Malfoy was waiting for her. He was dressed in all black, and quirked an eyebrow up at her arrival. She'd stumbled a bit when the portkey dropped her into what appeared to be a pointless, empty room with pointless, delicate furniture. When she found her footing she crossed her arms and glared at him. His immaculate perfection made her feel grubby. The losing side of a war didn't offer the hot water amenities Malfoy Manor clearly did. They got moral righteousness and cold water baths taken on the run that left her feeling always a bit less than clean. She resented the feeling, and that made her even less happy to see him.

"Malfoy," she said, not bothering to hide the venom in her tone. "You're madly in love, I understand."

"The heart is a mysterious thing," he said. "Who can fathom its endless mysteries?"

That left her speechless. She wasn't quite sure what she'd expected to see when she arrived here. Death Eaters ready to pounce, perhaps, or groping hands. Maybe sneering declarations of love. She certainly hadn't expected an opaque man who seemed almost as unhappy to see her as she was to be here.

"You might want a shower," he said. "Being a rebel appears to involve more dirt than my mother generally likes people tracking in."

"Filth, you mean?" She couldn't keep herself from talking. "Muggle-born filth?"

He just shrugged. "Would you like to see your suite?"

"I want to know the others got away," she said. That was what this was about, after all. She wasn't here for the amenities or the company. She was here to save them and to spy. She'd have to start making up to him in a bit but right now she could indulge in letting him see how she really felt. "Can you do that?"

"Of course." He had the gall to sound gracious and accommodating and pointed her at the fireplace. "You may floo-call your hidey-hole, though I assume no one will answer, or you could try the Malfoy chateau in Switzerland. They should be there if they had the wit to follow instructions with reasonable speed." The last was muttered and she could tell he half suspected they'd stay to fight.

She tossed in the powder, called out for the chateau, and waited. After a moment, Ron's head appeared. She held back tears at the sight of him. Even outlined in flame he was everything she'd never have again. "You safe?" she asked. "Everything work the way he said it would?"

He nodded. "Moody has us clearing out of here tonight, but I said we needed to stay until you made contact." She reached toward the fire, wishing she could touch him one last time, and then turned, furious, when Malfoy broke the connection and her last hope of Ron disappeared.

"Long connections can be traced," he said. "If you want them alive, you'll ensure that doesn't happen."

He stepped closer as he spoke and she could smell the aftershave he used. Something sharp and bitter. She didn't like it. She began to step away but his hand moved quickly to slide along her lower back and hold her in place and she shuddered. So now it began, the cost of it all. He set his mouth at her ear and murmured, "Trust no one, Granger."

She almost choked at that unexpected, unromantic warning. "Not even you?" she asked.

He released her and stepped away. "Would you care to see your suite now?"

"Does it have a lock?" she asked sourly.

The answer surprised her.

"Yes," he said, then opened the door and waved her so she could precede him. She'd never seen these manners at Hogwarts. She'd never seen them in the rebellion either. She bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed and focused on the bitter truth that monsters could be gracious as she let him lead her through the lavishly appointed corridor, up a set of wide, carpeted stairs, down a narrowed but still impressive hallway until he set his hand on an ornate, brass doorknob. "Your new home," he said, and opened the door.

The room had several chairs, a small desk, a table and copious bookshelves. What it didn't have was a bed. She turned to look at Malfoy.

"I did say it was a suite," he said. The condescension grated, as did his obvious enjoyment at getting to be quite so smug. He pointed over to a door set into one wall. "The bedroom and an en-suite are through there."

"I won't be sharing a room with you?" she asked. She meant the words to be sarcastic and biting and hated the way they came out with a bit of a quiver. She waited for him to pounce on that sign of fear and almost hated him more when he didn't.

Worse, he looked, albeit only briefly, utterly disgusted.

"No," he said. "I thought perhaps we should get to know one another. My deep and abiding love for you is such I can wait."

She pulled her wand out and waved the door closed behind him. "But Malfoy," she said, moving as close to him as she could stand just to see what he would do. "Love?"

"Are you really this dense?"

The words were murmured like a lover's caress. His breath was hot on her neck and she could smell that he had brushed his teeth lately. To anyone watching the hand that slid up her back probably looked romantic. Now that she was paying attention, she could tell he wasn't eager to feel her skin, or reach that hand around to feel curves he should, in theory, be lusting after. He could barely bring himself to touch her.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Your hidey-hole was discovered," he said so softly she had to strain to hear him. "If the lot of you hadn't left, you'd all be dead by morning."

She could feel herself stiffen. "And this… charade?"

"I figured no one would believe I slipped you information out of the goodness of my heart." She was pressed so closely to him now she could feel that heart pounding. "But a trade for a girl? Lust? You'd fall for that. Everyone would."

"Why me?"

"I would have preferred the Weasley," he said somewhat dryly.

Hermione would never have expected that confession to rankle. It did, though.

"I didn't think they'd give her up," he was going on. "So the pureblood was out, and that left you."

"You thought none of them would care about me?" she asked.

"Obviously they didn't." Malfoy brushed his lips against her neck and added with so much cruelty she believed for the first time he was a Death Eater and not just a spoiled boy. "No one really cared enough about keeping you to argue that strongly against it. Not like they would have for their little Ginevra or even that Luna. You, Granger, were disposable to them."

She shoved him away and kept herself from hunching over with the same force of will that had kept her fighting. "You're a monster," she said.

Something flickered in his eyes before he hid it. "Indeed. Do clean yourself up. I assume you'll want the night to settle in. I'll be up to join you for breakfast in my role of the loving and patient suitor. Perhaps we can take a walk in the gardens after. They're very nice."

"I hate you," she said. She planned to sit on the floor of that shower and cry until she ran out of tears. Maybe she'd still be there when he arrived with toast, tea, and marmalade.

He leaned in for one more faux-kiss. "I'm not that fond of you, either," he said. "I hope your side manages to win quickly with the information I'm sure you'll find a way to send them so I can stop pretending."

When he left she turned the lock and then huddled against the door, taking less comfort in the solid click of the latch than she would have expected. Maybe she'd just crumple to the floor and start crying right here.

. . . . . . . .

A/N - I have no update schedule planned.