I do not own Harry Potter at all and all money and rights belong to J.K. Rowling and friends.

Dumbledore stood to face his very disgruntled nurse.

"Poppy, if we tell her parents now, then they will inevitably wish to know why we have yet to tell the Governors…they will have no end of questions as to how and why this has happened…"

"Albus," Minerva said gently, "Perhaps Poppy is right. It is inevitable that all said parties will find out eventually. Why not tell them sooner rather than later?"

"It is too soon," he murmured. "She and Mister Malfoy have barely had time to…"he eyed Poppy and cleared his throat. "Adjust to the situation." What he meant to say was, they've barely had time to create a false relationship, let alone get around to the bits that will convince everyone else of their verity.

Minerva nodded in understanding, but held her ground nonetheless. "It is true, however, that Miss Granger has been quite distraught about the entire situation. She's having some difficulties adjusting to being a mother and the only person that can truly help her is her own mother. To be comfortable and feel secure with friends and family- these are the things she needs the most. If I were you, I would stop worrying about people finding out too soon and start concerning myself with what's likely to happen if she doesn't solve her problem."

Poppy nodded gravely. "Yes, Headmaster. I'm most worried that she might do something drastic."

The old wizard's eyes opened a little wider and he looked from one witch to the other. "Is that so? Well, I suppose you're right, in that case. We had better move our plans forward by several weeks." He turned to Fawkes. "Go fetch Professor Snape and Mister Malfoy, please." Then he directed his attention to Minerva once again. "Are the new quarters prepared yet? You must see to it at once. And Poppy, please go to Miss Granger and tell her that I approve of your suggestion. Then send her in to see me."

Without another word, both witches left and he sat down at his desk. Fawkes looked at him disdainfully and he glared at the phoenix. Squawking noisily, the bird took off and flew out the window to do his bidding. It looked like he could please no one lately.

A few hours later, after many protestations and some rational arguments against it, Hermione sent an owl to her parents. The rational arguments came from Draco and the noisy protesting filtered out of Snape. Hermione simply sat through it all, confident that she would finally get to set some of the terms of the situation. Plus, she pointed out, no one except her parents needed to know about it at the moment. They could still wait a little before news got out to the School of Governors. And eventually, even though a little meant only a week, it convinced them. Dumbledore gave in and she was able to breathe freely.

She really hated keeping secrets this big from her family. Well, not that there wouldn't still be a rather large secret involved, but that was understandable and necessary. So, once she had gotten permission and some new instructions, she had taken off at once for her dormitory to write the letter. Draco had insisted on accompanying her, however. When she'd asked him why, he'd responded with, "Well, I am the father. I ought to include something, don't you agree?"

Smart ass.

So he had written a small note as well, to confirm Hermione's story and introduce himself, he'd said. Make a show of good intention. He'd even called it the honorable thing to do- before he sneered at a passing memory. She was certain he was thinking of how she'd gotten into the whole mess to begin with…if Ron had behaved in an honorable manner…but no, there was no point in thinking that way.

For now, she had a child she had to learn how to care about and a make believe lover who was all too real as he stood next to her in the owlery. He continued to watch her as the owl took off with the letter and she turned to look at him.

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

He blinked innocently at her. "Excuse me?"

"Why do you keep doing that when no one is watching?"

"I don't know what you mean," he replied, immediately drawing his eyes away from her. "Come on, let's get you in out of the cold."

She stiffened up as soon as his hand touched the small of her back and refused to budge. He tried to give her a gentle push, but she only glared. A smug look fell across his face.

"I hardly think zero degree weather is good for the baby," he murmured cajolingly.

"That is what I mean!" she crowed.

"What?"

"That! This- all-" and here she gestured impatiently, "of it! Looking at me when no one is around to see, being sensitive and mindful…it's so unlike you! It's driving me crazy because, well, I'm hardly your love interest and on top of that you're being forced to claim a child you couldn't possibly want to keep or raise-"

At that, Draco grew about four more inches and towered over her. The face she had grown quite familiar with over the last five years- mean, prideful and snobbish- descended upon his features. "And how would you know what I want, Granger?" he asked coolly. "Let's get a few things straight while no one is watching, shall we? I am not here because I was forced. I chose this, you idiot. No one except the Dark Lord and perhaps my father could make me do something I don't want to do; and since my father is in Azkaban, put there by you and your friends, that leaves only the former, right? Do you think he would want me performing this charade? Now, as for whether or not this behavior is like myself…well, you have nothing to base my actions on except those directed towards you and your friends. You haven't seen into my life, Granger, and despite our connection in this little melodrama, I don't intend for you to find it out. So you can either trust me that what I do now is necessary and continue to experience my better self which, until recently, has been privy only to my mother, or we can blow this entire secret wide open and get ourselves killed in the process. Which do you prefer? And think very carefully, because if you choose the latter, you'll be committing murder, too. I shudder to think what will happen to your poor, know-it-all, eternal soul."

Hermione couldn't help it. It seemed the entire encounter had happened so quickly and her heart was racing…she simply couldn't take it all in fast enough.

She burst into tears.

Draco watched her cry for only a second or two before he rolled his eyes and transfigured an extra piece of paper into a handkerchief. Between wiping her nose and daubing at her eyes, she tried to talk, or apologize, or something like it, at least. He would have snarled at her to shut it if he thought it would've helped, but he knew better. After about five minutes of incoherency, the sobs subsided and she looked up at him almost sheepishly.

"I've been doing this a lot lately," she muttered.

"I gathered that, Granger," he responded. "Now we really do need to get you inside. And I'll try not to stare at you so often anymore if that helps."

She allowed him to touch her this time and begin guiding her down the steps. "No," she sighed, "I don't care. I'll just have to learn to deal with it, I suppose, if we're to do this thing right."

He eyed her for a few silent moments before they came to the door into the school. "Speaking of which…well, I know I just said that I don't really want you in- er, in my life…"

"I know what you meant, Draco," Hermione glared at him. "For the record, I don't want you that way either. So let's just keep this as businesslike as possible."

"I suppose we will have to practice kissing every now and then for show, though," he pointed out.

"Say what you were going to say!" she exclaimed. He saw she was beginning to get excited again and rushed ahead, only too happy to avoid another crying spell.

"Well, if your parents are finding out and are getting an owl and everything…what better way to show my solidarity with you than inviting you to my home for the holiday?"

She stopped and stared at him. "You mean…"

Draco's normally confident countenance seemed beset by something…was it nervousness? Fear of rejection? Or was that distaste in having to ask a muggleborn into his home? Whatever it was, it made him look very vulnerable. Him? Having a muggleborn witch that he had (supposedly) gotten pregnant, in his home for the Christmas holiday when his father wasn't there, and after being raised to believe in pureblood superiority? It defied all boundaries and logic.

"At Malfoy Manor, yes," he managed to get out. "Er…with me and my mother hosting you." When she continued to stare in silence, he kept speaking. "You wouldn't need to stay for very long- perhaps only a few days- and you could have your own wing if you wanted. We'd never have to see each other, even…if that would be preferable."

"Um…alright," she murmured, still stunned.

He seemed equally shocked by her response. "What?"

"Well, I don't mind, I suppose. But let's wait until I hear back from my parents and, well, everything, until we decide. Is that okay?"

He nodded and pushed open the door to let her back into the school and its warmth. "That," he replied, "sounds like an excellent idea."

Neither of them realized that the student who brushed past them (a Second Year Hufflepuff) had been listening at the inside of the door before they had come through it. She turned around to look back at their retreating figures as the wooden door swung shut, one eyebrow quirked very, very high.

After Draco had dropped Hermione back off at the Fat Lady, he took his leave and headed down to the dungeons. Snape had requested that they meet after seeing one another in Dumbledore's office earlier. He walked into the man's office, taking off his coat before sitting down. As he waited, he took off his gloves and tried to warm his hands. It didn't help that it was probably going to be one of their coldest winters to date here in the highlands of Scotland; but living in the dungeons of a castle was a frigid business on occasion. He was just surprised that the weather had turned nasty so quickly. It made him moodier than he normally felt, contrary to the face he presented to Hermione and his professors. But his fellow Slytherins, those closest to him, felt his wrath strongly these days. Crabbe had suffered especially the other day for insinuating some unpleasantries about his mother and the Dark Lord. That in itself was unsettling…to know that his classmates, those who had followed him without question in his younger days, were now thinking for themselves- or perhaps the correct phrase was listening to their parents. He knew the other Death Eaters were saying awful things about his father, and all because the Dark Lord encouraged it.

Ah- there it was again. That little prickly feeling he had been getting an awful lot lately…it was bitterness and resentment directed not at Potter and his friends, but at the Dark Lord for putting his family in this situation to begin with. (Not that he wasn't still angry at Potter; he was- he just realized that it wasn't entirely the little black haired rat's fault.) It was insulting, it was humiliating…and none of them deserved it. Or do we? Perhaps it's karma, for how we've treated muggles and muggleborns our whole lives…

Either way, it didn't matter. Whether he blamed the Dark Lord, hated him, wanted him dead…none of that mattered because his father was in prison and both his parents were going to die if he didn't do the foul man's bidding. Never mind that it was a nearly impossible task- which he had almost figured out how to do, thank you very much- he and his family would die without its completion. That was all there was to it. He sighed and placed a hand over his eyes, leaning his head back.

But…

What if he didn't do it? What if he couldn't do it? What then? Ah. Is that why you are ingratiating yourself with the old man and the girl, Draco? In case you are too weak to do the job? Are you hoping to secure a place with the Order and save your family and yourself?

He shook his head and sat up again. He couldn't think of those things right now. He had to act. And if his real motives remained a mystery even to himself, well, that was okay. A relationship with Granger and Dumbledore would prove useful no matter which way the pendulum swung.

He might survive this ordeal, as long as he could keep the act up to both parties…

As long as that blasted Granger witch would stop staring at him uncertainly with those big brown eyes of hers. He smiled weakly to himself. Draco thought he could understand what a moron like Weasley would see in her: smart, pretty, a wonderfully dry sense of humor…she was everything that would look good and behave well on the arm of a pureblood wizard.

If only she wasn't a mud- don't finish that thought, you cow, he told himself. If you're going to keep it up you have to stop calling her that. Not that she isn't one, but we must maintain appearances.

He smirked and was about to prop his feet up on the edge of Snape's desk when the man appeared.

"I didn't invite you here so you could sully my furniture, Mister Malfoy," Severus intoned slowly, walking around his desk to take a seat as well.

Draco quickly brought his feet back down to the floor and rolled his eyes. "What for, then? We've sent the letter off to her parents, if you were wondering. They should have it later today- maybe tomorrow morning. What do you think they'll do when they get the news? They can't take the train, can they?"

"A car will probably be sent to meet them and escort them to the train," Snape began to explain before he remembered who he was talking to. "Draco, stop being impertinent. Now, I asked you down here to discuss your…project. How are things coming along?"

Draco absentmindedly twirled a strand of his hair about his index finger and sighed. "Well, Professor Snape," he began, "I just can't tell if she likes me or not…"

Snape fairly snarled and leapt to his feet. "Do you think this is all a joke, boy?"

The young man laughed and met him inch for inch over the desk. "If I thought it was a joke, I wouldn't be here now, discussing such ridiculous things with you, would I?" He smirked. "Be reasonable, Snape. You can't possibly expect me to share every waking moment of my day with you. I wouldn't be a very good Death Eater if I did."

Snape eyed him and finally shrugged before sitting down once more. "Fine, but sit down, will you? I have to give the old badger some sort of show of faith, don't I?"

Draco shook his head. "Can't. I have studying to do; especially if all you're going to do is ply me with those potions you so casually slip into my tea."

"I most certainly do not-"

"Save it, Snape. I don't trust you any more than you do me, so let's cut the niceties. You've given me an opportunity to get closer to my quarry; that is as far as our relationship extends at the moment."

"Will you be serious?" the older man asked, exasperated and quickly losing his patience for the little snot nosed standing before him. Merlin, and he thought Potter was bad.

Draco held back his sneer. "I am being serious, Snape. Perfectly so. What is it you're dying to know?"

"Are you having any success?"

"With which project?"

"Oh, for Merlin's- damn it, Draco! You know full well I mean both!"

The younger wizard smirked and sat down again. "As for the first, I refuse to talk about that. Progress is being made and that's all you need to know."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Not that much, surely."

Draco leaned back in his seat once more, despite looking extremely uncomfortable for a brief moment. "That would make you happy, wouldn't it?"

"Draco, you have to let go of this foolish notion that I'm not here to help- all I want to do is help. Why else do you think I involved you in the current scandal?"

The boy snorted and propped his feet up on the edge of the man's desk. "Just like how you helped at the Department of Mysteries last Spring? Stop trying to feed me a lot of bollocks. And as for Hermione, leave that whole mess out of this. Neither of us is some toy to be played with like you adults constantly seem to think."

"You seem to be growing fond of her," Snape noted as he flung Draco's feet back to the floor.

For one rare moment, Draco seemed to open up. His eyes widened slightly in gentle surprise, the planes of his pointed face softened and a light dawned upon his features. He was lost in some memory so brief it would hardly have mattered to anyone else, but he smiled at its passing. Perhaps it was the innocently confused way she accepted him at the moment; perhaps it was the annoying way she had of turning the conversation back to their studies any time it drifted too close to talk of relationships, particularly theirs…or perhaps it was the way he had distracted her with a dirty joke last week that had sent waves of crimson rushing to her cheeks as she sat stiffly in the Slytherin common room.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he remarked, a smug, secretive look descending over his face.

"You never seem to, do you?" Snape replied. Draco didn't seem to catch the sarcasm in his voice, or else he didn't care.

"Am I free to go now, Professor?" he responded, sitting up again.

Before Snape even nodded, he was up and out of the chair, his strong, young body striding confidently across the room and out the door. And yet…though he carried himself just as well, though his shoulders were thrown back tall and proud…there was a small hunch to them, as if he could feel the weight of his tasks lowering themselves to his back one by one…and they were just now beginning to take their toll.

Snape waited for his steps to recede into the distance and then he waved a hand at the open door, shutting it. He had made a decision about his ward's future and turned to his fireplace thoughtfully. Then he stood and walked over to it, flinging a pinch of floo powder into the space.

"Malfoy Manor," he spoke.

The green flames flared up brightly and he stuck his head in. "Hello?" he called. "Narcissa? I must speak with you at once."