Author's Note: This story assumes that the events of Half-Blood Prince did not necessarily happen, and what DID, happened during their seventh year. None of the events in Deathly Hallows have taken place yet. I realize the timeline is wrong canonically. That's why this entire story is an AU. I am making up a good majority of stuff using the bare bones provided by JKR.

Chapter 4:

Hermione sat alongside Malfoy's bed early the next morning, relieving Harry and Ron of their night watch. Luna was in the corner making two cups of tea and humming, sharing the duties of babysitting a slumbering Death Eater. Inhaling deeply, Hermione could smell sausages cooking in the kitchens across the courtyard, and her stomach grumbled. The pungency of the sleeping man had tapered off significantly after his bath, and for that she was grateful. As Luna remained preoccupied, Hermione took a few spare moments to look at the pitiful man lying in the bed before her.

She had not set eyes on the wizard one-on-one since Dumbledore had been killed just before Christmas in her seventh year. Malfoy appeared matured. There was no softness to his features; his mouth was set into a grimace of pain as his jaw clicked and clenched in his sleep. Lines creased his forehead, with one running between his brows, and she assumed that he had not led a life of luxury in the past three years. At the sight of his bare chest peeking out from under thick blankets, Hermione shuddered as she recalled the deep, horrific scars that marred nearly every inch of his porcelain skin. She felt bile rise in her throat as she peered at his bandaged arm, where a bright, vermillion stain had begun to bloom as he slept.

Malfoy whimpered slightly in his sleep and then sighed, turning his face away from her. In the early rays of morning light, she saw a pale pink scar running along one side of his throat, about as long as her pinky finger. It looked like a crudely healed knife wound and she wondered just what he had been through to mark his body in such a way.

Shaking the thoughts from her head with a quick huff, she reminded herself that he was a Death Eater—those could be defensive wounds from all of his victims, for all she knew. The memory from two nights prior rushed to the forefront of her brain and her heart quickened as she remembered how desperate she had been to save his life. Her emotions had gotten the better of her, her morals leading her to bring him into their lives. Now that he was here, she had done nothing but ponder the situation, wondering if she had made the right decision or led them all into certain death.

Clutching the sheets tightly, Malfoy clawed at the soft fabric. Hermione lifted her hand, ready to place it over his in the same soothing manner she would have used if it were Harry or Ron. Catching herself, she quickly tucked her hand under her thigh and sat back in her chair.

Luna—always far too perceptive—brought her a warm cup of tea and sat in the chair beside hers. "It's strange, isn't it? Having him here. Not quite sure if he's evil incarnate or a sad soul, needing of love and acceptance?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Luna's optimism and nodded. "My mother always told me my empathy would get me into trouble one day. I just hope it hasn't caused trouble for all of us."

It felt good to voice her worries to someone who would not judge her actions, but her heart. Luna looked to Malfoy, and then to Hermione. "I feel as though he's here because he wants to be. He's slept for nearly thirty hours since we got him here. It's as though he hasn't slept in an eternity. He probably hasn't felt this safe in years."

Hermione snorted, causing Malfoy to stir before he resettled. "Yes, and now he finds comfort in a house full of people who hate him and would love nothing more than to string him up by his nostrils."

"People always accused me of having my nose in the air, anyway," came the hoarse voice of the man in question.

A beam of sunlight fell across his face as he turned his head back to look at the two witches. For the first time in nearly decade since she had first had the displeasure of meeting Malfoy, Hermione realized what a strange, steely shade of grey his eyes were.

"Can you just go get the Aurors? Get this interrogation over with."

"I'll go," Luna offered, floating airily away from them as she left the room in search of Tonks, Kingsley, and Arthur.

Hermione crossed her arms and decided to stare at the wall in front of her, though she could feel his eyes boring into the side of her face. When Malfoy cleared his throat, she could tell it was scratchy and dry. He waved toward the tepid water sitting on the nightstand. He struggled to sit up but managed to fall back heavily against the headboard.

"Not so keen to save me now, eh, Granger?" he taunted dryly as he used his good hand to reach across his body and retrieve the glass.

Bristling, she groaned internally as she realized that he must have heard Molly's comment from the day before. As her features steeled, she looked in his direction, her lips pursed. "You know, I regret my decision a little more every time you open your mouth."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, resting his head back against the wood. "Yes, this is such a joy for me. To show up—a lowly pauper with no home, no money, no family and no dignity. But, please, do expound on why I've ruined your day—though I've been asleep for nearly, what did Lovegood say? Thirty hours since arriving here?"

"Your presence here has put all of us in danger. If what you are saying is true and you're defecting, he'll send the others to look for you. If you're lying, then you will bring them to us anyway."

"Then why didn't you just let me die on the porch at Grimmauld Place then?" he asked, shooting her a dirty look.

Clamping her jaw shut, Hermione knew did not readily have an answer to that, even in her own mind. Her emotions and adrenaline had driven her actions, not her brain. His mouth curved into the shadow of a smile and she looked away from him, unnerved by the sight.

"That's what I thought. The Order's very own little princess couldn't live with herself if she let someone unarmed and defenseless die, no matter if that individual is a known Death Eater. You act first and think later, and that's the problem with all of you Gryffindors."

"We've been out of school three years now. We're more than our former houses," she huffed, refusing to give in to him.

"Are we? Because I was under the impression that the hat chose our houses based on our inherent core beliefs and personalities. I'm every bit as cunning and ambitious and underhanded as I was ten years ago, Granger. And you are every bit as foolishly courageous and empathetic as you were. Your mother was right—your empathetic nature is going to get you hurt one day," Malfoy sneered, eyeing her up and down in a manner that made Hermione wholly uncomfortable.

"Is this how you treat every person who saves your life?" she asked, bitingly.

"We're on the cusp of a full-blown War. I know things about what's to come that would make even your ugly mop curl even further. I don't like you, and I'm certainly not going to bow down and kiss your arse for saving my life. But I am grateful—to you, to Molly and Andy, Arthur, Potter. Everyone. Without you all, I would be dead. And though I don't give a hippogriff's left testicle about my life anymore, I do want to stay alive long enough to see that sorry sack of niffler shit die a most horrific death. And, I, in turn, will show you all how grateful I am by feeding you every bit of information I possibly can," Malfoy replied, his voice gruff but his words calculated and precise.

"You're just using us as a means to achieve your desired end," she accused, picking at a loose thread on her jumper.

"Tell me again how we're more than our former houses. That is textbook Slytherin behavior. And last time I checked, my desired end aligned with your desired end," he pointed out, giving her an almost incredulous glare.

Hermione glowered in his direction, her mind running double-time as she sized him up. He was challenging her every statement; no one in the Order could match her biting tongue in such a way. Frustration coursed through her, but she was spared responding as the interrogation team entered the room. Only Arthur's features were stilled. Kingsley looked ready to pounce on Malfoy if only he would provoke him, and Tonks was eyeing her cousin warily, little more than a stranger with similar blood lineage.

"Malfoy," Kingsley greeted gruffly. "Hermione, why don't you go assist Molly? She's making breakfast for everyone."

"No," Malfoy said firmly. "She stays."

Eyes growing wide, Hermione looked in baffled shock between the ailing Death Eater and the former Minister for Magic. Tonks narrowed her eyes, the tips of her hair turning red as she regarded him with disgust.

"Why?" Arthur asked, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder protectively.

"Because during the course of the interrogation, I will have things to say—some of which pertain to her," Malfoy stated simply.

Kingsley stared him down, but Malfoy did not back down one iota. It was like watching two tomcats fighting in an alleyway, both vying to be the alpha male. "Fine, Hermione, sit at the desk. Tonks, the Veritaserum."

Tonks reached into the inner pocket of her robes and retrieved a small vial of clear liquid. As she handed it to Kingsley, she begrudgingly admitted, "This is the last of our supply."

Malfoy waved his healthy hand. "I can brew you more."

Hermione looked at him as though he had sprouted a second and third head. In the dark recesses of her mind, she recalled that he was quite brilliant at Potions, but she had her doubts that he could brew something that complicated so readily that he casually waved off the idea.

"You know how to brew Truth Serum?" Arthur asked him, looking equally perturbed.

"You don't? Are you still using legally obtained potions instead of making your own?" Malfoy asked, looking directly at Hermione as he spoke. "The Dark Lord's got hold of the Ministry by the bollocks now—you'll never get ahold of rare potions again."

Something in the way he spoke made it seem as though he was challenging her once more. As though he were taunting her for not being as adept at brewing potions as he. She rolled her eyes, refusing to allow herself to be agitated by his digs.

Malfoy looked from Hermione to Kingsley. "Let me cultivate a greenhouse and I can brew you any potion your heart desires."

"Let's just discuss the matter at hand, for now," Kingsley said firmly, uncorking the vial and holding the stopper in one hand and the vial in the other. "You will drink the serum and then Arthur will place his wand firmly against your head. I know you are a trained Legilimens. Through your connection to his wand, you will feed the memories of the events we speak of to him. The Veritaserum will not allow you to tamper with memories in any manipulative fashion."

"Let's get started, then," Malfoy told him, his drawl slow and indolent. "The only thing I request we not speak of is the injury to my arm. What happened to me is not relevant to my history or to you all. I have shown you respect, and I would appreciate that respect reciprocated."

Kingsley regarded him with a steely glance, calculating the wizard's words. Ever the peacekeeper, Arthur voiced, "I think that's a fair request."

Stiffly, Kingsley nodded once. Hermione was in bemused awe over Malfoy's attitude. Even after admitting that he had nothing left in this world, he still had an agitating cockiness about him that made her want to drive her fist into his perfect teeth. She watched closely as he swallowed down the contents of the vial and then looked expectantly at the three interrogating wizards.

Tonks and Kingsley sat down beside the bed and exchanged a glance. Arthur went around the other side and placed his wand to Malfoy's temple. "Legilimens!"

Malfoy's eyes momentarily grew wide before he went still. Kingsley took this as his cue to proceed with the investigation. "Why don't we start with when you took the Dark Mark."

"The summer before my seventh year. My father was proud, but my mother cried like a loon." Malfoy's voice was monotone and contained no trace of any emotion whatsoever. The others did not seem unnerved by his calm demeanor, but Hermione could feel herself growing uneasy, knowing what kind of questions were to come.

Tonks tilted her head to one side, staring at her cousin. "Why did you take the Mark?"

"I thought I had no other choice. The Dark Lord repeatedly threatened to kill my parents. A lot of good it did me—they died by his hand anyway," Malfoy replied, his face showing no trace of sadness.

"Why didn't you come to us immediately?" Tonks asked. "My mother would have taken you in and tried to save Lucius and Narcissa."

"It wasn't that simple. Or, it didn't feel that simple at the time. Everything was spiraling out of control and the Dark Lord was breathing down my neck at every turn."

Kingsley's eyebrow twitched. "Tell us about the events leading up to Christmas of 1997."

Malfoy's cold stare flickered as he blinked and took a deep breath. "I came upon a pair of Vanishing Cabinets—one in the Room of Hidden Things at Hogwarts, and the other sitting at Borgin and Burke's in Knockturn Alley. After my first two attempts to kill Dumbledore did not succeed, the Dark Lord wanted me to devise a way to get a select group of Death Eaters into the castle."

"What were your other two attempts?" the ex-Minister asked.

Hermione looked from Malfoy's stony features to Arthur, knowing full well that one of the attempts had nearly killed Ron. "I Imperiused Madam Rosmerta into passing along a cursed necklace to Katie Bell in hopes that it would make it to Dumbledore. But Katie touched it and nearly died."

"What was the Dark Lord's reaction to that botched failure?" Tonks questioned, leaning back in her chair.

"When I went home for a weekend at the end of September, he cursed me so that for the next week, I would vomit any time I ate or drank, effectively starving me until the curse was lifted. Pansy Parkinson had to spoon feed me broth for three days."

Hermione let out a gasp, unable to fathom such a harsh curse being placed on someone so young. Malfoy's eyes lowered to her for a moment before flickering back up to stare at the wall. Whatever he thought in that moment caused Arthur to narrow his eyes at Malfoy.

"And Ron Weasley?" Kingsley prompted.

"After I was punished by the Dark Lord for my failure, I next had Rosmerta poison a bottle of honey mead and tried to get that to Dumbledore. I'm unsure how it came into Weasley's possession."

Arthur's jaw clenched, and his balding head turned a light shade of ugly puce, but still he said nothing. Hermione had to mentally commend the man on his diplomacy, because she was feeling a burning rage. She could remember with vivid clarity the way Ron looked, lying pale and barely breathing in the hospital wing.

Tonks shifted uncomfortably after glancing in Arthur's direction. "And were you punished for this as well?"

Draco's eyes fell to the covers draped over his legs. "One of the Dark Lord's favorite methods of punishment was bloodletting. He sliced my arms or neck, letting me bleed out until I fainted and came close to death, before he would allow my mother to repair my wounds."

Hermione's mouth fell open as she pictured Draco Malfoy bleeding out on his black marble floors. The slice along his neck suddenly made her nauseous, so she let her eyes fall to his forearms. He must have noticed four sets of eyes travelling curiously across his skin, because he tucked his arms into himself. The room collectively grew heavy around them; Hermione found herself having trouble breathing, as though the air itself had grown too thick to readily inhale. Arthur, viewing Malfoy's memories, looked as though he might be sick.

She was able to dredge up a mental vision of him in their seventh year, before the Death Eaters had taken over and they had dropped out of Hogwarts. She remembered him being pale, gaunt, and sickly looking. Harry had been obsessed with Malfoy's grotesquely unhealthy demeanor, though she had brushed it off for the three months they had seen him before leaving. Now she knew it was because Malfoy had been brought to the edge of death, time and again, by his professed 'master.' The thought made her stomach roil.

"What happened directly leading to Dumbledore's death just before Christmas?" Kingsley demanded.

"I made use of the two Vanishing Cabinets. It took me just over a month to repair the broken one at Hogwarts, but eventually managed, using a particularly difficult spell to bind broken connections: Harmonia Nectere Passus. On the twenty-third of December, a hand-selected team of Death Eaters went to Knockturn Alley and came through to Hogwarts, unencumbered. They used force to kidnap three students, whose names I do not know, as I made my way to the Astronomy Tower. The Dark Lord had ordered me to kill Dumbledore myself. I was with Marcus Gibbon, who cast the Morsemordre. The bound children were brought up and, just as the Dark Lord said he would, Dumbledore met us on the Tower. Though he seemed sickly, he fought off the others, knocking them all unconscious so that there would be no witnesses. He then asked Snape to kill him, which he did without hesitation. I was then taken back to Malfoy Manor, where I was tortured into confessing that I did not murder Dumbledore myself. Snape was killed by Nagini that night. I was chained to the wall of the dungeons in my own home," Malfoy relayed quickly, the Truth Serum keeping his statements choppy, brief, and to the point.

"Merlin," Arthur murmured next to him.

"Is he telling the truth?" Tonks asked.

"Unfortunately," Arthur confirmed.

Kingsley took a deep breath and leaned forward on his knees, looking down at the hardwood flooring between his boots. "Other than Rosmerta, have you used the Imperius on anyone else?"

"Not often. I had other methods of gathering information. Lower-ranking Death Eaters were the ones normally performing the dirtier work."

"Ranking? There are ranks now?" Kingsley asked, his brown drawing together.

"The Dark Lord is gearing up for a War unlike any other you have experienced. He split his Death Eaters into three tiers—the Authoritarian, two Executors and three Underlings. They have five dens, each with six Death Eaters."

"That makes thirty. That's an awfully low number," Tonks argued, her tone disbelieving.

"You mistake what I'm saying. There are thirty in the ranks. But there are hundreds of Prospects out gathering information, injuring and threatening and strong-arming people. They are the ones who hunt down the Muggles and Muggle-borns to be questioned," Malfoy replied, his eyes rising once more to look at Hermione directly.

She bristled at his pointed gaze, a shiver running down her spine. Hunt down the Muggles and Muggle-borns.

"What was your rank?" Arthur asked, almost conversationally.

"I was an Executor of Malfoy Manor. I was also given the special privilege of being the Interrogator," for the first time, his tone grew dark.

"Interrogator? Who were you interrogating?" Hermione asked, knowing she should not be asking questions as she was not an Auror or Ministry official.

"Remember those Muggles and Muggle-borns I spoke of? The ones the Prospects were out collecting?" he inquired, his gaze steady on her face. "It was my duty to gather what I could from them before they were disposed of."

"Dis—" Hermione's voice caught in her throat.

"You've moved your parents," Malfoy stated, his tone neither accusatory or sympathetic.

Hermione's heart began to race as the implications of what he was saying, sank deep into her bones. Malfoy knew that her parents were no longer living in her childhood home. That would mean that a team of these Prospects, or even he himself, had gone looking for her... or worse, them. She silently thanked Merlin that she had moved them when she had.

"There has been some indication that you've moved them to Wales. It's not far enough, Granger. They need to go away even further than that. And you need to strip them of any memory of you, or they will be tracked down and killed."

It was Tonks who caught Hermione when her legs buckled beneath her. Her ears were ringing loudly, drowning out the concerned voices of those around her. Vision blurring, she was certain she would faint. As her bum touched the floor, Tonks ran a hand comfortingly over her forehead, pushing her hair from her face; Hermione took note of Malfoy sitting forward in the bed, looking at her with his brows creasing in the middle and his mouth set in a frown.

"How—" she tried to speak as her head spun. "How dare you?"

"I am simply stating facts, Granger. I know what is happening, I took part in it. I know what's coming. It's not safe for them-or honestly, for you, here."

"I'm not leaving," she said firmly, even as Tonks placed a wet cloth over her forehead.

"I'm not telling you to. I'm telling you to move them," Malfoy responded with a slight shrug of one shoulder.

"Tonks, why don't you take Hermione into the dining hall?" Kingsley suggested, frowning from above her. "Some breakfast and Molly's kind hand would do her some good right now."

"I'm not leaving," she stated firmly once more. Backing herself against the leg of the desk, Hermione glared at Malfoy, her mind speeding through every possible scenario. Her parents, her only family in this world… she had thought changing their names and moving them to Wales to a tiny cottage along the seaside would be enough. It had been enough for three years. What if the Death Eaters were already tracking them? A metallic taste of vomit rose in the back of her throat. "Who's the Interrogator now that you've supposedly defected?"

"Probably Theodore Nott. He's even more ruthless than I could have ever dreamed to be. And your lot killed his father last spring."

Wracking her brain over who Theodore Nott was, the image of a thin, wiry boy from Slytherin came to the forefront of her memories. "How did you get Muggles and Muggle-borns to confess anything?"

"I used the Cruciatus, mostly. Blood was not my forte. My Cruciatus Curses were weak, because I never fully meant them—but even a weak Crucio will do the job. Theo, however, enjoys drawing blood."

"Stop it, you're scaring her!" Arthur demanded, dropping his wand momentarily.

"I'm being realistic," Malfoy retorted, sounding agitated now. "She needs to bring someone trained in the Obliviation to wipe their memories and send them far away—to South Africa or Australia. Somewhere far away from the United Kingdom."

"And after they're questioned, the people are just killed? Just like that?" Hermione asked. She tried to push out thoughts of her parents bleeding out from nicks across their necks.

"This is War, Granger. It's not pretty."

"How many people have you personally killed?" Tonks asked him. Arthur raised his wand back to Malfoy's temple.

Malfoy's lips pressed together, and Hermione could tell he was struggling against the Veritaserum. "One," he finally answered. "And not through the Avada."

Kingsley looked to Arthur, who looked absolutely horrified at whatever scene was currently playing out in Malfoy's mind. Slowly, Arthur instructed, "Tell them."

"My wife, Astoria. The Dark Lord put me under an Imperius Curse and forced me to slit her throat," he bit out. "She was stuck to the floor, but struggled the entire time."

Hermione's mind cleared of thoughts of her parents just long enough to register that he was admitting to slitting his own wife's throat.

"I thought you were a skilled Occlumens? You couldn't fight an Imperius?" she accused, struggling to conjure up an image of the Slytherin girl.

Malfoy opened his mouth, but it was Kingsley who spoke first. "Occlumency and the Imperius work in two different ways. Occlumency relies on one's ability to compartmentalize emotions and build walls around the mind in order to keep intruders out. The Imperius is harder to fight off—a rare ability—as it has nothing to do with emotion, and more to do with mind and motor function control."

"Harry can fight it," she argued irritably. "He fought it in fourth year, the only one in the class to do so."

"Yes, he fought a weak curse in a classroom setting. Completely equivalent to the Dark Lord's ruthless assault," Malfoy spat, growing irritated with Hermione's accusations. Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Malfoy sat forward once more, wincing in pain as he did so. "And furthermore, your savior couldn't figure out Occlumency in an entire year—guided by his damned emotions and foolhardy need to be resistant to a proper teacher. Snape could have taught him, had Potter wanted to learn to compartmentalize. But his arrogance and belief that he was untouchable got his dear friend, Sirius Black, killed, didn't it?"

"Enough!" Kingsley roared, having clearly listened to enough bickering for one day. "Malfoy, you are in dangerous waters right now. Either way, let us continue with our interrogation, shall we?" He shot Hermione a disappointed look.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and sat back against the headboard. "Ask away, Minister."

"Kingsley or Shacklebolt would work," the ex-Minister sighed. "So, you state that Astoria Greengrass Malfoy is the only individual you have ever killed. You've never cast a Killing Curse, then?"

"I tried, once," Malfoy admitted. "But, as you know, you have to mean it. My father covered for me, of course. Spouted off about how killing was a deed for someone of lesser status. A Malfoy should never soil their hands."

"But Muggles and Muggle-borns were lured by Prospects for you to interrogate? You simply left the room before that took place?" Tonks inquired, helping Hermione to rise to her feet and sit in the desk chair.

"Essentially. I would spend hours with the individuals and then, when I got the information I needed, I would leave the room and the others would handle the disposal."

"You realize these are human beings you speak of?" Hermione hissed.

"Naturally," Malfoy shrugged, his cold stare slicing through her once more. "Hence the reason why I left the room before there was blood shed."

"And he just let you go that easily?" Arthur asked him, his tone even and curious.

"Doesn't matter who does the killing, as long as it gets done. And there are so many other savages willing to do it."

"But yet, you want to exact revenge?" Kingsley leaned forward, staring at Malfoy.

"Killing innocents is a world away from killing bloodthirsty beasts who wouldn't bat an eyelash if ordered to kill an infant," Malfoy replied, dragging his gaze up to match Kingsley's.

"Is there anything else you need to confess?" Tonks questioned, her hair turning bright red as she pondered the life her cousin had led thus far.

"I have participated in three Revels," he revealed. "During the first, I was still young—before the implementation of the ranking system. We went to small, Scottish village and ransacked the entire town. Women were dragged from their homes, and some of the others raped and beat them. I was threatened into holding one woman down so that Fenrir Greyback could rape and then maul her to death. I was told that if I did not assist him, my throat ripped out in place of hers.

"The second, took place under secondhand orders of my father's. We entered the Ministry; Yaxley and Thicknesse used the Imperius Curse to overthrow Scrimgeour, while I acted as the lookout. He was taken to one of the dens and beheaded by Theodore Nott and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"On the third, we were ordered to pull Charity Burbage from her home and bring her to the Dark Lord. According to orders, we burned her home to the ground with her children inside. I brought her to the Manor while the others set the fire. She was later killed and eaten by Nagini."

Malfoy finally fell silent of his harsh and blunt explanations, and the air in the room was suffocating under the weight of his confessions. His face was still stony, but Hermione noticed that his gaze had fallen down to stare at his blanket once more, and he looked ashamed for the first time since he had begun speaking. Everyone was silent, digesting all of the heinous information he had just divulged.

Though she was uncomfortable with his presence in their home, the reality of what he had spoken of made every inch of her body ache with unbridled disgust and horror. Hermione knew what the Death Eaters were capable of, what they found entertaining. But to hear, in graphic detail from someone who had lived it, was an experience all its own.

Her bleeding, empathetic heart was warring with her snarky, cynical brain. She had gone back and forth with him, arguing about his abilities to fight off the Imperius and blaming him for the danger her parents were facing, but she knew in that moment that he truly was defecting. No one person could witness all of those acts and come out of it whole and strong—no one could live their entire life in that environment unless they were truly evil. If what he was saying was true—and she suspected it was, considering he was not only under Veritaserum, but also having his thoughts scanned as he spoke for any sign of deception—perhaps he was not as evil as they had all believed. Hermione felt split down the middle, wanting to hate him with every fiber of her being for the acts of his former comrades, for the fate her parents would soon face. But as she stared at him, lying helpless in the bed, she could not help but feel the slightest bit of pity for him.

"Let's discuss these dens you speak of," Kingsley instructed, being the first to finally find his voice in the smothering, oppressive room.

"I'll need a map," Malfoy told him. "I can show you approximately where they are. Along with who is stationed at each."

Tonks left the room and came back moments later with an open book, the pages lying open to a map of the United Kingdom. Hermione handed her a quill and inkpot and the witch reclaimed her position at the chair by his bedside.

"You'll have to write, as I'm left-handed," Malfoy told her. "There are five, protected by Unplottable Charms and ancient Dark magics. A team of curse-breakers, if skilled enough, could likely infiltrate them." Lifting a long finger, he indicated a place on the map. "My home in Wiltshire: the Dark Lord stays here and rarely leaves. In order of ranking, top to bottom, one Authoritarian, two Executors, three Underlings: Bellatrix, Rookwood, Greyback, Mulciber, Jugson, Pettigrew."

Tonks was scribbling furiously as he spoke, her handwriting dreadfully messy; Hermione hoped she would be able to read it all at the next Order meeting.

Malfoy slid his finger slightly across the map. "The Parkinsons' Factory at the end of Knockturn Alley. There is a flat above it. Ira Parkinson, Crabbe, Sr., Dolohov, Avery, Hortense Zabini, Scabior."

Hermione shuddered at the mentioning of Antonin Dolohov and touched the deep scar on her shoulder, left over from his attack in the Department of Mysteries.

"Who is Hortense Zabini?" Tonks asked as she scribbled the name.

"Blaise Zabini's wife," Malfoy stated simply, gliding his skeletal finger to another location. "The Black family home, along the seaside in Scotland. Not far from here—perhaps an hour on broom. Rodolphus Lestrange, McNair, Yaxley, Daphne Greengrass, Rosier, Millicent Goyle, née Bulstrode."

At the mention of a cell so close to where they currently sat, Tonks and Kingsley shared a glance. It was clear to Hermione, and to Malfoy if the smug look on his face was an indicator, that the information he was divulging was new to the Order. The thought was unsettling to her, and she knew the others were feeling ruffled as well.

Malfoy pointed to another location. "The Notts' illegal dragon farm, central Wales. Theodore Nott, Alecto Carrow, Rowle, Crabbe, Jr., Travers, Blaise Zabini."

"We know where that is! Charlie has done sweeps of that farm on more than one occasion!" Arthur supplied to the room, and Hermione could already see him calculating how he would get a message to his son.

"Nott is crafty. He has learned from his father's mistakes. The entire farm is underground now, and the dragons moved to grottos and deep dungeons below the earth," Malfoy told him, looking from him to Kingsley. "It will be much harder to find this time."

"The fifth place?" Tonks asked, counting the locations he had already supplied her with.

Malfoy lifted his hand once more and pointed the last location. "The Greengrass Distillery in Northern Ireland. Goyle, Sr., Amycus Carrow, Rabastan, Gibbon, Selwyn, Goyle Jr."

"How did he come into possession of these locations exactly? By force?" Kingsley asked, leaning over to read Tonks' shorthand notes.

Malfoy snorted condescendingly. "Willingly volunteered, along with everyone's bank vaults. Hence why I have nothing right now."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Kingsley looked him over. "I want your memories that we viewed today stored individually. I'll have Ollivander supply you with a new wand—but be forewarned, if you use a single hex against any person in the Order, you will be back out on the streets, a homeless urchin... and I will feed those memories to a vigilante Muggle-born."

Malfoy huffed a laugh, clearly surprised by the threat, and nodded once. The three elder Order members rose from their seats and made for the door. Placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder as she rose, Arthur told her, "He can be left alone now. I saw no deception or ill-will in his thoughts."

The wizard shimmied back down in his bed, turning his back toward them as he sighed in exhaustion. Hermione stole one final glance at him for the time being, once again wondering who he actually was and what he felt about his ghastly experiences. Her parents' faces flashed in her mind's eye and her nervous, unrelenting stress returned with a vengeance. She wondered if she would be strong enough to do what he had suggested and Obliviate them, or if her emotions would once again keep her from acting. The witch had no idea how much time she had left before Malfoy's predictions would come to fruition, but her heart and gut were both telling her that it was imperative she heed his warning.

Walking from his room and through the commons area, Hermione passed her friends silently as she made her way down the women's corridor and to her bedroom. She had no desire to speak to anyone and was grateful when the others jumped on the seasoned Order members to begin their questioning. When she entered her room, she placed a silencing spell on the area and collapsed back against the door, finally succumbing to heart-wrenching sobs which wracked her entire body as she thought of the monumental and potentially dangerous task of stealing her parents' memories.

o-o-o