Chapter Four

New chapter. It's difficult to decide how to characterise Draco, and how nice or nasty he should be. Minerva McGonagall is actually one of my favourite book characters. She is a hard-core professor of sass! Enjoy this new offering and, as always, credit to JKR for the inspiration.

Everyone seemed to be tiptoeing around the whole issue of what to do with Draco Malfoy, as if the problem would just go away on its own. It had been several days now since Hermione and the boys had arrived at Grimmauld Place, and still he was being treated with a great deal of suspicion and fear, understandably so. Finally they had decided to hold some kind of formal meeting to discuss his future. But predictably it had ended up being both pointless and tedious. Far too many Order members wasted time bickering about useless information and more often than not spouting incorrect assumptions about the blond Slytherin boy. Even Harry had become frustrated with the meeting. And he hated Malfoy on a good day. But the way they spoke about him was like they thought he was just a miniature version of his father Lucius.

Hermione knew better.

She was certain that Draco resembled his father in appearance only these days. She hadn't missed his little tell the day before when the mere mention of Lucius came up in their conversation. He hadn't been able to bring himself to refer to the older man as his 'father'. That was revealing. And hearing about how Lucius had punished him… It still made Hermione feel sick to her stomach. She imagined her own kind father, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he swept her up in a warm bear hug or when he told his most unbearable dad jokes. Being somewhat of a model daughter, the worst punishment she had ever received from him was one of those I'm disappointed in you frowns that just broke her heart. She couldn't actually remember any instance where he had raised his voice at all.

It made her realise just how hopeless Malfoy's situation had been growing up. It was no wonder he had arrived to his first year at Hogwarts being generally arrogant and cruel, and bearing a grudge against her specifically. He had been warped and conditioned from infancy to think he was superior in every way to those around him, and was disciplined most severely when he failed at this.

Hermione sighed as she placed a series of plates and cups on a broad tray, preparing Malfoy's dinner. She had figured she might as well eat with him. But she'd convinced herself that this was for practical reasons, not because she worried about him pining away all alone in his room, desperate for companionship.

And she needed to tell him about the outcome of the meeting. Though she wasn't sure herself how exactly it had all unfolded as it did. Hermione had, naturally, spoken up in defence, recounting very vaguely what she had learned in her meetings with him so far. She had left out most details, of course. She merely described his obvious anguish at being a Death Eater, and his desire for protection. She had reassured them that he didn't seem to want to cause any harm and that he appeared genuine.

Of course, all this had been heard and then dismissed quite swiftly by the Order. The overwhelming preconception about the Malfoys and his own role in the murder of Dumbledore had tainted their opinion of him. And she was just the naïve young girl who was gullible enough to buy his bullshit. She smiled fondly as she remembered McGonagall standing up, her green eyes flashing sharply as she confronted the room at large after several comments about her youth and inexperience were voiced.

"You can say what you want about Mister Malfoy, given the boy's history, but I will not tolerate any slight against Hermione. Her judgment is unquestionable."

"Yes but Minerva, surely you must agree she's not the ideal person to interrogate him-"

"That's precisely why you lot won't get anywhere with him. He doesn't need an interrogator. He needs an ally. Someone who'll listen to him. Draco Malfoy is fragile and very untrusting. Hermione is exactly what he needs."

It had been Molly Weasley who had actually turned her nose up most at the idea. Their family had a very poor history with the Malfoys, and she only knew about the son from Ron's rather coloured stories. Her words had almost made Hermione visibly roll her eyes.

"But are you sure he isn't going to try and manipulate her? Try and get her on his side with his charms and his good looks?"

Ron had turned white with embarrassment at her words, and Harry had actually almost laughed. Hermione had just shrugged, glaring as much as she dared at the older Weasley matriarch.

"I hardly think I would be so easily swayed by a handsome face," she had responded tightly.

Of course, a small niggling part of her had begrudgingly admitted that he was very handsome. She was reminded that he did actually have very slick, attractive features. But that alone was not enough to be even slightly relevant to the topic at hand. What mattered to Hermione was making sure that Malfoy was treated fairly. And what mattered to the Order was that he did not put them in any danger, and that they pumped him for as much information as possible.

"You simply will not gain any ground with the boy by being hostile," Minerva had lectured them, finally sick of listening to their squabbling, "I recommend you place him in Hermione's care. She can ensure he continues being honest and helpful, and relay anything important to us."

After a few more grumbled disagreements, the Order had finally agreed. Harry and Ron had even decided they could afford to stay in Grimmauld place for a while longer while they researched the pursuit of their next Horcrux. Of course, the appeal of hearty food and a warm bed was a tantalising hook for them too. And so Hermione had been appointed the role of Malfoy's handler, and she would pass on anything important he shared with her. (Hermione had deliberately not mentioned to them that she would actually respect his privacy and not divulge any personal secrets without his approval like they probably wanted her to).

Which brought her to his door that evening, carrying his dinner on a tray and dismissing the fluttering of her nerves that had taken up residence in her stomach since that afternoon.

The house had fallen quiet once more after everyone had left. Now it was only Remus, Minerva, Harry and Ron there with her. Not bothering to ask anyone's permission, Hermione had taken the time to move her things into the spare room next door to Malfoy earlier that evening. If she was going to do this properly, she may as well be close by just in case. Although sleeping next door to the blond with only a thin wall separating them gave Hermione an inexplicable sensation in her gut, like a dull clenching of anxiety.

Huffing out an impatient breath at her distracted thoughts, Hermione pushed open the door, levitating the tray in before her as she entered his room.

"Granger-"

Malfoy was sitting on the bed when she entered. He leapt to his feet and watched, impressed, as the tray of aromatic food hovered over to place itself on the bedside table. Hermione quickly performed a few spells to enlarge the coffee table and summon a couple of chairs. She gestured to the food and he tentatively moved forwards to sit down, her joining him at the other side.

"What's all this?" he asked with a degree of trepidation. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Famished. But I can't help worrying…"

"About what?"

Malfoy cocked his head to the side and smiled a bit tightly at her.

"That you've got some kind of terrible news to give me. You're trying too hard to be nice, which is making me instantly suspicious."

Hermione scoffed, cancelling the stasis charms on the food between them that were keeping it hot.

"I'm not a Slytherin like you, you know. We don't all have ulterior motives."

"Not in my experience."

She huffed out a breath and glared at him, but without any real animosity.

"Maybe I'm just a nice person!"

"Maybe," he agreed, his words softened by a slightly wry smile. Hermione gestured at the food insistently and they both tucked in. She could see that he was pleased to eat some real hearty food. But she noticed that he still looked quite drained. She managed to sit and eat quietly with him for a solid five minutes before she felt compelled to ask him some of the questions that had been bothering her since she found out he was here. Swallowing her mouthful of chicken, she was about to speak when Malfoy chimed in first.

"So let me guess… they want you to find out all my deepest darkest secrets and spill the beans to them?"

She stared at him with surprise. He had hit the nail on the head, of course. Hermione blinked and observed him quietly, trying to decide how honest she should be with him. Despite the creamy taste of chicken lingering in her mouth, her tongue suddenly felt dry and uncooperative. But she pushed her plate away and tried to muddle her way through the right words.

"Yes," she admitted softly, "You're not wrong. The Order decided you could be…I think useful is the way they put it."

"What do they want from me?"

"Information on the Death Eaters."

The blond boy also pushed his plate away, mirroring her position. He was looking fairly serious, arms folded across his chest.

"And is that the price I have to pay for their protection?"

She nodded her head slowly, gnawing on her bottom lip.

"Something like that."

He raised one eyebrow at her less than enthusiastic response. He tilted his head to the side and considered her for a moment.

"And what do you think?"

Hermione knew that he would ask her this. She took a deep breath and leaned forwards with her elbows on the table.

"I think it's really up to you."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged her shoulders lightly.

"You never promised us anything. You never said you wanted to join our side or that you wanted to defeat You-Know-Who."

"I do."

Hermione's eyes widened as she looked at him. He had blurted the confession quickly, and now a slight tinge of pink was in his cheeks.

"You do…?"

He visibly swallowed and returned her stare evenly, looking calmer than he probably was.

"I do want to help. The things I saw, the things I was forced to do… I want him gone, Granger," his grey eyes were as hard as steel and his skin had paled considerably. He looked haunted. "I know I said I was just trying to survive, and that was true at first. But… I don't want to live in a world where he takes over. You don't understand what it's like…"

She felt her stomach twist painfully.

"Then explain it to me, Malfoy…"

"I can't."

"You told me some of it the other day," she argued gently.

"Some. But not everything. Not yet."

"Okay," she held her hands up in a placating gesture, sensing that this was an area that he found particularly traumatising. "But I want you to know that you really can talk to me about anything. I'm not…" she sighed in frustration and fiddled with the end of a long curl, "I'm not just going to repeat everything you say verbatim to the Order."

"Isn't that what they expect from you though?"

Hermione shrugged, smiling faintly.

"Perhaps it is. But that would be totally unfair to you. I want you to learn to trust me. I want you to tell me what I can and cannot pass on, and what you want to remain confidential."

An expression of immense relief crossed his face then. He peered up at her from under the few strands of long blond hair that were falling softly across his forehead. His lips twitched into a warm smile that looked so different to his usual smirk.

"I…I appreciate that. And I already know I can trust your discretion. Did you really never tell anyone about that night in fifth year?"

Hermione snorted softly. She shook her head so vigorously that her hair bounced around her shoulders. Seizing the opportunity while he was more at ease, she banished the table to the side of the room and moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. She wanted to appear non-threatening and friendly. Malfoy watched her quizzically before moving to sit in front of her once again in a mirrored position.

"Never," she confirmed, feeling a flutter of nerves at the topic he'd raised, "What would I have said? Not only would no one have believed me, but it felt too…" she paused and considered what word she should use, "Too private. It was nobody's business but ours."

Malfoy nodded in agreement, resting his elbows casually on his knees.

"Thank you. And thank you for agreeing to be my contact or my interrogator, or whatever you are here."

"Your handler," she corrected with a dry smile. Malfoy laughed and then his cheeks flushed as he lowered his head to stare at the mangy quilt beneath them. When he didn't meet her eye for a little while, Hermione realised what had made him so embarrassed and blushed too. Maybe she should not refer to any so-called 'handling' in the future to avoid misunderstandings.

"I hope you weren't expecting someone more important or high-ranking," she commented lightly after an awkward pause. Malfoy chuckled and raised his head again.

"Not at all. You were exactly who I wanted."

Hermione nodded, knowing already that this was the case due to the continuing mystery of the locket they had found in his possession. Rather than bringing up that subject, which was sure to make him defensive, she decided to ask something else that had been nagging at her this week.

"Do you mind if I ask you a… uh… sensitive personal question?"

Malfoy cocked his head to the side with a tense smile.

"Well with an introduction like that, how can it go wrong?"

Hermione grimaced, twisting her hands together. But the blond just gestured for her to continue. So she did after taking a long, steadying breath.

"I wanted to ask about…your parents. Specifically your mother."

She could tell the question hit home when his face drained of all colour. His back immediately straightened and his eyes flashed with pain. It was like his whole body had frozen.

"Malfoy?" she prompted softly, tilting her head to the side. He took a shaky breath and swallowed. But it took a long time for him to be able to actually speak.

"I don't…they…" he exhaled slowly and tried again, "As far as I'm concerned, Lucius can rot in hell. But my mother-"

Hermione nodded in support, urging him to go on. He paused again, but then he blurted it out suddenly in a hoarse whisper.

"She's dead, Granger."

She gasped and raised her hand to her mouth in shock at the revelation. Malfoy's head dropped forwards and he pressed his clenched fist into his forehead.

"I…I didn't… Malfoy, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-"

He lifted his head, and she could see that his eyes had become a little glassy.

"It's alright. You didn't know."

Hermione wanted to reach out somehow and comfort the blond boy. She couldn't bear the tortured shimmer in his eyes. But his body was so tense and he was trembling so hard she wasn't prepared to surprise or frighten him more.

"What happened?" she asked in the most soothing tone she could manage, although she felt and heard the slight hitch of emotion in her voice as well. There was a long silence before he actually spoke and answered her question.

"My mother wasn't…she wasn't like the others. Certainly nothing like her sister. I know she could seem cold and aloof in public, but…"

He trailed off briefly, and Hermione remembered that time she had seen the Malfoy matriarch at the Quidditch World cup. She had certainly looked like she was superior to all those around her, barely smiling and appearing as though there was a bad smell under her nose. But Hermione knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. She waited patiently for him to continue.

"But underneath all that, she was such a soft person. I always remember her when I was little as being very frail and too easily dominated by the bigger personalities around her. She was too kind to be the wife of a Death Eater. She was too tender hearted for that life."

"Was she killed?" Hermione asked in horror, but he shook his head in response.

"Not exactly. She stopped eating. She wouldn't speak or even look at anyone. She wouldn't take any potions. I tried-"

He paused and she heard the way his voice broke. This time she did decide to reach out and touch his hand. He flinched a bit at first, but then he turned his grip and grabbed onto her. His hold on her was so firm she almost winced. But it gave him the courage to continue.

"I tried to help, but it was as if she wasn't even there anymore. She was like a ghost. I think in the end all the stresses on her body; not eating or taking care of herself was just too much. Her heart was always weak, and it just couldn't withstand everything."

"Oh Malfoy, that's… terrible… I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

He nodded, not relinquishing her hand from his grip.

"Even though physically I know she was the one who gave up on everything; I still can't help blaming Lucius… I feel like he killed her."

His voice choked up and he hung his head again. Hermione squeezed his hand comfortingly.

"Hey… it's okay-" she mumbled.

"He may not have wielded a wand or a weapon. But his neglect, his callousness and his sycophantic obsession with the Dark Lord… they made her wish that she were dead. Can you even imagine a husband or father who could drive someone to this?"

Hermione realised belatedly that a couple of tears had fallen from her lashes when she felt a droplet land on their joined hands. Malfoy looked up at her again, and the anguish on his face gave way to a softer, affectionate expression.

"Is that why you made your decision to leave?" she asked, her voice coming out as a faint croak. He nodded.

"When she was alive, I had to stay and try to protect her. But once she'd…um… well, there was nothing keeping me there anymore."

Hermione nodded in understanding.

"So you seized the next opportunity?"

"Yes. And now I want to make them pay. The Dark Lord and Lucius."

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to him. It was all too much. Hermione sighed and shifted her body so that her back was leaning against the wall of the bedroom. Malfoy followed suit and they sat there silently side-by-side for a long time. She could feel his shoulder resting along hers. Slowly his muscles relaxed and her hand got some relief. Then she heard his breathing slow and regulate itself until they were both matching intakes at a steadier pace. In and out, together.

"Thank you for telling me," she murmured quietly after a while.

"I'd prefer if you didn't… could you just say she died of an illness or something? I don't want all those people knowing she did it to herself."

Hermione responded instantly to the pitiful croak in his voice, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

"Of course."

They both fell silent again and Hermione closed her eyes. She could almost feel his pain washing over her and her heart clenched. They had all been through too much these last few months, and they were still so very young. It had aged them far beyond their meagre years. Without needing to say another word, Hermione and Malfoy sat together on a rickety old bed in a decrepit house, just basking in the comforting presence of another person who should never have been thrust into the middle of this war.

….

….

The next time he saw her, Draco was going a little stir crazy. He actually beamed when she came into his little room, probably giving her a small shock at the warm welcome. But it was strangely wonderful to see the pretty smile that graced her lips in return. Things had gotten quite emotional between them yesterday, and he was half worried that she would have given up, passing the job onto someone else because it was too difficult.

But here she was again, standing in front of him like some kind of fierce angel, discussing all her plans for his room and how she could make his stay more easy and enjoyable, from comfort to entertainment. A part of him wanted to tell her that he just wanted more of her company, but he wasn't sure where that thought came from or what it meant.

"What have you actually been doing in here the last week?" she asked with a wry smile. Draco shrugged and shuffled a bit awkwardly between his feet.

"Well I spent far too long coming up with different shapes from the cracks in the ceiling."

Granger snorted softly. She peered up at the creaky wooden slabs above them.

"Such as?"

He came to stand next to her, pointing up at a particularly jagged web of cracks.

"That one looks like a blast-ended skrewt."

He watched Granger's face as she scrunched her nose up and peered up at the mark he was referring to. She tilted her head from side to side a couple of times.

"Huh… it really does!"

Her eyes flickered over to him and he felt his mouth go a bit dry. This close to her, he could have counted the number of lashes framing her beautiful brown eyes. Draco cleared his throat at the unusual direction of his thoughts and stepped away from her. He shook his head briefly to clear it.

"So..."

Granger seemed oblivious to the direction of his thoughts, as she just smiled and sat on the edge of the bed nearby.

"So… the Order wanted me to ask if you can tell them some more details about Malfoy Manor. Rumour has it that's the Death Eaters' evil lair."

"Evil lair?" he questioned with a sardonic twitch of his brow. Granger just shrugged, so he shook his head wryly and continued, "Well, I suppose that makes sense. What if I have a think about it, and draw up some notes?"

She nodded eagerly, busy concentrating on casting a series of charms around the room and transfiguring the space to be more clean and appealing.

"I reckon if you give it another week, and pass them some useful information like that, they might let us actually leave this room!"

"And go where?" he asked curiously. Granger chuckled.

"Oh anywhere… the hallway, the library, the kitchen, the basement…"

Draco huffed in good humour at her mock cheerfulness. He got the impression from her tight-lipped, ironic smile that she was just as trapped here as he was at the moment. It wasn't like she could just go wandering in London either with all the dangerous witches and wizards chasing madly after the Golden trio.

When her smile turned a little bit mischievous, Draco narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. He followed the direction of her gaze to the bed where she had transfigured the dusty old quilt to be a dark red colour, trimmed with spirals of yellow. Gryffindor colours.

"Don't you dare," he protested, spinning back around to face her with a look of outrage plastered on his face. Granger pretended to blink innocently as she returned his glare with what was supposed to be a wide, artless expression.

"What ever do you mean?" she asked sweetly.

"Change it!"

"Change what?"

Draco's glared sharpened, and she finally relented, her lips stretching into a grin as she chuckled at him.

"The look on your face-" she choked out between laughs, before finally waving her wand to transform it into darker blue and grey tones.

"Much better," he declared a bit petulantly, which only made her laugh more. Draco watched her closely as her mirth died down and she relaxed onto the bed, feeling the cover beneath her with gentle hands. He was curious about her. She seemed much more comfortable and confident here than she ever had at school. Despite always waving her hand around frantically in the air and answering every question verbatim from the textbook, Hermione Granger had actually always lacked self-assurance. He remembered how she used to often second-guess herself and be filled with doubt about her abilities, even though she was far more intelligent and capable than anyone else in their year group by far. Or the school as a whole for that matter.

"You're different," he commented in a low voice after a long silence had fallen between them. He crossed his arms over his chest in slight embarrassment at his own words, but held her gaze steadily. Granger's eyes widened slightly, considering him carefully.

"How?" she asked softly, her lips still curled upwards slightly.

"You're just…well, you seem more certain of yourself than you did at school."

Granger cocked her head to one side questioningly, smile fading from her face completely.

"Really? That seems unlikely, since I feel terrified just about all the time these days."

"Terrified of what?" he asked, knowing that he had swapped their roles from the last couple of days, and now he was the one doing the interrogating. But he was insatiably curious about what she was thinking and feeling. He wanted to know what was going through her head. He suddenly wanted to know everything about her. Granger pondered his question for a while, gnawing on her bottom lip and frowning down at the floorboards.

"I'm scared of failing everyone. Of failing Harry. I'm scared that what I do won't be enough, that I won't be enough to help him. I'm paralysed with fear about what might happen if we don't stop You-Know-Who. I still have nightmares about how they were treating muggleborns at the ministry-"

She trailed off and shot him a guilty look. Before he could comment on what she had said, she rose to her feet hastily and moved further away from him.

"It doesn't matter," she finished quietly, forcing a bright but insincere smile on her face. Draco frowned at the sudden distance she had created between them.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked anxiously, observing her very carefully to see her reaction. She shook her head gently, but was still chewing nervously on her bottom lip.

"No. You've been very cooperative."

Draco wasn't convinced. She still looked a bit uncomfortable, where mere minutes ago she had been laughing and joking. He thought back over her words and realised she had become tense after mentioning the muggleborn situation. "But you think I'm like them? You think that I look down on you for being muggleborn?"

Granger stared at him distrustfully. All smiles were gone now as she gave him the most direct, piercing look yet.

"Well, don't you?"

He blinked and wondered how he could have been so blind. Despite their easy camaraderie this week, and despite the way he had begun thinking about her over the past year, it was clear she still harboured those memories from their younger years as her most poignant examples of his character.

"I think you're the strongest witch I've ever met," he murmured quietly, pouring so much conviction into his voice that he could see her physically reeling from it. She blinked rapidly and her whole face morphed into a look of bewilderment and confusion.

"You treated me like dirt…"

"I was twelve-"

"That's not good enough, Malfoy! I was so new to this world. And you made me feel like I was something disgusting under your shoe. Like I didn't belong."

Draco swallowed. He felt his pulse racing at her accusations, knowing that they were all true and hating himself for it. His gut rolled with nausea.

"Why did you agree to be my contact then? Why have anything to do with me? You could have said no."

"I thought maybe there was something more to you than a spiteful little bully. Please tell me I was right."

Her eyes were open wide and so deep, pleading with him to confirm what she was saying. Draco licked his lips and stepped forwards.

"I am better than that. You made me more than just a bully. That night in the hospital wing, something happened. I felt like I had woken up after being asleep all my life. Like I was no longer drowning in hatred and bitterness."

"I honestly thought you had forgotten-"

"I could never forget it. It transformed me completely."

Granger ran her hands shakily through her hair and looked at him with slightly glassy eyes. She moved closer again and visibly swallowed. Draco copied her movements, until they met a few centimetres apart next to the bed. She took a deep breath.

"Malfoy, I think we should talk about what happened that night. I think it's time."

Draco nodded and huffed out a long breath that was almost a shaky, nervous laugh. Granger smiled sadly at him.

"It's time," he agreed softly.

And standing so close to her now, staring into those big brow eyes that seemed bottomless with compassion, he could recall every detail as though it were yesterday. The smell of potions, the feeling of crisp sheets and the taste of salty tears on his lips. He would never forget it.

….

Well you can probably guess what's coming next. Flashback time next chapter! Sorry for the major unfair cliff-hanger. Enjoy and please review! What happened?