Disclaimer: To the tune of Proud Mary -"Rowling, Rowling, Rowling wish I was her..."

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When dawn broke the following day, Draco was still wide awake, Arthur Weasley's words echoing in his mind "… it's a good thing indeed that you belong to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black"

His father had done nothing but put the entire Weasley clan down for as long as Draco could remember. Lucius' warped views on pureblood superiority and loyalty combined with the sway he held at work, had led to Arthur Weasley being continually denied promotions with the Ministry and impacted the welfare of the entire Weasley clan.

Draco had himself, bought into the lies that Lucius had spouted – a product of prolonged indoctrination, he only began questioning the views his father held as Voldemort began his second rise to power, as his friends from school started losing their lives for a cause not their own.

Arthur had given Draco something in five minutes yesterday that his father had not been able to give him in all his twenty years on this planet…acceptance. He thought back to all the times he had called Ron and his family disgraces to the wizarding world, mudblood lovers or teased him for his hand me down clothing and second hand books.

It was with some measure of relief now, that he found himself embarrassed and feeling guilty for his behavior at school. As he thought about their situations he knew that, although Draco had always had money and privilege, Ron had truly grown up the richer of the two.

Draco had never known the unconditional love of a parent, even his mother places conditions on her love (that condition primarily being that his father did not find out how much she cared for her son). He had watched last night torn between fascination and envy, as Ginny Weasley had protested a random hugging from her older brother Fred – in truth, he would have given all he had for a family that cared as much about him as the Weasley clan cared for each other.

He coughed, trying to ease a sudden tightness in his throat and winced as one of the lacerations on his chest ached. With slow movements he made his way to the mirror across the room, opening the robe he wore he surveyed the damage to his body. His wrists were still encased in white bandages; the salve would need to stay on for 2 more days and then he could remove them. The lacerations on his back and chest would heal in time, the bruising around them already nothing more than a bad memory, but the deepest cuts would no doubt leave scars, indeed these small silvery marks would join the ranks as reminders of the worst moments in his life.

In all honesty, it could be worse. He knew that without Grang…without Hermione's healing hands that first night, that he would most likely not have been so lucky.

Hermione Jane Granger…now there was something you could think about for days and still come up with more questions.

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He remembered brief glimpses of the night he had arrived. He remembered seeing her in the hall with Lupin, begging her to take care of Tonks, telling her that he had been a prisoner.

It was Hermione who had moved him upstairs on her own, and when help was delayed, set about healing him herself, armed with only a book on healing, a strong constitution and the same iron will she put into everything she did.

She had stayed with him all that first night, barely sleeping as she prepared potions and salves for his wounds; she had continued her nighttime vigils for the next two nights.

That first night, she had given him a wound healing potion and he had passed out again while Potter was asking him something. Hours later, he woke to the not unpleasant sensation of someone stroking his hair, the smell of peppermint and rosemary and the warm sensation of water– he had tilted his head and looked up at her through lash veiled eyes as she leaned over him washing the last of the blood and months of dirt from his hair.

"Siccus" she said the charm for drying his hair softly, so as not to wake the patient she thought to still be sleeping.

It was such a small gesture, a kindness that only a Gryffindor would have thought to impart and even in his exhausted and confused state, he was completely humbled.

She had arranged to have a bathtub brought to his room early the next morning so he could bathe, and when he had asked about getting his wound wet, Hermione had conjured an 'Impervious' spell over each of the major wounds so they would repel the water and not be affected. He acknowledged to himself that he would not have thought of a repelling charm in a thousand years.

A good hour and two bath loads of water later Draco had scrubbed the fetid stink and feel of imprisonment from his body, he felt battered, broken, damaged and exhausted, but for the first time in months, he felt almost completely human again.

When Hermione had come in to check up on him later, she had found him propped up against the pillows with a book on his lap, fast asleep. She took the book from his lap and placed it on the table beside the bed, it was then that the title caught her eye and had she let out an unexpected and decidedly un-Hermione-like giggle as she looked at the cover of "Bridget Jones' Diary".

Draco had woken up and although he had not asked her why she was laughing, he had merely smiled at her and watched as she tried to control herself. He finally broke their strange silence with a thankyou.

"Hermione, I just wanted to say thank y…"

She had not let him finish, interrupting him, "Draco, there's really no need to say anything…"

"I want to." He said firmly.

"You don't need to. You saved someone's life!"

"So did you Hermione, so did you."

They had looked at each other then, as though they were really seeing each other for the first time; looking now, not through 11 year old eyes filled with the prejudices and preconceived ideas of their respective upbringings as they had that first day at Hogwarts.

This day, they looked at each other anew. Two warriors, they fought without choice in war where there would be no winners. It was a war of division, sides had been drawn, lines would be crossed, bloodlines, the lines of friendship and battle lines. As they looked at each other, they silently and mutually acknowledged that despite their differences and their similarities, they had finally both chosen to fight on the same side; it gave them both a strange sense of security that neither had expected.

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Draco thought about that moment now, as he sat by the fire in the small room next to Hermione's. If he was to live up to his mothers heritage, the ancient House of Black, and rid himself of the poison of his fathers name, then the first thing he needed to do, was give the Order all the information he had on the Dark Lord.

He knew that it would be a struggle to get some of the members of the Order to believe that he was not working for Voldemort, so when he walked down the stairs and into the study to see Lupin and Moody, he had his plan formulated.

"I want to give the Order all the information I can about Voldemort and his operation." He blurted out as soon as he walked into the room.

Remus Lupin looked at Moody and raised his eyebrows. "I see." He said softy.

Draco took a step closer to Lupin and took a deep breath, "No Professor Lupin, I don't think you do", he said, "I want to do it under the effects of Veritaserum, so you know I'm telling you the truth!"