A/N: Hello lovely readers! I hope you didn't miss the surprise chapter I dropped on Friday! Before you read this one, just make sure you read 14 first!

As always, AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow!

Headquarters was as quiet and still as he'd left it when Draco crept through the front door and removed his gloves. There was a heavy, dreadful, newfound darkness that had nestled itself in his heart. The closer he crept to his bedroom—down the hall, up the stairs—the heavier and more dreadful that darkness became. It was assaulting him from the inside out with one, singular image: William's face, forever frozen in its final moment, fearful, cold, dead…

By the time he reached the top step, the darkness threatened to overwhelm him. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and he hurried to the nearest washroom to retch into the toilet. As his stomach emptied, Draco wished he could flush away his guilt with the sick.

Trembling from vomiting and tears brimming his eyes, he made his way out of the loo and towards his bedroom.

"Draco?"

He grimaced. Of fucking course…

Bracing himself on the door frame, he turned. Granger had opened the door to her room and was blinking at him with tired eyes. She looked so vulnerable in her thin cotton pajamas. Vulnerable, but warm. It took everything he had not to take her into his arms and weep. Could her warmth chase away the cold that was settling in his soul?

"Are you alright?"

No, Granger, I'm not.

His soul felt splintered—flayed open, revealing his blackened heart.

"Go back to bed, Granger," he replied softly.

Her honey eyes travelled over him, taking in his cloak, his boots, his wand in his hand.

"What are you—?"

"Go to sleep, Granger," he growled, shutting his eyes against her concerned gaze.

He turned away and slipped inside his room, ignoring her stare from across the hall as he closed the door.

The moment the heavy wood clicked shut behind him, Draco turned to cast locking and silencing charms. Then, without ceremony, he kicked off his boots and shed his clothes, climbing into bed stark naked. Looking up at the ceiling, he let himself weep. For William Hammond, for Pansy, and for himself.

Against all odds, Draco slept, and slept well. He supposed that, despite the guilt he felt, killing five people in one night was bound to be exhausting enough to overcome any emotional turmoil. Or perhaps the several restless nights he'd had since Pansy's death had finally caught up with him.

When he woke up, the house was alive. Early morning sunlight was peeking through his curtains, illuminating the room in a nauseatingly cheerful glow. His silencing charm had worn off during the night and he could hear the animated chatter of an organization about to arrest a house full of fugitives.

He spent the better part of the day mentally preparing himself for arrest and imprisonment. As soon as the Order discovered the carnage at the Death Eater safe house he was sure to be arrested, especially once Granger shared with Potter or Shacklebolt what she had seen the night before. Shacklebolt knew what Draco had been with the Death Eaters. Surely the Minister would easily guess how five men had been murdered on the eve of a planned Order raid.

Shacklebolt had been kind enough to grant him immunity for his crimes, but that deal only extended to crimes Draco had committed as a Death Eater. His misdeeds now were sure to land him in Azkaban. He found himself pacing anxiously around the room for the better part of the morning. In a brief moment of insanity, he considered going to Shacklebolt and confessing. Perhaps that would be better than being found out. He could claim it was a crime of passion. He'd been so blinded by rage that he hadn't even known what he'd been doing.

No. Shacklebolt would never believe that. Draco had had a clear and focused mind when he'd attacked the Death Eaters. He'd been filled with rage, yes, but always fully aware of his actions. Turning himself in was certainly not the right thing to do. His best chance now was hoping that Shacklebolt would take pity on him—or even better, that he wouldn't figure it out at all.

He Occluded for two hours before the meeting. He knew that if anyone were to see him in that moment or—Merlin forbid—ask him about the attack, his panic and grief would give him away immediately. Still, despite his best efforts to modulate his emotions, he felt his heart racing without control as he dressed.

The atmosphere did not seem so very different from what it had been yesterday. There was some fear, yes, as people were still not convinced that their own safe houses could be trusted. Angelina Johnson and Ginny were speaking in low voices, heads close together. Draco heard Angelina mention that she was supposed to be stationed at the Longbottom house next week, but no longer felt safe there. Other people seemed to have similar concerns. Molly Weasley was asking George to talk to Shacklebolt to ask him if he'd let George stay at headquarters for the week. But with so many Order members without permanent residences, headquarters simply did not have enough beds to accommodate everyone.

But though there was fear, there was excitement as well, as people waited to hear the news about how the morning's raid had gone. Draco noticed that the people who had been on the raid team seemed a bit perplexed, but overall relaxed. No one was looking at Draco with suspicion… at least no more than they had yesterday.

"I'm sure you're all hoping to hear how this morning's raid went," Shacklebolt said as he settled at the head of the table. There was a murmur of assent through the crowd. "When the team arrived, the house appeared to be empty. We thought it might have been a dead lead, but then…" he trailed off, his eyes flickering over the crowd and settling on Draco for a heart stopping second.

Shacklebolt looked away, gazing out over the Order with a grave expression. "In fact there were five Death Eaters inside. All of them dead. Murdered."

A confused murmur rippled around the crowd.

"Good riddance."

"Serves them right."

"How were they killed?"

"Who do you think could have killed them?" Charlie asked, his voice raised to be heard above the others, his tone dark and vengeful. It seemed to Draco, based on his tense posture and anger, that Charlie would have liked to have done it himself.

Draco wiped his brow, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt.

"We don't know exactly how this happened, but our best guess is that there is dissension among the Death Eaters," Shacklebolt said.

Draco blinked. They thought the Death Eaters had been killed by other Death Eaters. It didn't seem like they knew Draco had done it at all. The tight coil of anxiety in his stomach loosened slightly. He had to focus very hard on not letting out a sigh of relief.

Shacklebolt was still speaking. "All five were killed by the Killing Curse. Most of them had their wands drawn or were disarmed, and there was some evidence of a struggle. Perhaps these five did something to anger Dolohov and his trusted officers. We can't be sure. But if they are fighting amongst themselves, it may be a good sign for us."

"Maybe one Death Eater just went rogue," Lee Jordan mused.

Kingsley's shoulder twitched up in a sort of shrug. "Based on the number of them, I'm guessing a small team of their fellow Death Eaters. It seems like too big of a job for one or two."

Draco blinked, trying desperately to keep his face neutral. He could barely believe his luck. It seemed, at least for now, that he was not suspected. He glanced at Granger. She betrayed nothing, watching Shacklebolt with rapt attention as he relayed this news.

"At any rate," Kingsley continued. "There are five fewer Death Eaters in the world for us to worry about. The team was able to recover a few documents from the safe house which will be analyzed. Hopefully the information will be beneficial for us."

An owl feather could have bowled him over with the sudden realization that he was not about to be arrested. Draco sat very still, as if worried that calling any attention to himself would cause suspicion to befall him.

Without flourish or pause, Shacklebolt moved on to the next item of business: filling everyone in on the new security measures which would be implemented at the safe houses. They would be doubling up on wards. There would be one layer where they always had been, increased in strength, and then another fifty metres further out, with alerts for the ranking Order member on duty of anyone passing through those wards. Draco did his best to pay attention, but he was having a hard time focusing. He was far too relieved to know that he would not be going to Azkaban today.

When the meeting was over, Draco slipped into the kitchen for some much-needed food. Molly Weasley set out a platter of sandwiches for everyone before kissing her children on their freckled cheeks and departing back to her home. He then made his way back upstairs. Despite the lack of suspicion on his part, he preferred the idea of eating in his room for now. He wasn't quite ready to talk to anyone yet.

As he sank onto his bed and took a first bite of his roast beef sandwich, he breathed in deeply through his nose, savoring the feeling of being free despite all reason.

Like a trained dog, Granger had become horribly predictable. A few hours after the meeting, she knocked on his door, letting herself in before he had the chance to answer. It was all Draco could do to watch her enter silently, her face set in stone, before casting a silencing charm on the room.

His heart quickened as she turned to look at him, her shoulders tense and her jaw set. Whatever Granger was there to say, she was making sure that they wouldn't be overheard.

She remained silent as she crossed his room and sank down on the bed near his feet. Draco waited for her to speak first, not daring to assume that he knew the reason for her sudden intrusion.

A deep, rattling breath, and honey eyes met slate. "Kingsley underestimates you."

Clever witch. He wondered if she would have figured it out even if she had not caught him returning last night.

He said nothing, so she pressed on.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Even looking beyond the obvious moral issues of killing five people in cold blood, do you have any idea what would happen to you if Kingsley found out? You'd be on your way to Azkaban right now."

He knew that, of course. He didn't need the reminder.

"Did you act alone?"

He didn't answer.

"I only ask because listening to Charlie at that meeting, you'd think…" she trailed off.

Her brows furrowed slightly as her eyes met his again.

"Say something," she hissed.

"What would you like me to say, Granger?" His voice came out as nothing more than the ghost of a whisper.

Her mouth opened briefly before snapping closed. Perhaps she'd been hoping that he would deny it. That he couldn't possibly have done the awful things she suspected of him. She dropped her gaze to her hands.

"Would you like for me to confirm to you what a monster I am? How dangerous I am? Just how much I'm capable of?"

She looked up sharply at him, and he could see how curious she was. He knew that insatiable look. She'd worn it for years in the classes they'd shared. Granger already knew some of his story. Some, but not all. Far from all. It was as though she couldn't stop herself from wanting to know everything, no matter how unpleasant the answers might be.

Draco felt on edge. His heart was beating fast and his palms had become clammy. Half of him longed to deny it all, to reach out to her for comfort, to pull her into him as he had dreamed of doing so many times. To show her how good he was. To lose himself in her touch.

But the stronger half of him knew what was right. He didn't deserve her. Just looking at her and how fucking… decent she was. He knew he could never be a man worthy of a witch like her. So good and so caring. Her utter trust in him was unfounded. Unfounded and unwise.

He wasn't worthy of her trust. He wasn't worthy of anything she had to offer him. Perhaps what he really needed to do was to show her exactly who he was… what he was. Maybe if he did that, she could finally stop looking at him like he was someone worth saving.

"I did it." There was ice laced through each syllable. "And I did it alone. Just me. Charlie had nothing to do with it."

He took a deep breath, pressing on despite the twisting in his chest. He couldn't stop now. He felt compelled to tell her everything. "There were five of them. I knew that going in. I snuck into Shacklebolt's office to look at the files and find the location. From there it was simple. I just had to break into the wards. It's something of a specialty of mine, actually. I've never encountered wards I couldn't break into."

He watched Granger closely as he spoke, looking for some sort of reaction. When she didn't move, the twisting in his chest grew tighter, pushing him to near hysterics. "Does it scare you to know that? All this talk of strengthening the safe house wards, and I bet there isn't a single one that I couldn't break into within an hour."

Granger still didn't react—didn't show fear. If anything, she just looked sadder by the minute. He had to push harder. Tell her more. Maybe then he could scare her away.

"The first man never even saw it coming. The second barely had time to scream. The third…" he paused, his throat tight. William. "The third was just doing his job to protect the others. By the time the fourth was up against me I knew that Mulciber was last. It's how I wanted it. I didn't duel with any of them. I never gave them the chance. They might as well have been dead before I even entered the house."

Granger's eyes were glistening with tears now, but she still clearly wasn't afraid. She hadn't recoiled. In fact, she reached out one hand and placed it gently on his leg.

He jerked away from her touch and she drew back, jaw trembling slightly. Angry now, his hands shot out, grabbing her arms and shaking her. Her eyes went wide and her lips parted in surprise.

"Don't you get it? I'm a monster, Granger. My soul is damaged… fractured, from all the people I've murdered in cold blood. You said I was heartless once. Well, you were right." He grabbed one of her hands and placed it over his heart. "There's nothing here," he spat. "There never was. I—"

"Shut up." Her voice was no more than a hiss.

Granger's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and she closed her eyes, as if trying to concentrate. When she finally spoke, her voice was strained with emotion. "The simple fact that you are so affected by Pansy's death proves that you do have a heart. You call yourself a monster, but all I see is someone in tremendous pain. You've made mistakes, yes. But that doesn't mean you are beyond redemption."

"And what would Shacklebolt say about my mistakes? Or Potter? Who will help redeem this wretched murderer?" Draco snarled, fingers digging into her upper arms.

Her hand slid up his chest and neck, gently coming to rest on the side of his cheek. "Draco, I—" she breathed, her words dying in her throat as her thumb ran gently along his cheekbone.

Merlin, how he wanted to lean into that hand—how he wanted to lean into whatever happened next. His heart was bursting from her touch. His cheek felt warm under her hand and he longed to pull her in.

Granger's bottom lip was trembling slightly, her eyes glistening with tears. Draco knew that given the chance, he could steady her trembling lips against his own, make her forget her tears in his kiss.

But no. He wouldn't. He couldn't even consider kissing Granger when he could still see Pansy's limp form in his mind's eye. William's shocked, wide, dead eyes.

With tremendous effort, he pulled away from Granger, releasing her as if she were on fire. She flinched with the loss, hurt crossing her face for the first time that evening. Her cheeks flushed and she turned away from him. After a moment, she stood from the bed and walked toward the door.

"You should talk to someone," she said softly without turning back. "It doesn't have to be me. But you should find someone you can open up to about all this. It's killing you to keep it inside, and I can hardly bear to hear the way you think about yourself."

She continued to the door, placing her hand on the knob before pausing once more. "I won't tell Kingsley, you know. As always, your secrets are safe with me." Then she left Draco alone again, the events of the past week swirling through his mind like a dizzying cyclone.

Several days passed, and it did seem like Draco had truly gotten away with murder. Aside from Granger, no one in the Order seemed to think it was possible that he was involved in the Death Eater's safe house slaughter.

The worst repercussions of his actions were coming from within. He had barely slept in days, the little sleep he did get was often plagued by ghastly images of Pansy and William staring back at him with dead, unseeing eyes.

Despite his desire to stay as far away from Granger as possible, he did find himself wishing he had someone to talk to about everything. After racking his brain for some time, he came to the unfortunate realization that she was his only option. The few other Order members that knew what he was capable of were very unlikely to be forgiving if he opened up about his recent actions.

For the first time, he found himself sneaking into her room in the middle of the night instead of the other way around. Her room hadn't been warded since he'd returned to headquarters, and for once he was glad. As he crept across the hall and into her room, he thought about how accustomed he was to sneaking around. Thankfully this time, he had much less nefarious intent. He silenced the room and by the light of his wand, approached her bed.

"Granger," he whispered urgently.

She stirred, her brows furrowing against his light before she startled into consciousness. Reeling back with a gasp, her hand flew to her wand, brandishing it before her. As her eyes focused on him, she dropped her arm with a sigh. "Draco, you scared me." She set her wand on the bedside table and pushed herself to sit up. "What is it?"

Draco lit her lamp with a wave of his wand and walked to the other side of the bed. He climbed on top of the covers next to her and leaned back against the headboard. "I barely sleep anymore," he said, staring out into the semi-dark room. "I see them every night, all the men I've killed. I can see every face, hear every scream."

Granger was staring at him, her lips parted. "How many—? Nevermind. I don't think I want to know."

"Thirteen," Draco told her before he could lose his nerve. "Not including the five last week. And I can't count Pansy. As much as I'm responsible, I'm not the one who cast the curse."

He paused, thinking miserably of his life and misdeeds. Granger, for her part, sat silently and let him talk. He could feel her eyes on him, but didn't dare look back at her. She didn't ask him why he felt so responsible for Pansy's death, and for that, Draco was extremely grateful. As much as he wanted to push Granger away from him, he didn't think he could bear to see the look on her face when she learned that particular detail.

"Although if we're counting deaths I'm responsible for, I suppose we would have to count her." He cleared his throat. "Dumbledore too."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Granger wipe at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"It all started because I had to keep my family safe. They were captives as much as I was. And once my father was in Azkaban, I had to do even more to keep my mother safe. Someone had to go, and it was the people on Dolohov's list or her."

Draco swallowed. He hadn't talked about his mother to anyone since he'd left. No one had asked, and he had been perfectly willing to ignore the subject. But it was all coming out now, and somehow, thankfully, he knew that Granger would not use the information against him.

"I cried after my first kill," he admitted. "It was a Ministry man. Not much older than we are. I don't remember his name, but I'll never forget his face. I don't know what he did to make Dolohov want him dead; I never asked. He wouldn't have told me even if I had. Eventually it became easier to think of my targets, not as people, but as names in a file and nothing more. I became sort of numb to it after my third kill, but I never enjoyed it—" His throat restricted thinking of the thrill he had felt while killing the Death Eaters.

"Well," he amended, dropping his gaze to his hands. "I never enjoyed killing anyone who didn't deserve it."

He thought of William, his stomach twisting painfully.

"What happened to her?" Granger asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Your mother."

Draco took a deep breath. "She left. She's safe."

"Where is she?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. And it's better that way."

They sat in silence for a moment. Draco's heart ached, but he felt a bit better having opened up about his mother to her. Perhaps Potter had been correct when he'd said that Granger was always right.

She shifted next to him, and the next thing he knew, she was sliding her hand under his arm, her fingers lacing with his. His head snapped up, looking at her properly for the first time that night. Despite his confessions, the knowledge of everything he'd done, she hadn't run away from him. On the contrary, she had drawn even closer and was actually holding his hand.

He wanted to tell her about William, and perhaps one day he would, but right now he could barely breathe for the crushing guilt he felt. So he just sat with her, closing his fingers around her hand in return.

"My parents are gone too," she said quietly. She turned her face away from him, lifting her free hand to wipe away the tears that were falling. "I knew they would never leave me behind to go somewhere safe, and with everything that was going on, I—er—obliviated them. They're in Australia, as far as I know. They don't remember ever having a daughter."

Draco's heart thudded in his chest. "Why would you do that?"

Granger sniffed. "I knew that Voldemort would try to use my parents to get to me and, by extension, Harry. I couldn't put them in danger like that. I did what I had to do to keep them safe. After the war, I'll try to find them and reverse the spell."

"And if it can't be reversed?" Draco prompted.

"Well then at least I'll know they're safe and happy. I don't have any regrets about what I did, but I miss them every day."

Draco thought about Granger raising her wand to her own parents, erasing herself from their memories, not knowing if she would ever see them again. With a jolt, he recalled how emotional she had been that day at the Muggle department store, modifying the memories of the victims of the Death Eater attack. That must have been horrible for her to do, all the while thinking of her own Muggle parents. He squeezed her hand a bit tighter.

Her head came down to rest against his shoulder and Draco nearly jumped. Turning his head, he saw her eyes closed, but he could tell she wasn't sleeping. He doubted anyone could sleep after the conversation they'd had. She let out a sigh, letting her free hand curl around his bicep as she inched closer. Lips twitching upwards, Draco leaned his head to rest upon hers, her unruly curls cushioning his cheek like a pillow.

He knew it was selfish of him. He knew he should be doing everything he could to distance himself from her. But her warmth and acceptance was like a drug he'd never known could taste so sweet. If he could keep it, for however long she offered, he'd be a lucky man. And he knew he wasn't strong enough to resist her.

A/N: Updates every Monday

Next chapter posts: June 15th

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