seventh year

Ron and Harry were even less thrilled about Hermione's assignment than she was—she, at least, was excited by the prospect of investigating something so fascinating for the Order. Ron was livid that they had paired her with Malfoy, and Harry—well, it wasn't clear whether Harry was angrier that Hermione had been asked to work one-on-one with Malfoy or that he hadn't been the one asked to do so.

But when he offered to take over for her so that she wouldn't have to spend all that time with Malfoy, Hermione pointed out that the Order had entrusted the task to her for a reason. "They probably realized I was the least likely to rip his head off," she suggested. "That might be another reason they asked me—aside from the research part."

And so her two best friends reluctantly accepted her new responsibility, and Hermione set off to meet with Malfoy for the first time in the Room of Requirement. On her way there, she heard a voice shouting angrily in a nearby hallway and slowed her pace. As she turned the corridor, she saw that it was Pansy Parkinson arguing with Malfoy and stopped dead in her tracks.

Pansy was repeatedly jabbing a finger into Malfoy's chest as she glared up at him. "Don't deny it," she was saying. "You've been acting strangely and you know it."

Malfoy, for his part, looked rather vexed as he said, "Pansy, I really have to go."

"No, Draco, you can't just keep avoiding me. I want an explanation."

"An explanation for what?"

"For why you've been so distant lately!"

"I told you, I need to focus on my studies—"

"You told me you still wanted to be friends. Was that just a lie to get rid of me?"

"Please, Pansy, not this again."

"I know you, Draco, and I know something's going on with you. I just want to know what it is!"

Suddenly, Malfoy glanced over to where Hermione was standing. His eyes narrowed as he looked straight at her, and Hermione quickly ducked back around the corner and fled, running the entire way to the Room of Requirement.

When he did not arrive at their meeting on time, she thought that perhaps he was too embarrassed to make an appearance—and was secretly relieved that she would not need to face him. She waited a half hour before deciding that he was not coming.

But just as she began to pack her things, Malfoy stormed in, looking furious.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's rude to eavesdrop?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.

"Maybe Mudblood families don't teach manners to their children, but in civilized society we know to stay out of conversations that don't involve us," he spat angrily. "So I'll thank you to keep your filthy nose out of my—"

"There's no need to attack me just because Parkinson's giving you a hard time," Hermione interrupted coldly. "I'm not here because I want to be, either."

"That's convenient, because I'm going to tell McGonagall there's no way in hell I can work with—"

"Can we just get to work already?"

Malfoy paused to look at her.

"I care about this project," she went on, staring challengingly up at him, "and if you don't, I'll just take care of it myself. So did you come here to work, or did you come here to take out your frustrations about Pansy on me?"

He was quiet for a moment, then said bitterly, "You're not in charge of me, Granger." But he slunk into the chair next to her nonetheless, looking resentful and somewhat deflated.

"All right," Hermione said briskly, as though nothing had happened, "I thought we should start with Hogwarts, A History. Have you read it?"

"I'm in seventh year, Granger. Of course I've read it," Malfoy snapped, sounding insulted.

"Oh." For a brief moment, her thoughts wandered to Harry and Ron and their staunch refusal to so much as open the book. "Well, good. I remember in one of the chapters it mentioned a tapestry that depicts a Welsh landscape—a real place in the Welsh countryside—and it changes in real time, so that it's almost as if you were looking out onto the actual thing."

"I know, I've seen it. But how could that be used against the Order?"

"Well, I don't think that particular tapestry can, but what if there are others like it? What if there's a tapestry that depicts the Headmaster's—I mean, Headmistress'—office, and someone gets ahold of it? They could monitor everything that happens in there!" Hermione was now speaking very fast. "I mean, how does the tapestry work, anyway? Could the same spellwork be used for something else that isn't a tapestry? What about a painting? I was wondering if Professor Flitwick would know—"

"Merlin, Granger, stop babbling," interrupted Malfoy. "You're giving me a headache."

"I'm just specula—"

"The tapestry's legend. There's only one of its kind, and it's supposed to have been woven by Rowena Ravenclaw, but there's no proof of that. That's why they don't mention it in Hogwarts, A History." He smirked unkindly. "Anyone who'd grown up in a wizarding family would know the story."

Hermione could not hide her disappointment. "Oh," she said, looking discouraged.

"If those are the kinds of ideas you'll be coming up with, this process will be a lot more painful than I thought." Malfoy sniffed. "This is exactly why no one in their right mind would assign a Mudblood this type of—"

"Do you have a better idea, Malfoy?"

"I'm sure I can come up with something better than—"

"But you didn't, did you? So if I were you, I would kindly shut—"

"—ridiculous notion that magic is something you can learn from reading a book, only an idiot would think—"

"—of course you know exactly what an idiot thinks—"

"—can't believe I have to work with—"

"—so please, don't hold back when you regale me with your brilliant—"

"—would rather be eaten alive by a—"

"—this isn't going to work if we keep fighting like this!"

They both fumed in silence for some time until, finally, Hermione spoke.

"You ought to remember who's on your side, Malfoy. I'm not going to pretend I don't despise you, but I'm willing to put that aside and do my part to be civil as long as you're sincere about wanting to serve the Order. Because as much as I can't stand the sight of your pointy face, I respect your decision to try and do what's right. If you really mean it, then I want to work with you."

He said nothing in response, so she continued.

"I think the Order asked you to do this with me because they know that in spite of your incredibly convincing act otherwise, you're really very smart, and you have a lot of ideas, and—" She looked a bit pained as she finished, "—and you're creative. And they knew I couldn't do this alone. So are you going to do this with me, or are you going to fight me every step of the way?"

Malfoy, who was now staring at Hermione as though he had never seen her before, appeared to be at a loss for words. After what felt like several minutes, he gave a stunned nod and looked away.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. "Good." Taking a well-thumbed copy of Hogwarts, A History out of her bag, she said, "I think we'll probably need to re-read the whole book."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

Harry did not get far in questioning Draco. He proved to have been telling the truth about most of his claims—he really did wish to return to the Order, and it seemed that no one knew his whereabouts—but the Apparation had weakened him, and he was having a hard time summoning the strength to answer. Before long, he was on the verge of passing out once more.

When he began to shiver violently halfway through the interrogation, Hermione became alarmed and lost all resolve to stay uninvolved. Against Harry's wishes, she conjured a blanket and resumed busily tending to Draco's wounds. After Harry had asked a few more questions, she turned to glare at him.

"Are you satisfied yet?" she asked furiously.

"Hermione, I've got to—"

"Look at him, Harry. There are no Death Eaters on the way. If you're going to insist on keeping him down here, at least let me bring him some of your clothes from upstairs."

Harry gave a sigh and pulled her aside. "Let's talk over there."

She followed, but her eyes remained fixed on Draco. "He looks terrible," she said, her voice trembling. "He looks—as though he's on his deathbed."

"I don't trust him, Hermione. I don't know why he wants to come back to the Order now, but—"

"He said he thought he was dying," she interrupted sharply,

"Yes, but—"

"You gave him the Veritaserum yourself, Harry! What more do you want?"

"I know, I know; but it just seems dangerous to let him stay!"

"He's gravely injured," she said severely, "and he's being honest, and—"

"And what about Hannah?"

Hermione went silent.

"I mean, where's he been all this time?"

Her eyes floated back to Draco's wounded form, and Harry reached out to take her face in his hands. "I just don't want to put you in any danger until I'm more sure of his motives."

She was quiet at first, then said softly, "I know. But if you throw him out now, he'll die."

Harry stared at her as she went on. "And if he doesn't, he'll have no choice but to return to the Death Eaters. He'll have to answer for his absence, and now that he knows about this hideout, he'll most likely have to give up that information to cover for his disappearance."

Her voice was detached and sensible, but there was a flicker of something more tortured behind her eyes as she said, "Harry, he saved my life once."

There was no arguing with that.

With a heavy sigh, Harry agreed to let Draco stay until he was more fully healed.

"Thank you." Hermione leaned forward and kissed him gently.

"We'll have to decide what to do when he recovers."

"Later."

Draco could not hear what they were saying, but he watched them from the floor with hooded lids before closing his eyes and finally succumbing to sleep.

seventh year

The Room of Requirement, by nature, understood exactly what they required, and it supplied them with all the books they could possibly need. If anything, it gave them too many—Hermione was now spending all her free time reading them. She read them to sleep, in between classes, during breaks from homework assignments; and yet she had barely even begun to cover the room's extensive collection.

One thing that helped was that, as it turned out, the Order had been right about Malfoy—he knew rather a lot. Most of the books furnished by the room focused on Dark magic, and Malfoy had already read many of them. He knew which ones were useful, which ones were outdated, which ones were well-respected and which ones were no better than a gossip rag.

Hermione could never resist an opportunity for fresh knowledge, and apparently Malfoy could never resist an opportunity to show off when he knew something Hogwarts' resident bookworm did not. So he spent hours lecturing her about Dark objects and magical folklore, throwing in the not-so-occasional remark about how he'd learned such things from time spent in his family's impressive library. It was with this self-satisfied guidance that she chose which books to read, which legends to research, which artefacts to record on the list they submitted to Professor McGonagall each week. And Malfoy, unable to hide how much he enjoyed his newfound importance, was begrudgingly civil in return.

Once, as Hermione and Parvati were walking out of the Great Hall after dinner, they ran into him on his way in. Their eyes met as they passed, and he gave her a quick nod before looking away.

As soon as he was gone, Parvati whipped around to face her. "What was that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did Draco Malfoy just acknowledge you without saying anything rude or insulting?"

"I—I don't think so," she stammered nervously.

"He just nodded at you!"

Hermione lowered her voice and whispered, "You must have seen wrong."

"That was so bizarre," mused Parvati, casting a glance backwards.

She would need to tell him to be more careful in the future, thought Hermione, as she shrugged as casually as she could and kept walking.