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The mark on his arm was burning when he woke up.

He drifted back into consciousness, blinking rapidly and attempting to leave the fog surrounding his brain. The mental clouds began to dissipate, leaving nothing but a numbing feeling that spread from his arm to his entire body.

Bloody fucking hell.

He glanced around the room he was in. It was nothing special, just a simple bedroom. The black walls were stripped of all ornaments, but there were darker rectangles where presumably, portraits had once hung.

He was on a small bed, the only one in the small bedroom. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had been tied down. The ropes were wrapped around his midsection, elbows and the bed, preventing him from moving anywhere.

He nearly chuckled. Naturally, he could perform some rudimentary wandless magic and could escape if he wished.

However, if this was going to work, he needed to stay put.

The beating he had taken had drained most of his energy. Whether or not the Dark Lord had wished this, his father had cast a numbing charm on his son before commencing the attack. That way, Draco looked the part of the beaten deserter, without feeling any of the actual pain.

Deserter. The word danced through his head for a moment. For all intents and purposes, he was a deserter now. He glanced down at his dark mark. Even though he was expecting it, the large red X through it still shook him to his very core.

He had been branded. Obviously, the Dark Lord did not consider him a traitor, but anyone else, including other Death Eaters, would see him as a deserter.

That was the point. The Order of the Phoenix would never believe that someone had left the Dark Lord's service without the mark being cut up. However, it sat wrong in his bones.

He wasn't a Death Eater anymore. Not to the world, at least. He was without organization, without sponsors.

He knew that if he accomplished his task, the Dark Lord would repair the mark and welcome him back with open arms. The others, including the bastards who had been ordered to leave him alive in a burning building in Diagon Alley, would have to go along with it.

He groaned at the memory. His father's spell had lasted during the drop-off obviously, but the heat, the terrible scorching heat. It was torture in its own right. He could not save himself in his condition. He merely had to hope that they had the correct information in knowing that the Order patrols the area every day. No saintly member of the Order would have left the wand shop burning without checking it for survivors.

He had never prayed before that moment. He knew a little bit about Muggle deities, but the entire concept had struck him as ridiculous. However, when his entire life rested on whether or not an Order member would check for survivors, he understood how Muggles put their faith in wizards in the sky.

She had looked like an angel, his saviour. The smoke had been too thick, and the fog in his brain too powerful for him to recognize who it was. They were probably in disguise anyway. But that voice, that sweet voice that had recognized him and brought him from the building.

He had never heard salvation before.

He tried to move his arm, but just groaned at the attempt. He comprehended that his desertion had to be believable for him to be capable of infiltrating the organization. However, the cruelty of the Dark Lord's choice to have him beaten and left for death did not go unnoticed. Instead of inducing hatred within him, something he had only felt for his master once or twice beforehand, it just made him tired.

The entire affair made him tired. Exhausted. Drained. Finished.

But he wasn't finished yet. He still had a mission to complete.

The first time he had tortured someone, he hesitated. Luckily, the Dark Lord had not been present on the occasion. As Draco looked at the poor muggle family, clutching each other and shivering, he found himself unable to cast the Unforgivable.

What crime had they committed to warrant such a fate?

His father had walked behind him and hissed in his ear. "This is your duty."

The moment had stayed with him, far after the muggle family was dead and burned. Duty. It was his duty. What is right and wrong in the face of duty and honour?

However, honour had been harder to find as the war dragged on.

But this, this was duty. And if there was one thing that Draco Malfoy knew intimately, it was the expectations of duty.

So taking a deep breath, feeling numb and drained, Draco opened his mouth and started shouting.

"What the fuck is this?! Let me go, you Death Eater bastards!"

He kept shouting profanities and curses for several minutes, until at last, he heard the lock click and the door swing open.

He paused in his shouting, and without having to put on an act, he stared at the man in the door and let shock fill his face.

"Blaise?" he asked, surprised.

His once best friend sauntered into the room like he had been living there his entire life. The dark-skinned Italian man walked over to his bed, and stood looking down at him. When had he last seen Blaise? Years, at least. Perhaps sixth year? He didn't look too different, but the pounding of time had put some worry lines in his face, added creases around his eyes that had not been present in their younger years.

"Hello, Draco," Blaise said coolly.

The deserter's mouth fell open and he began stuttering. This had not been a part of the plan.

"What are you…why…what the bloody hell is going on?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed, staring rather pointedly at Draco's newly branded arm. "What do you remember?"

Draco hesitated, half in acting and half in reality.

"Fire…fire and pain."

Blaise nodded thoughtfully. "I would assume after the week you had."

He raised his eyebrows reflexively. "Week? What are you on?"

His old friend sighed and sat at the end of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and placing his head in his hand. Aggravation overtook his features. He took a moment to think before answering Draco's question.

"You nearly died four days ago. You were left for dead in a burning building. However, lucky for your sorry ass, a combatant decided that she wouldn't leave anyone behind."

Draco let his eyes drift over his body, for the first time noticing the amount of shiny new scars that anointed his skin. "Left for dead?"

Blaise paused, closing his eyes. "Drake," he whispered, pausing over the word.

Draco winced at the nickname reserved for his friends at Hogwarts. He hadn't heard it in years. No one in his immediate circle had joined the Death Eaters. Blaise, Theo, Daphne, Pansy… it had been ages since he had seen them. Since he had allowed anyone close.

Blaise didn't seem to notice his reaction. The Italian ran over his face, sighing, before finally looking at him once again.

"Are you a deserter?"

The question held its own weight in the room. Draco let his eyes drop to his cut up forearm. Though he knew his task, he couldn't seem to meet Blaise's dark eyes.

"It would seem so," he hissed in response.

"What did you do?" Blaise asked, avoiding his gaze in return.

Draco took a moment before answering. "A muggle raid last week. The family had a little girl. She was crying."

Blaise flinched before responding. "Did you kill her?"

"No," Draco whispered. The lie burned his throat. He recalled, painfully, the real memory that he was altering for his story. She had two blonde braids at the side of her head. He had killed her the moment tears appeared in her eyes.

He tried to convince himself that it was kind compared to the fate his comrades would've inflicted if they had found a pretty, little muggle girl.

His first non-defensive kill. A mercy killing. Murdered was better than being raped, tortured and murdered. At least, that's what he had shouted at himself.

Draco shook himself out of the memory. He couldn't change it now. Not in reality. Not where it really mattered. But for this to work, he would have to.

He took a deep breath, before continuing.

"Apparently not murdering a muggle child counts as a crime against the…Voldemort." He winced at his mistake. Blaise didn't seem to notice. "I was branded and beaten before I could blink."

His friend didn't say anything for a moment.

"Who branded you?" he asked.

Draco forced all the real emotion out of his voice. "My father."

Of all the cruelty the Dark Lord had done against him this past week, the choice of Lucius Malfoy as the brander had struck a chord inside him he didn't even know he had.

Blaise blinked rapidly at his admission. "Lucius?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, my other father." He cast his eyes around the room. "Now where the fuck am I?"

Blaise stood up once again before leaving the room. Draco gaped at his retreating form as the door closed. Behind it, he heard hushed whisperings. He strained his ear to try and catch a piece of the conversation.

"Lucius branded him...what a choice…muggle…sarcastic git…"

Draco tried not to chuckle at the last comment. Lucky he did because a moment later, the door opened again.

This time, it was the pale face of Remus Lupin that greeted him.

"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Draco Malfoy."

He blinked, trying to look surprised. For some reason, it was not hard. "Sorry, what the fuck?"

His once DADA professor walked into the room, closing the door behind him, before turning back to the man on the bed. "You are currently in the custody of the Order of the Phoenix, if you hadn't figured that out earlier."

"I hadn't actually," he responded stoutly. "When did Blaise join up?"

"He didn't," Lupin said, a sudden tension filling the air. "His family estate was attacked by your side earlier this week. An Order team was dispatched and rescued him before the murder could be performed. He's been under our protection ever since."

Draco blinked several times. The Zabini raid. "I…I hadn't realized he was in danger."

The death threat had been a last resort. Not a requirement.

Hadn't it?

Lupin narrowed his eyes. "You apparently do not know much about the side you're on."

He glanced down at his arm. "Technically, not anymore."

Lupin conjured a chair, and sat facing it. He glanced at the ropes. "Don't try and escape," he said bluntly. "The ropes are charmed to repel wandless magic."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Where did you lot get the power to do that charm?"

For the first time, Lupin hesitated. Draco knew a secret when it appeared on the professor's face. After a moment, he answered. "We have recently acquired a new power source."

The moment Lupin said it Draco knew who he meant.

He pushed forward very quickly. "Blaise tells us that you were branded deserter for saving the life of a muggle girl in a raid."

Draco nodded slowly, guarding his eyes. The little girl flashed across his mind.

She was his fifth.

Lupin examined his face. "What did she look like?"

"Blonde hair in braids. Pink dress."

"How did she escape?" he shot back.

"She didn't," Draco said bluntly. "I was caught before I could get her out. She was killed anyway."

"Who killed her?"

"My father," he responded coolly. Lucius had murdered the rest of the family. Why not give him the credit for the girl too?

Lupin pursed his lips. "What happened afterwards?"

"What do you think happened, werewolf? I was brought before Voldemort, declared a traitor, then branded and left for dead. I believe your lot was there for the last part."

"You're lucky one of our more…compassionate members found you. With your track record, most would've left you to die."

"Lucky is not what I would call myself," Draco murmured.

Lupin tilted his head. "Your father was the one to brand you?"

This time, Draco could not keep the hurt out of his voice. "Yes," he muttered, trying to hide any semblance of emotional investment from his observer. "Why stab someone when you can stab and twist?"

The werewolf surveyed him for a moment. He felt the eyes of his old professor observe him thoughtfully, as if considering all the outcomes. After a minute or two, the older man spoke.

"Do you want asylum?"

Gods, he should have infiltrated the Order years earlier.

Draco couldn't help his mouth from dropping. "What?"

"You're branded, Mr. Malfoy," Lupin reminded him, as if he had forgotten over the course of this conversation. "They've definitely realized that you did not perish as intended. From my experience, Voldemort does not allow traitors to live. You have a bounty on your head. The moment you leave this safe house, you will be killed."

This was all true, even for him. Hardly any Death Eaters knew he was on an infiltration mission. He was a dead man walking until he completed his task.

"I know," he responded, frowning. "But why would your lot try to save me? I'm not innocent, at least by your definition of the term."

Something similar to a twinkle appeared in his eye. "Someone recently reminded us all that all human lives are worth the same, and worth saving."

He scoffed. "I bet every single person here agrees with that. Have you asked Potter what he thinks?"

Lupin sighed. "Better hated alive than hated dead."

Draco should've been cheering. This was exactly what he needed: a way in.

However, it wasn't sitting right with him.

"You all hate me," he stated bluntly.

"True," Lupin nodded, attempting no denial. "But you are a human being."

"You think I'm evil!" he retorted, suddenly aggravated by the sheer morality washing off the other man in droves.

Lupin shook his head. "I think you are misguided. I think you are coerced and living within a world of bigotry. I think you were raised and groomed to be the perfect Death Eater. But, the look on your face when you said the girl died anyway was very telling. No one can fake guilt like that."

He supposed Lupin was right on that front.

The guilt wasn't faked. That wasn't part of his mission.

That was just what he lived with.


"I don't fucking buy it," Seamus muttered that night, stroking Hermione's hair softly. It was around midnight, and mostly everyone was asleep. She lay next to him in bed, resting her head on his chest.

"Hmm?" she asked, tilting her head up to look at him. "Don't buy what?"

"The Malfoy story," he responded.

She shouldn't have even asked.

Ever since Malfoy had woken up that afternoon, the house had been divided down the middle between those who believed the story and those who didn't.

Lupin had made it clear, though. Regardless of personal feelings about Draco Malfoy, the man had been branded as a traitor. That was not something taken lightly, on either side. He had a death sentence on his head.

Some were saying to throw him to the wolves.

"Draco Malfoy did not just desert Voldemort," Seamus muttered, venomously. "He's been in for four years. I feel like if his conscience kicked in, it would've done it sooner."

Hermione gave him a look. "Maybe it had, but he was too far in to do anything."

Seamus frowned. "Are you seriously saying that you believe this?"

She shrugged. "I'm going to decide when I talk to Malfoy."

Seamus sat up very suddenly. Hermione was thrown off of him to the side of the bed. Taking a moment to breathe, she wrapped the top sheet around herself and sat up as well.

"You're not going to talk to Malfoy," Seamus declared, crossing his arms.

Hermione gave him a look. "What are you talking about? He's under asylum here. I live here."

Seamus scoffed. "Please, like Lupin's ruling is going to hold for long."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Are you suggesting something?"

Seamus flinched under her gaze. "No, I just mean…is Malfoy really going to want to be here?"

She sighed. "In comparison to death, probably."

"Regardless, you are still not talking to him."

She crossed her arms. "Under whose authority?"

"Me, Ron and Harry were talking about it…"

She burst out laughing. It felt like her first real laugh in a very long time. "Please, you three hold no authority over me."

"We just don't want you getting hurt," Seamus pleaded, his tone changing immediately. Desperate men make desperate requests. "Malfoy was nothing but cruel to you at Hogwarts, and you're a muggleborn."

"A muggleborn who can jinx circles around all three of you," she snarled, his overbearing protectiveness poking at a nerve. "Are you really suggesting that I can't protect myself against Malfoy, of all people?"

Seamus started backtracking immediately. "No, of course not. We just think…"

At this, Hermione was already getting out of the bed.

Seamus sat up straighter, worry painted across his face. "Where are you going?"

Hermione began putting on her clothes. "If you bloody well think that I'm going to listen to the three of you on this, you are mistaken, Seamus. I can protect myself against Draco Malfoy, and I will not have you all belittling me in your misguided attempt at being my knights in shining armour."

"We're just trying to protect you!" Seamus exclaimed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

She snapped then, standing up straight and facing him with nothing short of fury.

"I can protect myself," she hissed. "Might I remind you, thanks to the Willow Tree Faction of the Universe, I have recently acquired a newfound burst of magical skill and power."

"At the cost of your ability to stand up," he snapped back. "You can barely stand on your own two feet."

She stamped her foot at his comment. "I'm surviving, as I always have," she snarled. "And no willow tree, or Draco fucking Malfoy, is going to change that."

"Hermione, please," he begged, using a tone that made her stop for a moment. Pleading. "I can't have anything happen to you, not after…not after Dean."

She paused, sighing. She had suspected that his recent protective street had to do with the death of his best friend. She kneeled next to the bed.

"I'm not going to die if I talk to Draco Malfoy," she said calmly. "We are in the middle of a war. Risks are taken. You can't be focusing on me. You need to focus on yourself."

He took her hand. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"I'm going to try my damn hardest to make sure nothing does," she responded. "But if something does happen, it has nothing to do with you."

"Hermione, please," he whispered again. "Don't talk to him."

Anger flared within her once again. "Draco Malfoy does not have the capacity to hurt me."

"Maybe, maybe not," he muttered. "I don't trust him."

"No one said you had to," she responded. "You don't have to trust him, or like him. That doesn't change Lupin's ruling."

"Harry, Ron and I all agree…"

"Well, you know what," she snapped, standing up. "Harry and Ron might not be here next week. That decreases their authority."

His eyebrows shot up. "What are you talking about?"

"Ask them your bloody self," she snarled, before storming from the room.

How dare those boys, she thought furiously, ascending the stairs to the third floor. Two of them were about to leave her behind, and still had the audacity to act like they hold authority over her.

In the chain of command, all four of them, Harry, Ron, Seamus, and herself, were in the second rank, beneath the aurors and those who had fought in the previous war. Obviously, Harry got special consideration because of his circumstance, but that didn't give him the right to order her around.

Talking to Draco Malfoy was nowhere near the most dangerous thing she had done as of late. She had fought in battles where her friends had died in front of her. She had walked into burning buildings to save survivors.

A bloody fucking Slytherin was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the atrocities of war.

She reached the third floor and stormed across to the empty bedroom. Without hesitation, she reached forward with her left hand and pushed it open.

He had been sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall. His hands were still bound by the robes she had charmed, though the full body straps had been removed. His blonde hair lay limply over his forehead. She could see he was cradling his bound wrists to not have any pressure on his cut-up forearm.

His silver-grey eyes popped open at her entrance. Emotions danced across his face in sequence; irritation, confusion, shock, and finally something that she couldn't quite decipher.

They remained in tense silence for several moments, surveying each other. Finally, she spoke.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, coolly, nodding at him in greeting.

He nodded in return. "Hermione…Granger."


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