Title: Nothing But the Truth

Author: Draco Malfoy Equals Love

Rating: T

Summary: Harry Potter always knew that he was going to leave Hogwarts to search for the Horcruxes. But his not-so-carefully laid plans could easily be disrupted. And they are, when Draco Malfoy mysteriously appears in Godric's Hollow, offering help and information. What could come of this?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

A/N: This is my first fic, and I really hope you like it. I would like to say that if you don't like the pairing, just get out now. Flames are not welcome.

Disclaimer: My imagination is limited. I'm not as genius as J.K. Rowling, no matter how much I want to be. And I'm still broke. -inspects pockets- All I've got to my name is a $19 Jamba Juice gift card that I got because I found a lost dog.

Chapter One

Godric's Hollow

The wind whistled in the trees, rattling the naked branches. Rain pounded against the roof and windows of the tall, luxurious building. An old sign swung violently in the gale. It was difficult to make out the lettering on it: Godric's Hollow Bed and Breakfast, and below it, the attached wording of NO Vacancy.
A dark figure was illuminated by the street lamp near the dirt path leading up to the inn. A hood was pulled up over his head, and the black cloak was clutched about his shoulders. The body shook violently, shivering in the icy downpour. The door to the hotel swung open, and a clerk looked out, holding a lantern aloft. "S'cuse me, sah, but you look frozen to the bone. Surely you won't be staying out there all night!" The man in the rain shook his head slowly and drew a shaking breath before taking a hesitant step toward the building.
"I hope ya don't mind that y' can't stay the night. There're no rooms available." Again, the hooded figure shook his head, whispering in a fervent tone, and the clerk leaned in to hear. "Pardon?"
"I don't mind," he said once more. "I only want a cup of tea and perhaps a fire to warm by." The landlord nodded worriedly, staring at the dark figure, startled by the weak tone of voice in which he had worded his request.
"Of course, come right in."
The sopping man crossed the threshold and into the light of the warm and cheery fire burning in the grate of the fireplace in the lounge. Shedding his wet cloak, the figure could be seen for what he really was.
The young man, about the age of seventeen, sat in the armchair closest to the fire and reached out pale and trembling hands to unfreeze them. Wet blond hair fell into his eyes, sticking to his skin; a dramatic change from what the boy's hairstyle normally included; a sleek, combed back appearance. A pale face was faced towards the warmth, cold gray eyes staring absentmindedly into the flame. His thoughts were interrupted by the hotel clerksman saying, "Would you like a drink, sah?" The man shook his head and then looked up.
"Is there, by any chance, a Harry Potter staying here?" His voice trembled as he said this, wringing his hands together uncomfortably.
The hotel man thought for a moment, and then his face brightened. "Now that you mention it, a Mr. Harry Potter did check in just two days ago. Are you a friend of 'is?"
The man by the fire smiled a famous smirk that had regularly crowned his face back in school. "In a manner of speaking, yes. May I have his room number?" This was what he had been waiting for, the chance to show that he wasn't such a bad guy after all. His search had ended.
The manager shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose it couldn't harm. Here you are." He scribbled a number down on a scrap of paper, handing it to the young man. "237. Good luck, sah."
Snatching the piece of paper, he stood up, bowing a bit in thanks. In a rush of pounding feet, he dashed up the stairs, swiftly traversing the two flights between him and Potter. Hogwarts had assisted him well in this respect. He jogged continuously down the halls, checking each room number as he passed, his cold limbs forgotten. At long last, he reached the door and stood there, catching his breath and gathering up his courage. What a surprise it would be for Harry to find his arch enemy on his doorstep. Raising a fist, Draco Malfoy knocked on Harry Potter's door.

Laughter could be heard from within the room. The door swung open, revealing an astonished Hermione Granger. "Malfoy!" she cried, staggering backward. Her bushy brown hair whooshed behind her. "What in the hell are you doing here?" Her hand traveled to her pocket in blinding speed, whipping out the wand that she was so skilled with.

His trademarked smirk slipped onto his face yet again. "What a lovely welcome, Granger. Some way to greet your old friends." He gestured into the room then gasped, clutching his left arm, face contorted in pain. "Mind letting me in?" he said through gritted teeth. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed his way inside.

A pained grin appeared on his handsome features at the astonished look on Hermione's. A strangled yell sounded from further in the room, and he was contradicted by Harry Potter, the boy's wand thrust in his face. "Relax, Potty, Weasel." He drew his wand, watching Harry tense as he did so, and dropped it to the floor, then stepped over it, leaving it for Hermione to pick up. She did, watching him carefully. "I came to help."

He sat on the edge of one of the three beds shoved inside the small room, lifted his sleeve on his left arm, revealing a now-black Dark Mark. A sharp intake of breath and a whispered, "I told you so!" showed Draco that Potter had guessed right, obviously, some time ago. He knew that they would jump to conclusions, but frankly, he didn't give a damn. He was truly there to help, and he knew it, even if they wouldn't believe him.

"Help with wh—"Draco cut her off.

"Before you get all worked up about it, I'll prove it to you. As long as you have a Veritaserum, of course, which I'm sure you do. After all, I would think that you lot would carry such a potion on you at all time." Draco flopped back on the bed, running a thin hand through his pale hair.

Hermione frowned, and tried again. "Help with what?"

A thin smile appeared across his face for a brief moment. "I am only here to help you if you're looking for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes. If you aren't, then I suppose I'll just leave." He continued rubbing the Dark Mark branded on his arm as it continued to sear. His white shirt was beginning to dry in the intense heat of the fire in the small room, and he rolled up the sleeves and unbuttoned two from the top. "Well, are you? I don't want my information to be useless." He twirled a finger in the air, his elbow planted on the bed. It occurred to him how much he was confusing the three of them; it wasn't like a Malfoy to just show up on someone's doorstep—especially that on an enemy—and offer help against the man who he had been supporting for the last year of his life. In fact, it wasn't like a Malfoy to even offer help to anyone—anyone other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. An odd night it was.

Draco became acutely aware of the silence in the room. Raising his head, he stared back at the three young people staring incredulously at him. "Well, are you, or shall I just leave?" This sent Harry into action.

"You're not going anywhere, Malfoy. We're not about to let you go and spill our position to Voldemort,"—Ron visibly flinched—"not when we can get some information out of you!" His voice was thick with anger, and his recognizable green eyes were blazing.

The boy on the bed simply laughed; a rare occurrence. "I am completely at your mercy, and yet I do not seem nervous. I have nothing to hide from you." The Malfoy heir sighed, pausing for breath, then finished. "So put your bloody wand down!" Surprisingly, the three lowered their wands, but still kept them clenched in tight fists. "Now about that information," he reached up to scratch his earlobe, "we should really get a move on."

These bloody Gryffindors really don't get it, thought Draco, as Ron spurt out:

"You were in You-Know-Who's plan to kill Dumbledore. Why should we trust you?"

A tiny chuckle passed Draco's lips. "Because I have what you need," he said simply. Straightening, he stared at them coldly. "And surely, Weasley, Potter told you that I was forced into the plot to kill the old man? I may have disliked him, but I knew that he was the only one that could protect Potter. As much as I hate you, Potter, I knew that if you were killed, the Dark Lord would rise twice as powerful, and I'd have no choice but to join him. I must admit, I would much rather have the Dark Lord dead and have a free life than have him alive and be a slave to him." Finished with his rant of explanation, he leaned back again. He stifled a laugh at the incredulous looks on the trio's faces.

With a sigh of resignation, Harry sat back in a chair. "All right, Malfoy. You're in." He tugged a small glass bottle from inside his robes, which he still wore from the day's excursions. Passing it to Ron, who passed it to Hermione, who passed it to Draco, he said, "Drink up!" His voice was still thick with disbelief.

In mere seconds, Draco had downed the few drops that would be sufficient to have him tell the truth. A blank look overtook his features, and he slouched on the bed, staring directly ahead. Harry's voice gently prodded the edges of his thoughts.

"Malfoy, can you hear me?" He nodded absentmindedly, his gaze clouding; his vision was blocked by a haze of blur. The shapes looming around him were mere splotches of color. Harry's voice cut through again. "Tell me, why are you here?"

As he answered, his voice came out low, toneless. "I came to give you information."

"What kind of information?"

"I came to tell you where the Dark Lord's Horcruxes are. He has told me of them, and where they lie, and what they—"

"Shut-up, Malfoy. I get the point. Now, tell me where the locket is."

Draco shook his head. "The Dark Lord has no reason to suspect that it is not in the Cave where you found the fake. Regulus Black has it, as far as my mother has told me."

The nod of Harry's head was barely visible. He went on. "And Hufflepuff's cup?"

This continued on for nearly an hour, with Harry questioning and Draco tonelessly replying. At last, the inquiries were nearly completed. Only one question remained, Harry having asked the whereabouts of the four Horcruxes that were known and remained undestroyed. There was one last question. "What is the seventh Horcrux?"

The potion was beginning to wear off, and Draco could realize what he was saying. He dreaded the answer slipping from his mouth, but it did. "You are." The clatter of a glass falling to the floor and shattering broke the silence in the small room as Harry fainted, the half-full goblet of butterbeer slipping from his limp fingers.