A/N: Yes, yes I should be writing more to "The Life I Loved" or probably updating one of the like…four other fanfictions that I started but never finished. Ahh well, I digress. This is a new one, and I'm quite out of practice, so don't hate me. You should probably know my pairings by now, and let's see if I can take some of the cliché out of this, shall we?
Disclaimer: I own nothing of this but the plot. However, I think I could live with the rights to Draco Malfoy.
Chapter One: Painted as the Wall
"I don't understand why," Draco Malfoy said, rather indignantly, his arms crossed in front of his strong chest, "You can't just stay at your own house with your Muggle parents one summer. Why must you go to the Weasley hovel?" Hermione Granger, who was packing her trunk with a sort of meticulous obsessive detail, didn't deign to respond. She just sighed and continued, much used as she was to Malfoy's bickering.
"It's tradition, Malfoy, and I told you that your services won't be necessary," she scrunched her nose at the word 'services', showing her derision that Malfoy actually did anything remotely considered a service to anyone but himself.
"Services, tradition, I don't care, Granger," Malfoy said, pacing, "This is my assignment, and I'll be damned if I'm going to blow it because you feel like hanging around with your wonderful, important, famous friends."
"Sounding a bit jealous here, Malfoy," she said calmly, rearranging her books for the umpteenth time.
"For Merlin's sake, Granger, do you want to die?"
"Malfoy, I've been going to the Burrow for six, going on seven years now, and I'm still alive! I think this time shouldn't be any different." She finally had turned away from her trunk to face the Slytherin, arms crossed, much like his had been. "Besides, I'll be in a house full of the Order of the Phoenix. I don't think your protection will give me much more than what I get there."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes, and she instantly regretted her words. Well, half-regretted. Malfoy had been given an order as a Death Eater to do the impossible, kill Albus Dumbledore. To leave this mission incomplete would result in the entire Malfoy family being wiped out by the Master they respected and loved so much. When he had been sure he was going to fail, he went to the only person he thought could help: the aforementioned Headmaster. And so, Albus Dumbledore had faked his death, given Malfoy the honors he was sure he didn't deserve, and now Malfoy was a part of both sides.
He was being protected by the Order of the Phoenix. In return, he was a spy in the Death Eaters ranks. When he returned to Voldemort, he was given another assignment. This time, he was supposed to kill the entire Weasley family. Attaching himself to Hermione Granger, therefore, gave him, or so the Death Eaters thought, a perfect window to the Weasleys. His real assignment, however, was to keep Hermione Granger safe.
He hated it.
He had overheard Fenrir Greyback asking Voldemort if the Dark Lord would mind too much if the werewolf got the Gryffindor girl? The soft skin of her freckled face, it seemed, was too tempting for him to pass up. Voldemort agreed, after much consideration, deciding that the demise of two thirds of the Golden Trio would only help him in his quest to destroy the Chosen One.
"Be that as it may, Granger," Malfoy said, through clenched teeth, "How am I supposed to keep an eye on you when I can't be around your two friends?" Harry and Ron, so sure that Malfoy was a Death Eater, had never been told that Malfoy was, as Dumbledore put it, 'Miss Granger's guard'.
"It's all been arranged with Mr. Weasley," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "He's going to put me in Fred and George's room by myself, under the pretense that I have a lot of summer work that needs to get done. There are two beds in there…meaning you can stay there with me and keep an eye on me."
Malfoy snorted. "You expect me to be cooped up in a tiny room in that house with those people for the rest of the summer?" He said, exasperated. "Granger, you must be joking!"
"I most certainly am not, and if you want to as you say 'not blow your mission', you might want to start packing and get over it."
A knock sounded at her front door. "Get under your cloak!" she whispered urgently to Malfoy. "And pack, quickly!" She hurried out of the room, shutting the door tightly behind her. Malfoy muttered something about where she could stick her trunk and waved his wand grudgingly. All of his smatterings of possessions flew into a small pack and he stuffed it into the side of Hermione's, 'accidentally' nudging her books out of alphabetical order.
Hermione entered her room, glancing around quickly with big doe eyes to make sure Malfoy was well hidden before Mr. Weasley entered the room. "We'll be right down!" he called out to, Malfoy was sure, the rest of the Golden Trio.
"Malfoy?" Hermione called uncertainly. Malfoy took off his cloak with a flourish and she jumped, hand on her heart. "Stop doing that!" she said reproachfully.
"My apologies," he replied sarcastically.
"Draco," Mr. Weasley said firmly, mostly to get his attention, "We have a room set up for you and Hermione at the house, and no one knows you're there except for me, you, Hermione, and Albus. No one else must know, not even my wife, understand?"
"Gotcha."
"I'll have Hermione send up food at meals, there's a washroom connected to the bedroom, so you should be fine, if a little stir-crazy by the time the summer ends. You have everything you need, I presume?"
"You presume correctly," Malfoy said, sounding bored. "Let's blow this place."
"You won't have any problems living in the same room with Hermione, will you?" Mr. Weasley asked, his red eyebrows furrowed. A shadow of his trademark smirk settled on Malfoy's face.
"Of course not," he said, an eyebrow raised.
Mr. Weasley surveyed him with a look best described as one of mistrust and clapped a hand on Hermione's small shoulder. "Well, then let's be off. You might want to get under the cloak, Malfoy."
"Of course I will," Malfoy said, shrugging the cloak on again. He followed Mr. Weasley and Hermione down the narrow hallway to the sitting room, where, as Malfoy had deduced, Harry and Ron were waiting. Harry was wrestling with Crookshanks, trying to get him into his traveling basket. Malfoy leaned against the doorframe and smirked at Harry's evident failure.
He let out a high pitched whistle and Crookshanks turned his head to where he was standing, obviously able to see through the Invisibility cloak. Malfoy jerked his head toward the traveling basket. Crookshanks tilted his fluffy head to the side, fixing Malfoy with one of his patented scathing looks. Malfoy just jerked his head to the basket again. Crookshanks let out what could only be described as a sigh and tottered into the basket, his fluffy tail closing the flap door behind him.
Ron and Harry just stared. Hermione grinned. "What just happened?" Ron asked, perplexed.
"I have no idea," Harry said, sounding awed.
"Mostly, he just does as he pleases. Sometimes, that coincides with what we want him to do," Hermione chuckled, and scooped up the traveling basket. "Doesn't it, Crookshanks?" she cooed.
When Malfoy had first come to her house, the first day of summer vacation, his small bag in hand and his mission in another, Crookshanks had taken an instant liking to him, something Hermione couldn't understand. He had curled up on Malfoy's lap when he had finally taken a seat on the couch, perching himself on the very edge, obviously uncomfortable in a Muggle household. When Malfoy had finally gone to sleep, in the guest bedroom, Crookshanks had vacated his spot at the foot of Hermione's bed to sleep there, next to her house-guest. She had been vexed by the behavior of her cat, and even more vexed by the behavior of Malfoy.
After being semi-taken aback by the cat's behavior, he had embraced his new shadow. Crookshanks followed him everywhere. And even when he was invisible, much like now, Malfoy could, somehow, get him to behave when all he wanted to do was the opposite.
"Let's be off, then," Mr. Weasley said, dragging Hermione's trunk behind him.
Draco Malfoy clutched the cloak tighter around himself as he sat gingerly on the end of one of the Weaselbee's beds. He flinched and his hand twitched toward his left forearm, where the Dark Mark was branded. It burned fiercely, and Malfoy closed his eyes against the pain. He got a quick vision of a long fingered white hand clenched over a dark arm of a wooden chair.
A door slammed and he jumped, knocking the cloak off himself and Hermione stood in the doorway, Crookshank's traveling basket under her arm.
"He misses you," she said simply, her eyes searching his face for signs of malevolence. She had never been around when Draco had one of his 'episodes', but she had accidentally come around in a bad mood and picked a fight with Malfoy at the wrong moment. They both ended up a little worse for wear, both being experienced spell casters.
"I'm fine," he said, even though she hadn't asked.
Her response startled him. "I know," she said softly, setting down her cat's basket and backing out of the room. Malfoy stared at the place where she had vanished for a long time after she was gone, content to just swim in his own thoughts. He felt a sudden surge of envy for the Granger girl. She was here, with people who were like her family, hanging out with her best friends, being absolutely carefree. Draco could never have that again. He frowned, looking down at his callused hands. He didn't have friends anymore. He didn't even have a family, as far as he was concerned. He was just a shell of a person, used for everyone else's benefit.
Malfoy stood and slipped the cloak about his shoulders again and stood at the window, watching Hermione play two-a-side Quidditch with Weaselbee, Weaselette, and Potty. She struggled on her broom and almost fell off when the apple, used as a Quaffle, came sailing her way. Everyone chuckled except for Weasel King, who swooped to her rescue, holding his hand out for her to take. In true Hermione form, however, she ignored it and steadied herself without help. She floated away from Ron and Malfoy was astonished to find an almost melancholy look on the ginger's face.
Malfoy drew his wand and summoned a chair. He spent the next two hours watching Ron try to make a move on Hermione, and Hermione resolutely ignoring them all. Or perhaps she was just blind. Malfoy couldn't help but laugh at Weasel's failure at romance, especially with Hermione.
His forearm burned again, more painful than ever, and he clutched it tightly, falling to the floor when his surroundings went black.
He was standing in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor, kneeling before Voldemort, who had his wand raised. He suddenly remembered what happened. This was the day that he had endured the worst pain of his life.
"Stand." Voldemort flicked his wand, and suddenly, Malfoy was on his feet, staring right into the scarlet eyes.
"Let's see exactly how you managed this, Draco," he sneered, raising his wand again. Malfoy, whose nerves were already on tenterhooks, reacted instinctively.
"PROTEGO!" he yelled, and was suddenly enveloped by a scene that he knew was not a memory of his. A small boy with black hair was wandering through Diagon Alley, staring hungrily into all the shop windows, his small amout of gold clinking sadly in a leather pouch at his belt.
The scene changed.
They were in a huge, ornate ballroom, much like the one in Malfoy Manor. Two older figures were lying dead on the floor, their eyes wide open, unseeing, their last terror etched forever on their faces. "No, please, don't," pleaded an older man, who looked much like the teenager crouching at his feet.
The younger one, who Malfoy could only guess was Voldemort, raised his hand.
"Avada Kedavra!" a flash of green light filled Malfoy's eyes. Someone was yelling. Someone else was saying his name.
"Malfoy? Malfoy? Draco?" someone's soft hands were shaking his shoulders. He flinched against the light prying his eyelids open.
"Don't call me that," he said, trying to sound stern.
Hermione let go of his arms and leaned backward. "Oh thank goodness. What happened to you?"
Malfoy averted her eyes and got to his feet. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come off it, Malfoy, you were unconscious on the floor!" Hermione stood up and glared down her nose at him.
"I was sleeping," Malfoy said unconvincingly, getting to his feet and scooping up the Invisibility cloak from where it had fallen.
"Sleeping?" Hermione repeated, furrowing her eyebrows.
"Yes, Granger, sleeping. It's one of these things humans have to do in order to survive?"
"Oh, ha, ha," Hermione said sarcastically. "And I suppose you just decided to sleep on the floor, halfway out of a chair, instead of a perfectly good bed about ten feet away?"
Malfoy paused for a second, stumped. "Sometimes, you just have to go with what feels comfortable."
Hermione didn't look convinced, but she didn't press him. Instead, she busied herself with opening her trunk.
"Why is Hogwarts, A History before A History of Magic?" she wondered aloud. Malfoy turned his back on the Gryffindor girl and smirked. He was about to open his mouth to answer when someone knocked at the door. Hermione turned to him, eyes wide, and Malfoy disappeared under the Cloak.
"Come in!" she called nervously. Malfoy kicked her in the back.
Ginny Weasley stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking quite amused. "You'll never guess what I overheard," she said, with the air of great superiority.
"I can hazard a guess that I won't, so let's skip to the part where you tell me already."
Ginny bit her lip against a grin and blurted, "Ron likes you!"
Hermione froze. Malfoy sniggered silently into his palm. He was so glad he was here to see this.
"What?" she stammered. "That's, no way, Ron, like me? No, you must have heard wrong, Gin."
Ginny snickered. "Not possible."
Hermione looked like she wanted to faint. "No, no, no, no!"
Ginny looked amused still. "I take it you don't reciprocate the feelings?"
"Of course not! He's like my brother!"
"Well, hopefully you'll never have to tell him that, because I don't think he has the guts to ask you out, to be honest." Ginny glanced down at her nails, her red hair falling around her face.
But Hermione was caught up in the nugget of information she had just been given. "Goodness Ron, why me?"
Malfoy smirked at her discomfort.
"GINNY! HERMIONE! DINNER'S ON THE TABLE!" shouted Mrs. Weasley.
Hermione and Ginny leapt up from Hermione's bed and scrambled from the room, shutting the door tightly behind them. Malfoy laid under the cloak for a few more minutes, thinking that maybe, just maybe, summer at the Burrow wouldn't be quite as boring as he thought.
A/N: Alright, now, click that little button and review!