Shades of Grey
Chapter One: The Cloak, the Wand and the Stone
"You cannot change the world,
But you can present the world with one improved person—
Yourself."
-Brian Tracy
A year and three months later…
There were many things Hermione found herself unable to stand about Draco Malfoy—the way he smirked when others were discussing something serious, as though he was confident he knew the most practical solution quicker than any of the rest of them did. The way he always put far too much cream in his coffee so that it turned the dark liquid a warm and washed-out brown, claiming that it tasted best that way. The way he scoffed under his breath if someone were to devise a plan he didn't think was practical enough to be carried through successfully. Oh, everything about the man was insufferable! She didn't hate him, exactly, but it was just as good as hatred—she despised Draco Malfoy and everything he stood for. And yet somehow, he'd been accepted. Oh, of course Harry, Ron and the others weren't too keen on him joining the Order at first—Malfoy had been forced to submit to several sessions of questioning and underwent a multitude of inspection spells, but they found nothing but honesty running through his Pureblood veins.
And worse yet, he'd proved himself a useful ally, being the first to offer himself for the most daring of runs and searches—he liked adventure, that much Hermione had become painstakingly aware of in the year and a half she'd been forced to work with him. As arrogant as he'd been in their school days, Draco always seemed to believe that he could waltz through any and every mission with barely a scratch. And although he was skilled with a wand and even better with potions, Hermione felt that he was trying too hard to prove himself. Like he wanted everyone to accept him—rubbish, of course; Malfoy needed no one's acceptance. He simply was.
He still fought with everyone, just as he had during their school days. He hadn't called Hermione a Mudblood since his first week or two at 12 Grimmauld Place, and yet he still had that damn ego that had made him so many enemies at Hogwarts. He walked around the old Black house with a regal air, his chin jutted forward and his walk sort of a dominant swagger, as though he believed himself to be far and above the other members of the Order. And knowing Malfoy, he probably did.
But despite his attitude and snide remarks, everyone had been able to get along with him better than before, save for Hermione and Ron. Even Harry had learned to accept Malfoy as a changed man—it was Hermione's reluctance to trust the man who had conspired to kill Albus Dumbledore and Ron's temper and contempt for the fights the two used to engage in during their years at Hogwarts that kept the three constantly at each other's throats.
Today's argument started out just as all the others had—simple and stupid. Hermione and Draco never seemed to fight about things of real substance these days; only petty arguments that escalated into tantrums, and the other members of the Order would either be foolish enough to tear them apart or wise enough to steer clear. There was very little that could be done when both lion and serpent entered a state of verbal combat with one another, and Hermione was quite sure that one day the violence would turn physical—on her part, at least. She did, after all, have a track record for hitting particularly foolish members of the male gender.
Hermione had been seated in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place, knitting a set of socks for Bill and Fleur's child, Victoire, in the spare time she had left out of her typically hectic day. She was humming a soft and sweet tune under her breath when she heard the drawing room open and looked up, expecting to see Harry enter and tell her what he needed her to do—he had, after all, mentioned a most peculiar mission for her to complete. When she looked up and instead met the piercing grey eyes that belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy, she scowled and rolled her eyes, turning back to her work. She heard his defiant steps as the soles of his expensive black shoes clacked against the aged hardwood flooring of the house, and she soon felt his presence upon her. Forcing herself to look up, Hermione bit her tongue to refrain from making a comment about how he should wear less black, because perhaps then his skin wouldn't shine as translucent as that of a ghost's.
"Can I help you, Malfoy?" She managed to clip out, already feeling her temperature rising. Bloody hell, he hadn't even spoken and she was already preparing to lash out at him! If she wasn't so agitated by his mere presence, she quite possibly might have snorted at how completely ridiculous it was.
"Just admiring the wonderful rag you're knitting," He slurred, cocking one pale brow and smirking at her. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and Hermione huffed, her hands clenching around the handiwork on her lap in front of her.
"There's nothing wrong with my knitting, Malfoy," She spat, her jaw clenched as she lifted her hazel orbs to glare at the conceited man towering above her. He was so tall, and that made her retort seem weak; almost as if it had gotten squished underneath his long and slender legs.
"If you're knitting blind, I suppose not," He said with a shrug, turning away and walking towards the window. It was another rainy day in London, and the fat drops of rain pattered against the windows, the precipitation streaking the glass with the drops of water that trailed down and dripped off the sides of the window sill.
"No one asked you to come in here and insult me," Hermione began, casting her knitting to the side so that she could focus on the issue at hand—the tall, blonde, insufferable issue. She moved to stand, wobbling slightly as her anger caused her knees to buckle beneath her. "Just leave, Malfoy, there's plenty of other rooms in this house to occupy your boredom with."
She could practically feel Draco roll his eyes at her response, and slowly he turned to face her, a mild look of disinterest encompassing his fair features. His silver eyes scanned her over once before settling on her chocolate brown eyes, his face devoid of any emotion to betray how he felt.
"I'm fine here, thanks."
"I wasn't inquiring as to how comfortable you were in this room, Malfoy—I was—I was telling you. Leave."
A small noise that sounded very much like a mocking snort escaped Draco's lips, and he stood tall as he turned around to face her much more clearly, and Hermione was once more overwhelmed with the urge to smack away the smirk that was just itching to broaden across his face.
"As it is, Granger, I was told to come here and wait for specific instruction," Draco clipped out, clearly aggravated by her insistent desire to motivate him to evacuate the room and leave her in peace. "So if you want to be away from the delicious pleasure of my company, it is you who must go."
Hermione stifled the urge to bark a short mocking laugh in his face—the delicious pleasure of his company indeed! He provided about as much fun to a gathering as a Dementor! She once more realized just how aggravating this man was, and narrowed her eyes in disgust at him.
"As it is, I'm here on business, as well," She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. Just then, something dawned on her, and her face contorted into one of bemusement. If Malfoy had been sent to the drawing room to await orders just as she had, then did that mean…?
Before she was allowed to register the end of that dreadful thought, the door once more opened, revealing a very tired and very disgruntled Harry Potter. Hermione beamed at the sight of him—good, Harry was here! Malfoy wouldn't dare to insult her in front of Harry—well, alright, yes he would, but Harry still served as an ally. "Converted man" or not, Malfoy was still Malfoy, and Hermione was still Harry's best friend.
"Brilliant, you're both here," Harry said, sighing in relief as he shut the door behind him. He gazed warily at the pair of heated individuals for a few moments, as though he was trying to decide whether or not to get involved in the argument he'd assumed had taken place shortly before his arrival. Evidently deciding he wished to keep some semblance of peace, he ignored the tense pair and moved to stand between them, clasping his hands together.
"What are we doing here, Potter?" Draco asked, leaning against the window. He never was much for waiting.
"Well, d'you remember how George heard from that Ministry official who came into the shop that there had been an outbreak of escaped prisoners at Azkaban?" Harry asked, his green eyes flickering back and forth between the two. Draco nodded, and Hermione's brows knit together.
"You mean the prisoners who escaped—the Death Eaters, right Harry?" Hermione asked, trying to swallow the mounting lump in her throat. Escaped Death Eaters weren't a good sign, whether or not their leader was deceased. Draco rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath that yes, that was clearly what Potter had just said, and that she needed to learn to pay closer attention next time. Hermione ignored his snide remarks, instead tugging on a curly strand of hair and listening to Harry attentively.
"Yes, those," He explained, clearing his throat before continuing. "Yes, well they're building a ermm…a resistance of sorts."
"A resistance?" Draco asked, suddenly intrigued. He shoved off from the window, moving closer in order to hear the account of what was occurring in the Wizarding World just beyond these four walls. Harry merely nodded in response—something was clearly worrying him; Hermione could tell by the crease between his brows. This wasn't good, not at all.
"There's talk that Bellatrix Lestrange is behind it," Harry continued, and Hermione tensed immediately at mention of the name. Instinctively, her eyes flickered down to her arm, covered only by her sleeve, yet she could practically feel the word Mudblood rising on her skin from just the mention of the Witch who had embedded it into her flesh.
"And do we have any lead on her plans? Any at all?" Draco inquired suddenly, and Hermione was mildly shocked that he seemed so…intrigued. Harry managed a slight nod, though it wasn't entirely convincing.
"She's gathering up former Death Eaters, and trying to recruit new ones. We don't know where she is, and we're trying to plot out possible safe houses that she and the other recruits could hide out in—we suspect they've got some sort of underground system or hidden Portkeys set up around Great Britain, but we haven't narrowed it down. We do, however, have some lead on how we think she's going to plan to errr…vanquish us, so to speak."
"What? What is she planning to do?" Hermione breathed, the tips of her fingers trembling with anticipation. Harry's gaze lingered on Hermione for a moment before he inhaled sharply, keeping his gaze settled on the both of them as he tried to explain the conclusion that Harry had reached earlier in his private meeting with the Arthur and Molly Weasley, as well as Andromeda Tonks and Bill Weasley.
"We think she's trying to collect the Deathly Hallows—to use as her ultimate weapon," Harry explained darkly. "If she becomes the 'Master of Death', as the legends always say, then it will be twice as difficult to stop her."
Draco pursed his lips for a moment, deep in thought before he opened his mouth and decided to comment on Harry's explanation thus far.
"The Deathly Hallows? You mean like in the story books? The—"
"Yes," Harry interrupted him, clearly wanting to get on with the story. "The cloak, the wand and the stone."
"Those are real?"
"Yes, Malfoy, they are."
"Have you seen them, Potter, or are you just lapping up that Nargle shit that Lovegood's always tossing around?"
"I've seen them, Malfoy," Harry clipped out in aggravation, grunting to himself before exhaling, pausing for a moment before he decided to go on.
"Now, as I was saying, if we're going to try and nip this thing in the bud, then we've got to make sure we've got the Deathly Hallows in our possession. Without them, she's still vulnerable—Bellatrix might be crazy, but she's not a threat to take lightly. We've got to handle this with extreme caution."
Hermione merely nodded, but of course—of course—Malfoy had something to say about the entire ordeal.
"So where does that leave Granger and I, Potter?"
Draco' s question seemed to make Harry feel quite uneasy, for he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with the question being directed at him. The guilty stance that the Boy Who Lived took on made Hermione feel suddenly nauseas and she paid close attention to her closest friend, desperate for him to speak and slice the tension that was slowly building.
"Well, see, someone's got to go on a search for the Hallows. The cloak's safe, and I should have destroyed the wand when I had the chance, as well as the stone, but I didn't. They're somewhere out there now, and I don't have the time or the means to find them. I have to start rallying troops, and Ron's got to help me. No one else, I believe, has the wit and means to survive on their own and locate them, other than…"
"…other than us," Hermione whispered, unable to believe what she was really hearing. As if news of Bellatrix Lestrange on the rise wasn't enough, did Harry really expect her to go on a mission alone, with no one but Malfoy for company? Did he really expect them to work together? No, of course no, she was simply getting ahead of herself. Harry would never…
"Well, yes," Harry answered simply, causing both Hermione and Draco to reel in shock.
"Listen, Potter," Draco began quickly, stepping forward. "I know you think you're the most intelligent cad this side of Europe and whatnot, yeah yay you beat the Dark Lord and all that shit, let's throw you a fucking party, but you've got to be barking mad to assign the poodle and I to be partners."
Hermione refrained from slapping him for his derogatory manner of speaking, balling her hands into fists and digging her nails into the supple flesh of her palms. She gritted her teeth for a moment, quivering with fury and resentment.
"We're in the middle of something very serious, and I don't have time to deal with the difficulties you two have with one another," Harry scolded, and in that moment Hermione realized just how much Harry had matured since their school years together. He was a man now, that much was certain. "So just…I dunno…sort it out! You both need to leave by tomorrow in order to get ahead—the more of a head start we have on your lunatic aunt, Malfoy, the better."
Draco narrowed his grey eyes slightly as Harry personalized the connection between Malfoy and Bellatrix, but otherwise made no comment. He muttered a string of curses under his breath, and Hermione was almost tempted to beg Harry for a reassignment when the look in his emerald green irises told her all she needed to know—this was serious, and like it or not, Hermione had to go through with it. She'd muster up all of her Gryffindor nobility and courage, and face the albino snake head-on.
Draco Malfoy wasn't going to get the best of her—not yet.
a/N: So once again, after completing a chapter of Redemption, I found myself wanting to write but unable to focus on my main fic. I had some inspiration for this chapter and decided to go with it, so I hope you all enjoy! As a side note, if you haven't guessed by now, this is an AU fic, and so—unlike the book and the movie—Harry neither destroyed nor hid the Elder Wand. My song rec for this chapter is "What I've Done" by Linkin Park, so yeah, hahah let me know what you all think.