Disclaimer: Characters/names/setting belong to J.K Rowling. Thanks! (:

Thank you's: Blackcoat245, Golden Angel 71, coldblueblood, x.tears-n-roses.o, American-born-confused-desi, and sarah!
Thank you, seriously, you guys are what makes stories worth writing. Thank you for the continuing support, it means a lot to me! (:

(A/N) Hello! As I mentioned last week, the TOTS part of my story has ended, and I have inserted another story plot to finish it off. (: Three cheers for the person who guesses which classic this one is. (Hint: not Shakespeare.) I hope you enjoy this chapter! (:

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Millicent Bullstrode sat on Pansy Parkinson's large lavish bed, swinging her feet around and sighing loudly. "What are you doing? You're taking forever," she complained, with her trademark grumble.

Pansy smoothed out her sleek black hair and rolled her eyes. "If I've told you once, I've told you a million times," she retorted to her friend, "I need to prepare for this lunch. Mrs. Malfoy invited me over today, and I need to look halfway decent so I don't embarrass myself."

"Are you sure that's the only reason, Parkinson?" Millicent teased.

Pansy couldn't suppress her smile. "I guess it's kind of because of Draco, too," she grudgingly admitted. "Maybe he'll see what I'm missing and dump that Mudblood once and for all." She tried on the dress robes she picked out for the occasion and spun around with a flourish. "All done!" she sighed happily. "How do I look?"

Millicent tilted her chin in concentration. "Like bad news."

Pansy smirked and spun back around. "Good."

Hermione awoke to the sound of birds and the sun seeping through her thick, ruby curtains. She yawned, pushed back her blankets and sat up, noticing a pile of paper on her bedside dresser. Rubbing her eyes, she picked up the stack of Daily Prophet and quickly skimmed the headlines. Battle Between Death Eaters and the Order Rages On. Hermione frowned sadly in spite of herself, and flipped quickly through the following pages. She had long since abandoned all hope for her rescue. They're obviously busy fighting, she consoled herself. Once the war is over, they'll rescue me. Suddenly, she noticed a bookmark placed discreetly between a page of advertisements. She leaned in closer to read the tiny article, complete with a moving picture of a man with darkened eyebrows and singed hair, shaking his fists in frustration. Wizard No Longer Allowed to Use Fireworks, the headline read. Apparently, Diggle's fireworks had been mistaken for shooting stars by more than a handful of suspicious Muggles across London. Hermione slowly broke out into a huge smile and snorted. Malfoy sure has a sense of humor, Hermione thought, surprised. When did he drop this off?

But before she could contemplate on that query, she was interrupted by a knock at her door. She hastily jumped out of her bed and threw on a coat. "Yes?" she called at the unknown visitor.

The door to the room clicked open and Draco Malfoy stepped inside, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of Hermione, not yet fully awake.

"Er," he started, running a hand through his hair, "I have something for you." He rustled through the pockets of his own coat and produced a thin package, wrapped tightly in old Daily Prophets and rolls of twine. Hermione smiled faintly and took it from him.

"What's with all the secrecy?" she asked, tearing past layers and layers of paper.

"I didn't want Father to find out I had gotten it for you," he replied simply, impassively examining his nails.

Hermione unfurled the last sheet of parchment and grinned at the vine wood wand with dragon heartstring core sitting in her hand.

"Thank you for getting my wand back," Hermione smiled, crumpling the excess garbage and levitating it. "Thank you for trusting me again. It means a lot to me."

An awkward silence ensued, in which Draco considered whether or not to say something – it wasn't really his nature to reply to genuine thank-you's. Finally, he settled on coughing slightly into his hand, and said, "Oh yeah, er, Pansy Parkinson is coming over to lunch in a few hours. You remember Pansy?" Without pausing for an answer, he continued, "It wasn't my idea, trust me. My mother and hers are good friends. Just…promise me you won't jump out of your chair and stab her with your fork or something. All I'm asking is for you to keep your temper. Please."

Hermione had not yet recovered from the shock of receiving this news, and took a moment to shut her gaping jaw. "Pansy?" she growled through gritted teeth. I can't believe I have to have a civilized meal with the girl who lived to make Harry and Ron's lives miserable. And mine, not to mention, Hermione fumed to herself. Images of Pansy conducting 'Weasley Is Our King' on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch flitted through her head, and she clenched her knuckles so hard they almost turned white.

"Er…what's wrong with you?" asked the ever so articulate Draco.

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing," she sighed resignedly. If Draco is going to go through a lot of trouble to protect me, the least I can do is eat lunch with Pug-faced Parkinson, Hermione thought. "Looking forward to it," she added, as an afterthought.

Draco nodded and turned to leave. Watching his retreating back, Hermione called out, "Thank you for the newspaper, by the way."

Draco stopped in his tracks upon reaching the doorknob and turned back. "I told you it was Diggle," he said with a pompous smirk. "Shooting stars, my arse. Who was right? Hmm, that's right, I believe that would be me."

Hermione scoffed and smiled. "You better leave before that head of yours gets too big to fit through the door," she retorted.

"Ah, but you're mistaking my head for your hair, Granger," he quipped back.

"Oh!" Hermione cried out, amused. "How original! I really don't know how you come up with such wounding comments, Draco Malfoy." She clamped a hand to her heart with mock hurt. "You know, I do think I'm heartbroken now."

Draco's eyes followed Hermione's hand and lingered there for a moment too long. His mouth curled into another infamous smirk. "Do you want me to try and fix that?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed, but she quickly regained her poise and simply laughed his comment off. "Just get out of here," she smirked, and chucked a frilly pillow from her bed at Draco's tall frame.

He dodged it just in time, and the pillow bounced harmlessly onto the ground behind him. He tossed it back onto the bed and gave Hermione one final smirk before closing the door.

Draco stepped into the cool hallway and sighed. It seems that I've done it – Granger has been successfully tamed, he thought. But my job isn't over yet…if I'm going to keep my promise, I'm going to have to find a way to keep her alive. His head pounded, and he rubbed his eyes in frustration. Taking a deep breath, he descended down the stairs.

As Hermione listened to Draco's fading footsteps, she tried to shrug off the unusually quick pounding in her chest that grew fainter with each of his steps.

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That afternoon found Hermione seated at the Malfoy's mahogany dining table, wearing a beautiful teal sundress and a surly expression. She stabbed into her salad mindlessly as she listened to Mrs. Malfoy's ceaseless flattery, and to put it quite simply, arse kissing, of Pansy Parkinson.

"Oh, Pansy," Narcissa gushed, "how lovely to see you again! I saw your mother at Gringotts the other day, and she all but insisted I invite you to lunch today! How could I refuse her, right?" She tossed her perfect blond ringlets behind her shoulder and winked at Pansy. "Make sure you put in a good word for me at the next D.E. Wives meeting, dear, then?" she laughed with a twinkle, as if she had just uttered the wittiest joke in history.

Hermione rolled her eyes, eliciting a sharp kick under the table from Draco.

"And you look absolutely gorgeous, dear," Narcissa continued, "I see time has been on your side!" Pansy smiled with sickening sweetness, and Hermione had the sudden urge to devour a handful of salt. "Don't you think Pansy looks stunning today, Draco dear?" Narcissa asked, turning to face him.

"Uh huh, yeah," he replied without looking up, allowing white blond strands to fall into his face. Pansy's smile wilted a little, as did Narcissa's. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Well," Narcissa finally began again, voice a bit uneasy, clasping her hands together. "I'm going to get Grumio and tell him to start preparing the desert. Why don't you kids…er.. mingle?" She nodded and smiled curtly, and excused herself into the kitchen, leaving three utterly perturbed teenagers in her wake.

As she sat at the Malfoy's table, Pansy Parkinson had resigned herself to the fact that her lunch with them had been a failure upon arrival. Her own attempt at becoming beautiful and slim had been outshined by Hermione Granger, who, at the prime of her youth, had become a completely different person than she had been at school a couple of years ago. True, she still had that hideous bushy hair, that odd bump in her nose, and not even near flawless skin, but the truth came down to it – Hermione Granger was not repugnant. In fact, Pansy had been disappointed to find that Hermione had grown into her long, slender limbs and had smoky, almond shaped eyes that held almost as much meaning in them as Draco's grey ones.

Overcome with a bout of indignation, Pansy fumed inwardly. How dare this Mudblood think herself worthy to be married to Draco Malfoy? I know Lord Voldemort demands it, but why would Draco choose her! And I hate seeing her little smug expression. She's taunting me! Pansy clenched her fork and chewed her chicken a bit too forcefully. She cleared her throat.

"So, Hermione," she began, "How is married life treating you?"

Hermione swallowed the water that she had been sipping in surprise. "Erm, fine," she answered, a bit hesitantly.

Pansy gave an innocent laugh. "If someone had told me back at school that a nerdy Gryffindor Mudblood would get married before me, I would have laughed them out of the room!"

Hermione's mouth stretched into a thin line. Draco set his fork down with a clatter and glared up at Pansy. "That's enough," he said, with quiet anger.

"What's wrong, Draco?" Pansy asked, a hint of taunting in her voice. "Don't like that word? You're the one who taught it to me – don't you remember? Back in first year, I remember you telling me, 'That Mudblood is getting on my last nerve. She's so annoying and unbelievably full of herself. I don't understand how anyone would want to be near her for more than a second!' Don't you remember that, Draco?" Her eyes glinted with malice.

Draco clenched his jaw and swallowed. When he spoke again, it was obvious that he fought to keep his voice steady. "I said, that's enough, Parkinson," he spat, eyes betraying his anger.

Pansy registered Draco's cold use of her surname and the maniacal shine in her eyes slowly extinguished.

"Sorry," she sighed, picking up her napkin and folding it on her lap. Merlin, I almost lost it, Pansy thought to herself, wringing her hands in thought. I wonder when they're going to get rid of Granger. After they use her for the Dark Lord's plan, I suppose. I wonder if they have put the plan in motion yet…

"Any children yet?" Pansy asked Hermione sweetly. She spared Draco a quick glance and saw, happily, a hint of panic flash behind his eyes. He was frozen in mid-chew.

"No," Hermione replied coolly, still stung by Pansy's previous retelling of that first-year incident. "Why?"

Draco was starting to worry slightly. Hermione can't find out about the plan! Not after I told her nothing would have happened to her. What does Parkinson think she's doing?

"Pansy, I think it's time for you to leave," Draco said icily, getting up from his chair.

Hermione stopped him. "No, wait," she said, eyes narrowing at Pansy. "Why do you ask?"

"You know why he's married you, for the plan –" Pansy started, only to be silenced by Draco, who pounded his fists on the table.

"Get out of my house, Parkinson," he said quietly. "Get out now."

Silence.

Pansy's mouth opened, making a small 'O' of indignation. She raised her chin and attempted an air of decorum. "Fine," she spat, getting out of her chair and throwing on her coat. "I was just on my way."

Hermione and Draco watched as she sauntered toward the large wooden door, walked out, and slammed it closed behind her. Finally, all that could be heard was Hermione's heart beating and Draco's slowed breathing.

Draco looked over at Hermione, whose eyes were slightly out of focus and mouth slightly separated in thought. "Er," Draco started, clearing his throat. At this, Hermione looked at Draco as if seeing him properly for the first time.

He's still lying to me, she thought with shock. There's still a plan for me, I'm still going to be used. He promised me… Hermione's eyes burned with imminent tears, so she set her napkin neatly on the chair, got up, and made her way upstairs.

Draco, not moving a muscle as Hermione stormed away, gritted his teeth with fury and frustration. Damn Parkinson, he seethed, clamping and unclamping his fists. He sighed. I've ruined it.

Narcissa chose this moment to reenter the dining room, clasping her hands together and singing, "Desert's ready!"

Upon seeing that her only audience was her angry, brooding son, she sighed, to no one in particular, "I guess the girls don't want any apple tarts, then."

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(A/N) How was it? I really hope you liked it! Please review and tell me what you thought! (: