"Why would she say that?" I asked dumbly, my hands pausing their work on his arm, staring up at him with doe eyes. I felt my cheeks heating, and I knew I had flushed down my neck and chest and my ears were bound to be pink. I was so grateful to be in a black band tee where my conflicting feelings were hidden. Why the fuck would Pansy escalate this situation? We just wanted him to leave. He needed to have a job to leave. You can’t hold a job if you get sent to Azkaban. Things would only get so much worse for us once he got released. It was simple, really. Pansy and I had spent so many nights talking about this, figuring out what to do, and decided to take the path of least resistance. He was family, whether we liked it or not, and we supposed everybody went through hard times. We just wanted him to do that elsewhere. But Pansy’s grandparents still technically owned this house, and Draco living in the guest house until he could land on his own two feet was a condition. The Parkinsons and Malfoys had a long, friendly history that they wouldn’t let the two of us get in between. Fine. 