Chapter 2

"Malfoy?"

Blond hair fell over grey eyes and a sneer familiar to her since first year was plastered across his face. Even bound and hog tied on the floor, Draco Malfoy managed to look at her with superior disdain.

"Granger," he grunted.

Hermione crouched down in front of him, staring at his wary and resentful expression for a few moments. He really was a full-blown Death Eater now. Sent to kidnap the Cattermoles and throw them in jail so that Mary could face whatever sham of a trial the Muggle-born Registration Committee had in store for her.

He was really one of them now, wasn't he?

Giving herself a mental shake, she returned to the task at hand. Ten minutes and Ron would come. She had to hurry up, and eyed Malfoy with distaste.

Ugh.

And now she had to pat the sodding Hitler youth down. While he was awake.

Cringing, she began to do so awkwardly, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible. Checking someone's body for weapons or other dangerous items was infinitely easier when they were unconscious.

"The Weasel isn't doing his job? You're that hard up for a shag?" he bit out defiantly.

The main reason? They couldn't talk.

With a withering look she retorted, "I'd sooner rut against a Hippogriff."

He snorted derisively but didn't say anything else while she patted down the fabric of his robes and trousers around his legs.

Trying her utmost to maintain a detached, clinical disposition, and pointedly avoiding his gaze, she patted the area of his crotch and rear just like she had for the other two Death Eaters they had captured. It had to be done.

"What the fuck?" Malfoy choked and bucked at her touch. She felt his cock somewhere in all that fabric and yanked her hand away as if burned. "Do you get off on this?"

Hermione ignored him, face flushed with embarrassment and only too eager to get the body search over with as soon as possible. He was only trying to get a rise out of her. In a few moments he'd be Tonks' problem, and she wouldn't have to deal with him ever again.

She checked his chest and abdomen, and must have hit a particularly painful area since he whimpered. Hermione felt a surge of pity. The fact that Dolohov's mission had failed certainly wasn't Malfoy's fault. And even if it was, he didn't deserve to be Crucio'd.

"Does it still hurt?" She remembered his screams of agony while she crouched with Ron and Mary in the bathroom, and shuddered internally. The Cruciatis Curse sounded so painful.

"Does it matter?" he spat back at her.

Malfoy was a Death Eater. And a prick. But she still felt sorry for him. "I saw the charm Mary did. I could try it again if you needed."

"No," he rested his head on the ground. "It shouldn't be overused."

Hermione finished the pat down and sat back on her knees in thought. Her eyes flicked back up to Malfoy's but they weren't open. He seemed awfully familiar with muscle relaxant charms and was disturbingly non-plussed about the fact that he had just been tortured by someone he was on a mission with. Shouldn't Voldemort's army be looking out for each other on missions?

"This has been done to you before?"

"Fuck off," he replied without opening his eyes.

It had.

Why Voldemort's army had so many followers when they were treated like this was beyond her. And what of the Malfoys? They were Sacred Twenty-Eight. Generations upon generations of Pure-bloods with seemingly limitless wealth accumulated through the centuries. Shouldn't they be the royalty of Voldemort's side?

She waved her wand over his body, scanning for magical items and then studied Malfoy some more. From Harry's description of the events that night on the Astronomy Tower, Malfoy was afraid for himself and for his parents. But he took the mark, he let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and here he was. Getting Crucio'd for no apparent reason that Hermione could determine aside from Dolohov being pissed off.

The situation hardly inspired loyalty.

She wondered what Malfoy thought of the fallout of that night right now. For all intents and purposes, the night Dumbledore died was the official start of the war. And she hadn't seen Malfoy since.

"The last time I saw you was when you let a bunch of murderers and rapists into our school."

His face contorted in anger when he glared at her. "Fuck. Off."

Hermione stared down at him and he let his head fall back to the floor, closing his eyes again. His blond hair fell across his eyes; longer than it had been in school. He certainly didn't seem proud of what he had done. Indeed, he was angry that she had even mentioned it. Maybe it was as Harry said. Malfoy was scared for himself, for his parents.

And with what Hermione had just witnessed, it appeared he was right to be.

After a few seconds of silence, he sighed.

"Aren't you going to bring me in so your boyfriend can torture me some more?"

"Malfoy."

He opened his eyes and glowered up at her from the floor.

"If you could leave them, would you?"

His eyes travelled over her face, surprised at her question. In the moments that he stalled to answer, she knew that he would.

"And what?" he jeered, a bit too late to be convincing. "Betray the Dark Lord for a bunch of filthy blood traitors and Mudbloods like yourself?"

Angry, exhausted and still in a degree of pain, Malfoy sounded like a broken record player. There wasn't any heat or emotion behind his words. So why wouldn't he take the offer? He hadn't taken Dumbledore's offer either. Something was keeping him there. Maybe he was scared. Karkaroff had fled, and eventually the Headmaster of Durmstrang's body was found.

Mutilated.

Hermione studied him in thought and Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her in distrust.

Voldemort had Death Eaters serving him that wanted to leave, but couldn't. The lack of loyalty, the feeling of being trapped and constant worry of being Crucio'd must build resentment. It was one thing to reluctantly participate, it was quite another to spy. She had no idea why Dumbledore had trusted Snape to spy for the Order. Snape ended up being Dumbledore's downfall and she had no clue how the Order even benefited from him.

But Hermione didn't have to do anything drastic right now. She didn't have to endanger herself or the Order, she didn't have to make any lasting decisions that she would regret. Maybe asking Malfoy to spy would amount to nothing. It was a gamble for sure, but the payoff could be huge if he did. It was certainly worth trying.

Not knowing how to broach the subject, especially with Malfoy so angry and guarded in her limited time, Hermione decided not to say anything at all. She'd communicate with him later and give him some time to think.

Hermione extracted the D.A. Galleon that she usually carried around in her pocket for quick communications and tapped it with her wand, adjusting the Protean charm so it would only communicate with her master Galleon back at Paddington safe house. Malfoy eyed it suspiciously. She lifted his robes, exposing his black trousers underneath, and stuck the Galleon in his back pocket.

"Copping another feel?"

She scoffed. "You have as much appeal as a Blast-ended Skrewt." She flipped his robes back over his trousers and gave him the most contemptuous glance she could muster. "Possibly less."

Hermione stood up and backed away from him. She had no idea what to do with a spy, and needed time to consult with Tonks. Who knew if Malfoy would even talk to her?

She held out the three wands towards him. "Which one is yours?"

He looked like he would rather eat the aforementioned Blast-ended Skrewt than tell her which wand was his.

She raised her eyebrows. "I can leave you wandless if you prefer."

He rolled onto his back with a wince.

"Hawthorne."

She tossed the wand to the floor ten feet away from him.

"Two days, Malfoy. I'll contact you."

He scowled back at her, and other than that made no indication he had even heard what she said.

Backing out towards the door, she sprinted to the edge of the anti-Apparition ward. The Order should really be manning themselves with Portkeys. She wondered what the obstacles were for doing so. Reaching a safe distance, she removed Malfoy's bindings and Disapparated with a crack.

Hermione lit a match. In two days, she'd see if the fire caught.

ooooooooooooooo

"You did what?"

Ron was livid. Hermione knew he would be. The vein pulsing along his temple indicated that an explosion was imminent.

"I gave Malfoy a D.A. Galleon and let him go. What harm could it do?"

Harry walked into the sitting room after having just escorted his Muggle-born targets to another safe house so the Order could relocate them. If any Death Eaters had shown up to the family he was assigned to, they would arrive to an empty house. Harry oftentimes had more success than she and Ron did in getting people to leave, he was certainly more efficient about it. Harry wasn't the Chosen One just for being born, he really did inspire loyalty. Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, Harry fell down on the couch, watching their fight unfurl in tired resignation.

Ron started pacing back and forth and ticked off his points on his fingers. "He could trick you. He could give you false information. He could lead you into a trap. He could lead someone else into a trap. He could waste our time and our resources on a bloody goose chase. He could be a double agent like Snape."

"Yes, he could do all those things," she agreed. Although she was irritated, Hermione was somewhat relieved that despite his anger and lingering resentment towards Malfoy, Ron had coherent, well thought out points to make. He'd grown up this summer. They all had. "Obviously we'd have to take those possibilities into account when communicating with him. But what harm has been done? He doesn't know anything about us now that he didn't know before. Small risk, big pay off."

"We could be interrogating him like Dolohov and that other twat. Harry, tell her."

Harry's eyes had been following Ron pacing back and forth across the sitting room. He scratched the back of his neck and spoke. "Malfoy's young. I doubt he's close enough to Voldemort–"

"Harry!" Ron interrupted, angry.

"Vol-de-mort," Harry emphasized despite Ron's irritation, "or his Inner Circle to know much. Anything he knows would be from snooping on his dad. And that's assuming his dad knows anything. We really hit the jackpot with Dolohov. But if Malfoy pans out as a spy, that's potentially game changing."

Ron wasn't giving in.

"But look how much we know. And Hermione is practically a senior leader right now."

Ron turned to her, sometimes he still couldn't believe she was a regular at the planning meetings between Kingsley, Minerva, Remus and Tonks for over a month now.

Harry shook his head to the negative. "It's not the same. Those that would have been senior Order members are dead. There's opportunity for someone younger to take on more responsibility, as we all are. When Volde–"

"For fuck's sake, Harry!" Ron cut him off in irritation.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "When You-Know-Who released those Death Eaters from Azkaban he brought back more experienced wizards and witches. He's got plenty of senior leadership. And don't forget those that escaped conviction twenty years ago. Honestly, I'd feel much better if we had more senior leadership around here. Sometimes I feel like we're all a bunch of kids playing at war." He turned to her apologetically. "No offense, Hermione."

"None taken."

Honestly, she felt the same as Harry did. The weight of responsibility was terrifying some days.

"Anyway," Harry concluded, "I think that was a bloody brilliant move today with Malfoy." He grinned cheekily. "Hopefully he'll be able to… ferret out some information for us."

Hermione sniggered.

Before Ron could come up with a reply, Tonks burst through the front door of Paddington safe house and attacked Ron and Hermione with a hug, pulling them in close, an arm on each of their necks. "I can't believe it! Three of those tossers! Glad we swiped the Veritaserum stores from the Auror office before I left."

"Two," Ron grumbled, still upset.

"What's that?" Tonks asked, releasing her grip on the two of them and backing up a step. "You and Dean said you were attacked by three."

"The third was Malfoy," Hermione explained. "I let him go with a D.A. Galleon to communicate with us."

Tonks furrowed her brow in confusion. "Lucius?"

"Draco," Hermione corrected.

Tonks stared at her for a minute and then a sly smile slowly appeared on her face. "To spy?" Hermione nodded, feeling more confident in her decision now that Tonks was backing her. "Bloody brilliant move!"

Ron muttered to himself and sat down on the couch, crossing his arms across his chest and reluctantly accepting defeat. "You should have at least taken his wand. It's always good to have spares."

Harry turned to him with a smart alecky grin. "Look on the bright side, Ron. Maybe you'll be his handler."

Ron snorted. "Not bloody likely. If I never have to see his ferrety face again it will be too soon."

Harry chuckled and the two discussed the future of Quidditch under the new Ministry rule.

Hermione pulled Tonks aside and lowered her voice.

"Speaking of which," Hermione said with not a small amount of anxiety. "Who would be his handler? Would that be me? Or someone else? If you think I should be the handler, I have no clue what I'm doing. Ron made some excellent points about Malfoy feeding me false information or betraying us."

Tonks nodded. "It should definitely be you. He'll trust you more than someone else because you let him go with his wand. And you're female. That usually works to the handler's advantage."

What?

"No, no! That's not what I meant!" Tonks laughed at the horrified expression on her face. "Women are underestimated because they're seen as less of a threat. He'll be less guarded around you, more willing to volunteer information. Women are also viewed as more sympathetic, easier to confide in. Don't worry, Hermione. No one is expecting you to be the next Mata Hari."

Hermione scrunched her face in disgust. "Revolting."

She eyed Harry and Ron to see if they heard. Given the lack of loud, exaggerated puking noises, they hadn't.

"I'm sure," Tonks said, looking incredibly amused. "Don't worry, I'll help you out. The first priority is to keep you safe. You can't trust him. Always assume a hostile ulterior motive and prepare for it. When do you expect to talk with him next?"

Hermione fingered the master Galleon in her jeans pocket. She'd have to keep it on her at all times now. "Two days, if he even answers."

"So we have some time to discuss communication." Tonks crooked her finger and Hermione leaned in closer. Her stomach lurched at the look in Tonks' eyes. "Hermione," Tonks whispered, "You're going to have to Obliviate those two."

"But–"

Tonks cut her off. "If Malfoy becomes a spy, you don't want people knowing. Not even them. Some things shouldn't be shared. You keep the rest of leadership in the dark about that mission the three of you are doing for Albus, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"Right. The more people that know, the greater the danger of the mission being compromised. Best do it now before they talk about it with other people, or the memory becomes more complicated."

She looked apprehensively over at Harry and Ron on the couch, waving their hands, deep in argument about something. She never kept anything from them before joining the Order. The three shared everything since first year. They didn't have any secrets. Although, there were some items senior leadership discussed where it was heavily implied she keep the knowledge to herself.

Hermione felt a growing distance from her two best friends with each bit of information she withheld from Harry and Ron. These secrets were usually associated greater responsibility. Decisions that had to be made which weren't always pleasant. Somehow, keeping Malfoy a secret from them seemed worse than anything else she hadn't shared thus far.

"I'm a decent Occlumens," Tonks continued, drawing Hermione's gaze from Harry and Ron, "but you may have to Obliviate me as well. No one knows whether or not they'll withstand torture, and then you compromise your spy. I can advise you without knowing who he is."

Disturbed, Hermione swallowed at the implication of Tonks' words. If captured, any of them could be tortured to divulge information.

Torture.

Death.

The reality of war came crashing down on her at the appearance of the Death Eaters and terror at being unable to Apparate away. The resulting victory made her forget her momentary panic but the horror of war returned with Tonks' words.

"Cheer up, Hermione," Tonks turned her nose and mouth into a duck bill. Hermione couldn't help but smile. "Today is full of great news and we will make the most of the opportunity. One person should know about Malfoy besides you. Perhaps Kingsley would be the best choice. I'll need to discuss it with Remus before making a decision." The older witch pulled her in for another hug and rubbed her back. "I'm heading to Pinner safe house. We're going to start interrogating them soon."

Hermione's face brightened, glad that their mission had been so successful. "I hope you get useful information out of them."

Tonks smiled deviously at her. "Oh, don't you worry. I will."

ooooooooooooooo

Draco lay on the floor of the Manor ballroom, clutching his body, trying to still the tremors passing through him.

This was the second time today.

Fucking Dolohov.

His ears were still ringing with the sounds of his screaming and that of seven others when he rolled over on the floor with a groan. He wasn't the only one to fail in rounding up Mudbloods, but his was the only team that had members captured. Draco was paying for it dearly. The Dark Lord had hoped for more success from higher ranking Death Eaters than he had from the lower ranking snatchers, and now Dolohov was missing.

He peered up into his father's eyes, who looked away, unable to meet his gaze. His father was struggling to remain impassive, and his mother wasn't here. Thank Merlin. He didn't know which was worse. Being tortured, or seeing his mother's expression after it was done. The summer of the failed raids, as this time period had come to be known amongst the Dark Lord's army, was unbearable. He wondered if his parents regretted any of their decisions made up until now. Or how much choice they had in the matter at this point.

Draco certainly felt like he had no choice in anything.

He shifted his gaze to his Aunt. She looked like she wanted to fellate her own wand. Aunt Bella always got off when people were being Crucio'd. Alecto Carrow stood next to her. The way she stared at him always made his skin crawl. He closed his eyes to block out Carrow's lecherous gaze and listened to the Dark Lord's angry voice echoing down the corridors. This was as much a punishment for present failure as it was a warning for the future.

At least his parents weren't being tortured for his actions this time around.

With a grimace, he pushed himself up to a supplicant bended knee position and bowed his head, silently thankful that he was one of the few able to get up off the floor. He requested forgiveness from the Dark Lord when it was his turn, arm resting on one knee. When he sensed it was appropriate, he tried to stand, but didn't quite have the strength to do so yet, and remained bent over, head bowed.

The tirade was over. Draco groaned, struggled to stand and limped away to his room. Hopefully his mother was there already, ready to heal his battered body.

With difficulty, he dragged himself up the stairwell and down the hall to his bedroom, finally collapsing on top of his blankets face first. His mother was waiting for him there, trying to hide her crying, and he felt her fingers stroking his hair as the muscle relaxant charm permeated from his lower back and throughout his body. He whimpered into his pillow in relief. The charm took the edge off the pain but twice in one day was too much. He couldn't tell her he'd already been healed by filth in the Order though.

Two muscle relaxant charms. Draco sighed in resignation. His limbs would feel like jelly tomorrow and his head would be mush.

His mother left, promising to bring a potion to help him sleep off the rest.

Draco thought back to Granger's question.

"If you could leave them, would you?"

With some effort, he reached back and took the Galleon she gave him out of his back pocket. He flipped it in front of his face a few times. It didn't appear different from any other Galleon but upon closer inspection he noticed ridges along the edge where Galleons were normally smooth. He ran his thumb along the ridge and the coin glowed. Probably some version of a Protean charm. He flipped it over again, scrutinizing the coin further when he heard footsteps approach. He shoved the Galleon under his pillow as his mother re-entered his room, setting a tray with two cups down on his nightstand.

"I've brought you some Dreamless Sleep and water." She was trying to keep the trembling out of her voice, pretending as if it were simply a fever he was suffering from. "Let me help you into bed properly."

"No need, Mother." His words were muffled as he spoke into his pillow. But she was already unlacing his boots and removing his robes. Draco didn't move as her fingers pulled and pushed gently, helping him out of his Death Eater garb.

After folding and levitating the robe to lie over his reading chair, his mother came around and helped him to a sitting position. She pulled on the hem of his jumper.

"Arms up."

He cracked a smile at her, despite the muscle and joint pain.

"I'm not three anymore." But he complied.

She returned a sad smile, eyes shining with unshed tears, and pulled the jumper off and over his head. His undershirt was removed next.

"I used to be able to hold you with one arm."

He studied her clear blue eyes and the lines on her face. His mother had aged by at least a decade since the incident in the Department of Mysteries, but was always beautiful.

"You still can," he replied softly.

She wrapped her arm around his bare shoulders and pressed his cheek into her stomach, tenderly stroking his hair with her other hand.

"If you could leave them, would you?"

Draco didn't know how to get himself out without abandoning his parents, and he was afraid to speak about it to them. Neither one was an Occlumens like he was. His mother might come but his father probably wouldn't.

Leaning forward, she placed a kiss on the top of his head, and released him. Reaching across his torso, she brought him a vial of Dreamless Sleep, which he knocked back quickly, making a face at the sour taste. A glass of water soon followed and he drank half, giving it back to her.

His mother flipped back his comforter and he allowed himself to fall backwards with a grunt, his aching body pressing into the cool slipcover of his mattress. He felt his mother tugging on the ankles of his trousers.

"Lift your legs, Draco. You'll sleep better when you're more comfortable."

Draco knew that treating him like a child made his mother feel as if she was helping and he didn't argue. He undid the buckle of his pants, opened his trousers and allowed his mother to pull them off, turning over once she removed them. He was wearing boxers, but his state of undress was still awkward in front of her. She flipped the comforter back over him. He was already feeling sluggish from the potion and eager to get to sleep.

"Thank you, mother," he said, his words slurring.

"Love you," she whispered before closing his door and turning out the light.

He reached under his pillow, and noticed a heat that hadn't been there prior. He pulled out the warm Galleon to see some glowing letters had appeared along the circumference. Brushing his thumb against the ridge must have signaled Granger. His vision was blurry, but he could still read it.

Malfoy are you alright?

Fuck no. What did she think this was? A lost Quidditch match?

Draco rubbed the ridge again and the message changed.

Thumb in center for message.

He rubbed the ridge again and the message disappeared. It hadn't been two hours, let alone two days.

He was pissed off, lethargic and in pain. The Dark Lord was terrorizing his family and that prick Dolohov was getting off too easy with a quick, painless death. If Draco weren't so tired, he probably would have thought through his actions more carefully. Right now, he just wanted to screw Dolohov over.

He pressed his thumb in the center and thought.

No Veritaserum.

The glowing letters appeared and disappeared. He stuck the Galleon back under his pillow, hoping he wouldn't regret his actions.

He smirked.

Dolohov would.

Chapter end notes:

I saw D.A. Galleons used for texting in Cheryl Dyson's fic called Draco: Phoenix Rising. It's an OG, probably the first fic where Draco turns spy and then joins the Order. Full credit to her on the creativity.