A/N: Love to all reviewers.

* This passage was taken from "The Whole Duty of Woman" a conduct book from the 19th century. Obviously, I changed some of the contents to reflect the magical world.

The part recited by Hermione was of my own divising, though influenced by the many conduct books I've read over the years (history is my other hobby).

I don't need to say that I think the things Malfoy says to Hermione are repulsive nonsense, do I? Because I do, and they are.

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Draco shivered. It was cold in the Carrow's place. Beside him, his mad aunt blinked and twitched a little, waiting for the Dark Lord to appear. She caught his gaze and glared furiously. "Eyes to the front, you miserable whelp."

"My blood's as pure as yours, Aunt."

She sneered and said nothing. He'd only know Bellatrix a few weeks and he hated her profoundly; fortunately she seemed to hate him back. It might have been awkward had she felt some affection for him which he did not reciprocate. Draco's sense of social niceities was exquisitely tuned, and he understood inherently how messy that sort of thing could become.

The Dark Lord swept in and they bowed as one. His new Mark was throbbing on his arm and his hand went there, knowing he could not calm it away and compelled to try. The Dark Lord radiated such power that Draco always felt muffled in his presence, as though the puissance emanating from his new master smothered all other lights.

"Draco, come forward. I would have a word."

"I am honored, my Lord."

The Dark Lord took Draco's arm and led him into the library. The door closed behind them, the latch clicking into the hasp with the same finality as the end of a death watch. In the parlor, Narcissa Malfoy hugged herself and prayed.

"His mudblood friend, you say?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Since December?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "Excellent, Draco. I have every confidence in your ability, and the girl ought to prove an invaluable source. What have you been doing at these little study sessions?"

"Trying to get information, my Lord."

"Clearly. May I ask how?"

Draco dropped his head, unsure. He couldn't say because it would break the Oath, freeing his toy; neither could he refuse to answer the Dark Lord. An icy hand locked under his chin and his head jerked up in time for him to hear the Dark Lord's cold, clear 'legilimens'.

Imagines spewed from his mind like a lanced boil. He squirmed, mortified beyond belief, as the Dark Lord saw every detail of what had gone on between Granger and himself. Tear started in his eyes and he sternly held them back; crying before the Dark Lord was all but a death sentence.

"Very good, Draco. Tell me, have you deflowered her yet?"

Draco flushed and shook his head. He didn't know what deflowered was, precisely, but he was sure he hadn't done it to Granger. He'd heard that word once and asked his father; Lucius had looked uncomfortable and murmured something about lying atop a woman and ruining her. He'd never lain atop Granger, ergo she was un-ruined and un-deflowered.

The Dark Lord smiled, feasting on his obvious embarrassment. "Why ever not?"

"My Lord?"

"I asked you, Draco, why you have not yet deflowered the mudblood."

He blushed even redder. " I wouldn't want to dirty myself, my Lord." He couldn't tell the Dark Lord he had no idea how one went about it, and that he didn't want to, anyway.

Voldemort nodded. "We must all make sacrifices, Draco. It would bind her to you much more tightly."

Draco said nothing. His eyes were fastened on the carpet, color still high.

"I imagine if you succeed at this mission, you'd like a reward."

"Doing your will is reward enough, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled again. " Doubtless. Still, I suppose I could spare the girl. She might prove useful to us. And you'll train her properly?"

Draco nodded, conflicting feelings welling in his chest. "Yes, my Lord. I have already noticed an improvement in her deportment and appearance."

The Dark Lord sat down at the desk, signaling that the audience was almost over. "I hope for your sake, Draco, you are right. About everything." He opened a desk drawer and rattled about, and Draco bowed his way from the room. For better or worse, the course was chartered now.

He should have felt elated, proud, chosen. But he didn't. All Draco felt was fear.

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Hermione spent the summer mainly in the wizarding world, preparing for the war that was sure to come. In August she got a letter from her Mum, telling them her Nan was declining rapidly. She Flooed home and they drove to Bromsgrove knowing it was to say goodbye. Nan was sitting up in bed, elegant in a deep rose colored bed jacket, hair perfect because she charmed the nurse into helping her every day. She smelled of face powder and Je Reviens and lipstick, Hermione noticed as she held the birdy little form her to heart.

"There's my best girl. How are you, poppet?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Fine, Nan."

Her Nan cocked her head. "Something is different. You sound older."

" I turn Seventeen in September. But how are you? I've missed you."

"Tired, darling. I can't wait to see dear Alec again."

"Oh, Nan, no! You'll bounce right back."

Her grandmother shook her head. "I dream of him at night, just as I did when we were engaged and he was fighting in France. You'll see someday, darling, what it's like to love someone so. Your Granddad was--" She abruptly stopped, and Hermione reminded herself that Nan had had a series of strokes and was therefore liable to forget, and fall asleep with no warning. She rose to go.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Nan?" she turned back. Nan's head was still down, her eyes shut.

"Who is he?"

"Who?"

"The boy. Don't try to deny it. It's in your face." Her Nan smiled. Hermione shook her head, wondering what else her grandmother had seen. She sat down again very abruptly, as though her legs were made of paper.

"Someone at school but we aren't--" she couldn't tell. She couldn't. "He isn't suitable, Nan."

"That's all right. If he makes you happy, that's what important." Her grandmother reached up and unerringly unclasped the chain at her throat. "I want you to have this."

"Oh, Nan." She opened the locket and her Granddad was staring back at her, a cocky grin on his face, cap at a rakish angle, his eye patch giving him a pleasantly piratical air.

"There's an empty side. Put your sweetheart in it, Hermione, like I did. So you'll always remember what it was like to be young, and to feel as you do." The old woman's eyes were sliding shut. She lay back and sighed deeply. "It was so good."

Her Nan died three days later. At the funeral she clutched the locket in her hand. The priest spoke at length about the consolations of Eternity, the joy at seeing loved ones again. School was starting soon, she realized abruptly. Joy or no joy, she would see Malfoy again. Hermione shivered. She felt afraid, though afraid of what she could not say.

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They met in silence and went inside in silence, though each longed in their own way to confide in the other. Draco wanted to warn Granger about the dangers that could befall her if she should fail, even for a moment, to be cautious. He'd had a nasty run in with Potter, and hoped devoutly that the idiot would get himself killed so he couldn't do anything stupid involving Draco's pet.

Hermione wanted to ask Malfoy what exactly they were to one another; the conversation with her grandmother had started her mind going. She did not love him, but after their last few run ins, she could admit that his attentions improved her life to an extent. They weren't friends and they weren't lovers, but in here they weren't precisely enemies, either. She kept her tongue, afraid of what the answer might be. She perceived a change in him that was disquieting, though what it was she could not say.

Draco appraised his pet. Her hair was down but neatly combed, her clothes pressed. He seized a hand and inspected the cuticles. They were closed, and the salve had left a tell tale tint on the nails, a barely perceptible stain. He nodded.

" How was your summer?"

"Not very good. Yours?"

"As good as could be expected." He looked at her defiantly, almost daring her to contradict him. She said nothing, only sighed. He caught a glimpse of gold at her neckline and tugged gently at the chain, surprised by the weight of whatever it was.

Hermione almost stiffened. Almost. But she knew he wouldn't hurt it, the same way she knew he wouldn't hurt her. Malfoy was strange about things like that. He took the locket in his hand and thumbed the catch off, studied the picture intently for a moment.

"Your father?"

"Grandfather."

Draco let it rest against her neck again. He supposed she could wear it for now, though once he owned her he would take it. It wasn't awful but it also wasn't particularly nice, just gold with a bit of scrollwork and enamel. Only the best would do, so it would have to go. He'd replace it with something to remind her of her place, a jewel studded exhortation to obedience and respect.

Pleased with this line of thought, Malfoy took her arm to lead her deeper into the house. She followed him, if not gladly, then with gracious resignation. It was the manor again, and their feet made scant noise on the heavy carpeting. The air was sweet with the smell of roses, and Hermione was painfully reminded of her mother. She blinked, unaware that Malfoy was having the same problem (Narcissa's roses were the pride of their gardens). They made their way to the library and sat down on one of the settees.

"I don't know about you, but I could do with a snack. Look at this one while I call an elf." He pressed a tome into her hands and went to call the imbecilic Nippy to bring them food. Hermione obediently opened the book and read a bit. He was back within a few minutes and found Granger chuckling as she read.

"What's funny?"

She grinned. "This." She held the book up and Malfoy frowned. He'd given her a very old conduct book which was still the wizarding gold standard of female conduct, and expected it would be a good start for her continuing education at his hands.

Granger opened it to a random page and read aloud: "It is not for thee, O woman, to undergo the perils of magickal exploration, to search fearlessly with Arithmancy the future or to number the thick stars or the heavens . . .Thy kingdom is thine own house and thy government the care of thy family."*

"What's funny about that? It's true, isn't it?"

Hermione blinked. "Of course not."

Draco inhaled. "You were raised by muggles, Granger. I wouldn't expect you to understand at first. This is how proper wizarding families live. The father goes to work and the mother runs the house and manages the elves."

Hermione struggled not to laugh. "In this day and age? That's dreadful."

He raised his eyebrows. "What's dreadful about it? Women need to be protected and cared for, and men need women to keep everything in proper order. Surely you see the sense in that?"

She shook her head. "Not all women want that. My Dad likes that my Mum works."

"They're muggles, Granger, they aren't like us. Witches are far too sensitive and delicate to work for any real length of time, and men would rather deal with other men anyway. Besides, mothers who stress themselves too much give birth to squibs."

"You don't believe that." She tried to sound confident but looking at him she knew it was true for him; he sincerely believed what he was saying. He looked at her almost pityingly, as though to a slow child, and said "Of course I do. It's a proven fact."

She shook her head and determined that now would be a good time to end the conversation. Striving to keep her voice light, she said "When did the elf say the food will be here?"

"Oh, about fifteen minutes. Keep reading, there will be an oral exam to make sure you're paying attention."

Hermione eyes him levelly. "Malfoy, be fair. I wouldn't make you read something you find offensive."

He shrugged. "I can smack you now and then you can read. Or you can just read, and say your lesson like a good girl. Your call."

Feeling this terribly unfair, Hermione never the less decided that discretion was the better half of valor when it came to the Ferret, and took up the odious book, stopping occasionally to shake her head at some ludicrous point or other.

Finally the elf arrived, and Malfoy sent it on its way with a cuff to the ear. He carried the tray, laden with food, into the dining room. The table was set with a minimum of formality ( he thought it best to ease her into things slowly) , shining with crystal and sterling cutlery. He directed her to sit at his right as he took his place at the head, as solemn and self aware as children playing grown up.

"Of course, the elves usually serve, but I don't trust that Nippy. Strikes me as sly, somehow."

"Nippy? I've spoken to her several times and she's always been very polite."

Malfoy made a delicate little moue of distaste with his mouth. "You've spoken to it? As in had actual conversations?"

"Yes. I tried to get her to take one of the hats I made, but she kept refusing. I can't understand why she didn't want one, but…' Granger sighed to herself and shrugged. 'I suppose we must allow others to make up their own minds about things." She sighed again, apparently lamenting the elf's stubborn refusal to be liberated.

Draco shook his head in disgust. "Merlin, Granger. Why don't you ask it to sit and eat with you?"

"I tried. None of the elves would do it."

"Of course they wouldn't. They know their place in things and respect it."

Hermione could sense they were in dangerous waters. "That's just it, though. There's no reason they should be slaves just because it's tradition."

Draco put down the serving spoon. "Is this a joke?"

"Of course not."

Draco handed her a plate with cold chicken and turnips. Hermione didn't really care for turnips but she sensed this was a bad time, and decided to choke them down as quickly as she could and simply not say anything. Picking up her fork, she made herself take a bite before she finished her point.

"They're sentient creatures, Malfoy. Surely you don't think they could really be happy this way?"

Draco huffed. "There's more to life than happiness. They're like children, Granger, idiot children with strong magic and no sense of how and when to use it. They're happiest when they have someone to care for them and tell them what to do."

"Like witches?" She raised her eyebrow at him in conscious imitation of the look he made when he was subtly ridiculing her argument. Malfoy glowered, thinking that look was entirely too effective for his liking, at least when Granger was doing it.

"I wouldn't have been so ill-bred as to say it, but yes. You'd be happier if you'd obey like you should, not to mention causing much less trouble for those around you."

She looked ready to argue more but he held up a hand. "This is not a suitable conversation to have while we're eating. Clean your plate."

They ate in loaded silence, Hermione making herself finish the hated turnips and Draco watching with real satisfaction as she did it. He could tell she didn't like them from the way she looked at them; mused that it was funny someone who tried as hard as Granger to project an air of maturity should act so childish about eating healthy foods and getting adequate sleep.

Finally they were done and he sent her into the library. She picked up the book and paged idly through, looking at the illustrations of the various ways to walk, sit and stand. Stupidity, Hermione thought, meaningless nonsense.

Draco closed the door behind himself with a firm click. His toy jumped slightly, slammed the book shut, half embarrassed and half defiant to have been caught looking. He smirked, secretly very pleased. Her curiosity, he'd found, properly played to, would do much of the work. All he needed to do was give her a little nudge in the right direction.

Malfoy settled on the settee and gestured her to stand in front of him, hands behind her back. Hermione hated this position; it made her feel exposed and childish, as though he were really hearing her lessons and not playacting. She made herself stand a little straighter and look him in the eye.

"What is your first duty?"

""The first duty of a woman is obedience to her elders and betters. She must be sweet, humble, modest, and demure, avoiding all actions which are not suitable. She must be soft spoken, gentle and kind to those around her, especially her house elves and the many lesser wizards and witches with whom she might, in the course of her duties, be obliged to speak with. She must give voice to no thought which is displeasing to those around her, nor make any motion which is not elegant, necessary and proper."

Draco blinked, unprepared for the surge of information. "Well done. What does it mean?"

"I already said."

"Don't take that tone with me, my girl. I mean, can you give me an example?"

"Obeying one's teachers."

He smiled. "Just so."

Hermione felt herself paling a bit. She could tell he had something really nasty in mind and braced for the very worst. He eyed her a long moment, considering.

"Upstairs with you, little madam, and have a seat on the vanity chair. I'll be up directly."

To be pleasant surprise, the vanity was nicely stocked. Hermione had no real interest in cosmetics and beauty potions but she did like to explore, and she spent an enjoyable few moments poking about, smelling the perfumes and cautiously opening the boxes of makeup.

She heard Malfoy before she saw him. He stopped to grab the brush off the dresser and came up behind her. "Relax, Hermione. I only want to brush your hair." He carefully drew the mass of curls back and began to brush, watching her watch him in the mirror. Her eyes were unreadable, dark with something that might have been desire, or repulsion, or any combination of the two.

He'd missed this. Here, in the illusionary security of Hogwarts, Draco could admit to himself that being a Death Eater was not all it was cracked up to be. In fact, he hated it. The Dark Lord struck him less as the leader of a glorious revolution and more as a petty tyrant, a frighteningly volatile bully. His fellows were back biting and cruel, especially the inner circle. His aunt and uncle terrified him. And while the Dark Lord had not said so, Draco understood implicitly that the price of failure in killing Dumbledore was his parents' lives.

Moreover, that interview with the Dark Lord made him feel…funny. They knowing, cynically amused look on his Lordship's face when it came to Granger had made his skin crawl. He'd felt dirty after, as though sharing his mind with his master left his thoughts coated in grease. Without meaning to, his hand tightened a little on his pet's shoulder. He shoved his mutinous thoughts away and concentrated on Granger and her hair; everything would be fine. It would have to be.

Hermione leant a little into the hold on her shoulder. She shut her eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the sensation of the bristles gently stroking her scalp. Malfoy tipped her head forward and she obliged, shivering a little when his finger grazed the tender nape of her neck. It struck her suddenly that, for all the times he had seen her half naked, this felt far more intimate. He gathered the hair into a pony tail and tied it off. His hand was still on her shoulder.

"Trade places with me, Hermione." She stood, very relaxed, and watched as he sat on the little armless chair, noticing he sat facing out and feeling some of her calm sliding away. She took a step back involuntarily and he smirked.

"And now we see how well she's learned her lesson. Come here, Hermione, you're going to be punished."

She took another step. "But I haven't done anything!" Hermione hated the way her voice went up at the end, almost like a whine. She made herself stop walking and stand her ground. Malfoy just smirked wider.

"I find that hard to believe, little girl. You mean to tell me you didn't do a single naughty thing all summer long?"

She looked at her hands. "I suppose I did a few things, but I haven't done anything tonight."

"You aren't cooperating right now. That's rather naughty, especially considering that your lesson was about the importance of obedience. And we've talked about occasional unearned whackings. Maintenance, remember?"

"Malfoy, be fair. I learned the lesson you gave me, and--"

He shook his head. "Did you? I don't notice you've applied it very well. Or did I miss the part where the author said whinging and throwing fits was an acceptable alternative?" He stood and calmly grasped her by the wrist and tugged her over.

She was turned up in a trice, skirt tucked into her waistband, Malfoy's hand cracking against her arse. Hermione squirmed, yelping whenever a slap landed on a particularly sensitive place. It really hurt! She'd forgotten how much his hand could burn and sting, especially when he was annoyed with her. She kicked a little, wiggling into his torso without quite meaning to, unconsciously comforted by his warm body under hers.

Draco stopped long enough to work her knickers down. She was still struggling but the effect was actually a little funny; Draco considered it a moral victory if he could evoke this kind of reaction from his pet. He pulled the garment to her knees and swatted a thigh to get her attention.

"You see, I was right."

"Oww! Right about what?"

"I told you you'd come back full of bad behavior and sauce, and you've proven my point. You need to be whacked very regularly or else you revert to your bad habits. I shall have to send a note home to your parents for Christmas break."

"Malfoy! (Too hard!) You wouldn't!"

"You keep saying that as though you think it will stop me. Why shouldn't I? It makes you much easier to live with."

"That's not funny ( Not there! Oww!) !"

"I quite agree. I'm sure they'd want to do what's best for you. And what's best is making sure you go to sleep with a glowing red arse a few nights a week. Ah ah ah, move that hand!"

"It's not!"

"Not in the way? Yes, it was. I've pinned it for you, it shan't happen again."

"No! (pleeaaseestop) Not for the best (owwww)!"

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Mmm-mmm, we've forgotten our manners too. I think a good long time sitting on the corner stool ought to help with that."

Hermione kicked harder. "No no please no stool I'll be good let me up I'm sorry!"

Draco smothered a laugh. Gryffindor's genius, the holder of the House brain cell, reduced to a pleading, kicking child draped arse up over his knee. He shifted her and began to heat the tender under curve, pleased when she howled and bucked as though she were being killed.

He gave a gusty pretend sigh. "You're just a naughty little girl who needs a good, hard smacking on your bare bum whenever you misbehave, aren't you? Yes, you are, now lay still and let me finish paddling you."

Hermione's cringed at his words even as she sobbed with pain and embarrassment. Naughty little girl, indeed! She'd give him a piece of her mind fit to choke a giant just as soon as he let her up. She tried to make herself lay still and stop kicking, but it was a doomed fight and a minute more found her bawling incoherently, totally out of her own control. Her head dropped and he gave her one last tremendous whack and then sat still.

"Do try to calm down, Hermione, it was only a little smacking. That's enough now, no more fussing. You'll want to save that for later, my girl; you have an appointment with the slipper."

Hermione cried harder at the news, not wanting anything to add to the burning in her backside, but she knew protests were futile. Instead, she debated punching him in the knee and decided regretfully it was a bad idea. She felt him lift her under the arms and he stood a second later, leading her to the huge bed. She pulled away, and Malfoy said impatiently " It's not what you think, now come along."

A moment later he was resting comfortably against a huge mound of pillows, paging through his vile book of torments, and she was over his lap again. Skirt still tucked up, knickers at half mast, she lay exposed while he casually ignored her, sometimes using her as a table to rest his book on.

"Malfoy?"

"I can't hear you, Hermione, you'll need to ask properly."

"Sir?"

"Yes?" He rested the book at the small of her back and gently moved her pony tail, a little ragged now, out of the way. His finger drifted down her spine, evoking another shiver that was pleasurable in ways Draco didn't want to name. He had a sudden urge to cup her burning flesh in his hand and make her gasp, though with pain or pleasure did not bear thinking about.

"May I get up now?"

"You certainly may not. You're in' he flipped through the book, grumbling to himself about the added effort ' something called a time-out, apparently."

Hermione huffed. " Time-out? Am I six? Seriously, Malfoy, this is absurd."

Malfoy fetched her a hard swat on her stinging left sit spot, producing a lovely yelp. " Judging by the way you've acted, it's hard to say. This seemed very effective last time in helping you change your attitude. I see no reason not to go with what works."

"It's barbaric, not to mention silly. I really didn't do anything wrong."

"I'll be the judge of that. We both know you did all sorts of things over the summer that you got clean away with. Didn't you?" He ran a finger down her burning thigh.

She hissed. "Not really. I was busy all summer."

"Busy with what?"

" Studying, reading, helping my parents."

"Doing their dirty work, you mean."

She shook her head. "My grandmother was ill."

Malfoy stiffened. Oh no. He could sense a treacherous whirlpool of emotion opening at his feet, the kind that invariably led to excessive female sentiment. Possibly even weeping and clinging; Parkinson excelled at both, and Draco was heartily sick of everything that smacked of either. He decided to choose the lesser of two evils and cautiously said "Oh."

"She's happier now that she's with Granddad."

Oh sweet merciful Merlin, the old girl had died. Malfoy was grateful she couldn't see his pet couldn't see his face. The hand that was resting on her back rose up a few centimeters and hovered awkwardly; finally descending in something was emphatically not a pat. "That's too bad."

Hermione pressed her face into the plush blanket and breathed the sweet smell of the bedclothes. As sad as she was about her Nan, she understood that Malfoy was trying not to be an utter prat about it. 'Why' was another question; she shoved it away and said as politely as she could "Thank you."

It struck Draco as indecent to discuss the dead in this position. He believed, as most of his class believed, that muggles did not have animae like wizards. On the other hand, he'd heard there were muggle buildings with ghosts, and so it seemed to him that the spirits of the muggle dead might well hover about their descendents, even as the wizards and witches of yore did. Was it possible that dozens of filthy muggles were crammed invisibly into the room, watching as he enjoyed the product of their line? He shuddered and silently asked his own ancestors ( whom, he was sure, moved in sedate and orderly fashion, not like the mob of muggle dead) to protect him.

"All right, my girl, up you get. Slipper's in the wardrobe, and look sharp about it." He carefully handed her off, giving the room a quick glance, half convinced he would see buck toothed apparitions in strange muggle dress hovering overhead. Fortunately he did not, and when his pet whined he turned his full attentions to her.

"Please, sir, I'm sorry I didn't cooperate. I don't need a slippering." She looked fetchingly distressed, even dropping her eyes at the end like a properly contrite little girl should. He remembered trying the same thing when he'd been younger and responded exactly the same way his father had.

"Of course you are' he said in a soft, kindly voice that was somehow worse than scolding 'You're sorry I'm angry with you. You're sorry you're to be punished. You're very sorry I've smacked you. But your behavior was unacceptable and we still need to address it. So be a very brave girl and get the slipper, and it will all be over soon."

Hermione actually felt tears sting her eyes. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, but the tone of voice was brutally kind and understanding. She found she preferred him barking orders and making snide remarks, not acting as though he regretted what he did to her. It changed the nature of the game in a way she wasn't sure she was ready for, or would ever be ready for. Going to the wardrobe, she got the slipper and brought it back, wondering what he was playing at.

Draco was wondering the same thing. He felt pleased his manipulation had worked, but Granger's sudden compliance was worrying. It felt safer to have his toy arguing and being difficult. He didn't want her getting the wrong idea about things, but the pragmatic side of his brain told him firmly that this might be better. After all, one catches more hinkypunks with pumpkin juice than with bat spleen, and if he couldn't deflower Granger right away, he could work on the binding her to him part. She handed him the slipper, still not looking up, and he guided her over and bared her again,

"Now, my girl, if you'd been good then the smacking over your knickers would have ended it. But since you had that little tantrum, it's a slippering on the bare. Perhaps getting your arse stung a few dozen times with the nice hard sole of this slipper will drive your lesson home, hmm?"

He raised the slipper and began her whacking.

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

"OWWWWWWIMSORRYNOMOREPLEEAASSEIPROMISEILLBEGOOD!"

"I agree, you will be good. Unfortunately, you still have plenty more coming, so I'd get comfortable if I were you. I'm going to see to it that your backside doesn't cool down for a long time."

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK

"I've decided that every single time you have a fit, this will be what happens to you. Perhaps the thought of a nice long ride on my lap while I tan you is suitable deterrent. My, look at you squirm! You certainly hate this, don't you?"

"OWWWWWWWWW YESOWWWNOMORE!"

"Yes, what, Hermione?"

"Y'SIR!"

"Stop kicking, it's time for me to blister where you sit, like it or not."

"NONONOPLEASESORRYLEARNEDMYLESSON!"

"Have you? What lesson did you learn?"

" 'bedience! Be obedient!"

"Hmmm, I'm not wholly convinced you really mean that. Think I'll really scald you just to be sure. All right, here it goes."

THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK!

"AIIEEEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWWWW!PLEEEAASEEE!"

"Someone's remembered her manners, I see. Stop twisting about, you're just making it harder on yourself. Other side, Hermione."

THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK!

"OWWWWWWOWWWWWWOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

"Thighs, and then we're done."

THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK!

She went limp, all the fight having left her as the first burning swat fell on her right thigh. Malfoy sat still for a moment, letting his pet cry into the comforter a few minutes, and then carefully slid a hand under her waist to guide her upright.

"I've got a very sore, hot-bottomed little girl in my lap, don't I? Since you were so good about fetching the slipper, you can rub a bit before your corner time." He set her on her feet and enjoyed the show as his mudblood, still bawling, danced frantically foot to foot, trying to massage the unbearable sting from her backside. His arousal was piqued by the display of totally unself conscious misery, until he knew he had to corner her and tend himself or have an accidental loss of control.

"You know where you're going now."

"No, please, it hurts enough! I'll be so good!"

"I agree, and sitting on that flaming hot arse will remind you of your promise. Go on now, Hermione."

She sobbed as she walked, but walk she did, and plant herself firmly on the stool, howling as her thoroughly punished flesh met the hard seat. He stuck her, still howling and pleading, and left her to think about her throbbing behind as he took care of himself in the bathroom.

He ran the shower very hot, and as it always did these days his mind turned to the other task he had been assigned. His mind was twisting and whirring in a million different directions, all unified by the imperative to success. He leaned his forehead against the cool marble and sighed, smelling the richly scented soap and thinking how grateful he was to have this place as an escape.

Something tickled the back of his brain. This place…he wasn't really in his bathroom at home, was he? Not at all. He was standing in the Room of Requirement. The room which could be anything one wanted…anything at all. Draco laughed aloud with relief and pleasure. Still chuckling, he toweled off, dressed and went to unstuck his toy.