Hermione turns and flees back to the staircase to Gryffindor Tower. She's not sure Malfoy would even follow but she needs a minute. Maybe more than one.

Pansy, fussing with her hair and her skirt, emerging from the broom closet. Malfoy right behind her, looking somewhat dazed. It's not as if Hermione doesn't know they used to date; it's just that she'd been so sure this term that he wasn't seeing anyone at all.

She and Malfoy are not together. She doesn't want anybody to know anything anyway. And they've never talked about it, of course, being on the same page as they are. But - but he'd said she was his good girl, and doesn't that phrasing imply a proprietary nature of things?

He was jealous of Justin, she knows that. And he wanted people to see the mark he'd left on her neck. But that was basic territorial marking - Hermione's not an idiot.

Ginny had almost died laughing when she saw it, continuing with her comforting track of 'you don't have to tell me who he is.' Ron had broken a goblet but refused to ask about it. Harry had pretended it wasn't there. Although, come to think of it, Hermione isn't sure it really registered to Harry at all. If he's not off with Dumbledore, he's had his nose stuck in his Potions book all year and it's getting worse.

All in all, she hadn't minded the spot on her neck like she thought she might. She got a little bit of a rush about it, in fact, knowing it was Malfoy who had put it there and no one would ever guess. It felt like a secret, a secret just between them, and now he's stepping out of a cupboard with Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione reminds herself she has no right to get angry about it. 'His' good girl or not, she has no claim on him at all. And he doesn't really have one on her. It was talk in bed, that's all, something they both find hot. Just because she's wearing the shoes he bought her, and the knickers -

Maybe he's just growing tired of it. Whatever he'd said after they shagged, maybe the novelty is gone. He has been harder to meet up with lately, preferring to sneak away between lessons rather than meet at night. Maybe his nights are with Pansy. It would be so easy, after all, sharing a common room. Maybe Pansy even sleeps in his bed.

That thought gives her a very funny feeling in her stomach that's hard to identify.

She remembers dozing off in the Come and Go Room with him. She's not sure he slept at all, but she'd felt safe and secure. She'd felt... loved. It felt loving under his intense gaze, under his fingers stroking up and down the skin of her arm.

He's gotten undeniably more intense since they shagged. There's been less asking and more telling after they crossed certain thresholds. He sets up scenarios and gives her instructions, directions to follow. He's authoritative and protective, and - yes, proprietary. The way he'd stopped before she came just to ask about Justin. Twice. He'd done it twice. Then, of course, he'd given her one of the best orgasms she's had yet.

It's clear to her that whether he has the right to feel this way or not, he doesn't want her shagging anyone else.

But it's okay if he does?

Hermione's suddenly furious. She may not have the right to that, either, but the double standard of it is maddening. How dare he? He expects her to wear his sodding shoes every sodding day and he's getting off with Pansy Parkinson in closets?

She chucks the shoes across her dorm, frustrated anew by having to undo the strappy clasps to get them off, and yanks her most boring, nondescript pair of flats out of her trunk. Those are stuffed beneath the green pyjamas he'd sent her, the ones that are irritatingly warm and soft, extra cosy, and she shoves those to the side, too.

She thinks she'll go and find Justin. She'll see if he wants to work on that essay they have due next week.

Justin is happy to get some work done and the perk to Justin, Hermione reflects, is that it's easy to work with him. They talk when they need to but otherwise, he's a quiet and industrious study partner.

Hermione selected a different table in the library today on purpose. It's more crowded than usual - OWL revision is picking up steam for the fifth years - so switching tables wasn't hard. They're quite visible.

She can't focus, though, so it's a good thing Justin is such a dedicated student. He's working diligently on their essay while Hermione finds herself wondering what Pansy's shoes look like. She's never noticed. Are they different than the standard uniform-issue Mary Janes? She thinks they probably are, but that could also be because Pansy's fashionable. It might not have anything to do with Malfoy whatsoever, but she knows she'll never believe they don't.

('You feel so fucking good')

Her face flames red with both embarrassment at the memory and fresh fury, as she's now also stuck wondering if he tells Pansy that, too.

('You're my good girl')

How many other good girls does he have in this blasted castle?

Also driving her bonkers - the fact that every time Justin opens his mouth, she sees Malfoy's instead.

('Every time he talks to you, I want you to see my mouth covered in you')

Bloody sodding buggering bullshit.

She snaps a quill with her grip and Justin gives her an odd look. She has no idea how long they've been working. Has it been thirty minutes? Ninety?

"Are you alright?" Justin asks with a tentative hint of concern. "You seem off, today. Is everything okay?"

She's not certain but she thinks he darts a glance at her neck, which is perfectly clear of any sort of territorial love biting. 'Love' bite. She can't hold in a scoff, then remembers Justin had just asked her a question that she's supposed to be answering instead. "...yes. Yes, I'm fine. Sorry. Where were we?"

Justin's eyes narrow into a glare at something to her right and she looks over her shoulder. There he is, standing tall and rigid, book satchel slung over one shoulder. Hermione leans back deliberately, casually propping her feet on the chair to her side and crossing her legs at the ankle.

The look on Malfoy's face is unadulterated rage.

Hermione meets his stare blankly, refusing to react. Malfoy turns on his heel and stalks off without a word.

"Blimey, he really hates you," Justin shakes his head. "I always knew you three had problems with him and his lot, but -"

Hermione would like to correct him. At the moment, though, she thinks there's probably a fair mix of things making Malfoy that angry and it's not entirely about Hermione. But it won't be helpful to tell Justin why Malfoy would be including him in his general air of vitriol.

"Yes, well," she mutters, trailing off and doing her best to sound disinterested. This seems to work, at least inasmuch as Justin goes back to their essay. He keeps shooting her furtive glances but he doesn't bring it up again and Hermione puts up a good show of working on an assignment of her own and responding to questions when asked.

Another thirty minutes or so passes before a paper aeroplane lands on her parchment. She unfolds it, ignoring Justin, and acting like this is perfectly commonplace; a nuisance, even.

I need to see you.

I'm sure it's nothing Pansy can't do for you.

She sends it off without another glance, unsure where it's headed but feeling it's likely Malfoy is still in the library.

The more she considers this, the more right she thinks she is and begins to feel the hair on her neck raise slightly at the thought of being watched here.

Next time she and Justin do revision together, she thinks she might take him to the table Malfoy had charmed in the back. She has no intentions of doing anything there, of course, but it would drive Malfoy up the wall. If only she did have intentions elsewhere; he'd probably explode if someone else left a mark on her neck. But she really doesn't want to do that. She's not attracted to anyone else.

Bugger all, she curses in her head. She really doesn't want anybody but him attached to her skin, leaving love bites or anything else behind. The notion that she really doesn't and that he was just in a closet with Pansy suddenly makes her want to cry.

Her anger is slipping away, replaced by a seeping sort of melancholy. This was never supposed to happen. This is why it should have been a stranger.

She'd been worried of this - or something like it, though she couldn't have defined it so clearly at the time. She knew it had the potential to ruin things, whatever 'things' were included.

Hermione isn't sure what she wants now. Should she let him explain? What's to explain, though? Mostly that he has the right to shag anybody he likes, and so does she. The fact that she doesn't want to doesn't even need bringing up. She could end it and leave him to Pansy and whoever else he wants to mess around with. She'll act like she doesn't care every time she sees him.

Because... she can't care. That's a breath away from saying she wants to be the one with him, the one people know about. And... she can't do that.

She and Justin depart the library together and Hermione outpaces him deliberately. She thinks Malfoy is probably waiting for her along the way and she knows he won't yank her into a broom closet four paces in front of Justin.

She's only half-right. He's leaning against a wall near a larger junction of corridors, one foot planted on the wall behind him. He's tossing a Snitch in the air and sweeps his hair back with his free hand as she approaches.

"Can I talk to you?" he says gruffly, looking aggrieved by the whole thing. Trapping the Snitch, he crosses his arms across his chest. She's not sure if it's for Justin's benefit, who gives them an odd look, but not nearly as odd as if he'd seemed friendly.

"No," she declines, "I'm in rather a hurry."

His eyes darken and she hoists her bag higher on her shoulder.

"Please?" he asks, lower, his narrowed gaze following Justin down the hallway. "It's not what you think."

She burst out a sharp laugh. Isn't that the most cliche -

"What was it, then?" She taps her foot impatiently, not planning to give him any longer than this. It's a perk that it draws his eyes to her plain-clad feet.

His guarded eyes shift around and his shoulders droop a bit. "I... I can't tell you."

"Of course you can't. But it's not what I think," she says with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "Here's what I think. I think you don't want anybody else pissing on your fire hydrant, while you shag Pansy Parkinson anytime you like."

Malfoy freezes, unsure of what to say. Hermione leans up, lifting on her tiptoes in her flats, and whispers, "We aren't dating. I know that. But I don't like double-standards. And I definitely don't like them shoved in my face in the hallway."

She spends the evening in the common room for a change, catching up on some homework. She's finding it easier to concentrate since she confronted him, more at peace with delivering what she feels is a very fair message.

A wildly waving motion draws her eye. She turns to see Ron gesturing to her from his table with Harry. They've been hunched over for an hour now, at least, and she's curious. She joins them and feels the blanket of a muffliato drape over her. Ah; she grins. They might have been trying to call her name and she'd never have heard.

"What is it?"

"Dumbledore gave me a job to do," Harry sighs. "I have to get a memory out of Slughorn. He's hiding something, modified a specific memory as if Dumbledore wouldn't notice the change."

"We can't figure out how to get it out of him," Ron huffs, arms crossed in frustration. "Have you any ideas?"

This sort of brainstorming is perfectly timed, and Hermione throws herself into it. She's also undeniably happy that, for once, Harry isn't fixating on Malfoy. They determine that Harry will try and corner Slughorn after their next lesson, an attempt Hermione thinks has a 0.01 chance of working. If this is what they think will work, why even ask her opinion? She laughs a little to herself. They're as stubborn as she is, when it comes down to it.

She could go far longer than Harry or Ron in this exercise, but they tire of it too soon and decide to start a tournament-style game of Exploding Snap. Hermione joins in willingly enough and they pass several happy hours in front of the fire.

This is good anyway, she decides. She'd been out too often. If Malfoy wants to spend his nights with Pansy, fine. She accomplished her objective of losing her virginity, and she has friends here. She doesn't need anything else.

On her way to breakfast the next day, Hermione's thrown for a different loop. She sees Pansy trading tonsils with Theo Nott behind a suit of armour.

So... do they all share? Is Slytherin house just one giant come-and-get-it? Or is that just Pansy?

Hermione feels viciously vindictive, something completely foreign to her. Why does she care this much? She'd decided last night, she'd thought, that she already has everything she needs.

Ginny plops down next to her at the Gryffindor table and Hermione barely notices. Pansy and Theo are holding hands.

"So how's it been going?"

Ginny pokes her. "Hermione?

She startles. "Mm?"

"How's it been going, I asked? The shagging?" Ginny drops her voice to a conspiratorial level, then follows Hermione's gaze across the Great Hall. "They're together, I heard. Do you... care?"

Her tone is suddenly much more shrewd and Hermione deflects at once. "No! No, of course not. I just hadn't known, that's all. They were snogging so rabidly outside it caught me off guard."

Ginny snorts. "So, how's it been going?"

"The shagging? It was fucking fabulous."

"Still only casual with it, then?" Ginny assesses her knowingly, narrowing her eyes. "You know I said I didn't think it was casual for him."

"It definitely is, Gin. Trust me."

"If you say so," Ginny sighs and Hermione's attention is diverted, again, to Pansy. She can't tell what shoes the witch is wearing.

Pansy glances over from Theo and catches Hermione's eye. She's too shocked to look away. Pansy stares at her for a beat too long to be accidental, and her eyes flick down to where Theo's hand is holding hers.

What is she trying to say? Yes, she's with Theo? That's now obvious. But all that means is that either the two wizards are sharing Pansy, or she's cheating on Theo with Malfoy.

Speaking of, he's sitting two seats down on the other side of Blaise Zabini. He's also watching her, seemingly oblivious to Pansy. Somehow, this doesn't make her feel better. She glares at him and stalks out, swinging her satchel around in a huff.

In Potions, Hermione steadfastly refuses to look their way. Slughorn has them doing independent study again today, which is helpful. To each their own potion. Hermione keeps her head down, her eyes focused, and her brain utterly scattered.

She bottles up her sample and takes it up to Slughorn's desk, enjoying the relatively quiet tapping of her flats for the second day in a row. On her way back to her table, she feels a tug on her robes and can hardly believe he'd dare to flag her down in the middle of class.

He's sitting next to Blaise, as he usually does, and he glances up as if it's just occurring to him. "Can we work on that project later? Library, maybe half eight?"

She tilts her head for the merest second, as if considering and dismissing it. "I'm not sure I'll have time."

Brushing past him, she continues to her seat, rummaging for an essay she has due for History of Magic. She can work on that until Potions lets out and she ducks her head over it now, pretending - both to herself and the rest of the room - that she's actually making progress on it.

A slip of parchment slides onto her table as robes swish past, and Hermione glances up to see Pansy returning to her seat after turning in her own vial. She ducks it under the table and flips it over.

I don't think it was clear enough earlier. I'm not shagging him.

Hermione stares at the back of Pansy's head, wishing she could bore into her brain and figure out what the hell she's thinking.

She takes a few minutes to think, watching Harry and Ron whisper. Right; Harry is going to try and butter Slughorn up after class today. Hermione still assumes this won't work, but she's supposed to distract the professor to stop him leaving until Harry is the last person left in the classroom.

Checking the time, she realises that will be just a moment or two from now. She scribbles out a reply on the back of Pansy's note.

So?

Dropping it on her way up to Slughorn's desk, she thinks - but isn't certain - that Theo might notice. She doesn't risk looking down to check, though. It doesn't matter if he did. Her part of the note says nothing at all.

Slughorn cheerily tells her that her sample looks spot on, probably top marks, but he expected nothing less! Ha ha. Hermione brings up something at random, something about Acromantula venom. She knows it's exceedingly rare and asks if he's ever had any. How does it work, what are its properties? Its specialities?

The professor is perfectly happy to elaborate on all these points, boasting about the number of times he's procured it and the daring circumstances around each. Hermione obligingly asks if he has any now, acting properly impressed by his tales of grandeur, and Slughorn regretfully demurs. No, he hasn't had any in quite some time. It's quite expensive, he's sure she knows, and a professor's salary is not generous…

Hermione's drifting a bit at this point, as the class dismisses. She feels a pressure in her bag over her shoulder and Pansy brushes past. Hermione's certain the heft on her bag was purposeful, Pansy's way of saying she's left Hermione a message.

She glances over her shoulder. The classroom is emptying, as planned, and Harry is procrastinating. Ron passes Hermione with a knowing look and they're the last two. She gives an appropriate concluding remark to Slughorn, of something or other, and makes her way out to leave Harry to it.

Draco is plainly waiting for her, but Hermione ducks into the girls' loo instead. She rifles through her bag's outer pockets until she finds the note.

I thought it might be better for him without you, but it clearly isn't. I'm not shagging him. Give him a chance.

This makes nothing clear, either. What a waste of a note. But it did pique Hermione's interest in what Draco may or may not have to say. Maybe he knows what Pansy is thinking.

She exits the loo and he's still there.

Barely glancing at him as he falls into step with her, she says, "Fine. The library at half eight."

Malfoy darts in front of her, stopping her progress. "Okay. But - but wait. I know I said it, but either later than half eight, or somewhere other than the library."

Hm. So the offer was solely to appease any listeners-in. Hermione's not stupid. Whatever he has to say will involve an apology and a solid attempt to make her forgive him. He wants the privacy.

She crosses her arms over her chest and props herself up against the wall to her right.

"Fine," she says finally. "Come and Go Room, half eight. But no special shoes and no special knickers."

She walks into the room and is, notably, not pounced upon. Malfoy looks truly contrite and it's such a bizarre look on his features that she finds herself softening, a bit.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out at once, his hands raised as if she's going to hex him - as if that would stop it. "I swear, I'm not messing about with Pansy. Pansy and I haven't been together in a long time. She's with Theo."

"Have you come up with a plausible explanation for the broom cupboard, then? Something you can tell me?"

Hermione's rather enjoying putting him on the spot, but she's surprised again when he does, in fact, answer. It's a smooth one, but a touch uncomfortable, like he knows he shouldn't be saying anything.

"Theo's birthday is coming up. Pansy's planning a trip into Hogsmeade, sneaking a bunch of us outside the castle to get pissed at the Hog's Head. It's a secret - for obvious reasons. She was worried that you would tell."

"Tell... who?"

"Well, not Theo, I'm sure, but someone. A prefect, maybe. I don't know."

Hermione considers this. It's probably true. In light of Pansy also denying any sort of fiddling around with Malfoy, and the clearly open knowledge of her and Theo, Hermione can't figure out what else it could be. She's still not ready to let him off the hook.

"Pansy clearly knows about me."

Malfoy looks awkward again.

"Did you tell her?"

"No. No, I didn't. She figured it out."

"Should I ask how? Seems like it might matter."

A quick flash of something crosses his face before he responds. "I know you don't want anybody to know. And she won't say anything. Well, she might have said something to Theo," he winces. "But they won't say anything else, I promise."

"How did she find out, Malfoy?"

"She saw me watching Finchy watch you. Pansy's perceptive."

Hmm. Hermione mulls this over. She can't deny Malfoy's been open about his dislike for Justin talking to her. She can only hope no one else has picked up on it.

"And why, exactly, do you care so much about Justin?" She watches his reactions, the struggle within himself. His eyes flick over her, then away. He tightens his jaw.

"I don't share," he says finally. "And I know you didn't like the double-standard, but I promise there isn't one. You... you aren't sharing, either. It's not just about Pansy. I'm not messing around with anybody else."

Hermione is inclined to believe him, if only because she'd really had the impression that he was seeing absolutely no one this term - or last term. Maybe the one before that. Next question, while she's holding his feet to the fire.

"Why did you care so much that I was mad?" Why is he trying so hard to apologise, if this means nothing?

Doesn't she want it to mean nothing? She gives herself a little shake. She can't deny that whatever this is, it isn't nothing. She just hasn't the foggiest clue what to do about it.

Malfoy could be wrestling with something similar. She can't quite tell. He rolls his jaw again, then tilts and pops his neck.

"I didn't want you to think that of me, for one," he responds at last. "For another..."

She waits, not very patiently.

"I don't want this to end. Not like that, anyway," he rushes to clarify. "I know... I know it'll end sooner or later."

They both wince, and they both try to hide it. They both think they sort of succeed, both looking somewhere near the other's shoulder.

Malfoy continues, after gruffly clearing his throat, "but I... like coming here, with you. Seeing you here. It's been... really nice."

He finishes this somewhat lamely, still preferring to eyeball her right arm instead of her face.

Hermione had not been intending to feel as uncomfortable as he does during this inquisition, and yet, here she is.

('I thought it might be better for him without you, but it clearly isn't')

She has no idea what to make of this. Or what to say next.

"So I'm sorry," he says, louder, sounding slightly relieved. Maybe this is more solid footing. "Can I make it up to you?"

She lets him.

And gone is the authoritative Draco of the recent past, the one telling her what to do and how to do it. He's sweet again, like he was at the very start. He's checking on her every step of the way, asking if it's okay, teasing out the most elusive parts of her.

He's focused solely on her, on every part of her body. He plays with her toes, leaves a love mark just above her anklebone, finds a spot behind her knee that unexpectedly makes her wet. He makes his way up her body and back down it again, until she's wrung completely limp on the bed.

He takes her slow, watching her face, and his gaze feels like worship.