"Miss Granger, the arrangement cannot be undone," Professor Dumbledore said, and although Hermione could tell by the finality in his voice that it would be futile to argue, she argued anyway.
"But, Professor, sir, I checked and double checked Hogwarts, A History," she tried, sitting so far forward in her seat that she was very nearly coming off of it. "And I'm positive that there's nothing that says that the Head Boy and Girl have ever shared a dormitory. I just… I just don't understand why it should be different now."
Professor Dumbledore leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands clasped together. Hermione got the impression that he was trying to carefully mind which words he used, though she could not rightfully understand why.
Finally, he fixed her with a direct and somewhat disconcerting stare.
"Miss Granger," he began. "Do you know which seventh-year boy has the highest marks of any of his peers?"
Hermione blinked. Was this a trick question?
"Er, well Malfoy's Head Boy, so I would assume that he has the highest marks."
Professor Dumbledore shook his head.
"Terry Boot has the best grades out of any boy in the seventh year. Draco Malfoy is second," Dumbledore revealed, his normally twinkling blue eyes uncommonly serious.
"But… but then, why - I mean, surely, if Terry's top boy in the class, and with his obvious dedication to his studies, well, he must certainly be a better choice than Malfoy, sir."
"Professors McGonagall, Snape and I have decided that the best way to keep Mister Malfoy safe is for him to be separate from his housemates. In order for us to give him a private dormitory, I made him Head Boy. It is quite as simple as that."
Hermione felt her shoulders fall. It was becoming clear that there was no way to reason her way out of this, which was a discouraging thought.
"Can't I stay in the Gryffindor Tower?" she begged, abandoning all pretense. "Please, Professor, I don't think I can live with him."
Dumbledore gave a gentle smile. "Ah, but you have been living with him for the past two months, have you not?"
"It's not the same. I had Harry and Ron, and the rest of the Order were there -"
"Miss Granger," he interrupted smoothly. "You have been called the brightest witch of your age. And I must say that I quite agree."
Hermione felt herself flush under his praise. It was one thing to be called the brightest witch of her age by Lupin or one of her other Professors, but to be told the same by Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time… well, that was quite another matter altogether.
She wondered privately if she was being manipulated.
"You are brave, logical, pragmatic," Dumbledore continued. "Now, I am asking you to be compassionate."
Compassionate.
"Professor, if I may give my opinion, please?" Hermione straightened her back and lifted her chin.
"Certainly, Miss Granger," he allowed.
"I can't think of a single person I know who deserves my compassion less than Draco Malfoy," she said firmly. "He's spent six years tormenting Harry, Ron, and me. He thinks I am inferior because I am a Muggle-born, and he was a part of a group of murderous villains whose main goal is to eradicate my kind from the face of the Earth."
"Mister Malfoy is not safe in the Slytherin dungeons. He would be vulnerable to those who seek to hurt him," said Dumbledore, quite non-sequitur.
"But, sir, is it really as serious as all that?" Hermione asked desperately. "I know there are other Slytherins whose parents are Death Eaters, but they're still just kids aren't they? A lot of them aren't even of age yet."
"Draco was not of age when he took the mark. He turned seventeen last June," Dumbledore explained patiently. "And I am afraid it is quite serious, Miss Granger. Miss Parkinson and Mister Nott have taken the Mark as well."
Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach and, for a moment, she could only stare at the Headmaster in disbelief as sadness seeped into her chest. And it was not only because Voldemort's army was growing and getting stronger, not only because their chances of defeating him were dwindling every day, but also because Hermione's heart ached for Parkinson and Nott, whose chances for a bright future had effectively gone out the window. They had surrendered their lives to hate, and they would be forever bound to darkness, pain, torture, and servitude. And though Hermione had despised them, she felt the loss of them acutely.
"That's… awful," Hermione whispered, looking away. She focused on one of the brass trinkets he kept in his office as it spun and whirred, doing whatever function it was designed to do, and then on the window beyond it, through which the Scottish horizon dipped into the misty, faraway grays and blues that mountains often took when they were at a distance. She needed to look at absolutely anything else but him, anything to break contact with the bright blue eyes that seemed to look through her.
"Now, you know that Mister Malfoy is in more danger than you had assumed," Dumbledore said quietly. At first, she did not look at him. "I cannot force you and Draco to get on like friends, Miss Granger, and I cannot force you, Mister Potter or Mister Weasley to trust him. I cannot persuade him to take a different outlook on his bigoted beliefs, although I have tried..."
Hermione finally turned to face him fully, more out of respect and deference than anything else.
"... but I do think it would be rather unbecoming of your character to refuse to extend forgiveness to him after the difficult choices he has made to join us."
Hermione felt suddenly, deeply ashamed. Chastised, she cast her eyes down to the floor and closely examined a chip in the flagstone before there was a knock at the door.
"Ah, that will probably be Mister Malfoy now. Come in!" Professor Dumbledore called, and Hermione turned to see that Malfoy had indeed closed the door behind him and was striding toward the chair next to her.
"Well," Malfoy drawled. "I see you arrived early, Granger. Predictable as usual."
"I wasn't early, Malfoy," she retorted. "You were late."
Malfoy scoffed. "Maybe I've been outside the door all along, Mudbloo-"
"That is quite enough, Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore interjected calmly. "We have already discussed this. I do not care what language you use the rest of the time, or whom you insult, but you will take care to mind your manners in this office."
Hermione remembered a time when Draco Malfoy would have rolled his eyes and snorted at any person for correcting his racism, even if it was the Headmaster who had done the scolding. But that's not what Malfoy did now.
And it surprised her.
"Sorry, Professor Dumbledore," he mumbled under his breath, his eyes darting to the ground, evidently contrite.
"Perhaps I am not the one from whom you should be asking forgiveness," Dumbledore suggested and then looked pointedly at Hermione.
Malfoy adopted a remorseful expression, his eyebrows furrowed upwards as though out of sympathy. Hermione met his pale grey eyes with trepidation. Was she really about to get an apology from Draco Malfoy, hater of all Gryffindors and Muggle-borns?
"Granger," he said. "I'm so sorry - it must be terribly hard to be among so many real witches and wizards. Can't imagine what you're going through. If there's anything I can do-
"Oh, you horrible, ugly little ferret," Hermione seethed, but Malfoy was laughing.
Across his desk, Dumbledore gave a deep, resigned sigh. He looked none too amused. Hermione couldn't fathom how the Headmaster, brilliant though he was, could have thought Malfoy had made a significant change when his ideals were so obviously unaffected.
"If you two are finished acting like children, in the office of your Headmaster, no less... there are things of great importance to discuss."
Both students quieted, Hermione crossing her arms and Malfoy shuffling in his seat so that he was a bit more upright. He still gave an impression of lounging, however, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Miss Granger, I have taken the liberty of informing Mister Malfoy of some of the more sensitive details regarding our aims against Voldemort," Dumbledore informed her.
Hermione's eyes widened and she felt her lips part, all of the irritation Malfoy had stirred in her replaced abruptly with shock. "I'm sorry?" Hermione gasped.
Dumbledore gave an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. "Was I wrong to assume that Mister Potter had shared with you what he and I have been researching, Miss Granger? If I'm not mistaken, you and Mister Weasley are his closest and first confidants."
"Yes, sir, he's told me. He told both me and Ron," she rushed out. "But, I mean, Professor Dumbledore, sir, to have told Malfoy about -"
"If Dumbledore sees fit for me to know about the Horcruxes, who are you to question his judgment?" Malfoy cut in, his face twisted into an ugly sneer.
"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione corrected crossly. "And the reasons are obvious, aren't they? You're not trustworthy, Malfoy -"
"Please, Miss Granger," Dumbledore hushed. "You will not have been the first person to question my judgment. I merely thought that since you and Mister Malfoy will be sharing quarters, and because of his new allegiance to the Order, that Mister Malfoy would be able to help."
"Please, sir," she argued. "What if his allegiances change? What if he goes crawling back to his master?"
Hermione punctuated that fear with a contemptuous glare toward the offending wizard.
"Miss Granger, there is another reason for my decision," Dumbledore said before Malfoy had the chance to respond to her accusation. "The time is coming soon when I will not be among you. I shall not be able to assist you three. The reason I brought Mister Malfoy into this hunt is that he has been raised within the pureblood circles, and within the upper-class society which will no doubt be concealing the Horcruxes. He possesses knowledge which the rest of you cannot hope to be privy. I have included him because I believe his presence will be imperative if our goals are to be met."
Hermione clenched her jaw, looking furiously from Dumbledore to Malfoy and back again. She could not argue with the logic, but as Malfoy caught her gaze and held it, she also could not help but feel that this entire situation was so wrong, so completely counter-intuitive…
A long silence passed before Professor Dumbledore seemed to decide that Hermione had accepted the news, however grudgingly.
"I have informed Mister Malfoy of the basics. I am leaving it up to you, Miss Granger, to fill in the blanks," Dumbledore said, finally leaning back in his chair for the first time since before Malfoy had entered the room.
"How am I going to tell Harry?" Hermione asked, almost to herself. "He's going to be absolutely livid when he finds out."
"I shall tell Harry. I believe I can handle him," Dumbledore said mildly.
Malfoy was smirking in that infuriating way again. Hermione ignored him.
"Now then," Dumbledore said happily. "I expect you both to work out shifts for the Prefects' rounds. There will be no need to present them to me, but you shall have to come to some sort of agreement on them and call a meeting amongst yourselves. Aside from that, I would suggest you also have a look at the list of banned items on Mister Filch's door. I am under the impression that he has been continuously making additions since Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes opened in Diagon Alley."
.
.
"Stupidest thing I've ever heard," Hermione ranted as she marched down to the Great Hall. "Absolutely ridiculous."
Malfoy didn't seem to have any problem keeping up, as his strides were longer, but she looked over at him in disgust and hated him for the way he seemed to match her speed without looking like he was putting forth even the slightest bit of effort.
"Gryffindors. Always so unwilling to share the glory," Malfoy snickered.
"You think this is about glory? This is bigger than that, Malfoy, or is your mind too limited to see anything beyond yourself?"
"Maybe I'm trying to help, Granger," Malfoy retorted, "You're letting your silly Gryffindor emotions cloud your judgment. Maybe you ought to be benched from this whole thing before you put us all in danger."
"Me? I've been there since the very start, Malfoy, so don't go trying to tell any of us who ought to be included," she fired back.
Malfoy gave a disdainful laugh. "I can't believe it, you're actually angry about this."
"Of course I'm angry," Hermione said as they reached the stairs that would take them to the ground floor. She lowered her voice, aware of their proximity to other students who may have been within earshot. "It's only been two months since you decided you didn't want to be one of them, and already you're involved in the most important part of what we're doing. I can hardly believe he trusts you. That any of the Order trusts you."
"Oh, well, it's settled then," he drawled sarcastically. They were trotting down the steps now. "I'll go on and tell Dumbledore to tender his resignation and we'll put you in charge."
They had reached the doors to the Great Hall. Hermione stopped abruptly and turned on her heel to face him, wand out and trained directly on his face.
Malfoy, who was not quick enough to match her draw, raised his hands up by his face in surrender and took a step back.
"Easy, Granger," he said apprehensively.
"If word gets out to anybody about what we're doing, Malfoy, I swear on the name of Merlin that you will pay," Hermione forced out through gritted teeth. "If you jeopardize this mission, I will make you suffer."
For a few moments, neither of them moved; Hermione stared daggers at him, while Malfoy looked peevishly back. Finally, Hermione lowered her wand, tucked it into her pocket, and walked into the Great Hall, thinking that the worst possible thing that Malfoy could do was underestimate her.
.
.
Hermione had not returned to her dorm after dinner. She had opted for a walk with Harry and Ron, but as students weren't allowed on the grounds after dark anymore (and without the Invisibility Cloak, the Head Girl could hardly condone it) they had decided to head to the library, where they could comfortably cast a Muffliato and talk amongst themselves. They chose a secluded corner and settled into the chairs, the somewhat rickety table creaking in protest as Hermione leaned toward them and related everything that had been said in the Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore had told her she didn't need to tell Harry and Ron about Malfoy's involvement with the Horcruxes, but the truth was that Harry was going to be furious either way, and Hermione was not going to lie to her best friend out of cowardice.
"What?" Harry shouted, pounding his fist on the table irately. He looked almost deranged. "How could he think that's a good idea?"
Ron appeared almost as outraged, his eyebrows knit together in a furious expression. He crossed his arms and settled into his chair moodily. "Dumbledore's gone mad, he has. Completely out of it."
"It's not entirely illogical," Hermione reasoned. "He's right about one thing. Malfoy does know more about the pureblood circles than we do, seeing as Ron's family aren't exactly invited to them. Maybe he can be more of an asset than any of us are willing to admit."
"Don't tell me you're on his side now, Hermione," Harry accused.
"I'm not, Harry," she insisted, annoyed. "But it can't very well be taken back now, can it?"
"We can Obliviate him," Ron offered. "That should fix things right up."
"No, we can't," Harry admitted, defeat apparent in the fall of his shoulders. "Dumbledore would tell him again, and we'd be in trouble for messing with people's minds."
Hermione nodded, but Ron scoffed. "You've got a Muggle-hating maniac after your blood and you're worried about getting in trouble with Dumbledore?"
Looking pensive, Harry did not look up at Ron when he spoke. "No," he said. "But after everything he's done, it would be poor repayment."
"I'm just not sure I understand completely." Hermione bit her lip, deep in thought. "I'm not certain Malfoy can really be all that useful. Sure, he knows plenty about the pureblood circles, how they operate and what their customs are, and maybe even the location of some of the Horcruxes once we know what they are. But it isn't as though he's a spy. If a Death Eater or any of Voldemort's sympathizers even lay eyes on Malfoy, he's as good as dead."
Harry nodded his agreement. "Right. He can't get us close to them through deception…"
Hermione watched as a light came on behind Harry's eyes, the kind of light that almost never lead to good things.
"Harry, what are you thinking?" Hermione asked, almost dreading the answer.
Harry turned up his gaze, looking determined. "Draco can't get us close to them, but there is someone who can."
Hermione shook her head. "Not Professor Snape, Harry, you know he can't -"
"No, no! Not Snape, Hermione," Harry said quickly. Ron and Hermione shared a nervous look. "Lucius."
.
.
"Basilisk," Hermione said to the painting, and the subjects seemed to pay no attention to her at all. They went on about their arguing, shaking fists at one another as the painting swung forward. Hermione climbed through the hole, ascended the stairs, and was surprised to see that Malfoy was sitting in one of the armchairs with a red tome open across his lap.
"And just where have you been?" he sneered, looking up from the book.
Hermione bent to scoop Crookshanks into her arm, who had run up to her and was slinking around the hem of her robes. "You're hardly in any position to be asking about my whereabouts," she replied evasively.
"Can't you keep that stupid cat in your own room? It's been annoying the piss out of me all night."
"He gets bored. He needs room to run around," she said simply. "It's my common room too, you know. And his."
"Whatever. He's a hideous creature."
"And you're such the strapping young man yourself, Malfoy," she retorted sarcastically.
"I'm out of your league, Mudblood. So sorry to disappoint."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please," she scoffed. "As though I'd be interested in such an arrogant -"
"Dumbledore told you to tell me about the Horcruxes," he interrupted, closing the book and setting it on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.
Hermione paused, unable to hide the hesitance from her gaze as she observed him. She didn't trust him, couldn't trust him, but a small voice in the back of her head told her there was no way to avoid this.
"You should really ask Harry," she told him honestly. "I know which ones have already been destroyed, and what some are possibly expected to be, but he's the one who really knows Voldemort's story."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "I'm not asking Scarhead."
"If you're going to be a part of this, you're going to have to learn how to be civil with Harry and Ron!"
"I'm not. Because Dumbledore told you to tell me, he didn't tell me to ask Potter."
"What's the difference?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.
"The difference is that at least you have an ounce of sense, whereas Potter and Weasley have the combined intelligence of an ogre."
"That sounded dangerously close to a compliment." Hermione raised an eyebrow, and as Malfoy unfolded his legs to rise from the chair, Crookshanks leaped from her arms, advancing on the wizard defensively.
"It's not a compliment, it's a statement of fact. Though I can't imagine why anyone would take that as flattery, being smarter than Potty and the Weasel. What are they, bottom twenty in the class?"
"That's rich, coming from the idiot who was only made Head Boy for his protection!" Hermione said angrily. Crookshanks seemed to sense her ire, for the cat was spitting madly at Malfoy, his bottle-brush tail standing at rigid attention. "Or didn't you know?"
Malfoy took a step toward her, the only thing separating them being one of the armchairs that framed the fireplace. "Of course, I knew! You act like I would want this stupid badge. Head Boy. I can't think of a more useless title. Except, perhaps, the Boy Who Lived. Or Know-It-All Mudblood."
"You're not fooling anyone, Malfoy! I know it kills you to be second to Terry Boot, a half-blood, and to be third to a Mudblood must make you positively suicidal. How does it feel? To know that the people who you've been raised to think are inferior are so far ahead of you?" she asked cruelly.
"Shut up, Granger," Malfoy said in a low voice.
But Hermione did not shut up.
"Have I touched a nerve Malfoy? Need I go on? Need I elaborate on how alone you must feel when none of your house will even speak to you anymore? Without your idiot bodyguards to protect you, and your hideous girlfriend to fawn all over you, without your father to -"
"I'm warning you, Mudblood!" he shouted, and in an instant, his wand was directed between her eyes; Hermione had drawn her own, and they were facing each other with hate radiating off their bodies.
"Don't talk about my father!"
Crookshanks gave a yowl and pounced, claws extended as he landed on Malfoy's shoulder. The wizard staggered back and gave a growl of pain, grabbing Crookshanks by the scruff of his neck and pulling. Hermione heard the tear of Crookshanks' claws ripping through Malfoy's robes before the cat twisted in midair, hit the bookshelf, and landed on the floor.
"Don't touch him!" Hermione shrieked and raised her wand arm. "Stupefy!"
Malfoy deflected the spell. "Don't touch him?! That stupid animal attacked me, it's lucky I didn't snap its neck!"
Hermione fired a non-verbal Impediment Jinx, deciding that casting her spells aloud was the reason he was so easily blocking them, but Malfoy had been ready anyway.
He dived to his left, nearly colliding with the fireplace as the jinx sailed past him.
"Is that what you're going to do, Malfoy? Will you do the dirty work yourself this time, since you don't have your pathetic father around to bully the Ministry into executing innocent creatures for you?"
"I said, don't talk about my father!" he yelled and fired a spell her way without speaking. Hermione ducked quickly behind the armchair but it turned out to have been the worst possible thing she could have done because when the chair blew backward and knocked her to the floor, she realized too late that Malfoy had cast the Reductor Curse; he hadn't fired it at her but at the furniture itself.
Hermione felt the wind leave her chest first, and then the sharp stab of pain as the back of her head smacked against the stone floor. She heard Crookshanks make a furious noise, and she could only assume her cat had come to her defense, but half a second later she heard Malfoy shout "Incarcerous!" and she knew from Crookshanks' pitiful mewl that the spell had hit its mark.
Hermione gave the chair a hard push and rolled her body to the side. She had managed to hold on to her wand through her fall, but it left her hand suddenly and she knew that Malfoy had disarmed her. She rushed to get to her feet, but the next thing she knew, Malfoy's shoes had entered into her line of vision, and his hand came down roughly on her shoulder before he flipped her over so she that was on her back. Malfoy then straightened out, his wand trained on her face as he looked down at her.
Filled with rage, Hermione ignored his wand and the possibility of being hexed, bravely grabbing hold of his ankle and pulling it as hard as she could toward herself.
Malfoy gave a surprised grunt before his legs came out from under him and he fell to the ground with a satisfying thud.
"Give me my wand, Malfoy!" she demanded, scrambling over to him and snatching at the hand that held her weapon. She grabbed a hold of his wrist and attempted to wrench it from his hand, trying to use her weight against him to prevent him getting up.
Finally, her wand came free, but Malfoy had gained enough leverage to push his back off the ground, using his left hand to grab hold of her wrist and point her wand toward the ceiling. He managed to get to his knees, and then Hermione felt Malfoy turn her body around and press her, face first, into the floor.
She flailed as hard as she could, but he had overpowered her. Hermione's wand arm was pinned over her head and her left was twisted against her back as Malfoy bore down from above. "Apologize!" he ordered, his voice loud in her ear.
"When Flobberworms fly, Malfoy!" she ground out.
"Apologize for insulting my father, Mudblood!"
"Apologize for insulting Harry and Ron!" she screamed, and Malfoy pulled her arm up toward her head. Pain shot up to her shoulder and she cried out, the pressure almost too much to bear. "Let me go, Malfoy!"
"I'll let you go when you've given my father a proper apology!"
The pain was becoming excruciating, but Hermione Granger would not apologize. And she would not beg.
She had another idea.
"What would your mother think?" she gasped, her words rushed and close together in her agony.
Hermione felt Malfoy relax his grip fractionally and the easing of the pain was a welcome relief.
"What are you on about, Granger?" Malfoy growled.
"What would your mother think if she could see you now? If she could see you twisting a woman's arm behind her back?"
Malfoy was silent for a moment.
"I doubt she'd care whether I was hurting a Mudblood either which way," he said finally, but Hermione could tell there was no conviction in his voice, and he had yet to pull her arm up again to inflict any more pain.
"Are you sure about that, Draco?" she asked, deliberately using his first name.
He scoffed. "Hypocrite! With all your bloody feminism, all your sniffy 'witches are just as capable as wizards' rubbish. Now you're trying to use my mother against me?"
"Let me go, Malfoy. You know she wouldn't want this," Hermione tried again.
The seconds seemed to stretch on forever as Malfoy considered. Hermione waited with bated breath, preparing herself for the pain if he decided to twist her arm up further. But after a few long, long moments, Malfoy lowered himself so his mouth was close to her ear.
"Tomorrow, Granger," he hissed. "Tomorrow you tell me about the fucking Horcruxes."
And then the weight was lifted. Malfoy had backed off. Hermione pushed herself back onto her heels and exhaled a slow, calming breath, clutching her shoulder as she slowly got to her feet. She turned to look at Malfoy, but he was already disappearing into his room.
Hermione smoothed out her hair as best as she could and then righted the armchair with her wand. An aggressive yowl sounded from behind the couch and, remembering her cat, she rushed around and gathered her him into her arms. "Oh, Crookshanks, I'm so sorry, boy. Finite."
The ropes that had bound him fell away and disappeared. Crookshanks then gave an affronted meow and, casting her one outraged glare, leaped onto the bookshelf and settled himself in. Clearly, he would not be sleeping in her room tonight.
Hermione sighed.
Thanks to everyone who consistently reads and reviews. I would love to be that author that responds to every review she gets, but I just haven't the time. Rest assured that you all keep me going. And for my lurkers, I appreciate you equally.