I am trying out this concept, and I don't know if anyone has.

Takes place HBP.

Perhaps it was that time in the second year where she tricked Lockhart to sign for that potions book in the Restricted Section when she and her friends had wanted to see if Draco Malfoy was behind the attacks. Perhaps it was the various titles suggesting contents of Dark Magicks that raised the hairs on her neck.

The Restricted Section didn't bring her the thrill that it had some of her peers. The thrill of getting their hands on books that they weren't allowed to read beforehand.

At least we're learning how to fight this stuff, she thinks as she pulls a dusty title. Her eyes stinging as the dust rose from the edges. The title itself was enough to curdle her intestines, though she wouldn't be reading it if not for that essay assigned by Professor Snape.

A few feet away, she could hear an audible groan of frustration.

"McGonagall is a right wanker. Does she plan to exhaust us to death?"

"Maybe if you didn't despise her for being Head of Gryffindor House, you wouldn't have any problems, Malfoy."

"Sod off, Denmore. As if I don't have other obligations. I have more important things to do than work with this rubbish."

Hermione froze. As if I don't have other obligations.

Harry's suspicions resurfaced in her mind. Suspicions that he was still sure of and vocalized to the point where it exasperated her and Ron. Had Harry been here and heard it, he'd see it as some sort of crumb to eat.

He's talking about his Prefect duties, Hermione's response would have been. You have more responsibility foisted upon you.

Except that Malfoy had only cared about using his Prefect badge for his power trips then executing his role justly and adequately.

Harry only thought Malfoy was working with Voldemort due to bias. He was a nasty bigot, of course, but from experience after five years, he was more talk and less action.

If Harry's wrong, why don't you want to see it for yourself, implored that rational part of her mind.

Hermione had looked over towards the rest of the library. With Draco Malfoy sitting at a table a few feet away. No surprise that his obnoxious girlfriend was there. As well as Pike, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle.

She stood still. Watching as Malfoy scratched his head. His grey eyes narrowed as he seemed to try to make sense of the work before him. If it weren't for the bookshelf she was behind, he would have seen her watching him.

A minute passed when she sees Malfoy finally slam his textbook shut in frustration. Muttering under his breath as he shoves his notes into his bag.

"Where are you going?" asked Parkinson, looking up from her pile of books.

"To do something better with my time!"

You can do this, Hermione thinks as she exhales. Putting the book back where she left it before scurrying out of the Restricted Section. Madam Pince glaring at the back of her head even as she left the library. Either this will work, or she'll fail.

Knowing Malfoy, it will ultimately fail.

"Hey, Malfoy!" she calls to him in the crowded hallway.

At the sound of her voice, did Malfoy turn to face her. Irritation settling on his features as he raises his eyebrow incredulously before stalking towards her. Assessing her with a slight frown. "Were you calling my name, Granger, or was that the wind simply blowing?"

Hermione doesn't waver by the time Malfoy is practically close to her. "Yes, I was, Malfoy," she answered, clenching the strap around her bag tightly. More due to the rising tension seeding within her than the strain of the books in there. "I promise that it wasn't the wind blowing."

Malfoy purses his lips.

"Whatever it is, Granger, make it quick," he spits, not hiding the disdain in his voice. His hand waving dismissively. "I'd rather you not waste my time."

"I noticed that you were having a hard time with your Transfiguration homework," offered Hermione, not loosening the hold on her strap.

Malfoy snorts as he rolls his eyes. "What about it?"

"I was wondering…if I could help you," Hermione clarified with uncertainty, tapping one of her feet on the stone floor. His belligerence not helping matters any.

At that offer, Malfoy had looked just as his mother did at the Quidditch World Cup and at Madam Malkins': crinkling his nose as if he had was getting a strong whiff of dung. "Oh, the Mudblood Granger is offering to help me with my school work?" he jeered, lifting his chin in contempt. "As if I need your filthy hands to touch my papers."

"Watch your mouth, Malfoy," she seethes, the blood reaching her face as she balls up her fists. Using every last ounce of restraint to prevent herself from punching him as she did in the third year.

"I can call you what I like," he dictated before he moved to turn away. "Oh, and I'd rather be swallowed by the Giant Squid before I can let you help me with any of my schoolwork."

The blood rushed to Hermione's hands and face as she watched his blond head moving further down the hallways. Watching him turn from her sight before stomping away towards Gryffindor Tower.

Why that bigoted, arrogant – What else should she have expected when she offered to help him with his homework just to see what he was up to?

That unexpected conversation ran through Draco Malfoy's mind as he descended down to the dungeons. That insufferable Mudblood Granger who thinks she knows everything because she reads books, who did she think she is?

What did she have to prove, anyway?

First Potter and now this.

While the encounter was irritating, on the other hand, it posed a problem if she persisted. And Granger was not one to give up easily for the last six years he went to school with her. Her sudden need to help him with his homework would only complicate the assignment he was tasked to undertake.

Draco was sure that the Dark Lord needed to hear about this.

Rather than go to the Slytherin common room to put his books away in his dormitory so he could start working on that Vanishing Cabinet, his feet took him to the place he least wanted to be.

"Come in," Snape prompted as he knocked on his office door.

Draco didn't bother to be gentle as he pushed his way into the room. Taking note of Snape's widened eyes as he walked right in. "Draco," he started, standing from his seat. "It seems you –"

"I want to see him," Draco interrupted as he stared down the man he once looked up to. The man who took the role as his godfather at his parent's behest. The man who stole his father's position as the Dark Lord's right-hand wizard after his incarceration to Azkaban.

His current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher regarded him with narrowed eyes for a moment before answering, "You know that the Dark Lord does not want to be disturbed. He has a lot on his plate at the moment."

"He told me I can speak with him should anything come up," Draco seethed. Feeling the blood reach his face. His nails digging into his palms. "And I'm afraid that things are getting complicated."

Draco was not surprised when he saw Snape cross his arms with his fists. Suspicion turning into hesitation. Of course, he'd hesitate. He took his father's glory, and he was confident that Snape would take his glory as well.

Glory that he'd hoped to return to the family name once he killed the old man.

I trust you'll be able to restore the honor to your name, were the Dark Lord's words the moment he gave him the assignment. That you'll prove more competent than your father before you.

"Alright. Use the Floo Network." Snape gestures to the fireplace. "I suggest not to be gone too long, Draco. In times like this, people will be asking questions."

Of course, people were starting to ask questions, first with Potter and his inability to mind his own business to Granger's fruitless attempt to help with his schoolwork.

Once Draco had reached the atrium of the manor, he made a beeline to the greenhouse. That's where his mother was these days ever since the start of the summer, ever since that trial, where father was sentenced to Azkaban. As he entered the dome building, he watched as she pruned the lilies and the hyacinths. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she undertook her task.

"Mother?"

She looked up, and he could see her curl her red painted lips in a smile. "Draco! What are you doing here? You know how it would look in these times if people knew you left school grounds."

"Where is he, mother?" he asked without a beat.

At that, her smile slightly falters as she bows her shoulders.

He could see that hesitation. The same uncertainty he saw when they said goodbye on the platform before he boarded the Hogwarts Express. Oh, how he wished his mother would understand that he wasn't a child anymore. He was older now. Practically grown up due to the emblem of the Dark Lord gracing his left forearm.

"In your father's study," she answered before turning her gaze back to the flowers she was tending to.

His father's study. Even if he idolized the man, Draco still felt a twinge of hurt when the Dark Lord took his father's study as his own. Somehow, it felt wrong. And Draco hated himself for thinking that. This was the man who, in his father's own words, had taken action when others did not.

His father's study was on the third floor, and Draco gave the double oak doors three taps before hearing the crisp, "Enter."

Draco never had too many memories in this room. For the only times, he'd been in here was if he had gotten himself into some degree of trouble, and that was perhaps ten times. However, the only things different were the giant snake coiled under a patch of sun gleaming through the diamond-paned window and the man sitting behind the desk.

His crimson eyes turned towards him as he looked up from a copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard. His lips curled into a warm smile like a father regarding his favorite child as he beckoned him forward. "Ah, Draco. Have a seat."

Draco had tried not to show the intimidation he felt towards his idol as he walked up to the chair in front of the mahogany desk. Shoulders back and chest out, except his clammy hands wished to argue.

"Any word on your progress, Draco?" He set the book by the inkwell. Sitting up and leaning forward towards him

Draco swallowed as he tapped his fingers against the armrest of the chair, pondering how to say it. Say it the wrong way, and the Dark Lord would react accordingly. "I haven't started yet," he admitted. "Haven't found the time with all the workload that they have given us for our N.E.W.T year. However, tonight I believe –"

"As much as I appreciate your concern on your academics, your very mission and how you execute it is more important than mere schoolwork, Draco," he interrupted with a hiss. "Mediocre schoolwork that would serve little use once you've killed the old fool."

At the last sentence, Draco had allowed a smile. It was mediocre if the teachers teaching the subjects were Mudblood lovers. "I plan on working on the Vanishing Cabinet tonight, milord," he assured. "I've come here to report complications."

"Complications?" The Dark Lord raises his brow.

"Yes," Draco answered, clasping his hands together. "Two so far. The first one was Potter, obviously. The bloody tosser overheard everything I was saying. Made sure that everyone left the train before putting a body-bind on him and covered him with that Invisibility Cloak" – at this, the Dark Lord places his hand on the book he was reading earlier – "They managed to find him before the train even went to London. The second one" – Draco allows a snort – "the Mudblood Granger has offered to help me with my Transfiguration homework."

"Granger? As in Potter's friend?" he asked.

Draco shrugged. "Who else. She always thinks she's better than anyone else, especially those from pureblood families, simply because she remembers what she read in a book. Granger's going to be a nightmare. She's not going to want to give up, and I'm not going to be able to get some work done if she keeps meddling."

At this point, the Dark Lord was a few feet away, gazing out the window. His ever-faithful viper Nagini slithering up his body to coil herself around his shoulders.

"A complication," he repeats, stroking his snake's head. "A complication that might serve as an advantage if you apply it as such."

"How would it serve as an advantage?" Draco asked with a confused shrug, wondering where his master was going with this.

"My reliable intel has relayed to me Hermione Granger's brilliance," the Dark Lord mused as he walked back towards the desk. "For that, I can forgive her blood status. However, her close relationship with Harry Potter would serve as an obstacle for recruitment."

"You'd recruit the Mudblood?" Draco asked. Tightening his hold on the armrest as to not cover his mouth in shock.

What in the bloody Merlin was he hearing?

"She wouldn't be the first, Draco," he replied as he had set back down. Not withdrawing his penetrating gaze. "I'm willing to overlook blood status if someone possesses the skill or intelligence that I refuse to pass up. Lily Evans would have thrived in our circle had she not refused offers of recruitment in favor of the Order and James Potter. I was able to succeed with one Mudblood, however, and because of me, I was able to use your father's influence to give him a job at the auror office to be a set of eyes. It's hard for Mudbloods to find any decent job after graduation from Hogwarts.

"Given this information you have told me, you will be given an assignment in addition to your current one," he continued.

"You want me to recruit Granger?" It was as if the Dark Lord had taken his brain from his head, shifted its contents, and put it back in his head. Did he hear this right?

"I want you to accept her offer of help with your Transfiguration homework," the Dark Lord clarified. "You'll have a better chance of grooming her towards our cause. For that to work, I need you to level down any belligerence when it comes to interactions."

The Dark Lord was literally asking him to recruit the girl he hated second to Gryffindor's Golden Boy. It was as if a Confundus Charm was placed on him. He entirely wasn't expecting this.

"And if I don't succeed…?" he asked, giving the Dark Lord a sidelong glance. The odds of Granger taking the Dark Mark were just as likely as those pathetic Chudley Cannons making their way up to the top of the league.

"If you don't succeed, at the very least, try to glean any information about Potter during your interactions," he answered. "Now, go and don't report back until you've made significant progress," he bids with a wave of his hand.

Draco, who walked just as he came in, did not pay attention to the Dark Lord refocusing his attention on Tales of Beedle the Bard as he left the study. When he was outside, did he lean against the wall. Shaking his head before massaging his temples with his fingers.

Given a choice between the squid and being around Granger, he'd still rather take the former.

With the son of his disgraced servant having left the room, Voldemort had turned his attention back to the Tale of the Three Brothers. Had it been fifty-eight years ago, he would still have regarded it as one of those fanciful fairytales that he wouldn't give a second thought to. The difference was, he was older and wiser to the world than he was at that time and did some digging to realize that perhaps there was some truth to some of this story in this silly book.

It wasn't that he hated his wand. The wand he bought from Ollivanders' had aided him down his road to become the greatest and most feared wizard. Yet, instead of killing Potter that night in the graveyard, his Killing Curse had met with the boy's disarming charm. All due to both their wands possessing the core from the same phoenix, according to the wandmaker after they captured him.

There was also that need to possess a wand that "could be worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death." And wizards throughout history were rumored to possess a wand such as that. The wandmaker Gregorovitch even said that he had Death's wand.

The wand wouldn't be the only thing that he'd be after, for it was said that Potter's cloak of invisibility hadn't worn off over the centuries. Why should one die when they not only evade Death but become Death themselves?

The boy, well, he had his suspicions on the reason for their connection and that boy's ability to speak to snakes when his family tree never even back to Salazar's Slytherin. Looking back on that night, when his curse had rebounded, he had felt that same pain he had in those times he had split his soul to attain immortality.

How foolish of him to not connect those dots even then.

As of now, the most pressing matter was sitting on the desk right in front of him.

"I believe we need to pay Gregorovitch an visssit," he tells Nagini as he tenderly strokes her scales with the tip of his fingers.

On second thought, perhaps he better tap himself back into his connection with the boy. If he was what he thinks he is.

Hermione had drowned out her dormmates' nonsensical babblings as she focused her Potions homework. All while Crookshanks was purring away on her bed. Slughorn didn't teach Potions with the same brusqueness as Professor Snape did, for he was completely the opposite.

Another difference was that the results of her potions weren't the same. Compared to Harry, who was doing well simply because he was in possession of a used textbook where the original owner made changes to the instructions. And he says he's not cheating.

You practically helped Neville cheat with his Shrinking Solution that one time in the third year, said a voice in the back of her head. To which Hermione had answered with a mental scoff. It was just that one time, and it was because Professor Snape had threatened to feed Neville's toad with a botched potion. Which would have had disastrous if not fatal results.

"Padma thought she saw you talking to Malfoy in the hallway out the library earlier," Parvati bought up, tearing Hermione away from her thoughts. "You didn't seem happy."

Hermione suppressed a sigh. Why did Padma and Parvati have to be such gossips?

"Just Malfoy being Malfoy," Hermione sniffed. Not tearing her gaze away from her book as she pressed the quill on the parchment. A small blot blossoming from the tip of the quill. "I heard him having trouble with his Transfiguration homework, and like the arrogant bigot he is, refused my help in fear I'll taint his school papers."

"Malfoy aside, is Ron going to attend the Quidditch trials tomorrow?" Lavender asked. Hermione could hear her leaning forward in her bed.

"Of course, he is," Hermione answered defensively, tossing her homework on her bed with more force than what was needed. "And before you say anything, he's a bloody good Ke-"

"I know he's a good Keeper," Lavender interrupted, lifting both of her hands defensively. "I just hope that he keeps it. Can't see anyone else as Keeper for the Gryffindor team. Better him than Cormac McLaggen."

With that wistfulness in Lavender's tone as well as that wistful look in her eyes, Hermione didn't understand how the meaning of that first question had flown over her head. Lavender's sudden interest in Ron would have confused her if Hermione too didn't notice that he had seemed to grow out of his awkwardness over the summer. Even if he was that same boy to her.

And Lavender's interest in Ron seemed to have bothered her for some reason. Hermione didn't know why it would, for Ron didn't seem to be her type.

"He'll keep it," Hermione had replied in assurance as she picked up her paper again. "I don't see why he can't."

That night, everything from that conversation with Malfoy to Lavender's interest in Ron had repeated to her as if she were hearing that blasted Weird Sister's song on the radio. That in the morning, she had tried to clear her mind by reading Hogwarts, A History.

Trying so desperately to ignore the glances that Harry – who was reading that blasted book – and Ginny were sneaking at each other in addition to Lavender trying to sneak glances at Ron.

Hermione had just closed her book and was about to ask Harry how his session with Professor Dumbledore went before she saw Harry and Ron grow rigid with caution and awareness. Even Ginny joined her brother as he and Harry were about to stand up and take out their wands when she thought she heard Malfoy drawl, "Truly is a lion's den, is it?"

Hermione turned in her seat to see Malfoy standing behind her. Across the hall at the Slytherin table, she could see Parkinson, Zabini, and Pike watching, ranging from narrowed eyes to crinkled noses. Crabbe and Goyle, for their part, were too busy shoveling the food into their mouths from their breakfast plates to see what was going on.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione demanded before anyone else could.

"I would rather tell you without Potter, Weasley, and Weaslette's prying ears," he retorted. Hermione turned back to see the caution hadn't slipped from her three friends, with the people in their vicinity watching uncomfortably.

Hermione clears her throat. "I think that Malfoy needs some help on that assignment." She could feel three sets of eyes – especially Harry – watching them as she and Malfoy leave the Great Hall.

"Well," she demands as they stand by one of the torches. "Have you changed your mind, or are you giving me more reasons why you don't want your schoolwork to be tainted by my dirty hands?"

Malfoy snorts as he rolls his eyes. "Never thought you'd be this dense, Granger," he retorted, shaking his head as if she had amused him. "I thought about it, and even if the Giant Squid was a better alternative, I'm certain that my mother wouldn't be too happy if I failed Transfiguration."

"I take it that you accepted my offer then?" she asked, as there was no other way she could have interpreted his answer. No matter how belligerent it may have been.

"Just don't get too friendly with me, Granger," he said. "Things will not change between us."

I don't expect they would, she thinks as she answers, "Would Saturdays work for you?"

"No, it would be too much of an inconvenience," he answered. It would be, as it might interfere with Quidditch. "The free period after lunch on Wednesday might be better."

Hermione nods. Nothing wrong with that request. It might push Harry and Ron to do their work independently rather than rely on her for it. "Alright, then. See you on Wednesday."

Malfoy says nothing. His grey eyes gleaming with contempt as he gives her a curt nod before departing into the Great Hall to join his lackeys for breakfast.

Hermione exhaled as she allowed the tension to leave her body. "Not too ideal but better than yesterday," she tells herself before stepping into the Great Hall. And waiting to greet her were Harry and Ron. Both of them clenching their jaws, except that Harry's hands were clenched while Ron was wringing his.

"The bloody git didn't threaten you, did he?" Ron demanded, his shoulders hunched.

"No, Ron," she assured, digging her fingers into one of her clammy palms. "He just asked if I could help him with his Transfiguration homework."

"Help with homework?" asked Harry. His green eyes narrowed as they lit up with suspicion. Hermione just shook her head at his question. Of bloody course, you'd be suspicious, she thinks.

"Trying to piggyback off you, isn't he?" Ron presumed. "If he does anything, try Ginny's bat-bogey hex. That'll show him."

Ron ends his sentence with a glare directed at Slytherin table before darting back towards Gryffindor table. Hermione took a step after him when Harry touches her shoulder.

"Did Malfoy just come up to you to ask him for help, or did you offer to?" asked Harry.

Instinctively, Hermione hid her hands in her pockets as she answers, "I saw him having trouble with that packet that Professor McGonagall assigned us and offered him to help. He said no yesterday, though he seemed to have changed his mind. Probably wants to make mummy proud," she finishes resentfully.

Even if he nods, Harry raises his eyebrow in suspicion. Hermione did admit it did seem rather odd, for Malfoy was adamant not to let her handle his papers. It's not like Harry had proof that Malfoy was serving Voldemort other than his grudge.

And this effort to prove him wrong would most likely end with Hermione seeing that Malfoy's "mission" was just talk as she suspected. When looking at it, it seemed to be that way. Because why else would it be anything else than Malfoy trying to make himself out bigger than what he really was?

"So, that means you're…." Harry drifts off, sounding hopeful.

Hermione shakes her head. Scoffing. "It's going to be Malfoy trying to impress Parkinson, as Ron suggested. You know yourself that Malfoy is more talk and less action. Talk to me when you see that I'm right."

She sets her walk at a brisk pace when she makes her way towards the table. Feeling Harry's eyes on her as she did so.