Notes: Thank you all for the continued support. Shout out to Relentless Sphinx for pointing out Draco ought to look a lot like Sirius Black now. That reference in the text is all you! Please be safe and be well.
~*~ Seven ~*~
Malfoy's grip on her shoulder was rough as he pulled her away from the Slytherin table after supper the next evening. The storm clouds gathering behind his eyes had been suffocating her ever since the confrontation with Riddle in potions. Thankfully Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts were the only classes they shared with the Slytherin Prince, but it was clear Riddle had gotten under Malfoy's skin just as surely as he'd crawled under hers. There hadn't been a spare moment to share just how disastrous the conversation had been, but Hermione suspected Malfoy already knew. He'd been even more present than usual, not leaving her side until she set foot on the girls' staircase. It would have been almost sweet if he hadn't looked intent on murdering her himself.
Hermione tore herself from his punishing grip, but kept up with his fevered pace as they swept up the staircase. She knew better than to ask him anything; the walls had honest to Merlin ears in this castle and they were already on thin ice. Her breath only caught for a second when they stopped, the doors of the Room of Requirement looming before them. She tamped down on what little ire she still harbored for Malfoy's ill-fated mission sixth year. It was ancient history, from another lifetime entirely.
She waited as Malfoy paced, dark brows drawn in concentration, then his hand was burning against her skin as he hauled her into the room. The doors clanged shut and he abruptly released her arm, leaving her cold and bereft.
"You're learning Occlumency tonight."
Hermione blinked at him. "What?"
Malfoy pushed the dark fringe back from his pale forehead as he collapsed into an armchair beside the fireplace. "You bloody heard me, Granger."
She took her time moving across the room to sit in the chair adjacent to his. The fire was warm against the chill of the castle, a warmth she hadn't realized she craved. "I already know Occlumency."
Malfoy's eyes flew toward the ceiling. "I sincerely hope you don't actually believe that. I can get inside your head without even trying. I have to actively try not to read your thoughts. I don't imagine Riddle will be so accommodating."
"I've managed to avoid him." It was a pathetic attempt to avoid the truth of his statement.
"Yes, clearly that went so well yesterday. He's already interested, has been since he laid eyes on you, and you've forgotten who he is entirely if you think he's going to let it go just because you're playing hard to get. Which you aren't, by the way. You're bloody staring at him every time you're in the same room. It's nauseating." Malfoy's voice was hard and his eyes held icy accusation in their depths.
And he was right. She'd tried to stop looking, to ignore that captivating numbness she felt every time Riddle found her with his hypnotic stare, but she hadn't stopped. Some twisted part of her soul craved even his briefest look. "I don't know why he has this effect on me."
It was a lie. She might not understand why he was so appealing, but the craving was nothing new, a product of loss and death and untold despair. But she would not risk losing Malfoy, her only lifeline to reality, or losing sight of this mission. She still heard the dull thud of Harry's fall every night before sleep finally claimed her. It echoed like a drum in her ears until all she could do was muffle her sobs beneath the blankets and pray Aurelia didn't notice. Her war-ravaged soul craved connection, and the mindless pleasure it entailed, but Riddle was not an option, no matter how darkly enticing he'd become.
"It doesn't matter," Malfoy dismissed. "What matters is keeping him out of your head. Permanently."
"Harry already showed—"
"That's your bloody problem then, Granger. Potter was piss at Occlumency despite Snape having tried his damnedest. Whatever he showed you was equally piss." He stared evenly at Hermione, not a trace of emotion behind frostbitten irises.
She wanted to be angry with him, to deny his words, but she knew better. She'd seen Harry's struggle, even into the war years, to keep Voldemort out. But Malfoy, Malfoy had kept his entire plan from Dumbledore sixth year. Likely the old man had known some of what was to come, but Hermione couldn't help but believe Malfoy had kept most of it from both Snape and Dumbledore, which meant he was a passable Occlumens.
"Fine."
"We'll start with you trying Legilimens on me. You won't be able to get in, but I want you to pay attention to how I keep you out. What it feels like, etcetera." Malfoy shifted so he was fully facing her, moving to the edge of the ornate velvet armchair.
It felt odd to raise her wand against him, despite their years on opposing sides of the war. She hadn't forgotten who he was, or just how dangerous he was to her, but their truce had allowed her to relax just the slightest bit, enough that her hand shook as it held her wand between them.
"You can't hurt me." His voice was softer, the storm behind his eyes quiet.
Hermione ignored the shiver that traced down her spine. "Legilimens."
There was a brief moment of confusion then she could feel him around her. Not distinct thoughts or emotions, but the sense that she was within his mind, a part of him, if only for a moment. Narrowing her eyes, she stared purposefully at him, trying to see beyond the physical. But she couldn't move beyond the general sense of him. It was as if a window stood between them; she could see his consciousness, but her attempt to enter was met with solid resistance. A grunt of frustration tore from her lips as she collapsed back into her chair.
"Not bad, better than I expected actually," Malfoy admitted, a hint of appreciation coloring his words. "But can you guess how I'm keeping you out?"
"You're letting me in," she realized.
A light sparked within his eyes and her breath caught at the sudden evolution of his dark visage. Without the cold façade, he reminded her suddenly of Sirius sitting at the table in Grimmauld Place, equally stormy eyes dancing in merriment at something Harry said. The memory stung, piercing her deeply, leaving her yearning for a time before everything fell apart. She swallowed, forcing air into her lungs. The resemblance was uncanny, but unsurprising considering Malfoy was a Black as well.
"Yes. I am. What else, Granger?" he asked, forcing her back to the present, to the gentle patience etched on his impossible features.
Hermione closed her eyes against the unfamiliar man in front of her. She could hardly concentrate when he was edging her world toward a precipice she'd not known existed. Draco Malfoy could not make her feel this way, like she was safe, like maybe she could trust again. No, they might be united in this, but she could not afford to fool herself into thinking this was anything permanent. Not so long ago those tempestuous eyes had been covered by the cruel silver of a Death Eater mask. He was still a cold-blooded killer and master of pain, as dangerous, if not more so, than Riddle. No, Malfoy was no boy aspiring to power, he was a man with war in his veins.
She cleared her throat and redirected her focus to the attempt to penetrate his mind. Just because he was still the enemy didn't mean she wouldn't learn everything she could from him. "You let me in and then put me somewhere of your choice. You made sure it didn't feel like you were doing any of that, like you didn't have control, made it seem like I just wasn't good enough to get in." She paused considering the revelation. "Does that mean you have to know the attempt is coming?"
"At first, yes." Malfoy ran a hand through the midnight tresses that fell enticingly across his alabaster skin. Hermione pretended she didn't notice. "It takes a while for the reaction to become instinctual. I've been using a significant amount of Occlumency since I was sixteen, so by now what I did to you is second nature. It took years and a number of… close calls for me to not think about it."
Hermione studied him, letting the silence drag out between them. "You've used Occlumency against…"
Malfoy didn't react, but his eyes flashed, daring her to finish the statement. She swallowed, attempting to wrap her head around what he seemed to be telling her. She'd known who he was. He was Draco Malfoy. The boy who'd let the Death Eaters into the school, the boy who'd called her Mudblood for as long as she could remember, the boy who'd become a monster during the war. She'd only fought against him a handful of times, but his reputation as an efficient killer, supreme strategist and architect of torment preceded him. When she'd realized it was him on the Astronomy Tower, when he'd disarmed her in the space of a heartbeat, she'd known it was all true. And yet.
"You've used Occlumency against Voldemort."
"For years."
Hermione straightened in her seat, the feeling rushing through her perilously like hope. "Why?"
What openness had existed on his sharp features was gone in an instant. "We aren't friends, Granger, and that is absolutely none of your business."
She swallowed whatever cutting retort was on the tip of her tongue. If Malfoy was capable of successfully shutting out Voldemort, whatever the reason, who was she to turn down his help? "Fine. Just teach me how."
"It won't be pleasant."
It wasn't. They spent the next three hours and the subsequent five nights sequestered in the Room of Requirement, Malfoy ripping through her mind as she learned minute by minute how to build a fortress to keep him out. Often the memories he dragged up were the horrors of war or the mundane from before but every so often he'd stumble upon more intimate moments. Her cheeks had flamed the first time he'd seen her and Harry, a memory of their first time, both of them wasted and lonely. But Malfoy hadn't said a thing and soon she'd become resigned to his all access pass to her bedroom. Hermione honestly had no idea how much of her desperate affair with Harry he'd witnessed, or even the fleeting and innocent romance with Ron before that, but it seemed he wasn't going to use those memories against her. Or perhaps he was saving it as ammunition for later.
Either way, Hermione was improving. By the end of the week, Malfoy only had access to what she wanted him to see. It was still far more than what she was comfortable having Riddle learn, but the important details like time travel, Voldemort and their true identities would be relatively safe.
"Remember all this is really only going to help you if he doesn't outright attack you. It's going to be months before you're able to prevent a full-on verbal Legilimens. But I don't see Riddle being so obvious about it. He still has a reputation to protect at Hogwarts." Malfoy admitted, crossed arms pulling his white dress shirt tight as he leaned against the mantlepiece in the Room of Requirement.
"So the fact that Prof. Price has paired me with Riddle for the upcoming DADA demonstration isn't going to be a complete disaster?" She'd been so horrified by the pairing, assigned at the end of the last class, she'd neglected to inform Malfoy before now.
Malfoy's frame tensed, transforming from casual nonchalance to hardened warrior in mere seconds. "Get out of it."
"Don't you think I've tried?" Hermione snapped back, rising from her seat on the divan, the central element of the newest furniture arrangement the room seemed to feel the need modify each time they entered. They'd started out with separate chairs, but after the first night it had only been couches, loveseats and divans.
"Try harder," Malfoy spat back, meeting her halfway.
Suddenly he was too close, his breath hot on her cheeks as he glared down at her. "Isn't that the point of all this? To be able to deal with him? To not freak out when I have to get paired up on an assignment?"
"I am very sure the point of this," he motioned angrily between them, words spit between grinding teeth, "is to murder the bloody bastard."
Hermione recoiled, stumbling back a step. Her heartbeat was a rapid staccato in her temples as Malfoy's words echoed in her ears. How could she have forgotten? Why was she worrying about pairing up with Riddle for an assignment when she should be coming up with a plan to eliminate him, to save the world from the monster he would become. That he would become. Riddle hadn't even killed his father yet. Beyond opening the Chamber of Secrets he hadn't done anything but be a lonely boy looking for power in a world that saw his parentage as the scum beneath their boots.
"What if I can save him?"
The room was deathly silent, even the fire ceasing to crackle beside them. Malfoy's mouth was open, jaw slack as thunderheads built behind his eyes. He blinked and lightning crackled.
"You cannot possibly be serious. It was insane to come back here to kill him, but to what? Seduce him? That's beyond all reason."
Against all reason, Hermione dug in. "What do you even care? You already said you don't believe in changing the past. What does it matter if I kill him or kiss him?"
"Seducing the Dark Lord isn't going to make a bloody difference, Granger." Malfoy tore his hands through his hair, giving it a disheveled look she'd never seen on him before. "Play that out, all you're going to get is a possessive monster in love with you. And that's at best, the version where he doesn't figure out every last secret you have and he's still capable of human emotion. You can't even imagine the worst."
Malfoy took a step toward her, but stumbled mid-step, his full mouth twisting. Still glaring at her, he collapsed on the divan.
"Are you…?" Hermione wasn't even sure what she was asking.
His glare grew even more fierce. "Don't bloody mind me, Granger. We're talking about your insanity right now. You're right, I don't want to mess anything up any further than it already is, but it seems clear you're hell bent on changing the future for better or worse. Okay, fine. But not by trying to save the bloody Dark Lord, you stupid girl."
"I don't get you!" Hermione exploded, suddenly unable to tame her frustration. "One minute you're threatening me, the next you're helping me. What do you even want? Whose side are you on, Malfoy?"
"My own bloody side," he hissed, dark brows drawn.
His response had her momentarily thrown. She'd expected… well, she wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it wasn't that. "So you're not a Death Eater?"
The fight was suddenly gone as he stared up at her, left hand rubbing his thigh. "I've been a Death Eater since I was sixteen, Granger. That doesn't mean it was ever my choice."
"Oh." It was all she could think to say.
"You don't know a bloody thing about me, Granger, so don't pretend you do."
"Okay." It felt like something monumental had passed between them, but Hermione couldn't identify what had changed. Sighing, she settled onto the divan next to him, eying his haggard features behind the midnight fan of his hair. He was utterly foreign to her like this, nothing like the pale boy who'd tormented her.
"Promise me you won't get involved with Riddle." He tipped his head to stare at her, eyes heavy with a need she couldn't understand.
"I promise." It was a foolish girl's wish to save Riddle, the wish of a girl who didn't have a body count to her name. Hermione knew she had no time for such flights of fantasy.
Malfoy's eyes slid shut, his shoulders sagging as he murmured, "Thank you, Hermione."
Hermione nodded, the sound of her name on his lips suddenly the most precious thing. She wasn't alone here. For now, at least, she could trust this dark man beside her. This man with demons to rival her own. It was something and perhaps that's all she needed. This wasn't a happily ever after and Hermione knew better than to imagine one.