Disclaimer: The characters and setting of this story belong to JK Rowling, who I am not.
A.N: The beginning of this chapter is Draco looking back to the start of his relationship with Hermione and how he came to join the Order. It begins where the first chapter left off.
From Chapter One:
"I have to go," she said. "There's no telling what they'll do if they catch you here." I gave her a tiny smile and nodded, although it pained me to know that she was leaving me.
Just then, the two boy wonders came crashing though the bushes and trees surrounding us and stopped cold in their tracks. Mouths agape and wands drawn, they cried in unison, "Hermione! What they hell is HE doing here?"
"And why are you here looking all cozy with him?" added the Weasel.
Chapter Three: Voldie's Plan
Hermione's face had gone white as a sheet when she heard Potter and Weasley's voices and realized that they had discovered where our little hideout was. I was understandably shocked when she positioned herself to stand in front of me, shielding me from being murdered on the spot by those two morons.
"Don't come any closer," she warned them, in a voice I had heard before, but had never heard directed at the two of them. "You have no idea what Draco has been through and the last thing he needs right now is any trouble from you lot." Potter and Weasley gaped at her like fish out of water, and I couldn't help it; I smirked at them.
"D-Draco? Don't you mean Malfoy? Hermione, what the hell happened here?" sputtered Weasley, his face almost matching the peculiar shade of his reddish-orange hair. Potter, for his credit, remained silent, sizing up the situation in his own quiet way.
"Look Ron, Harry, I think Draco needs to speak to Professor McGonagall immediately. Afterwards, if he wishes, he or I will explain to you both what has happened," said my little, golden-eyed angel.
"Professor McGonagall? So he can try and kill her too? That sounds like a bloody brilliant plan, Hermione," shrieked the Weasel. Potter stepped in at that point, putting his hand on Weasley's shoulder but not taking his eyes off of me.
"No, Ron. I think we'd better do as she says. Hermione has never been wrong before, has she?" Weasley turned to gape at Potter, then back to Hermione and back to Potter again. "Am I missing something here?" he said. "Malfoy tried to KILL Dumbledore! What difference does it make that he didn't go through with it. He would have done it if Snape hadn't stepped in. AND he let the Deatheaters into the school. So you'll have to forgive me if I can't quite imagine what he and McGonagall would possibly have to discuss."
Hermione stuck her lovely nose in the air. "That's right, Ron. You can't possibly imagine," she said. She came over to me, kneeling down to next to me. I heard the Weasel gasp and I smirked again. I can't help it, I was born smirking. My lovely witch put her hands on me, inspecting me to make sure that my injuries had healed properly. Oh, those delectable, naughty little hands of hers.
"Draco, are you very sore still?" she asked me compassionately. "Do you think you can walk?" Looking into her eyes right then, I rather thought myself capable of doing anything at all. She stood up and turned to the two wankers.
"Harry, will you please help Draco stand." It was an order not a request, a fact that Potter was well aware of. The prospect of being helped up by Harry "I'm a God" Potter didn't exactly sit well with me. He extended his hand to me, to which I responded with, "No, really, I'm good," and used the tree I had been leaning against to pull myself up.
I felt surprisingly little pain in my body, and my admiration and appreciation for the clever Gryffindor witch grew even further. If it hadn't been for her, I'd have been dead at that point, for certain. It took me a couple of minutes but my legs finally seemed strong enough to hold me up so I released my grip on the tree.
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my body against the tree, smirking at Weasley, if only to make him as nervous and pissed off as possible. Some things never change. His face turned that peculiar red-orange shade immediately. Seriously, from zero to tomato in less than one second. Ah, the many talents of a Malfoy.
Hermione took my arm and started to lead me in the direction of the castle and I was happy to follow her anywhere. Sort of like a faithful dog or other beast, now that I think about it. Hmmm… Anyways, Potter and Weasley followed behind us and I could hear them arguing behind us, Weasley being irrational and insecure, as usual and Potter attempting to calm him down with his "wise words."
'Stupid gits and their stupid love spats,' I thought to myself. Hermione's hand moved down my arm to entwine her fingers with mine and I was happy again.
I grew a bit nervous as we got closer to Hogwart's Castle, and I think Hermione could tell because she started rubbing her thumb on the palm of my hand, which proved to be a definite distraction. In my pants.
'Great,' I thought. 'I get to go pledge my allegiance against Voldemort, whilst trying to keep a raging boner contained. Thank Merlin for robes.
Yes, I will admit that I got the biggest hard-on I've ever had from simple thumb-on-palm contact. Keep in mind, however, that this was the thumb of the sexiest, most divine witch the world has ever known. Those sweet, delicious little thumbs… Oh. Right. McGonagall. Hogwarts. Voldemort bad. Okay, moving on.
So there we stood, the four of us, outside the office of the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall. Also the head of Gryffindor house, there had been very little love lost between us in the first place so you can understand why I was not particularly excited to get this conversation over with. Throw the attempted murder of Dumbledore into the mix, and I was willing to bet that I was not on her list of favorite people.
To make matters worse, McGonagall was not alone. Several Order members, including the sire and two oldest sons of the Weasley clan, were seated around her office. Let me tell you, Order members and the sons of prominent deatheaters do not often hang out together in wee little offices. But Hermione, sweet, fair, intelligent Hermione, still holding onto my hand, brought me into the Headmistress' office, sat me down on a little sofa and then stood in front of the occupants of the room, proceeding to convince the lot of them to hear me out.
All of the Order members present knew Hermione quite well and therefore realized the level of her intellect and insanely good common sense. Once they had agreed to listen objectively, some more reluctantly (Weasel) than others, Hermione seated herself next to me, and grasped my hand once more.
"Go on," she prodded me gently. And so, drawing strength from the touch of Hermione's hand and the gold in her eyes, I did. For the second time that evening, I spilled the entire story. And when I had finished, I heard more than one person sniffling. I looked over at Hermione, who was crying in earnest, and she smiled at me through her tears. If I hadn't already been convinced, that little smile was all the reassurance I needed to know that what I was doing was the right thing.
"What are you smiling about, Drakie?" I hear a familiar, voice ask, shrill and annoying as hell. Oh, shit! Pansy, of course. And Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Millicent. Great Hall, Slytherin table. Got it.
"Er, I was just thinking about the time that Potty passed out from the Dementors," I stammer. Did I say "stammer"? How ghastly. Malfoys don't stammer, we would never do something so…common. Our words flow with graceful eloquence and…Erm. My sneer has evolved into something more along the lines of a grimace.
"How about the time that you used the "densaugeo" charm on the Mudblood's teeth?" shrieks Pansy. "That was hilar-!" I push up from the table instantly.
"Well, alright then. Have a lovely evening, you lot!" I call to the table of confused Slytherins (not that it takes much with some of them), already halfway out of the Great Hall at this point.
Okay, I know that I need to work on being less translucent when it comes to matters of Hermione, but I just can't sit there and laugh about all of the shitty things that I have done to her in the past. My magnificent, stunning, astonishing witch deserves better than that, and I intend to spend the rest of my life making up for my wrong-doings to her. In very creative ways. Naked. You get the idea. That reminds me, she should be finished with Goldstein by now. It's only been a little over an hour from when I last saw her and I'm already positively pining for her.
Two Weeks Later…
Sitting in Father's study, along with twenty or so Deatheaters and the illustrious "Dark Lord" himself, I am bored out of my mind. Not to mention extremely disgusted with the whole lot of them. That is, until I hear something that sends chills down my spine and raises my hackles. Wait, what did they say about Granger? My Granger? What the… 'Keep calm,' I tell myself. 'Poker face, poker face, poker face.'
"I'm sure that you will be more than happy to assist us in this plan, young Malfoy," Voldemort says to me. Lucius is giving me a Look and I know that I am to agree with whatever is spoken of on this night.
"Yes, of course, my Lord," I say. I'm dying a little inside, wondering what they hell they are planning that involves my lady love.
"Excellent," Voldie says to me, with a grotesque grin on his face. "I'll have Lucius here work out the details with you as soon as possible."
"Absolutely. I'll do anything I can to help you, my Lord. Particularly anything directly involving Potter or his little entourage," I say, a little too enthusiastically, hoping too discover where Hermione comes into all of this. Lucius looks rather surprised and pleased by my eagerness to aid the cause and nods at me proudly.
"My son is the perfect means to get to that filthy, little, mudblood whore," he says with pride.
'Poker face, poker face, poker face.'
"And while you're at it, Son," he continues, and I am positively about to have a brain aneurysm, "you might as well have your way with the little slut. After all, that's what her kind is meant for. Service and slavery." He gives me a wink and I hope that the look of utter disgust and hatred on my face will be mistaken for being directed at the thought of sleeping with a mud… muggleborn.
At that moment, all I want to do is flee back to Hogwarts, grab my precious witch and apparate far, far away with her. I want to hold her safely in my arms until we both die from an overdose of love, sex and passion.
In the meantime, I am left to plot her very demise. I tell myself that that's not really how it goes, because the very second I set foot back at school, I will be banging McGonagall's door down and demanding that she see to it that my witch is well-protected every second of every minute of every hour of every goddamn, bloody, fucking day. And I will die before I let these…savages, lay a single filthy hand on her.
By the time I'm free to go, I'm so exhausted I can't stop yawning and my eyes are drooping. But I could never be too tired for a nice little snuggle session with my sweet, wonderful Hermione. Erm. Did I say snuggle? Well what can I say, Malfoys need lovin' too.
