Unbound

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/30579125.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Dolores Umbridge, Tom Riddle |
Voldemort, Astoria Greengrass, Severus Snape, Graham Montague,
Ginny Weasley, Lucius Malfoy
Additional Tags: Post-War, Harry Potter Dies, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins,
Forced Pregnancy, Imprisonment, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Minor
Character Death, Memory Loss, Rape/Non-con Elements, Eventual
Romance, Battle, Rape, Mystery, Healer Hermione Granger, Self-Harm,
Flashbacks, Slow Build, Angst, Slow Burn Hermione Granger/Draco
Malfoy, Espionage, Alcohol
Language: English
Collections: Old_phone_tbr_2021Katie
Stats: Published: 2021-04-09 Updated: 2024-11-27 Words: 33,402 Chapters:
13/?
 Unbound
by acciosashaa

Summary

Harry Potter has been killed and Lord Voldemort now reigns. As the Second Wizarding War
ends, the Dark Lord enacts a repopulation effort for the production of Death Eater children.
Draco Malfoy has climbed up the ladder to become the Dark Lord’s right hand - the High
Reeve - and is sent a slave to be the surrogate for the promised Malfoy Heir.

Notes

This work is dark and includes a lot of potentially triggering aspects that are described
throughout the plot. There are also character deaths, psychological trauma, descriptions of
battlefield violence, and references to torture. Reader discretion is highly advised.

This work is Draco’s POV inspired and written alongside Manacled by the amazing
SenLinYu. I do not own any of these characters as both J.K. Rowling has created the
characters and SenLinYu has adapted them as she saw fit. Although this work is mine, I
recognize that the plot, characters, etc. are inspired by those other than myself. Further, this
work is not commissioned, promoted, or backed in any way by SenLinYu herself.

In addition, thank you to all four of my amazing betas, Faith, Cas, Madi, and Des. Without
you I wouldn't have been able to write Unbound or keep track of what I meant. You guys are
truly the backbone of Unbound and I love you all so much and I'm beyond thankful for your
help on every chapter.

You can find them here:

Faith's Twitter
Faith's TikTok
Cas's Twitter
Cas's TikTok
Madi's TikTok
Des's Twitter
Des's TikTok

Inspired by a work in an unrevealed collection

 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes

Author's Note: This work is very dark and includes a lot of potentially triggering
aspects. Please check the notes above and the tags for further explanation. Reader
discretion is highly advised.

This work is a Manacled Inspired Draco POV. I give all the love and credit to SenLinYu
for creating an amazing plot and developing these characters.

I also want to thank my four amazing betas, Madi, Des, Cas, and Faith for putting up
with me and my work. All mistakes that remain are my own.

It was about midday when Draco was able to finally slip away without notice or a second
glance. Conjuring a quick pocket watch to check the exact time, he noticed it was half-past
two before he quickly tucked it away, not needing it now but silently betting to himself that
he’d need it eventually. He had steadily lost his ability to successfully track time as he
climbed his way up in Lord Voldemort’s ranks and, with that, became an integral part of any
meeting the Dark Lord had.

He began to quicken his pace out of the meeting room he had been in, simply supervising the
idiots and simultaneously listening in on any battle strategy plans the Death Eaters and
Voldemort began to brew up.

The inner proper, pureblood Malfoy boy came out of him as the time really, truly sunk in;
half-past two . He planned a meeting with Severus at precisely two o’clock and being late to
this meeting was not a scenario he ran himself through just this morning as he lay awake in
his bed, trying to come up with a semblance of what he would say to the Order members.

He pushed back the hair that began to fall into view and shoved open the grand oak doors to
Dolohov Manor; unfortunately the same manor the Dark Lord demanded to inhabit for the
time being. He let the cool breeze hit his face and prick at his skin as he slowed his breathing.
Draco closed his eyes and tried to will his mind to calm down before he left. He lifted his
chin to the sky, hoping they took him as seriously as he meant his offer to be.
He let out a deep breath, and within a second, he opened his eyes, began to lock his
Occlumency walls in, and spun in place, feeling the familiar pull at the back of his navel.

He landed just outside of Severus Snape’s home in Spinner’s End. The few times he had been
here, the visits had mainly been brief - and thankfully so. Draco did not like Severus’s home,
and less so now if that was even possible. For one, it brought him memories he didn’t want
up to the surface of his mind, nevermind the sterile and generic aura it exuded. Something
about it gave him the shivers, and not the kind that were welcomed, but the kind that
furthered his preexisting anxiety.

He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, going into his mind and making sure
everything was shut in place with only the critical few details allowed out and about.
Everything else - the unwanted emotions, gut feelings, contemplative and regretful thoughts,
and the like - were all put into small drawers in his mind, unable to be found by anyone but
himself.

With the use of his Occlumency walls came peace and tranquility, something he needed an
absurd amount of, and yet he constantly found himself lacking more and more as he reached
closer to grabbing it. Times like this were so numbing it was serene, and serenity was just
another mental state he could not attain.

He puffed air out of his mouth and watched his breath become visible in the cold air as he
reached a reluctant and pleading hand out to turn the door handle. It took all his might to
push open the old and creaky wood door.

He was not a stupid boy anymore. He was a man - and a highly intelligent and critical one at
that. He knew what he was stepping into. He knew the benefits and the drawbacks and even
dreamt of the potential punishments if he was found out. Although, he did try his best not to
acknowledge those thoughts much. He did not care how he would be punished or tortured if
the Dark Lord eventually found out. In fact, he did not care much about his well-being, he
had no reason to. The avoidance of those thoughts stemmed simply from the fact that when
he allowed those thoughts in, his arse of a mind would find its way back to his poor mother
and her untimely death.

He shoved away the thoughts of Narcissa, allowing himself to place them carefully into a
locked wooden box at the back of his mind, in corners so far one would not know of their
existence unless stumbled upon by pure luck or accident.
Draco opened the door to an odd view. Severus had been sitting on a lounging chair in the
living room - one of the few seating options available. He had a short glass of what Draco
assumed was firewhiskey in his right hand and he looked absolutely abysmal. It seemed he
had been scolded the moment before Draco entered the home. All eyes turned to him.

“A little late, aren’t we, boy?” Alastor Moody spit out, keeping eye contact with Draco.

It was unnerving, to say the least, to be stared at with Moody’s glass eye.

“My apologies, a meeting ran long and I couldn’t get out of there sooner,” Draco replied
coldly, lacking emotions he didn't have the mental capacity to let out at the moment.

His eyes moved from Moody to Severus who remained in his seat. He willed his legs to carry
him towards the two men and although they were highly reluctant, he found his feet bringing
him towards the short wooden table in the center of the room. He reached down and closed
his fist around the cold neck of the firewhiskey bottle and poured some into a glass he quietly
conjured into his free hand. He didn’t bother to set the bottle down. He threw back the
whiskey and relished in the burn in his throat and the warm feeling sliding down his neck
into his chest. It let him sink further into the numb contentment that teetered on rapture.

He poured himself a second glass.

“Mister Malfoy, you did come here to tell Alastor about your offer rather than drink all the
alcohol in my home, did you not?” came Severus’s voice. It brought him back to reality, his
cold, drab reality in which he was now offering a service to the Order of the Phoenix.

What a world.

“If you please, Malfoy, tell me the bloody offer and let me consider it before it gets too late
and the others realize how long I’ve been out. There is a war going on - if you haven’t cared
to notice,” Alastor bit out, his glass eye moving in circles and his cane being shoved into the
floorboards so hard Draco wouldn’t be surprised if they cracked under the pressure.
“I had assumed this meeting would hold more than just the three of us. Could the cause not
spare anyone else? Or are they all dead already?” Draco retorted, sinking into the small couch
that was placed across from the chair Severus inhabited. He placed his left elbow on the arm
of the couch and swirled his glass as he awaited a reply. As smooth as ever.

Just as Narcissa taught him.

“I knew you weren’t serious, boy! You have two seconds to tell me before I apparate out of
here and never speak with you or your kind again.” Alastor shouted.

Draco smirked.

Despite coming here to offer assistance and effectively defying his father and the Dark Lord
on behalf of Narcissa, Draco loved getting a reaction out of someone. Today, it just happened
to be Alastor Moody.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Draco started. He took a sip of the drink in his hand,
hoping in the back of his mind that it helped loosen his tongue and get this over with easier.

“I am here to ever so graciously,” - a pause and a wink - “offer my assistance to your Order.”

Alastor’s eyes widened slightly and Severus placed his glass down. Draco held his breath.

“And why would you do that?” Alastor questioned, letting the ease in his shoulders go. Draco
hoped this was a good sign.

“I have my reasons. You would not assume the son of an innocent woman who was
prematurely killed to continue to support the man who did nothing about it, would you?”
Silence.

“I suppose not,” Alastor replied, maintaining eye contact and tightening his jaw.

Draco rolled his neck, closing his eyes and silently damning himself for thinking that
drinking would help him. It didn’t. His Occlumency walls wavered.

“All I’m saying is I can be of value to you. I know the ins and outs of most of the entire war
from our side. I’m climbing up in the Dark Lord’s ranks and I won’t stop until I’m his right
hand,” Draco downed the rest of the firewhiskey in one gulp and leaned forward, slamming
the glass on the little table.

“If you want even a sliver of a chance to win,” He smirked.

“You need me.”

Although he would never say it out loud, Draco could admit it to himself that the five
seconds of silence while Alastor Moody stared at him following his very bold - yes, fine ,
pretty egotistical - statement that the Order would need him was one of the scariest moments
of his life.

Draco didn’t know if Alastor was closer to hexing him or simply apparating out of the room.
He silently cataloged the feeling of his wand in his right pocket and focused on making sure
the walls in his mind were intact.

The silence engulfed them, and as Draco opened his mouth to speak, maybe apologize for the
horribly rude - yet honestly true - remark, Alastor spoke.

“What’s in it for you.”

Draco shut his mouth quickly, leaned back into the cushions, and looked up at Alastor. He
didn’t think this question would come as soon as it did, and despite the rigorous mental
repetition of his answer, this threw him off the delicate balance he had been hanging on.

“I only want two things,” Draco began, trying desperately to remain calm and collected. He
breathed in and crossed his ankles to stop his traitor legs from bouncing and moving about.

Alastor straightened his back and tightened his jaw once more. Severus simply took another
sip of his firewhiskey, not saying a word since Draco had begun the conversation of trading
information.

“I want full immunity from any potential prosecution after the war. That is… if you win,”
Draco stated, pulling at every corner of his mind to continue to hold up this cool facade just a
moment longer. He could not break now. His mother needed him.

“I suppose I can promise that to you, but I will have to run all this over with some others,”
Alastor said, looking away finally and contemplating something in his mind. Draco was just
glad for a break from the staring contest.

“Then it seems we have a deal made?” Severus finally spoke up, standing and tilting his head
slightly to the left, awaiting a response. He had never liked others in his home for too long.

Alastor abruptly turned his head to Severus, eyeing him with something Draco could only
assume was disdainful consideration.

He turned back to Draco and locked eyes once again. If Draco had not felt a thing, he would
have bet money that Alastor was trying to use legilimency to read his thoughts. Thankfully,
there was none of that. He didn’t think he’d last long with the shots of firewhiskey now
circulating through his system.

“Not so fast, Severus,” Alastor said, holding his hand up to Severus whilst still glaring into
what felt like the very core of Draco’s soul, “Malfoy said there were two conditions and I’ve
only been told one. I do not intend to be blindsided.”
Draco sighed.

This was the moment.

No going back.

He had to say it.

It burned in his throat, aching to see the light of day. His wants and his needs, all tied up
within the one desire he had contemplated back and forth in his mind since the moment he
decided he would reach out to the Order because he needed to avenge his mother.

It was panic like he hadn’t felt in so long. Boyish panic and boyish thoughts. He was a man
now, and though a man, he still maintained the little boy within him that dreamt of a time
where he could have a girl. A smart girl - one to rival his own intelligence. Someone who’d
put up a fight. Someone that wouldn’t bow down to him as so many people did.

He didn’t want to be treated like a king the moment a person met him; no , he wanted to
finally be an equal. To fight and argue his way into an informed perception of who he was.
His entire life consisted of following orders and being told he was above everyone else. For
once in his bloody life, Draco wanted someone to corroborate that. To tell him he is a good
man. Smart. Passionate. Worthy .

His mind raced through the people the Order could spare, seeking for a person who would be
just that for him.

He wanted a challenge.

And he could only think of one.

One breath.
Two.

Three.

“Give me Granger, too.” He said, reaching for his empty glass, standing and raising it
towards Alastor. A symbolic toast and feigning composure.

“Now and after the war.”

And with that, Draco vanished.

 Chapter 2

Draco had expected the Order to take days to come back to him with a decision.

He had left in such a hurry he had to contact Severus soon after he landed back in his old
room at Malfoy Manor and realized his mistake. He had demanded Granger. He didn’t mean
to demand her. Yes, he wanted a challenge, but he wanted her willing.

He called for Topsy.

“Can you pop over to Severus’s and tell him and the other man there that I want the girl
willingly? Willing, Topsy, that’s very important. Please stress the importance of willing .”

He felt out of breath and absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t mention her name to the house elf,
but he felt as if she somehow knew anyway. Why did he always have to make everything
harder for himself?

“Of course, Master Malfoy. I is popping over and is saying Master wants the girl willing .”
She repeated back to him. She popped away after Draco nodded sharply.

He scrunched his nose and pinched the bridge of it, basking in his idiocy and arrogance that
let him leave Spinner’s End without mentioning the most imperative part of his whole
demand.

No, not demand.

Request.

Sure, he wanted Granger to be his, or to - at the very least - be around him so he could rile
her up every so often. But he knew firsthand how horrible it was to be forced into something
with little to no willingness or say in the matter. He did not want her to despise him,
although, thinking about it, she most likely already did.

He would hate him if he were her.

He turned towards his overly large bed and sat on the edge, staring at the grand three drawer
chest in front of him, wondering how the Order would take his offer. How she would take his
offer.

Suddenly everything seemed so incredibly ridiculous.

He rarely doubted himself. He was so sure in everything he did and went for it head-on. It
was a quality that not many had and it is also what propelled him so quickly up Death Eater
ranks. He was willing to take risks where others were not.

Why did he care what she thought? Really, this was a bargain offer for the Order, and she’d
be quite stupid not to take it. Yet, as much as he despised the idea of himself thinking about
her, he couldn’t help his mind from slowly creeping towards the thoughts of her.

He hardly had the energy or motivation to apparate out of the Manor that contained such
painful memories attached and back to his typical nighttime residence. Instead, he simply
changed out of the simple button-up and trousers he wore before he climbed underneath the
dark green sheets of the bed he has had since he was a child. He simply kicked off his dress
shoes and ran a hand through his hair, breathing in the desire to sleep and breathing out the
anxiety he felt remain in the back of his chest.

It was only half-past four in the afternoon when Draco shut his eyes and finally found sleep.

But it was Draco. Sleep was never truly peaceful.

...
Draco’s consciousness slipped and he felt himself running - fast, so fast - down the corridor
of the Lestrange Manor.

He had been called and apparated into the Manor when he heard the screaming. Something
was wrong. He felt it deep in his stomach.

It was hot. Way too hot than an average day at the peak of summer. It wasn’t even summer.
His stomach twisted tighter in response to this thought.

He skidded into the drawing room just in time to see a dragon - a bloody dragon - flying out
of the roof and smashing windows with people on its back. He caught a glimpse of who other
than Potter and Weasley just before rough arms pulled him backward and out of the line of
the raging fire Draco had yet to notice.

Fire.

No, not fire.

Fiendfyre.

Panic rose in his throat and he looked around feverishly, pulling away from the unknown
arms trying to take him to safety. He needed his mother. He couldn’t leave her here. This
wasn’t even her home.

Where was Narcissa?

“MOTHER!” He called, running towards the fire and searching - so desperately searching -
for her. She couldn’t be gone. Not here.
The fire began to spread out at a rapid pace, engulfing everything in its wake. Draco had
always been told of the effects of fiendfyre, yet he never thought he’d see it himself. And in a
family home, nonetheless.

Smoke was rising to the ceilings and Draco gripped his wand, not knowing what spell to cast
or where to go.

He was at a loss.

Draco was seconds away from running into the blazing fire when his father came out from
the left, his hair ruined and sweat dripping down his face. He still held his cane, but it shook
in his grip. The bottom of his pant legs looked burnt and charred. He probably went looking
for Narcissa too.

It smelled horrid in the large room - like too much charcoal being lit or metal being burnt. It
hurt his head trying to think of the causes of the foul odor that swirled into the air and began
filling his lungs. Agonizingly painful screams washed over his ears and resonated like a drum
throughout the room and over the noise of the blazing fire charring everything in its wake.

The screams rang louder in Draco’s ears as his mind found one to focus on - one that sounded
so scarily familiar. He couldn’t tell if what he was hearing was truly there or if his mind had
created noises to match his internal fears that rose like a tsunami to the surface, overflowing
and knocking down the concrete walls he built for himself.

Fire began to encircle the Malfoy men and Draco was getting lightheaded as he felt the thick
smoke beginning to fill his lungs. His palms dripped with sweat and his white top soaked in
it. His father simply looked at him as if there was no fire around, and all was as it normally
was.

Yet they were the Malfoys; they had become accustomed to nothing ever being normal.

He looked up and around, noticing the dark clouds of black smoke swirling above him. He
cataloged everything that caught fire. The marble tables and cushioned chairs. The long, solid
black curtains that fell to the floor and covered the windows, shutting out any sunlight there
may have been. The grand chandelier above them had almost no pieces left hanging from
where it previously lived. Glass came crashing down at all angles as the windows continued
to cave in, bringing the brick walls with it. The screams and cries had finally ceased but the
Manor was far from quiet. Wooden beams and frames were pulled down into the fire with
undeniably loud crunches as the home was destroyed before Draco’s very eyes.

He had always hated his Aunt Bella’s home, but seeing it ablaze with fire drew out a shaky
breath from him.

He shut his eyes, squeezing out the smoke that drew tears from his eyes and when he opened
them once more, his gaze locked with his father’s.

Neither said a word, they just stared at each other blankly until Lucius took two strides
towards him and the fire got dangerously close.

Only a breath away.

Lucius shot out a hand and grasped Draco’s left arm tightly.

His eyes softened and pleaded with his son. Draco had never seen his father like this and
despite its calming intent, the look made Draco’s heart beat faster and faster.

Lucius’s voice was soft, almost nonexistent, as he muttered to Draco.

“You promised to take care of her, Draco. You promised you would.”

It was getting hard to breathe but Draco didn’t care. Nothing in the world mattered to him but
his mother. Narcissa.

The one who sang to him as a baby.

The only one who put up with all the evil in her home because she knew it was for the benefit
of her family.

The one who deserved none of what was pushed onto her.

His mother .

The one whose screams would now be etched deep into his mind forever.

“I’m sorry,” Lucius whispered.

Draco did not get a chance to reply. Instead, he felt the familiar pull of side along apparition
and the growing heat on his ankles and arms.

It had been just in time.

But it didn’t matter to him. His safety or the safety of his father didn’t change the
circumstances one bit.

They had left Narcissa - Lady Malfoy, the wife, his mother - there to die.

To die .

Narcissa was dead.

Narcissa was dead.

His mother.

Dead.

...

Draco woke with a start.

 Chapter 3

A knock came at Draco’s door only seconds after he bolted awake in his bed.

He was sweaty and warm, a dreadful parallel to the fire he felt oh so realistically when his
mind forced him to dream of the death of his mother, as it always did.

There was so much he hated about that day and so many regrets he had, but by far the most
significant weight on his shoulders was that he never got to say goodbye or be there when it
happened; let alone give her a proper burial after the fact.

Still, her phantom screams remained, replaying in dark corners of his mind, reminding him of
what he lost too soon.

He hated every moment of those dreams but sometimes when he woke up, he wished that he
was reliving a memory and not a nightmare. Sometimes he wished he was there to try to save
his mother.

Or at least die trying.

A sharp knock came against his door once more and shook him back to reality.

Blinking rapidly a few times, he shoved himself off his bed and folded the long white sleeves
of his button-up shirt so they rested about midway down his arm. He brushed his hair back
once more as he went into his mind and began closing off his memories, using cement walls
to secure them in.

He could not think of Narcissa now.

Once he felt the familiar cold, numbing sensation of Occlumency in the back of his mind, he
turned the cold handle and opened the door. Draco stared forward at the man in the hallway
blankly.

“Severus?”

“Well, are you going to let me in or not, Malfoy?” he drawled, giving Draco a quick look up
and down before adding, “You look horrible.”

Draco stepped to the side, letting Severus pass him, and shut the door once he entered the
room.

Severus did not sit, he simply turned to face Draco and folded his hands together in front of
him, seemingly waiting for Draco to say something.

Draco shifted his weight and cocked his head to the right. “Don’t act as if I barged into your
room, Severus. You’re in my room. In my Manor. And ruining my naps too, might I add.”

Severus gave a soft scoff and locked eyes with Draco. He never got nervous when Severus
was being serious. He hadn’t been scared of Severus in a very long time, if ever.

This was practically his godfather - a man who has been around him for as long as he could
remember. He was the reason Draco’s mother and father allowed him to go to Hogwarts
rather than sending him away to Durmstrang when they realized the incompetence of the
professors and their tolerance of muggleborns that offended the Malfoys and their family
name.

When Draco got the Dark Mark, Severus was there to aid him, giving him small pieces of
advice not even his father would give.

When Draco was tasked with killing Albus Dumbledore, Severus was the one who took an
unbreakable vow to help him. If Draco had failed or felt unprepared to carry out such a
grievous task to lay upon a 16 year old, Severus was prepared to kill Dumbledore himself. He
would have killed a man for Draco.

While his father went mad after his mother’s death, Severus would sit in silence with Draco,
allowing him human contact but not forcing conversation. Draco had been grateful for
someone who understood.

He thought back on the day his father told him what happened, only minutes after the fire
ceased and Lestrange Manor burnt to the ground. A whispered apology and a hand on his
shoulder is all the solace he got.

As his father apparated away and left him standing atop the ashes and ruin, Draco let tears
fall onto what would be his last memory of his mother and quite honestly, his final moments
as a true and faithful follower of the Dark Lord. He thought to himself what contacts he had
to get him in touch with the Order of the Phoenix. It had finally been time.

This was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He only took the Mark to appease the Dark Lord and allow Him to let Narcissa out of her
cage. She never wanted Draco to take the Mark and always promised him she would be
okay.

She was never okay.

He contemplated running away and leaving the world behind every day since, despite the
Mark that held him back. He would have willingly died before he had to live in a world
without his mother. Now his mother was gone and his world became a bleak shade of gray.

When Draco came to find out Severus was a double agent - giving the Dark Lord information
the Order allowed him to give - Draco finally felt as if he had found salvation. He had
decided right then and there he did not care what it bloody took, he would avenge his mother
and this is how he’d do it.
He approached Severus one day following a grim meeting in which Draco retained nothing.
Instead, he had been debating when to approach his pseudo-godfather and what exactly to say
to him.

He truly did not mean to come off menacing.

Unfortunately, he did.

After promising Severus that he would not tell the Dark Lord and no, you did not need to
remind me of my mother, and yes, it was easy to notice, Draco mentioned his idea.

Severus agreed and didn’t ask much else. He never did like getting into the business of
others, but this time, Draco was thankful.

Draco let his mind wander back to the present, realizing he was bored of standing around
waiting for information that was obviously meant to be shared. He shook his head and made
his way to the wall opposite of his dresser. He opened the overly large wood wardrobe and
revealed a bar on the inside of the door. He grabbed two glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey
once again.

He needed something to get through this conversation.

“I have gotten a reply,” Severus uttered as Draco bit the cork of the bottle and ripped it out of
its place, freeing the scent of the whiskey that made its way up to Draco’s face and burnt the
inside of his nose. As always, Draco relished in the scent of the whiskey, looking forward to
the release of control and care that alcohol gave him. He had leaned on that release ever since
he took the Mark and his habits steadily increased following his mother’s death. She had
never liked his time spent drinking but she wasn’t bloody here anymore, was she?

Draco attempted to act as inconspicuous as possible, making sure his mind was locked down
and secured before answering.
“And what was it, might I ask?” Draco prompted, expecting a hard no and pouring a shot of
whiskey into each glass, extending one to Severus after placing the bottle back in its spot.

He took the glass.

“Miss Granger has agreed.”

Draco nearly choked on the liquid as it entered his mouth.

It was such a simple statement, such an off-hand remark said as if Severus expected Draco to
anticipate the yes. And maybe he had. Draco knew the offer was more than anything the
Order could ask for, yet the shock of the confirmation of his plans shook and rattled him to
his core.

She had agreed? Already? He had been sure Topsy apparated to tell the men he wanted
Granger to come willingly only an hour ago. He did not want a forced Granger to meet him
every week and hate every moment of it. That had not been what he stepped into, he was
sure.

He reached into the left pocket of his trousers - that was now creased from his unruly sleep -
and pulled out the small pocket watch, checking the time.

1:15 am

Draco did not think that he had slept for so long, but double-checking the small clock, he
could not misinterpret the time.

He hoped the time difference meant that Granger had time to think on it - or that the
dimwitted blokes actually asked her.

Merlin, they better have asked her.

“Mister Malfoy?” came Severus’s low voice. He lacked any emotion, and Draco doubted he
cared about a response - he just did not want to stand there without reason.

“Yes, I bloody heard you,” Draco began. He suddenly changed the direction of his thoughts
and snapped, “She better have agreed willingly and knowingly, Severus.”

“As far as I know, she did,” Severus snapped back, clearly annoyed with the change in tone.
“I have informed Alastor about the place you wish to meet. The stupid oaf said he must
‘scout it’ and make sure they won’t find the girl dead.”

Severus took a step towards Draco, his untouched glass of firewhiskey swishing lightly in his
grasp.

“Friday at 8 pm.”

Severus made for the door, placing the glass on Draco’s dresser on his way out. He gently
placed his hand on the doorknob, turning it as if to leave right then.

He stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Don’t be late.”

And with that, Severus Snape shut the door behind him and left Draco to his own devices.

Draco clenched his jaw, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looking at the
place his only ally formerly stood, yet letting his mind wander to the girl.

Granger had said yes .

Did that mean she wanted to see him? No, Draco was being ridiculous. Why would Granger,
the same girl he used to bully for fun and call a Mudblood to simply get a rise out of her
daily, want to see him? It didn’t make sense. None of this odd situation Draco found himself
in made sense.

He paused and let his hand holding the glass fall to his side and shoved his other hand into
his pocket, grasping his wand.

Gods, he hoped he could see her.

It was then he realized that he had not seen Granger in well over five years. He never saw her
at battles, and thank Merlin for that. The Dark Lord’s ranks always had intel on who did what
in the Order. He heard that Granger had actually found purpose as a healer, and she was quite
talented at it too. Thankfully so, he thought to himself. He needed someone who wouldn’t
die. Someone he had no reason or opportunity to have to kill if Voldemort called for it.

As he closed the bar-wardrobe, he let his mind continue to follow the thought of who Granger
was now.

She had been insufferable at Hogwarts, always wanting to be above everyone and everything.
If she hadn’t gotten together with the always-looking-for-different-ways-to-die duo, he would
bet she would not have warranted a second glance from him.

Around third year is when she began to pique his interest.

He had never been truly fond of the other girls in his year - they were either too thick to hold
a real conversation or complete slags who threw themselves at Draco because of his surname.
He would let them try to win his attention, though, letting the swarms of girls boost his ego as
his mind often wandered to a certain bushy-haired know-it-all.

It’s often said that admiration and loathing are so similar they can begin to get confused.
Draco hated cliches and definitely did not admire Granger , but maybe that thought had some
truth to it.

His internal academic competitions with her began to slowly creep towards curiosity and
eventually somewhat interest.

Draco wondered to himself if she still had the same head of ludicrous and highly agitating
hair.

Her ridiculous mane of hair he once absolutely abhorred began to intrigue him. He found
himself in Potions staring at the back of her head and wondering how anyone could manage
hair like that.

But she could.

There was little Granger could not do.

Her small figure betrayed her large personality and equally large despise for failure. She had
always taken charge of whatever she was doing and anyone who knew her in the Wizarding
World would easily say she is the reason Potter and Weasley have gotten as far as they have.

It was the end of summer before sixth year when Draco realized he had let his mind wander
too far into her world. He shut it down, pushing the thoughts of her out of his mind as best he
could for his sake. He had taken the Dark Mark and he needed to present himself to the Dark
Lord as someone closer to his father - someone who hated Mudbloods and everything they
stood for.

When he finally mastered Occlumency he shoved any thoughts of Granger to far corners of
his mind, behind cement wall after cement wall. His thoughts of her eventually died in a tiny
prison in his mind. He was thankful that his boyish tendencies had finally ceased and he
could finally make his mother proud and get her out.
He let his mind drift to what Granger ever thought of him, how she would think of him now -
would she even think of him? He knew he couldn’t control what she thought about him or
what she thought about anything else in this world. He would never be able to control
Granger and he knew that fact very well. He just hoped she didn’t see him as so many other
people saw him.

Yet, then again, he knew it would be smart to let Granger think he was evil. Volatile. A true
follower of the Dark Lord. It was a smart move. A move that would put him behind cement
walls so similar to how he had locked Granger out of his mind just years ago. He couldn’t let
anyone in. Not after his mother. Not after how broken he was, and still is, following
Narcissa’s death. The strength it takes to continue to live after such a loss is not something he
could imagine he would be able to survive again. He would never let himself care for anyone.
Narcissa was, and will always be, the only exception.

Draco knew it would be easy to convince Granger that he was truly a horrible person. No one
ever saw past the Dark Mark that plagued his left arm. He knew that it was a large, ugly
quality to get past and that it was often the first thing people saw him as.

A Death Eater.

He hated being known for such a thing, and after the death of Narcissa and the lack of
sympathy from Voldemort or any of his followers, he felt sick to his stomach carrying the
horrid tattoo.

He found himself walking over to his dresser, grabbing Severus’s abandoned glass and
downing the contents as if trying to drown himself in the feeling of complete and utter
numbness. There was far too much on his mind. Yet his mind kept coming back to one
thought.

He’d get out of this for her.

Everything he would do from this point on would be for her .

For his mother, that is.

 Chapter 4

Draco never knew two days to go by so fast until he was awaiting Friday at 8 pm. Sharp.

Sure, he had meetings to attend and conversations to be had - even a couple of people to
torture for information, but his mind never wandered too far from Friday at 8 pm.

He found himself laughing at the circumstances he fell into - forced to be a Death Eater and
turned an Order of the Phoenix spy to avenge his mother. He wondered if anyone would
believe him.

True, he had waited a year, and it did look odd - coming out of nowhere to give top tier
information to what’s left of the Order, he was the first to admit it. But really, he was just
being smart and he had given it a lot of thought - it was the only way. Had he gone to Order
right after her death not even all the occlumency in the world would have been able to save
him. Voldemort would have instantly known who the spy was and like it or not, Draco would
have seen his mother far sooner than expected.

Despite not acknowledging Narcissa’s death beyond the opening of a high position that fell
into Draco’s lap when Bellatrix died, the Dark Lord showed no sympathy towards Draco or
Lucius. After everything Lucius had been through with Narcissa, that was his breaking point.
He went mad when the Dark Lord - Lucius’s idol and master - refused to say a word about
his poor wife’s tragic murder.

If it had not been for his family name or Draco’s new position, Lucius would have been killed
months prior. He constantly teetered on a line between insanity and pure destruction.
Everyone despite him knew if he were to ruin any big plans for the Dark Lord, that would be
his undoing.

Draco couldn’t care less about what happened to Lucius after what happened to Narcissa and
refused to let his mind allow his father to take up any more space and sanity than he should.
Lucius was never around in one place for too long, moving between different missions and
targets, killing people who weren’t of significant importance to the war. Draco never saw him
for too long, and maybe that was a good thing.
He had more important matters to attend to.

He had finally found time to slip away from meetings and assignments from the Dark Lord so
he could visit the jeweler shops in a muggle village close by.

He had picked up two simple black bands, guessing on the size of Granger’s finger and
silently reminding himself he could resize it, he was a bloody wizard for Merlin’s sake.

He let the shopkeeper ask him question after question about who he was buying such a
simple band for and yes, maybe I’ll bring her in one day, and no, I’m the lucky one.

He walked out of the shop, letting the smile slide off his lips and the cool breeze hit his face
as his hand gripped the small bag just slightly tighter. He looked both ways before he stepped
off the curb and onto the gravel road.

It was a short walk to the Savoy and one he didn’t mind terribly. He liked taking a stroll
down the street when he could after especially intense missions or battles. It made him feel
human - not pureblood or muggle, just human.

Sometimes, that’s all he needed.

He dropped the small white bag that read Sun Jewelers across it onto the carpeted floor of his
suite - large enough for him to live in without being detected but so small in comparison to
his living areas in the Manor. Although ever since his mother died, he couldn’t care less
where he stayed, as long as it wasn’t anywhere near the cage - her cage.

He breathed out a sigh, unbuttoning his white shirt slightly, letting the warmth of his room hit
his chest and ignite a sense of home within it, spreading out to every inch of his body.
He put up the wards around the door he had taken down to enter the room. It was not that he
thought people knew where he was, but more of giving himself the sense of security that
came with the wards. After all, he was in muggle London and with all the dark magic that
practically dripped from his clothes as he returned to various hotels at equally various hours
of the night, he needed to make sure his magical signatures did not spike where he was. For
his sake and the sake of the simple and slightly Confunded hotel staff.

Sitting down onto the mundane chair that sat next to its equally mundane desk, Draco
reached into the gift bag and closed his fist around the two boxes at the bottom.

He has been thinking of how he was to go about this - about how to create a magical ring that
would help him track Granger and contact her if he needed to.

Draco wasn’t a stupid man, no, he was skilled in many different areas of study and yet when
deciding how exactly he was to create this ring, his mind found itself thinking back on fifth
year when Granger had used a charm to alert members of Dumbledore’s Army of an
upcoming meeting.

When the coins were found, Draco was able to study them, and not long after, he realized she
had used a protean charm on the coins, allowing Potter’s coin to control the others.

Granger had successfully performed and used a NEWT level protean charm in fifth year, the
stupid bint.

Draco shook his head out of the thought as he suspected if he hadn’t, his mind would stray a
bit too far and land too deep into her Hogwarts years. That was not the critical or pressing
matter at hand and not anything he intended to let into his mind anytime soon.

Instead, he pulled out his wand, placing it on the desk before opening the boxes and taking
out the rings.

He decided to start with his, the master ring, first.

He recited the incantation and cast the charm, watching the onyx ring shine brightly for a
moment before dulling back to its original color and form. He smiled.

He repeated the process with Granger’s ring, letting it light up and dim just as his had.

For a moment he thought to himself that he was going overboard - doing too much for a girl
who he was unsure would even take the ring. She’d think he’s crazy having her wear a ring
that allowed him to call upon her at will.

Yet, Draco didn’t care for her wellbeing. Not one bit. In fact, doing this was mainly to cover
his own arse. He needed to make sure she’d stay alive, otherwise his deal would be broken
and the Order could easily get Draco caught. He didn’t trust anyone in this war and his
loyalties lied in completely selfish desires - simply to make his mother proud and potentially
stay alive in the process. However, that wasn’t a necessary factor.

He doubted anybody would understand his motives if he were to explain it out loud. No one
would believe that his loyalty remained within himself and his dead mother. He hated the
war. He hated both sides. He hated everything it stood for, always mocking him and proving
that even after the most important person in his life left him, the circumstances and situations
wouldn’t change and plans of all kinds still moved forward. Everyone had wronged him and
neither side was better than the other.

If he thought hard enough, he could put it simply.

He hated Potter, but he hated Voldemort more.

He shook his head, bringing his mind back to the present and looked down at what he was
doing. Draco stopped himself from allowing the thin black ring to be placed back in its spot.
He thought to himself as his hand hovered an inch away from the soft plush within the dark
box and realized that giving her something to wear the night of their first meeting would
cause suspicion. He wasn’t sure who in the Order was told about the arrangement - did Potter
know what his Golden Girl gave up for him? Would something so simple as a black band that
gave him such slight alleviation cause the whole Death-Eater-turned-spy plan to fall apart?
Maybe it was Draco being overly cautious, yet he couldn’t pull his mind from the idea.

He gave in.

Draco spent the next four hours in his hotel room trying to add notice-me-not charms over
top even more notice-me-not charms.

Eventually, Draco found success with a potion that broke down the charm and strengthened
it. He wiped the sweat that had collected on his forehead and brow, slumping down in his
chair when the potion had worked on his practice medal. His white shirt was drenched and
unbuttoned halfway down his torso, exposing enough skin to keep him from overheating yet
still keeping the shirt on his body.

He placed some of the potion in a little bowl he conjured onto his makeshift work area,
clearing everything away so the desk wasn’t as cluttered when he began the work on the
ring.

He placed the jewelry in the dark purple liquid, allowing it to sink under the glassy surface
that reflected his image back to himself. He counted to ten and fished the ring out with a
small glass hook and cast a drying spell so it stopped dripping with the potion.

He placed Granger’s ring back into the little black box it had come in and closed the lid.
Instead of putting his ring away, Draco slid the band onto his right ring finger and admired
the way it looked on him.

He wasn’t usually wearing too much jewelry, but with his mother being dead and his father
being crazy, he could easily play the band off as a present he had found from his mother if
anyone were to question him. Although he doubted that would happen too often - he
preferred to wear gloves on missions and with his Death Eater uniform.

…
Draco finally had found himself drinking a cup of tea on the morning of the long-awaited
Friday.

It wouldn’t be hard trying to find something to occupy him until 8 pm that night; in fact, he
had a long list of things to do before he could slip away without notice.

He gulped down the rest of his tea at another muggle hotel and stood from the plush seat he
had been in. He placed the teacup back onto its plate, shrugged on his black robes, and
flattened them with his hands so they laid over his body armor nicely.

Grabbing his wand and checking the wards on his suite once more, he took a deep breath in
and apparated with a slight pop.

He landed in the short grass of Dolohov Manor, listening to the breeze pass his ears and
sending shivers down his spine. He lifted the hood over his head and began to let the
occlumency walls fall into place as he listened to the melodic pattern of grass crunching
under his feet as he made his way closer to the grand doors of the Manor.

Draco found that he could only stand being around the other Death Eaters when his
occlumency walls were in place. He came across so many members that truly believed in the
Dark Lord’s plans for the wizarding world. Draco thought it was ridiculous.

But still, with Bellatrix gone, Draco’s position in Death Eater ranks shot up, granting him a
spot even his aunt would have killed for. He was so close to being the Dark Lord’s right hand.
Someone he’d trust to know everything.

Draco didn’t necessarily want a right-hand man position, but he knew that he’d have intel,
something to appease the Order with and use against Voldemort eventually. It was the safe
option right now and one day he would get out. He would get out, and it would all be for his
mother.

Draco made his way into the usual meeting room on the first floor of the west wing. It had
formerly been Dolohov’s ballroom, but now, the Dark Lord inhabited it when they spent time
at the Manor.
The black curtains were closed, keeping any sunlight out of the large room, and middle-level
Death Eaters lined the walls, talking lowly among themselves. The chandeliers above them
were the only sources of light in the whole room, casting a dim fluorescent glow on the
furniture. The room was grand and could've held beautiful balls if the circumstances were
different. Draco always took note of how lively his world would have been if the Dark Lord
never regained control.

A long table sat in the middle of the room with some chairs still vacant while others held
Death Eaters of higher levels and positions. Draco’s eyes glossed over those in attendance
today. There was rarely a meeting where all the high positioned members were all present;
the Dark Lord always had different servants out on different tasks.

Draco took his seat at the table. As Draco’s position had ascended in the Dark Lord’s army,
his importance spread through word of mouth between the different levels in the ranks. It was
now widely known that Draco Malfoy was one of the Dark Lord’s most important generals.

Draco never loved being in meetings where the Dark Lord was present. He hated it enough,
walking into the hotels at night dripping in Dark magic and the feeling of evil and truly
hateful spells clinging to his very core. Draco had always done what he had to do to survive,
whether that was playing along with his father’s plan for his life or taking the Dark Mark and
pledging his loyalty to a mass murderer.

Draco noticed everything. He was trained thoroughly enough to be able to walk into a room
and catalogue everyone and everything inside, letting himself take these memories and push
them through holes and cracks in his occlumency walls.

It was because of this that the moment he walked into the ballroom, Draco felt every pair of
eyes in the room follow him as he took his seat.

He did not make eye contact with anyone. He placed his hands atop the table, letting the cool
feeling of the untouched wood radiate through his hands and alleviate the warmth within his
body.
In every way he could, Voldemort made sure his followers were never comfortable, dragging
cool, poisoned air behind him wherever he went.

It was silent besides the continued whisper of voices that surrounded Draco. He counted to
five in his head, letting himself have time to prep the walls in his mind. Within those five
seconds, he delved deep into his own consciousness, pushing and scrapping at every cement
wall he could, testing their durability and covering any cracks on the way.

Then, slowly, he raised his head and allowed his eyes to move from his hands entwined atop
the table and meet with the eyes of the Dark Lord himself.

It was not that Draco was scared of him. No. Draco was not scared of him. He had no reason
to be. He was made a General in the Dark Lord’s armies at the age of 22. After he was
granted the position and humbly accepted it, the thought of his former classmates had bled
into view. Almost all of the Slytherins in his year were low-level servants, and those who
were in the middle or higher levels were placed there because of their surname. Even some
boys in the year above Draco had lower positions than he had. It was something that crossed
his mind so briefly that he could barely register it or pay it too much mind. Although he took
the position simply because there was no way he could say no to the Dark Lord, he did not
want it. It made him feel like he was allowing his mother’s death to go unnoticed by the
majority of the army.

So no, it was not fear that kept Draco from desiring continued eye contact with Voldemort. It
was simply hatred. Pure hatred that fueled his body, racing through his mind, setting little
flames throughout his veins and igniting on the surface of his skin. He had realized then how
dangerous such pure and true emotions could be, and this was his most pure emotion.

If hatred could kill, this entire manor would have been burnt to the ground.

Draco smiled, reminiscing in the desire to harm - torture - every person in this room. He had
to be patient.

“Good afternoon, my Lord.” Draco heard himself let out.

Voldemort smiled back, raising his hands in a way that both welcomed a hug and warned
those who could see him not to cross him. He held an insane amount of power and he knew
it.

“Draco, my son. I was wondering how long it would take you to greet your Master.” His
smile fell and he continued to speak, “I wonder, did any other servant in this room greet me
today?”

His eyes left Draco’s and scanned the room. Draco finally felt as if he could breathe. He
didn’t pay any mind to the words that the Dark Lord murmured. He had learned that if it is
not about him specifically or if big plans were not being explained, he could easily tune out
the meetings.

It was about a half-hour in that Draco finally looked up, allowing his mind to clear and listen
to the words being spoken. The Dark Lord was in the middle of confirming a plan of attack.

“I assume it is safe to say all preparations for this day are finalized and ready?” Voldemort’s
cool voice drawled, questioning the entire room but truly asking those seated around him.

“Yes, My Lord. We have everything ready.” a man seated across the table from Draco and a
couple of seats down whispered, unsure of what he was telling his master.

Voldemort must have caught on to this.

“Well, for your sake and not mine, I sincerely hope that you get your job done and done right.
I do not revel in embarrassing ourselves and my name on the battlefield, do you?”

The man’s eyes widened slightly, a dark blush creeping across his cheeks. He shook his
head.
“Hmm, good. Because if we are to fail, I have,” a pause as Voldemort turned his head
towards Draco, locking eyes with him and smiling, “ways of dealing with those who fail me.”

The message was clear to Draco and familiar in every sense. Every meeting Draco attended,
the Dark Lord would threaten someone, turning to look at him and smiling a sour, knowing
smile. If they had failed, it was not long after he was given orders to kill.

Draco noted who the man was and nodded a short, curt nod.

Voldemort seemed pleased, smiling and dismissing the meeting, saying he needed rest. Draco
noted that within his mind too, he had been ending meetings or visitations with that line
slightly more frequently as of late. He’d look into it another time.

Right now, he had a goal he intended to achieve.

It was half-past six as he made his way up the grand staircase to the east wing of Dolohov
Manor, looking for Yaxley.

He passed room after room, noting the doors that were closed and those that were open. The
ones that were open were either empty or contained a few Death Eaters in uniform, talking
lowly and presumably discussing plans of attack or missions they were sent out to complete.
Smaller assignments that only required a handful of people were never usually given a whole
room on the main floor of the manor. Instead, they were usually pushed to plan whatever they
needed in the rooms they stayed in.

Yaxley stayed in Dolohov Manor like many other Death Eaters. He wasn’t of utmost
importance, but he did constantly meet with different people daily. The Dark Lord liked those
who would suck up to him, and Yaxley was one of the first to do so. Being in close proximity
with the Dark Lord was Yaxley’s biggest dream and greatest accomplishment.

Draco finally neared the end of the hall, keeping his focus on the set of double doors to his
right. He turned and stood in front of the white doors, blinking and breathing in once more.
He gave two sharp knocks against the door.

Draco breathed in and out once before he heard Yaxley’s voice call out and invite him in.
Draco turned the golden door handle, pushing the right side open and stepping into the warm
room.

Draco took in his surroundings as he shut the door behind him. Everything in the room
seemed to be overly large yet somehow simple at the same time. His bed sat in the middle of
the room against the back wall. It was a much posher version of the beds in the Slytherin
dorms Draco thought. It was a four-poster, massive bed with black curtains tied up against
each post. The bedsheets were a dark gray, keeping his sleeping area hard, neutral colors.

He had a simple bedside table to the right of the bed and a large wardrobe a few paces away
from that. One door of the wardrobe was open, allowing Draco to see multiple Death Eater
robes hung next to each other and stacked body armor pieces under them.

Across the room, Yaxley stood next to a large oak desk with a matching chair that was pulled
out from under it. Yaxley looked down upon the table, reading something and massaging his
temples with his left hand and tapping his wand against the desk with his right.

“Yaxley,” Draco greeted, walking towards him and the desk.

“Malfoy. Did you need something?” Yaxley said, combing his fingers through his blond hair
with the hand that once pressed circles into his head.

Draco pulled the chair out further, seating himself in it and dropping his hood. He didn’t say
a word but waited until Yaxley turned to him and cocked his head to the left in acquisition.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?” Draco asked, deciding to edge his way into asking the
question in an attempt not to look too obvious. He didn’t want his cards showing before he
played them.
Yaxley stopped bouncing his wand against the desk and twirled it around his fingers towards
himself, shoving it in his back pocket and leaving the room engulfed in silence.

“Just a bit stressed. These imbeciles of trainees are too stupid and no one’s retaining their
training. I don’t think it’s a good idea to have them come on the mission just for them to fuck
it up. It’s my head on the platter.” Yaxely spit out, returning his hand to his forehead as if a
headache suddenly returned.

Draco was caught slightly off guard by the sudden honesty being portrayed by Yaxley. He
had never been one to volunteer truthful information and explain what he felt and why he felt
it. Draco would not have guessed that Yaxley would provide conversation like this when he
walked in the door.

Luckily though, it gave Draco the perfect opening.

“Well maybe don’t take them all? Test them, run a battle scrimmage by the Dark Lord and
whoever survives and proves they know what they’re doing, those ones you take.” Draco
offered.

He watched closely as he could see Yaxley’s face consider this plan, look for a fault, and
ultimately accept it as a potential idea. He nodded his head and stuck out his bottom lip.

“Yeah, suppose I could give that one a go. Thanks, Malfoy.” Yaxley concluded, turning back
to his papers on the table and flipping one over.

Silence overtook the room once more as Draco felt his walls beginning to be torn down. He
checked the time.

Seven o’clock.

He had to go.
“Hey, Yaxley, before I go, do you think you could give me a copy of the battle maps and
building floor plans for the new potions lab?”

Yaxley froze and looked up at Draco as he stood, meeting his eye and staring daggers at him.

“What for?”

“The Dark Lord wanted me to have them. He told me to come up to you and grab them after
the meeting.”

A pause and a breath.

Yaxley let the papers fall to the desk and turned towards his bookshelf that lined the wall
Draco entered. He scanned the books with the fingers on his right hand, stopping at a large
burgundy one and pulling it out.

He brought it back to the desk and placed it in front of Draco, opening it and flipping through
until he landed on a page with pieces of paper shoved between them. Yaxley grabbed his
wand and brought it over to the pieces of parchment he held in his left hand. He muttered a
duplication charm and Draco watched as another piece of parchment materialized with the
same blueprints and maps etched into it.

Yaxley closed the burgundy book, pushing it aside and rolling up the new parchment. He
turned his head towards Draco and passed the rolled-up scroll to him with his right hand.

Draco closed his left hand around the parchment and flicked his wrist, sending the scroll
away to be called upon later.

“Thanks, Yax,” Draco said, stepping to the side and making way to leave.
“Give the Dark Lord my greetings for today,” Yaxley returned, turning back to his desk and
continued his analysis of whatever important information he had.

Draco nodded despite the man not being able to see it and walked out the grand doors once
again. He let out a breath as he made his way back to the manor’s staircase, down the main
stairs, and finally out to the entrance hall.

He pulled his hood back on, rushing through the field in front of him and ignoring the
greetings thrown his way.

He did not intend to be at Dolohov Manor for so long. It was already almost half-past seven
and Draco still had loose ends to tie up at the shack. He finally got past the gates and
apparated out, focusing his mind on the little shack in the village of Whitecroft.

When Draco had found the little shed, he fixed it up and placed charms around it so it would
not appear to outsiders unless he wanted it to or they knew about it.

Draco let his walls fall, allowing his thoughts and emotions to run rampant and flood every
corner of his mind, rushing forward all at once. He disliked letting his walls down after
keeping them up for so long, and it was never a pleasant experience. All the thoughts he
would think and all the emotions he felt crashed into him like a tidal wave, pushing him
down and pulling him in, demanding he succumbs to the intensity of his emotions that
consumed his mind, creating an involuntary and overwhelmingly numb release.

Draco shoved a chair towards himself, collapsing into it and breathing heavily. He just
needed to let the emotions run through before he could get up again.

After about a minute or so, Draco had had enough. He pulled his mind together and pinched
the bridge of his nose, telling himself that he needed to get this done and that Granger would
be coming in only 15 minutes.

Granger would be coming in only 15 minutes.

Draco shoved himself off the chair and pulled out his wand, walking over to the door. He
needed to make sure any and all wards were up and working. He cast a charm on the front of
the door to allow him to know if someone had come into the shack or even to the steps
outside it.

When he was finally finished with the wards, he had five minutes to spare.

But it was Draco, when could he ever be prepared before a deadline?

He looked down and realized he was still in his Death Eater uniform and after a quick split-
second decision, he apparated out of the shack and into the Savoy Hotel, shoving off his
robes and armor, leaving his dark gray button-up shirt and dress pants on him.

He looked around the room, scanning the tabletops. His eyes finally landed on the white bag.

Sun Jewelers.

He reached in the bag, closing his fist around the box, and pulled it out. He opened the small
velvet box and plucked up the little ring, turning it around in his fingers and checking that all
of his charms stuck to the metal.

Once he deemed it acceptable, he placed it in his pocket, shrugged on his robes, and got
ready to apparate back.

Before he could spin in place, he stopped himself, eying the short coffee table and the
collection of alcohol bottles atop it. It was a mix of wizard alcohol and muggle drinks,
resulting in almost the entire tabletop filled with bottles of varying sizes.

Merlin, he needed a drink before this.

But he was already late.

But a drink.

But he was late.

Draco shook his head, stalking over to the little table, and decided on a muggle drink. He
knew he needed his occlumency walls intact to get through their first meeting and muggle
alcohols weren’t as strong as wizarding ones. He scanned the labels and went for a short
matte black bottle that was shaped like a rectangle that curved near the neck. It had swirly
white writing on its front and GIN in large letters.

Gods, muggle labels were glaringly evident.

He spun the top off and raised the drink to his lips, gulping down a few shots before setting it
back down and apparating away.

Hopefully, the drink found him some sort of peace - some sort of tranquility he could escape
to while he talked to the girl he formerly bullied for the first time in years. Draco desperately
needed peace and tranquility in at least one aspect of his life.

He spun around, checking the small shack once more before opening the wooden door and
leaning against the frame. Draco wasn’t nervous - his walls didn’t allow him to be. He let his
mind shut everything away and make him feel cold. Numb. Serene.

As his final walls slid into place, shutting out any and all emotions and feelings, Draco
looked up and…

And there she was, sitting atop a tree stump, big bushy hair that was newly braided and
pinned back yet still just as he remembered and - Salazar Slytherin, of course - a book in her
hands.
He smiled to himself and shook his head, crossing his arms against his chest. A protective
barrier and a silent promise to himself. She was an outsider here. He would not let her in. She
would not take over his mind.

He knew the shack was becoming visible. She must have sensed it because that’s when she
turned around and Draco’s eyes met hers. He secured any stray memories in place and let the
cement walls lockdown against them, blocking them in and not bloody letting them out.

He took a breath in as he watched her gather her things and place them inside a satchel she
wore and walk a few feet towards him. He wondered how she felt and if she panicked at the
sight of him. He’d find a way to ask her when she came inside.

She eyed him as she made her way to the stairs, and he laughed to himself as he saw her
realize she had to brush past him and his robes to get inside. She took a sharp breath in,
blinked twice, and mustered up the courage to push past him, entering the small shed and
sealing her fate.

He smirked.

Granger was his.

She smelled like cinnamon and innocence.

A small fracture in the back walls.

And so it begins.
 Chapter 5

Granger looked horrible.

He had reached back and shut the wooden door behind her after she brushed past him, sealing
her fate whether she knew it or not.

She turned to look at him and Draco did not recognize the girl who stood in front of him.
How she was the same strong-headed and know-it-all she was during her Hogwarts years,
Draco did not know, but what he did know was that this witch was tired.

Granger simply exuded exhaustion. He watched her walk towards him, timid yet resilient and
not backing down. She stood with forced posture and squared her shoulders, looking at him
and taking him in.

He wondered how many Calming Draughts she had taken before she came. None of them had
seemed to work.

“Malfoy. I understand you want to help the Order,” Draco heard her finally say, feigning
confidence and forcing her voice to remain steady.

Merlin, he hadn’t heard her speak in ages.

Her voice was scratchy as if she hadn’t had water all day, nothing like it had been when he
knew her last. He had always known her to be so bloody confident in every word that came
out of her dreadful little lips. If she had been a pureblood, she would have commanded a
whole room with the way she carried herself.

She was not like that anymore.

She turned to survey the room when Draco did not answer. He watched her look at the
furniture in the room - hardly anything of importance and far from extravagance.

When Draco had been preparing the shack the morning after Severus had let him know
Granger agreed, he had known he needed to keep the room simple.

He doubted he would ever be eating here or staying longer than his weekly meetings with
her, yet a table and chairs seemed necessary. He had not wanted to walk into one large, empty
room every week, but he also knew he couldn’t over-decorate - this was not a home and most
definitely not a home Granger would be in with him.

That thought struck a chord.

He was alone in a house with Granger, certified Golden Girl, and only a few people knew.

He pulled himself out of that thought, realizing he should say something when she turned
around and met his eyes once again.

Her eyes were so brown.

“You understand the terms?” Draco questioned cooly, asserting his position of power over the
girl in front of him.

He owned her now.

“A pardon. And me, in exchange for information.”

His eyes bore into her own at the perfect opening to make her understand, to make her his.
“Both now and after the war,” he let out, relishing in the feeling of superiority, the feeling of
anything but numb hatred that constantly boiled low in his stomach awaiting an opportunity
to strike.

Draco did not know how he expected her to act. Yes, it was true that part of his reasoning for
picking Granger was because he knew she wouldn’t suck up to him as many other women
would have. No, she would fight and argue with him and correct him when he was wrong or
making vast assumptions. She’d be fun to play with. Good entertainment. And if the Order
had given her the task of seducing him, leading him to help them beyond what he had
planned to or something of the like, she’d have a snowball's chance in hell in that respect.

Draco was cold now, frozen, and entirely consumed by numbness. No one, not even the
wizarding world’s Golden Girl, could warm him. She’d have no chance at anything.

So when he heard her voice once more, telling him that she is his from now on and that her
stupid oaf of a ‘supervisor’ would act as a Bonder for an Unbreakable in the worst cover up
of bitterness in her voice, Draco gave a small smirk.

He wanted so bad to mess with her - force her to fight him on something and yell at him until
her voice hurt. He wanted a reaction from her.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll trust that Gryffindor nobility you have if you swear it now,”
Draco let himself say, giving a half-hearted attempt at teasing her.

He did not expect her to swear it the moment the last word left his lips, but here she was,
promising she was his with sweet words of I’m yours, and you have my word.

Merlin, it felt good to be in control again.

She spoke again before he could let his mind continue its thought of power and control.
“Until we win, you aren’t to do anything that will interfere with my ability to contribute to
the Order.”

“Ah yes,” Draco teased, looking her over as he spoke, “I’ll have to make sure I keep you
alive until this is over.”

Her face tensed at his words and her tone matched it. “I want you to swear it,” she hissed.

She was reacting. This was his chance.

He wondered if she noticed the flash in his eyes as he dramatically laid his hand over his
heart and said, “I swear it. I won’t interfere with your contributions to the Order.”

But he was not done there.

She had already shown him that she would react to something so small, something so minor,
and now he wanted to play. What would it take to scare the Golden Girl? He wanted to set
her on edge, let him know he owned her and she had no freedom anymore. He wanted to give
her goosebumps and force a sense of discomfort for as long as he could. Draco needed to
have her understand who was in charge and who was not.

Granger needed to know her place as long as she was in this shack.

He tsked and smiled at her before he began speaking once again.

“My, but you’re suspicious of me, aren’t you? Worried this is all just a ploy on my part to get
a piece of you before the war ends and you die.” He watched the realization and emotions
spread across her face taking in every word he let out.

Draco loved it.

“Don’t fret,” he continued, “As a token of my sincerity, I won’t touch you - yet. After all,
I’ve waited this long to get you as my prize , I can restrain myself a bit longer.”

It had been the perfect in, pushing her down into a place of obedience, further concealing any
trace of his true intentions in helping the Order. It was something he had known before he
contacted the Order - he could not let anyone know his true motives lest they use his mother
against him. It sounded too protective, too private, too cautious in his mind, but Merlin knew
he needed to keep his mother in the garden he created in his mind, just for her. He would do
this for her, but only she and Draco had to know that.

Letting Granger think he wanted her as a war prize, as a toy to keep him occupied, was the
perfect thing to have her believe. He needed to look as if he had no weaknesses and nothing
Granger could capitalize on. He knew she’d have an arse of a chance winning him over, but
adding this extra layer to her narrative of him sealed the deal.

She didn’t say anything, so he continued. “In the meantime, I’ll let you go running back to
your precious Order with my information, and sustain myself with your delightful company.”

He watched her clench her jaw and breathe in, moving an arm behind her back for just a
moment before bringing it back to its place at her side.

After a moment of silence in which Draco guessed she was calming herself and pushing
down any retorts or arguments, Granger spoke again.

“Alright. That’s - generous of you.” she bit out.

Draco smiled and pressed his hand against his heart once more, raising his voice in false
happiness. “You have no idea what joy that brings me to hear you say that.”

Granger narrowed her eyes at him, considering something about him she seemed to have yet
to figure out.
An idea slid into Draco’s mind - so stupid, so idiotic, yet so entertaining. If he had ever
doubted Granger’s desire to maintain a stream of information for the Order, now was the time
to test it, and he knew exactly how he’d do it.

He feigned contemplation and looked into Granger’s eyes. “But you know,” he started,
“Perhaps, you should give me something to warm my cold heart? A memory to keep me…
motivated.”

Granger stared at him and Draco almost broke then and there. Laughter was filling him, about
to bubble over the top before he slid a cement lid over it, shutting it down, interested in how
Granger would react.

“What do you want?” she questioned, voice as stiff as ever and obviously thinking hard about
her choices.

Good.

Draco needed to know how much she would do and how much she would give up just for
measly intel for the Order. He wanted to know so badly what thoughts she had right now,
what images in her mind kept her body at ease and her voice from shaking, but that would
compromise the way this conversation had turned.

He wanted to know how desperate the Golden Girl truly was.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic. I’m offended, truly,” Draco stated, hoping to push a
button and have Granger do something - say something to stop this.

“Would you like me to kiss you or just stand here and let you hex me?” she questioned,
speaking soft and slow, looking deep into his eyes.
He couldn’t help it anymore.

The cement lid cracked open and a laugh came out, a barking laugh as loud as it had been
sitting, waiting under the surface of his mind and voice.

“My goodness Granger. You are desperate.” Draco said, being honest and letting the words
out before he thought better of them.

She must have expected him to taunt and tease her from now on because her only reply was a
simple, “I’m here. I assumed that was obvious.”

Draco thought about this for a moment.

She had admitted it herself right in front of him - she was desperate. That could go a long
way with him. How fun would this be now that he knew he could get her to do anything and
she would still return, week after week to spend time with him in exchange for a simple piece
of parchment?

He could taunt her just to get a rise out of her, to piss her off beyond belief and listen to her
yell at him, scream at him, and correct every wrong word he utters. Fight her and argue with
her about everything under the sun: him, the Dark Lord, the Order, the thick and thicker duo,
and so much more.

But right now?

Right now, Draco wanted to see how she would do, kissing him and acting as if she meant it
and didn’t despise every ounce of him and everything he stood for. He wanted her to kiss him
and he wanted her to be kept on her toes around him. He would not let her be comfortable
here. He would not let her have any ounce of advantage above him. He was in control - he
was in charge and he dictated every move Granger made.

And now he was going to ask her to kiss him.

“Well, I’m all dueled out for today. Let’s see if that mouth of yours is capable of doing
anything but talking.”

Granger stared back and Draco watched as her face scrunched up, dreading the moment she
knew was to come. She looked as if she was going to vomit right then and there.

Such a lovely lady he had in front of him.

He smiled, daring her to deny him and accept what he had asked of her all at the same time.

“Kiss me,” Draco demanded, pushing it further and forcing her hand. “As a demonstration of
your sincerity.”

Draco would not back down - he would not give her a rope out. He stood his ground and did
not move, simply smirking and awaiting her movement towards him.

She did not move; she did not act or think or do. She just stared.

He wondered how many lingering moments of silence would engulf them tonight and how
Granger had felt about each one.

Finally, she began to speak.

“How would you like me to kiss you?” She asked, not as softly as before, but as if she was
mentally preparing herself to go anywhere near him and actually touch him.

Draco relished in her fear and hesitation.

He shrugged, “Surprise me.”

It was then that Granger inched her way closer to him, analyzing his face and presumably
looking for an opening. He looked back, taking in her face for what felt like the first time.

She was pale, paler than she had been the times Draco would find her in a crowd or around
the imbecile twins. He wondered if she ever got sunlight, how often would she leave
Grimmauld Place a week? He never saw her at battles and he knew she was a healer, so did
she just stay inside every moment of everyday healing people who left the place just to get
hurt once more?

She had obviously lost weight since he had seen her last, Draco was sure. She was thinner
now, and not only could he tell by looking at her figure, but by letting his eyes trace her face.

She was so much sharper now, as if a sculptor had made a bust of her face out of marble and
set it atop her neck. So sharp and yet so elegant. Ethereal. Refined.

Maybe in another life with her current looks she could have been a ballerina, on stage
performing ballet dances with perfected technique. The stage lights would shine upon her
face and catch every angle and sharp turn that gave her this look, and the audience would
admire her - admire the way she made things look so easy and light.

Perhaps in another life.

Because when Draco got past the elegant features he was not accustomed to, he was
reminded of the war through her eyes. So dark, so damned, and yet so resilient. Draco knew,
by looking into her eyes, that she had not given up, would not give up her side of the war.
She lit a fire behind her eyes and despite every opportunity others have had to dampen it,
lower its blaze and suffocate the embers, her fire rose and grew ten times its previous height,
burning everything in its path and planning to destroy more.

She would not give up, not for anything, so when she slid her arms up Draco’s neck,
everything made sense.
Draco’s eyes caught hers and he couldn’t help the sudden and imminent urge to look into her
mind, understand her thoughts, and make sense of everything before she connected their lips
and their fate.

He had not wanted her to feel him inside her mind; it would ruin the moment he built and
give her an out - give her a way to deflect Draco’s request. Thankfully for Draco, Granger’s
thoughts were often found easily, in the forefront of her mind where he could see them,
understand them, and pull back out without her noticing much. In this way, Draco could only
see her main thoughts without context or emotion behind it. He was not seeing this all from
her memory as it would be like if he used pure and full legilimency, but he was still
informed.

Draco gave in to the temptation to understand her better, maybe, just maybe, get a peek into
her true motives. He looked deep into her eyes, throwing himself completely into the sea of
brown that was her and letting her thoughts pull him in. There was only one thought.

The fanfare is in the light…

She pulled him down to her height, shifting his focus out of her thoughts and back to the
present moment, and Draco simply smirked in response, allowing her to kiss him the way she
deemed permissible at a moment like this.

She moved infinitesimally closer to him and paused as her lips ghosted across his, not
touching but passing little embers from hers to his own. Nothing moved, and she breathed
lightly with the space between them. The smell of cinnamon and dandelion root found its
way back to his nose, floating up to his mind and entwining itself in the cracks of his
occlumency walls, slipping through and pushing deep into his mind, making a spot in his
memory.

He watched her eyes trace over features of his own face and pulled his eyes back, letting a
look of amusement settle upon his eyes.

He caught her eyes once more, knowing a kiss was coming soon, and as if he had no control
of his mind, he felt his consciousness slip into the forefront of her thoughts once again. Just
as it had been last time, Granger only thought one thing. But this time it was different.

...but the execution is in the dark.

Then she kissed him.

Whatever Draco had been expecting, this was not it. He had wondered, moments before, how
passionate she would kiss him, how furious and aggressive she needed to be to get out all her
anger and hatred she held against him out and onto his own lips.

This was not that.

No, Granger had kissed him, sweet and slow, pushing her hands further up his neck and into
his hair, setting small flames in the path her hands traced. She pressed her mouth further into
his, deepening the kiss Draco knew could not be for him.

His occlumency walls began to crack and fracture at the murmur of her mouth against his
own and as her tongue made its way lightly grazing his lips.

She tasted like sea salt and the bitter vanilla flavor of Calming Draught potions Draco knew
she had taken.

His mind caught up with his body, and he froze with Granger’s lips still moving against his
before he pulled away as if the fire behind her eyes spread and she had burst into flames right
there.

He looked back at her, scrambling to patch up the walls in his mind before any memories or
true emotions began spilling out of the cracks.

He had expected her to hate it, to feel her lips move forcefully and unwillingly against his.
Some small part of him even wondered if she would ignore his request completely, getting
close to his face and denying him the satisfaction of a kiss.

He looked back at the witch in front of him and realized so suddenly that maybe he should
say something. He needed to break the silence - the first of which felt heavy on the room.

“You don’t fight much, do you?” he questioned abruptly, damning himself for not coming off
cool and collected.

“No. Most of my work is outside of raids,” she answered. Draco knew she was being honest
from the intel he had access to and wondered what angle she was playing, giving him
genuine answers to what she does in the war.

As Draco let his cement walls fill in the gaps of its own doing, he couldn’t help but ask now.
He wanted - needed - to know what she thought of her situation and see if he could grab any
useful insight into her plan for being here.

“Do you know occlumency?”

“Yes. Moody trained me. I haven’t had much practice but he said I was fairly solid at it.”

Lie.

Draco knew Moody couldn’t have trained her and it was probably more accurate to believe
Severus had trained her, just as he had aided in training Draco too.

“Well, that’s a relief. It would be a problem if you were ever picked up and they found the
details of this arrangement in your mind.” Draco mentioned, looking at her seriously, because
although he was leading into his truer reasoning for asking such a thing, it was important she
would not get him killed.

He considered her, wondering how much she could handle and how much he could push.
He cocked his head to the side and sneered.

“I hope you don’t mind if I check for myself just how good you are.”

And then he found himself staring into her eyes and diving into her mind.

He knew he had to knock her off balance, throw her around like anyone else would if they
had found her. He shoved his way against any barriers and walls he saw, pushing and
scratching as if he couldn’t get in.

He knew he could.

This was a game of cat and mouse and when he heard her give a gasp of pain, pushing her
walls against the force he shoved towards her, he stopped, pulling his consciousness out of
her head and letting her breathe.

“You’re surprisingly good at it,” he offered, waiting for a reply and preparing himself for a
renewed attack. He knew he’d catch her off guard.

And that is precisely what happened.

Her walls were crumbling the moment Draco re-entered her mind. It didn’t take much effort
to find a point in her walls with a big enough crack to push through, causing the whole
bloody thing to fall.

Draco moved as fast as a bullet within her mind. He felt her feeble attempts at stopping him,
trying desperately to push him back to no avail. Granger couldn’t even slow him.
Draco debated looking through her mind, pulling out memories from today or even when she
had said yes, maybe understanding why she had agreed and what she thought of him - had
she thought of him?

Maybe he could look at her version of kissing him that now felt like it happened ages ago. He
had known how he felt - thrown off balance and out into a world where Granger enjoyed
kissing him. But how had she felt? Did she want to kiss him or did she want to simply walk
out the door before her lips met his and fire burst throughout the room, engulfing them both
in such antagonizing flames?

He thought better of himself, though, correcting his thoughts and righting himself. He pulled
himself out of her mind once more and watched as Granger gasped and grabbed at her
forehead in agony and frustration.

She had not known he would do that, not known he would push in and pull out so abruptly.
Part of him loved keeping her on her toes, not letting her expect anything he does or any
plans he may have but another part if Draco looked at this witch, stumbling and gasping for
air with a sense of remorse. It panged in his chest, attempting to spread throughout his body
before Draco stopped it by speaking to Granger and looking away so she couldn’t read his
expression.

“It’s a common trick,” he said, keeping his breathing steady and suppressing the millimeter of
guilt he felt towards this girl. “After an intense attack, when an occlumens thinks it’s done,
they relax slightly. It’s the perfect opportunity to get in.”

She didn’t respond, breathing heavily and still holding herself up. Draco wondered if she was
mad at him - furious for invading her mind with no warning.

He continued.

“If you’re ever under interrogation by a truly accomplished legilimens, you’ll never keep
them out with the sheer strength of your mental walls. If you were a minor member in the
Resistance, they’d probably just kill you rather than go to the effort of getting in. But you’re
an Order member. Potter’s Golden Girl. If they ever get their hands on you, they’ll probably
bring you to me, or Severus, or even the Dark Lord himself. I’m afraid you’re going to need
to brush up on your occlumency skills.”
Granger hesitated and took a moment to herself before she finally spoke again.

“How?” she questioned, voice raspy and pulled taut. If Draco had thought she was tired
before, Granger was exhausted now.

“The trick is letting them in,” Draco said, waiting for her reply.

“What?” she asked, giving in to his anticipation of her inevitable confusion.

“Put in a bit of effort, but eventually pretend to give way. Once they’re in, give them false
memories or distract them by feigning towards something of less importance. You’ll never
keep the Dark Lord out of your mind, but if he thinks you’re weak, he’ll assume victory.
You’ll have to give up something valuable enough to seem legitimate. However, it’s a way to
keep the things that matter most hidden.”

He watched her digest the words he laid in front of her. She remained quiet, and Draco had
not known if it was her lack of usable voice or her complete confusion and lack of
understanding at play. He doubted the latter as he knew Granger was intelligent - she would
know exactly what he meant and why it made sense.

Maybe she was kicking herself for not thinking of that before he had mentioned it.

He spoke once more.

“Spend time thinking about it. If I’m looking for information on Potter or Weasley or the
Order, what can you give up that will seem like the biggest secret you’ve got? Legilimency is
like setting someone’s house on fire. Minds instinctively bolt to protect what’s most
important to hide. You have to train yourself to do the reverse. Rush toward what doesn’t
matter. Practice pulling those memories around in your mind like you’re hiding them. I’ll try
again next week.”
He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye just before he looked down and his eyes met the
black band that seemed to shine in the fluorescent lights of the shack. It felt cold against his
finger, reminding him of his greeting gift - if you will.

He reached his hand into his pocket and curled his finger around the ring that felt ice-cold to
the touch. Draco flipped it towards her, testing her reflexes and where her mind was
following the double attack.

Granger caught it with ease, looking into her palm in awe. He wondered if she thought it was
a wedding band and this was his deranged way of proposing to her, in a shack in which he
owned her.

Her eyes met his once again and she looked back at him with surprise and astonishment. He
wondered if she could tell yet.

“Your protean charm from fifth year inspired me,” he suggested, allowing her some form of
credit before giving her a smirk to go with the statement.

Her idea, his charm.

He lifted his right hand, cocking his head to the left and watching her eyes follow his
movements and land on the matching band that rested on his ring finger. “It’ll burn briefly if I
need to meet. Twice if it’s urgent. I’d highly advise coming quickly if it burns twice.”

She slid the ring on the pointer finger of her left hand, admiring the way it looked on her and
considering the charms atop it. Surely she must’ve noticed the notice-me-not charm on hers.

Suddenly he felt as if he left her out in some way and the wards behind him and around the
door of the shack buzzed as his mind gradually remembered his train of thought.

“If you want to reach out, the wards here will let me know when you arrive. But otherwise,
we should stick to a schedule. Is there a time you can get away without drawing suspicion?”
“I go out for potion ingredients early on Tuesday mornings. I could add an extra half hour
without anyone paying attention. Would seven-thirty work?”

He nodded and mentally made a note of this, making sure to remember not to schedule
meetings or interrogations so early in the morning, although he knew with almost complete
certainty her time would work for him. Anytime she would’ve asked for, he would’ve made
work.

“If I can’t come for some reason, come back at the same time in the evening,” he suggested,
allowing himself room for any potential changes in plan the Dark Lord may begin to make.
He doubted he would need it, but a safety net with their meeting times was smart.

“What if I can’t come?” she asked, interrupting the internal conversation he had been having
with himself. He locked eyes with her, narrowing them and contemplating how genuine she
was being.

He wondered when she would tell him what she did for the Order and if that meant he had
gained her trust when she did. He knew she would eventually, or in the very least she would
be more comfortable speaking about her life to him. It was just a matter of when .

When no reply came, he assumed her question was sincere. He gave her a half-hearted
answer, mentioning a waiting period of five minutes or such. He would know beforehand in
any case. But that was another matter to attend to when he managed to make it back to
Malfoy Manor.

She agreed with a tone flatter than the board he stood upon, sounding agitated and simply
ready to leave.

He supposed he could allow her an out now since she so desperately seemed to need it.

He smirked and obtained his wand, giving it a quick flick and grabbing the scroll of
parchment with his other hand.
He held it out to her.

A final offer and consummation of their joined pairing from now on.

“My first installment,” he drawled, inviting her to take it and give herself to him in
exchange.

Her hand reached out and she wrapped her fingers around the opposite end of the scroll,
pulling it away from him and unrolling it to see part of the copied blueprints and maps.

He let his mind consider her, consider this - his new life. Assisting the Order.

What a world.

“I’m trusting Moody has the sense not to use everything at once,” he said, partially joking
and partially asking, knowing Alastor wasn’t the fastest broom in the bunch.

“Your service will be one of the Order’s most carefully protected secrets,” she said,
confirming to him what he had already grappled with, switching sides in the middle of a war.

“You’re useless once your cover’s blown. We won’t risk it.”

Useless.

His cement walls felt heavy against his mind, holding back his thoughts and emotions from
this entire encounter.
Merlin, he needed a drink.

“Good,” he let out with a cold voice, not caring how he sounded or how he was perceived.
“I’ll see you Tuesday then. Practice your occlumency.”

Draco did not wait to see her out - he did not let her walk out before him and leave him here
in the room she kissed him in then explained his only purpose to her precious Order.

Useless.

With no particular destination in mind, Draco vanished with a final crack.

 Chapter 6

This had been the second time Draco found himself apparating away to Malfoy Manor
following a discussion with or about Granger.

The first time, he was too anxious and shaken to remember which hotel he was staying at and
before he could make up his mind, he found himself in the foyer of his childhood home. It
was a complete accident, but given his day and how tired he found himself to be, he stayed in
his old room until Severus had popped in hours later.

The second time was now.

Just as the last time, the Manor was dark and cold, reminding Draco of the absence in his life.
He checked his pocket watch, noting the time ― half past 9. Draco hated being here, and
after the extended use of his occlumency walls and seeing Granger for the first time in years,
he needed a moment alone.

No, not alone.

With someone ― the only person Draco knew would understand.

Draco wanted Narcissa.

As he walked through the grand entrance and through the vast halls, letting his feet lead him
to the garden, Draco let his mind berate itself, damning him for letting the day get to him. He
was never emotional; his occlumency was used to avoid this exact thing. He never let his
mother see him hurt, struggling, and tired, but here he was, walking to see her once again.

The cool night air hit him like a swift slap in the face that sent shivers through his body as he
let the door shut closed behind him, leaving him outside the Manor and in his mother’s
favorite place.
Her rose garden.

After Narcissa died, Draco found himself empty, lifeless and hating himself for not being
there. If he couldn’t save her, he could have at least found her body and taken her away to
give her a proper final resting place.

But he didn’t.

When he came home, sick of standing atop his mother’s ashes, and found Lucius gone
already, Draco was close to exploding. It was an odd feeling, having so many emotions
simmering within him once, he was left feeling numb and empty inside. He never would have
thought it was possible ― numb pain ― but when his mother was ripped away from him in
this world and into the next, she took all of Draco’s happiness and hope with her.

That night he let himself feel everything. He let himself explode.

He threw things against the walls, crashing and shattering vases and glasses, trying to get
something out of the hate he felt, burning him alive from the inside out. Glass was strewn
across the room, crunching underfoot. He wondered what it would feel like if he let himself
be cut by it ― would the physical pain numb the emotional?

Draco had pulled every Death Eater mask from his closets, ripping them down from the shelf
where they were so meticulously stored and into the drawing-room, throwing them atop a
table and letting himself succumb to the fury of emotions burning through his veins.
Focusing everything he felt in that moment ― anger, despair, helplessness ― and channeled
it through his wand, letting it fuel his magic. He watched as flames engulfed the horrid
masks.

He completely let the walls down, drowning the room in his emotions from the beginning of
sixth year to now, destroying one thing for every time he felt used or hurt or unsure or
vengeful.
He damned himself as he set curtains up in flames and told himself how this was all his fault,
he didn’t find a way to get out sooner.

If only he had found a way out sooner. The curtains across the room set ablaze.

If only he had answered the call that came from his Mark the moment he got it. A window
blown out of its frames.

If only he had said something to the Dark Lord, Death Eater masks sent flying.

If only Draco broke her out of her cage and fled ― fire to a table ― so what if they tracked
him and his Mark? He only had to get Narcissa away ― a crack as he caved the ceiling in ―
if he got caught, who cared? He would gladly have taken her place.

As much as he loved his mother, she was almost as stubborn as him. Every day Draco would
talk to her through her cage and hooded eyelids that shielded tears away from her gaze. He’d
ask her to leave with him, run away and let him free her, he could do it, he knew a place for
her to go. Yet every time, she refused, telling him over and over she would not go anywhere
without her son. He was furious every time.

He let that fury take over.

Draco hadn’t realized how completely overtaken he was by his emotions until he lowered his
wand arm, panting and out of breath. He reached up with his left hand to wipe away the
sweat that had formed on his forehead. He dragged the same hand down his features, wiping
his cheeks along with the rest of his face, when it came away wet, he realized he had been
crying.

The hopelessness he felt in the moment was suffocating. He dropped his arms to his side and
looked out around the room. His Death Eater masks lay scattered around the room, some torn
in half or shriveled up and burnt, others missing pieces that Draco wouldn’t have cared to
look for. He had been so angry the fire that ripped its way through his wand scorched the
metal masks as he watched them melt, dripping off of tables and into the ground.
Draco’s mind briefly landed on his father’s repeated words: Malfoy men do not cry. Malfoy
men do not show emotion.

But in this moment? In this moment, Draco let it out.

Everything that could burn was on fire. Draco was acutely aware of the double meaning in
his mind ― burning everything he could in sight when his emotions following his mother’s
tragic death due to fire overtook him ― but he didn’t care. This was the most emotion Draco
was able to get out in what felt like so many years.

And Merlin’s fucking beard, it felt good.

So he backed up against a wall, sliding down and letting his head fall forward to lay atop his
bent knees, and he cried. Sobbed.

He didn’t know how long he let himself sit there, quietly sobbing as fire crackled all around
him, and glass continued to lightly rain down around him, shattering as it hit the floor with a
resounding echo. Draco found the sound oddly comforting.

Maybe minutes passed, maybe hours, until finally, Draco stood up, wiped his tears, and
waved his wand lazily, extinguishing the fires and making sense of the mess in front of him.
Then he turned on his heels as if nothing he just did happened and shut the door behind him,
leaving his outburst behind and ignoring the results of it.

That was the last time Draco cried about his mother.

As Draco crushed soft grass underneath his shoes, making his way closer to the grave he had
placed so long ago, he took the memory of his mother and the emotions those memories
carried with them and locked them away in his mind. Locked them behind solid,
impenetrable walls, vowing never to let such a weakness overcome him again. To never let
another person carry so much power over him.
Draco could still hear his father's voice in his mind. No matter how deeply he buried it in his
mind with occlumency, it always seemed to reappear when he was at his weakest, the words
taunting him.

Malfoy's don't cry.

Malfoy's are calm and collected.

You must always wear a mask, Draco.

Do not let yourself be vulnerable.

Never falter.

Do not cry!

Draco fought to silence them, but the words followed him as he made his way across the
grounds.

Finally, Draco found himself beside the little tombstone he put in Narcissa’s garden that
night. He didn’t think back on his actions prior to the creation of the gravesite, but he let
himself think about the lead-up tonight. It felt right.

He remembered how authentic he wanted it to feel, so when he came outside after ruining the
drawing-room, he transfigured a piece of shattered glass he had grabbed as he sat and cried
into a little tombstone for his mother.

It was a simple short, rectangle shape, nothing too grand or tall yet something he felt his
mother would like. On it, he charmed the following to be inscribed:
Narcissa Black Malfoy

Beloved Mother, Wife, and Witch

The World Won’t Be the Same Without You.

Per Aspera ad Astra.

He always found himself smiling at the Latin words on the bottom. It was Draco’s way of
immortalizing his fondest memories with his mother, the childhood nicknames.

I will always love you, my little star.

Draco found a spot near her favorite flowers, dusty pink hydrangeas that she said reminded
her of her childhood and always had out when she hosted parties or galas. Digging a small
hole, just enough to place the tombstone in and create a solid foundation for it, Draco sat atop
the newly overturned dirt in silence that took over his mind and body. There was too much to
say yet not enough words to explain how he felt.

It was something Draco would come back and do often, something he found solace in that
made up for the lack his father gave him on the night he found out. It was this reason that he
had met Kreacher one cloudy night while the heaviest raindrops fell and landed atop him,
drenching his robes.

It had been the fifth time Draco visited his mother’s grave, ready to explain his day and how
he felt as if he could only take a little more.

It was half-past nine in the evening, and Draco didn’t expect anyone to be in the garden ―
Narcissa was dead, his father on a mission in another country, and all the house elves were
asleep or cleaning. So when Draco opened the glass door to let himself outside, he stopped
short, almost falling flat on his face when he saw the little elf dusting his mother’s tombstone
and sobbing quietly.
Draco regained composure, silently questioning to himself why ― how ― Kreacher was here
before clearing his throat, causing the elf to turn around. His eyes widened at the sight of
Draco ― he hadn’t seen Kreacher in far too long.

“Master Draco! Master Draco, I is here, Kreacher is helping keep Mistress Cissy’s grave
clean!” the elf shouted, a sharp contrast between the quiet of the night and the silence of the
glowing stars. Draco couldn’t help but soften as his lips curved upward at the little elf in front
of him.

They sat together talking to Narcissa and each other about their lives and where Kreacher
lived. Draco found out that Kreacher was still loyal to the Black family, and now that
Narcissa was gone, Draco was his new master. Draco laughed at the explanation, knowing
this had been something the Order had overlooked. He wondered what else they ignored if
something so obvious had never crossed their idle little minds.

Kreacher visited often and talked with them both, always bringing Draco’s mind back to the
first night and how easy it was to ignore the rain and wind in lieu of good conversation and
easily gained information.

Tonight, though, there was no rain, no tears, and no newly turned dirt.

Tonight, Draco sat next to the tombstone in his usual spot that had now grown short blades of
grass that covered the soil.

It was quiet, so quiet he could only hear crickets and the leaves that crunched under his
weight. Draco let it be silent for a moment, a moment where he tried to gather his thoughts
and everything he needed to let out. He knew his mother would be here to listen. She always
had been.

Finally, Draco opened his mouth, looking at the tombstone and letting a sad smile grace his
lips. He took a deep breath in and let it out.

“I’m sorry, mother,” he began. It was usually the first thing out of his mouth as much as he
tried to come up with different ways to begin or more important things to say, his mind
always blanked and let those three words out.

It took Draco another shaky breath, in and out, before he could start again, this time
determined to say what he finally gathered his mind to allow out.

“I’m doing this all for you, mother. I am.”

The wind howled against his ears, rushing past as fast as the thoughts in his head. The silence
was so deafening - so extremely loud in his mind and his ears that talking was the only way
he could cope. He was determined to explain his thoughts, let out his emotions that were
bottled up and stored away. He wouldn’t let his throat catch, wouldn’t let his words be caught
in his throat, unable to see the light of day.

“I met with Granger today, mother,” Draco began, trying to find a way to let everything out
slowly, not wanting the emotions and thoughts to push against his mental walls and be let
loose, rushing out like a waterfall and wrecking everything in its path.

Draco got no response, no increase in wind or birds chirping in the night sky, so he
continued.

“She’s so different, you know. Just as ridiculous, and so presumptuous, mother, you should
see her. She acts like she’s going to outsmart me like that would ever happen,” Draco gave a
short, curt laugh, deciding what was stupider ― him talking to his mother’s grave about the
Golden Girl or the bookworm herself, thinking she can seduce him.

“The Order gave her no choice in the matter, I really do feel it. She answered so quickly, and
today she told me she was desperate for information. Do you think she really believes they’ll
win? She's much too strong-willed strong willed for her own good. It’s going to bite her in
the arse, excuse the language, mother.”

The wind brushed past him gently, and as stupid as it felt, Draco couldn’t help but tear his
mind away from the idea that his mother was this wind ― comforting him in the only way
she could.
Every so often, when Draco felt stressed or lost or in need of Narcissa, he always found some
element bending towards him, finding a way into his circle and making itself known.

One day when the flame of a candle he lit wouldn’t stand as tall as it should’ve but leaned to
the side, towards him and flickered every so often. Draco felt as if Narcissa was there,
leaning into him and telling him in her soft, posh voice to let it out, mother would listen.

Ever since then, he began to believe his mother listened to him when he needed it.

So when the wind whizzed past him, both comforting and melancholy, Draco found himself
smiling at the knowledge Narcissa was listening.

He talked more about Granger, telling his mother about how he felt and what he thought,
focusing on her odd demeanor that did anything but match what he knew of her in school. As
he talked, the wind shifted and blew gently in his direction, as if it were almost
acknowledging his comments and concerns.

“I do this all for you, mother, I hope you know that,” Draco said, repeating his earlier
sentiment in attempts to deepen the meaning and its intended seriousness.

The world was still and quiet, no wind, no chirps, no sound. It was as if a vacuum came and
took every moving thing away from Draco in that moment. His chest felt heavy, crushed
underneath the pressure of his family name on his shoulders. He was the Lord of the Manor
now.

He blinked away any emotions that tried to spill out of him and took a short breath in.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he whispered, repeating a sentiment he would promise her
every day when she was alive.
He was going to make good on that promise. He would take care of her, take care of the only
person he ever truly cared for, and loved. Narcissa was his world when she was alive and
after she died, she never stopped being the only thing that kept Draco going.

Draco would do anything for her.

“I’m always going to take care of you.”

 Chapter 7

Draco sat in silence as a few gusts of wind swept past him before a quiet pop from behind
him captured his attention.

In a spot that was formerly vacant now stood an old house elf who wore a tattered pillowcase
as clothing and a scowl on his face. At the sight of Draco, though, his eyes softened.

“Master Draco! Oh, Master Draco, I is missing you,” said the little house elf, bent over and
breathing heavily. His eyes glinted with ghosts of tears, ready to be released at any moment.

Draco grinned, letting himself sink further into the soft grass and dirt underneath him.

“Hello again, Kreacher.”

At the mention of his name, Kreacher perked up ― his overly large ears twitching and his
hands wringing each other. He smiled softly and made his way closer to Draco. He watched
as the little creature tip-toed so gently across the soft grass towards him and wondered what
he had to endure that he would be so happy to see Draco Malfoy.

And, of course, his mother’s simple grave.

Draco let his eyes follow Kreacher’s movements, and he watched intently as his ears drooped
and fell as his eyes landed on the rectangle tombstone. It was too familiar a comparison to the
way Draco’s heart felt every time he apparated to this dreaded mass of a building.

“I is missing Mistress, too,” Kreacher choked out, failing at biting back a sob. Draco had to
look away, looking down into the grass and focusing on singular blades as tears ran down
Kreacher’s cheeks in a valiant effort to beat each other to the ground beneath him.
A faint pop was heard and Draco looked up to find Kreacher with a little hand duster,
sweeping it across his mother’s engraved name.

This is how he had found Kreacher so long ago ― cleaning the grave sight he seemingly
knew about right away. Draco had asked him that night after the shock wore off why he had
been back here and where he went in the first place.

Kreacher thought this answer obvious ― Draco could tell by the monotone in which the elf
replied. That night, Draco learned that despite his ties to Number 12 Grimmauld Place and
the sad excuse for a chosen one that now commanded him, Kreacher was still loyal to the
Black family.

And who else did that happen to be but Draco himself.

So, from then on, Draco would meet Kreacher every so often when the little elf could get
away. Draco would talk to Kreacher and his mother while Kreacher ran around trying to
clean the simple tombstone until there was not a single spot upon it. Draco found it quite
endearing if he was honest, although he would never admit it to himself or Kreacher, but he
knew his mother was aware.

He also knew Narcissa was grateful.

“Tell me, Kreacher,” Draco began as the elf wiped down the tombstone with a wet rag he had
conjured and scrubbed vigorously, vashining the hand duster away. “How is the Order?”

Every time Kreacher and Draco met, the conversation always seemed to find its way back to
the Order of the Phoenix. This was for purely selfish reasons, to help convince himself that
he was above it all, knowing the plans for both sides of the war. It made Draco feel better
about the continuation of his Death Eater membership.

Tonight, however, the reasoning behind this question had shifted.

Draco wasn’t stupid. He was far from it. He knew the Order had not told every person they
could find about Granger’s new… commitment . He wanted to find out who really knew what
was happening and exactly how much they knew. Although they promised it, Draco did not
necessarily trust the Order with his life or wellbeing. He understood full well this plan was
more risk than reward on his part.

Nonetheless, though, Draco was curious how the members aware of the arrangement felt ―
how Granger herself felt.

It had become a pattern of behavior, Draco noticed, that the information Draco found most
important, Kreacher tended to find most boring. In fact, usually, Kreacher never turned to
catch Draco’s eye or even stopped whatever cleaning ritual he had been doing. Instead, he
just mentioned it as off-hand as a house elf could.

This seemed to be one of those instances.

“Well, the Mudblood girl was out tonight. She is being mysterious and odd, Kreacher is not
knowing what she is up to,” he began, confirming Draco’s belief that Kreacher would notice
any little habit that is off and keep it to himself or report it back to Draco.

But Draco had not been prepared for Kreacher’s subsequent admission.

“Kreacher is noticing the Mudblood’s new book. The Mudblood is writing in it often and
spending so many times writing in it.”

Draco held the breath he had just taken in. Granger had begun a new notebook and spent time
writing in it? He could picture it perfectly ― her hair wild and untamed, staying up late at
night to write out all her thoughts and huffing to herself when things did not make sense.

If Draco had to guess, that little notebook was filled with all her ideas about him.

He wanted to know ― had to know ― what was in it.

He cleared his throat, bringing his voice back to his previous dry mouth. “Do you think you
could figure out what’s in that little notebook Granger has and report back to me, Kreacher?
It is of utmost importance, I presume.”

Kreacher stopped short, his arm still extended across the words Per Aspera ad Astra, and
turned his head towards Draco. His eyes widened at the request, and Draco smiled, knowing
he’d have this information guaranteed.

“I is honored to, Master Draco!” Kreacher exclaimed, shoving his things into his pillowcase
and tripping over himself in the attempt to make it back to where Draco sat. He continued to
promise Draco how soon he would get it, how accurate the information would be, and thanks
you, Master, oh thanks you for trusting Kreacher!

After Kreacher popped away, Draco was left alone in the cold night air, the grass squished
underneath him. If he could stay here with his mother forever, he would, Merlin above, he
would.

But he couldn’t.

So, soon after, he bid goodbye with promises to return back soon. He then apparated to one of
his many hotels, falling back onto the bed the moment he landed, succumbing to a deep sleep
he so desperately needed.

And whatever it had been that day, Draco did not dream about his mother’s horrid death once
that night.

It had been four days since Draco saw Granger last.

In the days that followed, Draco leaned further into his good little Death Eater role and
attended every meeting the Dark Lord held. Really it was to gather some sort of information,
but despite his efforts, only a small amount was able to be passed on.

It had been the last meeting of the day prior when there was mention of small invasions and
plans of short attacks. They were meant to prove the strength of the Dark Lord’s ranks while
pushing down the Order in the hopes of easier control in a later, larger fight.

That night Draco wrote everything down on a scroll of parchment for the Order.

Finally closing his eyes around five in the morning, Draco dreamt of a life with his mother, a
life away from the war in a little cottage along the ocean. Some place Narcissa could plant
her roses and hydrangeas, and Draco could still obtain his favorite alcohols - muggle and
magical.

He awoke late, scrambling to put on his robes and wand holster, begging Merlin for the scroll
of information to pop up somewhere before he needed to go.

It was Tuesday, only 5 minutes before Draco needed to leave. Knowing the Golden Girl, she
would be there early and make Draco look bad ― pureblood Draco Malfoy late to his
meeting with a muggleborn. His ancestors would be rolling in their graves.

It was too early in the morning ― so early that Draco felt overwhelmed by everything going
on all at once. Sometimes the mental strength it took to keep up his facade in the Death Eater
army wore on him constantly, resulting in days like today where all he needed was an escape,
something to pull his mind away from the embarrassment of a life he led. Usually, his choice
of liberation would be drowning himself in so much Firewhiskey or various muggle drinks he
couldn’t stand upright, let alone think about the shitshow of a life he endured.

Unfortunately, Draco could not drink himself into a stupor today.

However, Draco had another source of evasion.

Hermione bloody Granger.
 Chapter 8

7:32.

It was 7:32 when Draco apparated into the shack, almost on top of Granger.

He couldn’t take it anymore, the thoughts and emotions that have been clouding his mind and
focus since the moment he left his mother’s grave. Draco craved the feeling of simultaneous
control and freedom that alcohol gave him. He had elected on going the day without a drink;
his mother would have had his head on a platter for drinking before eight in the morning.

Instead, before he left, Draco had let himself use the only other option available to him.

So when he apparated into the shack and saw the mess of curly hair in front of him, he felt
like he lost all control.

Their eyes locked for just a moment like the calm before the storm as Draco took a deep
breath in and let everything drain from his focus, save the witch in front of him.

He grabbed her firmly ― probably far too rough for her expectations ― and shoved her
backwards until she was against the wall of the little room. Draco slammed his lips into her,
taking in the newly familiar feeling of her mouth that surprised him just days before.

Gods, he needed this much more than he cared to admit. It was not her, per se, but the feeling
of giving up his focus and control to something that wouldn’t hurt or threaten him. It felt
normal ― something any other 22-year-old wizard would be doing if he wasn’t a pawn in the
game of chess the Dark Lord is playing with the whole of the bloody wizarding world.

Yet kissing Granger brought back every worry and concern to the forefront of his mind.
When she opened her eyes in complete astonishment, Draco took his chance. He delved deep
into her mind, knowing that she wasn’t prepared for an attack. He knew she would have
thrown her walls up in response if he had not pressed hard into her, letting his body mold
with her own.

The feeling of being within someone’s mind was both calming and anxiety-inducing. He felt
her thoughts and emotions, felt himself living through various memories as if he were
experiencing them himself. Watching her memories felt like watching a play upon a stage,
yet knowing the eyes were not your own.

Granger’s mind, though, was infuriatingly organized ― it was ridiculous.

Her memories were stored away so meticulously it almost drove him into madness. Of
fucking course, her mind was so strangely reminiscent of a filing cabinet.

He allowed himself to skim some of her more recent memories. He saw her brewing a potion,
something for the ring he had given her ― more invisibility, he presumed, mentally noting to
check her hand the moment he could.

He shot to the next one, watching Granger drop off another Gryffindor he only vaguely
remembered from Hogwarts at St. Mungo’s. He wondered how she had gotten there and back
safely. Did she make those trips often?

Then, just as he was going to pull out of her mind, not caring to see any more of her frankly
boring and unimportant sob story of a memory bank, Draco happened upon her memory of
their last meeting.

It was an odd thing, kissing his way down Granger’s jawline, nipping at different spots,
trying to find a sensitive point while tipping her head further back against the wood. He
allowed his hands to move down her body, slowly, ever so slowly, grasping her attention and
maintaining his position of power.

He lets his hands distract her, and his mouth keeps her attention on her skin rather than her
mind. He wanted her to let him experience the last meeting as if he were her.
And that’s precisely what he did.

He took in only the interesting details of the encounter: the way she looked at him as he stood
in the frame of the shack, awaiting her fate; the way she had squeezed her hand behind her
back as he teased and taunted her, getting a reaction out of him exactly as he wanted; the way
she looked into his eyes and the way her heart beat in the moments before she kissed him,
causing his carefully maintained control and indifference to slip . He let himself experience
the relief and uneasiness she felt after he vanished in a desperate attempt to level his head.

Draco moved on, unable to find anything of use within the memory of just a few days prior.
Instead, he went earlier in the day. He wanted to know how she prepped for him, did she even
care? Did she talk to anyone before visiting him for the first time? What advice did they
give?

As he neared a new memory, he could faintly see another one being dragged back into the far
reaches of her mind. Granger had to have been doing it on purpose, baiting him for a reason
― presumably to have him avoid this memory at all costs.

If Draco could smirk within Granger’s mind, he would’ve.

Draco decided to allow her this, let her toy with him ― bait him . He was curious how she
would do and what memory she had picked to be the most important thing she knew.

So he chased, expecting her to fail completely.

He followed her as she pulled her memory into the depths of her mind, rounding corners and
turning after various cabinet lines. Soon enough, though, she acted as if she slowed down,
allowing him to catch the memory and jump straight in.

The moment the first image came into view, he wanted to hex this witch to oblivion .
Granger had pulled the memory of third year Draco poking fun and being smacked in
response. He felt the sting of her hand after the contact, and it brought back the feeling of
static burning on his cheek from so long ago. Draco watched the face of his younger self turn
scarlet red, something he never would have wanted to view from this perspective.

In the middle of some heroic and probably exhausting and unnecessary comment, Granger
had made in response, Draco pulled out of her mind, not caring what cabinets he knocked
down in the process.

He didn't know what he had expected as he stepped back, shaking with laughter. He laughed
so hard at her stupid mind and her use of the tactic he had only mentioned to her days before.
He had to admit, he was impressed.

He composed himself slightly, allowing him to give her some form of praise, “Well done. I
expected it would take you longer before you’d be able to do it.”

He let his eyes slide over the witch, slumped against the wall he had her pushed up against
only moments before. He wondered how much she had relied on him to hold her up as he
shoved his way through her memories. He watched her chest rise and fall, trying desperately
to catch her breath as she processed the mental assault she had endured.

She spoke after a beat. “Is this the way you usually teach occlumency?”

He was faintly aware of his lips turning up ever so slightly.

“Only with you. I can’t have you doubting my sincerity, now can I?” He grinned and stepped
forward slightly. “I needed to do something to catch you off guard. So,” he said with a shrug,
“Two gnomes, one kneazle. I’m sure you didn’t expect me to keep my hands entirely to
myself.”

He knew it struck a chord as he looked at her, debating whether or not she would hex him or
slap him just as she did years ago. The thought made him smile to himself.
“Should I wear stockings next time?” she offered, voice dripping with threats and venom.

If Granger wanted to play, Draco would too.

He bit the inside of his mouth, deciding how harsh he should be, debating how much he
thought Granger could take. It was times where she thought she had a mouth on her in which
Draco would ponder on her thoughts of him. Was she genuinely this harsh out of pure and
true feelings? Or was this all a facade as a way to get into his mind and corrupt him?

Knowing the witch in front of him, Draco decided she most definitely had a plan. And not
only did Draco have to deal with the absolute ridiculousness that was Granger’s mind, he had
to put up with the idiocy of the Order and any plans they demanded she see through. Draco
wouldn’t be surprised to find out that her precious Order had given her explicit directions in
how exactly to seduce the evil Draco Malfoy.

And if the Order of the Phoenix told the great Hermione Granger to do something, she would
not be doing it in halves. Despite her far superior intelligence to the dimwits who made
decisions, Granger would put her full weight behind anything they asked of her, and if
securing their investment was her mission, she would see to it.

But Draco refused to let her take over his mind. He wouldn’t let her envelop him, seduce
him, and control him ― no. Draco was determined to outsmart the brightest witch of their
age and do what he had originally planned to do. If it were to be a race to the end, Draco
would be the first across the finish line.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, finally deciding on a reply that was harsh yet not horribly rude
enough to make her walk out of the shack they shared. “No. I rather like you like this. Being
first and bedraggled in muggle clothing suits you. And I intend to savour you. You needn’t
start wearing them ― yet.” He finished with a smirk.

He let his eyes leave hers and drift over her body, catching the small jolt she tried so
desperately to hide. She was scared, and he intended to keep it that way.
His eyes landed on her left hand and brought him back to the present, noting where they were
and what he was doing. He stepped forward and caught her hand in his, letting his thumb
graze the spot he had watched Granger slide the ring onto only a few days earlier. He
watched the shimmer of disappearing magic as the ring came into view, solid black against
her too light skin.

“How does this work?” Draco asked, looking up and catching her eye.

“The potion is based on Magical principles similar to the Fidelius. It’s only visible if you
know to look for it. Otherwise it’s undetectable. Only you and I can see it.”

She had pulled her hand away from him as she spoke, leaving Draco’s empty and
outstretched as he mulled over the potion she just described. He knew almost every potion in
existence. This was not one of them.

He quirked a brow.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard of that potion,” he said, allowing room for Granger to explain
herself and her brilliance.

“It’s new.” She said simply, letting out no emotion whatsoever. From someone like Granger,
Draco expected more pride.

“Yours?” he prompted, growing impatient with her indirectness.

The witch in front of him simply stared back, moving her head in affirmation every so
slightly so as Draco wouldn’t have noticed if not staring back. She took a deep breath in. “It’s
not actually that useful. It only works on metals.”

Draco stepped closer, mumbling affirmations of intrigue and watching for a reaction. He was
done asking about her potions and charms and what she does in her free time. This was
Draco’s time with the witch, and he intended to get as much out of her as he could.
With every day came a new sense of anxiety, wondering if Granger was alive and safe. Not
for her sake but for his ― the last thing Draco needed was to be caught as a spy for the Order
through the memory of kissing a muggleborn. He’d be tortured mercilessly before finally
given death if the Dark Lord ever captured her and delved into her mind.

Her eyes scanned his face in what he assumed to be controlled fear. It was better this way ―
having her scared of him ― fearing for every moment she was in his presence. It made this
all far easier.

When he met her eyes again, he was reminded of just how brown they were, like a pool of
firewhiskey trapped in her irises. She could have looked appealing in any other circumstance,
in any other situation where she didn’t plot against him as he stepped closer into her.

How far could he push?

“Let’s try again. And see how long you can keep up,” Draco began, letting a smirk spread
across his lips for just a moment. He watched her eyes follow the curve of his mouth before
he spoke again. “I won’t kiss you ― this time.”

That was enough warning, Draco decided. He delved deep into her mind, pushing hard at the
walls she put up in response. She had done better than he expected ― at least so far. He
watched in amusement as she kept her walls up and finally feigned exhaustion, letting him
give one good push against the walls before they crashed down and shattered on the floor of
her mind. When she began to run with memories she would pull just as he had explained,
Draco would play along, following her while ignoring every other memory around him.

He repeated this with her a dozen times, making sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that if
captured between now and the next time he saw her, Granger would be able to distract any
legilimens without blowing his cover. Although knowing Draco’s streak of luck, the one day
she was caught would be a day she couldn’t manage the techniques.

After the thirteenth attempt, he could tell her mind was in agonizing pain. How she had lasted
as long as she did Draco did not know - anyone would have been hurting by two attempts
ago, let alone this witch who looks like she hasn’t eaten in a week. She was full of surprises.
Eventually, Draco slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his robes, pulling out a pain
relief potion and slipping it into her hand after uncorking it. “Drink this, otherwise you may
black out when you try to apparate,” he stated, not giving her an option not to drink the
potion. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He watched her look between him and the potion before tilting her head back and downing
the contents of it without a word in reply. Merlin, she trusted him far more than he had
expected her to.

“Did this happen to you?” She asked him after a while. Draco paused and let his eyes fall to a
point just behind her shoulder.

“More than once. My training was,” Draco paused for just a moment looking for a word that
captured all the pain and torture he had gone through at the hands of his own family.

“― rigorous.”

She nodded her head slightly, acknowledging she had heard him but didn’t speak for some
time. Draco knew she was calculating, planning the right next step to get him to talk about
his past ― he wondered how far she would go to hear about his training before his turn in
loyalties.

His thoughts began to wander until he was pulled back with the sound of her voice.

“Was that after fifth year?”

He shifted his focus to meet her gaze. What was this bint up to?

“Yes,” he said, letting his voice take on a cold and bitter tone that came so easily to him.
She continued, “Your aunt?”

Draco only hummed in affirmation. Granger had to have known it was his aunt, who else
would it have been? She was prying and wanted him to tell her more. He was getting
annoyed.

“Not the only thing you learned that summer,” she said, almost a whisper but still strong
enough that she stood behind it.

It pushed Draco over the edge, bringing back all the memories of his last moments being
anything but a pawn ― a plan ― for the Dark Lord’s doing. He snapped.

“Are you needing a confession for something, Granger? Should I tell you everything I’ve
done?” Draco knew she had to be scared, at least slightly on edge with the words that left her
mouth. He walked towards her, looking down his nose at her as her gaze never left his. He
clenched his jaw in response, awaiting her to say something, anything.

“Do you want to?”

Of all the things Draco had expected her to yell or scream at him, calming asking if he
wanted to confide in her was not one of those things. He tried to mask the surprise that
flashed across his face and instead pulled himself together, sliding the cold mask of
indifference over top his features once again.

It took every ounce in him to let out a controlled and emotionless “No,” before stepping away
from her and letting the cool air back into the tension-filled room.

He counted his breaths as they came in and almost missed Granger’s question of wanting to
go again, but the invitation to explain never once left his mind. He counted two more breaths
before meeting her firewhiskey eyes once again and letting himself drown in the inhibition of
it all.
It was always some form of alcohol, wasn’t it?

“When I was trained, she’d have someone crucio me while she was trying to break into my
mind. That’s probably what will happen to you if you’re ever caught.”

His anger coursed through him as the memories of Aunt Bella invaded his mind. He
countered this by pushing into Granger’s mind ― hard.

He rummaged around and pulled things out of their places, chasing her in her own mind.
When the emotions became too much to handle, he pulled out and conjured the scroll of
information for her and dropped it, meeting her eyes once more as she struggled for breath,
and he vanished.

It was nine in the morning when Draco had his first drink of the day, downing half a bottle of
gin, when he finally landed in the room of a hotel he couldn’t name.
 Chapter 9

It had become something of a hobby, breaking into Granger’s mind and tearing his way
through her memories to train her. Regardless if it was out of pure survival on both his end
and hers, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun while doing it.

The Tuesday after he left the shack following her attempt at delving deep into his trauma,
Draco came back and began his routine attacks on Granger’s mind. Maybe this week's
lessons were a bit rougher; pulling hurtful memories to the forefront of her mind and
knocking down her filing cabinets as he chased her through the twists and turns of her mind.

It wasn’t revenge ― per se, but he definitely came back this week with their last encounter in
the forefront of his mind. It had only been their second meeting but he knew as he apparated
away that he did not want to go running back to mummy once more. He needed to deal with
things like the adult he was.

So apparating into a hotel suite he couldn’t remember the name of even if the Dark Lord
himself had his wand pointed to his chest, Draco drowned himself in the rest of the
firewhiskey before he threw the bottle against the wall in an alcohol induced rage and hazy
mental state.

He watched everything happen in slow motion, letting the bottle out of his hands and
watching it crack against the walls. It shattered into hundreds of fragmented pieces, each
catching the light as if they were tiny, cursed crystals. He found a strange sense of comfort in
the way his half closed eyes took in the sight, reminding him how impermanent the world
and everything in it was. He found his mind became far more poetic than he normally was
while drunk.

It was not ten minutes later that when he regained consciousness he found himself on the cold
tile floor of the little kitchen doing sit ups with small shards of glass in his skin, desperate for
a release that would allow him to escape the memories that threatened to plague him.

He went to sleep not long after.

It had been expected of Hermione Granger, though. Trying to find a hole in Draco’s great
facade had almost been a given ― Draco expected nothing less. She was, and always would
be, irrevocably and unwaveringly loyal to her Order, which made training Granger both a
necessity and Draco’s favorite form of entertainment.

Watching Granger internally flinch as Draco neared a memory that drew him in only made
him run faster. He entered the memory, letting Hermione Granger, certified Golden Girl,
catalogue every feature and missing curve of her body in a mirror beside her measly shower.

His spirits lifted as he felt Granger’s embarrassment alongside his own plain amusement. He
stayed in the memory after it had finished, letting it replay while he decided if he could watch
more and pretend he had not seen a third of the Golden Trio nude.

Ultimately, he couldn’t.

He withdrew from her mind and spoke. “Well, that certainly is one way to distract a
legilimens,” he said as his mouth turned up on its own volition. He fought a laugh back until
the moment she opened her mouth.

She had glared up at him from her short stature, it was the only way she could meet his eye. It
was almost comical the way she stared daggers into his eyes, as if she wanted nothing more
than to curse him with every hex she knew.

“Pleased with your purchase?”

Draco couldn’t hold in the small laugh that escaped his lips as his response came to mind.
Merlin this witch made it far too easy to put her in her place.

“You’re rather scrawny. If you’d sent me the memory beforehand, I might have asked for
someone else.” He let his eyes drop from hers and scan her body now that he knew what was
underneath all the dirty clothes she wore. She brought her arms up and crossed them atop her
chest when she finally followed his gaze. This was far too amusing.
“A pity for us both then.”

“Perhaps,” he began, allowing this topic to continue only as long as he wanted it too. He had
other things in mind now. “But then again, if I hadn’t gotten you I would never have had a
chance to encounter a brain organized like a filing cabinet.”

Draco cocked his head to the side, shifting his jaw.

“Moody didn’t train you. You’re a natural occlumens.”

He watched her intently as she stared back and nodded her head just as excited as she looked
with dead features. He knew he was right since the moment he had told her the lie, it only
took the first mental attack for his theory to be confirmed. Though, he knew even then he
wanted to wait for the right moment to bring it up ― not completely attacking yet still
demanding a true answer.

He had gotten what he wanted.

“Self-taught, then?”

“I had a book.”

Gods, she was transparent today. He couldn’t stop himself before he realized he had laughed
right in her face ― loudly.

“Of course,” he said. She had done a lot of things since her Hogwarts days he was sure she
hadn’t wanted to, yet her core personality traits remained. Seeing her reading atop a tree
stump awaiting gods know what that first night they met should have given him the clue she
learned everything in that infinite brain of hers from some book she found. If there had been
a book on him, Granger would be the first in line to get it.
Though as he looked back at her, the reality of it all set in. She had learned occlumency from
reading a book. He knew that some of his abilities were natural ― he hadn’t been completely
thick when he came to his mental capabilities. Despite this, the majority of his training came
from a combination of Aunt Bella and her torturous tendencies and Severus’ pity lessons.
Bellatrix gave him the tools and tricks to locking his mind away and added the torture to
make sure he had complete control at all times, even if his life was threatened in every way
possible. Severus took what Bella had laid down and solidified it with repetition and niche
pointers.

It had been a horrible process but something that made him valuable. He knew training like
his was almost impossible now that Bellatrix was dead and the Dark Lord taught no one
himself. Despite this, occlumency training was rigorous and not something everyone could
grasp easily. So knowing now that Granger had taught herself from reading a book and trying
her best to apply it as she went was a bit more impressive than he would've given her credit
for.

She looked back at him as he mentally catalogued this information and put it away to mull
over later. Granger was looking to be something he hadn’t fully expected.

“What?” she snapped at him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He narrowed his eyes at her,
annoyed that she probably caught onto whatever he had been thinking about her.

“Nothing,” he said, attempting to wave away the past few seconds she had stared at him.
“I’ve just never encountered one before.”

He wondered if she would get it as he smirked in her direction. She was the brightest witch of
her age, wasn’t she?

“You’re one too,” she finally realized, letting her tone take over far more than she should’ve.
She had been shocked and the realization obviously disrupted some sort of mental plan or
idea.

He laughed to himself, happy he could still create holes in her plans to overthrow him. He
gave an obnoxious bow and shrugged when he rose again, “What are the odds?”
Silence fell over them as he followed the thoughts she had disrupted only moments ago.
Knowing she was more inclined to understand and learn the techniques only he could manage
made his head swirl. Maybe working with her wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Are you still going to teach me occlumency then?” she asked, snapping his focus back to her
as she gazed up at him.

This was most definitely a calculated decision. On the one hand, he needed her to be able to
fend off an attack if she was ever caught and forced in front of the Dark Lord himself. It was
self preservation more than it was anything else. On the opposite side, though, teaching her
the techniques only he knew was a risky situation, to put it simply. Draco recognized her
intelligence and ability to understand and apply difficult areas of magic easily. He also knew
very well that she would do close to anything for her Order and Draco expected a betrayal at
this point. The chances of her using these skills against him or in her favor was far too high
for his personal liking.

“Yes…” he replied slowly, knowing that protecting himself from a potential workplace
falling out was far more important than protecting himself from Granger and the Order. Need
be, Draco knew he could easily take down the Order and everyone in it, but killing the Dark
Lord himself would be a rabbit hole Draco did not want to go down. “It would be an
oversight to only do it halfway. You’ll be able to learn quicker than I had expected,” he
finished with the honesty he could give out.

“Right,” she said as she nodded and hardened her features.

Draco drew closer to her, closing the gaps between them that had kept her safe until now. His
sentiment from their first meeting still remained - he would make life in the shack as unstable
and constantly changing as he could. He didn’t want Granger getting comfortable in his
presence.

Her gaze never left his face, though they danced between his eyes and the rest of his features
as he came closer, oh so much closer to her. When he had finally closed the space between
them, his body only centimeters away from hers, Draco lifted his hand and placed it lightly
under her chin. She flinched slightly at the contact as he lifted her chin up and back so her
neck stretched. He let his thumb drag along her jaw as his eyes scanned her features waiting
for her to pull away from his grasp. She never did.
“You are so full of surprises,” he said, his voice only just above a whisper. He met her eyes as
she stared back only for a moment before seemingly realizing how close they were and
rolling her eyes in a feeble attempt to act nonchalant and comfortable.

“Do you say that to every girl?” she said, her words dripping with disingenuous flattery.

He smiled at her before diving into her mind. He had tried, this time, to make it easy ― no
pain, just letting himself drop into her mental state without immediately going on the
offensive. He gave her the chance to move her memories around in her mind without the
pressure of increasing pain. He watched her rummage through the drawers of her thoughts as
if she were categorizing the importance of each individual memory, deciding which she
deemed necessary to hide from him . He played her game and let her feigns draw his
attention while she hid the vital ones where he couldn’t see. She wasn’t half bad.

She would throw around the memories and he would make his way over to her. Then she
would pull specific memories and make a show of throwing them far back. He’d follow the
memory and hope she took that time to shove the valuable ones into the dark, far corners of
her mind.

It became a practiced dance. He watched as she repeated the techniques ― the drills of
perfected positions to her ballerina persona. She’d become trained enough to perform on
stage, he would make sure of that.

After he felt like he had been in her mind far too long, Draco withdrew and checked the
time.

“We’ve gone overtime,” he announced, not completely bothered. He watched her as she
stood there, unmoving and finally spoke again.

“Do you have any information this week?”

“Not really. There are more vampires arriving from Romania this month. No specific details
yet.”

She started a sentence and hesitated, cutting herself off before she could get a second word
out. He quirked an eyebrow telling her to continue. She was allowed to ask questions and he
was curious.

“If ― we need something. Would you be able to get it for us?” she asked him. Pride washed
over him as he realized she had asked him for something that he could potentially provide.

“It would depend on what it is.”

“A book.”

He laughed. Of course it was a book, what else would it be?

When he didn’t reply, she continued. “It’s called Secrets of the Darkest Art. I’ve tried
everything I can to find it. But the Order’s resources are limited.”

He didn’t argue with himself for too long ― he knew he’d be able to get something like that,
and even if he did get it for her, she couldn’t do much damage with it. At least no damage he
truly cared about.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, giving himself the freedom to take his time, although he
suspected he’d be getting it sooner rather than later.

“Be careful,” she blurted suddenly. It had caught Draco off guard and he was sure she
noticed. He did his best to compose himself but didn’t trust himself with a reply ― what
would he say anyways?
“You wouldn’t want Voldemort to know you’re looking for it,” she said in an attempt to save
face and give context for her statement, he supposed. Yes, that was it, context.

“How important is this book?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It might be nothing. Or it might be very important. But ― don’t blow your
cover for it.” She replied. Draco hated how she danced around his question, wondering what
it was this book meant to her and if it would change anything for the war ― anything for him.

He rolled his eyes. “As if I would,” he mumbled. He had been here far too long and the last
thing Draco needed right now was to have anyone notice either of their absences. He could
trust himself with creating excuses if anyone had plucked up the courage to ask about his
whereabouts, yet he couldn’t vouch for Granger’s deflecting abilities. He mentally noted to
ask Kreacher about that.

“You should go. I’m sure Potter will be pining for you.”

Draco watched as she gathered her things and left the shack, thinking about her remarks and
more importantly, her request. It was an odd thing to say, be careful. He was sure that it had
been an accident, maybe even an oversight and force of habit in her line of work. Her and the
Order must say it all the time not knowing whether or not they’ll see each other again.

After he heard her apparate away, he didn’t stay much longer in the shack. Instead, Draco
apparated away and tried to ignore the repetition of Granger’s words in his mind.

Be careful.
 Chapter 10

Trudging through a week of meetings and missions wore Draco very thin. When it came
Monday morning, he realized he hadn’t been able to gather enough valuable intel for his
meeting with Granger the next day. He set out to find any vital information that was available
to him so he didn't come empty-handed once again.

He had ended up at the Savoy again, but this time for longer than usual. It had become his
custom to switch hotels every day or two, ensuring his wards were always up and active
before he left. Draco never liked to be in the same place long, lest his magical signature or
any lingering dark magic be used to trace him. The last thing he wanted was to involve
innocent muggle hotel staff in an overly large and complicated Wizarding World War. He
knew the muggles have had their fair share of destructive world wars already and did not
need to be involved in one they were not equipped to win.

This time, though, Draco had stayed in this room for about a week, apparating here the night
after his last meeting with the Golden Girl. The Savoy was one of the nicer suites he had,
although every hotel offered him something different and always included some level of
luxury. His new quarters here had soft brown floors in the bedroom and the living area. The
kitchen and bathroom both had cold white tile that he found refreshing when he needed it but
bothersome in the mornings of exceptionally long days. The staff left him to himself as much
as they could, knowing he was there yet rarely calling the room. Sometimes, on random or
incredibly stressful days, he’d resort to ordering the dinner services from the hotel restaurant
as it had been a popular muggle activity, he found. His favorite was the sirloin and pasta
plate; they always made it just to his taste.

Yet this week, Draco felt an odd longing for isolation. He had meetings every day, however,
every moment he was not at Dolohov Manor or fulfilling his duties to the Dark Lord on
various missions, he found himself within the confines of his room.

On Thursday, he had his usual meeting with the Dark Lord, but this time it was only the
higher officials and members. It consisted of six: the Dark Lord, Dolohov, Umbridge,
Bobbin, Severus, and Draco. He took his usual place to the right of the Dark Lord’s seat and
awaited the silence that fell upon the group as Voldemort lifted his right hand ever so slightly
so his wrist bent rather than his elbow. His followers ceased their conversations, and Draco
looked up to see Severus across from him, breathing slowly, his face as still and bored as a
statue as if he were in the presence of a misbehaving class rather than the wizard taking over
the whole of the UK. Next to him, he could feel Dolores shift as he saw her lips folded in as
her gaze traced lines on the table in front of her.
A few seats down, the other men remained quiet as their leader placed his hand back on the
wooden table. Draco looked up from the table, straightened his shoulders, and turned his
head to his left, immediately catching the eye of the Dark Lord and maintaining it unlike few
others could. He watched as the creature, parading himself about as a man, let the side of his
lips quirk up at Draco’s continuous stare. Trying not to grimace, Draco instead let his head
drop by only a millimeter and lift again, giving his Lord a nod. At that, Voldemort addressed
the room.

“I asked you here to give you updates on my plans and ask your advice,” he began.

“As I’m sure Severus here could tell you, our curse development is going most swimmingly, I
might say. We have developed some gloriously horrific curses, ones the Order’s pitiful
members could not dream of combating.”

Draco watched Nagini curl around Lord Voldemort’s chair and slither her way up his arm to
hiss carelessly. She watched the people who sat at the table, seemingly daring them to talk
back or challenge her master and reap the rewards of being in striking distance.

Voldemort continued his lecture, letting Severus add in different points when invited and
necessary. Draco only paid half attention, allowing himself to finally take time to relax in the
midst of a literal war. He hardly had the time to sit and breathe, always on a mission or trying
to make it up to his mother - reversing his sins in the eyes of death and daring that constantly
found its way into the depths of his life. Frankly, he was sick and tired of the way his life was
controlled by every person who had any semblance of authority over him. His father got them
into this mess - killed his mother by association - and he didn’t intend on leaving anytime
soon. Yet, he refused to remain a prisoner, enslaved to the whims of a madman.

The Dark Lord himself disregarded Narcissa’s death, throwing it to the side and killing Draco
slowly from the inside out with the fading memory of his mother within Death Eater ranks.
He controlled him now, used the Malfoy name as the puppet strings that held Draco only
slightly above death at any given moment. If Draco were to step a toe out of line, he’d meet
his mother far sooner than his earthly body would like - Voldemort was looking for a reason
to promote him just as equally as he was looking for an excuse to kill him.
Draco only began to pay attention when the specific curses and their counters were being
described in detail. His mind scrambled out of its self-pity and latched onto Severus’ words.
This would be his scroll for later, he thought to himself as he committed everything to
memory.

He was adamant on keeping his promise of continual help to the Order. Even though he
couldn’t stand the hierarchy of those in charge, the last thing he wanted to happen was he lose
this partnership he had with the order, and Granger by extension, leaving her to shoulder the
consequences of returning with no new intel to aid them in their losing battle for peace.

Draco knew that they treated her poorly, worse than unfairly, and he didn’t quite understand it
in any way it was looked at.

He knew her in Hogwarts to be highly intelligent, even he would admit it. She was gifted and
often won out against everyone, even himself, when it came to grades and O.W.L. scores. He
always found himself enraptured with the way everything came so easy to her compared to
the purebloods he knew. It was true she was a muggleborn, and he was taught that their kind
were less than, worse off, and frankly a sin simply by having the audacity to live, but Draco
couldn’t find any reason as to why she was so much better at things than him and his friends.
And he had hated her for it.

And although she was sorted into Gryffindor, Draco could acknowledge that Granger could
have done well in Slytherin with the unwavering loyalty she had. She had backed Potter and
Weasley on every idiotic thing they hyper-fixated on and despite any of their apparent
shortcomings or lack of solid planning or reasoning, she stuck by them. Even in their school
years, he wondered how she had been the brains of the entire group, making sure they didn't
die while the boys made their best efforts in opposition. Draco wondered then what the Order
had done to her to break that resilient woman he knew into the shell of a healer she was
today.

As the thoughts entered his mind, the burning feeling of rage deep in his stomach soon
followed. He didn’t understand the proper thickness of the Order if they had resolved to use
one of their greatest assets, besides Saint Potter, as only a minuscule healer. Granted, her job
was important and she was a damned good healer, but having her out on the fields, or even in
their tiny kitchen planning attacks, as Kreatcher had described to Draco, would do more for
the Resistance than what they have now. With every increasingly anger-fueled thought that
ran rampant in his mind, only one epiphany truly remained.

Draco realized with no doubt in his mind that if Granger had gotten caught up in the wrong
side of the war, pledged her loyalties to the Dark Side, there would be no battles. No, there
would only be blood and pride and dominance . The Dark Side would win the war, and
Hermione Granger would come out on top - she always would.
 Chapter 11

Draco found days that ended in nights with a full moon were always a fuck up, to put it
gently. It all truly started going downhill when he was called into an emergency meeting at
3:26 in the morning, but that didn’t mean the rest of his night had been peaceful.

Sleep truly was Draco’s least favorite time of day, it was hard and uncomfortable and never
really worked. He thought maybe with being an asset to the Order that he would be so worn
out, so used, that he’d be begging to be in bed at the end of a day. Yet that was far from the
truth. He hadn’t been given much more to do for the Order than he was already doing for the
Dark Lord. Really, the only difference was training himself to memorize information until he
was able to conjure a scroll and quill and training Granger in Occlumency.

That second change in his daily routine is usually where he found his mind running off to.

So when he was called with a searing pain on his left forearm in the early hours of the
morning, he found his mind running in circles, tripping over the thoughts of a captured
Granger awaiting him in a cage with Nagini swirling around the bars. It was a horrifying
thought and thankfully, far from the truth.

When Draco arrived in the entrance hall of Dolohov Manor like he had done so many times
before, he found it surprisingly empty and he allowed himself to breathe only momentarily
before taking off his Death Eater mask and squeezing it tightly in his right hand. Haunting
curiosity replaced the fear in his throat that only subsided with every step he heard himself
take but if they hadn’t caught Granger he knew the summon was something of importance
and needed higher officials opinions. His stomach lurched at the thought of the army finding
something they shouldn’t have.

Draco slowed his breathing as he let his cold facade slide into place along with the walls in
his mind. It was too early in the morning to let his mind wander too far into other things
when the Dark Lord felt it necessary to call a meeting at such hours. He found himself in the
east wing entering the tea room that had lost any of its fond warmer toned decor, replaced
with cold and emotionless dread that entered your very soul the moment you walked in. It
wasn’t as volatile as the main ballroom which was saying something - this room was much
smaller and the cold, stagnant energy still remained in a very apparent thick layer.
Upon stepping into the room, all eyes landed on him. Although he had been out of his room
in three minutes flat, he had still been the last one there. Voldemort sat in the head chair with
four others surrounding him at the small round table in the middle of the room. Draco
clenched his jaw and lifted his chin waiting for someone to say something and when nothing
came, he opened his mouth.

“You called, Lord?”

A smile spread out upon his lips at being addressed in such a way. “Sit, my boy, we have
much to discuss.”

Draco sat down in a wooden chair across from the Dark Lord and next to Dolohov and
Mulciber. His eyes landed on Severus who sat beside Voldemort and looked down at the table
rather than meeting Draco’s eye. There was silence for a moment and in those few seconds,
Draco shut the locks on his walls and pushed hard from the inside out to test the durability.

They didn’t fall.

Draco thanks every star above him for it, he didn’t know how he’d handle this conversation if
he hadn’t started putting his walls down before. He rarely got nervous around the Dark Lord,
he was secure in his position as well as his missions and general importance to the Dark Side
of the war, so he truly didn't have much to worry about yet he still found his heart beating
faster than usual.

If he died tonight, he hoped it would be quick and easy - he knew the Dark Lord had tortuous
tendencies.

“I have been hearing whispers of a safe house in Caithness that holds rebel children,” the
Dark Lord started. Draco caught himself and let his breath out slowly, thanking his mother
for his continuing heartbeat in the face of potential demise.

“Have you heard anything, Draco? I have only heard small mentions of it and I do not trust
anyone here but you with information as important as this.”
Draco looked up and held eye contact for just a second before speaking. “I have not, my
Lord.”

“Hm. I am not surprised, I have only heard mentions of its existence, nothing more.”

Voldemort let his hands unfold and tapped the table with a nail in a slow rhythm. Draco
watched as he did so, simultaneously tucking this information away to mention later in the
day and awaiting a continuation. He knew there was to be some request or test in some form,
nothing with the Dark Lord comes easy or straight forward. It was only a matter of moments
before he requested something from Draco - they had been waiting for him after all.

“Well, boy, I suppose you do not mind doing me a favor, hm?” he asked finally. Draco
laughed internally. He understood the Dark Lord better than anyone.

“Never, Master. What can I do for you?”

“Two things. First, I shall like to ask for your advice on what I should do in a situation such
as this one.”

Draco was not expecting that. Voldemort rarely asked for advice in strategy and prep. He was
known to make calls of his own and sometimes even going against specific advice and still
make it a successful outcome. Yet this had been happening with increasing frequency. Draco
had pondered on it a while, wondering what exactly the Dark Lord was preparing him for - he
did nothing without reason. Still, this was a good thing; he had no idea about the Order.

“Well, I would probably suggest sending someone out there discreetly,” Draco began. His
voice was hard and cold but disciplined and obeying. He knew his answer to this question
would have some future consequences, either good or bad, but he needed to mind his words
and speak with intent. He continued, “I’d recommend only one or two people, we don’t want
to draw attention but we should like to see how thoroughly it’s guarded. Don’t attack either,
the reports could be intentional and a trap, although it’d unlikely.”
The silence that followed was not unexpected, it was unlike anyone in the room to speak
during a conversation Voldemort made clear was only between him and Draco. His eyes
never left the Dark Lord’s, he knew everything in this moment was critical and moving his
eyes now while Voldemort pondered his answer would be a sign of uncertainty and
miscalculations - if he was a dragon, it would have been the same as giving a great, fiery roar
then tucking his tail between his back legs and sulking away. It was a fair comparison given
the metaphors he was given as he grew up. His father had always compared the Malfoy men
to the creatures, using it to push Draco towards the greatness that was thrust upon him since
the moment he entered this world.

So no, Draco was not that scared little dragon. Rather, he was here to prove he was a great
Antipodean Opaleye who would stand in the face of danger and prove he was bigger and
stronger and capable.

The Malfoys were dragons.

Voldemort simply leaned his head to one side and let his hand run over the smooth skin of
Nagini and he assessed Draco. Then, he spoke.

“You and I seem to be in unison, Draco.”

Draco felt his breathing steady as he maintained his outward appearance and smiled. “I would
like to hope so, Master. I am glad to have the same opinions as you, I must be learning
something.”

“Yes, indeed. In fact, I think you capable enough to handle our united decision, hm?”

“Of course, Master, whatever you need.”

Voldemort hummed in agreement, “Then here is my second request: Go scout the house.
Today. Do not go in and do not kill unless you find,” a pause and eye contact, “opportune
timing and the right person, hm? Tell me what is there before we send more troops to pay a
visit.”
If his Occlumency walls had not been up, Draco wasn’t sure he would have been able to hide
the way his heart stopped and his breath caught. It wasn’t a hard task, in fact, it was far too
easy a task for him and he couldn’t quite place the reasoning as to sending him there without
intent to kill - he had been doing so with increasing frequency as of late.

He caught Severus’ eye as he finally looked up for the first time since Draco had arrived. As
Draco replied to Voldemort, promising an answer soon, he never turned away from Severus.
His face still maintained the professional look it always did in meetings but this time was
different, this time, he knew that he was trying to do something, say something.

Then it hit him like a bludger and Draco scrambled to knock a cement brick out of his wall,
small enough to maintain the infrastructure but just large enough to allow for a conversation
starter.

Draco let Voldemort continue speaking, his voice drifting into the background as all his focus
remained intent on the little hole in his wall. Nothing happened for just a moment and Draco
held his breath as he doubted himself and recoiled back into his memory to reevaluate the
look on Severus’ face when a little paper flitted into the small crack and landed softly on the
floor. He chuckled to himself knowing he had understood properly before he reached down
and grabbed the little note and read it.

It was crumpled and had two simple words scratched into it: find nothing.
 Chapter 12

Draco was unsurprised that the Caithness house had not been found earlier.

Despite the simple look, he could easily sense the large amounts of magic radiating off of the
cream colored walls. It was hidden well enough not to draw attention from either Muggles or
wizards - to Muggles, it looked run down and abandoned, but to wizards it seemed too
mundane, too plain, too muggle .

When he approached it, Draco wasn’t sure the Death Eaters got the right information. It was
in the middle of a forest that wasn’t too dense with plant life, but had just enough to cover the
view of the house from a far distance. He had felt the magic pull him in and followed that
until the house met his eye.

It was a simple cream colored manse that was far from grand or pristine. It had a single front
door with five windows surrounding it - two beside the door and three above - but they were
blacked out and covered by curtains that Draco guessed didn’t allow a single ray of natural
light in. The roof was a dark blue and slanted down towards the door with dust and leaves
visible even from afar. The house seemed too obvious to be a rendezvous point so running
with the rebel children theory was all Draco had left.

He skirted around the home in a radius of about 10 yards sneaking between small bushes and
the large trunks of trees available. He kept his wand in its holster, deciding not to draw it until
absolutely necessary but he didn’t see that happening at five in the morning.

He drew the hood of his cloak further down his forehead keeping his hair hidden as he
steadied his breath and peered around a tree to get a view of all the exits in the manse. After
making one lap around the house, he counted 3 - a front door, side door, and second story
balcony with a ladder beside it.

Draco straightened his back, rolling his neck and letting out a deep, soft breath that turned
visible the moment it left his lips. He was used to running on no sleep, but being woken up
from night when sleep finally grasped him tightly, he had been more than irritable. Playing
with the small thread on his cloak in an attempt to shield his gaze from the rising sun, he
hadn’t expected to hear anything, just the same birds tweeting and the creek flowing from
some distance away. But then, he did.

It was a small noise, just a leaf crunching under the step of someone’s boot, but it had
brought Draco’s consciousness to his surroundings and immediately sharpened his focus. He
made his steps light as he turned back the way he had come and towards the back of the
house. He found his mind to be blank, instead of thoughts filling the void, he found high
alerts sounding off, knowing if he was caught, he’d be forced to kill on site.

Contrary to popular belief, Draco did not want to kill anyone this early in the morning -
especially a child.

Yet, of course, his luck - and not to mention his ever so pure soul - were tested.

He whipped around to find a small boy standing mere feet away from him with a bored look
upon his face. His dusty brown hair flew in the wind that surrounded them, but donned only
in a simple muggle shirt and pants, he seemed not to mind the chill that was getting to
Draco.

Draco blinked twice before looking around once and casting a notice me not charm on them
and holstering his wand once again. Still the boy didn’t talk, he only watched Draco with
some sort of bored curiosity, maintaining eye contact much longer than Draco had expected a
child to handle. He took a deep breath and bent his left leg, letting his knee hit the ground
before he spoke.

“What are you doing out here?” Draco whispered, searching his face for any clue on the
situation. He waited but nothing came, the boy only staring at him more intently. Draco
would have guessed he was four years old, if that.

“Aren’t you cold?” He tried again, waiting for a reply that never came. He was losing
patience and time. He knew it was growing closer to his meeting by watching the sun rise,
but when the silence that surrounded him continued, he reached into his cloak and looked at
the time on his pocket watch.
6:13am.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked softly, looking into his ocean blue eyes that brought him
back to his Hogwarts years but he couldn’t understand why. It was a dizzying sense of
familiarity that Draco just couldn’t pinpoint and it drove him mad. Even worse, it seemed to
be familiar in more than one sense, knowing this little boy reminded him of more than one
person he had inevitably hurt in his past.

The boy’s eyes drew him in and shoved him out, creating a nauseating feeling of the ground
giving beneath him and as he fought hard to maintain his composure, half the realization hit
him like the wave it was and the tides dragged him out further too. Glancing up quickly and
cataloguing the brown wavy hair before meeting those eyes once again, Draco was pushed
backwards and fell into the memories of an innocent little seven year old boy running around
the yard of his Manor chasing his best friend with the wand he had stolen from his mother.
They screamed and laughed and when they ran out of breath, they landed on the soft grass
with the wind howling around them and panted, smiling as if Narcissa hadn’t been looking
for them at the very same time to reprimand them as they hid smiles and stole glances at one
another. It was nice. It was home. It was Theo .

With that realization and the feeling of a still missing piece, all he knew was that he did not
want to Obliviate this child and he certainly did not want to kill him. If he could get him back
inside safely and quietly, Draco would be satisfied.

When nothing came, Draco made to stand up. Looking down for just a moment, Draco
pushed on his knee to raise himself to his full height yet as he was half way up, the boy
spoke.

“Hunter Brown.”

Draco froze, the final puzzle piece clicking into place and the memories rushed back to him
of the schoolyard taunts that made his younger self beam with pride but looked far too
embarrassing now looking back. It all made sense, all connected and hit him in the chest like
a bludger thrown from across the pitch in a game he was sure he’d win.

This was Lavender’s little brother, the same girl he attended Hogwarts with for years on end
and the same girl he had no fucking idea was dead or alive, and here her little brother was, a
mini Theodore Nott, standing in front of him without a care in the world yet the chances of
his orphan status grew larger and larger in Draco’s mind.

The wind still swirled around them as the sun steadily rose but all that encompassed Draco’s
mind was Hunter and all the other children in the stupid fucking manse that had no parents,
no siblings, and no fucking hope. Draco tried to stay away from the effects of his actions as
much as possible for this reason exactly because as cold as he has grown to be, his heart, his
mother’s heart , was still deep inside and it lurched and broke for the children who had no
place in this war that lost their sense of safety because of him.

He blinked, letting his eyes glide back to the blue ocean in front of him as he began to slowly
let his walls shut around his thoughts and stood to his full height as he had intended to do. He
looked down on the little boy, now unable to miss the resemblance to his older sister, pushing
down the lump that formed in his throat like a chocolate frog that wouldn’t go down.

“Well Hunter, it’s quite early and quite cold. We wouldn’t want you freezing out here, would
we?” Draco asked in a soft and playful tone, something he hoped a child like this would
respond well to.

Hunter shook his head and loosely brought his arms across his chest and hugged himself,
showing Draco that the cold had finally gotten to him. Draco smiled slightly.

“How about we find you a way inside and we keep this meeting our little secret?” he offered
in the same playful tone hoping the boy would understand and go back inside to the
temporary warmth of the manse that would soon be raided. He shoved the thoughts outside of
the walls that surrounded him.

“Yes sir,” Hunter mumbled, turning around and walking towards the house he probably knew
as his only home. Draco relished in the cold numbness and thanked Merlin above for
legilimency.

When Hunter got to the single old door with chipped white paint, he paused and turned back
to face Draco who hadn’t left the cover of trees and bushes that surrounded him. Hunter
raised his little hand and waved vigorously before opening the door and disappearing inside
it’s magical walls.
Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when the door shut. He knew he had
to go soon, the sun was almost all the way risen and he desperately needed to just sit
somewhere before he had his meeting with Granger - she tended to take a lot of energy out of
him, and he was already exhausted from the night that was stolen from him.

With one last look back, Draco apparated away from the manse and the little boy and all the
harm that might come to them and how much of it would be on his conscience, and to the girl
he owned, the girl who sold herself to him for the safety of her friends.

Granger was not like Draco. Draco was not like Granger

The differences between them seemed to grow into the size of a massive canyon that
separated their morals - their priorities - and Draco wondered if she ever thought of this
chasm that kept them on opposite sides of the jagged mountain this war had become.
 Chapter 13
Chapter Notes

It's me again?!?!

Far too many updates to give you all and so little time. But I know you don't want to
hear about me and would prefer to hear what Draco has been up to, hmm? I won't make
you wait longer.

Although this chapter is not done *yet* I wanted to publish anyways as an apology for
disappearing. I can't promise complete consistency in a schedule - but I can promise
more writing.

I'll edit this chapter with the full text (as based off of FB5 in Manacled) as soon as I am
done! Pinky promise! In the meantime, thank you for continuing to comment about how
much you enjoy reading - it is truly what gave me the strength to get back to it.

Let me know how you all are. Many thanks, always.

Enjoy!

This Tuesday was much like any other Tuesday prior to it.

The morning’s activities went as they normally did - little quips in the beginning that Draco
didn’t have the energy to reply to, and then, their usual occlumency practice. He hadn’t the
energy - or frankly the drive - to mess with his curly haired witch today; there was far too
much on his mind and the exhaustion began to cloud his abilities slightly.

He did his best not to hurt her. No, not for her. He did it for him, trying not to make this more
work for him than it needed to be. It was exhausting trying to maintain so many facades in
the faces of so many people. At this point, Draco did not know how many versions of himself
existed in this lifetime and he wondered who saw which one.

Draco, the Malfoy Heir. He weaved through her mind, chasing her consciousness around in
circles.

Draco, the Death Eater. He pulled out of her mind rather roughly.

Draco, the Dark Lord’s right hand. He watched with a fading view as she took a breath and
met his eyes for what seemed like the first time in eternity.

Draco, the owner of the Brightest Witch of Her Age. His eyes held hers in the complete
silence and warmth of the shack. She lifted her chin, steadfast in her ability to learn from the
best in order to beat the best.

Draco, the young boy with such an affinity for an equally young witch in his year at the start
of their careers at the most prestigious wizarding school in the world. His hand met her neck,
fingers splayed out across her skin igniting heat that couldn’t be attributed to the warming
charms set upon the room but that could only be explained by his desire for some sort of
interaction, some sort of touch.

Draco, the third year Slytherin Prince. Her neck snapped up as his thumb pushed intently
under her chin.

Draco, the scared, regretful, and timid young boy placed in front of the most dangerous
wizard to have ever existed pretending to be someone he wasn’t to keep those he loved safe.

He did not let go of Granger’s neck as he delved deep into her mind, wandering around
almost as aimlessly as he felt he did in his very real, very tangible, current life. He did his
best not to pry, not to push into memories she winced at or avoided with intent. Instead, he
drifted amongst the memories and quirks of her mind, letting her evade his presence like he
imagined a puppy would do in a new home.

When it became boring and the same thoughts circulated back to his mind, he pulled out
gently and let his eyes focus on the real know-it-all in front of him. Then, her voice - like
damaged silk - finally came.

“Where did you learn that? I’m assuming your aunt didn’t use that technique.”

Here it was again - more mention of sweet Aunt Bella. If evading Voldemort’s tight grasp on
the Malfoy name was Draco’s top priority, evading the everlasting memory of Aunt Bella was
a close second.

He clenches his jaw before answering without as much bite as he could contain. “She did
not.” He took a breath and aligned his thoughts before continuing.

“I read about it in a book,” Draco explained, holding her gaze and solidifying his voice,
removing any anger that came with his first sentence. “Malfoy Manor has a large library. It
wouldn’t work with most people, only other natural occlumens. Even though anyone can
potentially learn occlumency or legilimency to some degree, it's always either painful or so
subtly they can barely feel it happening.”

There was a moment of silence before Draco smirked, adding “You could say I’m
experimenting on you,” to really solidify the Owner-of-Hermione-Granger persona.

She didn’t waver.

Instead, she rolled her eyes and softened her voice, tilted her head into his palm and spoke.

“Did the book require physical contact, too?”

All too fast Draco was now well aware of the contact of their skin and the way his hand laid
across her neck, the pads of his fingers twitching at the thought of it. It had only been resting,
laying tirelessly on her but at the mention in that silky sweet voice she did, his hand tensed.
He needed her to know that she was not in charge - no matter how exhausted and mentally
drained he was, she was never in charge. He allowed her to get away with the sly remarks
and the mentions of Aunt Bella one too many times. Draco was in charge. I am in charge, he
repeated to himself within his mind quietly, in case Hermione had suddenly acquired the
ability to enter his mind as quietly and carefully as he had just done to her.

These thoughts were quick, speeding through his mind at lightning speed and the repetition
of I am in charge got the better of him. Before he had time to think, Draco found himself
talking, saying things he wasn’t even certain he could recall a moment after - although he felt
the words in his throat and the pause before rushing through the rest of his statement.

Then, against better judgement that was left in the rumpled bed sheets along with the rest of
his good night’s sleep, he swooped down and kissed the witch.

It was a cold kiss, he thought to himself. Lacking meaning, feeling, or really anything
remotely positive or negative. It was simply his lips against hers and what did she do in
response? Nothing. Draco couldn’t say with certainty how long their lips were pressed
together but eventually, after three or four various thoughts passed through his mind, he
pulled away, satisfied with his being in charge going unquestioned in her mind. Now, he
hoped, she would leave the touchy subjects out of their quite limited conversations - it had a
habit of putting a damper on his mood further than he previously thought possible.

It was quiet for a moment as Hermione seemed to be compiling her thoughts until something
coherent would be able to come out. Of all the things Draco expected her to do or say,
Hermione still managed to surprise him.

“Do you have any information this week?”

Her voice was cold and disconnected, as if that kiss hadn’t even happened. Her ability to
simply forget anything at a moment's notice, it seems, is something Draco instantaneously
envied. He wondered to himself if she felt anything at all when she came here, was she able
to just leave all emotions at the door? Maybe with one successful night of a blissful eight
hours of slumber, he could do the same. But working for this side of the war… he doubted
sleep would ever come easy.

Reaching into his robes, he curled his fingers around the small scroll bearing the salvation the
Resistance would need to keep fighting. “Spell analysis and countercurse information for
new curses from the Dark Lord’s curse development division. There’s a new set being taught
currently.”

The look on Hermione’s face almost made the day spent searching for all this information
worth it. Nowadays, joy was only found in small things, few and far between, like the shock
on his witch’s face when all her prayers were answered by yours truly. He kept a smirk
hidden.

“This is invaluable information. No really, this will save lives,” she said, continuing on to
explain in all the ways this small scroll would change the trajectory of the war. For such a
smart witch, she sure was impressed by anything.
No wonder that Weasley boy had maintained her fancy for so long. It didn’t take much to
woo her.

As for Draco’s reply? He simply said what came to him first: a sharp quip to shoulder the odd
feelings associated with Hermione’s praises.

“Whatever. It was an obvious piece of information to provide. The death rate in your
Resistance is getting noticeable.”

The conversation moved slowly and he replied with the first thing that came to his mind as he
became preoccupied with something pulling at the back of his brain. Something he needed to
tell her. Something important.

Little Theo.

“Is there a safe house involving a lot of children up in Caithness?” He shot out quickly,
hoping her answer was a resounding no and that nothing involving children and the
Resistance would be found there. He knew it wasn’t true, but a boy could dream couldn’t he?

She stuttered out a non-response, giving Draco his answer.

“It’s been noticed,” he said, hard. He needed her to know this was important - vital and very
time sensitive. “Someone will likely be sent out to investigate by the end of the week. Don’t
let them find anything.”

Hermione shouted something in his direction, opened the door to the shed, and left without a
trace. He heard her speaking outside, likely sending messages to the people who needed to
move quickly in order to save the children. Even Draco did not know how many children
were in that house but he had a sneaking suspicion it was many.

As he put the wards back up in the shed, he let himself think in quiet solitude. Deep down he
knew that the Resistance were good people - misguided and quite frankly stupid, but good
nonetheless. If he had a choice which side of the war to be on, he likely would’ve picked the
woods in a far away land in which he could practice his Legilimency on the deer in the
neighborhood. But Draco did not have that choice. His allegiance in the war was chosen for
him. And, honestly, in a sense it had been chosen for Hermione too. Although he was certain
she would have worked with the Resistance even if she had been a pureblood, Hermione did
not get an option. She was fighting to simply live. Her goal and his were the same - make it
out alive. Whatever it takes.

Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Maybe, in another life, they could have been
friends.

But not this life.

In this life, they were pitted against each other. In this life, nothing he did or ever could do
would gain the respect of Hermione. And maybe this way was best. At least she wasn’t
another person he would inevitably let down.
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