Hermione Granger was laughing and it irked Draco to no end. Her head was thrown back in mirth and all Draco could think was that his earlier suspicions were well founded: he was the butt of some huge and apparently hilarious joke.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked her.

Hermione didn't respond, but just kept laughing.

"What's so bloody funny?" Draco shouted.

But Hermione was oblivious to his anger. Draco crossed the room in three quick strides, seized her by the shoulders and hauled her out of the chair. He was about to shout at her again when he noticed two things simultaneously: the house was suddenly deathly quiet and the point of a wand was pressing into his groin.

Draco carefully released his grip and took a step back, removing his crotch from the line of fire. Once he had, he was able to take a better look at his new godmother. Draco was stunned. She looked… dangerous. And her eyes! Full of fire and yet somehow unfocused, as if she were looking straight through him. It was… creepy.

When she spoke it was in that low, deadly tone that reminded him of Professor Snape. "Do not manhandle me again, Draco, or godson or not, the Malfoy line shall end with you. Have I made myself clear?"

Draco was quick to respond, despite his attempt to act nonchalant. His "Okay" was only slightly more dignified than a squeak.

She resumed her seat, deciding to be magnanimous. "I will forgive you this time, Draco, considering the circumstances. But do not let it happen again." Her tone brooked no opposition.

"It's not funny." Draco was trying to regain control of the conversation, but instead found that he was sounding more like the petulant child he'd once been.

"No, I suppose from your perspective it isn't. But you must realize that I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at the capriciousness of fate." Hermione smirked at the irony of that statement. She was no Lavender Brown, after all. "For the last week I have been racking my brains without success to find a way to contact Professor Snape without endangering either one of us. I have not been able to determine a single viable method that would not result in my death at the hands of your… compatriots, or in Professor Snape's arrest."

Then she waved a hand in his direction, smiling like the cat that got a whole flock of canaries. "And here you are, dropping practically into my lap. How could I not find that funny?"

Draco snorted. "I don't believe in fate. Nor do I believe that you don't want to see Professor Snape punished. And there's nothing you can say or do that will make me believe otherwise."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, then, quite calmly she did something rather odd. She bowed her head and placed her palms together as if in prayer, with her wand held between them so that the tip extended through her fingertips to touch her forehead. "I take oath on my wand that I wish no harm to come to Severus Snape for the murder of Albus Dumbledore, nor for any other crime he has so far committed in the service of Lord Voldemort. Should I be found to have lied in this matter or be proven false, may my wand shatter and be rendered forever useless."

Draco was stunned. Short of an Unbreakable Vow, Granger had just taken the most powerful oath known to wizard. Only one thought ran through his mind, and it jumped from his lips before he could stop it. "Why?"

It was some time before Hermione gave her answer. She smiled softly, "For the same reasons I've been trying to find him: I owe him. Even more than you do."

"I owe him my very life. What more could you possibly…"

"Everything that I am and more," Hermione interrupted him. Now that she had found her way, she was anxious to begin. "I also need to apologise and explain my failure to pay that debt. And finally, I need to ask him for another favour."

"You're doomed," Draco told her, far more frankly than he'd intended. He scowled at the effect their new bond was having on him.

Hermione merely said, "Perhaps."

"No 'perhaps' about it. You. Are. Doomed. If he doesn't slam the door in your face you should count yourself lucky! There is no way a mere Gryffindor like you could ever outmanoeuvre the Head of Slytherin."

She arched an eyebrow. "We'll see." And with that, Hermione stood, raised her wand and transfigured her bathrobe into the more conventional variety - a simple forest green dress of elegant cut made from closely woven cotton. Then she summoned Dobby again.

"Fetch my travelling cloak and a suitable pair of shoes," Hermione instructed upon the house-elf's arrival.

"Yes, Mistress." There was something rather odd about his manner and voice, something… repressed. Hermione suspected she knew what it was.

Draco interrupted her musing. "Are you going somewhere?"

Hermione resumed her seat and removed the towel from about her head. While using her wand to manipulate the still damp mass commonly known as her hair into a French braid, she explained patiently, as she would to a young child or Ron, "We are going to pay a visit to your godfather. While we are there, we shall see to your safety and future and deal with my little problem. We discussed this. You are going to take us there."

"Impossible."

Hermione irritably finished off the braid with a flourish. "Draco, I took Oath. What can you possibly be objecting to now?"

Draco shrugged and was finally able to deliver a smirk of his own. "I have no objections. I simply have no idea where he is," he told her smugly. It felt good to gain the advantage.

Unfortunately, that very smugness gave him away. "But you know someone who does, don't you?"

"Maybe." Draco's sense of superiority was rapidly fading, rather like the time he was caught nicking biscuits from the pantry.

It took Hermione barely a heartbeat to figure out who knew Snape's location. "You know, I don't believe your mother and I were ever formally introduced. I think it's about time that changed, don't you?"

Draco reluctantly agreed. By now a snickering Dobby had returned with Hermione's cloak and shoes. As she took hold of the shoes to put them on, Hermione gave an instruction to Draco, "There's a bathroom down the hall on the right. I think you should go have a look in the mirror."

"Why?"

"It would seem that Dobby disregarded my warning." She returned his wand. "Go clean up while I discuss the repercussions with him."

Draco was halfway to the hall before he realised what was happening. Between Granger manipulating him with that damnable bond and the house-elf pranking him, he was not having a good day. He shot both of them a dark look that went completely unnoticed, and then went in search of a mirror. When he found it, he discovered that his once platinum hair was now a riot of at least six different colours and his eyes would better suit a Gryffindor: one red and one gold. Muttering darkly, he set about restoring his good looks.

Draco couldn't help but wonder just how the creature had expected to get away with it…

Upon his return to the living room, Draco found a fully dressed Hermione and a much chastened house-elf who, after prompting from his mistress, began to apologise, albeit insincerely, "I is sorry for playing nasty tricks on the dark young master. Dobby will not be doing that again in this house."

With a sneer of disdain, Draco replied, "See that you don't."

Then, with a look of reproach that Hermione appeared to ignore, Dobby Disapparated.

"I hope you gave him a suitable punishment. Beat himself senseless? Knot his ears?"

"I docked his pay for three months."

"Is that all? I realise you have a soft spot for his kind but really!"

"For a creature as contrary to the nature of his species as Dobby is, forcing him to adhere to that nature is the worst punishment he can get."

Draco snorted in derision.

"I can see you don't believe me. Every creature has its own antithesis. Take your father, for example. With the Dementors missing from Azkaban, his situation must be almost bearable. But consider, for a moment, if instead of Azkaban he, the paragon of pureblood values that he is, were sentenced to live among Muggles as one of them."

Draco shuddered. To live among Muggles? "I get your point."

There was that smirk again. "I thought you might. Now, shall we be going?"

By now Draco was resigned to aiding Hermione in the search for his godfather. He stepped up next to her and told her, "Take hold and I'll Apparate us. I'll be taking us directly to my sitting room, as I don't dare risk you being seen in the more public areas of the house."

Hermione took hold of his arm, but Draco did not notice how blindly she reached for him. He was far too busy concentrating on his first attempt at side-along Apparition. For Hermione, it felt very much as Harry had described it to her – a feeling of intense pressure, as though she were being forced through a very tight rubber tube, twice as intensely as solo Apparition. But for Draco it felt somewhat different. Instead he felt as though he were in the depths of some bottomless ocean, struggling to reach the surface but being held back by some great weight.

Then suddenly they were there! They both reflexively took a great lungful of precious air and while thinking same thing – 'Never again if I can help it!' Draco took quick stock of his person, making sure everything was still where it should be. Splinching in his precarious legal position was the last thing he needed. Once he was confident that he was still intact, Draco became aware that Granger was still clasping his arm. With a smirk he told her, "You can let go now, Granger." Hermione jerked her hand away as though burned and Draco chuckled as his sense of superiority returned. Being on home ground gave him a serious advantage.

Of course, home ground advantage counted for naught when it came to dealing with his mother. Somehow she always seemed to be able to see through his schemes or, at the very least, know that he was scheming. Narcissa Malfoy didn't always know what her son was up to, but she always knew when he was up something and it never took too long for her to figure it out. The best Draco could hope for was to hide Granger's new godparenting status from her. Should that be discovered, they would both be in serious trouble and Granger could forget any hope of seeing Professor Snape. She'd be lucky to get out with her skin intact.

They'd stood still long enough, metaphorically speaking. It was time to get things moving. "Well, Granger. Take a seat and wait here while I go and prevail upon Mother to grant you an audience." Draco moved toward the door that lead to the rest of the house, and then paused, as if something had only just occurred to him. Of course, it was something that had been worrying him since he'd agreed to this mad excursion. "Oh, and Granger? When Mother and I return there will be no mention of godparents, my birthday or ancient magics of any kind, understand?"

Hermione's nervous look abated some as she replied, "As long as you understand that if anyone comes through that door other than you and your mother, then I'm out of here, and I'll make sure certain people know exactly where you've been for the last hour. Are we agreed?" That was a crucial point. It would be pointless informing the Aurors that one of their Most Wanted was actually hiding out at home. They'd already visited the Manor four times since Dumbledore's death and each time they'd found nothing. Letting the other Death Eaters know of his activities was a much more tangible threat. A complete bluff, naturally, but Draco couldn't be sure of that.

Draco inclined his head in assent, "Agreed." He opened the door and exited the room. But before closing the door again, he gave one last instruction, just to frustrate her, "And I'd leave the books alone, if I were you. I'd hate to come back to find that something nasty had happened to you.

He closed the door before she could retort.

Draco wished that he could find some way to lengthen the time between leaving Granger and finding his mother. He needed time to think; to plan and scheme. But sadly the distance between the two was minimal and covered by his long legs all too quickly, regardless of how slowly he walked. Soon he was standing before the broad entrance to the ballroom, where his mother was undoubtedly making preparations for his birthday celebrations. Only one method had come to mind, to convince his mother to listen to Granger and it was a measure of his desperation that he was even considering it.

After all, most Slytherins considered the truth to be a necessary evil at best, to be avoided whenever possible. Although Professor Snape had once mentioned that a true master of the craft could manipulate his prey with nothing but the truth. A curious notion…

Draco paused, and then opened both doors and entered the ballroom.

The scene beyond those doors was a frenzy of activity, or at least as frenzied as the Malfoy household would ever get. Narcissa Malfoy was seated almost regally on a plush chaise lounge in the centre of the room, idly giving instruction to their two remaining house-elves. Draco grimaced at that thought of their small number. Among purebloods, house-elves were yet another method of determining status. Having one of the creatures indicated that a family was financially secure. Two meant abundant wealth and a third was jokingly referred to as having more money than Gringotts.

Draco had recently heard the revised version of that joke: more money than Malfoy. He was not amused by it.

Narcissa's attention shifted from the decorations to her son, causing a smile to grace her lips, betrayed only by a hint of fear that haunted her eyes. "Draco, welcome home. You fared well at the meeting?"

As Draco greeted his mother with a brief kiss on her upturned cheek, the thought occurred to him that it was rather generous of her to give him the opening he needed straight away, so he made good use of it, pretending to drop the pretence. "Come now, Mother. You know as well as I that there was no meeting today. A gift from the Dark Lord: a day free from pain and humiliation. What you really want to know is where I've been for the last three hours."

Narcissa indulged her son, as she was wont to do. "And where have you been, my Son? What have you been up to that you didn't want your poor Mother to know about?"

With an insolent smirk, Draco replied simply, "Why, consorting with the enemy."