Chapter 18 - HE'S WORKING FOR VOLDEMORT!

"Theo?" Draco intones, lowering his wand a little, but not all the way. "How did you get in here?"

"Through the door," Theo says stupidly.

"It was unlocked?" Hermione nearly shrieks.

"Yes…" Theo responds. "What are you two doing in here?"

"Nothing," Draco says quickly.

"Um, can we go back to that unlocked thing for a second?" Hermione asks, turning to Draco. "Did you know anyone could just walk in here?"

"No!" he says indignantly. "I thought that was part of how the room works! If you ask it for privacy, it's supposed to give it to you."

"Well, did you ask it?"

"Not explicitly. I was a little distracted, Granger," he snaps.

Theo looks between the two of them, then at Neville. He looks tense, frozen but for the one hand fidgeting with the edge of his robe.

"Can I interject here?" Theo butts in. "And ask, yet again, what the hell you two are doing?"

Draco and Hermione look at each other, their mouths agape, eyes shifty.

"Is that a vanishing cabinet?" Neville asks abruptly, speaking for the first time since they were discovered. He points at a narrow black cabinet looming just behind where the other two are standing. It's tall with detailed carvings around the edges and corners, the door flung wide open to reveal a space that appears both impossibly vast and incredibly claustrophobic.

"What makes you say that?" Draco demands.

Neville gulps and Theo makes the absurd mental note to have his boyfriend and his best friend spend more time together, because Neville looks scared of Draco and that just won't do.

"My gran has one," Neville explains. "She and a friend got a pair, so they could escape to each other's houses during the war."

"So that's what you two were talking about before?" Theo asks. "Draco, you're trying to fix a vanishing cabinet?"

Draco says nothing, which is all the confirmation Theo needs.

"And it would connect to another one, outside the castle? So if you fix it, you could get out? Or," Theo realizes aloud with dawning horror, "someone else could get in."

Draco nods slowly.

"That's your task," Theo says softly. "Fixing the cabinet."

"Theo!" Draco hisses.

"What? Everyone here knows you're doing something for him," he counters. "Well, I assume Hermione does at this point, though I'm still not entirely sure what the hell she has to do with anything."

Draco flicks his gaze meaningfully to Neville and then back to Theo.

"Oh, did you not think I tell Neville things? Cause I do," Theo says casually, his eyes fixed rigidly on Draco and his not yet lowered wand.

Draco's eyes darken. "No, Nott, I didn't think you went around blabbing my personal business to Gryffindor heroes just because they suck your cock," he spits.

"Draco!" Hermione exclaims.

Theo's wand is out in record time.

"I don't think Neville deserves to be insulted," Theo warns him, "not when you're the one putting the entire fucking school in danger. Who's coming in, Draco? How many Death Eaters? Is he coming with them?"

Draco moves to the left and Theo does the same, slowly circling each other in the narrow space between the rows of misplaced objects.

"You know I don't have a choice," Draco bites, the end of his wand crackling with a shower of red sparks. "And don't you dare say you wouldn't do the same fucking thing."

"I wouldn't!" Theo yells. "I'd die before I let them in here. What are they going to do? Take over the castle? Attack first years in their beds?"

"No!" Draco shouts, wand sparking again with his distress. "That's not what it's about!"

"Is that what he told you?" Theo taunts. "Because the Dark Lord is really known for his truthfulness, isn't he?"

Draco takes another step, his wand hand shaky. Theo refuses to break eye-contact.

"You used to understand why I was doing this," Draco says, his voice more hurt now than angry. "You used to be supportive."

"Things change!" Theo cries, taking a step back and letting his wand arm drop to his side.

Draco lowers his wand too, and Theo hears Neville and Hermione exhale.

"I didn't know what you were doing before," Theo says softly, shaking his head.

"Did you think I was knitting him a jumper?" Draco asks. "You had to know it was something like this."

"But putting the whole castle at risk? I know he has your mother, but still…" he lets his voice trail off, wondering when exactly he and Draco diverged.

Was it the first night, with the Sorting Hat? Later, when he broke up with Daphne? After the holidays?

Or was it earlier? Have they always been on separate paths?

"It's not what you think," Draco says. "It's not about attacking the castle."

"Well, what's it about then?"

"There's no fucking way I'm telling you more than you already know."

Draco's jaw is set in immovable seriousness and Theo grits his teeth, staring back in equal defiance.

"I can't let you do this," he says. "My father would have. He'd have joined in. But I'm not him. I won't be. We're better than them, Draco."

Neville and Hermione have been quiet, watching the two of them fight anxiously. But now Hermione steps forward.

"Maybe," she says tentatively, "there's another way."

"There is no other way, Hermione," Draco says tiredly.

"But what if there was? I don't know what it is right now," she admits. "But Theo's right, Draco. If you let them in they could do anything, not just — what they said they were going to do."

"Hermione —" Draco begins.

"She knows what the plan is? You told Hermione?" Theo talks over him, his incredulity outweighing any remaining shred of decorum.

"Yes," Hermione says, stepping closer to Draco and touching her fingertips to the inside of his wrist.

Draco turns and meets her eye, and Hermione nods slightly, smiling weakly.

"What the fuck?" Theo gasps. "You two are… together?"

Hermione nods again, her face pained, and she slips her hand fully into Draco's. He squeezes her hand back.

"Oh, Hermione," Neville breathes.

"How long has this been going on?" Theo demands.

"Not long," Hermione says quickly.

"Depends how you count," Draco says, a hint of his signature smirk ghosting across his face.

"To be clear," Theo asks, because he can't quite get his head around it, "you two are dating. You, Draco Malfoy and you, Hermione Granger are in a relationship."

Draco nods.

"Sort of," Hermione says. "I don't know if I would call it — Sort of."

Draco furrows his brow.

"Anyway," Hermione carries on hurriedly. "That's not the important part. The main thing is, now that we all know about the vanishing cabinet, we need to decide what we're going to do about it."

"None of you are going to do anything," Draco says roughly.

"Not yet," Hermione says. "For now —"

"I didn't agree to that," Neville cuts in sharply. "If the school's at risk, we have to do something. And if none of you will, I'll do it myself," he declares.

Draco glares at Theo. "Do you see what I mean?" he says. "About blabbing to Gryffindor heroes?"

"Of all the bloody hypocritical…" Theo mutters.

"All I was trying to say before," Hermione continues, "was that we should take some time to think about it. Draco's months away from fixing the cabinet, right?"

Draco nods.

"And you can go slow, can't you? Buy as much time as possible?"

Draco nods again, more tentatively. "I can't stop," he says. "And I can't delay forever."

"No," she agrees. "You can't stop. But you can stall. In the meantime, we're going to come up with a plan. Some other way out of this. And until then, we'll keep it quiet."

Neville hesitates. "I don't know, Hermione."

"Just for a little while, Neville," she says. "Please."

Draco scuffs a foot against the floor impatiently.

Theo remembers the conversation he had with Luna a couple months back and how she told him that Neville was worried whether he would do the right and brave things, when it came down to it. He remembers over Christmas, how he'd picked a side and promised to stick to it, after he met Neville's parents in St. Mungo's.

In practice, it's harder than he expected to know what the sides even are.

"Can we think about it?" he asks. "I think we need to talk about it before we do anything. Okay, Nev?"

He meets Neville's eye, sees the depth of his discomfort. He's a proper Gryffindor. His default state is action, not waiting and seeing.

His default is strong convictions and firm ideals and that's what Theo loves him for.

If this goes wrong, if they wait and Draco lets Death Eaters into the school, Neville will never forgive himself. And Theo will never forgive himself for being the one who convinced Neville to compromise on his position.

Hermione had better be fucking certain about this. And Draco had better be the person Theo hopes he is.

"Okay," Neville says eventually. "We can talk about it. But not forever."

"Thank you, Neville," Hermione says, sighing in relief. "We'll figure something out, I promise."

Theo takes Neville's hand and rubs a circle over the back with his thumb. "Let's do that then," he says.

With a last look at the worried frames of Draco and Hermione, the open vanishing cabinet looming behind them, they make their way around the dropped serving platter and shards of broken glass, back out the way they came.

Hermione watches Theo and Neville leave the Room of Requirement, then marches after them and locks the door.

Turning back to Draco, she says, "I guess that could have gone worse?"

He lets out a pinched little laugh. "Right, because bloody fucking Longbottom knowing my task is exactly what I was hoping would happen today."

Hermione sighs. "I don't think he'll tell anyone."

"For now," Draco says. "And only if we find a way out of it. Which we won't be able to do."

Hermione walks up behind him and wraps her arms around his middle, resting her head on his shoulder.

"What if Theo's right, Hermione?" he says, voice shaky. "What if they attack the castle? He made it sound like they'd just be there to back me up and help me kill Dumbledore… but I don't know anymore. It doesn't really make sense, does it?"

"I don't know, Draco," she murmurs. "I don't really feel like I know anything anymore."

"I don't know how this happened," Draco says defeatedly. "This morning, I was on my own. And now you and Pansy and Theo and bloody Longbottom know and — I really wish you didn't. None of you are safe."

"No one knows we know. And no one's going to tell, at least not anytime soon. We can figure this out."

"I wish we didn't have to," he whispers. "I just want to go back to the way it was before. Or just back to an hour ago and never stop kissing you in the library."

Hermione smiles, pressing her lips to his shoulder briefly. "It'll be okay."

"What if it's not? What if there's no other way?"

"There will be," she says with a level of conviction she wishes she felt.

"I'm not going to let my mother die."

The room falls silent for a long moment, Hermione holding onto Draco like he's an anchor in a sea of strangeness and fear and change.

"You shouldn't even have to be thinking about this," she says quietly. "Someone should have protected us a long time ago."

"Yeah." Draco steps out of her arms and closes the door of the vanishing cabinet. "I don't want to think about it anymore today."

Hermione nods and holds out her hand for him. He takes it and they start making their way away from the cabinet.

An impossible amount has happened in the last few hours. She was supposed to have a quiet afternoon in the library, researching horcruxes for Harry. Now she can hardly remember why that was supposed to be important.

Snape knowing, Dumbledore dying, Death Eaters coming through the cabinet, Theo and Neville finding out about everything… it's too much to wrap her head around. She would quite like to take a time out — have a bath, or a cuddle with Crookshanks, or bury herself in some reading until she forgets all this. Just for a little while.

"It must be nearly dinner time by now," she remarks. "Do you want to go down?"

"I could stand to stay up here a little longer," he whispers, ducking his head against her ear. "Since we've managed to get the door locked, and all."

"Really?" she laughs. "That's what you're thinking about, after all that?"

"That's always what I'm thinking about," he says, spinning her towards him and capturing her lips with his.

She opens her mouth to him easily, makes no objection when his tongue slides against hers, and matches his intensity easily, digging her fingers tightly into his strong arms.

Perhaps this is precisely the distraction she needs. Kissing Draco is — dare she say it? — even better than reading.

He walks her backward, navigating them to an old writing desk without ever breaking the embrace. Hermione clamours onto it and wraps her legs around Draco's waist. He lets his hand linger at the curve of her hip, carefully feeling the shape of her body through the fabric of her shirt.

The heat and pressure of his lips against hers is insistent, tantalising in its desperation. She's surely giving off the same level of urgency, like this kiss is necessary for survival, more important than oxygen, than her very breath.

Draco lifts her shirt and slides his hand against the bare skin of her hip. She shudders.

"Okay?" he asks softly.

"Yes," she breathes. "Very."

He grins, emboldened, and pushes his hand further under her shirt, coming to cup her breast over the fabric of her bra. She presses forward, encouraging his touch, and threads a hand through the pale hair at the base of his neck, pulling his mouth back to hers.

Then he stops, pulling away. He holds her without moving and furrows his brow.

"What did you mean by 'sort of'?" he asks.

"I — what?"

"Before, you told Theo we were 'sort of' dating. I'd like to know what you meant by that."

She squirms and he lets her go, the loss of his touch making it both easier to think and making her ache with its absence.

"I meant that I don't know what to call this? We're not exactly a typical couple, so I wasn't sure that was the right way to describe it," she explains. "Until today, I hadn't even talked to you for like a month!"

"And whose fault was that?" Draco asks.

He's positively infuriating. If he could just stick with one mood for an entire afternoon once in a while, she might be a little less dizzy, a little less mixed up.

And to be annoyed with her for not being more committed, of all things! How could she be, given everything?

"Draco. Don't you understand? You're planning to kill Professor Dumbledore under orders from Voldemort!" He opens his mouth as if to argue, but she talks over him. "I know it's more complicated than that, but still. Harry's my best friend. And you're working for a man who would see me killed or enslaved or whatever it is he wants to do with muggle-borns in an instant!"

"You know I don't have a choice," he argues. "I've never had a choice."

"Haven't you, though?" she asks softly. "No one made you call me a mudblood for all those years. No one made you help Umbridge last year. And you said yourself you wanted to do it. That you wanted his approval, and your father's."

"Everyone wants their parents' approval," he mutters weakly.

"Not everyone would kill for it."

Draco closes his eyes and presses his forehead against hers. He breathes deeply for several moments.

"So that's it, then?" he says resignedly. "You don't want to be with me for real, because of my past?" He takes a step away from her, and looks at the floor as he speaks. "I get it. I should never have expected… and I've always said you should stay away from me. You're right, it's better this way."

"What way?" she asks. "I'm still not running. I know I should. I should hate you! If life made sense I wouldn't want anything to do with you."

"But?" he asks hopefully.

Hermione steps off the desk and answers him with a kiss, slower and softer than before. "I want everything to do with you," she says, breaking away.

That evening, Hermione goes for a walk. She and Draco eventually made it to dinner, though they were rather late.

Afterward, she's restless. She can't imagine hanging around the dorm or the common room, sitting still with her thoughts.

So she walks. Across one floor and then the next, up and down the echoey stone corridors.

This morning, everything was normal. Then she went to the library for the first time in weeks and everything got flipped on its head. She can't figure out if it was a mistake.

From one perspective — the logical perspective — it was. Of course it was. If she hadn't gone to the library this afternoon, she wouldn't be tangled up in knowing the specifics of Draco's task, somehow worse than the simple murder she thought it was. Theo and Neville would have remained blissfully uninvolved as well.

And at the same time, she can't regret it. Because now she knows what they're dealing with. She knows about Dumbledore and Snape and the details of the plan, and maybe, maybe she can figure out a way to stop it.

And there's Draco. She doesn't regret that either. That afternoon, the feeling of being in his arms, of his hands on her skin and the bruising pressure of his lips on hers… All aching need and fiery desperation mixed with soft, safe comfort.

She hadn't previously known it was possible to feel that level of attraction for another person. The level of bursting, risk-your-life-for-it desire that she feels for Draco seems impossible.

It doesn't make any sense.

But maybe that's the point. The wrongness of it. Months ago, he'd taunted her, accused her of liking the dangerousness and meanness he embodies. It's more than possible he was right.

The tiny shred of logic remaining in her brain concurs. If after seeing everything that happened today — from his arrogance in the library, to his loss of temper in the Room of Requirement, both when he threw the bottle and when he spoke so horribly to Theo, to the fact that he was planning to go ahead with letting Death Eaters into the school — if she can still want him, she has to like it. It's the only explanation. Or does she just not care?

Arrogance, selfishness, violence, meanness — she wants him in spite of it. Maybe because of it.

"Hermione!"

She almost jumps out of her skin at the sound of Harry's disembodied voice not two feet to her left.

"Holy — Harry! What are you doing? You've nearly scared the life out of me!"

"Come here," he says, the door to an empty classroom opening up ahead.

She follows his voice anxiously and steps into the classroom, at which point he promptly shuts the door behind them and pulls off his invisibility cloak.

"What's going on?" she asks. "What's with the cloak?"

"I was worried you'd avoid me if you could see me coming," he says, somewhat sheepishly.

"Harry, why?"

He takes a few steps away from her, then back, pacing restlessly.

"Did you know," he offers conversationally, "that the Room of Requirement doesn't show up on the Marauder's Map?"

"No, I didn't…" Her stomach sinks through her shoes and onto the floor.

"Well, I only figured it out recently," he continues. "When I started watching for Malfoy."

"Why are you doing that?" she asks cautiously.

"I want to know what he's up to. It makes sense to know his movements. And he disappears from the Map a lot, when he goes into the Room. But I found his name this afternoon. He was in the library. With you," he finishes coldly.

"Oh," Hermione whispers.

"You were in the Room of Requirement with him for almost three hours, Hermione."

"Harry, it's not what it looks like," she says desperately, despite the fact that it is exactly what it looks like.

"I don't even know what it looks like!" he cries, still pacing around the room. "It doesn't make any sense!"

"It's complicated," she says.

"Is he making you do something for him? Forcing you to help him? You can tell me, whatever it is. I can help."

"He's not making me do anything," she attempts to assure him. "I'm okay. Everything's fine."

Harry walks back and forth along the front of the classroom, like he's a teacher giving a particularly impassioned lecture.

"If it's not that, then what is it? You're not — Hermione, you can't possibly be — involved with him?" Harry can hardly get the words out, he's so disturbed by the idea. "Right?"

"No," she lies, quickly and firmly, a little bit of her heart breaking in the process. "Absolutely nothing like that is going on."

Harry looks immensely relieved. "Then what is it?"

He's not going to take no for an answer. And there's a part of her that wants, more than anything, to share everything that's happened with her best friend. For a moment, she's tempted.

But not yet. If she tells him now, everything will fall apart. She just has to hold on until they figure a way out of Draco's problem.

"He was showing me something," she says slowly, "that he wanted my opinion on."

Harry stops and stares at her with narrowed eyes. "Malfoy asked you for help? Why? What did he want to show you?"

"Draco and I are… getting along. We're friends, sort of."

"WHAT?"

"It's just, we're in the same house now, you know, and we sit next to each other at every meal and… he's not so bad when you get to know him," she hedges. Maybe if she can soften Harry to the idea of Draco as a person, it will make it easier when she tells him the truth someday.

"HERMIONE! HE'S WORKING FOR VOLDEMORT!"

"It's not that simple, Harry!"

"YES IT IS!"

"No it's not!" she yells. "The world isn't split into good and evil! And even if it were, Draco's not —"

"Stop calling him that!"

"Harry, it's his name," she pleads. "And that's not the point! I am not helping him help Voldemort! I'm helping him get out of it!"

She's breathless from yelling and shocked at her words. She didn't mean to say that.

"That's what he wants you to think!"

But maybe it's alright. It's a reasonable explanation, isn't it? She's working on the right side, making sure Voldemort's plans don't come to fruition. And she and Draco are getting along.

If she tilts her head and squints a little, she's hardly even lying.

"Harry," she says softly. "I know what I'm doing."

That may be the biggest lie she's told so far, seeing as she has absolutely no idea whatsoever what she's doing.

"I don't understand," Harry says, his voice pained as he rucks a hand through his hair. "It's Malfoy. Don't you remember who he is? How can you trust him?"

"I'm not sure I do," Hermione says, finally saying something completely honest. "But I need to give him a chance. I think… I think it could change everything."