As the first week of the Christmas holidays drew to a close, Harry and Ron once again found themselves upstairs, amongst the old Black family relics that imposed their worn grandeur throughout Sirius' house, playing a game of exploding snap. Ron snatched his hand as the deck, true to its name, exploded at the expense of his left pinky fingernail.

"Bloody hell- "

But before he could continue what was sure to be a airing of his impressive swear word vocabulary, Hermione pushed through the door, looking thoroughly vexed and righteous, her bushy hair seeming to emit static energy that manifested as additional disorderly kinks.

"Well, you will not believe who is downstairs," she hissed, and started to pace the room impatiently.

To Ron and Harry's enquiring looks she continued, "I mean the nerve of that man to allow that scum into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, to live here indefinitely. I wonder how he has Dumbledore fooled, what kind of claptrap nonsense he's spun. Oh Sirius won't like this. He won't stand for it…"

As if on cue, a bellow from downstairs interrupted Hermione's enraged musing. The only words discernable from their isolated room were the often-repeated "Snivellus" "my house" and "death eaters". The unmistakable hushed noises of attempts to placate either a tantrum-prone infant or a madman ensued, and the trio heard no more commotion.

"Hermione- focus! What's going on? Who's living here indefinitely? You know Sirius has the last word, it's his house!"

Hermione looked at Harry with raised eyebrows. "If he really had the last word, do you think Snape would be a regular at dinner, and popping around for friendly hellos at all hours? Exactly. Well, Snape just brought with him a charming house guest- Malfoy is currently lurking around the troll-leg umbrella stand. Apparently on Dumbledore's request."

Harry's jaw dropped, while Ron roared with desperate laughter.

"Get off it, Hermione, there's no way that slimy git is downstairs. I mean wouldn't any elementary security stop slimy gits from crossing the threshold? Isn't that the point of s safehouse?"

Ron looked pleadingly from Hermione to Harry, and back again.

Meanwhile Harry collected himself, and looked imploringly at Hermione- "Are you absolutely sure Malfoy is downstairs? Yes? Ok, let's go. I want to give him- and Snape, for that matter- a piece of my mind, before I send them both on their way."

"Harry, stop. Stop. Look, apparently it's complicated. Dumbledore sent his patronus to Arthur warning that Snape was coming with Malfoy, and that we are to treat Malfoy as one of us. I saw it; it came just before Snape barged in with Malfoy trailing behind him, looking utterly shocked and bedraggled. I don't know what to make of it all, but seems that Malfoy becoming 'one of us' is as much to news to him as it is to us."

Suddenly, Ron raised his eyebrows in a manner that suggested one of his far-flung conspiracy theories was brewing. "You know what I overheard, before mum put the imperturbable charm on all the doors", whispered Ron in hushed tones, "Snape reckons that You-Know-Who is trying to give Malfoy some kind of a mission. You know, like an initiation test before he becomes a Death Eater. If he isn't one already. So, maybe they caught him trying to kill muggles, or something, and brought him here as a sort of imprisonment… Yeah, maybe he'll be forced to live with Kreacher!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, in spite of Ron's considerably lightened mood, and promptly dismissed his theory.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Harry. "You don't think he might have given himself up? Asked for shelter from Dumbledore's people, claimed weariness from all the excitement of terrorizing innocent people?"

Hermione looked thoughtfully at Harry.

"And then," he continued, "planning to turn double-agent for Voldemort, just like Snape?"

"Harry…" Started Hermione, and gave up, realizing that there was no use in reminding him that Dumbledore trusts Snape.

A knock on the door silenced their discussion, as Mrs Weasely walked in.

"As Hermione might have told you, we have a new houseguest."

Though commendably affecting a pleasant and commiserating tone, Mrs Weasely's lips were thin and tight. "So, I would like you to come downstairs now, please, and welcome him."