A/N: PSA! the first 21 chapters of this fic are already up on AO3 if you would like to read on over there, otherwise I'll continue to upload a few chapters at a time here as I find the time. I hope you're enjoying it so far 3

Pansy Parkinson seemed to be cut from glass. Like Draco, everything about her was severe: from the sharp cut of her jaw to her hair, cut in a sleek, bob with a precise center-part, to her diction and enunciation. If she shattered, Hermione thought, her shards would cause more damage to anyone unfortunate enough to be standing within her radius.

"You must be joking," Pansy said, one fist propped on her hip, while the other hand ran through the short length of her hair repeatedly. "How reckless can you be?" She hadn't stopped pacing since she arrived. Aside from their coloring, it was the one difference between Draco and Pansy that Hermione had spotted: she was listless. He was still. Hermione couldn't decide which made her more nervous.

Draco had draped himself over the back of a chair, leaving Hermione exposed. "Us?" he asked, pressing his knuckles into the table. "You should know better than to Apparate somewhere uninvited."

"You should have come up with a better excuse than 'Theo's not feeling well.'"

"Do not blame this on us." His knuckles blanched as he dug them further into the wood. "It is not my fault you're incapable of listening to a word we say."

"This all could have been avoided with a simple Apparition ward-"

"Which we need a permit for," Blaise said. "What reason do you suggest we give to the Ministry for needing a force field around our apartment?"

Pansy gestured to Draco. "Have Daddy Malfoy call in a favor. Or better yet, don't break the law in the first place."

"Are you saying we should turn her over to Voldemort?" Theo asked.

She splayed her hands in front of her. "I am saying, when you see a stray, you give it a treat and point it in the right direction. You don't bring it into your home."

Hermione flinched. Her teeth clamped onto her bottom lip. Enough with the canine imagery.

"You're preaching to the choir," Draco muttered with a sigh. Theo shot him a glare, which went ignored. "Anything else to get off your chest?"

"Only about a million questions," she said. "How long has she been here?"

"Only a few days."

"How long is she staying?"

Draco glanced back at Hermione, considering his options. "To be determined."

Pansy finally stopped pacing and turned to face Hermione. Hermione lengthened her neck and squared her hips, fighting the compulsion to shrink under Pansy's scrutiny. "Does she have any clothes?" Hermione looked down at the oversized sweatshirt and boxer shorts she was wearing, thinking her outfit spoke for itself. She tugged at the plait in her hair: she was down to her last hair tie, and the rate she went through them, she'd been surprised this one had lasted all week.

Silence settled over the kitchen. "She's been borrowing ours," Theo said, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck.

She shook her head and addressed Hermione directly. "Did they give you deodorant or only Axe body spray? Do you have any clean underwear? Or even any tampons?"

Theo cleared his throat. Pansy turned her dark, penetrating stare to him. Her profile showed off the high arch in her patrician nose, making her appear less feminine but no less beautiful. "Oh, grow up," she said with a sneer.

The truth was, they hadn't. Theo had offered to clean her only outfit with a Scouring Charm, but he'd gone beet red when she handed him her lacy bra and knickers. She'd decided to save him any further embarrassment and accepted the boxers they'd lent her.

She'd been avoiding learning the Scouring Charm herself, in case Draco decided to take advantage of it and pass all of his chores to her in exchange for his "protection". Perhaps it would be worth the risk.

"For the record," Blaise interjected, "none of us use Axe body spray."

"No," Hermione answered before Pansy could turn her glare to Blaise. Hermione felt heat rise up the back of her neck. For the past few days, she had been a Muggle-born first and foremost. Now, Pansy had drawn attention to the most obvious, but least relevant aspect of her situation at present time.

She hadn't even considered the need for tampons.

Pansy rolled her eyes so far back, Hermione could have sworn her entire iris disappeared. "Boys," she muttered and reached for her wand. "I'll be right back."

Draco righted himself. "No."

Pansy sidestepped his outstretched arm. "I'm just going to grab a few things. I'll be right back."

"Wait," Blaise stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her into a chair. "I'll go to your apartment."

Pansy shrugged, exasperated. "Fine. Stay out of my closet."

"I made that mistake once, and I will never make it again," Blaise said. With an elaborate spin, he disappeared into thin air. This time, Hermione didn't wince at the electrifying crack.

Pansy looked Hermione up and down once more before blinking rapidly and turning back to Theo. "How are you feeling?" she asked, a new tenderness in her voice.

Theo slung an arm around the back of his chair in a poor attempt at looking relaxed. "I'm well. How are you?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I feel worse when you two try to talk to me about it," he said, bitterness creeping into his tone.

Pansy held up her hands, feigning surrender. "Got it. My apologies." Her attention returned to Hermione. "Can I at least know your name?"

"I'm Herm-"

"The less you know, the better," Draco interrupted.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I didn't ask you."

Hermione decided she liked Pansy. "I'm Hermione."

Draco let out a low, guttural sound of protest.

Pansy flashed a smile, exposing a row of perfect, blinding teeth. Whether it was a gesture of kindness to Hermione, or a reaction to satisfactorily frustrating Draco, Hermione didn't know. Either way, the feeling was mutual. "Pleasure to meet you, Hermione. I'm Pansy Parkinson. It's unfortunate we won't be seeing more of each other, but I do hope you won't believe everything these tossers tell you about me in the future."

"You know, funnily enough, we don't talk about you as often as you might think," Theo retorted.

Considering how often Hermione had overheard her name, she couldn't believe that was true.

"The more you say that, the less I believe you."

In the lull that followed, Blaise returned to the apartment with an armful of clothing and toiletries. "Here, take these," he said to Hermione, gesturing with his chin to the soap, razors, and tampons on top of the pile. "I'll drop these in Theo's room for you."

"Did you bring some underwear?" Pansy called after him.

"Yes, and I never want to look in that drawer ever again."

Pansy leaned back, a satisfied smile on her lips. "Brilliant. Can you think of anything else you'll need?"

Hermione beheld the comprehensive set of essentials that had been missing from Draco's apartment until this point: conditioner, feminine products, soap that didn't smell like the outdoors or nondescript manly spices. And the holy grail: hair ties. "No, this is amazing. Thank you." This was the girl that they were so worried about telling Voldemort? Why would she be so kind to Hermione if she was planning on exposing her?

"Great." She brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes and stood. Draco left his post and moved to meet her halfway, but kept a respectful distance. "Let's get this over with."

"I'm sorry," he said, lifting a hand to cup her face. His voice cracked. "I wish I didn't have to."

"I know." She pulled his hand away from her by the wrist and gave him a reassuring smile. "But when we're done, you have to get me really drunk, and then throw a fit."

Draco shook his head, recoiling from Pansy's touch. "I'm not going to do that."

She stepped forward. "You have to. Find a reason to pick a fight. Throw something. Call me a name. Do whatever you have to do, but make it hurt, otherwise, I'll keep coming back."

"You're too determined for your own good." Draco closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Pansy's. Hermione moved her gaze to look at the floor.

Their bond ran deep, but Hermione's presence was about to cause irreparable damage to it.

"Don't hate me forever," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. They'd done this dance before.

"I won't hate you," she promised, lifting her prominent nose in the air. She took his hand in hers and lifted it to her mouth, returning his favor with a small kiss on his palm. "I could never hate you."

He took a step back with a sharp inhale. "I'll make it up to you."

One corner of Pansy's lip twitched. "I know. I'm proud of you." She looked over his shoulder at Hermione, casting a soft smile. If there was any lingering resentment toward her, Pansy hid it well. "Good luck."

Before Hermione could respond, Theo took her by the elbow and ushered her into his bedroom, removing her from her front row seat, right at the grand finale.

"Obliviate."

Theo shut the door behind him. The curtain closed.

"Lock the door," he ordered. "Stay in here until tomorrow. I'll get you when you can come out."

She looked over his shoulder; a futile action. "What's going on?"

Theo shot an anxious glance at the closed door. He placed one hand on each of her shoulders and sat her down on the bed. "Please, keep it down." Hermione shuffled backward onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her knees. The toiletries in her arms spilled across the bedspread, onto the floor. "As of ten seconds ago, she doesn't remember you exist. Let's keep it that way."

"But why- I- how?"

"That's her Tithe. Her mind, her memories, none of it belongs to her."

Hermione's shoulders sank as she leaned her head against the wall. There were no limits. No boundaries. Only so much safety could be found in Draco's apartment, in her anonymity, even in the depths of her own mind. "Voldemort can read minds?"

"More or less."

"So-" She paused and restarted her sentence, forcing her voice to lower an octave. "So if he got a hold of any one of you-"

Theo shook his head. He lifted his arms and opened his hands as he approached her, like he was trying not to spook a wounded animal. "Don't spiral. Don't think about it. He's never been interested in us. He gets all the information he needs from Pansy. And even if he wanted to, Draco and Blaise know how to block him from getting in."

Don't spiral. She nodded, but she couldn't keep her imagination from spinning out of control. No part of her was safe. And it wasn't just her. If Voldemort entered her mind, he'd know about her parents, her friends, everyone she'd ever met. But she was safe here, if nowhere else, in this prison of Eden, with Theo, and Blaise, and even Draco, who would keep her safe as long as her safety guaranteed his. It was a far cry from the unconditional love and protection she received from her parents, but it was working thus far.

Kind of.

One day at a time.

They want to kill me. I will not let them.

Theo's fingers tightened around her shoulder. Hermione savored the pressure; the intrepid tactility. "Look, Draco made her forget, and he's going to keep her from coming back, so you won't have to worry about her." He pressed her wand into her hand. She felt the power in her bones still with its presence. "Stay here. Practice a few spells. Go to sleep early. And no matter what, don't come out. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, fingering the splintering wood.

"Okay," Theo repeated, peeling his hands off of her arms. He jerked his chin in a sharp, unnerved nod. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Tomorrow. One day at a time.

· · ─────── ·?ￂﾷ ─────── · ·

The milk had gone sour, but Draco drank it in his coffee anyway. After his fight with Pansy, he figured he could stomach almost anything.

Her drunkenness, he hoped, would explain any blank spots in her memory should Voldemort perform Legilimency on her. His drunkenness, on the other hand, would hopefully make her feel more inclined to forgive him, whenever he worked up the balls to ask.

And whenever they had done something about the obstinate head of hair in Theo's bedroom.

Draco had not yet gone to sleep, even once the sun rose. After he had preyed on Pansy's deepest insecurities, she had thrown a full bottle of tequila at his head and stormed out. Theo passed out on the sofa. Their upstairs neighbors came down to complain about the noise. Blaise had gone after Pansy in an attempt to mitigate the damage in an ostensible ploy to make Draco's charade appear more authentic. And Draco resigned himself to the kitchen table for the rest of the night, scribbling in his notebook, trying to untangle to giant knot in his mind. Each thread was a different person: Pansy, Theo, Blaise, Hermione, Voldemort, his father. Each problem he solved only led to a new, more complicated knot.

He forced himself to take another sip of coffee and scrubbed at the stubble forming along his jawline and the dry skin on his forehead. Before he saw his mother next, he needed to shave, get a haircut, and moisturize his face.

His mother. He would need an excuse to keep her from coming around to the apartment. Narcissa didn't come often, but when she did, she arrived unexpectedly and with no conceptions of privacy. Draco supposed he would have to start making regular visits to the East Wing of the Manor, so she didn't feel like showing up to his home unannounced was the only way she could see him. Despite his reluctance to attach himself any further to his father or his father's home, with any luck, he could leverage this new commitment and work it to his advantage. He smoothed the papers of his notebook. If only he could figure out how.

Theo let out one final snore before he shot straight up and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?" he croaked.

"Half-past seven."

A tired groan escaped him. "Did Blaise come home yet?"

"No." The image of Blaise and Pansy tangled in her bedsheets flooded the forefront of his mind. As soon as he saw it, he pushed it down, along with the bile that rose in his throat.

As if he could sense Draco's thoughts, Theo asked, "How are you going to make it up to her?"

"I'm not, for now. Not until we deal with..." He jerked his head toward Theo's bedroom, where Hermione was. Draco tapped the tip of his wand to the front cover of his notebook, encoding all that he had written to ensure no one would be able to decipher his words. He then sent it to the wall with a flick of his hand, where it placed itself back on the bookshelf.

Stretching his arms over his head, Theo stood. Draco cringed as he heard Theo's joints crack. "Have you thought about it?"

Draco kept his eyes fixed on his own fingers, interlaced neatly in front of him. He squeezed his hands together. It was always on him to clean up the mess. That's not fair, he corrected himself. They were all doing the best they could. But some of them could do more than others. "It's all I think about."

"And?"

"And you're not going to like either of my ideas." He stood to dump out the rest of his coffee. He'd given it his most valiant effort. "If you ask me, our best course of action would be to Obliviate her and give her back to her parents." He scrubbed the empty mug by hand, desperate to give his hands something to do and to keep his eyes away from Theo. "Otherwise, we can always send her to the Order of the Phoenix."

Theo lowered his voice. "You said it yourself. She'd be dead weight. They wouldn't have any resources to waste on her."

"I'm sure they'd find some use for her," Draco muttered, but he knew Theo was right. The Order of the Phoenix was a bunch of self-righteous prats, claiming to be noble and self-sacrificial while they allowed natural selection to run its course. Hermione would be dead within a week if she didn't learn to control herself. Maybe in a couple of months, he could drop her off with the blood-traitors. If they lived that long, that is.

"What if we got her a safe house?"

"It wouldn't solve anything. You'd have to go back and forth to make sure she eats and to teach her spells. If the Death Eaters decided to track your moves, it'd raise suspicions."

"So this is the safest place for her."

Draco forced his fingers to unclench from the handle of the ceramic mug. His eyes darkened as he stared out the window above the sink. A happy couple strode by on the pavement, walking their dog. Across the street, a lanky redhead took a long drag of a cigarette. Draco had to do a double-take to ensure it wasn't a Weasley. "Which means it's the most dangerous place for us." And somehow, the world went on.

Theo remained silent. In Draco's opinion, they had glossed over the Obliviate and remove option far too quickly. He forced himself to look at his friend, to memorize the shadows under his eyes, the visible silver scars that painted his forearms, the permanent creases that lined the corners of his lips. "Snape is supposed to be at the Manor this week," he said. "He might know about some-"

Theo's head snapped to look at him, his eyes narrower than Draco had ever seen them. "You can't ask Snape."

Draco sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Interlocking his fingers behind his neck, he said, "Theo..."

"You can't bring anyone else into this. If You-Know-Who finds out..." Theo's voice trembled, sounding as frail as the bones that held him upright.

Draco pulled his elbows together and looked up at the ceiling, suppressing a groan. After all the progress they had made in calling him Voldemort, this was all it took to revert back to old habits. That was the one good thing about having a neophyte in the house: Hermione would learn to fear the man, not the name. In that respect, she was leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of them.

"I'm serious, Draco."

"I know. I know. I'll work something else out. I'm sorry." He tugged at the roots of his hair. This might have been Theo's burden, but it was Draco's cross to bear.

Theo's shoulders released. His usual carefree, boyish smile returned. "Are you hungry?"

Draco shook his head, already striding out of the kitchen. "No. I'm going to shower."

Theo didn't push him any further, for which Draco was grateful. Just as he reached the threshold that connected the kitchen to the hallway, Hermione poked her head out of Theo's door. "Is Pansy gone?"

"She's been gone for hours," Draco said without looking at her.

"Oh." The door opened wider. She stepped into the doorframe. "Theo told me he'd get me when it was okay to come out, but I guess-"

"He fell asleep." At least she's capable of following orders. "You can come out now."He had about a thousand other things he wanted to say—and scream— to her, but truthfully, Pansy wasn't her fault or her problem.

"Right."

The tension rose in the air like smoke. Hermione hovered in the doorway, twirling a curl around her finger like she said something else to say, but Draco had neither the time nor the energy to wait for her to spit it out. He pushed at the bathroom door.

"Draco?" she asked, her words slipping out like she was in a hurry. He'd noticed that about her; she always spoke like she was in a hurry, even when she quite literally had nowhere else to go. He paused, his hand still taut and flat against the wooden door.

You better not fucking say thank you.

"I'm sorry," she said. His palm relaxed. "For making you do that."

"You didn't make me do anything," he said, not in an attempt to console her; he simply didn't want her to get a false impression that she held any kind of power over him.

"You were in that position because of me."

"It's not the same thing." It occurred to him that Theo was listening to their conversation, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I just- I know you didn't do it for me, but I'm still grateful. And I know you don't like me much, but I admire you for doing everything you can to protect Theo and Blaise." She picked at her cuticles. "I know how hard that must have been."

He pulled the door shut. "Do you?" he asked, his bitterness colored by a humorous tone. He turned to look at her, head-on, toe-to-toe.

Her eyes darted to the side. "Yes. I had to leave my parents-"

He shook his head. He felt all blood and all sense of reason drain from his head. "That's not the same thing either. What I did- that was a sacrifice. You're just an out-of-control, vacuous witch who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but somehow still ended up as the luckiest Muggle-born in all of Britain." She shrunk back into the doorframe, but she kept her shoulders squared and chin lifted, the battlefield in her eyes on full display. To fight or not to fight? That is the eternal question: to suffer in silence or risk further damnation. Draco scoffed and turned back to the bathroom door, leaving Hermione to weigh her options in peace.

Despite the timidness she showed around him, he couldn't help thinking, as he stepped under the hot water, that had she'd been allowed to attend Hogwarts, she would have been placed in Gryffindor.