A/N: Love to reviewers
An enormous debt of thanks and affection to Countess Black, whose help with this chapter was tremendously appreciated, so much so I've used (with her permission) several bits of things she provided me almost verbatim. I literally couldn't have done it without her.
It's been commented that Draco is quite unpleasant, as are his parents. I agree. Canon tells us 'Malfoys is mean in the blood' and I try to reflect that in my work. In the interests of full disclosure, they are unlikely to change in the future; likewise the nature of Draco and Hermione's interactions.
More History: For those of you who are appalled by Narcissa- my source for all this was Antonia Fraisier's 'Love and Louis XIV'. Noble families routinely disregarded what moderns think of as personal boundaries, to a degree that makes Narcissa look like the soul of discretion. No, seriously. Mme. de Scudery wrote her daughter a letter in which she recounted--in great and cheerful detail--her son's impotence with his latest mistress (the son was in his twenties). How many of us would tell our parents about that? And then have them tell everyone else?
Dedicated to T. Thank you, darlin'.
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Whatever Lucius Malfoy had expected, it was not what he and his wife found when they stepped through the Floo and into the muggle house. His son had assured them that the mudblood lived decently, which to the Malfoys tended to evoke certain mental images, none of which were met as they moved into the tiny parlour.
It was clean, at least, with bare floors and worn furniture. The walls were white washed and covered with simple paintings that looked, to him, like red blobs but which might have been poppies as drawn by a five year old. There were bookshelves, crammed with colorful muggle books and papers.
Lucius heard a slight commotion from the other end of the room and then Tibby was hurtling toward them. "Master! Madam! You is here!"
"Thank you, Tibby, for stating the obvious. Where is my son and his…"
"Here we are, Father. Mother, you look lovely." He stepped forward and gave Narcissa a hug and kiss. The mudblood was behind him, wearing a shapeless robe and looking nervous. Lucius could see Narcissa face twitch ever so slightly at the horrid robe; lessons in the art of dress were called for.
She stepped forward and allowed Narcissa to embrace her. Lucius wondered if he looked as hesitant as the girl was; he hoped not. When his wife stepped back he hugged the girl as well, surprised by how thin she was. He remembered Granger as a sturdy girl; not fat, exactly, but not thin.
She embraced him back and stepped away, flushing a little bit. Tibby was nattering happily, delighted to have her family together. Tibby had wanted it even longer than Draco, and she couldn't have felt better about the night. Now Madam could guide Miss, and everything would be wonderful and she, Tibby, would help them both.
Narcissa felt a wave of pity for the little thing her son insisted on marrying. She looked as tatty and down at the heels as Narcissa had anticipated. Her hair wasn't even styled; she had just pushed it into a lackluster knot at the back of her head. At least, Narcissa told herself bravely, she had nice posture. And she wasn't ugly. She was one of those scrubbed girls with masses of clean hair. Narcissa could work with that.
"Why don't we let the gentlemen talk down here, Hermione, while you show me your rooms." Hermione knew an order when she heard one and walked toward the stairs, Narcissa following after. Lucius and Draco sat down on the shoddy little divan and its matching chair. Lucius eyed his son a long time, noting how thin the boy looked.
"Well, Draco, this is certainly a bit more…rustic than I might have thought, given your description."
Draco wriggled a little. "Yes, Father."
"I take it this is the whole house."
"No, Father. There's another floor, and a garden in the back."
He nodded. "And you've explained everything to her?"
"Mostly. I thought it best to save certain things for later…it was all rather a lot for her."
"I imagine it was. Where did you say her parents are again, Australia?"
"As far as she knows. I can't believe they used Fletcher."
Lucius shook his head. "Indeed. Sometimes I wonder how they ever…" He trailed off and looked significantly toward the Floo. Draco nodded. Tibby appeared with two glasses on a tray. She handed them each one and DisApparated with a 'pop' probably to find the women. Lucius took a sip and almost gagged.
"What is this?"
Draco looked away. "Barley water, apparently. Hermione's parents don't keep alcohol in the house."
Lucius nodded sourly. 'And to think the muggle-lovers won the war."
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Hermione wasn't faring much better. She could see where Draco got his nosiness, at least. Narcissa had looked around her room, nodded politely, and started asking questions. "Darling, where did your nurse live?"
"I never had one."
"Then you had a governess?"
"No. I went to care when Mum and Dad were at work."
Narcissa pretended to understand. "Draco tells us your parents are some sort of medi-muggles?"
"Dentists, yes. They work on people's teeth."
"Oh. Where is your wardrobe?"
"My clothes? In the dresser."
Without hesitation, Narcissa opened the drawers and began to poke around, drawing up a mental inventory of what the girl would need. Hermione felt both embarrassed and amused; she hated having her things gone through, but it was funny how like his mother Malfoy really was.
Nothing here was even remotely suitable, Narcissa decided with distaste. She closed the drawers with a thump. Hermione was looking decided uncomfortable, which, on the whole, was a good thing. The faster she got used to submitting to Narcissa and Lucius, the better, and part of that was learning to suppress her discomfort and trust them to do what was right.
She held up a …thing…made of blue, stretchy fabric. "What is this?"
"A bathing suit."
"Bathing suit?"
"For swimming. We used to swim at the civic center."
Narcissa couldn't conceal her shock. "You mean in public? Where men could see?" She held the bedpost a moment, trying not to faint. Hermione looked away, nodding.
" It's probably too small now anyway."
Narcissa quickly put it aside. She picked up a pair of trousers made of some dark, heavy fabric. It felt very scratchy to her, not to mention being totally inappropriate for a girl. "You wore these?"
"During the winter."
"They feel so awfully rough, darling. Surely you shouldn't have something so coarse against your skin."
"Now where are the rest?"
"The rest of what?"
"Your clothes, love. Surely there's more than this?"
Hermione shook her head. "Only a few winter things, but they're in my trunk, and it's only my coat and hat."
"I see.' Narcissa wondered what kind of abject poverty the muggles lived in, that Hermione had only a few of everything. Looking around the room, she reflected for a moment on the books that lined the walls; who'd fill a girl's room with books? Her own childhood room had been full of dolls and pretty pictures, not dreary old tomes. Poor little thing, she'd had no choice but to become a bluestocking, really.
She seized the hairbrush from the dresser and sat on the bed. "Come here, Hermione." The girl looked nervous; maybe Lucius was right and Draco had been keeping her in line. On the one hand, Narcissa couldn't agree to anything that would lead to potential impropriety. On the other, judging from this little hovel and her parents' strange priorities, the child probably did need a firm hand.
Which Narcissa was more than happy to give. She'd always wanted a daughter, and the girl would give her something to focus her energies on. She motioned impatiently and Hermione, swallowing hard, moved to obey. "Sit right there and we'll see if we can't do something about your hair, precious, all right?"
Hermione relaxed. For a moment she'd thought…damn Malfoy and his obsession with that hairbrush. Behind her she could feel Narcissa moving about, sliding the pins from her hair and moving the heavy mass in her hands.
"You know, darling, it's very important that when Father Malfoy or myself give you an order, you obey promptly. Draco's explained, I'm sure?"
"Yes, Madam."
Narcissa rested a cool hand on her shoulder. "Yes, Mother."
Every instinct in Hermione's body told her to rebel. She thought of her own mother and then made herself remember about cultural differences and being sensitive and so on. "Yes, Mother." But really, none of it helped; Hermione felt she'd failed, quite how she couldn't say.
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It was a strange dinner, to say the least. Hermione had decided to treat the Malfoys to her cooking, which meant one of her lovingly home burned meals. It is, counter to all logic, wholly possible to ruin something as simple as spaghetti bol.
So the noodles were both too crunchy and stuck together, and the sauce had a most peculiar scorched taste. The vegetables were all right, if slightly too salty. Both Lucius and Narcissa came to the conclusion that the reason the children were so thin was that muggle food was unpalatable.
Still, they did their best. Tibby served, beaming all the while, and everyone endeavored to clear their plates. Narcissa's journey into the bowels of the muggle house had left her with more questions than answers, and she indulged her curiosity, safe in the knowledge that nothing was off limits within the family.
"Darling, Draco tells us your parents never had any other children. Why is that?"
Hermione swallowed and looked awkward. "I don't know."
"It wasn't some kind of problem, I hope. You've never had any problems like that ? With your cycle?"
Draco choked. "Mother, please!"
"This pertains to all of us, Draco. If she's having problems, we'll need to get them treated."
Lucius tried his best. "Perhaps he's right, dearest, and we ought to wait until we aren't eating?"
"Honestly, Lucius, we're all family."
Lucius could tell when he'd been overruled and decided not to think about what he was hearing. His son was looking a little green. Well, perhaps this would be instructive to the boy—in what he wasn't sure but it would be a lesson in something.
"No, no problems." Hermione stared at her plate, red to the ears. Her hand was tightening almost convulsively on her fork and knife and her face was burning. Normally Draco liked seeing his pet this way, liked making her this way, but now he felt a little bad. On the other hand, it was Mother. This was simply what Mother did.
"You'd tell if there was a problem, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, Mother." Narcissa nodded, pleased. She'd ask again later, of course, but she had a sense this was probably the truth. Hermione looked well enough, besides being too thin, and she'd fatten up on decent food. Lucius was studying his carrots with something like great interest, and Draco was doing much the same.
"I notice your hands are quite scarred, my dear. What happened?"
Hermione went white, and Draco picked his head up and smirked. Oh, this would be fun to watch. Hermione squirmed, and where this might have convinced a person less doughty to back off, it encouraged Narcissa to dig a little deeper. It was for the girl's own good, and she had to learn to obey.
"It's a nervous habit."
Lucius and Narcissa shared a look. 'Hold out your hands for Father to see." Hermione obeyed, and Lucius took a moment to study the scabbed and reddened digits. He frowned, gently holding her hand in his for a second. He let go and she immediately put it back in her lap, violently pink.
"I'm very surprised, Hermione, that this was never remarked upon. Surely your parents discussed the issue with you, not to mention Minvera McGonagall and whomever else."
"Hermione and I have… discussed… the issue in some depth, haven't we?"
Hermione got even redder and nodded, wishing the floor would swallow her. She felt deeply angry at Draco for this; his parents she could understand, but he knew how personal this was. She didn't trust herself even to look at him, she was so angry.
Lucius frowned. Whatever went on between his son and the mudblood was their business( at least to a degree), but Draco would need to learn to control his appetites a bit better than this, if nothing else because supper shouldn't end with tears, which was where he assumed this was going. Perhaps a course of aversion therapy was called for?
"I presume Draco has explained how we deal with problems of that nature?"
Hermione ate a little pasta. "He's mentioned it once or twice."
"We take a very traditional approach. No different than your own parents, I'm sure."
"Actually, my parents didn't believe in that."
Narcissa almost dropped her glass. "Your parents never…?"
"No. They generally just talked about it with me and then we'd find a way to resolve the problem."
The Malfoys, all three of them, looked at one another, Draco shrugging to express that fact that, he, certainly, thought it was madness. Lucius shook his head, thinking this explained everything. Narcissa took a delicate sip of whatever muggle drink she'd been served and told herself that the girl was just too shy to announce such a thing at dinner.
"Well, we certainly had to with Draco. You'd never met a naughtier child! I remember, he used to get very upset when I wanted Tibby to trim his nails. Screamed and yelled, his father would have to come and hold him on his lap. Do you recall, Lucius?" Narcissa smiled, never happier than when she was talking about her darling baby. Lucius smirked at his son and took up the story, feeling the boy could use a little humility.
"I certainly do. He also hated having his hair washed, didn't he?"
"Oh my, yes. Though that was only a problem once or twice. You dealt with it quite sternly and after that it was fine." Draco was so pink he was almost glowing, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. Well, not happening to him. It was fine when it was Granger.
"So you see, we all have to answer to someone. Don't we?"
Draco stared intently at his food. "Yes, sir."
"And understand that certain behaviors have consequences that might seem a bit unreasonable at first, but, really, are the best thing for everyone. Wouldn't you say, Draco?"
"Yes, sir."
As Lucius watched the mudblood got it. Her eyes lit up, briefly but clearly, and she made a noise that might have been a smothered laugh. There, that ought to take the boy down a peg. Narcissa, meanwhile, was making a list of all the things that would have to be done.
"Darling, remind me to have Lemmy oil her hair, it's very dry. And I'll have to find my old posture board, because she slouches dreadfully when she—Hermione, love, don't hold your fork this way, it's inelegant. Do you suppose murtlap essence would help with those scars on her fingertips—sit up straight, there's the good girl—and we'll have to have Tibby put that salve on her, the same one we used to get Draco to stop sucking his thumb."
Hermione heard only what was directed to her. The rest was sotto voce, and she found herself frustrated and annoyed. She tried to catch Malfoy's eye but he was looking everywhere but at her. Draco himself was writhing inside, but he'd got the message loud and clear.
"More carrots, Draco?"
"No, thank you, Hermione." Draco just wanted the meal to end so he could slip off by himself for a few moments to regain his composure. Hermione tilted her head ever so slightly, smiling, and then stood to clear the table.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm clearing the table, Mad—Mother."
" Tibby will do that. Sit down, Hermione."
Hermione sat, blushing. She really didn't want to lose any more dishes to Tibby's well meant if fumbling hands, but she also knew not to disobey. Tibby appeared, still grinning, and took the plates away, dropping only two in the attempt.
"Will you show me the rest of the house, Draco?"
Draco swallowed hard. "Yes, Father, of course."
They rose and walked up the stairs. Narcissa motioned for Hermione to go into the parlour and followed behind her. Sitting on the couch, she leant forward and gently cupped her knee. Narcissa made her voice soft and gentle, remembering how she'd calmed Draco after a nightmare when he was small.
"Darling, I can't imagine how you must feel without your parents here to guide you. Father and I want to fill that void as much as we can. So let me explain this to you. You live with us now, and we have elves that do things for us.'
"I certainly appreciate that but---"
Narcissa held up a hand. "We care about you, and we understand your needs. You've never been taken care of the way you ought to have been, and it must seem awfully strange to you to be surrounded by people who are willing to show you how much they love you."
Hermione was shocked into silence. The woman was straight faced, apparently serious, and her voice was low and gentle. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, to explain that she'd had exemplary care from her parents, but Narcissa shook her head and patted her leg.
"And part of that, Hermione, is accepting that we know your limitations. You're much too sensitive and delicate to do anything as tedious as dishes, precious. You'll ruin your hands. And Draco tells us you're very resistant to the idea of taking a nap every day. Is that true?"
"Well, yes, but I haven't needed a daily nap in --"
"You see, that's what I mean. It isn't your fault that you don't know any better, darling, we understand that but it isn't for you to decide you don't need a nap. Draco's indicated that you get quite short with him in the afternoons. I doubt he tolerates it much better than we will, and that can't be pleasant for someone who's never been exposed to those sorts of consequences."
Hermione felt the blood rushing to her face. She was too mortified to speak, too mortified to look Narcissa in the eye. It was all she could do not to lose her temper entirely; her self control was hanging by a thread.
Narcissa took a hand in hers and flipped it, studying the back. "I can't believe your parents would let you hurt yourself this way. They didn't know how to react to a magical child. We understand it's not your fault. It's not even really their fault, deep down. But now you're with people who do know, so you'll have to make some very hard adjustments." Narcissa reached out to stroke Hermione's hair gently. "All right, darling, I want you to lie down now, you need to rest since you wouldn't nap this afternoon. There's the good girl, just lie down and close your eyes."
A moment later the footsteps on the stairs announced that the men had come back down. From the look on both their faces, they had had a good talk. The Floo flared green, and Dawlish stepped through, smacking his head on the mantle. "Are you ready?"
"We are." Draco hugged his mother and gravely shook his father's hand. Narcissa stopped just long enough to give Hermione a final caress on the forehead and then allowed her husband to hand her through the Floo.
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Hermione woke to find Malfoy sitting across from her, idly paging through an old magazine of her mother's. "Why do muggle women never wear clothes?" He sighed, a little regretfully and put it down.
"Most of them do."
"Not according to this." He knelt by her head and ran his fingers through her hair. His mother had brushed it smooth and had Tibby style it decently. She really looked very pretty, especially given that the color was back in her cheeks.
"What was it your mother was saying about me during supper, Draco?"
Draco was torn. He was pleased by the way things had gone, more or less. His parents didn't hate Hermione, at least at any level other than principal. He even thought his mother was anticipating a challenge, which would be good for her.
On the other hand, it irked him that Father had chosen to make his feelings known at the moment he did. Draco felt quite annoyed, actually, and since he couldn't take it out on Father, he'd simply have to vent his spleen on his mudblood.
"Oh, nothing." He smirked and idly paged the magazine again, knowing she would take the bait. Hermione sat up and unclasped her robes, letting the whole shapeless mess fall on the divan with a thud. Her eyes had narrowed and her cheeks were pink. Draco was delighted; she was playing right into his hands.
"Draco."
"Hermione."
"Come on."
"No. You'll simply have to wait."
Hermione kicked off her shoes and shook the wrinkles from her skirt. Draco ignored her, wanting to see what she'd do.
He stretched lazily. "Now now, my darling, you mustn't work yourself up. When you need to know I'll tell you."
"Malfoy."
"Mother was right to have you lie down, you're quite a grumpy little girl."
Hermione took a deep breath. "I don't like being talked about behind my back, Malfoy."
Draco raised an eyebrow. " We were hardly speaking behind your back. You were right there."
"And you as good as told them you smack me. That's private, Draco. I don't tell tales out of school about your activities."
"You couldn't anyway. I don't hide things from my parents, unlike certain people I could name. And I needed to let them know you'd been dealt with appropriately for doing that to yourself."
" It's no one's business by yours and mine." The longer the conversation went on, the angrier Hermione was getting. She took a deep breath and counted to ten. She'd go upstairs and go to bed, that was all, and in the morning, when she'd calmed down, she'd talk this over sensibly.
"Oh yes, it is. Your life is as much an open book to them as it to me, maybe more so when it comes to Mother. You'll need to give up this ridiculous muggle notion that you have the right to keep things from people. We've talked about that at some length, haven't we?"
She ignored the insinuation. "Draco, please, just tell me."
"Since you must know, Mother is very worried about your hands."
"I don't understand why everyone is making such a fuss over this, it's just a few scabs." She started to stand, only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.
"Just a few scabs? Granger, you look like you've been chewed on by a rabid selkie. They're both appalled it was allowed to get this bad.' And didn't I get an earful from Father about it, he thought. She took a careful step back.
"I appreciate their concern, Malfoy, but this issue is not up for public debate."
Draco slowly nodded. "I quite agree. Mother and Father will decide a course of action and you will obey it."
"That's not what I meant. I meant--"
"No, I understood. What you don't seem to understand is that you're marrying a Malfoy. You need to look and act it." That hurt a little. She understood that his culture and family were very different, but…
"I'm going upstairs. Goodnight, Malfoy."
"No, you aren't."
"I said goodnight, Malfoy." She spun to go and he followed her, pointedly putting his foot in the door to keep her from closing it. She decided simply to pretend he wasn't there, and so gathered her nightclothes and went to the bathroom to run herself a bath.
"I'd lose the attitude, little girl. Otherwise I might start thinking I need to adjust it for you."
She didn't answer, too busy pulling the pins from her hair. He stood behind her and gently tilted her head forward, meaning to help; she was still his little girl, even when she was misbehaving. She actually had the temerity to try to slap his hand away.
Draco clenched his jaw. Honestly, what a brat Granger was acting these days! The sooner they married the better, so they could move to the manor and he could reassert control properly. The muggle house was basically adequate, but it gave Granger ideas he'd spent the best part of two years assiduously smacking out of her.
"I mean it, Granger. I'd start being a good girl, because if you think my parents will hesitate to correct this defiance, you're sorely mistaken."
"You would know."
Draco went rigid. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your father would agree with me, I think."
Draco made himself step back. "My father has an even lower tolerance for this kind of muggle behavior than I do, Granger. I'd think long and hard about that, because I don't want to hear it when you end up knickers down over his lap getting the whacking of your life. You think you hate my punishments? His hurt for days."
Granger's face went white. There, he'd hit a nerve. She'd fall in line, he'd scold her and it would be fine. "Turn around so I can finish unpinning you. You're having your bath and going straight to bed."
"I'd like you to step out." Hermione couldn't make herself look at him. She could tell he was getting angry and didn't much care; she cared about him and tried hard to be sensitive to his beliefs, and it was time he repaid the courtesy.
"No." He sat down on the little chair next to the tub and crossed his arms. "You're getting altogether too big for your boots, little girl, and I won't have it."
Hermione pulled herself to her full height. "I wish to bathe in privacy tonight, because I am feeling too upset to continue with this. Respect that and step out, please."
He didn't move. "Respect, Granger? That's something you've given all too of little lately, so far as I'm concerned. You seem to be under the impression that you can disregard the rules whenever you like and there'll be no consequences."
"What rules? We never agreed--"
"We never had to. You know what you are and are not allowed to do. How long have I been mentioning your hands? Two years?"
"Yes, but--"
"More generally, have you never noticed that every really severe punishment you've ever been given has related to your propensity to self-harm? You consistently refuse to do what's best for yourself and I have to step in."
"We're both upset. Why don't we talk this over tomorrow?"
Draco responded by reaching out and calmly undoing the top fastener of Hermione's jumper. Hermione tried to step back but he caught her arm and said very, very calmly "Stand still and be quiet, Hermione. Your behavior lately has been ghastly, and I—will—not—tolerate-- that kind of willfulness. I'm sorry you're unhappy and we'll talk about it, but right now someone needs a reminder of her place in things."
"Listen, Malfoy, you might buy into all of that about place, but that doesn't mean I have to. I refuse to believe that I have to give my whole life over to other people simply because--"
Draco ignored her. He unbuttoned the cardigan and went to work on her blouse.
"Malfoy, I don't want you--"
"I mean it, Granger. You—do—not—hurt—yourself. Your refusal to let my parents help you, and your stubbornness and muggle thinking, are harming you. So I'm taking control of the situation. Now put your arms up and let me finish undressing you so Tibby can give you your bath."
" I said no." She turned to walk away and Draco, sighing disgustedly, used his longer legs to overtake her. Putting her over his shoulder, he carried her struggling into the bedroom and set her on the bed.
"What a fussy little girl I have tonight! What's wrong, precious, are you overtired?" He held her lightly in place, ignoring her outraged protests.
Hermione resolved to lie very still and do nothing. Whenever Malfoy got that bright, nursery tone in his voice, it meant trouble. In a weird way, she'd liked it better when he was snapping orders at her; now, it was hard to endure him this way. He smoothed her hair and unlaced her shoes, tucking them under the bed.
"When little girls get this way, it's right to sleep. I'll give you a nice warm bath tomorrow, but for right now, let's put you in your sleep clothes. Here we are, just lie still and relax. That's right, like that."
"You don't have to do this, Malfoy. Why don't you let me up and we'll--"
Draco put a hand on her leg. "I am very, very frustrated with your behavior lately, Granger. We're going to address the problem tomorrow, but for right now the best thing you can do is lie still and let me do this, because I am struggling to hold my temper. Do you understand?"
She nodded. "Yes, I understand." Hermione blinked tears; she felt scared like she had that night when they'd fought over the Slug Club party. His hands were gentle as he sat her up, eased her clothing off and helped her into a nightgown. She couldn't look at him.
Draco's mudblood was too quiet. He often found himself pondering the essential weirdness of wanting to listen to Granger talk. As long as she was lecturing, or scolding, or laughing, she was fine. Silence in Granger meant something was the matter, especially this fragile, hurt seeming silence. He kicked off his shoes and lie beside her as he always did before they slept.
"There's my good little girl. She cooperated beautifully, didn't she? All right, lie down now. That's right, close your eyes." Hermione obeyed, feeling hurt and unsure and terribly vulnerable. Malfoy put an arm around her and curled into her, making that soft noise that was meant to calm her. Tonight it just made her uneasy, as though none of the angles in her room quite met and the sky had gone a faint greenish when she wasn't looking.
Hermione had discovered one of the painful, confusing aspects of relationships, one that causes many people in much less trying circumstances to throw up their hands and weep; the person who'd hurt her was the one she was accustomed to seeking comfort from. What should she do? She could not turn to him and ask to be held any more than she could walk away from him. A tear trickled down her cheek and soaked the pillow slip. Beside her, Malfoy pulled the covers to her chin and used her wand to spell off the light. He rose and tiptoed from the room, gently closing the door behind himself. She could hear the shower running. Knowing she could now, she wept into her pillow in endless seeming confusion.
After he'd showered Draco came in to check on her. She really was the most trying creature, especially when it came to her muggle ideas about things. She was lying on her side, hands under her chin. He'd decided to sleep in the guest room; she needed some time to think about what he'd said.
Draco was very, very proud of himself that he hadn't lost his temper with her tonight. Father had given him a short, stern lecture about the need for self control, especially where Hermione was concerned. Perhaps he might have gone a little easier on her, but…overall, everything was fine.
He used her wand to put a ward on the bed so he'd hear if she moved around. Draco felt a little sorry not to be sleeping in the bed with her; but his little girl had to learn that her bad behavior had consequences. Still…he took her ratty stuffed animal from the shelf and tucked it under her arm. There, now she'd feel a bit better. And Tibby would be there if she needed anything. Tibby could suspend the ward if Hermione needed to get up.
"Good night, my darling." He gave her a final look and crept out. She hadn't woken alone in weeks…but she was his little girl, and he'd do anything in the world to see she had what she needed. Even if it made them both miserable in the process.