A Crown of Sacrifice

Hermione sat at the breakfast table in her and Draco's private dining room, humming as she dipped her quill into a vial of ink. A few pieces of parchment lay in front of her, along with a full plate of food, untouched as she waited for Draco.

It had been two days since they returned to Malfoy castle having successfully secured Lord Bulstrode's support. Two days since that night. And for that short period of time, Hermione had avoided Draco like the plague. It was for the better. She could hardly fathom looking him in the eye let alone holding a conversation with him.

Thankfully he had let her stew in her embarrassment and not sought her out. It was only till she was certain that she could face him without coloring at the thought of that night, that she decided it was time.

On the third morning, Hermione had left her room, head held high and made her way to breakfast, not before collecting the daily letters addressed to her from the owlery. Upon arrival, the room had been empty, and she had settled in and began working on her correspondence.

She was nearly finished. One last letter to Harry that she was in the middle of writing, when the doors swung open, and Draco walked in.

He paused when he spotted her, and she refrained from any sort of reaction as a slow smile grew on his lips.

"Good morning Hermione, I'm glad you could join me today."

He didn't mention anything else which she was glad for. She cleared her throat, "Yes well…"

It was all she could manage before ducking her head and making great effort to portray she was most busy in her writing. She heard him walk closer, coming to a stop behind her chair. The scent of sandalwood invaded her senses as he leaned down to peer at the letter in her hands.

"What's this?" His eyes curiously roved across her paper. "It doesn't look like English."

"It's code." She offered in explanation. "Harry and I developed it when we were children. We used to use it to pass notes during our lessons. Now, we use it as a way to communicate so there isn't any danger if our letters are intercepted."

"That's…rather brilliant, though I can't say I'm surprised."

She only took a bite of her food to save herself from a response, watching from the corner of her eye as he made his way to his seat and dropped his own stack of papers on to the table.

They continued breakfast in rather companionable silence. Hermione finished up penning Harry a reply. She then sorted out the sheets of paper. The ones that would need to be burned, the ones that needed to be owled, and the ones she would keep.

Once that was done, she attempted to focus on her food, but her treacherous eyes began to stray from her plate to Draco.

He was a competent man, intelligent, perhaps even. She was begrudged to admit such a thing but watching him work she could see it clearly. There was a measure of comfort to it, knowing that he was on their side. Draco was not a man who would place his bets, without having done research and weighing the odds to be certain there would be reward.

It gave her even more hope in their cause.

Not that she'd ever voice such a thing, especially to him.

He was regarding his letters with steadfast focus, eyes not straying even as he took a bite of food or sip of his drink. When he read something troubling or that which required a bit of thought, he'd sit back in his seat, the letter in one hand, the other hand fiddling with his wedding ring.

It was a habit of his. Pulling the band up and using the pad of his thumb to swivel the silver around his finger. Hermione's own ring sat on her finger, glinting against the light. She was accustomed to the feel of it now, hardly noticing it was even there, a stark contrast to weeks ago when it had felt like a vice.

Whatever he was reading seemed especially concerning, as he had been staring at the letter for several minutes now. Hermione's curiosity was piqued, and closer examination revealed that seal on the letter belonged to Lord Zabini.

"Is everything alright?"

His eyes snapped up and met hers, and then that look of thought was replaced with a disarming smile. "Just a letter from Blaise. Do you want to read it?"

Hermione sat up straighter, her curiosity increasing tenfold, "Can I?"

"Of course, there are no secrets between us." She refrained from rolling her eyes—as if she believed such a notion. "Come here and take a look."

She paused at the request and narrowed her eyes. She was seated three seats away from where he sat at the head of the table, he was able to easily hand her the letter if they only reached—

"Relax wife, I'm not going to bite…unless—"

"Fine." She interrupted him before he could finish whatever suggestive comment he had planned, and stood with a roll of her eyes. She made her way towards him, the smirk on his face all but confirming he had an ulterior motive. She stopped once she was at his side and stuck her hand out for the letter.

Only she was unceremoniously yanked onto his lap instead.

She made a noise of protest, casting a look behind them at the servants who had made themselves busy in the adjoining room. "Draco," She hissed, attempting to stand but the hand on her waist held firm. "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes."

Realizing he would not offer her the letter otherwise, she huffed and snatched the paper from his hands but made sure to elbow him sharply as she settled comfortably.

The letter started as she would have expected. Lord Zabini began with a humorous jape about the extended time he was suddenly spending with Gryffindors. Then a brief summary about their arrival at his estate and the garrison being set up beyond it.

But then what she read next caused her to pause. Her brows furrowed as she hastened on to finish the troubling words, albeit written in an inanely casual manner.

When she was finished, she glanced up at Draco who had begun to use his thumb to rub soothing circles on her hip.

"How can Lord Zabini be so cavalier about this?"

In a rare fit of proactivity, Voldemort was sending soldiers to Slytherin, a portion serving as reinforcements for the lords still loyal to him, and the rest, the size of a small army, heading towards the garrison near Lord Zabini's estate.

"And why didn't Harry mention this to me?" She was furious, not only at the unexpected move but at the fact that she had not been one of the first to be informed.

"This came in only an hour ago. Your brother has probably already sent off the same message to you, only it hasn't delivered yet."

Hermione reread the letter hastily. "And Lord Zabini is sure of these numbers?"

"If anything, he may be underestimating."

She frowned deeply.

It certainly wasn't tide-changing news. They had always expected some bloodshed moving forward but their opposition's numbers had been low, and the victories would have been easy. But now, every lord they faced advancing towards Ravenclaw, promised a bloody battle.

"Voldemort couldn't spare any soldiers from the capitol without leaving it vulnerable. That was what we had assumed."

"He didn't. The reinforcements must be from the defense on the waters from the Hufflepuff front."

"I should be there with Harry."

"It's going to be fine." He offered her a smile which did little to dispel her nerves. "Blaise tells me the men have been itching for a fight after days of sitting on their arses, anyway."

"If what Lord Zabini's scouts report is true, the advancement they've made beyond the estate will be met by Voldemort's men in one week's time. The men holding Lord Zabini's estate won't be able to join our battalion without leaving the castle vulnerable to the allies Voldemort sent reinforcements to."

"Which is why I'm preparing our own reinforcements, including the men we have secured through our new allies—which, may I remind you, is the reason you are here and not there. They will be there in time to join our men."

She still worried. She had always been there. Not in the battlefield but at least at camp, able to sit in and decide on the war tactics that were suggested and make immediate decisions.

Miles away, she would only hear news after the battle had long passed.

She was well aware that Draco was watching her carefully. Seated on his lap, his face inches from hers, he could see every minute expression on her face as she fretted.

"It's not just numbers that we'll have on our side." He comforted in a soft tone, using two fingers to lift her chin. Their eyes met. "Blaise is an adept strategist, and I've heard Potter is a skilled fighter. They'll rally our soldiers and ensure us a victory."

She hoped dearly for just that and took a deep breath, reasoning that although for the first time she wouldn't be there to lead her men, there were still things—useful things she could do from there at Malfoy castle.

"When is Lord Flint and his company expected to arrive today?"

"Around mid-day. It will be Lord and Lady Flint, their son, and a few of their men."

"I see." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And will there be a rational amount of hostility towards you, or were you awful to their son as a child as well?"

He rolled his eyes. "You don't need to worry. Marcus and I have always gotten along well enough. And the same can be said for the other Slytherin we have to convince, Lord Graham Montague."

"So we've already surpassed the hardest, with Lord Bulstrode?"

"Indeed."

She was pleased at that, already considering the task of procuring allies completed. In only a matter of time, they'd be leaving for the warfront and the thought caused her to smile if only because it meant they were one more step closer to the end of this bloody war.

She didn't realize she was staring at Draco throughout her musings until he took a sip from his goblet. Her thoughts momentarily halted as she found her eyes transfixed on the stain of wine on his lips and without thinking, she reached up and wiped the droplet.

The simple touch caused him to stiffen. He glanced at her hand which hovered awkwardly in the space in front of his face. Then his hand came up and wrapped around her wrist, bringing it up to his mouth. She felt her cheeks heat as his tongue darted out and caught the bit of wine from her finger.

It grew unbearably silent. He released her wrist but the heady intensity in his eyes did not dissipate. She knew the same look was reflected in her own eyes. By now the empty pretense of acting like she didn't want this had been all but exhausted, they both knew it.

She was near enough to easily close the distance between them. She nearly did, but something nagged at the back of her mind, and she realized she couldn't.

There was simply not enough time to be swept away in whatever debauchery her husband was thinking of. There was too much to do. There was the meeting with the Flint's, her and Theo's visit to the town—and of course, she needed to pen a letter to Harry right away.

Draco, it seemed had grown impatient during her reverie, and she could only stop the descent of his lips with her palm pressed against his mouth and a pitying look.

"Later." She promised not needing to elaborate on what she referred to. She leapt from his lap before he could formulate a reply and gathered her things in haste, all with a flush to her skin and the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

"Calling me Hermione will not besmirch anyone's honor, you realize."

"It is not proper."

"Perhaps. But when you are friends, formalities needn't matter. Do you call Draco, Lord? Or—are we simply not a minutia past being formal acquaintances?"

Theo threw her a deep frown from where he trotted beside her on his horse, and she glanced away to hide her growing smile.

"When I ask you for counsel on personal matters it is certainly not proper. I believe that makes us friends."

"We're not friends, Lady Malfoy."

"And yet we're not acquaintances either."

They were on their way back from their trip to the town. This time she had not hid her identity. It had been formally announced that the new Lady Malfoy would be visiting the small town. She had brought provisions with her to hand out to many of the townsfolk as was customary, Theo and a number of guards accompanying her as she greeted the people.

She had enquired Draco, if he might like to come with her, but before the Flint's arrival there were other guests arriving that day that needed to be seen to.

All in all it had been a successful trip, and playfully heckling Theo on their way back was an amusing end to it.

"Just attempt it once. You won't be stripped of your title or immediately go up in flames. Her-mione."

"Hermione." He repeated in deadpan, though he did spare a covert glance around them afterwards in case any of the other men had heard.

She smiled in amusement just as they passed through the gates of Malfoy castle. "See, wasn't so bad was it?"

They made their way to the stables. Hermione climbed down from her horse, running her hand over her horse's mane a few times before handing the reins to one of the stableboys. She waited for Theo to do the same, turning her eyes to the courtyard.

There were a few men training in the far corner, but it was largely compromised of bustling servants no doubt preparing for the night's feast and the additional guests. Her eyes strayed to the terrace and she paused at what she saw.

A woman she did not recognize was being led out by Draco. They were laughing—rather she was, Draco simply grinned watching her. She had inky black hair, her clothes were of fine cloth and stitching, and Hermione knew she would have remembered her face had she seen it before. "Theo, who is that?"

He followed her gaze upwards. "Lady Pansy. The only child of Lord Parkinson."

Hermione watched the scene carefully. "…She and Draco are well acquainted?"

He shrugged at her side. "As the family of Slytherin lords, we have all been acquainted with each other since we were children. Pansy perhaps more than most. Her father was close to the late Lord Malfoy."

"Pansy?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I take it you all are friends?"

Theo shrugged again and Hermione glanced at the terrace once more before looking away, not liking the strange twinge in her stomach.

Hermione had come prepared this time around.

Lord Daegan Flint and his wife Lady Ursula Flint had born one son, Marcus Flint whom they cherished dearly. They lived by the sea in the western lands of Slytherin, which naturally allowed them to build an impressive fleet of ships perhaps not by number but by quality and weaponry.

Lord Flint himself was a reserved man, who valued sound trade and logic which Hermione was thankful for.

He had not been willing to give up his men nor his supplies to Voldemort, an usurper he called him, though she wagered he had simply not been offered enough and been fortunate enough to have made home in lands so remote, even Voldemort did not care to send his forces to control.

She remembered a few months into the war, they had sent the Flint's their own offer which had been rebuked for perhaps the same reasons. There had been mention of taking the land, but with the effort required to hold such a non-integral position and there being no need for ships, it had seemed a useless action.

And till then, the Flint's had carried on undeclared.

It came down to ascertaining what amount equaled to the losses Lord Flint's men and fleet may suffer if they joined them. She, Draco, and their counsel had reached a decision; a portion of Ravenclaw's shipping port contracts would be given to the Flint's, in exchange for half of his men.

Lord Flint had refused the offer.

Then they amended a quarter of the contracts and a sizable sum of gold, in exchange for half of his men.

Still, he denied them, and it continued on until finally Hermione came up with the idea that in addition to the quarter of shipping port contracts, Marcus Flint would be made one of Harry's squires. In exchange, the Flint's would provide them with a quarter of their men and a supply of rations.

The deal was finally done and with it came the celebration. A small feast with song and ale that ended early enough, so that many of the lords could head off and continue drinking and engage in a few betting games.

With the men gone, it was Hermione's duty to see to the ladies. Hermione usually, preferred such congregations out in the terrace overlooking the gardens. With the sun not yet set, she had the wine, assorted pastries, and fruit set out there and escorted Lady Flint outside.

Many of the women were already settling under the shade of the trees over the terrace, some engrossed in conversation, others working on embroidery, just as they often did.

"It has been years since I set foot in Malfoy castle. It is just as beautiful as I remember."

Hermione smiled at Lady Flint and gestured for her to sit among a few of the other women. "I confess I've only been here for a few months, but the castle has completely enamored me."

"And how lovely this is." Lady Flint glanced around at the women and their activities with interest. One of the women, Lady Emma Vanity seemed to know Lady Flint and the two began to strike up a conversation.

Hermione took the pair of gloves offered by one of her handmaiden's. She was in the process of stitching new riding gloves for Harry, and she hoped to be done before they left for the front.

She took a moment to ensure that Lady Flint was satisfactorily occupied. The other woman having easily blended in with the group and their gossiping. Hermione caught a glimpse of Lady Pansy again, who had made her way to the terrace and was greeting some of the women as well.

Adelaide Murton, a young girl around Hermione's age smiled at the gloves in her hand. "I do so often wonder who those are for, you work on them with such care."

"They're a gift for my brother, for when we meet again. I have no doubt he'll be in need of new riding gloves."

"How lovely."

"Your stitchwork is beautiful." Hermione offered in reply glancing at the cloth with a half completed stitch on it, in the girl's hands.

"It's a handkerchief." Adelaide smiled sheepishly. "It doesn't look it now. But the Slytherin emblem will be on it. I'm going to stich the motto on it too."

"I wonder do you know our motto yet, Lady Malfoy?" One of the other women piped up curiously.

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. It was Tracey Nettlebed who had asked it, but she was not the only women who so very often felt the need to test Hermione in some way to undermine her standing as a Slytherin.

"On the path to great, ambition does not wait." Hermione recited, causing the other woman to sit back in her seat in barely concealed disappointment, just as Lady Parkinson appeared before them.

"Lady Malfoy, I don't believe we were able to properly meet." Pansy smiled at her and curtsied before exchanging familiar smiles with the rest of the group. "I am Lady Pansy Parkinson."

"Yes, I apologize I couldn't receive you today."

"It's quite alright. Drac—Lord Malfoy told me of your outing to town today."

Tracey feigned a large smile, "Our Lady is always going on those charitable excursions. Although we do worry—Tell her about the time you were nearly attacked, Lady Malfoy."

"A poor man tripped over an errant pile of rubble in front of me, Lady Tracey. I'd hardly consider that an attack."

"Still, we always urge her to be careful. The poor can behave much like savages especially in the face of those more fortunate than them."

Hermione forced a smile and spoke with the calmest of voices. Over the months, she had many of these conversations and therefore plenty of practice when it came to controlling her anger. "The townsfolk are lovely people. It is hard times, and I believe it is our duty as those more fortunate, to offer help to those with less. Whether it be with food, cloth, or even basic respect."

Lady Tracey pouted and set her stitching down. "We make clothes for the poor now, almost every day. I'm afraid all this stitching will overwork my hands."

A number of choice words came to Hermione's mind, the temptation to speak of she severely tamped down. The southern people, not just the women were much different than those from her home. Work, even the measliest of chores, was evaded if it was not for the benefit of themselves.

The amount of complaining Hermione had been subject to from the ladies of Malfoy castle's court, over a few pieces of mended fabric delivered to the poor, was exasperating.

"I dare say Tracey, you might have the right idea about the poor." Pansy spoke conspiratorially. "My mother used to tell me a story about a town, brimming with them. It overcrowded, reaching the castle walls until one day the gates burst, and the poor flooded in. It was a massacre. Men eating the flesh of other men, driven by hunger."

Hermione glanced around to find the women seemingly horrified but enraptured by Pansy's story.

"It does make me wonder, if the men in the castle had only shared but a loaf of bread perhaps such notions would not have crossed the poor one's minds. A piece of fabric or two to keep them warm, will ensure they don't come knocking on our gates come this winter, hm?"

For once, none of the woman had anything to say, not even Tracey who begrudgingly picked up her discarded embroidery.

Pansy smiled at the group and then turned to Hermione, "Would my Lady care to accompany me on a walk?"

Hermione eyed Pansy for a moment before nodding in acquiesce and following her down the steps of the terrace towards the gardens.

"Did you enjoy my story?"

"It was interesting." A small smile pulled at Hermione's lips, as she dryly remarked. "I especially liked the subtlety with which the lesson was weaved into it."

Pansy smirked in a way that transformed her face from picturesque innocence to that of deceptive slyness. And Hermione found herself wondering if the cultivation of facades was simply a Slytherin custom. "I feared metaphors would be lost on some."

"I don't think I've ever seen Lady Tracey left quite so speechless." She felt a small bit of envy at how easily Pansy had managed it.

"I've known these women for years and I dearly respect and adore them, but they are not without their difficulties. You seem to be handling it well, however."

Hermione had to refrain from scoffing, "Forgive me, but you only surmise that because you have not been here long enough to know otherwise."

"I know you were born a Gryffindor. And I know it is not an easy feat for a lion to suddenly have to live among snakes. But I can see in only a few short months you have commanded respect, enough for them to albeit listen to you."

"They listen to me because they have to. I want them to listen because they want to."

Pansy gave her a sympathetic look. "Every person's wants are different, for most though—not just Slytherin, those wants are naturally self-centered. So, if you want a task to be done, do not waste breath with notions of kind intention or altruism, that does not matter as much to them. What matters is what it can do for them. Then naturally, they'll want to do it."

"But what of those tasks that have no self-serving angle?"

Pansy tucked Hermione's arm into the crook of her elbow and smirked. "Then you can resort to what Gryffindors do best, and bravely command it be done."

Hermione let out a short, amused breath. It was all a rather fanciful way of saying that she needed to be more underhanded when it came to dealing with her court, but it made her wonder why Pansy was helping her in the first place. They had only just met, and Pansy was not indebted to her in any way.

"You are apprehensive of me?"

Hermione looked towards Pansy to find her already staring at her knowingly. She glanced away causing Pansy to smirk and shake her head. "You really do need to work on that readable expression of yours."

Hermione ignored that and addressed her previous question. "Perhaps I am a bit wary of your motivations, after all we've only just met."

"I suppose your apprehensiveness can only be remedied if we meet very often then."

"I suppose."

"Although, you may not remember but we have met before."

Hermione glanced at her, eyes slightly squinting on Pansy's face as if that would help her remember.

"I've known Draco a long time. I would follow behind him often as a child, during the many parties and balls I believe you were in attendance of as well."

Hermione suddenly had a vague recollection of a young moon-eyed girl, trailing behind Draco and his other cronies, joining in with their taunts.

"Vaguely perhaps."

Pansy shook her head wryly, "I fancied myself in love though Draco never did give me the time of day. But that was many years ago, and I'm glad you two have found each other now."

Hermione hummed neither in agreement nor disagreement.

"Are you?" Pansy repeated, cocking her head to the side.

Hermione's brows furrowed, "Am I, what?"

"Are you glad to have found Draco?"

She blinked at the question, wondering if this was some sort of test or if Pansy was unaware of the circumstances that had led to them being there that day. "If you mean to ask if ours was a love match, it was not."

Immediately, Hermione knew she had been tested and she had failed, as the other woman frowned and shook her head. "Wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"You shall not give anyone the impression of truths such as that."

"I really don't see what the sense is in pretending—"

"Look around, my Lady. Those women in your court are no fools though they may pretend to be. Among the talks of the newest dress style is also the exchange of a powerful weapon most men are not privy to, gossip. It can be used to cut someone down, spy on one another. Whatever you speak, must be carefully though through so it cannot be used against you. For all anyone is concerned, you and Draco are very much in love. Any inkling that says this is not a sound marriage can be seen as a weakness."

Hermione felt a small headache at Pansy's advice though she knew it to be sound. "You're right of course but I still don't see why you are telling me this."

Pansy shrugged. "I figured it was yet that someone had offered such advice and seeing as I have spent too much of my life around this and have grown rather tired of it, I had no qualms about offering a hand. I suppose all of it takes getting used to in contrast to Gryffindor?"

"People are much…blunter with their words there, that much is certain. Though I suppose that is why swords are drawn much more often, and frankly I'd prefer a cutting word to a blade."

Pansy laughed. "I might enjoy the latter. Physical wounds heal faster, you see."

Hermione surveyed her carefully. Perhaps she had been distrustful at first, but she believed she could come to greatly like Pansy Parkinson. She even felt the tentative beginnings of a companionship of sorts. "Thank you, Lady Pansy."

"Just Pansy, if my Lady wishes."

Hermione liked to think she had gotten better at reading Slytherin's faces, and the look on Pansy's face seemed earnest or perhaps it was her own eagerness for a trusted confidante—a friend. "Then it is only fair you address me as, Hermione."