A/N: Welcome to the next chapter. A little heart-to-heart between Draco and our favourite witch is in order :)

Enjoy!


CHAPTER 7

April 1998

Draco had just managed to fall asleep when the cellar door was opened. His fight-or-flight instinct kicked in at once, driving him to his feet. He half expected to see Voldemort's gaunt form – maybe the evil wizard had somehow managed to trace Draco to the Safe House where he was currently held prisoner.

But it wasn't Voldemort; only Potter entered. Draco never would've expected to feel relief at the sight of Wonder Boy, but he did.

It was probably early morning, from the look of Potter's messy hair and the dark circles under his eyes. The expression on his face, though, confused Draco. He looked … contrite.

"It's okay," Potter whispered suddenly, holding his hands up in front of him to show Draco he carried no wand.

Only now did Draco realise that his breath came out in panicked gasps and that he pressed himself into the corner, like the rabbit in front of the lion. It took him great pains to relax his posture, but his social training hadn't been for nothing.

"What are you doing here again?" Draco asked in a strained voice. He vividly remembered Potter's and Weasley's last visits, and they hadn't been pleasant. They'd asked him questions he couldn't answer – about why he'd followed them and what he was planning. The problem was that Draco didn't know himself. He'd just grabbed the opportunity with both hands to escape the evil madman that would certainly punish him for letting Potter escape.

Sighing, Potter fished something out of his back pocket. Automatically, Draco tensed, but it was only a water bottle.

"I came to apologise for…" Potter hesitated for a second, blinking, "… our behaviour. Just because we were treated cruelly, doesn't mean we have to return the favour."

Draco's mouth nearly fell open, but he didn't dare to make a snarky comment.

"Here's my peace offering." The Gryffindor threw the bottle to Draco, who caught it with shaking hands.

Draco wanted to unscrew the lid so badly, to gulp down half the bottle to quell his thirst, but he restrained himself. "What? No silly questions today? Why the change of mind?" he asked, something akin to his usual sneer in his voice.

Potter shrugged. "Hermione …" He didn't need to finish that sentence. They both knew how vehemently she advocated human rights, but it still surprised Draco she considered him human enough to advocate on his behalf.

"Then, thank you," Draco muttered. "But this doesn't change anything."

Slowly, Potter approached him, and Draco had to press his fingers into his palms to keep from backing away. "Something you said to her made her think you didn't follow us to stop us. Is that true or were you lying to cover up your true intentions?"

Draco cursed himself inwardly. He shouldn't have let his guard down with that girl. She was too clever for her own good.

"Ah. We're back to not talking again, aren't we?" Potter chuckled silently. "But it doesn't make sense. Why else would you follow us? Tell me!" He was closer now than Draco felt comfortable with, and he discreetly tried to slide away from him.

"Maybe I did want to stop you," Draco hissed, but Potter shook his head.

"Liar."

"I'm a spy! Is that what you want to hear?!" he spat.

"I don't believe you."

"Maybe that's the problem, then. You won't believe anything I say, even if it's the truth."

Potter sighed. "Valid point. I need to make sure you're not going to flee, or betray us, or do anything to endanger us."

"How could I? I'm locked up," Draco snapped almost aggressively. He was so sick of their conversation going in circles.
Potter shrugged, "That's what I'm trying to find out. Besides, Hermione's against prisoners in one's own house. Even Death Eaters."

Draco flinched and then barked out a bitter laugh. "Would she say the same if my aunt or my father were here?"

Potter raised one eyebrow. "No, she wouldn't. And that should tell us something, shouldn't it?"

Draco gritted his teeth. Even if Hermione didn't think him a monster, everyone else did.

"She wants you to come upstairs," Potter added quietly when Draco didn't react.

"I don't want to, thanks," Draco replied without thinking. Here, he had only one door to watch. There was also no escape, that was true, but upstairs… he'd expect an attack any minute. The blonde girl and the wandmaker were there. The very people who had suffered in the Malfoy's dungeon. He wouldn't expect them to forgive or just ignore him.

"I thought you'd say that, but she wouldn't listen." Potter gave him another crooked smile, turning to leave. "If you change your mind…"

Draco snorted, staying upright until the door clicked shut behind Potter, then he crumbled to the floor. What had he gotten himself into?


A few hours later, the door opened again. Draco hadn't been able to sleep since Potter's visit, but he still jumped – or rather swayed – to his feet at the sound. He was so tired that he could barely even think, but the adrenaline kept him awake.

Grey morning light fell through the window and painted his cell into an ominous half-light with deep shadows lurking in the corner.

The footsteps had been so quiet that Draco hadn't heard them approaching. Sloppy, he scolded himself. If he wasn't more careful, he'd end up dead. But who was he kidding? His chances of getting out alive were infinitesimal anyway.

Draco wasn't surprised to see wild, bushy hair entering. Of course, Hermione would come. What did surprise him, though, was the plate she was carrying. Breakfast. His mouth watered instantly as the smell of eggs and bacon hit him, too savoury to be artificial. Real food again!

Hermione didn't acknowledge him as she put the tray down and drew her wand in a careless move. Instinctively, Draco froze like a deer in the spot light, pressed against the wall as if it might swallow him, protecting him from harm. Hermione's wand, however, wasn't trained at him but at the broken chair.

"There you go," she muttered and glanced up.

Manners!, a voice inside of Draco said, and he obeyed. "Thanks."

Already halfway out of the door, she paused and turned back again. "Why wouldn't you come upstairs?" she asked, looking so damn innocent, almost hurt, he had to suppress a laugh. He'd thought she of all people would understand.

"Would you go upstairs to dine with Death Eaters?" he countered.

Hermione frowned, pondering his words. "But- but we're not… oh." Understanding dawned on her. "You think we'll hurt you."

Quickly, Draco averted his gaze because her expression was so dismayed he felt guilty. She couldn't believe that her beloved friends would turn to violence and revenge. What a nice world to grow up in.

"We wouldn't," Hermione stated in a shaking voice.

"Do you think my nose broke all by itself?" his mouth drawled before he could stop it.

Hermione gasped, and reluctantly, he turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide, shocked, but there was a spark of determination flickering in these hazel ponds. Before she could say anything – probably to defend her useless friends – Draco said, "Don't worry. I deserved it. I am a Death Eater after all."

That shut her up. Hermione flinched back almost violently, making Draco almost regretting his words. Almost.

"I'm not going to be your project," he added, in an attempt to push her away for good. He didn't want her pity. His self-hatred was so all-encompassing and bitter, it took his breath away.

Hermione hesitated, but, instead of leaving, she then decided to venture back into his cell.

"Just leave me alone," Draco snapped, almost desperate for her to get the hell out of here. But she didn't. Why? Why did she not leave?

"Ugh, would you just stop that and tell me the truth? I think I have deserved it!" Even though the witch was at least a head smaller than him, Draco suddenly felt like a very small child being scolded by his mother. She planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips and eyes sparking.

"There's nothing to tell," Draco bit out. Why didn't she get that? "You're wasting your time." Hermione sighed but not in defeat, more a sigh of annoyance. "I don't think so. I want to know now why you've followed us!" she said, her voice a steely command, turning from the cute kitten to the cat with sharp claws. No chance of getting her to give up now, Draco realised.

He, however, could be just as stubborn as she was. At least, he had nothing better to do. So the Slytherin sat down calmly, grabbed the plate with the breakfast, and took a sip of his tea as if he was sitting in the breakfast room in Malfoy Manor. Earl Grey with a dash of milk.

That only seemed to enrage Hermione more because she nearly ripped the porcelain cup out of his fingers, but stopped herself before she could touch it.

She is so cute when she's angry, Draco thought, then almost choked on his tea. Wait! Did he just think of Hermione as cute? Sleep deprivation was a dangerous thing, it seemed.

"Do I need to put Veritaserum in your tea?" the Gryffindor threatened, sitting down in front of him.

Draco snorted. "I'm a master of Occlumency. Won't work. Sorry," he deadpanned, shrugging nonchalantly and taking another sip of his tea. This exchange was almost funny in a grotesque sort of way.

Suddenly, Hermione reached over as if to smack him, and Draco couldn't help flinching away from her touch. Instantly, she froze. He could see the wheels in her mind churning, watched her drawing the wrong conclusions.

"Yeah, just don't let the Mudblood touch you," Hermione hissed, leaping to her feet and almost kicking over his bowl with scrambled eggs. "Just for a moment, I thought you were a decent human being."

The words stung.

"Wait, Hermione," Draco called out before he could stop himself. Hadn't he wanted her to leave? Apparently not.

Quickly, he struggled to his feet, his cup of Earl Grey forgotten on the floor. Hermione actually listened to him, pausing just in front of the door. Wait – had he just used her first name? Damn. When did that happen?

However, this was not the right time for introspection. He needed to explain himself before she left and really didn't come back. She needed to know that he hadn't wanted to hurt her with his reaction.

"That's not the reason I …" Draco's voice trailed away, then tried again. "I did let you touch me, remember?" He gestured towards his face.

Slowly, Hermione turned, a cool, almost expectant look on her face.

"The first day here," Draco clarified quickly.

Hermione nodded; she remembered. But the words were not enough, she deserved more. "I don't believe that anymore," Draco finally admitted, avoiding her inquisitive gaze.

"Why? You certainly had no objections to it before," Hermione snarled, probably remembering all the time he'd flung the insult in her face.

He'd deserved her wrath. Still. "Something about having people tortured and killed in front of your eyes might manage to change your opinion," he retorted but then clasped his hands over his mouth, surprised by his own outburst.

"You seemed to have no problem of me being tortured in front of you!" Hermione's voice pierced him to the bone, and Draco winced. She had no idea how much of a problem he'd had.

"I am a coward!" he screamed, his voice skipping an octave. "Even if I thought it was wrong, what should I have done?" His voice broke, and all the rage crumbled within him, turning dark and destructive.

"No, you're right," he amended in a calmer voice that betrayed nothing of the guilt and self-hatred he felt. "I realised there are some things… some things you just don't do to survive, some things you need to stand up to and fight against –" Draco interrupted himself, realising he'd said too much, way too much.

A smug smile tugged at the corners of Hermione's lips as if she'd figured out 'P versus NP', one of the Millennium Prize Problems, and her posture relaxed. "Is that why you followed us?"

Hastily, Draco shook his head. Trust her to think him a hero. "I'll say it again, and I suggest that, this time, you believe me – I'm a bloody coward, nothing more," he said, stressing every word carefully. "What do think is happening right now in Malfoy Manor, what do think happened yesterday, or just after you left? Do you know if my mother's still alive? Do you think my father stayed unharmed?" His voice broke.

The look of shock on Hermione's face told him that she'd never once considered that. Before she could start apologising or – Merlin forbid – pitying him, Draco said, "So yes, I was scared, and I took the opportunity to escape. That's all." His voice was shaking slightly, and he hated himself for that. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore and the smell of eggs gave him nausea. Quickly, he pushed the tray away from him.

Draco's thoughts had been circling around the fate of his parents since he'd arrived here, but, now that he'd voiced his worries, he couldn't prevent his thoughts from spiralling downwards and out of control. If he'd stayed, he might have been able to protect his mother. Even if he had been crucioed. If he'd only stayed, he could have done something, anything. At least he'd know if they were still alive.

Forbidden sobs broke out of his chest, even though he tried to silence them. Draco didn't want to cry in front of Hermione, but this grief wanted to be felt. He couldn't stop the tears from running down his face, hot and salty on his lips.

Suddenly, the door was being locked from the outside, and Draco knew Hermione had left.

Of course she'd leave. The Gryffindor was too much of a hypocrite to stay, thinking her side, her people, were the only ones who'd suffered.

Well, Draco wished that were true.


Present

Draco stayed in Hermione's cell for over an hour, talking about seemingly little, unimportant things until she'd fallen asleep in his arms. Her shaking had subsided a little, but every now and then she'd twitch, and Draco would wince with her. How could she still feel save enough to curl into his embrace, to fall asleep with her head on his shoulder? Maybe she was just exhausted; maybe she just needed his warmth…

When Draco finally tore himself away from the sleeping witch to abandon her in the dark cell once again, Bellatrix had already disappeared, probably to report to the Dark Lord. Quickly, he made his way up to his room.

Hermione's haunted look was still fresh in his mind. This image would give him nightmares to haunt his dreams for all eternity. Draco simply had to save her. He'd never be able to live with himself if he didn't.

Hesitating for only a second, he sat down at his desk and took out his potion's text book. Draco dormiens nunquam tittilandus, he cast silently At once, the page about Dragon tonic turned blank, waiting for the first drop of ink. Neither his father nor Severus had written a message so far.

Determined, Draco grabbed his quill and wrote down the hints Hermione had tried to convey: Prince, tell Lightning that T. will go to Godric's H. and Hogsmead.

Goose bumps travelled over his body, and he rubbed his naked arms. It felt terribly wrong to call the monster that was still in the dining room by such a simple name as Tom.

Once the Slytherin had finished writing, the script disappeared, which meant the others were checking their parchments as well. For a second, he pondered adding something about a plan to rescue Hermione, but he needed more information fist, for example where Harry and Weasley stood with the Horcruxes. They'd destroyed the diary, the ring, the locket, and the cup (although the Dark Lord didn't know about the last one, or so Draco guessed). The group knew that the snake carried part of Voldemort's soul as well, but the identity of the last was still hidden. Hopefully, Harry had discovered more. Voldemort must've checked the location; or had he trusted that nobody would even think of the object in question?

Draco sighed, rubbing his throbbing temples. His head hurt from when he'd banged it on the floor during his 'conversation' with the Dark Lord, and sleep deprivation added the finishing touch to his headache.

With a quick move of his wand, Draco transformed the blank page back into an ordinary book. He knew Voldemort wasn't satisfied yet with the information he'd given him. But how was Draco supposed to give him more without revealing anything important? Hermione's words were empty information that wouldn't keep Draco alive for long.

That thought almost plunged him in despair. Draco would never be able to negotiate Hermione's release that way, and she'd suffer more; days and weeks and months. The thought alone made bile rise in his throat.

Finally, Draco managed to drag himself to bed and passed out as soon as his head touched the pillow.