A/N: Thanks to Kyonomiko for being the most dedicated reviewer ever. Thanks to Judit and Anon for taking the time to say something nice. Your words are like digital food for the muse!

Chapter Five: To Make Room

May 1999

Hogsmeade

The bricks next to Hermione's shoulder exploded in a cloud of dust and rubble. She felt the blast distantly as she held her hand over Padma's wound. The cutting curse that had blasted a hole in her friend's stomach had contained enough dark magic to render most healing spells useless. Hermione had tried every spell she could think of, but the blood continued to pump out of her. She remembered from her distant Muggle childhood that pressure on a wound could help. Padma had screamed when she pressed a wadded up cloak against the gaping hole.

"This isn't safe." Luna slid down the wall next to her, a large purple bruise on her cheek. She clutched at her arm, which appeared to be broken. "We can't stay here."

"We need a healer." Hermione looked up from all the blood coating her hands to see tears running down the blonde girl's face.

"I don't think we're going to get her back to the castle in time."

Padma was breathing shallowly, her eyes wide open and staring. Hermione recognized the look. It was only two days ago that Padma, Parvati, Ginny, Cho, Luna and Hermione had sat around the kitchen table at the safe house drinking and promising to keep each other safe. Us girls should stick together, they had laughed.

Another blast hit the side of the building, spraying them with brick. The bracelet on Hermione's arm lit up with heat.

RETREAT

The words appeared on the metal band, bespelled with a protean charm. Luna took her hand and helped her get up, her eyes reddened with tears. Padma wasn't breathing anymore. 'Vati would never forgive her. She would never forgive herself.

Hermione watched the men speaking to each other as she briefly discussed supply rotations with Anna Hutchins, before asking the woman to find clothing for the Purebloods. The former Ravenclaw had blinked at Hermione, and then agreed quietly. Hermione spied Ron as he stepped into Malfoy's personal space, but the blonde didn't look the least bit intimidated. It looked more like a pissing contest than a conversation, but Hermione felt little inclination to interrupt. What she wanted was a nap. And maybe some food. She turned away from the scene and started walking, fully expecting Malfoy to follow. He did after a moment, whistling to himself. They walked in silence for a full two minutes before he started mocking her.

"Trouble in paradise?" He asked genially. Hermione kept her peace, hoping he would drop it if she ignored him. Instead, he took her silence as permission to continue. "And you seem so perfect for each other. What a shame."

"Fuck off."

"That conversation between you two sounded rather painful. Still in love with him then?"

"I'm not discussing my personal life with you." She was still furious, but enough of her ire had waned that she felt slightly embarrassed that Malfoy had heard the entirety of her conversation with Ron. Of course, getting spit on by her subordinates and then summarily dismissed by her former lover and best friend was just as bad. The entire day had been humiliating.

"And I have no interest in hearing about it." He continued to whistle softly.

The air was getting colder the lower they descended into the castle. She knew the moment Malfoy realized where they were headed. He stiffened ever so slightly, but said nothing. He was gently probing his injured eye, muttering under his breath.

"I can heal your eye, for you."

"Madam Pomfrey is still the healer here?"

"She is. But I'm quite good at healing spells. Had a bit of practice over the years."

Mafloy studied her out of his one good eye. "No thank you. You might permanently disfigure me."

"I told you I'm experienced!"

"It's your integrity I'm questioning, not your skill." In spite of his words, he bent his head to her level.

Hermione shook her head at him in disbelief. His eye was swollen nearly shut, with just the smallest hint of stormy grey peeking through the injured eyelid. His lashes were dark near the lid, but turned blonde at the tips and they were incredibly long. He had always been good-looking, though nothing heart stopping. Age had done wonders for his pointy features, filling them out into high cheekbones and a well defined jaw. His nose was still a bit sharp, but it only added to his aristocratic visage. What a waste of such handsome features, she thought. She pressed her wand to his brow and cast a diagnostic charm. "You've cracked your eye socket," she muttered.

"I thought as much," he replied, his breath stirring across her forehead. His breath smelled like coffee, and his robes had that absence of scent she normally associated with magical cleaning. Of course, that was impossible since he had no wand. It was amazing to her that he didn't reek after a stressful escape from Legionnaires and two days spent in a Muggle house with no way to clean his only pair of clothes. On the other hand, she couldn't imagine encountering a Draco Malfoy who looked and smelled less than perfect.

"Have you had this injury before?" she wondered.

Malfoy merely shrugged and watched her as she murmured words of healing over his face. She felt like squirming under his regard. The inflamed flesh was receding, though it was still an ugly green and purple. He blinked a few times as his eyelid was freed.

"You'll have a bruise." She told him.

He nodded, still watching her. When she had finished, he straightened and reached into his robes. "You probably want this back."

Hermione pulled her spare wand from his fingers and slid it into the sheath at her ribs. "Thanks for having my back."

He looked at her as if she had just said something incredible stupid, before letting his face go neutral. "All I did was stand there. Besides, watching ickle Ronniekin's face go purple was well worth it."

Ignoring his comment, she continued on her way, Malfoy following closely behind.

"We're close to the dungeons," he mentioned as they descended some stairs. "Putting the Slytherins in the old Slytherin dorms? Fitting, I suppose."

"Actually the dorms have been converted into storage. Not to mention the dungeons, which have been returned to their original splendor as actual prison cells."

"So where will we be staying?"

"Just down here." Hermione turned down a dusty hall and then another, heading away from the old dorms into what used to be professors quarters, abandoned long before her time at Hogwarts. She stopped at a wooden door painted with faded green paint and took a deep breath. Had she remembered to pick up her dirty clothes before she left?

"This is my room," she muttered as she unlocked the door, hoping the place wasn't a complete disaster. "The rooms around it haven't been used in awhile, but they can be cleaned."

It wasn't pristine, but there weren't old knickers lying around, thank Merlin. And she had managed to make her bed the morning before she had Apparated to Malfoy Manor. The light coming from the single window was enough to make the things in her room visible, even though the murky light was green from the lake. At first, she had hated being underground and forced to live without real sunlight, but it didn't take long before the undulating light was soothing, and she took comfort in the complete lack of sound from the thick stone walls surrounded by millions of gallons of water. The mermaids were scarce, but friendly. Determined to hide her unease at having Draco Malfoy casually perusing her living space, she plowed straight towards the fireplace where she threw a handful of dust into the embers.

"Minerva McGonagall," she demanded of the purple flames.

"You use the Floo Network?" Malfoy was aghast. The Legion watched the Floo Network religiously, just waiting for an Order member to trip up and land themselves squarely in the Ministry's lap.

"Not exactly. It's set up just within the bounds of the castle and can't be accessed outside the Hogwarts wards." Hermione had spent nearly three years developing the Hogwarts Floo with the help of George and Arthur Weasley, her resident inventors. George had insisted they find a way to make the flames purple instead of green. Hermione had fought him on the ridiculous demand until she realized it would be a great security measure. Green flames meant trouble, purple meant safety.

"Interesting." Malfoy didn't sound the least bit interested. Was it too much to ask for a little awe at her genius?

Minerva's head appeared in the glowing ashes of the fireplace. "Hermione. So nice to see you." Her tone implied otherwise. Hermione choked back a sigh. "What can I do for you?"

"I need the four rooms around mine cleared for the—" she paused searching for the right label. "For our . . . new additions."

There was a long moment of silence. It was difficult to read Minerva's expression through the floo, but Hermione got the impression that she was greatly displeased. What did she expect Hermione to do? Set up a tent in the Forbidden Forest? "I'm afraid the house elves have been employed sorting through the food and clothing we've acquired from the last supply run. The rest will be busy in the kitchens as usual."

Anxiety curled in Hermione's gut. "Not a single one can be spared?"

"I'm afraid not. Anything else I can help you with?"

"Thank you anyway, Minerva." Hermione had barely gotten the words out of her mouth when the woman disappeared from view. If Ron had lied about the number of angry soldiers to tilt the balance of public opinion in his direction, Harry had undoubtedly done the same to spare Hermione as well as to make the Purebloods feel more at ease. Realistically, she was aware that most of the people within the confines of Hogwarts would want nothing to do with the six former Slytherins, even if those people didn't overtly cause trouble. Experiencing a subtle, yet completely clear, dismissal from her former Professor, a woman who she greatly admired, was like getting punched in the gut. And another trusted friend bites the dust, she thought grimly.

She looked around to see Malfoy studying the several photographs displayed on her bookcases. It made her deeply uncomfortable.

"I'll show you your rooms," she interrupted his investigation. He followed her out silently. The two rooms to her left and the two across the way were habitable as far as she knew. There were four other rooms down the hall, but two of them had mold that was uncontrollable by even the strongest spell, and the other two were packed up to the rafters with old potions textbooks.

The door stuck just a bit as she pushed it open. There was a bed, a dresser and a reading chair. It was smaller than Hermione's room, but would do after it was cleaned. The room next to it was the same while the two across the hall were much larger. "We can fit two beds into these," she told him. "You'll have to share obviously."

"The mothers can share," Malfoy answered. "And Theo and Blaise will want to be together anyway."

"Oh," Hermione squeaked. "I didn't know they were . . . together."

"How would you have known? Only Gryffindors feel the need to snog on hilltops." Malfoy sneered. "Why are these rooms all empty? Too close to the filthy Slytherins?"

"Exactly that." Hermione stood just inside and surveyed the thick coating of filth covering the furniture. "The entire lower level was mostly abandoned after the Battle. It was symbolic, I suppose. A ridiculous gesture really. Nobody but you snakes ever felt at ease in such dreary conditions anyway."

Malfoy came up behind her and leaned against the door jamb. "So then why are you so comfortable here?"

"I have a house in the village that I share with Andromeda Tonks and her grandson, but sometimes I sleep here." Hermione walked further into the room and turned to look at him. "It's actually quite nice once you get used to it." He raised an eyebrow skeptically. She wasn't sure she should be so candid with him, but if several people were going to be living so close to her, she thought a bit of honesty might be in order. "I need the space. Since my stay at the Lestrange Mansion, my magic has been . . . unpredictable."

"Unpredictable how?" He stepped into the room, the green light reflecting eerily off of his platinum hair.

"Oh you know," she evaded, wandering away from him. "Levitating objects, small fires. Random outbursts of destructive energy." She said the last bit quickly.

"So you've isolated yourself here." It wasn't a question. "All those brave Order members are afraid of a bit of wild magic?"

"In their defense, I did bring a wall down." She continued quickly to reassure him. "But that was months ago."

"And yet I'll wager nobody will have a problem bunking us next door."

"I won't be taking that wager," she answered under her breath. Aloud, she said, "Is this acceptable?"

"Is there a choice?" His lip was curling into a sneer as he nudged the ancient armchair near the hearth.

"Luna prefers to sleep in a tree at the edge of the Forest when she isn't sleeping on a porch swing. I'll bet she could make room for you." Hermione grinned at him.

Malfoy looked horrified at the notion. "I don't even know what to say to that. Where are the house elves to clean this mess up?"

"There aren't any. We'll be doing this all ourselves."

He stared at her in silence for a moment. "You said something about a tree?"

"It won't be that bad." Hermione tried to sound positive. In truth, she was tired. It was only a little past eleven in the morning, and she was fully ready to tuck herself into bed. Malfoy was staring forlornly into space, and she imagined that he was remembering the luxury of his ancestral home. "Regretting your decision to defect?"

His sharp eyes pierced her. "Ask me again in a few hours."

As it turned out, 'a few hours' was overly optimistic. It took them all day, and by the end, they were both covered in dirt. The rest of the Purebloods had shown up sometime after lunch, but proved to be of little help. Pansy sneered at having to clean, but got to work mending linens, a process in which she had absolutely no experience. The bed sheets were usable, but only just. It didn't help that she was having a horrible time with Hermione's wands. Theo and Blaise checked the furniture and fixed anything that was in disrepair. Both Persia and Narcissa were happy to help by transfiguring parchment into sculptures and various other beautiful things. Malfoy mostly sneered as he tried—and failed—to keep his robes clean. Thank goodness Harry and Neville had accompanied the group down to the dungeons, for they were far more help than all six of the Purebloods combined.

Most of it was done by passing Hermione's wands around, and with mixed results. Theo and Blaise hadn't actually caught anything on fire, but the sparks that accompanied the reparo charms resulted in a few scortch marks on the furniture, as well as pleading from Hermione to be careful with the precious lengths of wood. Pansy waited impatiently for her turn. Persia and Narcissa both seemed to be able to use her spare without a problem, but had little luck with her actual wand.

Despite their efforts to conceal it, Hermione noticed quite a few spells being cast without the use of a wand. She desperately wanted to ask them about it, her academic thirst roaring to life, but judging from the subtle glares he had been shooting them all day, Malfoy had instructed them to hide the ability. She understood the desire to keep one's strengths hidden from the enemy. And despite years of working for the Order, they didn't consider themselves a part of the rebellion. Couldn't have anything to do with Order soldiers trying to drive them out of Hogwarts, she thought bitterly.

After dinner, Hermione once again found herself sitting across a table from Malfoy, except this time they were both filthy. Harry had managed to wrangle dinner from the house elves to be served in Hermione's room in order to keep the former Slytherins out of the dining hall. After a meal mostly passed in silence, Harry and Neville had retreated home: Neville to his room near the Gryffindor tower, and Harry to the house he shared with Ginny in the village. Everyone else had retired for the night, but Hermione and Malfoy sat in the light from the fire and sipped at a bit of Muggle bourbon Hermione had produced from the back of her desk drawer. He sipped the fiery drink with a grace that spoke of years of consuming expensive liquor.

She watched his long fingers lift the glass to his lips a few times before she couldn't take it anymore.

"It's driving me crazy," she exclaimed. Malfoy lifted a brow. "What do you have?"

He looked faintly amused. "What do you think I have?" He leaned back in his chair, long legs stretching under the table and brushing her feet. Even filthy, his robes fit him perfectly. With a tumbler in one hand, and the other shoved nonchalantly in his pocket, he looked fresh off the cover Witch Weekly. Hermione was equal parts fascinated and disgusted by him. Or perhaps she was disgusted by her fascination.

"It's obviously important. Important enough for you to abandon your wealth, your ancestral home and everything you know," Malfoy nodded, humming in agreement. "But not so important that Kingsley felt like the Legillimancy exams were of greater urgency. He let you just walk out of his office, which tells me you aren't carrying something vital to our success in the war."

"All good points." He took a sip.

"Stop enjoying this so much," she growled at him.

A flash of honest delight lit his face. Hermione had to look away from him for a moment; his handsome face was blinding her. "This is absolutely killing you, isn't it?"

"Why did Kingsley let you leave with me? I know he doesn't really trust you."

"Besides the fact that I was being accompanied by the Gryffindor Princess?" Hermione rolled her eyes. She hated that name. "Shacklebolt doesn't know."

Hermione was stunned. "He authorized an emergency extraction in broad daylight without knowing what he was collecting?"

"He was collecting me," Malfoy answered smugly. "I thought at least that much was obvious."

"There is no way that Kingsley Shacklebolt sent a team in to enemy territory without knowing if it would be worth the risk."

"He knows if I say I have something important—important enough to flee into the arms of the Order—that it's worth whatever I say it is."

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. That didn't sound like Kingsley at all. "I think your mild case of egomania just became terminal."

Malfoy smirked at her. "There wasn't supposed to be an extraction," he confessed. "I was supposed to leave and meet an Order member at a secret location who would bring me to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Bellatrix got wind of my political affiliations and a hasty exit became unavoidable."

"Is that why you decided to bring the entire Slytherin Quidditch team with you?"

"Pansy has never touched a Quaffle in her life," he objected. "And partly, yes."

He had managed to make a small concession in truth, and yet tell her nothing at all about what he was hiding. "Are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

He studied her for a moment, his grey eyes boring into hers. She fought the urge to look away and felt warmth on her cheeks from his direct attention. Gods, she was being ridiculous. He seemed to come to a decision and began to speak.

"What is the single most destructive weapon the Legion possesses?"

"Bellatrix." Hermione answered immediately. "Her animagus form is deadly, and nearly impervious to curses." She sighed deeply, banishing the memory of an entire clearing filled with smoking bodies and the scent of dragon fire. "We've lost too many good witches and wizards to the Black Dragon."

"What if you could even the odds? Perhaps even stack them in our favor?" After so long believing Malfoy was her enemy, it was strange hearing him speak as if they were on the same team.

"And how would we do that?"

He pulled a notebook out of his robes and slid it across the table to her. It was small, about the size of a paperback novel and covered in black leather. She picked it up and skimmed her thumb across the outside edge, seeing that it was filled with ink.

"What is this?"

She looked up in time to see him bare his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "A way to kill the Dragon."

It looked like rain. The leaves above Luna's head were thrashing about in the intermittent wind, giving her the perfect view of a darkening sky. The thick branch under her back moved gently as she stretched her arms above her head. She considered staying up in her tree through the storm, for it was warm enough that she wouldn't get sick, and she was certain she needed a bath. In truth, she was reluctant to leave the solitude of the Forbidden Forest. Fleeing the moment they touched down at Hogwarts had not been her intention, but she had needed to get away from the Purebloods before she used her knife to carve the skin from their bones. Skin, slice, strip. They made her feel afraid again, and she was desperate to control the slimy terror wriggling around in her gut.

Someone was approaching. She heard the soft footfalls coming from the direction of the castle. It was, perhaps, too much to hope that it was who Hermione had come looking for her. The witch was undoubtedly busy tending to her new friends, and was probably trying to fix the damage they had done to her reputation. Listening intently, Luna decided the footsteps belonged to a man. Large. Well trained in moving quietly. He was walking purposefully, but still a bit unsure. He was looking for her.

"Luna."

Ronald Weasley. She closed her eyes and settled more comfortably on the branch, intending to wait him out. She knew she was invisible to anyone on the ground. He may have discovered her general location, but he didn't know in which tree she was hiding. All she had to do was let him pass her by.

"I need to talk to you." Silence. "It's important. It's about Hermione."

Luna rolled her eyes and let herself roll off the branch, flipping to her feet just before she hit the ground, her many braids slapping against her neck. The tall redhead swung around to face her.

"Bloody hell." He was frowning storm clouds at her. "You're like a fucking monkey."

Luna didn't respond. Silence was the best way to get to the bottom of things, she had found. It made people uncomfortable and more likely to spill their secrets. Besides, there wasn't much the two of them had in common anymore. Ever since Ron had abandoned Hermione, she rarely felt the need to speak to him. In fact, she wondered if sending him a slicing hex might make her feel better. She had heard the murmurs of discontent rumbling through Hogwarts, and knew he was behind most of it. Hermione was going to face a heaping pile of shit from Kingsley, not only because of the choices she had made, but because of the ire Weasley was stoking throughout the barracks.

The man shifted uncomfortably as she stared at him.

"I want you to tell me what you know about those fucking Purebloods."

Luna considered his demand. "Why would I do that?"

"There must be something we can use to get rid of them. Spies or not—they can't stay at Hogwarts."

Luna cocked her head. Ron was very angry. He must have seen the way Hermione protects them, she thought. Jealousy was terrible and motivated people to do stupid things. She fingered the knife on her belt and watched his eyes flicker to her hand then back to her face.

"I know you don't want them here any more than I do," he said.

She kept her silence and started circling him, pleased when he swallowed hard.

"We haven't spoken much since—well since you were rescued from your . . . imprisonment." What a pleasant way to put it. Trying to placate her was a bad idea. "But we both care about Hermione."

Luna allowed a vacuous smile to curl her lips. "If you feel that way, I wonder why you would so publicly declare the opposite."

Ron swallowed again, a flush of red painting his cheeks. "I don't know what you heard, but those people were already angry. I just wanted them to have their concerns heard."

She didn't know what he was talking about exactly, having only seen bits and pieces of unrest since her return, but decided it didn't matter. Something like disgust settled in her chest. This man was useless; stirring up trouble for the sake of his vanity. She tried to remember the last time he had left Hogwarts on any kind of mission, and couldn't. The hilt of her knife was cold and bumpy as she ran her index finger across it. Too bad he was so well known, she thought. It also occurred to her that Hermione would not appreciate Luna slicing open her ex boyfriend.

"Look," Ron continued. "We both know that Hermione is too willing to trust people. She wants to see the best in everyone. Kingsley wants whatever Malfoy has brought with him, and can't see the danger. You and I know better. When they have served their usefulness, they need to go away."

The sight of the dragon rampant pin on Nott's chest flashed through Luna's mind, and with it, that terrible fear.

"I'm listening."

A/N: How does one kill a dragon? Any guesses?