By morning Hermione had gotten herself under control. The shower was indeed hot, the towels thick, and the bed unashamedly luxurious. The door to the bedroom had a lock of its own, and she turned that and sheltered behind two layers of latches and keys and wondered what it was that Malfoy was playing at as she fell asleep.

She hadn't come to any conclusions by the time she rose and took another shower. Maybe with enough water she could wash the stench of Malfoy's brutal truth out of her ears: the Order had been happy to use her as a pawn. She could have said no, but no one other than Ron had argued against it. Molly had thrown her to this wolf to save her own children.

That stung.

The clothes in the wardrobe were near enough to her size to be comfortable but not so perfectly to her taste as to suggest a creepy level of observation on Malfoy's part. They were just reasonably stylish robes and she gave a little spin in front of a full mirror and admired the way the yellow skirt billowed out in a circle. More people, she thought, should wear full skirts. They flattered.

Her hair up in a twist, neatly dressed, and clean, she decided to laugh at herself for her hysterics of the night before. If the skirt flattered what feminine vanity she had, Malfoy's open admission he wasn't really in love with her had managed to offend it. By the light of day that was a bit funny. She certainly wasn't in love with him – quite the opposite, really – and it was a bit comforting to know he wasn't planning to run his narrow hands all over her or coerce her into any intimacy. She would blame her breakdown on what had, after all, been a very trying few hours and nothing else. From the arrival of Malfoy's proposed trade to landing - metaphorically, thank Merlin – in his lap, she'd been running in alt. A crash had been inevitable.

She was a bit embarrassed by the whole thing.

The knock at her out door came with nearly perfect timing. She'd just slipped her feet into shoes charmed to fit whoever wore them and wiggled her toes in delight at the ways magic could work. She heard the rap tapping, nodded to herself, and briskly shut up her bedroom and opened the door to face her first full day as Draco Malfoy's pretend love interest.

"May I come in?" he asked with absolute decorum.

He was dressed in black again and she spared a moment to wonder if the color palette was a personal preference or whether dark wizards were issued a dress code when they signed up. That seemed too ridiculous to believe, but Voldemort had also designed a snake and skull Mark so maybe the affectation went even further.

She stepped aside to let him pass and he nodded courteously as he came in, a silver tray balanced on his hands.

"I wasn't sure what you liked," he said as he set it down and began to pour tea into two porcelain cups that looked like the sort of thing you'd see in a museum. "I hope I haven't erred too badly."

Hermione looked over the offerings. Tea. Toast. A pot of what was probably jam. Were there people who didn't like toast? Did he think she'd turn her nose up at plain bread, or throw the whole tray in his face?

Well, after last night perhaps he did think the latter.

"This is fine," she said as she sat down. She hesitated, then added, "I would like to apologize for any histrionics I might have displayed last night." She sounded stiff and formal and awkward but that was better than the spiteful cat she'd been when she'd arrived.

"Quite understandable." He didn't meet her eyes as he sat down and helped himself to a piece of toast from the stack. He used far too much jam, she thought. "I'm sure it was a difficult day."

That was certainly true. They sat without speaking, the sound of chewing unpleasantly loud as she tried to think of something to say. After he finished his slice, Malfoy said, "You aren't wearing your bracelet."

"What?"

"The portkey," he said as if she hadn't known what bracelet he meant. "It isn't every day I pass out diamonds. I thought you'd wear it."

She thought about the look on Ron's face when they'd looked down at the box filled with Draco Malfoy's trap and gift and bile filled her mouth. "The last time you gave a woman jewellery she almost died," she said. "I think I'll pass."

He knew at once who she meant and a dull shade of red tried to creep up out of his collar and onto his face. He could flush with shame for the things he'd done. Good to know. "I wasn't trying to hurt Katie," he said.

"Only Dumbledore," Hermione said. She kept the words as level as she could but she could still see the battle when he finally had, or hadn't. She could still see all of them when she closed her eyes. That one had been the first time Hogwarts had been breached. It had destroyed their safe haven, killed the headmaster, started the war. And it had been Draco Malfoy's fault. He'd let the Death Eaters in.

"Well, I was a failure at that," Malfoy said. He had his hands folded in his lap and his spine was so straight she thought you could use it to plumb bricks if you wanted to build a wall. "Dumbledore commented how inept I had been before he died."

She didn't know quite what to say to that.

"The Dark Lord also had things to say," Malfoy said. He reached a hand out to pour himself more tea and she watched his hand shake. He grimaced and set the pot back down then set his hand on the table and forced the tremors to still. He saw her stare and managed a tight smile. "I have been assured by Healers that the spasms will eventually cease. Probably."

"You -."

"It is a common side effect of repeated exposure to Cruciatus," he said. "You can feel confident that my uselessness in the Dumbledore matter has been quite thoroughly reprimanded."

"I'm - ." She wasn't sure what she wanted to say. That she was sorry, perhaps, or that if you joined up with a Dark Lord what did you expect? Sunshine and roses? She didn't get a chance to finish her thought because he interrupted her.

"I would like you to wear the bracelet, if you wouldn't mind. It hasn't been cursed."

She accioed the bracelet from where she'd left it and weighed it in her hand. It was pretty enough, if you liked that sort of thing. A glittering shackle, however, was still a shackle. "Why?" she asked.

He still had one hand pressed against the table and he kept his eyes on the tea he was spooning sugar into with the other. "It will monitor your heart rate," he said. "If it spikes, I will know and I can – "

"Defend me?"

"Don't be fooled by the pretty furniture," he said. He looked up at last and she was struck by how haunted he looked. Bags sat under his eyes and his fair skin looked fragile. He looked ill. "This is an armed camp, and to most you're the camp follower. Some people might assume I wouldn't mind if they roughed you up."

She heard the warning and wasn't a fool enough to throw away an ally in this place, even him, so she tossed the bracelet at him. He caught it and for a tiny moment his eyes sparkled with pleasure.

"Still a Seeker," she said.

The sparkle disappeared and he smiled wanly. "You never liked Quidditch," he said. "Not like I did." She held her wrist out across the table and he fussed with the catch until it clicked into place and the weight of the metal sat cool against her skin.

"When you're done," he said, "perhaps we can take that walk. My mother would like to greet you, welcome you to her home."

"Oh, I'm sure." Hermione was sure Narcissa Malfoy was just thrilled to have her here, cluttering the place up. A Muggle-born witch – a mudblood – was just what every elitist pureblood matriarch hoped for, especially the sort married to a Death Eater. Did she know Draco didn't really love her? Would she let on if she did? "Hail Narcissa," she muttered. "We who are about to die salute you."

She thought she'd kept the words sufficiently under her breath to avoid him hearing but she hadn't because he asked, "What?" with obvious confusion.

"It's not important," she said. She pushed the chair back from the table and stood up. "Shall we go say hello to your mother?"