regular occupants of the manor. Her tutors and the nature of her lessons, that was another thing entirely. It seemed as if the Dark Lord held no desire to have her… spoiled by outside influences when it came to her advancing education. For all she knew the Dark Lord had the wizarding world thinking her already more than suitable for her new place while His appointed gave her the tools to perfect the illusion.

"It's only you," she smiled slyly, wondering whether Pansy would take the statement as an insult to her overall importance in the pure-blood community or some sort of compliment that signified Hermione's ease with her presence. She wasn't sure which she wanted it to actually be.

"Right..." Pansy stepped around them, her narrowed gaze and wrinkled nose a hint to her confusion. That would be enough for now, "Still, I best go."

Though she paused just past the threshold, waiting to perform the ritualistic pleasantries they had been committed to since Pansy's first unannounced visit. She wasn't sure why they bothered, they both knew the words held little meaning, other than reassurance. There was no older pure-blood snob to tell them otherwise, nor some unfamiliar guest inhabiting the space unaware of their relationship-whatever that relationship was.

Still, she was the first to say, "Will you be back tomorrow?"

And like magic the tension in Pansy's shoulders eased and with a soft sound that Hermione caught and Draco seemed to ignore she said, "I will be, so long as I have your permission."

"You do."

Then without another word she was gone, her apparition flawless.

Which left-

"Draco, really. I don't need an escort every time."

Despite her blunt statement her current company only smiled, something slick and amused as if her irritation impacted him no more than the warmth of the sun against his chest.

"And miss all this?" He gave an idle wave of his hand toward the library proper as Hermione slipped past him with a snort. "Perish the thought, Ms. Granger. A lady of your status should always have the proper associate at your side."

"And what about you is proper?"

"I'm punctual, for example." Draco shot toward her back and while Hermione didn't bother to glance over her shoulder at his snappish tone she knew he was following her.

"One time, little dragon, it was only one time. This is difficult work, spellcrafting and research, a girl could get distracted. Furthermore, I was still there, you know."

She didn't need to look at him to know he was scowling. She could hear his irritation in the slap of well-polished shoes against wooden flooring as he picked up his pace to walk at her side.

"You were late, very late-"

"A few minutes late-"

"Fifteen minutes late, Granger."

"That's still on time in some circles-"

"Not ours," Draco hissed, the conviction, the warning, in his tone enough to ease the wild grin that had crossed her expression. "And don't call me that."

With a soft breath, Hermione only nodded, both to the truth of his words and his request. The first time she'd caught Narcissa call him that she'd felt… unsettled. There'd been a bitterness in her belly, a boiling swirling icky petulance that had made her guts cramp in some undeniable scrutiny. She hadn't been able to help herself when she'd caught him alone, hadn't been able to stop her lips from mocking him with all the mimicked sweetness and affection she had witnessed but couldn't have as her own.

He had mocked her back, naturally. Rightfully so, if she were honest. Yet, his words had been harsh and the pain as strong as Bellatrix's whip. If she closed her eyes she could still hear the sound of her open palm striking an unprotected cheek, cutting off words that had hissed viciously about how it felt to still have parents that cared enough to call him sickeningly cute names.

The experience had left them both somewhat… cowed. Tense? Hurt? Embarrassed? Vulnerable? She couldn't quite describe it. Here they were, grown and wicked-and some portion of her was wicked, wasn't it? Or at least awakened to the possibility-and they still squabbled like children. Yet, after so many weeks of tense and forced pleasantries-some that went rather well, and some that went rather… bad-they had come to an odd comfortable relationship swaddled in the brotherhood only a pair of people forced to endure a similar cause could develop.

Once upon a time she could have hated him. Perhaps, should still hate him, but Draco was not some caricature of evil no more than Pansy was some shallow-minded bully. It all came back to the war, back to the change that had swept over them, back to adulthood and back to a shared illusion of freedom that came from belonging to a seemingly all powerful being.

They were the same, both dogs of circumstance, this Slytherin prince and herself-the unsuspecting Gryffindor princess. Both supposedly politically powerful, both slaves to the madness that were meant to make them that way.

Now when she mocked him it was with a sort of dark affection she hadn't felt before. Weeks of sharing the same space and the same hardships would do that to a person.

"And I hope you do know that for every screw up you have I too suffer."

"Likewise," Hermione snorted.

Draco didn't bother with a response. There wasn't enough time. Despite the manor's lavish layout and extravagant grounds the hallway that lead from the library to the wing of study was suspiciously short. Any other place Hermione went needed a certain amount of planning-as a proper lady was never late to breakfast, afternoon tea, nor dinner-but not this space, not when she was already so close.

Maybe that was why Draco had been so annoyed at her accidental tardiness so many sessions ago.

With a quick twist of wrist and a flick of hand Draco opened the door, moving his magic in a wandless manner that seemed incredibly easy but Hermione knew it to be rather complex. It was the wards that covered the space keeping that door closed and as Draco wordlessly commanded them to drop as a master of the manor the door obeyed, opening with a wail that seemed out of place and yet completely familiar.

"After you," Draco said, accentuating the motion with a wave of his arm and the flutter of well-tailored robes.

One by one the lanterns lit, awakened by Draco's voice-or perhaps whatever he'd done earlier, Hermione wasn't entirely sure-and the revealed corridor became visible and less of a death trap. It was one of several hidden behind one of many sealed tight doors, doors she hadn't questioned or attempted to open, doors she always passed by without a flicker of curiosity to show on her face.

Eventually, she'd see them all. She had no doubt about that, but for now it was his corridor that she was meant to traverse, just as she did and had done since her studies began. Once upon a time, she had hesitated to venture down the winding staircase, to trust the flickering lantern light and brace her body against the chill that seeped into her bones and reminded her so very much of her night of nights only a few weeks back, but now she moved with purpose, familiar with each step that led her deeper into a section of what must have been a portion of the Malfoy dungeons so very long ago. Now it was a different kind of dungeon.

Snape's dungeon.

"So nice of you to join me, Mr. Malfoy. Ms. Granger."

His voice wrapped around her, so controlled and haughty, dripping with the slightest bit of agitation as if the very idea of their presence was anything but nice. He hadn't changed much, Severus, if the space he'd procured for their lessons was any indication. It was only his mannerisms, his short-clipped words, and the haunting twist of his gaze that said anything otherwise. It was a gaze that said he'd seen things, done things, and yet had moved on all the same. Hermione didn't question it, and she hadn't expressed the shock she'd expected to feel when she'd first laid eyes on him. She'd been prepared, the Dark Lord had mentioned his skills and eventual presence in her life and she fancied herself a woman beyond hysterics when faced with certain realities.

Realities like betrayal, realities that spoke of whispered Order members and long stressful nights spent pouring over parchment and irrational theories. Realities that seeped into her dreams like sticky smeared ink, staining her mentality with visions of blood, smoke, and broken bodies.

All that mattered was in this reality he was a hero and the Order was not.

It was surprisingly easy to come to terms with but she'd had six years to do that.

He stepped forward and motioned with a lazy wave of his hand toward their usual brewing spot, a simplistic table set up with the finest equipment Malfoy esteem could afford. Other than a small patch of grey along the left side of his head he seemed no different than he had during his tenure at Hogwarts. The fact that he still functioned there as a Professor inspired a misleading sense of normalcy Hermione found difficult to shake off. She supposed it was the Dark Lord that had forced him to return to his former position. Everything needed to appear as normal as possible for the world to keep turning, didn't it? Yet, why not as Headmaster?

She'd asked him that during their second session and the reprimand to focus her 'silly unwarranted curiosities' had been swift. Yet, she did find out-via a sneered whispered-that someone else had taken the job.

But who? McGona-

"Ms. Granger, when you are finished daydreaming and would like to actually work on your assignment for this week please, by all means, take a seat and join us."

With a soft snort-how rude of him to startle her-she shook herself and pulled out her stool. Draco, already seated with hands folded in a manner that seemed practiced and overdone, only tossed her a smirk that she didn't have time to wipe off his face.

"What's to be done today, Godfather?"

Snape gave Draco a look as Hermione settled in, one strong enough to make Draco cringed and smile nervously.

"That's Professor in my dungeons, boy. How many times must I explain that to you?"

It was Draco's pride that kept him from flinching, "My apologies, Professor."

Now, it was Hermione's turn to smile smugly.

Whatever harsh look that Draco had managed to make Snape dredge up failed to soften and soon enough he turned that look to her, "Ms. Granger. I'd like to hope you've made progress on the theorization of ingredient experimentation study I asked for?"

To this she swallowed thickly, "Yes, Professor."

"And, with that study has come an understanding that I am not here to be your potions mule or encyclopedia?"

"Y-yes, Professor," she whispered as she repressed the urge to cringe at the reminder of her folly but a few sessions ago. Yet, how could she be blamed for her anger? For her questions? When she'd been told Severus was there to assist her with her tasks? She hadn't expected him to feed her answers, such an idea was beneath her, she was Hermione Granger after all, brilliant supposedly and a swot to be sure but she had expected a bit more than… well, this.

A class on advanced potion construction had not been her initial idea of proper assistance. It had originally felt like a waste of time. The Dark Lord wanted the impossible and Snape was only giving her the tools to create the probable. She had dabbled in experimentation before-it had kept her sane these last few years-but there had still been loose directions, still trial and error and blind gumption. Now, she needed to know the why behind those directions and that in itself was an exhausting task.

"I will not have you creating some potion that turns the Dark Lord into a dog, girl, all because you don't understand why certain things are prepared a certain way. If we blindly follow the directions in every potion we create then we lack the means for outside discovery. For change, and He is all about change if nothing else."

"Of course, sir." Hermione mumbled, her hands clasped tightly together before her in the proper mimic of an attentive student.

"I can only hope that someone with your supposed brainpower can begin to grasp these simple concepts, Ms. Granger. I do hate wasting my time on the mundane and unworthy and I have little cause to believe you've done much since you graduated from an irritating interfering child to an annoying elevated adult."

She sucked in a sharp breath at that admission and scowled with pinched brow as Draco shook beside her, chuckling at her expense with strained wheezing in an attempt to not be caught.

Bloody Slytherin worm. The entire ordeal was only made worse by having to share such a session with him.

"I assure you, Professor, that I have gained a… humble understanding of the lesson."

"Hm," Snape idly tapped one of the portable cauldrons, his eyes half-lidded, bored, "Then I suppose I'll need to take your word for it, since I doubt you can prove such."

She bit her lip to keep from growling.

"Mr. Malfoy. Ms. Granger. Today you'll be crafting a potion from Dark Secrets with Dark Liquids. It's a favorite of our Lord and His shelves could use a restocking on a few particulars. I do hope, for both your sakes, that you've read the appropriate chapters as I'll be describing the effect I want and you'll be using the ingredients discussed in the book to create it."

Easy enough.

"However, I don't care for lazy students who can only recite lists instead of think. You'll find a few of the needed ingredients are missing. You'll need to substitute. I do hope you don't melt this cauldron, Ms. Granger. For a former potioneer of St. Mungo's I'm rather concerned about your… level of skill. Let alone as His Chosen One."

Well shit.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I think it went rather well this time. He was very polite."

"You're kidding, right?" Hermione said, brow quirked and eyes wide.

"I'd go as far as to say that I believe he likes you. Far less insults this session. You're improving rather fast."

"Draco…"

It was difficult to tell whether he was teasing her. Each word seemed oddly sincere despite the sarcastic tenure they should have carried. This dance they committed to, this unspoken rivalry within the confines of that shared classroom and beyond it, wasn't entirely unusual but his posture was off, his attention distant. Their routine, comfortable despite its recent birth, normally ended with them before the massive doors of the library where they would part ways with only the slightest of snarky comments shared between them. This time though their tired shuffle had ended early, leaving them before a simple window with a view of the expansive Malfoy gardens. Whatever he was staring at had his focus and it didn't take long for Hermione's curiosity to bring her beside him.

"December." Draco mumbled, his phrase only interrupted by the sound of window glass being tapped by his own nervously twitching fingertips, "They want to have your coming out ball in December."

Whatever she'd expected him to say that was not it, "Excuse me?"

There was a figure out in the gardens, two actually, both motioning toward the landscape with jerky arms and frowning faces.

"The ball to announce to the general public your new status." Draco elaborated, his tone so matter-of-fact that one would have believed he was explaining the upcoming weather. "It's not as intimate as the Autumn Revel. This is more formal, more official."

"That was intimate?" Hermione hissed.

"Anyone can come to this-"

"Anyone?" Hermione interrupted.

"Granger," he drawled, "Unlike you I have actual responsibilities-"

"Are you daft? So, the things I'm being told to do aren't responsibilities-"

"-actual responsibilities." Draco snorted, interrupting her with nothing more than a flippant wave of hand, "So I don't have all day to be interrupted while trying to explain this to you. I'm giving you some heads up, be a tad more grateful, would you?"

The words that wanted to escape her mouth, all haughtiness and irritation, were swallowed in exchange for-"A heads up to what?"

"I'm not supposed to say much." While he spoke his gaze never left the figures, both feminine in body structure despite the weight and bulk of the autumn robes they wore. Really, it was the elegant designs that gave them away followed by Draco's whispered sentence. "Mum would curse me something good if I ruined the surprise."

Now she saw it, the way delicate hands gestured wildly while strands of white blonde hair peeked out from behind a raised hood when a particularly harsh breeze blew past.

"In December, they will host your ball. The entire wizarding world will know what He has claimed you are capable of. You will officially establish the power of your House and prove you deserve to lead it. Your job is to make sure you're prepared. Whatever He's asked you to do, that first task, you need to make sure it's done. He's expecting you to show… well… everyone."

And left unspoken were the consequences should she fail.

"It's like an exam, Granger. He'll be putting you on display, you know, in some ceremonious manner all the while secretly saying 'look at this thing I made, look what my power can do, what my research has given us'. You're a gift to the community, and His gift to you is all this. This… fame, this wealth, but never forget where it comes from, what you have to do to keep it."

His tone was so soft, a mixture of dreamy acceptance, and perhaps that was what made her most nervous. Not his words, as ominous as they were, nor the knowledge they held-December was her deadline, her deadline to prove she deserved her titles, her life, her purpose-but the idea that this was normal, just something she had to do.

"This is a pure-blood thing, isn't it?" Hermione whispered, only momentarily distracted by the antics in the gardens below, which had escalated to the head of the household being lifted by the secondary figure and slung over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Is that-"

"This happens all the time," Draco mumbled, but his tone seemed lighter now, more at ease. "Pay it no mind."

Then there was silence only interrupted as Narcissa's squeals of indignation came to them muffled through the window.

"Mum and Luna will help you understand the 'pure-blood thing' part of it but only Severus can help you with the 'if I want to live I better do this' part of it. So… don't let it strain you. He's hard on you because He can be so much worse."

With a slow exhale, she turned away from the window, no longer interested in the actions taking place beyond the walls the housed her as the figures stormed toward the gate that separated garden from home.

"Your warning, while appreciated, is still a tad vague-"

"But the message is clear enough, isn't it?" Draco said, eyebrow quirked as his posture changed, becoming more relaxed in comparison to the tight shoulders that had plagued him in the potion dungeons.

"Sure," Hermione snorted. "Do what I've been asked among the many other arduous tasks in very little time to prove I'm more than some mud-"

"Don't." Draco hissed, his gaze wild, aflame with fervent passion and just the tiniest sliver of fear, "Don't belittle His research. Don't belittle Him by saying such terms."

"Terms that He had no issue with-"

"That was before," Draco stepped closer, his brow slightly damp, his voice barely more than a terse whisper. "This is now. Do not act foolish with me, Granger. You won't belittle my intelligence by acting stupidly ignorant when I know you aren't. His word is gospel and you best remember to praise it. It's His terms that have made you some first-generation Merlin, and the very same terms that can turn you back into dirt."

And perhaps it was the stress of the overall situation, of the sudden expectation that she was meant to spew glory with every word and praise with her very breath but she felt some tightly bundled coil in her chest constrict and snap. With whip-like movement, something jerky and crazed, she lunged forward. Automatically, though not mechanically, she sought to press him against the wall, his robes a wrinkled bundle clutched within her clenched tight fists. Despite their height difference-and ultimately, their difference in weight and muscle tone-he seemed effectively pinned. Just another living breathing body, taking one shallow and strained breath after another, pressed against her own waiting to be commanded by her power.

Maybe it was the magic that crackled along her skin, ready and eager to be used, or perhaps the look that consumed her gaze-some grotesque nasty expression, she supposed, all teeth, perfect teeth, and flared nose—but his eyes were pinned to her own, narrowed and callous but cowed while her own reflected… something. Something she couldn't name, something that felt as oily and slick as the thing that lived in her chest, in her belly, in her very core.

"You disrespect me, Malfoy." She drawled, her voice tight and controlled, but she was showing far too much teeth, far too much desire to harm.

It was different, so different, then her need to consume Bellatrix. Where her pain would have brought her immense pleasure, where her submission would have been so much sweeter. No, this was something just as instinctual, just as pivotal, but there was something off about her urge. Something off about wanting to hear him scream and finally, finally accept her prowess, her presence, her existence. It wouldn't satisfy her to cause him pain, to feel the panicked flicker of his heartbeat. Not in the same way, not in the way she needed.

No, he would only leave her hungry for… more.

"I am not dirt, I was never dirt, nor mud, nor some worthless subhuman to be forgotten and shoved aside like so many retired house-elves." She rasped, her voice steady but tinted with the harsh cut of her frustration, of that dark thing that rolled about in her chest begging to be free. "My blood is as red as your own, has always been, and no sudden proclamation-"

Then she hissed, caught unaware by a sudden stinging slice that broke across her back and brought with it a red blossom of sudden agony. Her skin felt as if it were peeling, stripped back and away from bone and muscle as something hot and searing cut a path along her flesh to reach something vital. Her voice caught in her throat, released in a gurgle of surprise as she stumbled back and away from her prey while her mind screamed out several healing spells but her body forgot to voice them—that and a wand would have been needed to give them the efficiency she needed to ease the throbbing heat that crawled across her.

With her arms awkwardly bent back and over her shoulders she tried to feel for the wound, a wound that she thought must exist from between her shoulder-blades all the way down to the small of her back. Yet, as she frantically gripped at her elegantly styled robes of green-for Luna seemed oddly adamant that she must display the color of her sponsor for a time- she felt no rips among the fabric. With deep frantic breaths and eyes wide she rode out the pain, ignoring the twitch of pulsing muscles as her mind softly whispered-

How unrefined, that pain. So unlike Bellatrix. So unlike Him. Who-

"Miss Granger," The voice spoke, a refined undeniable collection of barely restrained irritation. "A lady mustn't strike out at her potions partner. It's rather unbefitting of a Head of House."

She sneered, still riled up, still humming with the need to warp Draco's view of reality now powered by the fading lash of some casually tossed hex.

"Professor," She tried to keep her voice even, to keep her anger from her tone as Draco sucked in gulps of air and moved slowly away from the wall. "You… hexed me."

Snape quirked a brow, the wand within his grasp held loosely, as if he had nothing to fear in terms of retaliation. He didn't, to be sure, not when he held such a high status among His most precious and treasured. That and, Hermione, for all her irritation, still found the idea of striking a teacher somewhat abhorrent. Even if it was this particular teacher.

"So I did." Snape drawled, "Did you not have an assignment to attend to, or do you find wrestling with Mr. Malfoy like some unrefined beast a more enjoyable task to complete?"

Without the sting of pain to focus on she found herself a flushed red mess, her cheeks warmed with embarrassment while Draco carefully adjusted his robes.

"We had a small disagreement, it's all fine now." Draco answered swiftly, as if this odd tension between them was meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

And perhaps it was.

"Miss Granger?" With quirked brow Snape turned to her.

"Y-yes," Hermione croaked, though most of her attention was on the speck of lint she casually picked from her sleeve as her heart rate settled and her muscles obeyed her, "I was having some trouble."

"With?"

She ground her teeth slightly, but answered honestly. "Everything."

For a moment, they were all quiet, standing together in a silence that wasn't entirely awkward yet still oppressive. It wasn't until Draco placed his hand upon her stiff shoulder that Snape sighed and spoke again-

"You don't have the time to grieve for what you've lost."

Which was easy for him to say, this master spy, this expert at compartmentalization and betrayer of Light.

"And I am unqualified to help you do so."

With a soft breath, Hermione looked up from her robes. Despite the tension in her shoulder and her obvious desire to be away from these men Draco kept his hold firm. The warmth of his palm, the twitch of his fingers, all those small little actions that made him alive and human despite the inhumanity of the man that ruled them all and the actions they'd taken during the war, only reminded her of how, ultimately, the years had tarnished the meaning of what exactly made someone as human as she originally perceived.

She tried not to take comfort in the idea that they all had their faults, that even Snape was not some untouchable machination of taken opportunity. They were all worried, all scared, about this peace He provided.

Good.

"We must work with the hand we've been given. Since, even monsters can bleed." In a moment of uncertainty Snape paused his speech, his lips slightly parted as a tongue peeked out to wet them in contemplation. It was almost childlike in action, perhaps some long-lost habit that only returned when he was truly being careful about his every thought. "Eventually, the weight of it, that burden…"

The guilt for surviving, for achieving the unachievable, for daring to be content, excited, satisfied, to need-

"Feels less like chains attached to your morality."

And maybe, for Snape, the apprehension toward the idealism of darkness had turned to the pleasure of acknowledgement and achievement long before The Order started falling apart.

Hermione could understand that.

"How-"

A loud sound from the hallway interrupted her speech and she swallowed her question out of an instinctual desire to keep her fears and weaknesses to herself.

That and the fact that she'd been startled by the squeal that came with the loud bang that nearly rattled the walls and forced the foundation of the ancient manor to groan. That was not the sound of a dignified person born to wizarding aristocracy and while Hermione had only been a member of the manor for a short time she knew, without a doubt, that this couldn't possibly be a regularly happening occurrence. With a sharp inhale, Hermione glanced beyond Snape, whose face was twisted in an obvious sign of his annoyance-an expression that seemed more at home there than his earlier look of contemplation. Yet, there was no surprise there, not even an inkling. Furthermore, even Draco seemed at peace with the odd screech that soon came thereafter, followed by a high-pitched-

"Put. Me. Down!"

"I'll do whatever I want."

There was an odd sound in the space then, something akin to a feral rumble, something that made her current company turn toward her with quirked brows and taken-aback expressions-

Oh, it was coming from her, that rolling curling growl, so unlike her.

"S-sorry."

Yet, it was her voice that made her feel so out of sorts, her very presence that filled her with such conflicting ideas and twisted emotion. It didn't matter how many times she saw her during her day to day schedule or that initial burst of anger. Something more, something she couldn't yet describe, always took her by surprise. It didn't help that once it faded there was always a sense of displacement, a sense of phantom sensations and mild apprehension all swaddled in nervous excitement.

Excitement, certainly, at the prospect of learning new things, at the knowledge she'd gained through each session attended with her… Dark Arts Professor. Not at the idle twitch of her muscles as she remembered the bite of the Cruciatus Curse, often refreshed-for mere seconds at a time-before each prospective lesson.

She should have hated her for that.

Unfortunately, she oddly couldn't.

"Bellatrix, I swear-" Narcissa's voice grew closer, slightly strained, and out of breath, but Hermione didn't have to wonder why for long. While the men in the household seemed somewhat prepared for the sight the Black sisters made sweeping down the hall, she was unprepared for the absurdity of it.

Given the circumstances it was a little too immature an action for her to properly process. Yet, there they were, both in the robes they'd worn beyond the walls-in the gardens, Hermione reminded herself, that had been Lady Malfoy and Bellatrix out in the gardens-expect one was flung over the shoulder of the other like a sack of potatoes and-

Oh yes, now she remembered, remembered how she'd expressed concern over this sight right before her altercation with Draco.

"Really? Must you two do this now? Here?" Snape's voice broke through what was quickly becoming high-pitched quarreling and it was enough to draw Bellatrix scowling gaze in his direction, with her slightly narrowed eyes of brown.

"And who said you had to-"

"If you don't put me down I swear to Merlin I will-"

"So much noise too, always, Bellatrix-"

"Say that again, Severus, say that again-"

Draco, for the most part, said nothing and endured his discomfort like a proper pure-blood should. Hermione was yet to be known as a proper anything, however and held no qualms about interrupting what was quickly becoming a surreal meeting of squabbling adults.

Oddly enough, it made her feel rather mature in comparison-"Excuse me?"

Whatever nasty thing left on the tip of Bellatrix tongue remained trapped there when Narcissa's hand smacked rather loudly against the front of her face, crushing her nose and lips in a manner most unsightly as the younger sister wriggled and pushed to remove herself from her shoulder.

Face flushed and legs now flailing Narcissa gave one mighty shove and managed to break Bellatrix hold-or maybe, Bellatrix discomfort reached an intolerable level. As soon as her feet touched the ground she whirled on the heel of her shoes and huffed, her blue eyes as focused on her hands as she tried to smooth the wrinkles of her clothing.

"Really, Bella. So childish. If you think that's the proper way to win an argument-"

"Who was arguing, sister dearest?" Bellatrix interrupted, but her gaze and all its intensity was held steady upon Hermione.

Despite the mild flush that dotted her cheeks due to her harrowing struggle containing her sister and the wide smile that split her lips there was still a powerful predatory air about her, one that never lessened, one that mixed and sparked like flint to wood. It reminded her of fire, so wild, so uncontainable.

While Narcissa was all ice and scowls-at least for now, "Don't start that."

With an exaggerated sigh, Snape gave a flourished wave of hand, "I do hate to interrupt-"

"Do you?" Bellatrix drawled.

"I do," Snape growled, "but I must, unfortunately. There's business to attend to back at Hogwarts."

Now Bellatrix lax expression seemed to change, now her gaze flashed with mild interest while Narcissa looked up from unbuttoning her outside robes.

"Is it…?" Narcissa whispered.

Is it? Is it what?

"Do you live there?" Hermione blurted, though that was the furthest thing from her mind. She wanted to know what 'it' was and whether the business was… is… the thing Snape was leaving to attend.

"I do," Snape replied, with quirked brow and mild frown.

"O-of course you do, yes I'm... I meant to ask about… I meant to ask-"

Her throat felt tight and she was sure her longing was clear. She had not been in Hogwarts since… the war and despite her elevated status she hadn't been told that such a restriction had been lifted off her person. Something about idle minds and the temptation of doing ill-will activities in a domain that had once fostered rebellious attitudes.

"It will have to wait." Snape said while he waved a hand in idle dismissal. "You may ask your pressing question some other time."

"Of course, yes." She croaked, some part of her uncertain.

"You'll be back then, for dinner?" Narcissa said, though a peek at Bellatrix expression said she didn't care whether he returned or not.

"Perhaps." He answered casually, but the tension in Narcissa's shoulders seemed to ease at the admission.

And then he was moving on, leaving the room with an oddly empty feeling despite the company she kept.

"Hermione," Narcissa broke through her thoughts and Draco, with a mild smile, moved to pat her shoulder in warning while his lips mouthed a silent 'good luck'.

What was that supposed to mean?

"I have been talking with your…. with Bella," She gently corrected, "about your lack of familiar."

Now Draco, with raised brows, made haste to shuffle past her and down the hall, easily twisting away from her snatching grasp as she tried to grab hold of anything on his person. The little prat, he knew this was coming, knew something about this line of speech that she should have been more aware of-

"You need one, Hermione. It's unbecoming of a powerful witch to be without. Well, it's unbecoming of a Head of House to be without."

With a dry lick of her lips Hermione clasped her hands together and tried to ignore the crawling sensation of her skin, one easily created by the unshielded heat that ebbed from Bellatrix hungry stare. "I have a familiar."

"And they are…?"

"Not… here." Hermione answered, her brow pinched, "He, Crookshanks, he was…."

In the Burrow, in the Burrow when it burned to the ground, when she came and-

"Luna has tried and unfortunately failed to locate him." Narcissa spoke slowly, cautiously, perhaps due to the restless motion of Hermione's hands as they twisted and clenched at one another.

"I can't. I can't take another. It's…" Wrong.

"You must," Bellatrix purred, "and you will. The bond could do you some good."

How Bellatrix assumed she could just tell her what to do, when… when they weren't even betrothed… Well, at least not officially, not yet

"She's right. A healthy bond with a… new companion could help further develop your magical core."

Peevishness was not an unfamiliar emotion for her. As a child, she'd worn it as well as her cleverness and even now it seemed difficult to let it go for the sake of maturity. A part of her, that part that fueled the right decisions, knew this to be true. To argue for the sake of arguing would have been a waste of time. Efficiency won out over a sense of loyalty to Crookshanks, but that didn't make it easy to begrudgingly nod to Narcissa's assertion.

"Excellent," Narcissa smiled brilliantly and for a moment Hermione was surprised by the amount of emotion being offered toward her. She had only been privy to a few moments of warmth from Lady Malfoy-and stiff awkward friendliness from Draco with a little respectful acknowledgement from the often-quiet Lucius. Yet, the longer she remained among the occupants of the manor the more humanity she began to see from them.

The normality was painful to experience, breaking her shaky opinions of predictable 'evil'.

"What must I do?"

"You'll go with Cissy to Knockturn Alley," Bellatrix said, her wicked smile only dampened slightly by the idea she would not be the one to escort Hermione about in public. "There's a fellow there, Henry Castlewater. He'll be able to help you. Don't disappoint me, my pet. There's much to do when you return so be quick about it. Shouldn't take long to pick a ickle familiar, should it?"

Hermione fought to keep her expression clear of irritation but something must have shown in the twitch of her eye and the flexing of her hand. Bellatrix was quick to pull back her lips, to flash those perfect teeth before they parted in a full-blown laugh.

"Frustrated, are you? My beloved?"

"-I am your student," Hermione corrected her, breathing carefully out from flared nostrils before she said, much softer and somewhat unsure- "Nothing more."

But Bellatrix only growled, her face a sneer as wild gaze combed her presence in a manner that made her very skin prickle with the feeling of… of something, some pressure, some flesh tingling sense of the intangible pressing against her chest…

"Yes yes, girl. Nothing more, not yet, but soon. Very."

Then, with little more than a huff, Bellatrix whirled on her heels and stalked down the hall, her cackle enough to pull a shudder from Hermione's person.

"You're lucky, you know…" Narcissa whispered, and while her words were for Hermione her gaze was on the retreating swaying backside of her sister, some indescribable reflection of feeling set to glimmer in the depths of her gaze. A feeling Hermione could not read and yet it reminded her with startling clarity that beneath her pure-blood taught appropriateness she was most certainly a Black. Then, with a blink, it was gone. "She's being very proper."

Really?