A/N: Super special thanks to my Alpha reader LaDeeDaa and my Beta reader astrangefan. I literally couldn't write without either of you.

The Mark

It was already near two o'clock when Hermione Apparated into her parents' kitchen with two heavy bags in each hand from the market. She might have overdone it, but she was starving when she'd gone to the Tesco down the street. Along with a giant jar of peanut butter, she'd loaded her cart with enough things to get them through at least the week - well, the way Malfoy ate, perhaps three days.

She heaved the bags onto the kitchen island counter and began unpacking her haul. Just as she was placing the spaghetti into the pantry, she heard a shuffling of feet behind her. She turned around and saw Malfoy standing there, his expression unreadable.

"I heard you Apparate," he explained. "Nott needs food."

"I know," Hermione said, going back to putting the groceries away. "It took longer at the prison than I thought it would."

Malfoy said nothing but walked around the island to take a look at what she'd bought. "Let me have the bread," he said, holding his hand out without even looking at her.

Okay, bossy pants.

She passed him the loaf and then stacked the cans of vegetables she'd purchased. She heard him rummaging around in the cabinets behind her.

He hadn't said anything about her meeting with his mother. He hadn't asked about it, and she wasn't sure she should offer. He didn't have anything to say but, 'Let me have the bread,' as if this was all very normal - as if puttering around her kitchen making a sandwich for Theo Nott was something he did every day.

She shook her head. Better this than glaring at her and calling her slurs. "Do you need help?" she asked, turning around toward the stove, but he seemed to have finally found what he was looking for.

"I'm fine, Granger," he said, his tone exasperated. "I got an O every year in Potions. I think I can handle making a sodding grilled cheese sandwich."

Hermione felt her lips twitch into a smirk, but she did not want to instigate an argument, so she held it back. "I'm going to check on Nott. Before I do, what's your pain?"

"Four."

"Has it been worse at any point while I was gone?"

"No."

She left him with his cooking, hoping he didn't burn the kitchen down, and went up the stairs. Nott had a book in his hands when she got to their room. It was funny how quickly she thought of the room she grew up in as 'their room'.

He still looked weak, but it was good to see him doing something other than just lying there like he needed someone to take him for some fresh air in a Secret Garden at his lonely Manor.

"What have you got there?" she asked, indicating the book in his hands? His eyes darted up to hers and he looked as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Oh," Theo started. "I saw your bookshelf. I can put it back."

Hermione shook her head emphatically. "Of course not! Read anything you can find here. I was just curious what you'd chosen."

Theo raised the cover of the book to show her. "Oh!" she cried. "The Kite Runner! I've just gotten that one! It just came out. You'll have to tell me how you like it." She was already feeling book envy - not that she had the time to read for pleasure at the moment.

"You can have it back if you want to read it," Theo offered but she would have none of it.

"No, you read it. Just know that you hold a place of distinction in my life - someone who gets to read my books before I do." His lips curled into a small smile at that, and Hermione realised she liked making him smile. Even though Theo's father was a notorious Death Eater, there was no way that Theo was a hardened criminal.

"How is your pain today?" she asked.

"Six. Reading helps. It takes my mind off of it a bit," Nott offered.

"I'll give you a mild pain potion," Hermione said, already on her way to the potion rack. "Hopefully it will just take the edge off, but it won't dull your senses."

She noticed a book on Malfoy's side table as she passed. Her curiosity was piqued. Fahrenheit 451. Her lips twitched. Of all the books for Malfoy to take an interest in. The books reminded her that the men needed more to occupy their time and their minds. Reading was great, but they couldn't read constantly for weeks without end.

She gave Theo his pain potion, then sat at the desk and pulled out her notebook.

Subject 1 indicates a steady pain level of four all day. He seems to be managing well enough with the new Muggle appliances.

Subject 2 is functioning at a level six and was given a mild pain reliever. Might consider a Muggle OTC to see how well they manage the pain. They are less addictive and significantly cheaper.

Nothing else to report, she closed the notebook and noticed that Theo had returned to his reading. She heard a stomping in the hall and assumed Malfoy had returned with food.

He had three plates with him, and Hermione was a bit shocked he'd bothered to make her a sandwich. She had absolutely not expected him to. He also had a bottle of cola under his right arm.

"This looks like flobberworm mucus, but I assume it's some kind of drink?" he said, his tone impatient as he dropped Theo's plate on his lap, hers on the desk, and shuffled back to his own bed with his own.

"It's called Coke," Hermione said, holding her hand out for it. She quickly transfigured some parchment on her desk into three small cups and poured some of each of them. "Here," she said, handing the cups out.

Theo and Malfoy both peered into their cups, suspicious. "It's black," Nott noted.

"It's bubbling," Malfoy added. "How do the Muggles get it to bubble like that?"

"It's called carbonation. Just try it."

She smiled into her own cup as she watched them both primly bring their cups to their lips and take teeny-tiny sips. "Coke, you said?" Malfoy asked haughtily, but he went back for a much bigger gulp. "It's not bad."

Nott was more effusive. "It's brilliant!" he cried. "What's in it?"

"Sugar. Lots and lots of sugar, Hermione answered. She pretended not to notice that Malfoy inhaled the rest of his cup and then refilled it.

She picked up the sandwich Malfoy had laid on the desk and took a bite. "Mmmm," her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she moaned. Malfoy could make a grilled cheese sandwich if he could do nothing else of value. "I've been starving all day," she admitted.

Malfoy and Nott eyed her curiously, eating their own sandwiches, again, as if they were dining with the Queen. She couldn't help it. She giggled. "This is so absurd," she finally admitted. "I'm sitting here in my parents' abandoned house, eating grilled cheese that Draco Malfoy made on my Muggle hob. I mean, really. What even is happening?"

The two men said nothing as her laughter petered out and she went back to consuming her sandwich. She wondered how Malfoy even knew what a grilled cheese was. She hardly thought the Malfoy house elves were preparing them on a silver plate for him as a child. She would have asked him, but he probably would have told her to 'fuck off'.

She desperately wanted to tell him about his mother, but she didn't know if he wanted to know or if he would clam up and get defensive as he had been prone to do. Adding to her problems by poking the bear that was Draco Malfoy wasn't on her list of desires.

"After we've finished," she said, trying to focus on work, "I'll need to examine your Marks." Nott shifted uncomfortably in her peripheral vision. "I don't have to touch them, but I'll need to run some tests and take some readings."

Nott nodded mutely. Malfoy didn't say anything. They ate in an awkward silence after that. When they finished, Hermione gathered the dishes and sent them by magic down to the sink. "Malfoy, do you mind raising your shirt sleeve?" she asked, coming over to his bed and sitting on the edge. His eyes widened but he did as she asked.

Taking out her wand she moved it in gentle circles as she muttered the incantation to reveal any recognizable magical signatures. "Essentia revelaro," she breathed softly, her face leaning in mere inches from the skin of Malfoy's left forearm. She could feel her magic fighting with something inside him. The black webbing veins pulsed, and Malfoy's hand clenched into a fist.

"One to ten?"

"Seven," he bit out, his voice getting strained.

"Lac Victurio" she tried. It was a rarely used spell but could remove the magic from a person or a thing in the event that the magic was harming them.

"Fuck, Granger!" Malfoy growled, his arm trembling. "Do you know what the fuck you are doing, or are you just muttering spells at random?"

Hermione bit her lip and moved away. She quickly procured Malfoy a strong pain potion and handed it to him.

"You aren't trying that on him," Draco jerked his head angrily toward Theo. "Experiment on me if it gets you off, but you don't touch him with a spell unless you know what the bleeding fuck you are doing, Mudblood."

"Draco…" Nott's strangled protest interrupted. "Don't."

We are back to 'Mudblood' again.

Hermione swallowed as she considered her next words. It was true that she didn't know what she was doing, but it was also true that she'd have to try various different things and some of them might hurt. It was a moral and ethical dilemma. The alternative was to let The Mark drag them both into a never-ending cycle of agony.

"I had not intended to hurt you," she said calmly. He scoffed and refused to look at her. "I am flying blind. No one knows what is happening to your Mark, that's why I've been assigned to investigate it. Neither of those spells usually cause pain. I understand that it's very hard to trust me, but I am here to help you."

"Help me," Malfoy sneered, finally looking up at her. "How, exactly do you plan to help me? Whether I live or die, whether my pain is at a two or a bloody ten, there is no helping me."

"Draco," Theo said, calmly. "Granger didn't put us in Azkaban. You can't take that out on her." He wasn't scolding, he was explaining. He didn't even seem to be doing it for Hermione's sake but for Malfoy's.

She saw Malfoy's hands unclench and his eyes shifted away from her. There was something in the relationship between Malfoy and Nott that she didn't understand other than it went deep. They trusted each other. They cared about each other. And that humanised both of them for her. No matter what else they might have done, they were capable of real friendship - the same kind she shared with Harry and Ron.

"Perhaps we should try something different," Hermione finally said, sitting down at her desk again. "I have a lot of research to do. Let me ask you a few questions, then I'll bring in the telly and you both don't have to do anything else today."

"Telly?" Nott asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It's a Muggle entertainment device," Hermione explained. "It has moving pictures. You know what? It's really better shown than explained. I'll bring it in after we talk."

She looked over at Malfoy whose jaw was tight. "Pain better?"

He nodded once but said nothing.

Subject 1, I attempted both a magic removing spell (lac victurio) as well as attempting to ascertain the magical signature of the energy flowing from his mark through his veins. Both were unsuccessful and caused a great deal of pain. He became agitated for obvious reasons and very protective of Subject 2.

Subject 2 has a calming effect on Subject 1, and I did not bother to try the attempted spells on his mark - fearing it would cause more harm than good.

"Okay," she said, finishing up her notes. "Can you tell me about The Mark? Anything at all you can think of. How was it given, when, the circumstances around getting it? Any details at all might be helpful to figuring out how to remove it or at least return it to the dormant state it's been in for nearly five years."

They both looked at each other. Draco finally decided to speak first. Hermione held her pen ready to take down every detail.

"It was the summer of '96," he began. He shifted in the bed so that he was sitting up, playing with the edge of the blanket, decidedly not looking at either of them as he spoke.

"After you lot - The Order - had captured my father in the Department of Mysteries, he was arrested and taken to Azkaban. I'd spent that whole year, previous, thinking I was invincible. I ingratiated myself to that toad Umbridge, and my father was given the special task of retrieving the Potter Prophecy. All I could see ahead of me was my own ambition." He scoffed, and Hermione could tell it was directed toward himself.

"Anyway, after Father was sent to Azkaban, The Dark Lord moved into the Manor full time - along with Bellatrix, Rastaban, and a few others. My mother tried to be a gracious hostess, but she was often subjected to beatings for getting one or another arbitrary cues wrong. Without my father there, and with Bellatrix feeling my mother and I were too soft, the Death Eaters that moved in took it upon themselves to 'toughen us up'.

"By July, I was called before The Dark Lord with Bella at his side. It had been decided that there was a way to save my father from his humiliation, restore the Malfoy name, and protect my mother from further abuse. It was simple, really. I would take The Mark, and pay my father's debt by killing Dumbledore and letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

Hermione felt her skin prickling. So many memories of that night stayed with her, woke her from a dead sleep. Malfoy had done that to her, to the school - the only place she'd ever felt truly at home. She'd never really forgiven him for that. Hearing his side of the story didn't make her blame him less, but she did have empathy for the position he'd been put in. Sixteen, scared and told this was how he could save his family.

"No big deal. Just kill the very Wizard who defeated Grindelwald," he dead panned.

"It was July 7th, actually," he added. "It was just before dusk and I agreed to his terms - though, I'm not sure what other choice I had. At that point, I was still cocky enough to believe I could fulfil the task and save my family.

"Bella stood at his side and he had me kneel. I had to swear an oath of loyalty to him. He muttered a number of spells - some of them in Parseltongue - and placed his wand here," Malfoy indicated his left forearm right where The Mark stood.

"It burned. I was sure that when I looked down, I'd see nothing but ash down to the bone. The pain was more than a ten. It was an eleven. It was debilitating and it grew, flowing up my arm to my torso almost as if it were burning the heart from my chest. A few days later I woke up. I looked down to see the Mark on my skin and the pain was gone."

She relayed everything he told her to the notebook and added:

Must find out the exact words of the Oath as well as the spells Voldemort cast.

"Thank you, Malfoy," Hermione said gently. He didn't look at her.

She turned her attention to Theo. "Was the ritual the same for you?"

"Yes," Nott said, nodding. "Mine was June of the next year, though. '97."

He looked over at Draco then shifted his eyes back to Hermione. "My father was a Death Eater, as you know. He wanted me to join the summer Draco was inducted. I refused." He swallowed hard like there was more to the refusal than he wanted to share. Hermione didn't press.

"When The Dark Lord took over Hogwarts and Snape killed Dumbledore, I no longer could avoid it. At Hogwarts, at least I knew the Headmaster wouldn't let my father come in and take me. I - well, anyway. When we all went home, my father informed me that I was being inducted. It was that very night - June 30th. I wanted to refuse but I had nowhere to go. Blaise's mother swept him off to Italy immediately. Pansy…" he struggled to speak for a moment.

"The only friend I had who would understand was Draco, and I knew he'd already taken The Mark. I didn't know who I could trust. So, I agreed," Theo explained. "I figured I could take The Mark, wait out the War, and then remove it one day."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she had to interrupt. "Wait a moment," she began. "So, you weren't given a mission. You were made to join by your father. What did you do for the Death Eaters?"

"Well," Nott said, "I didn't really do anything. I stayed at Nott Manor for most of the War. Occasionally I had to prepare the house for Death Eaters to stay in the Manor since my mum wasn't around. I did come to the Battle of Hogwarts," he admitted. "I freed the Slytherins who'd been locked in the dungeons. Pansy and I ran down to Hogsmead and hid."

So, Nott was inducted under duress, didn't even participate in the War, and for that, he was serving a 40-year prison sentence in Azkaban. Hermione was steaming. She felt her pen break a hole through the page she was writing on. She had to focus on the task at hand, but she would be coming back to this injustice. It would not stand.

"Okay," she said, coming back to the original topic. "Would you describe the actual initiation the same way Malfoy did?"

"Yes," he said. "Exactly the same." Hermione nodded and finished up her notes.

Subject 2 was forced into receiving The Mark but the ritual was similar enough to not merit distinction.

'Well, that gives me a place to start,' Hermione said. "Now, I'll introduce you to the telly."

She left the two of them with football to watch. Arsenal and some other team, she wasn't sure. To be honest, she had about as much interest in football as she did in quidditch - which was to say, none at all. She did, however, understand the rules enough to explain how the game worked before taking her trust notebook and trudging to her room to set about organising her research.

First, she made a list:

-Find out what the oath was the Death Eaters took

-Find out if the ritual changed at all from the last generation to the current generation

-Send urgent OWLs to Ministries in France and Norway, as well as the MACUSA about the Marked Death Eaters in their custody (one of them being under the age of 30, meaning he was Marked after Voldemort's return)

-Learn Parseltongue

-Research spells to remove magic

-Research Potions to numb body parts

-Acquire a Pensieve to review the Mark ritual

-Run a magic diagnostic test on Malfoy and Nott to see if their magic is weakening

-Find out how the Mark worked and where and how Voldemort utilised it - its purpose.

Satisfied that she'd created a list she could sink her teeth into, Hermione moved on to writing letters. She wrote to Rilla, updating her progress. She wrote to Padma to thank her again for her help and assure her that both patients were, so far, not in danger of dropping dead. She sent Harry and Ron a joint letter thanking them for helping her out and promising that, yes, she would join them tomorrow evening for a pint - but that she could not stay late.

Finally, she wrote to Professor McGonagall. There were several books at Hogwarts she wanted access to, and she knew she could count on the older woman's discretion, just as she was sure McGonagall knew she could trust Hermione with any book she sent her.

"Bloody hell was that!" she distinctly heard Malfoy's outraged voice from down the hall and she snorted with laughter. Apparently, he was as annoyed with the sport of football as her dad had been almost every time he watched it.

Whatever had offended Malfoy must have been rectified because he was quiet again and Hermione took her time going back over their Death Eater 'Origin Stories'.

She had known bits and pieces of Malfoy's story. Obviously, she knew he'd taken The Mark the summer before their Sixth Year and what he'd been tasked to do. She'd assumed his early admittance had to do with what had happened in the Department of Mysteries and had personally always wondered if Voldemort had purposely sent him on a suicide mission. Had Dumbledore not already planned his own death in a dramatic fashion that rivalled a prime-time soap opera, Draco would never have been able to kill him anyway.

What she hadn't known was just how much he seemed to not want the 'honour' and the familial stress he'd been under. Oh, he'd been ambitious. She'd known that from the day she met him on the Hogwarts Express so many years ago. He had an inflated sense of ability, too. The fact that he conceived that he might be able to perform his task at first didn't surprise her. He was a privileged child of an elite family in a world in which privilege and family name were the most precious currency. Of course, he'd believed in himself. His entire life he'd been told nothing but how fucking special he was.

This is why Malfoy and Harry were two sides of the same coin. They were both born into unearned privilege - Harry's by way of surviving Voldemort's attack, Malfoy for being a Malfoy. But while Malfoy was treated to a life where he could bask in his privilege from birth, Harry was sent to live with abusive Muggles. Harry second guessed himself constantly. He was acutely aware that he hadn't done anything to earn his place as the 'Chosen One' other than become an orphan at age one. Malfoy believed he deserved everything he got just for existing.

But Hermione could sense in his story that something changed Sixth Year. Faced with the insurmountable task of killing the most powerful Wizard in the world humbled him - as much as Malfoy could be humbled. His purpose after the hubris wore off was to protect his family. She could painfully relate. Hadn't she done something terrible to protect her own?

It hurts so much.

She rarely let herself think of them - her parents. Her mother with her long, curly brown hair and warm smile. She always smelled like the garden she'd worked so hard to cultivate in her off time. It was the very overgrown, messy garden she could still see out the kitchen window. Her father, reading his books in the den with classical music playing in the background. What would she have done for them? Anything.

She didn't realise she was crying until the tears coming down her face splashed the notebook she was reviewing. She tried to stuff the feelings back inside, but the dam broke and she sobbed into her hands. She missed them so much.

The older she got the more she had to hide from them, but they were always there. During the intense years after Voldemort returned, her time with her parents was a treasured reprieve. It was a bittersweet time. She'd felt herself growing away from them, knowing her destiny was in a world they'd never understand, but also feeling intense gratefulness at their understanding that allowed her to keep a hand on her Muggle upbringing.

Admittedly, after they were gone, she'd lost most contact with the Muggle world. Being back in this house, with the Muggle tech - it had felt like riding a bike. She felt natural here, and she felt natural in the other world as well. Her dual identity she'd squashed somewhere deep inside along with her memories of her beloved parents. Being here, talking about those times, it cracked her wide open.

The memories flowed through her mind, unbidden, and she didn't repress them - not this time. She wept and wept for what she'd lost - what she'd sacrificed. It was a sacrifice she'd make again, even knowing she wouldn't get them back. But that didn't stop her from feeling - alone.

Of course, she wasn't alone. She was an honorary Weasley. Harry knew her loneliness like no one else, and she had him - closer than a brother. But Harry had never lost parents he remembered. He suffered from the excruciating pain of losing what he could have had, but he couldn't remember what it was like to have them. But Hermione knew what she was missing. She remembered everything. For as much as Narcissa Malfoy loved her son with her whole heart, she'd known what that love felt like - and it was gone. Forever.

She had her friends, many of them - both close and acquaintances. She'd had lovers. She was rarely without company if she wanted it or needed it. Still, she felt so alone sometimes.

"Er, Granger?" her head snapped up from its place buried in her arms and she saw Malfoy standing in her doorway, awkwardly. Shit.

She wiped hurriedly at her face, absently wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Uh huh?" she said, her voice still husky from crying.

"Theo's not feeling well," he said stiffly. He looked incredibly uncomfortable and as if he didn't know whether to step into the room or hang around outside it.

"I'll be right there," Hermione said, getting up quickly from the desk where she'd been reviewing her notes. She popped into the bathroom, washed her face and avoided looking into the mirror. She didn't need it to tell her she was red and splotchy.

Malfoy led her back to the room he shared with Nott. "He's complaining of a headache," he continued.

Hermione approached Theo's bed and placed a hand over his forehead. Hot. "What's your pain from one to ten?" she asked. She should get that question stitched on a pillow.

"Seven," he said, his voice not nearly as strong as it had been when she left. She checked his vitals and saw that his heart was racing now.

She went to the potions rack and retrieved a strong pain potion from the warded section. "Take this," she instructed. Theo did so, dutifully.

His breath began to come out in short pants and after the normal thirty seconds, he did not seem to feel relief. His knuckles were white as he gripped the sheets at his thighs, and his jaw was clenched as his back arched off the bed. It was horrible to witness. "Nine," he cried out. "It's a nine."

"Do something, Granger!" Draco growled from behind her.

Without wasting another minute, she went back to the potions rack and grabbed the Sleeping Draught. Being in this kind of pain was a help to no one. Besides, his heart rate was getting out of control. "Take this," she said gently, lifting Theo's head and helping him tip the potion into his mouth.

Please work. Please work.

It did. His body relaxed, his eyes drooped, and he was out in less than a minute. Hermione let out a deep breath. Her hands were trembling.

"What's wrong with him?" Malfoy demanded.

"I don't know, obviously," Hermione snapped. Her nerves were frayed and the last thing she needed was him acting like this was entirely her fault.

"He'll wake up, right? He has to wake up." She wasn't sure if he was talking to her or himself.

"It's just a Sleeping Draught. He's not in a coma. I put him under because I didn't want him to writhe in pain. I have to figure out a better way to do this. I can't keep giving you both that potion every time you reach a level-eight pain."

"Why are you so concerned with that?" Malfoy asked her, his gaze penetrating. "What possible difference could it make if we get addicted to the sodding potion? We barely even exist anymore. When you've gotten your 'E' on the OWL that is this pet project, we'll be back in Azkaban, puking up our guts in withdrawal. Eventually we'll get it out of our system from lack of access, and rot there. You might as well pop us full of literally any potion you can get your hands on because we aren't even people anymore."

Woah.

He was shouting by the end, his chest rising and falling with agitated, harsh breaths as he finished. Hemione stared back at him, her eyes wide with the realisation of what, exactly, he thought of his existence.

"Give me literally any potion to put me out of this misery, Granger. I don't care how addictive it is. Once we return to Azkaban, our lives are over - again."

He sat on the bed, spent, at his declaration, and Hermione had to fight the urge to tell him life was worth living. It was a natural, gut response but it was also trite. And was it even true? Didn't Malfoy have every reason to not care about his own life or mental state? Fifty years was a long time. He'd be in his seventies when he got out of Azkaban. The entire world would be different. He'd have no money and no one. Was his sentence really any different than a Dementor's Kiss? The thought made her stomach twist.

"Malfoy…" she started, but he shook his head.

"Not pity. Not your useless, fucking, pity, Granger. I can't stand it."

She had no idea what to say, but she couldn't say nothing. "I'm not trying to pity you, Malfoy. I don't. But I'm ashamed of myself."

His eyes snapped to hers instantly. "I never once considered what it must be like for you - any of you - in there. I went on with my life. I didn't check. I didn't ask the question, 'Why such long sentences? Why kids?' I just shoved all of you out of my mind and I moved on. I'm - I'm so sorry, Malfoy."

He looked at her as if he didn't trust what she was saying could be true. His eyes were brimming with questions - ones she doubted he'd ever ask her. "I'm not a house elf," he finally said. "I'm not in need of rescuing. I've done enough to end up in Azkaban. But Theo has not."

"I know," Hermione breathed, having already drawn that conclusion herself. "He hasn't done anything but take The Mark - under dubious consent."

"No consent," Draco amended forcefully. "His father beat the shite out of him. When he stood before The Dark Lord and took The Mark, he was beaten within an inch of his life. I tried everything…"

Hermione couldn't help it. She gasped. How could this have happened? How could Nott's initiation into the Death Eaters have ever been considered legitimate by the Wizengamot. It was an outrage.

"I tried to get him a portkey to France. His father found it and beat him. I never wanted any of this for him. Pansy was safe. Her father was sympathetic to The Dark Lord, but he wasn't going to offer his only daughter to him. Blaise's mum got him out of England. Crabbe and Goyle - Merlin - you couldn't tell them anything. But Theo did not want this. He was never like the rest of us. He didn't want glory. He wanted his father to stop beating him, to read his books, and maybe one day to fuck Pansy Parkinson." Malfoy looked as if he realised he'd said too much but the cat was out of the bag anyway so he might as well tell it all.

"I'm every bit the monster you think I am, Granger. No, I didn't kill Dumbledore. But I'm responsible for everything that happened that night. I'm responsible for being a silent witness to murder and torture. I've crucio'd Muggles to save my own skin more than once. But Theo hasn't done anything."

"Malfoy, I won't let this stand," she promised. "I will use every scrap of political capital I can scrounge together and I will fight this." She gently reached out to him, offering his hand the same way he'd offered his to Harry the first day at Hogwarts. He eyed her critically before tentatively reaching out and shaking it.

She'd just added another task to her ever-growing list.

There was a long tense silence after that until Malfoy finally broke it. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Hermione said, feeling a bit of hope swell within her. Maybe he wouldn't make everything like pulling teeth.

"What the buggering hell is 'Offside' in football?"

Hermione couldn't help it; she nearly fell over cackling.