A/N: As always, alpha and beta love goes to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow.

Thanks so much to everyone who has read, followed and favorited, and reviewed! I read every review even if I'm terrible about replying to them! Thank you all!

Here's a nice long chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it!

It was quite eerie being inside the Ministry so late at night. Though he hadn't been here in many years, he still recalled the hustle of the Ministry atrium during business hours. Now, the only sound was the echo of his boots on the marble floors.

He made his way to the offices. The Minister's door was heavily warded, but after thirty minutes of careful spell work, the door swung open and Draco slipped inside. He set down his rucksack and sank into the Minister's desk chair. He propped his feet up on the wooden surface and leaned back.

Exhaustion swept over him all at once, making his limbs heavy. He sighed, the events of the day finally catching up with him. It would be several hours before Shacklebolt arrived to start his day, and Draco could feel his eyes growing heavy. Perhaps a brief nap…

A click of keys in the lock and the murmuring of charms beyond the door had Draco waking up with a start. He stood from the chair and raised his hands in surrender.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was a tall man. His bright blue robes and imposing figure caught Draco's attention first as the door opened.

When Shacklebolt spotted Draco he reacted so quickly that Draco barely had time to flinch before he was magically bound. His hands sprang together, connected at the wrist by invisible bonds. His wand flew from his pocket and into the Minister's free hand. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" Shacklebolt demanded darkly.

"My name is Draco Malfoy. I'm here to turn myself in."

Draco's arse was asleep. This was easily the most uncomfortable chair he had ever sat upon, and he had been sitting in it for—he checked his watch and sighed—four hours.

Four hours since the Minister of Magic himself had taken him into custody. He had been escorted by two Aurors down narrow corridors to this small interrogation room. He had then been forced to wait for an hour, only to be questioned for another hour. Draco had been nothing but honest with them. He told them what he was, what he had done, and what he wanted: Immunity for his crimes in exchange for everything he knew about the Death Eater organization.

Shacklebolt and the Aurors had left after the interrogation to deliberate amongst themselves. That was two hours ago. How long would they make him wait here? Perhaps this chair was a unique form of torture. Maybe they thought if they left him here long enough he would tell them everything he knew without his immunity deal.

Draco's magically reinforced shackles slid across the metal table as he leaned back in search of a more comfortable position. Pain shot down his spine and he grimaced. He had made every effort to be calm and respectful throughout the Minister's questions, but he could feel his mood souring by the minute. Why was it so bloody hot in here? Beads of sweat were rolling down his back under his jumper. His mouth was horribly dry, and he was sure he would kill for a glass of water.

The door opened abruptly and the Minister entered the holding cell along with one of the Aurors from earlier. Shacklebolt sat down across from him and the Auror stood by the door, merely observing for now.

"This is John Dawlish. He is an Auror, as well as a member of the Order of the Phoenix," said the Minister.

Draco said nothing. He didn't particularly care who the man was. All he wanted to know was if they were going to take his offer or throw him in Azkaban.

Shacklebolt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "He is here to help me with the negotiations regarding the stipulations of your immunity."

Draco blinked. "So you will be taking my deal, Minister?"

"Yes," said Shacklebolt with a nod. "But we have conditions of our own that you must accept."

"Conditions," Draco repeated cautiously.

"In addition to the information you can offer us on Dolohov and all of his operatives, you will also tell us how to gain access to Malfoy Manor. Furthermore, we cannot offer you sanctuary without asking for anything in return. If you wish to benefit from the protection of the Order, you must work with the Order."

Draco balked. "You want me to join the Order?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The Minister sat back, his dark eyes sweeping over Draco's face. "You have obviously become disenchanted with the Death Eaters for one reason or another. Anyone who is against them is worth having as an ally as far as I am concerned. You clearly have some skills in stealth. How you managed to break into my office without detection is concerning, but I'll admit it is also very impressive."

"So I'm in the Order, just like that?"

Dawlish scoffed and Shacklebolt shook his head. "Not exactly. If you accept this deal and join us you will undergo serious vetting. Veritaserum will be required to ensure that you are not a spy. There will also be a probationary period, during which you will remain supervised on the job at all times. This probation will remain in effect until you have proven your trustworthiness."

Draco considered the terms for a moment. They seemed perfectly reasonable to him, but he hadn't really imagined himself actually joining the Order. He had thought that perhaps they would offer him asylum from the Death Eaters, or perhaps help him leave the country after a time.

"Do you accept these terms?" The Minister asked, his eyes boring into Draco's intently.

Heart pounding, palms sweating, Draco felt himself nod. "I accept," he said steadily. Sick as he felt, his instincts told him that this was the right choice. He was sure of it.

A hint of a smile flickered over Shacklebolt's lips. With a wave of his wand, Draco's chains disappeared. Draco rubbed his sore wrists. He still couldn't believe his luck. He was not going to be arrested. A contract appeared before him along with a quill. Draco read it in detail. It laid out all of Draco's terms as well as the Order's. It was fairly cut and dry and Draco had no qualms whatsoever in signing his name on the line at the bottom of the page.

He returned the contract to Shacklebolt and was handed a small phial in return. Inside were a few drops of clear liquid. "Veritaserum," the Minister announced. Draco unstoppered it and downed it. It was tasteless, luckily, and he soon felt his inhibitions lowering.

Shacklebolt and Dawlish interrogated him for several minutes, asking him a variety of questions about when and how he joined the Death Eaters, what he had done for Dolohov, and what his motivations were for defecting. The potion was strong, and Draco answered truthfully and willingly. But, luckily, the potion did not force Draco to reveal everything in some violent stream of consciousness. Some things remained tucked away, just beyond the reach of the Veritaserum.

As an Occlumens, Draco was able to omit certain details from his rehashing of his past misdeeds, which certainly did not count as lying. It was more like… a self-preservation strategy. When he spoke of his life as an assassin, he deliberately manipulated his speech so as not to mention his very last mission. It would be very unwise to bring up how close he had come to killing one of their own; especially if he was required to now work with the Order. He didn't need any additional suspicion following him around.

When their questions had been answered and Draco could feel the potion's effects beginning to wane, Shacklebolt held out his hand. Draco, still a bit stunned, shook it. "Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Mr. Malfoy."

Shacklebolt and Dawlish took Draco's statement in great depth, a Quick Notes Quill scribbling away throughout the interview. Draco spared no detail in telling them how to get past the wards of Malfoy Manor. He told them how many Death Eaters to expect once they were inside. He explained the hierarchy within the organization and did his best to describe each person's primary job. That part had been the most difficult, as he hadn't been involved in all of the small details of Dolohov's planning. Most of that information had, in fact, been highly classified.

When the two men were satisfied, they turned to each other, exchanging a few hushed words before they left Draco once more. Without his chains, Draco was free to move about the room. He stood up from the heavy metal chair with a relieved groan. He stretched his arms high over his head and was rewarded with a small pop along his spine. With a relieved sigh, he began to pace around the room.

Draco was left alone for another three hours. Three… fucking… hours. What was the meaning of this egregious wait? Couldn't they have moved him to a more comfortable room? Or at least offered him a meal. His stomach grumbled longingly at the thought of food. Opting for a different approach, he sat back down at the table and crossed his arms on the table. He laid his head on his arms to attempt some much needed sleep, but it was no use. The chair was hard and the metal table was cold and unforgiving. Though his mood was souring by the minute, he resigned himself to the fact that he would just have to wait.

At last, Dawlish returned. He had Draco's rucksack with him and placed it on the table. No doubt it had been thoroughly searched and checked for curses. Draco tried not to think about the Minister of Magic and leader of the Order discovering his beloved childhood stuffed dragon.

Dawlish beckoned for him to follow and Draco picked up his bag. As they exited the interrogation room, Draco saw two Death Eaters being escorted by a small group of Aurors.

As they passed, Augustus Rookwood and Rabastan Lestrange turned and saw him. They jeered at him, shouting and fighting against their magical bonds. "Traitor filth!" "Disgrace to your house!"

Draco let their abuse wash over him as the Aurors pushed them roughly into separate interrogation rooms. "Quiet, scum," one of the Aurors growled before the door shut behind them.

Draco turned to Dawlish, whose face betrayed a mixture of exhaustion and disgust. "We were too late, you know. Seems word of your desertion caused something of a stir. The Manor was mostly abandoned when we arrived, but we caught those two cleaning up the last of the files and information left behind," the Auror explained. Dawlish waved his hand for Draco to follow him.

Emptied? Already? The Manor had been Death Eater headquarters for so long. Since before Voldemort's death even. How had they managed to pack up and leave so quickly? Draco inwardly grimaced. Dolohov would surely be out for his blood now. That much was clear by the way Rookwood and Lestrange had spat at him.

But he didn't want to think about that. He was safe. For now.

Pulling himself out of his own thoughts, Draco made his way along the dark Ministry corridors just behind Dawlish. They passed a few Ministry workers, and though Draco expected to get odd looks or glares from them, most just kept their eyes forward or on paperwork they carried. After a while of walking, it became apparent where they were going: back to Shacklebolt's office. Once inside, the Auror lit the fire.

"Where are we going?" asked Draco.

"Headquarters," Dawlish answered gruffly.

Draco's stomach flipped and he wondered why he was suddenly so nervous. He swallowed thickly.

Dawlish reached over and picked up a piece of paper from the minister's desk. He handed it to Draco. "Read this. Focus on the words."

The Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix can be found at 108 Park Lane, London.

Draco read the words three times, trying to memorize the address. As he focused on the words, the fire glowed, not the typical green of floo travel, but a bright, blinding blue. Draco stumbled back at the sudden blaze, but Dawlish pushed him forward. "In you go, lad."

Wondering why Floo powder wasn't necessary, and slightly concerned that he was about to be burned alive, Draco shuffled forward into the flames. With the familiar tug of apparation, Draco was whisked away.

His feet landed hard, not in a fireplace, but on the front steps of an enormous townhome across from Hyde Park. Dawlish landed next to him mere seconds later and knocked twice.

The door swung open to reveal a grand entryway and the Auror pushed him forward into the house. Draco took in the sights and sounds of the house. It was quiet, but signs of life were evident everywhere. Nearly all of the lights in the passing rooms were on. Books sat on coffee tables, some open, some closed with bookmarks. A throw pillow lay forgotten on the floor near a chair and half finished cups of tea sat on the end tables without saucers or coasters. Slobs, Draco thought with a sniff.

A sudden outcry of dozens of muffled voices made Draco jump. Ahead of them was a set of double doors. "Meeting's already started," Dawlish mumbled. "Drop your bag on the stairs. You can take it to your room later."

Draco did as he was told. As they approached the door, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He still hadn't eliminated the possibility of being murdered today.

Dawlish opened the double doors and ushered Draco inside.

The grand dining room contained a large table, which seated at least twenty Order members. Along the walls were perhaps twenty or thirty more chairs, and all but two were occupied.

Forty sets of eyes swiveled to him and widened. His mouth went dry as he recognized a great number of them. Draco struggled to swallow as he realized with a horrible twist in his stomach that practically every person he had ever taunted at Hogwarts was here in this room. Several of their jaws dropped upon seeing him. His hand twitched toward his pocket to grab hold of his wand for protection before he remembered that Shacklebolt still had it.

Dawlish grabbed Draco by the elbow and pulled him toward the front of the room through the throng of people sitting in the back. Waiting there was Shacklebolt; next to him, along the wall, stood the two empty chairs. Draco sank into one of them and looked around the room. Harry Potter sat at the table in the chair next to Shacklebolt's. The Minister's right-hand man, Draco thought bitterly. Also at the table were a variety of Weasleys, Fleur Delacour, Minerva McGonagall, Lee Jordan, several witches and wizards that Draco did not recognize, and, lastly, Hermione Granger. She was dressed similarly to how she had been yesterday. She had swapped her cardigan for a crisp, white blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail, her unruly curls cascading down the back of her neck. Did she always dress like she was interviewing for the world's most boring job? Everyone else here was dressed much more casually. The witch really needed to learn how to relax.

Sitting along the wall were a few more Weasleys, some of his old Hogwarts professors, and many of his ex-classmates. They all stared at him, some with shock, some with curiosity, and a few with unmistakable rage.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Dean Thomas blurted out, breaking the silence.

A few others piped up then, all voicing their concern over Draco's presence. Shacklebolt had to pound his hand on the table to regain order in the room. "He is here as an informant. Draco Malfoy has defected from the Death Eaters. Following a probationary period, he will join the Order as one of our own."

There was a brief moment of stunned silence before the room erupted in shouts once more. The majority of the violent dissention came from his old classmates. George Weasley and Lee Jordan were on their feet, pointing at Draco and shouting at the Minister of Magic. Draco sat silently, not daring to speak or try to defend himself. He'd been thrown into the lion's den and he only hoped he wouldn't be devoured.

It appeared that the only silent person in the room was Granger. She was sitting very still in her chair, her honey eyes observing him with curiosity as if he were a puzzle she longed to piece together. Draco watched as Potter leaned over and whispered something in her ear. A smirk graced her lips for a moment and her eyes flickered away from him as she turned to her friend. She nodded, a little laugh bubbling out of her lips.

"SILENCE!" Shacklebolt shouted, the side of his fist coming down on the table once more. "This matter is not up for debate. Malfoy has been in interrogation for several hours. During that time, he not only divulged extremely valuable information, he also did not give me any reason whatsoever to distrust him."

"You want a reason?" growled Seamus Finnegan from his place along the wall. "Roll up his bloody sleeve."

A few people jeered in agreement with Finnegan.

"A mark which he was coerced into taking when he was only sixteen years old," Shacklebolt said with authority.

"How do you know that he can be trusted?" Molly Weasley asked calmly, but with concern.

"I only have his word, but that's the same as all of you. He has been questioned under Veritaserum and later this evening he will be placed with a probationary mentor to have his behaviour monitored until he has proven his trustworthiness," explained the Minister.

There was more murmuring throughout the group, but it was less angry this time.

"What information has he given us?" asked Anthony Goldstein.

"That's classified," replied Shacklebolt.

"What did he do with the Death Eaters?" asked one of the Patil twins. Was it Padma? No, Draco was fairly sure it was Parvati.

"Classified."

Draco's heart was pounding. He was grateful to Shacklebolt. The last thing he needed was this group to know that he was an assassin. They would never trust him if they found out about that.

"I'm sure you all have questions, and we will answer them if we can, but much of what Malfoy has told us is classified information," said Shacklebolt.

"What can you tell us?" asked Ginny Weasley.

The Minister ran a hand over his face in frustration. "I can tell you that the information Mr. Malfoy has given us may just change the tides of the war in our favour. Just an hour ago, we were able to conduct a very successful raid on Malfoy Manor. Many files were recovered, and we arrested two Death Eaters. Malfoy is a valuable asset and as long as he is cooperating and working with us, he is to be treated with civility and respect. Is that clear?" He leaned forward, placing his palms on the table, his dark eyes sweeping around the room to look at each person in turn.

There was a smattering of half-hearted muttering of 'Yes, sir' and affirmative grunts.

"Very good. Meeting dismissed. If I could have Potter, Granger, Minerva, Arthur and Bill Weasley, and Dawlish remain please."

There was a loud clatter of chairs scraping against the wooden floor as most of the people stood. Draco watched as they fell into conversation together, some of them making jokes, some whispering behind their hands while eyeing him suspiciously.

Should he leave with them? Shacklebolt hadn't told him to stay, but he also hadn't told him where to go. Draco pushed himself to his feet and stood a bit awkwardly as the room began to clear out.

"Hello," came an airy voice.

Draco looked down to his left to see Luna Lovegood staring up at him with wide, pale eyes. "Hi," he bit out awkwardly.

"I'm glad you're here," she said brightly.

Draco blinked. "Really?"

"Of course. I'm sure all those wrackspurts in your head will clear out now that you're away from the Death Eaters," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Like he had any clue what the hell a wrackspurt was.

He wanted to tell her to piss off. She was too batty, it was unnerving. But he wasn't exactly in a position to be scaring off potential allies. "Right… Thanks." He offered her a thin smile, hoping that it would be the end of their interaction.

"Malfoy." Draco was relieved to hear Shacklebolt's deep voice behind him. He turned. "I have some business to finish up with a few of our members with higher clearance. Afterwards, I'll introduce you to your probationary mentor and we can get you settled. Please wait in the parlour."

"Yes, sir," he said, beginning to move toward the exit.

"Ms. Lovegood, perhaps you can make sure Mr. Malfoy is comfortable?"

Draco grimaced. More time with Loony Lovegood. "Of course, Kingsley," the blonde girl chirped. "Come on, Draco." With a wave of her hand, she led him out of the room and toward the parlour.

Draco turned around once outside of the dining room. The seven within had pulled their chairs closer around the table and were looking at some parchments. Granger was speaking in a low voice and pointing to the papers. Draco couldn't help but wonder what they were discussing, but before he could hear a word, the door closed with a snap.

"You look hungry," remarked Lovegood, her pale eyes regarding him with dreamy curiosity.

Draco turned away from the dining room doors. Several Order members were settling in the parlour all around them. Some were disappearing up the stairs or through the Floo. Many were still shooting him disgusted looks and skirting around him with as much distance as they could manage. He tried to focus his attention solely on Lovegood. "A bit, yes," he admitted.

"Come on," she beckoned. "Kitchen's this way."

Luna showed him into the spacious kitchen and prepared him a bowl of soup from a large pot on the stove. The two returned to the parlour and sat at a small table in plush chairs while they ate.

Draco ate greedily. He hadn't realized how ravenous he had been, having not eaten anything since lunch with Pansy and Theo yesterday. That seemed like ages ago now. He wondered what they were doing. Had they been surprised to hear that he'd left? Were they angry with him?

Luna was still babbling away. He nodded every now and then to humor her, but he wasn't sure how he was expected to actually carry on a conversation with the witch. Most of what she said was utter nonsense.

An hour later, his bowl sat empty on the table, his eyes were heavy and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, and the witch next to him was still talking. Did she know how to stop? Perhaps someone had hexed her or dosed her with a babbling potion.

The dining room door opened and Shacklebolt emerged along with the remaining Order members. Draco stood and watched them scatter. McGonagall made a beeline for the fireplace and disappeared into the Floo without so much as a glance in his direction. Arthur and Bill Weasley disappeared into the kitchen with Dawlish. Potter and Granger hung back, their heads close together in discussion as the Minister approached Draco.

"I apologize for the wait. I see you've eaten," said Shacklebolt, eyeing the empty bowl. "Thank you, Luna. I need a word with Malfoy."

Luna gave him a gentle smile and disappeared up the stairs, waving her hand in goodbye to Draco.

"I wanted to introduce you to your probationary mentor. You will work together until we have determined that you are to be trusted. I hope I can depend on you to be civil and respectful." The Minister's eyes were cold and daring.

"Yes, sir," Draco said.

"Very good. You remember Hermione, I take it."

Draco's stomach twisted painfully. No. Anyone but her.

"Granger," Shacklebolt called out to her.

She turned away from Potter, frowning as she made her way over to Draco. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors, drawing his gaze down to her feet. He straightened his spine as she approached, determined to appear confident in front of her.

Granger stood silently next to the Minister as he reintroduced the two. He listened as Shacklebolt detailed what his relationship with Granger would entail moving forward. He could do nothing, go nowhere without her permission or supervision. His skin prickled with irritation as her eyes swept over him with unmistakable loathing. Why did it have to be Granger?

"I have to go back to the Ministry now. Hermione, I'll trust you to get Malfoy settled in." With a stern nod, Shacklebolt turned away from them and disappeared through the Floo.

Draco stared at Granger and she stared right back at him. Refusing to break the silence first, he waited. Waited for her to speak, or to break eye contact, or to shuffle her feet nervously. Anything Draco could use to feel some semblance of power in this moment.

Instead, her arm just came up between them, holding something out for him to take. His wand. He broke eye contact with her to stare at it, bewildered.

"Are you sure you want to give this back to me?" he asked, his eyes flickering between his wand and her face.

Granger didn't blink. Her eyes were steady on his, almost challenging as she said, "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"

He reached up, his fingers closing tentatively around the wand, waiting for her to recoil as he intentionally brushed the back of her hand. She didn't flinch. Releasing the wand, she retracted her hand and rested it on her hip. "There's something you should know about the wand," she warned. "As a condition of your probation, special wards have been placed upon it. Wards that prevent it from being used against anyone in the Order. In fact, you can only use it in an emergency or when instructed to do magic directly by an Order member. And don't try to break the wards. They're linked to my wand, so if you try to disable them, I'll be alerted."

Draco stared at his wand. It didn't feel any different, but he felt a bit weak knowing that he would be unable to use it unless an emergency arose. Of course the Order would have to make assurances such as this. His understanding of their reasoning didn't make him any less irritated by it. "Why don't you just castrate me?" he grumbled.

A pink flush spread over Granger's cheeks. Aha, a reaction at last.

"I know it's not ideal, but we can't be too careful. Spies have been trying to infiltrate the Order for years," she said, her eyes flickering away from him.

"I'm not a bloody spy," he growled.

"Well, it's like Kingsley said, once you've proven your trustworthiness, you'll get the wards removed from your wand and you won't have to answer to me anymore."

"As if you and your chums will ever trust me," he scoffed. "I saw them in there. It will be a miracle if I'm not murdered in my sleep tonight."

"No one will harm you unless you give them a reason to," Granger promised.

"Oh, Merlin. I don't have to share a room with you, do I?"

Granger's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Of course not! Listen, I don't like this anymore than you do. Kingsley only chose me because I was the only one in that meeting that didn't look ready to kill you. But, if you'd prefer, I could tell him you'd rather it be someone else. I'm sure Katie Bell would love to have a conversation with you."

The blood drained from Draco's face. He hadn't even thought about running into Katie again. Had she been in the meeting? He hadn't noticed her in there.

"Like it or not, I might just be the closest thing you have to a friend in the Order. Please don't give me a reason to tell Kingsley you don't deserve to be here." She crossed her arms across her chest, raising her chin to scowl at him. "The sooner you prove that you're not a threat, the sooner you get out of my hair. So please don't fuck it up and drag out your probation longer than necessary." She turned on her heel and marched down the corridor. He heard her shoes clicking up the stairs before a door slammed.

"Come on."

Draco looked over to see Potter still in the parlour. "What?" he asked.

"Hermione's your probationary mentor, but you'll be bunking with me. Trust me, I hate it too." Without further preamble, Potter set off toward the stairs. He paused at the bottom to shoot Draco an expectant look.

Regretting his decision to join the Order already, Draco trailed after him. He retrieved his bag at the bottom of the steps and followed Potter to a large bedroom. The walls were lined with several beds and dressers. Potter closed the door behind Draco and set to work setting wards.

"What if I have to take a piss?" Draco quipped, dropping his bag on the bed nearest to the window.

"Ask," Potter snapped. He turned and kicked his shoes off, not bothering to gather them as he made his way to the closest bed.

Draco turned away from the sullen Gryffindor and changed out of his trousers and jumper. He dressed for bed and slipped between the sheets. Sinking into the pillows, he suppressed a sigh of relief. His limbs felt heavy and his eyelids began to droop almost immediately.

The sense that he was being watched forced his eyes open again. Potter was sitting up straight in bed leaning against the headboard, his green eyes watching Draco.

"Planning on watching me sleep all night, Potter?" he quipped. "I know I'm handsome, but it's a bit creepy."

"Just because your wand won't harm me doesn't mean you won't try in some other way," Potter said darkly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Believe me, Potter. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already."

"What a charming sentiment. Forgive me if that doesn't put my mind at ease," the scarred wizard droned.

Draco groaned. Sarcasm wouldn't allow him to sleep any sooner. He would have to be… sincere. He grimaced. "Listen, I left the Death Eaters because I couldn't stomach any more senseless killing. This war may kill you yet, Potter, but it won't be my doing. You have my word." He rolled over and closed his eyes, knowing that green eyes would continue to watch him as he slept.

The following morning, Draco was instructed to pack his bag and meet Granger in the parlour. She greeted him with a scowl. She was dressed much more casually today. Denims and a soft-looking jumper. Her hair was also down. It stuck out at all different angles. He wondered how it was possible for her appearance to irritate him whether she put effort into it or not. "We've been assigned to the Westenberg house," she announced.

"Just us?" he asked, noticing that they were alone.

Hermione shook her head. "No. You won't be assigned anywhere without at least two other people present until the end of your probation."

Potter emerged from the kitchen, stuffing a loaf of bread into his rucksack. Behind him was a Weasley that Draco did not recognize, and Cho Chang. They all had their hands full of bags of food and supplies. "Ready?" Cho asked Granger. She shot Draco a rather forced smile but did not approach him.

"Charlie Weasley, pleasure to meet you." The redhead extended his calloused hand to Draco.

"Draco Malfoy," he sniffed, shaking Charlie's hand. This Weasley didn't look like any of the others Draco had encountered. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, covered in burn scars, and didn't look at Draco as if he were lower than a squashed flobberworm beneath his boot.

"Let's go. The Portkey will be leaving soon," Potter urged.

Granger reached into her bag and produced an old hairbrush wrapped in a cloth. She checked her watch. "Ten seconds," she said clearly to the group. They all budged up, shoulder-to-shoulder and placed one finger on the Portkey. Draco followed suit and soon felt the familiar tug behind his navel.

A rush of breeze around his head, a whiff of fresh highland air, and Draco landed in a wooded area. A few metres ahead of them was a simple house that had perhaps once been white, but now was grey and peeling. The glass in the window panes was warped with age, the front door was splintered and stood at an odd angle, and the fence around the garden was so rickety a pixie could take it down. This house was so dilapidated that Draco wondered how it was standing at all. Surely this home was not an adequate safehouse.

The group trudged forward and met the feeble gate. Charlie and Cho both passed through, but when Draco attempted to follow, an invisible barrier stopped him until he felt a small hand on his shoulder. It seemed he could only gain access to Order safehouses as long as Granger was with him. The two walked through the gate together and all at once, the neglected shack didn't look so run down anymore.

From this side of the fence he could see a modest but stately home, two levels high. It was somewhat worn, but seemed sound enough. At least he didn't have to worry about it caving in if he sneezed.

Granger dropped her hand from Draco's shoulder as Potter closed the gate behind them. He followed Charlie up the stairs and onto the front porch. The ginger wizard unlocked the secure front door with his wand and swung it open to gain access into the house.

They entered into a cozy living room with plush couches and chairs. Across from them were the kitchen and dining areas, visible through a wide arched opening. There were a few closed doors to the right and a staircase to the left.

"Looks like the previous team has already cleared out," Charlie noticed, turning on a few lights with a casual flick of his wand. "Let's get settled in. There should be enough rooms for all of us." He crossed the living room and disappeared into the main floor bedroom.

Draco's stomach untwisted a fraction for the first time in days. He would have his own room here! For as long as it was just the five of them he would have some privacy. Something resembling happiness—or at least relief—spread through him as he followed the others up the stairs. There were four bedrooms and another loo up here. He watched as Potter, Chang, and Granger disappeared into bedrooms one by one and Draco entered the one left over. It was rather cramped, and the bed was smaller than his bed at the Manor, but it was quiet and he didn't have to share it with anyone. He closed the door and flopped onto the bed, enjoying the blissful feeling of being away from Potter and Granger's watchful eyes.

For two days Draco stayed in his room. When Granger announced meal times with a delicate knock on his door, he ignored her. There was nothing to do except wait around for missions that might not come. He supposed that he should relish the quiet days. No missions meant no danger.

On his third night in the house, when he was sure everyone else was asleep, he crept down to the kitchen for food just as he had done for the past two nights.

Making no noise, he padded down to the refrigerator and found some leftover stew. He poured a bit into a pot and placed it on the stove to heat.

"You know…"

The sudden voice made him jump a mile high. He whipped around, his useless wand trained directly between Granger's eyes. "Don't do that," he snarled, his heart pounding wildly as he lowered his wand.

Granger didn't flinch, apparently trusting the wards on his wand to keep her safe. Stupid girl, he thought. As if he needed his wand to end her life.

"Ignoring everyone in the house isn't the best way to get us to trust you," she said, her arms crossed over her chest. He wondered how it was possible for her to look so fierce in a thin cotton robe and pale pink pajamas.

Draco shrugged jerkily. "I figured you lot wouldn't want me hanging around the lion's den."

"I figured you would be eager to prove that you weren't just a slithering snake," she retorted. "Besides, Cho was a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. So don't act like you're the only one hanging around the lion's den, as you put it."

Draco said nothing, he merely stirred the stew a few times, hoping for it to boil quickly so he could escape this conversation.

"Charlie doesn't have any preconceived notions of who you are. His impression of you is being forged now, and you just might be botching your chance to get on his good side. He's also one of the most popular members of the Order. Everyone likes him, and if he likes you, it can shed a kinder light on you in a lot of peoples' eyes. You also didn't really bully Cho in school, so she will be much kinder to you than some of our other classmates would be. And Harry and I know exactly who you are and are still willing to give you a chance. I recommend you take advantage of these quiet days with this particular group of people. Locking yourself in your room won't make you any happier."

She turned and took a step toward the stairs but paused. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes looking sharply into his. "You defected for a reason. You might as well build your new life here."

Before he could answer, she left, disappearing up the stairs quietly in her socked feet.

The stew began to bubble and Draco flipped the burner off. He filled a bowl with the stew and grabbed a spoon. He sat at the kitchen table, eating and considering Granger's words. Though he would never admit it aloud, she was right. He needed to establish himself here, with these people. He'd made his bed, so to speak, and now he must lie in it.

The following morning, though he woke up quite late, he walked downstairs for breakfast. The quartet at the kitchen table all looked up in surprise when he entered. The corner of Granger's lips twitched. "Hi," she greeted breathily.

"Hello," he grunted.

"Have a seat, mate," Charlie said jovially. "There's still a bit of bacon and toast. No more eggs, I'm afraid."

Draco sat down as Cho passed him a plate. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"We were thinking of playing a game of Quidditch today. If you're interested, it would give us an even number since Hermione refuses to get on a broom," Charlie offered.

Quidditch? Draco's heart soared. It had been so long since he had been on a broom. Since before he had taken his mark. "Really? Sure, I'll play," he agreed, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

"What position did you play?" Charlie asked.

"He's a seeker. We all are, come to think of it," remarked Cho, looking around the table.

"Well, we're all chasers today," said Harry.

"Are there brooms? What about the wards?" Draco asked.

Charlie took a sip of coffee, his blue eyes observing Draco kindly. "There's a shed out back with a few old brooms. I'm sure they're nothing like what you used to play on in school, but they'll do. And the wards extend just past the fence. It's small, but it gives us plenty of room for a game of doubles."

Draco ate quickly, eager to get to the skies as soon as possible. When breakfast was finished and all cleaned up, he followed Charlie, Potter, and Cho out into the back garden. Granger sat on the patio, keeping her nose in a book as Potter distributed four battered brooms.

They divided into teams: Harry with Cho, and Draco with Charlie, and got to their starting positions. Draco mounted his broom and kicked into the air.

What followed was a vicious game between the four former seekers. Draco exchanged heated words with everyone in the air and when the game finished and everyone made their way back into the house to shower, Draco stayed behind. He circled the garden, flying this way and that. He was sweaty, agitated, and acutely aware that Granger was still supervising him, but it didn't matter. He was flying, and he felt freer than he had in years.

A/N: Updates every Monday. Next chapter: March 30th

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