A/N: Set in book seven, during the war with Voldemort. Backstory – after the sixth year, Lucius Malfoy, along with other, previously undiscovered, Death Eaters, was taken to Azkaban.

"I don't get it," Harry Potter said finally, laying his quill down on his piece of parchment, and frowning, puzzled. "He's up to something." Hermione sighed, irritated, and allowed her quill to drop too.

"Who?" she asked, looking in his line of sight. The library was filled with people; it was the first really wet day of the term, and homework was beginning to pile up. The younger years were clustered around fires in their common-rooms, but the older people up the school were stationed in the library, hoping that the enforced quiet would also force them to actually work.

The figure Harry was looking at was instantly recognisable, however. The boy in question was bent over a piece of parchment, surrounded by textbooks. His white-blond hair was long, and tied back neatly, falling over the collar of his robes. The Head Boy was, as usual, working quietly and studiously. He was also Malfoy, which made it very odd.

How Malfoy had managed to become Head Boy was, in Hermione's opinion, a sad example of Ron not bothering enough. Harry had spent exam time, again, knocked out in the hospital wing, and without the grades to back it up, he wasn't Head Boy. Ron hadn't done as well as Malfoy had in the exams, the Slythrin pulling exam results miraculously out of thin air, so he wore the Head Boy badge. Truth be told, she spent a lot more time in Gryffindor common-room rather than the private common-room the Heads shared than she would've done.

"Harry, he can't do anything," she said, shaking her head. "No-one's on his side. He can't be a bully with no-one to back him up." She picked up her quill again, and prepared to write the next bit of her essay on complicated Transfigurations.

"But what if he's just waiting for support?" Harry persisted, scowling at his once arrogant arch-nemesis. "I mean, he could be the next Death Eater."

"Harry. His father's been in Azkaban for two months now," Hermione gave another exasperated sigh. "All the Slytherins who have Death Eater connections have been routed out. Dumbledore would hardly have let Malfoy come back to Hogwarts if he was a Death Eater, would he?" she snorted, derisively. "He knows everything about the intelligence from the Order. And anyway, he's the only wizard You-Know-Who is afraid of. Draco Malfoy isn't really going to pose a problem."

"Hello, Hermione," Ron stepped up to their table, and dropped another heavy book onto it. He grinned at her, through a thick fringe of red hair. "There you go. Madam Pince said she's only just found it." Gratefully, Hermione took the book, and flipped it open.

"How was the patrol?" Harry asked, playing with his quill. Ron sighed, trying to hide a twitch of a smile.

"Caught two fifth years snogging in Filch's cupboard," he said, sounding very tired. "Dunno why, it's hardly the most romantic place in the castle. There's spiders in there." He shuddered. "Nasty." He looked down hopefully at Harry's essay. "You two done, yet?"

"I think so," Hermione said vaguely, adding a final sentence, and admiring the paragraph. "Yes," she said finally.

"Excellent. Harry, you've got to come and show me that new move, I've been trying to practise it, but without the pass, it's really hard," Ron said excitedly. Shooting Hermione an apologetic smile, the boys hurried out of the library on the way to the broom sheds.

Damn. Damn and bloody balls. Hermione sat back on her heels, and watched the pathetic fire she'd built go out in a little puff of smoke. She could use magic, that would work, but a part of her actually wanted to do something the muggle way. Sighing, she dug through the ashes to set up the crisscross of starter twigs patiently, and then lit a match.

The door opened, and with it, another blast of cold air from the draught along the corridor. Malfoy bent down beside her, took the match from her hand, lit the fire, then walked away. Hermione scowled into the leaping, cheerful flames. It wasn't fair.

She got to her feet, and walked past the comfortable couch silently, seating herself at a desk, and struck another match to light the candles. Malfoy seemed perfectly content, seated on the sofa, reading a book.

"I could have done it myself," she muttered, glaring at the back of his head.

"It didn't seem like it," he answered, not looking up. "And here I thought that dirty blood of yours meant that you could do menial tasks, Granger. Tut tut," he sneered.

Suddenly, the little discussion in the library, and her opinion of 'he's harmless' seemed a little over-hopeful. Hermione gritted her teeth. The talk Dumbledore had given them both at the start of term had been along the lines of, 'get along. Or else.' So far, they'd seemed to avoid confrontation.

"Blood certainly hasn't seemed to help you," she snapped back. "One parent down, one to go, is it?" She shouldn't have said that. She really should not have said that.

He turned, and scowled at her, his face white except for a dull stain of red spreading across his cheekbones as if he'd been slapped. He curled his lip in a sneer, snapped his book shut, and walked out, slamming the door hard behind him.

She bit her lip, shuffling the paper on her desk. A niggling little thought had begun at the back of her mind, though. What if Harry was right? What if Malfoy was spying on Hogwarts? He'd always been an evil little git, so what if he was quiet for the moment? Probably trying to save his own hide. Hermione gave up all pretense of studying, her mind racing.

He was Head Boy, at Dumbledore's right hand. What if... what if it had been set up? Lupin was back this year, but last year's teacher had been just as bad as ever, hardly able to detect a really evil presence in the school. Snape might've known, but Draco Malfoy was Snape's golden boy. Dumbledore was concerned with the Order – what if he missed Malfoy, right under his own nose?

Hermione pressed her lips together, determined. She was the only one who could work it out. He didn't spend all that much time in Slytherin quarters, every time she came back to the study they shared, he was in it. She had to find out, her mind flashed to Harry. Having lost his godfather a year ago, he'd managed to fight back, getting happier as Voldemort's supporters fell back with each strike. She had to protect them.

A/N: I promise a less exposition-laden chapter next time! Coming soon – Hermione and Draco argue, Ron and Hermione patrol..

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