Narcissa Malfoy nee Black was scheming. She needed to find some way to protect her beloved and only son from his father's fate should the unthinkable happen and the Dark Lord lose this war. But despite having been married to Lucius Malfoy for nearly twenty years, she simply didn't have the aptitude for a plot of this magnitude. Narcissa had considered finding someone with more skill and influence in such matters, but there were few she could trust. Even her own sister would turn her in to the Dark Lord should she know of Narcissa's doubt in Him. The only reason Bellatrix had not done so a year ago was because the Vow had given her the perfect opportunity to fully test Severus' commitment to the Cause. Now there would be no hesitation - sister or no. The only person she could possibly trust with this was Severus and even that was dangerous. Her son already owed him his life once... no. She could not ask him again. Besides, since the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Severus was now Britain's most wanted criminal after the Dark Lord himself. He no longer held any influence at all among the Dark Lord's opponents.

Narcissa sighed in despair. Short of kneeling before Potter himself and begging for the slim chance of mercy, there was no possible way for Draco to survive the Dark Lord's defeat. Assuming that Voldemort didn't kill him first, for being weak.

Little did Narcissa know that Draco was truly his father's son and had his own plans.

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The sneer on Draco's face was automatic as he took in the appearance of his destination. He wasn't sure what was worse - that it looked so very Muggle or that it looked exactly the same as every other house in the street. He checked once more that he had the right address from page he'd torn from that book in the Muggle library - the one with all the addresses and strange numbers. There was no doubt about it. This was the place. It was here that his path to salvation would begin.

Draco stepped up and rang the small brass bell hanging by the door.

A few minutes later, he rang it again. And again a few minutes after that. Draco was beginning to become annoyed. His godfather had told him that salvation would be long in coming but this was ridiculous. He raised his hand to ring it for a fourth time when he heard a girl's voice from the other side of the door.

"Hold on a bloody minute will you?" A moment later the same terse voice asked, "Who is it?"

Draco intended to answer in a like manner, but on the verge of speaking he stopped. And then with a sigh, he merely said resignedly, "Draco Malfoy."

There was a pause, and then before he could blink, Draco found that not only had the door been opened, but there was a wand tip not an inch from his nose. The owner of the wand was a young woman in a forest green bathrobe with a matching towel wrapped around her head like a turban. If not for the anger evident in her features and the seriousness of the situation, Draco would have found the sight rather funny. As she spoke, her voice had that low and deadly quality he'd sometimes heard from his godfather. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't hex you into the next world and turn your remains over to the Aurors." Draco realised for the first time that this was not a witch to be messed with.

For once the young Slytherin did not dissemble, exaggerate or give into self aggrandisement. He laid it out straight, a tactic that probably saved his life. "I need your help."

Draco mentally congratulated himself on temporarily rendering Granger speechless. But it didn't last long. "Give me your wand," she demanded, her left hand extended imperiously.

"A Malfoy never surrenders his wand... to anyone. No true pureblood would."

Hermione smiled grimly. "You have a choice, Draco. You can either hand it over to me voluntarily and I'll listen to what you have to say, or I'll take it from you and give it to the Aurors along with your worthless carcass."

"And how do I know that you won't just hand me over to them once you have it?" Draco demanded, "You obviously don't trust me, how can I trust you?"

"Two reasons, Draco. First - you have no other option. You came to me, remember?" And then Hermione smirked, as if what she were about to say were the very height of irony. "And secondly - Gryffindors are known for keeping their promises."

Draco weighed up his options and grudgingly admitted that Granger was right. He had no choice. Draco just hoped that his father never learned of this. "Very well."

Draco reached into his robes for his wand with a cautionary "Slowly, now," from Granger. There was a peculiar sensation of something passing between them as he placed his wand into Granger's outstretched hand. She must have felt it also as he witnessed her brow furrow in puzzlement before that smirk returned. Draco decided that the expression looked decidedly odd on her. Almost as if she was someone else altogether from the girl he knew.

Hermione tucked Draco's wand into a pocket of her robe keeping her wand trained on him. "After you," she instructed, "At the end of the hall on the right you'll find the living room. There are two armchairs within; you will take the one on the far side."

Draco hesitated for just a heartbeat, and then moved past her, his shoulders tensing with the thought of her wand at his unprotected back. He didn't like it, but he understood why - never turn your back on an enemy. Unknown to Draco, Hermione had a second reason for wanting him in front of her. With Draco leading the way, he could not see how she let her free hand trail along the wall, nor did he see as he crossed the living room to his chair how she narrowly avoided stumbling around the side table just inside the door. All Draco saw, once he sat down, was a self-assured young witch; fully in control of the situation.

Hermione called out, "Dobby!"