Chapter 25: The Deadline

"Malfoy."

Draco inclined his head at the oncoming form of Gregory Goyle but did not slow down.

"Malfoy," Goyle grunted, reaching him and attempting to corner him menacingly. "I'm talking to you."

Draco rolled his eyes but raised his hands in mock surrender. "So I see," he noted with amusement.

"It's been a bit since me an' Crabbe have seen you," Goyle snarled suspiciously. "Not thinking of shirking the Dark Lord now, are you – "

"Goyle, are you totally brainless?" Draco hissed, yanking him to the side. "I mean you are, obviously, but still – "

"It'll be your head on the block, Malfoy," Goyle said brusquely. "Not mine, not Crabbe's – "

"I'm familiar with the parties involved," Draco said smoothly, brushing some nonexistent dust off his robes for emphasis. "I hardly thought my head was any of your concern, Greg."

"Just because we ain't the mates we used to be don't change the fact we've still got a job to do," Goyle sniffed.

Draco tried not to laugh. In the elaborate game of wizard chess that was to be the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Draco had clearly overlooked the pawns.

"Consider yourself dismissed," he said curtly. "I can handle it from here."

Goyle looked at him with confusion – though it was difficult to distinguish the change from his resting facial expression. "What d'you mean you can handle it?" he asked slowly, stitching his thick brows together.

Draco shrugged cheerfully. "Tell Crabbe I've got it covered, would you?" he said, clapping Goyle's shoulder. "Appreciate it."

He turned to leave, narrowly avoiding Goyle's outstretched hand as he reached for Draco's arm, attempting to pull him back.

"Malfoy," Goyle called loudly, and Draco barely spared a moment to look at him with impatience before continuing down the hall. "Better not fuck it all up, you prat – "

"Trouble in paradise?"

Theo was leaning casually against the wall at the end of the hallway, observing Draco as he sauntered away from his disgruntled lackey.

"Nott," Draco said, nodding. "Your timing is impeccable, as always."

"Obviously," Theo replied with a grin. "Having some trouble with the troops?"

"You know, I'm not much of a general," Draco said, grimacing.

"Of course not," Theo agreed, throwing an arm over Draco's shoulders. "But why bother, really, when you're doing so well as a self-destructive lone operative?"

"Your faith in me is overwhelming," Draco muttered.

"Oh, you don't know the half," Theo said musically. He let his long stride fall in with Draco's and the two carried on in an unburdened silence.

"So you told Granger about the slipper incident," Draco said, his voice wavering.

"And you told her about the glasses," Theo remarked, unfazed.

Draco paused mid-stride. "Why?" he asked simply, eyeing Theo carefully.

Theo turned to face him, his expression vaguely amused. "Don't you think I could ask you the same thing?"

Draco considered him for a moment.

Much had happened to Draco over the last year, and he had internalized nearly all of it. For every blow he'd taken, he'd done so quietly, locking away the feelings of disappointment in his father, the guilt he felt as a result of his actions, and the growing anger at his past decisions. Theo had observed it all and said nothing, taking Draco's lead, and Draco was indebted to him for it.

But for some reason, at the moment, there was one conversation he was longing to have.

I met a girl.

What would Theo's response be? Knowing him, something obnoxious. "So obvious, mate."

Valid.

She's beautiful. So beautiful, and ferociously brilliant – smarter than anyone I've ever known. And perfect –

"So you're saying she's too good for you, then."

True.

"How's the sex?"

Draco bit back a smile.

Un-fucking-believable.

But then, the inevitable would happen. Surely Draco would have to defend her blood – and could he? Theoretically yes, of course, but if he had tried to explain it to Theo – even to some previous version himself, from no more than a few months ago –

Suffice it to say, telling Theo was not an option.

"Sickle for your thoughts, mate?"

Draco shook his head quickly. "Sorry," he said, shrugging apologetically. "Got lost for a minute – "

"Hardly seems enough space for that," Theo commented. "Why don't you just try me?"

Granger hadn't told anyone; it didn't seem fair, for him to make her suffer alone.

"Nothing to tell," he said breezily, wondering how many times he'd have to lie to the closest person he had to a brother.

Theo regarded him closely, as though looking for evidence of Draco's deception. "Fine," he said finally. "But you're okay?"

Draco nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Yes," he said easily. "I'm okay."

Unexpectedly, Theo's eyes narrowed. "That was quick," he said, eyes flashing. "Last I checked, the Draco Malfoy I knew was – "

He stopped suddenly, and Draco's stomach flipped, catching a foreboding glimpse of comprehension in Theo's expression.

"I see," Theo said, smiling ominously.

"What?" Draco snapped. "What is it that you see?"

Theo's smile broadened. "She's helping you, isn't she?"

Everything in Draco's world careened to a stop as he fumbled desperately for a way to derail Theo's moment of clarity.

"Who's she?" he demanded defensively. "Like I've got time for – "

"But you do have time, don't you?" Theo said, raising an eyebrow. "Nobody's seen you for weeks. And I know it's Granger, Draco, I practically had to close your mouth for you when you saw her at – "

"Give it a rest, Theo!" Draco snapped. "Blaise was right, you really need to – "

"Oh, does it make you angry, Draco, that you're not the smartest person in the room?" Theo said with a smirk. "She'll be able to fool Potter and Weasley until the end of time, but poor you, being friends with me. You had no chance – "

"Stop it, Theo," Draco said warningly, his voice dropping. "Stop."

Theo seemed to hear the dangerous edge in Draco's voice and the amusement faded from his face.

"Fine," he said calmly. "So are you keeping it a secret for your sake? Because you're ashamed of her?" Draco fought back an angry retort, bile burning in his throat. "Or is it for hers – because surely you know that you've made her a target."

Draco said nothing.

"For her, then," Theo said, shaking his head. "That's not good. That's in fact very, very bad." He looked at Draco with naked sincerity. "That means this is serious."

Draco stepped in close. "You don't know anything," he hissed, his voice a low whisper. "Your accusations are baseless and you have no idea what you're talking about. Am I clear, Nott?"

"Crystal," Theo said, his dark green eyes expressionless.

Draco pivoted to resume walking and Theo fell in step beside him, neither boy speaking again until they'd rejoined their housemates in the Great Hall. Draco felt a pang in his chest, knowing Granger's halo of curls was somewhere in the room, but didn't look up, painfully aware that he had an audience in one willowy, sarcastic, unnervingly observant Theodore Nott.

He lay in bed that night – alone, thanks to Potter and his godforsaken map – doing everything he could not to think of Granger, or how he'd been nearly shaking, sitting across the room from her in class, trying to keep his eyes off the hem of her skirt and the way it slid back on her slender thigh. Between Hermione Granger and his task from the Dark Lord, his magical education had gone to shit.

He felt his lids grow heavy, late into the night, and breathed a sigh of relief, succumbing to a powerful need to sleep.

He was in the front room of Malfoy Manor, he realized, looking around frantically. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there.

"Mother?" he called, training his ear for a response.

Nothing.

"Father?"

He looked down, surprised to see he was dressed. Where had he just come from? Was this a memory? A dream?

He wandered into the hallway, catching a flickering green light coming from his father's study. He felt his stomach lurch and tried desperately to clear his mind, an uneasiness flooding through him as he began to understand what – and who – had brought him here.

Draco pushed the door open slowly. "Father?"

His father's study was vast, almost unreasonably so. Lucius had always fancied himself a collector and a scholar, and it was home to his many treasures as well as his usual place of work. The room was lined with books, the shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, each title organized neatly without a single speck of dust. Draco had never known his mother to come in here, and he himself hadn't done so without invitation. This, he suspected, was an exception.

His father's desk was by far the most impressive piece in the room. It was a Malfoy family heirloom, belonging to Armand Malfoy, who had received it as a gift from William the Conqueror. The structure itself was massive, gleaming, totally impractical, and its corresponding chair, essentially a dark iron throne, currently faced away from Draco's view.

Draco cleared his throat as the chair rotated, bringing him face to face with Lord Voldemort.

"My lord," Draco said, inclining his head. "I had a feeling it was you."

"Clever then, aren't you?" Voldemort replied without humor. He held his snake as it rested around his shoulders, stroking it gently. "Nagini," he said, keeping his eyes on Draco, "Why don't you inform our host that his son and heir has arrived?"

Draco could have sworn the snake looked at him with skepticism, as though to relay the fact that it was thoroughly unimpressed with him, but it slid to the desk with a thud, slithering down the curved iron edge and gliding coolly past him. Draco tried not to wince; it was foolish to fear snakes, particularly when the one sitting in front of him was far more dangerous.

"Draco," Voldemort said, raising a clawlike hand to his face. "Do you understand my – let's call it . . . frustration, with your father?"

Draco bowed his head quickly. "I think – "

"The correct answer is no, Draco," Voldemort snapped harshly, his voice grating. "The answer is no, because your father has disappointed me in ways I can scarcely begin to put into words, and thus – you could never understand."

Draco kept his eyes trained on his lap. "Yes, my Lord. I – "

"Silence." Voldemort's vacant eyes flashed. "I accepted your proposition in exchange for your father's life because I believed you to be sincere." He paused, his eyes narrow slits as they regarded Draco. "Were you not sincere?"

"I was – I am sincere, my Lord," Draco said quickly – though not too quickly, he thought, consciously fighting the subservient tone his father had adopted.

"Then I suppose you wish me to believe you are incompetent," Voldemort spat angrily. "But I warn you not to toy with me, young Malfoy, for I know you are not – and you would not be valuable to me, if that were the case, so the pretense is hardly worth your effort."

Draco selected his words carefully. "You once called me a 'worthy son,' my Lord," he said evenly. "I am. In sincerity, and in . . . competence."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed further, but the lord and the heir were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Ah Lucius," Voldemort said smoothly. "So thrilled you could join us."

Draco turned to look at his father, who appeared almost ghostlike in the dim lighting. His silver hair was limp and unkempt, and his clothes, though technically spotless, seemed ill-fitted, as though he'd lost substantial amounts of weight.

"My Lord," Lucius replied, not looking at Draco.

Voldemort's wand flicked slightly and Lucius slammed against one of the bookshelves, piles of books toppling onto his head and knocking him unconscious almost immediately.

The Dark Lord rose slowly to his feet, his wand pointed at Lucius's limp form where it lay on the wooden floor. Draco realized he was half out of his seat, his body pointed toward his father.

"You can apologize to him later, Draco, but I felt it was necessary to remind you," Voldemort said impassively, "that while you might feel safe and sheltered at Hogwarts, this is the reality – your father's life is in my hands." He picked up his wand and Lucius's body floated upwards, something Draco had seen the Dark Lord do on far too many occasions for one lifetime.

"As is yours," he added casually, an unnecessary reminder.

"I understand," Draco said, trying to keep his voice clear of emotion.

"Should you disappoint me," Voldemort continued, "it will be the last thing you ever do. And such an unfortunate end for your father, don't you think? And your mother – I've always admired her," he remarked, a cruel smile spreading over his inhuman face. "Surely I'm not the only one – perhaps Rowle, or Goyle would – "

"Give me one week," Draco said quickly, his heart pounding. "I'll get your Death Eaters in the castle and I will hand you Dumbledore's head on a plate," he spat, "if that's what you want."

"Please – Draco, I've no need for unnecessary gore," Voldemort said, a disconcerting tone of delight in his voice. "I'm not a barbarian," he said with a smile, his teeth flashing in the dark.

Draco's blood boiled but he made every effort to keep his head; there were too many secrets in his brain to show weakness now, and Theo had been right, of course – he'd carelessly painted a sloppy target right across Granger's perfect back. That alone meant that none of his secrets were his own, anymore.

"One week," he said, standing. "Give me one week and I'll let them in."

"I'm nothing if not a patient man," Voldemort said with a sneer. "You can have your one week, provided you do not disappoint."

"Do you plan to join them, my Lord?" Draco asked carefully.

Voldemort seemed to gaze into empty space for a moment, as if something else had crossed his mind. "If you do as I ask, I've no need," he said simply. "And if not – "

He smiled. "Well, if not, then – I would not count my movements to be among your primary concerns."

Draco exhaled slowly, capable of little more than a wary nod.

Voldemort looked sharply at Draco for a final time. "Your father is an imbecile and a disappointment," he said bluntly. "I recommend you do everything in your power not to bring any more misfortune to the Malfoy name."

Draco fought desperately not to flinch as the Dark Lord lunged forward, pointing his wand between Draco's eyes. "Go home," he said abruptly, and everything went dark.

They'd agreed to meet in the library while everyone else was in Hogsmeade – it seemed the only location it'd be reasonable for them to be in the same place without giving Harry cause for question.

Malfoy was already there when she arrived, his face looking hollow and gaunt.

She reached up to touch his cheek. "What did you – "

"Not here," he said simply, pulling away from her grasp. "I can't talk here."

She looked around. "The Room of Requirement, then?"

He shrugged. "Fine."

She frowned apologetically. "It's the only place he – "

"Let's just go."

She nodded. "Okay."

They walked together but made a point to make it look coincidental, like they both happened to be headed in the same direction. The castle was nearly empty, though, and Hermione's relief on that account was boundless.

They paused outside the wall. "What should we ask it for?" she whispered, looking sorrowfully at his troubled features.

"I just want to be alone with you," he said quietly, and a door appeared.

They walked into a room that looked a little bit like a common room, complete with a glowing fire and a comfortable couch, though the primary use of the room was a series of floor pillows strewn over a soft, emerald green carpet, much like that of her bedroom at home. She used to sink her toes in it, reveling in the feel of it on her bare feet as she sat quietly with her books. She saw a bookcase, too – and couldn't quite remember if it had been there when they'd walked in, or if it had only just appeared. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books – some of them were magic related, but some were muggle books, too. She recognized Shakespeare and Homer, and spotted an old, leather-bound copy of King Arthur, almost identical to the one Malfoy kept in his bedroom.

"This is cozy," she remarked.

He nodded. "I'm not sure what I was expecting," he said honestly. "Under other circumstances, probably just an oversized bed – "

"Don't ruin it, Malfoy," she said, smiling. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing in his smell.

He stood limply in her grasp for a moment before pressing himself into her, roughly yanking her shirt over her head.

"Malfoy – " she gasped, unprepared. "I – "

He pulled his own shirt off and pulled her close to him again, kissing her hard before tearing at her lip with his teeth.

"Ouch – Malfoy," she cried, turning her face away and putting both hands on his chest. "Stop, please – just stop."

She heard him let out a ragged breath and sank with him as he collapsed on the ground, landing beside one of the large floor pillows.

"I'm sorry," he said instantly, wrapping both arms around her. "I'm sorry – did I hurt you?"

"No – I'm not made of glass," she said, sniffing. "But you got a bit carried away – "

"I'm so sorry," he said, shaking as he held her. "I'm so sorry – "

"Tell me what happened," she whispered, coaxing him. She shifted back onto the pillow and he leaned into her, kissing the spot between the cups of her bra and then resting his head on her chest.

"I saw him last night," he said.

"You-Know-Who?" she asked, stroking his hair.

"No," he said with a shudder. "Well – yes. But I meant my father."

It said a lot about how far they'd come, that she was able to comprehend how much worse that was for him. "Was it bad?" she said softly.

He was tracing paths across her stomach absentmindedly.

"Yes," he said simply. "You-Know-Who was sitting at my father's desk. He called me in and made me watch while he knocked out my father and threatened me." His fingers paused their movement across her skin. "And my mother. He threatened all of us."

She waited until he resumed his tracing before she responded. An M, she thought, recognizing the character with a flip of her heart. He's writing his name on me.

She asked the question tentatively. "Was it real?"

"I think so," he replied slowly. "I asked him to give me a week."

"A week?"

She could feel her heart pounding, and suspected he could too. He sat up, looking at her.

"Yes," he said uneasily. "He was – unhappy with my progress, to say the least." He let out a small snort of grim laughter. "He told me that he knew I wasn't incompetent."

She winced. "A compliment from the Dark Lord himself," she said, her voice wavering. "How . . . meaningful."

They were quiet for a moment.

"I hate to ask you," he started. "But – "

"You know," she said quietly, "I really do think I understand you." He arched an eyebrow skeptically, waiting for her to go on. "I know you'll want to minimize the damage," she explained. "I know you don't want anyone else to get hurt."

She paused. "You want me to find a way to get you alone with Dumbledore, don't you?"

He sighed heavily. "Yes."

"That will be the easy part, I think," she said honestly, leaning into him.

"What's the difficult part?" he asked, almost smiling.

"Well – aside from the . . . unpleasantries," she said, grimacing, "that means Harry only has a week to get the information he needs from Dumbledore."

Malfoy shook his head. "I forgot that you're still trying to save the world," he said, as though he found a vague element of hilarity in the concept. "Why?" he asked, catching her hand and brushing his lips against it. "Why bother, when the world is so cruel to you?"

She felt herself soften as she looked at him. "You think the world is cruel to me?"

"Yes," he said, without hesitation. "Most of the people who live in your world don't accept you because of something you can't control, and yet you'd fight for them." He slid his thumb over her knuckles gently. "I was cruel to you."

She leaned forward, kissing him. "And I'll fight for you," she finished for him, before touching her lips to his again.

"You're not nearly as smart as you think you are, then," he said darkly, his voice ominous.

"Oh me? I'm just books," she said with a shrug. She eyed the bookshelf and stood quickly, walking over to grab one. She picked a red leather cover with gold leafing on the pages and walked back to him, settling herself between his legs and leaning into his open arms.

"The Iliad," she read, running her finger lightly over the words.

"What's this?" he asked, burying his face in her hair.

"A muggle book," she replied, waiting to see if he went rigid. He didn't.

"What's it about?"

"A war," she replied. "Supposedly caused by the gods."

"The gods?"

"The goddess of love, Aphrodite, offered Prince Paris of Troy the love of the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen of Sparta," she recited, harkening back to a memory. "Helen was already married to King Menelaus, but once she met Paris, she ran away with him. Became Helen of Troy."

"How irresponsible."

She smiled. "Yes, quite." She leaned back and he kissed the crook of her neck.

"What happened?"

"King Menelaus came for her," she said softly. "And he brought the whole of Greece with him. She was 'the face that launched a thousand ships,' and he got her back."

She felt him hum thoughtfully to himself.

"Everyone died, didn't they?"

"Essentially," she said sadly.

"Was she in love with the other guy? Paris?"

"Scholars differ," she said with a shrug, and she felt him laugh at her clinical phrasing. She smiled, too. "Some call it an abduction, some call it seduction. But I like to think it was love – that she wouldn't have risked her life, otherwise." She swallowed. "Surely she knew the dangers," she added, her voice low.

They both adjusted their positions uncomfortably, shifting under the weight of her words.

"What happened to him?"

"He died," she said, frowning.

They were quiet again for a moment.

"I can't wait to read it," he said glumly.

She threw the book aside. "At least it wasn't Romeo and Juliet," she mumbled to herself before looking up to instruct the room. "Only happy stories, next time," she called into the air as Malfoy turned her around, taking her face in his hands and kissing her.

"I have a story," he said, his hands traveling down her breasts. "Once, there was a Gryffindor princess – "

She inhaled sharply as he unclasped her bra. "Yes?"

" – and a Slytherin prince – "

"I think I know this one," she said, closing her eyes.

" – and a couple more Gryffindor idiots, one with a stupid map and the other with a stupid face – "

"Yes, I've definitely heard that one before," she said with a sigh, giving into his hands on her.

It nearly broke her heart to leave him after the afternoon they had together, but the parting was always inevitable.

Besides, she thought as she slowly descended the stairs, she had quite a lot to do over the next week. It was crucial that Harry get that memory from Slughorn – and she couldn't bear the thought of asking him again. She winced as she pictured Ron's face, his judgmental glare as he was telling her not to nag.

She sighed heavily. Clearly, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

"Who'd have thought, the little Gryffindor Princess is pulling all of the strings."

She smiled. How right Malfoy had been.

"You've got a bit of Slytherin in you after all, then."

She frowned slightly as she realized that for the first time in her life, that no longer registered as a bad thing.

a/n: This chapter is for afanoffanfic, whose review alone was more insightful than some of my writing, and for VitaAiur, for the kindest review (I love you, too).