A/N: Thank you to everyone for your kind words! I am so pleased that you are enjoying the story.
I've gotten a couple of requests for more frequent updates. While I'm very flattered that you want to devour this story so quickly in these trying times, I am planning on sticking to weekly updates for now. I have a pretty good buffer of chapters written and edited, but I know I'll blow through it all quickly if I post multiple times a week and then y'all will end up waiting WEEKS or even MONTHS between updates while I slowly type away at it. So I'm really thinking of you when I say, just once a week. But I love you all! I hope you enjoy this one. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay home if you can.
As always, Alpha love to BiscutsForPotter and beta love to DisenchantedGlow. Y'all make me look good.
If life at the Manor had been a thunderstorm, life at the Westenberg house was a drizzle. It wasn't entirely uneventful, but there was certainly far more tranquility here. Draco spent his days playing Quidditch with the others, flying by himself, and reading books. After four days he had read all of the books that he had brought from the Manor. After that, his only options were a few dusty tomes on a shelf in the living room, but he quickly grew tired of reading.
He found himself picking fights just to have something interesting to do. After some experimentation, he found that Granger was by far his favourite to rile up. Potter was always ready with a sarcastic quip, but Charlie just laughed at Draco's taunts, and Cho was too easily wounded. Oh, but Granger…
It took a lot to get a reaction out of her. Most everything he said was just met with a scowl or a roll of her eyes. But every now and then, with the right comment, he would be rewarded by a pink flush over her cheeks and neck. Her eyebrows would furrow and she would rise to her feet to fight with him with such ferocity that it made him infinitely glad that he hadn't murdered her when ordered.
Apart from these lively arguments over nothing in particular, life at this safe house was rather dull. So dull, in fact, that he was almost caught off-guard when the other inhabitants began to pry into his past.
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask," Cho piped up one day at breakfast, her dark eyes darting up to Draco across the table. "What did they make you do?"
Draco blinked. It seemed Cho's curiosity had finally surpassed her manners. "Excuse me?"
"The Death Eaters," she prompted. "What sort of things did they make you do?"
All four sets of eyes were trained on him now. It seemed that they had all simply been too polite to ask, but had clearly been wondering as well. Shifting in his seat, Draco cleared his throat. "Shacklebolt has classified my previous profession as 'need-to-know'," he said with a sniff, avoiding their eyes.
"Yeah, I know, I was at the meeting," said Cho, rolling her eyes. "But surely you can tell us something. There must be a reason why you left."
Draco coughed. He should have never listened to Granger's advice. Staying in his room all day had been a much wiser choice. "Death Eaters don't have a choice of job. They do as they are told," he answered cryptically.
"It's classified, Cho," warned Charlie. "Don't push the subject."
"Can't blame a girl for being curious," said Cho flippantly. "Was it horrible there? Did they torture you?"
"Cho, stop," cautioned Potter.
Cho pressed on, ignoring Potter's warnings. "Did they ever make you torture someone?"
"Cho," chastised Charlie.
"Did you ever see anyone get tortured?" Cho asked.
Silence befell the table save for a sharp intake of air to his left. He glanced toward the sound. Granger was red faced, eyes cast down, her right hand subtly tugging at the left sleeve of her jumper.
Draco could still see Bellatrix's knife sinking into her flesh, could still hear Granger's shrieks of pain and terror.
Granger cleared her throat and rose to her feet. She turned from the table. "I have to go to work," she intoned before leaving the room. A moment later, Draco heard the front door open and close, followed by the brief alert of someone exiting the wards.
"What? What did I say?" Cho asked, going a bit pink in the cheeks.
Potter removed his classes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Cho…" he sighed. "Hermione was tortured at Malfoy Manor last year."
Cho's mouth fell open and her eyes flew to Draco. He could sense her question coming and quickly said, "I'm not the one who did it."
"But he was there," Charlie explained. "Ron told me."
"I'm so sorry!" cried Cho. "I had no idea! I—oh—I have to apologize."
Potter waved her off. "You didn't know. Hermione's fine now. It's just not something she likes to talk about much. I'll check on her on my way into the Ministry." He glanced at his watch and rose from the table. "I'd better go if I'm going to do that and still get to work on time. See ya." Straightening his Auror robes, he exited the house as well, leaving Draco with just Cho and Charlie.
"No work for you two?" Draco asked casually, desperate to change the subject and get the spotlight off of his years with the Death Eaters.
"I'm on sabbatical," said Charlie. "I used to work with dragons in Romania, but now I'm taking a break to work for the Order full time."
"And you?" Draco turned to Cho, who was still frowning at her plate of eggs.
She looked up at him, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "I tried out for a few Quidditch teams after Hogwarts, but a lot of them aren't hiring right now. Not very many people are going to matches these days. A few teams have even shut down because of it."
Draco thought of the conversation he had had with William Hammond just a few days ago, and felt a bit guilty for leaving him behind. William wasn't like most of the Death Eaters. He was kind and meek. Draco only hoped that Theo would look after the boy.
"So what do you think of Puddlemere's new seeker?" Draco asked.
"Bradshaw?" Cho confirmed, her eyes lighting up. "He's brilliant! Best seeker in the league in my opinion."
Draco's lip twitched in spite of himself. "I think so too."
When Granger returned from St. Mungo's that evening, her bag was rattling with glass bottles. She made a beeline directly for the downstairs office and closed the door. She spent a lot of time in that office. Order business, Draco guessed. He wondered how often her work as a Healer carried over into Order business. She didn't talk much about that either, at least not in front of him. Several times, he had entered the living room and interrupted Granger and Potter talking seriously in low voices.
Perhaps he would have more answers once his probation was lifted.
"Get your wand," ordered Potter, bursting through the door. His Auror robes were dusty. There was a tear on his right sleeve and a small splatter of blood on his cheek. "Get Hermione. We need to go."
Draco's heart quickened. There had been an attack. This was it. Some action at last. Was there a battle? Would he have to fight against his former fellow Death Eaters? His stomach plummeted at the thought of potentially facing Theo or Pansy in battle. But at least he would finally get out of this blasted house.
He leapt to his feet and crossed to the office. He swung the door open without knocking.
Granger was standing at a table littered with parchments, potions ingredients, and phials. There was a large cauldron in front of her that she was frowning at like it wasn't cooperating with her. She looked up sharply when he entered. "Malfoy!" she chastised. "Get out. This is classified!"
"Potter's here," Draco snapped. "We need to go."
At once, Granger sprang into action. She waved her wand over the table in a simple preservation charm before following Draco into the living room. When she saw the state of her friend she rushed forward. "Harry!" she cried, her hands flying first to his ripped sleeve and then his bloodied face. "Are you alright?"
Potter shook her off. "I'm fine. It's not my blood."
Granger appeared to be only slightly relieved by this news. Her wide eyes urged Potter to explain.
"The Death Eaters attacked a Muggle shop. Three Muggles are dead. Several injured."
"Let's go," Draco urged, gripping his wand tightly.
"The battle's done," said Potter. "The Death Eaters fled."
Draco's heart sank. What was left to do if the Aurors had already dispatched the Death Eaters?
"We need a team on site for clean up, medical care, and memory modification," Potter explained.
Granger nodded, returning to the office to pick up her beaded bag. Draco followed Potter and Granger out of the house reluctantly. This would be his first time beyond the safe house's wards since they had arrived and he wouldn't even be fighting.
Granger grabbed hold of his arm as they passed beyond the gate and maintained her grip as she held Potter's hand. The scarred Auror apparated, pulling Draco and Granger along with him.
From the moment they landed in the alley behind the Muggle shop, Draco could hear the sounds of fear and grief all around. They entered the back door into the ladies' section of a large department store. A small team of Aurors was nearby, sweeping the perimeter for suspicious activity. They eyed at the trio warily when they entered, but Potter gave them a nod and the team passed on.
While Draco was still taking in the scene around them, Granger darted away from them toward a man who was bleeding profusely from his head. There were several other injured Muggles near the bleeding man, all clutching their ailments with terror in their eyes. There were a few unharmed Muggles talking to Aurors hysterically about what they had witnessed. Draco turned to Potter, waiting for orders.
"Would you like for me to help Granger with the injured? Or should I take statements from the witnesses?" Draco asked.
Potter shook his head. "You'll be on clean up duty. Shacklebolt is working on media control outside, but we need this place cleaned up before they can be allowed inside."
Draco scowled. "Cleaning? That's what I'm here for?"
Potter shrugged. "Someone needs to do it. You're on probation. That means you get the happy task of doing everything that others don't want to do. Or are too busy to do." He gestured broadly around the vast store. "Lots to clean up. Hop to it," he said with a wicked smirk.
Fists shaking with rage, Draco stalked away. This was preposterous, insulting, and degrading. He wasn't a bloody house elf. Thank Merlin he could use magic. He didn't even want to imagine how humiliating this would be otherwise. He passed a puddle of dark blood and sneered at the thought of mopping it up the Muggle way. With a wave of his wand—the first magic he had done in days—the blood vanished. Sweet Salazar he'd missed doing magic.
He spent nearly half an hour cleaning up the mess. Blood splatters that made his stomach turn one moment were gone the next, leaving no trace of the attack behind. Overturned clothing racks were righted and their contents restored. Toward the front of the shop, Dawlish and another Auror stood disguised as Muggle police officers. Healed Muggles approached them after giving their statements. The two Aurors checked to make sure that their memories had been properly modified before they escorted the Muggles out of the store.
Draco continued past them, careful not to perform magic in front of Muggles whose memory had already been modified.
He entered the men's department and took a moment to repair an exploded shelf. With a wave of his wand, dozens of shoes returned to their rightful place.
"I don't understand!" A woman cried hysterically. "Those masked men—"
Draco peered around the shelf to see a woman of about thirty standing next to Granger. She was weeping openly. Next to them, Potter covered the body of a man with a sheet before respectfully moving away.
"Andrew!" the woman wailed, falling to her knees next to the corpse. "My husband…"
Was this what Mrs. Pillsworth had looked like when she found her husband in the study? Had she also been confused and devastated, weeping over him as if it were her life that had ended? The sight caused a heavy pit to settle in his stomach. He felt nauseous, knowing that he had caused this pain in someone. Draco shook his head, willing the thought to leave him.
Granger kneeled beside the woman, speaking gentle, hushed words that Draco could not hear. The woman's body shook with her tears. It was a wonder she could hear Granger over her own shuddering breaths, but she nodded in response to whatever the brunette witch had said.
Draco watched, entranced by her technique, as she reached out and grabbed hold of the woman's hand, distracting her. With her other hand, Granger raised her wand behind the woman's back and waved it over her head. The memory spell reached forward and wrapped itself around the woman's panicked mind.
When Granger had finished, the confusion was gone from the woman's expression, but the terror and grief remained.
They exchanged a few more quiet words before Potter came forward and helped the woman to her feet. He escorted her toward the exit, leaving Granger alone near the body of the Muggle man.
She rose to her feet and brushed her hands off on her trousers. She looked… exhausted. Draco wondered how many Muggles she had Obliviated today and how much it took out of her each time she had to do it.
He looked around for any more messes to clean. Aside from the dead Muggle man, it seemed to be a typical store. His job was complete. Slowly, he approached Granger. She glanced at him, her eyes a bit teary.
"Is that everyone?" he asked.
Granger looked around. It was quiet in the store now. All of the crying, screaming Muggles had been tended to. "I believe so," she responded.
"What memory did you give her?" he asked curiously.
She glanced to the exit, where Dawlish was escorting the grieving widow through the doors. "A biological attack. Chemical warfare from an underground terrorist cell. It's the only way we can explain the lack of a wound," she explained. "I wish I could have erased her grief," she continued, perhaps forgetting who she was talking to. "Her face when she saw him…"
Granger trailed off, wiping her eyes quickly and turning away from him. "Are you done?" she asked a bit too loudly.
"What?" Draco blinked. "Oh, yes. I think so."
Granger looked around before nodding. "Let's check in with Harry and then we can probably go."
Once they had been dismissed and made their way back to the safehouse, Granger set to work reheating some of the dinner that Charlie and Cho must have made while they were gone. She offered him some, and he accepted gratefully.
They sat at the table, eating their roast beef and potatoes in silence until Granger spoke.
"You did well today," she commented.
Draco scoffed. "I didn't do anything."
"No, really. I know it's not fun to be on clean up duty. Thanks for not complaining about it too much."
Draco blinked in surprise. He was fairly sure that Granger had never thanked him for anything in his life. "Well, the sooner I get off cleaning duty, the better."
Granger nodded thoughtfully. "I'll be sure to mention your cooperation in my report to Kingsley."
Bristling, he shifted in his seat. He hadn't really thought much about how all of his actions would make their way back to the Minister. "What else will be in your report?"
She smirked and gave him a knowing look. "If you're worried that I'm going to mention all the fights you've been provoking, you can relax."
"Wait, you knew that I was—?" he trailed off, his face burning. Apparently his private source of entertainment was not as subtle as he'd thought.
Granger rolled her eyes. "Of course, I did. But as annoying as it is, being a prat isn't a crime. A massive pain in my arse maybe, but not a crime. As long as you don't try to hurt us, there shouldn't be an issue."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Draco took another bite of roast.
"But," Granger added with a grin. "It wouldn't hurt for you to be less of a prat."
Draco let out a short laugh. "No promises, Granger."
The next three weeks of Draco's life passed in much the same way. Though he tagged along on an occasional mission, he was never allowed direct contact with Death Eaters or civilians. No, the only duties Granger entrusted him with were clean-ups and memory modification assistance. And the latter had only happened once.
Draco and Granger easily fell into a routine at the safe house. He always woke up after Granger. She waited for him in the kitchen with a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee each morning. Judging by the bags under her eyes, she hardly slept. He wasn't one to speak, though. It wasn't like he was sleeping particularly well, himself.
Still, they managed to exchange stiff pleasantries in an effort to remain civil with each other.
Though Granger went to St. Mungo's to work most mornings, on the days she didn't work, she spent her time closed behind her office door for hours on end. Merlin only knew what she did in there, but the smells of various brewing potions frequently wafted from the door.
The other occupants of Westenberg house seemed to tolerate Draco well enough. That was until the shifting of Order members began. First, it was Charlie Weasley. He left about a week into Draco's stay—reassigned to another safe house. His place was taken by Ginny. Thankfully the redheaded girl spent so much time shut up with Potter in his room that it felt like they weren't even present half the time.
Soon though, Potter left, replaced by Dean Thomas.
Draco did his best to remain civil with his new housemates, but it was difficult when the Weasley girl kept glaring daggers at him whenever he entered the room and Thomas muttered nasty comments under his breath after he exited. At least Cho seemed to have warmed up to him a bit, and Granger, though still cold, was quick to jump to his defence if anyone got too hostile.
While he and Granger had a steady, pleasant-enough routine, the same could not be said when he attended meetings at Headquarters. Each time he sat around that table, he could practically feel the air around him crackle with tension. Most Order members didn't trust him. That much was obvious. The way they avoided eye contact or spoke about him when they thought he was just out of earshot... it was clear that he simply wasn't welcome. The room was always crowded and Draco felt crushed by the sheer number of people who so openly despised him.
Draco kept mostly to himself during these meetings, sitting quietly and trying to fade into the background. Though he often kept his eyes down, he listened intently for any news of Pansy or Theo. Luckily, they were never mentioned. Draco guessed that they were not important enough in the Death Eater ranks to be high-priority targets for the Order. He was careful to listen especially closely when there was any mention of events overseas. He wasn't sure where his mother had gone, but he imagined that it was in Europe somewhere. Perhaps Greece or Switzerland where the war was much less severe. He hoped she was safe, wherever she was.
October brought rain and cold air to the Westenberg house. For days Draco was forced to stay inside due to the dismal weather. Draco took every rare, sunny day as an opportunity to fly in the back garden. As he came in for dinner one day, he was surprised to find Kingsley Shacklebolt sitting at the dining room table with Granger. "Ah, Malfoy! Just the man I was hoping to see."
"Me, sir?" Draco cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed.
"Shall we talk in the office?" Shacklebolt suggested.
"Sir, I'm afraid my research is set up in the office," said Granger.
"Ah, and how is your research going?"
Her eyes flickered over to Draco. She clearly still did not trust him completely. "I haven't had any breakthroughs yet, but I'm still working on it."
"Well, keep at it. Let me know if you need any help," said Shacklebolt. He turned to Draco. "Have a seat, Malfoy."
Draco did as he was told, sitting next to Granger.
"We have discovered the location of a Death Eater hideout. It seems that without the use of your family's manor, there is nowhere big enough to house all of them anymore, so they have split up—much like we have—into various safe houses," explained Shacklebolt. "I would like for you to perform a reconnaissance mission for me. Observe and report only. Gather what information you can about the location, and then we can build a raid around that."
Draco nodded. "What kind of information do you need?"
"First and foremost, we need to know everything you can discover about the wards. I know that it is risky to obtain much information without raising alarms, but—"
"No, I can do it," Draco interrupted. "What else do you need to know?"
Shacklebolt gave him a thoughtful look for a moment. "We need to know numbers. How many Death Eaters we can expect once we're inside the wards. Anything you can discover about patrols and security. Do you think you can do that?"
Draco nodded at once. "I can. When would you like me to go?"
"How long do you need to prepare?" asked Shacklebolt.
Draco blinked. This was different. He was not used to being... asked. Dolohov never asked; he only ever commanded. He never cared about Draco's preferences. Dolohov wielded his authority with an iron fist, demanding jobs to be done on his timeline. Lack of time meant he had to scramble. And scrambling meant sloppy work.
"It's a simple job. I can't imagine needing more than a few hours to get ready," he replied.
"Is tonight too soon?" asked Kingsley. "I assume that cover of night would be your preference for this type of job."
Draco nodded and checked his watch. That gave him at least four hours after dinner. There wouldn't be any blueprints to study or psychological profiles to form. All of that information would be his to discover. "I can be ready tonight."
"Sir," Granger piped up. "Malfoy is still on probation. Do you intend for him to go alone?"
"Yes," said Shacklebolt. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I believe that this particular mission is better suited for just one."
"Are you sure that's wise?" she asked, pushing ahead as if Draco were not there. "Perhaps it would be more prudent to send one of our more trusted members."
"No one else in the Order has the experience with Death Eaters that Malfoy has. He knows them and how they operate. This task will also be better performed by someone with Malfoy's... particular set of skills," explained the Minister.
Draco watched as Granger frowned at these words. How much did she know about his skills? Her expression, though concerned, did not give away much.
"Has Malfoy given you any reason to doubt his trustworthiness?" asked Shacklebolt.
Granger glanced at Draco, her eyes darting over his face for a moment before she turned back to the Minister. "No, sir."
"Then it's settled." Shacklebolt produced a small file and set it on the table in front of Draco. "You'll leave tonight, Malfoy. This file contains everything you need to know. There isn't much in there, since you'll be the one to gather most of the information. We have portkeys set up for your journey there and then back here again. I will be at Headquarters all night waiting for you to check in with your report."
Draco nodded before picking up the file and opening it. Inside were a few facts about the Death Eater hideout, a map of a country village with notable landmarks labeled clearly, and the address of a home in Surrey.
"Surrey," he muttered.
"Does that mean anything to you?" asked the Minister.
"Not particularly. I know that Goyle is from Surrey. It's possible this is his house, but I've never been there so I'm not sure. I'll do my best to find out."
Shacklebolt nodded. "How long do you think you'll need on site?"
"It depends on the strength of the wards," Draco said, tapping one finger against the table thoughtfully. "If they're very strong it could take me up to an hour to gain access without raising suspicion. Once I'm inside it should be fairly quick. I'll just need to do a quick count and note your best points of entry. So perhaps… three hours all together."
The minister nodded. "Very well, I will give you until two o'clock to check in. If, by that time, I still have not heard from you, we'll send in a rescue team."
"After he checks in with you, Minister, will he return here?" asked Granger.
"Yes, I feel that would be best."
"Sir," said Draco. "I am not permitted in or out of Order wards without Granger. My wand as well—"
"Not to worry. I will see to it that we temporarily remove the restrictions on your travel and your wand usage. Those restrictions will be put back into place after you arrive back here following your mission."
"Thank you," replied Draco.
Shacklebolt stood. "Well, if there is nothing else, I'll leave you to your preparations. I will see you after your mission is complete."
With a final nod, the Minister walked out the kitchen door, through the garden and past the wards where he disappeared with a crack.
"What did he mean by skills?" asked Granger, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Ah. So she hadn't known what Shacklebolt had meant.
Granger didn't know anything about what he had done with the Death Eaters, it seemed. Good. She had only just begun to speak to him with civility. If she knew the truth about him she would surely hate him again. "I have a lot of preparing to do." Without another word, he closed his file and walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen.
The portkey dropped him on a hill in Surrey. It was raining, and storm clouds lit up the sky in the distance. It was already dark, but he had cast a disillusionment charm on himself to avoid being seen by straggling Death Eaters.
According to the map, he needed to walk east to get to the hideout. He could see the home's lights in the distance and made a mental note that a Notice-Me-Not charm was not included in the wards.
Draco moved quickly through clearings and stayed to the shadows as much as possible. There was a small forest on the north side of the house and he made his way there. As quietly as he could, he slinked between the trees. He was within a hundred meters of the home before the wards prevented him from continuing closer. Draco gently pushed his magic against the wards, testing their strength carefully without drawing attention to himself.
No, it wouldn't take him long to break into these wards at all. Dolohov must not have moved into this location. The High Minister would never have allowed such vulnerable wards at his headquarters. If Draco had to guess, the only thing within this house would be a few low level Death Eaters.
The difficult part would be getting inside the wards without raising suspicion. He could see the house, but no guards. There was likely a glamour charm of sorts—like the one disguising the Westenberg house—concealing them from view. Draco started there. Glamour charms were easy enough to dispel. He worked for five mere minutes before the spell flickered away.
Three guards that he could see were patrolling the grounds around the house. Another stood at the front door. Draco moved through the trees at the edge of the wards, keeping low and moving fast. There was a fifth guard at the side door, and a sixth at the back door. He certainly would not be able to provide the Order with a detailed account of the house's interior. Getting inside would mean having to kill several of these guards, and while Draco didn't doubt that he was capable of doing that, Shacklebolt had been clear. Observe and report.
Still, he had to get inside the wards to complete his mission. He found a place that was, for the moment, out of the way of the guards' watch. It provided him with ample tree cover and he quickly set to work.
There were only a handful of spells that he could use against wards that were both lightless and soundless. He started with those.
Spell after spell, his attempts were fruitless. He kept his eyes peeled for any weak spots. Each spell hit the barrier and radiated outward. If Draco looked hard enough, he could watch his spell ripple along in search of a way in.
After several long minutes, he finally saw it. A spell had traveled along the wards and created a small glimmer to his left. To his chagrin, he saw that a guard was standing very near the weak area. He needed a distraction. He backed up, gaining some more tree cover before he cast a spell above his head. It zoomed away from him without light, turned in the air, and then rushed down like a bolt of lightning, hitting a tree on the other side of the house just outside the wards. It's bark exploded with a mighty bang, sending shards of wood raining down, bouncing off the wards and drawing the attention of all of the guards.
The guard near the weak spot drew his wand, moving away from his post toward the tree, which was ablaze. The distraction wouldn't grant him much time, and he had certainly raised quite a bit of alarm so everyone would be on high alert. Draco only hoped that they would assume the fire was caused by a sudden, but natural, lightning strike.
Quick as he could, Draco darted to the weakened area of the wards. He knew just which spell to use now and once it was cast, he easily moved beyond the protection spells as fast as he could. He kneeled down behind a tree just inside the protective boundary.
"Homenum Revelio Charta," he whispered.
From his wand burst a small rendering of the house and the rooms within. Small blue dots moved about, seven outside including himself, and nine within.
"Just a bit of lightning, gents," barked a gruff voice from the other side of the house. "Back to your posts."
That information would have to do. "Finite," he breathed, extinguishing the map of the house. He backed out of the wards and reset all of the spells as the guards came back into view. He retreated a hundred meters before he located his Portkey and disappeared back to Headquarters.
Shacklebolt was waiting for him in the dining room when Draco arrived at half past one.
"Malfoy," he greeted with a singular nod from his spot at the head of the table. "All done, I trust?"
Draco responded. "Yes."
Shacklebolt glanced at his pocket watch, and something flickered over his face. "And with a half hour to spare? Impressive."
With a flick of his wand, the man wordlessly drew out the chair to his left—a clear invitation to sit.
Draco obeyed the directions before giving a full report: six Death Eaters guarding the outside, nine Death Eaters on the inside. He showed the Minister the rudimentary map of the home and told him in detail which wards were in place and where the weak spot could be found. When he had finished speaking, Shacklebolt looked thoroughly impressed.
"Well done," the Minister praised with a rare smile. "If you think of any other information that would be useful, please tell Ms. Granger. She can always reach me."
"Yes, sir." Draco kept his posture stiff in case Shacklebolt had any more directions to give tonight. But it seems he didn't. Instead, the man raised his hand in a sort of dismissal.
"That will be all. You can head back to Westenberg for now. There's a portkey. Go get some rest." Shacklebolt held out a small button, wrapped in a cloth.
"Yes, sir."
Draco accepted it and rose from the table, preparing to take his leave.
"And Malfoy?
"Sir?"
"Thank you."
With a brief nod, Draco let the button fall into hand. In an instant, he was whisked away.
When he landed just outside the gate at the Westenberg house and made his way past the wards, the house was dark save for one lamp in the living room. Through the window he could see Granger sitting in a chair by the light. She was reading, of course. Why was she still awake at this hour? It was well past two in the morning.
As he walked up onto the porch, her head popped up from her book. Her eyes met his and she gave him a little wave.
Draco grimaced and opened the door. He was drenched from the rain, exhausted, and feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. He had hoped to go directly upstairs and go to sleep, but it seemed that Granger had other plans.
"You're back," she said, standing as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. "How did it go?"
"What are you, my mother?" he growled. He hadn't meant to snap at her, but he was exhausted and uncomfortable in his sodden clothes.
Granger frowned and crossed her arms. "No. I'm your probationary mentor, which means you answer to me. Or had you forgotten?"
"Actually, on this mission, I answered to Shacklebolt. I've already given him my report. I didn't realize that you would be needing one as well. Why aren't you asleep? Did you wait up for me or something?"
"As a matter of fact, I did," Granger said haughtily.
"Why?" he snarled. Why did she feel the need to be around him? To get to know him? Why was she so interested in his activities? She should want to stay far, far away from him. As far away as he wanted to be from her.
"Because, Malfoy, I'm your mentor. I'm not just in charge of making sure you don't fuck up. I'm in charge of keeping you safe while you're learning the ropes here. That means that it's my arse if anything happens to you," she replied darkly.
"You were worried about me?" Draco teased with a smirk. "I'm touched, Granger. I had no idea you cared."
A faint blush spread over Granger's neck as she scowled at him. "I only care about what would happen to me if you ended up a smoldering pile of ash. Once your probation is lifted you can get yourself killed any way you see fit, but please try not to do it on my watch."
"Well, I'm perfectly safe, Granger. Shacklebolt's gotten his report and I'm sure the Order will arrest several more Death Eaters very soon thanks to me. So you can cut the concerned school marm act—"
"Fuck you," she seethed.
Draco blinked. "Since when does the perfect Gryffindor Princess have such a mouth on her?"
"Since always. You were just too busy pretending to be king of the world to notice that I'm a human being, Malfoy."
Draco rubbed his eyes. "It's too late for this shite," he groaned. "I don't know what's got your knickers in a twist tonight, Granger, but I just want to go to sleep."
"You could have gone to sleep much sooner if you had just been polite and answered my question when you came in!" she argued, her voice raising now.
If they kept this up, they would wake the whole house, but dammit, Draco wanted to fight with her. He'd kept his mouth shut about all of these damn restrictions for too long. "No, I could have gone to sleep much sooner if you had just gone to bed at a decent hour. I don't need a bloody nanny, Granger. Shacklebolt trusted me to go on this solo mission. You had nothing to do with it, so don't pretend to be my keeper tonight. Tonight I'm my own man."
"Oh, are you? Then why don't you leave?" she challenged, gesturing toward the door. "If you're so free, just go."
He couldn't. She knew he couldn't. His travel restrictions had resumed the moment he had returned here. He had never wanted to hurt her as badly as he did in this moment.
"You just hate that Shacklebolt took away a tiny bit of the power you hold over me. You're such a damaged control freak that you needed to sit up all night and remind me that you could still crush me under your little thumb, is that it?"
"I am not a control freak," she seethed.
"Ah, but you are damaged though, aren't you?"
It was like she'd been hit with a silencing spell. Her mouth hung open for a moment before snapping shut. As if subconsciously, her right hand came up to cover her left forearm protectively.
Draco realized his mistake at once and immediately regretted his words. He refused to backpedal now though. He'd wounded her, isn't that what he had wanted?
"You know I am," she breathed venomously. The words hung between them, the silence pressing on his ears as harshly as her shouts had a moment ago.
Something akin to guilt twisted inside of him. Before he could reply, she marched past him and disappeared up the stairs.
He opened his mouth, his words filling the empty room. "Aren't we all?"
A/N: Updates on Mondays. Next Chapter posts April 6th.
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