Draco Malfoy knew how to do many things. And talking like a normal person to his parents wasn't one of them.

After sending him off to Hogwarts for the year, his mother had gone AWOL. She hadn't replied to any of his letters, other than the odd few. The ministry was unable to get a hold of her, either. Her wand was found, snapped in half, in front of the manor.

Draco knew it had been because of his father. He was going to be recruiting again for an army, and there was no way that someone could conduct a dark army without having the ins and outs of memory charms. And the key to those was his mother.

Draco's purpose to going to Crabbe Senior was so he didn't have to go crawling to his mother all of a sudden. He didn't need her to tell him what's what. She didn't need him to do the same. She loved him, but they both knew that he needed time to deal with the war.

It wasn't that Draco was for Voldemort. He just wasn't fully against him either. Who could be, when both of your parents raised you to act the same way as him. To have the same thoughts, feelings, needs as him. And when you had parents that were on the same side of him.

He knew exactly where she would be.

The Manor.

It was painfully obvious, but he would have thought with his father on the run, she would try and go somewhere else. Clearly not. She was hiding in plain sight again. Voldemort was different, because he lived in their house, and he didn't care about her whereabouts. His father gave a damn, and wouldn't stop until he had her, or unless she was dead.

That would never happen, though. As much as Draco and his mother needed time apart, he would never let anything of the sort happen to his mother.

"Draco!" Someone yelled out. "Malfoy! Wait!"

Draco's footsteps stilled on the grass.

One of his old teammates from Quidditch was running across the pitch to him. Quidditch pitches were wonderful places to think when you had too much on your mind. Quiet, unless there was a practice or game, and no one thought to hang out there for fun. It being outdoors was an bonus.

"What?" Draco asked, folding his arms across his chest. He felt his wand hum with magic in his pocket.

"Are you interested in being the seeker for the new season? It's about to kick off again for the year, and I want to know if I need to be looking for a seeker elsewhere."

"I'll play." Any sense of normality that he could gather from his previous life would be nice.

"And Slughorn wants to know if you'll be captain, too."

Draco was stunned into silence for a few seconds. He was already head boy, and now captain of the quidditch team? He found himself nodding mindlessly. "I'll do it."

The boy smiled. "See you at trials on Tuesday? 4pm on the pitch?"

"See you then," Draco said to him, as the boy turned on his heel and marched away.

New leadership roles couldn't be anything but good for his reputation, right?

"So when are we going to see your mum?" Hermione quizzed him when he stepped into their common room. "Because I only have a little under three weeks before I'm jailed."

He looked at her frizzier than normal hair, and the circles under her eyes, and decided it wasn't worth the fight.

"Whenever I think that we should," Draco replied hastily, trying to step past her into the corridor that held their rooms. She was quick to stand in his way.

"Draco! We have to go soon." Hermione almost shouted. "I don't even know what the cure is for them! Are you even tryi-"

"Can you shut up?" Draco bursts out at her, making her step back a little. "I'm trying in the best way I know how, and if you're not satisfied, feel free to find someone else to help your lost cause."

Draco was in his right mind to do it, to let her go on her own and mind his own bloody business for once in his life, and keep away from the sacred, golden trio. They had done nothing but cause trouble for him since he was a child. But he needed this. He needed her to help redeem him and hos mother, who was ironically the key to this stupid equation.

Hermione stepped forwards and shoved Draco back, her hands hitting his chest as she did. "Don't threaten me!" Her eyes were tall glasses of fury. "Don't you even dare, Malfoy!"

Draco scoffed, and shoved her to the side. He was taller than her now, so it wasn't like third year. Though, he figured she would still punch him in the jaw if he pushed any more of her buttons.

"I'll talk about this in the morning. Not now." Draco tried to move towards the corridor, but a quick tug to his sleeve and a spell kept him in his spot. "A foot-locking jinx. How mature." Draco drawled, cocking his head to the side and looking at the witch.

Hermione breathed in, as though she were about to say something, her mouth wide open. But before any words could come out, they were both startled by a loud tap on the window.

A pitch-black owl was tapping at the window, trying to get in. Draco wordlessly un-did the jinx, recognising the bird immediately. It was the bird his father used to use to talk to Draco and send him instructions about the Dark Lord through. Draco let the bird in, his eyes never leaving it.

The bird dropped a newspaper on the floor and swept out of the room through the way it came, the only evidence of it's presence being the paper on the floor.

Ex-Death Eater Murdered.

Crabbe Senior was an ex-member of the band of Death-Eaters who backed the late Lord Voldemort in his ruthless, violent search for power over the magical world. His body was found early this morning, the killing curse being apparent in his murder.

It is believed that another old friend, Lucius Malfoy is responsible for his death. The reasons are unknown, for now, however many people's suspicions are being raised. Draco Malfoy continue to work as Head Boy of Hogwarts School For Witchcraft and Wizardry. How safe do you feel sending your children into his hands?

A scrawled note was attached to the newspaper article. Draco ripped it off before the prying eyes of the Gryffindor Princess could read it.

"How is this possible? Isn't your father in…" Hermione's sentence trailed off. Her eyes filled with rage. "Why wouldn't you tell me that your father is on the loose?"

Draco didn't answer her, only discreetly snuck the note into his back pocket, and walked dutifully back to his room.

His only thoughts were on the note, and his mother. He couldn't contact his mother, or she would know what he's doing and it could be intercepted by his father. But he needed to contact her, for Hermione's sake, and for his reputation's sake.

Draco slammed his door shut, loud enough so that Granger would know that he wasn't to be disturbed. But just for safety's measure, he put locks on the door.

The handwriting on the note was pressed firmly into the paper, the quill clearly having been used a bit too heavy-handedly. The cursive handwriting remained the same, however.

Draco,

I trust that you know by now what my intentions are by killing Crabbe Senior. He refused to help me serve the Dark Lord's cause. I did what was necessary. I want you to find a way for me to get into Hogwarts. A few things need to change around there, in order for me to be able to start creating the change for the better. I need to start with that Mudblood that you share the title of head with.

Sincerely,

Your father.

Fuck.

"And can anybody tell me the properties of the wolfbane potion?" Slughorn droned on, boring Draco half to death. He wasn't as good of a potions teacher as Draco found Snape to be, but he would do for the time being. Draco would be lying if he said that he wasn't upset he didn't get into the "Slug Club".

He remembered the Christmas Party during their sixth year, when Slughorn first came into the school. He remembered hearing that Hermione had agreed to go with the slimeball, McLaggen, and he remembered being angry for some reason. He snuck in to see how good of a party it was, and then got caught when he saw her in the red, Christmassy dress.

Not that she looked good in red.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Slughorn called on the Gryffindor, who's hand had shot up like a rocket.

"The wolfbane potion is used to subdue a werewolf's violent tendencies during a full moon. You see, during a full moon…" Hermione droned on about it all. Draco was willing to bet his entire inheritance that she had memorised the textbook already. Her lips kept moving, though Draco was sure that he had stopped listening to everything both Slughorn and Hermione were saying a long time ago.

"Turn to page two hundred and one in your textbooks, please."

Draco mindlessly flipped to the page in his textbook, lazily skimming over the ingredients needed. He didn't understand their complete need to learn all of these potions, though he supposed it was his own stupid fault for choosing potions as a subject.

He heard babble and chatter coming from the mouths of people at surrounding tables. None from his. No one wanted to sit with the ex-Death Eater. He didn't mind so much, though. It meant he could get through the year without distractions.

"You know, 'Mione, I'd have thought that you and Ron would be together." Dean Thomas' jabber reached Draco's ears as the loudest. That boy couldn't quieten down if he was given a volume button.

"It wasn't the right time." Draco bad to stop himself from scoffing as he got his ingredients together. She could tell herself that as much as she wanted, but the likeliness of her and the weasel getting together after she finishes school, or whenever the "right time" is, is very small. But hey, who was Draco to stop her if she wanted to wait on someone who couldn't emotionally commit to her. Or physically. Or just commit in general.

"He never shut up about you, you know. When we were all up and talking and whatnot, he kept talking about you. Granted ninety percent of the time, it was complaints. " Dean put on a high-pitched voice, "Bloody hell, why won't Hermione write my essay for me? Her bloody cat scratched me again. Hermione's bloody hair gets everywhere!"

Draco didn't notice his grip on the mixer getting tighter, as he threw in more of the ingredients. His knuckles were as white as the fur on a unicorn. The bubbles rose to the top of the potion, boiling away. Draco stirred so hastily that the liquid inside the cauldron splashed dangerously at the lip.

Hermione laughed, the sound ringing in Draco's ears like a bell.

He shook his head, and got stuck back into his work. Just because he was helping her, didn't mean that he had to feel anything for her anymore. A childhood crush would stay just that. In his childhood, and Merlin knew that he wasn't a child anymore.

"So when were you planning to tell me about your father's into Azkaban?" Hermione sat on the floor of their common room, her legs crossed underneath her and the incriminating Daily Prophet papers surrounding her like the folds of a dress.

Her eyes were anything but sweet, as Draco stepped into the room in his Quidditch gear. Trials had just been conducted. Amongst the people trying out, he found a new beater and another chaser. It seemed as though no one wanted to be in the team anymore, or their parents wouldn't let them return to Hogwarts. None of this helped sooth Draco's guilt.

He rolled his grey eyes at her. "Can I at least take a shower before you start yelling at me? Unless, of course, you want me to smell like sweat while we argue. I have no problem with that." His drawl matched the feeling her eyes portrayed. Bitter.

She nodded, before turning back to the papers around her. "I need you to clarify what is the truth in these papers, and what's bullshit that Rita Skeeter came up with."

Draco nodded back at her, before heading to the shower.

He came out ten minutes later, freshly shaven and smelling like lemons. He sat next to her, on the other side of the yellowing pages.

"Speak," Hermione demanded after a few minutes of Draco looking at the papers mindlessly.

"He went in to break out Yaxley. My father didn't originally get sentenced, but now there's a bounty on his head. Wanted dead or alive. The ministry has questioned me about it, but I have no idea where he is and what he's trying to do." Hermione looked pointedly at him, her eyes seeming to dig deeper in that he wanted them to. It was like she was a shovel and he was a massive pile of dirt about to be dug up. "Until the other day. He killed Crabbe Senior because he wouldn't join their cause. They're trying to rid the world of your kind."

He noticed her glance move to the floor, but carried on anyways.

"He asked me to help him to get to you."

At this, Hermione's panicked eyes shot right back up at him. "You conniving little-"

"I haven't replied yet. Or told anyone. He wants to use you to get to your precious Order of the Phoenix, because he blames Saint Potter and the Weasel King for the Dark Lord's death."

Hermione's face flushed bright red. Draco wasn't sure if it was out of anger or because of he mentioned Weasel King. She sat for a moment, and then perked up, as though she had an idea.

"And we can't talk to my mother just yet, because I think that he's going to go to her." Draco watched as her expression fell.

"We have to tell McGonagall!" Hermione shot onto her feet, sending the bits of paper flying.

Draco's heart missed a beat as the Gryffindor sprinted to the door. He pointed his wand at her. "Petrificus totalus." The words slipped from his mouth like butter sliding down a hot pan. "I can't let you tell her, because if you do that means that I can't help you or myself anymore. I'll be put into ministry care, and I don't trust them."