Hermione couldn't wait to tell Draco.  It took what felt like ages to extricate herself from Ron and Harry and the endless explanations of what they'd done with Jean.  The townhouse had more than enough bedrooms to find one with an en suite for Pansy, but, predictably, it had been a disaster.  She'd cooed at Kreacher that she'd never lived in a house with an actual elf before, only Hogwarts, and he'd sniffed his opinion of institutional elves, and she'd said she quite agreed, and he'd toddled off to find sheets of a high enough thread count to be suitable for "Miss Park', muttering that he could tell she'd been ill and why hadn't Harry taken better care of her?