Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.

"All cruelty springs from weakness." - Seneca

"Harry?"

"Yeh?" His voice rung in the emptiness, the slow ticking of the grandfather clock had been the only sound that buzzed between the room's silent occupants. She had gazed up from the novel she held before her. She had barely even started reading when her mind had been taken away by the winds of time.

"What are we doing here?" Harry briefly glanced up at his friend, who had her chin resting on the back of the sofa, waiting for an answer.

"Well, I'm playing Wizard's Chess. You're reading, as usual. Why?" His voice was filled with innocence, but through the years she had managed to decipher the difference between that and suspicion. He was hiding something from her. And that was not normal in a friendship as tight-knit as theirs.

She looked down at the yellowed pages in her lap, fiddling with its crisp edges. She was trying to word it as well as she could. Fighting was a sensitive issue, especially for Harry. The least she wanted was for an argument to ensue.

"No. I— I mean what is the Order planning to do?"

He looked up from the rook he held hesitantly over an empty space on the board before him. His glasses glinted mischievously in the lamplight. It flickered slightly as a gust of wind blew through the cracks in window. A storm was brewing not very far off from the house.

"Nothing," His lips pursed in a line, his brow creased in concentration. He was lying to her— she knew it.

"Haven't they told you anything, Harry?" Her question nearly came out as a plea. She could hardly believe the Order was simply lazing about at the expense of Muriel Weasley, eating her out of house and home.

"No," He placed the chess piece down, which mechanically crashed violently into one of the opposing pawns. Check mate.

Harry quietly stood and left the room in silence, not even so much as glancing at Hermione, whose face fell in dismay. Patiently, she watched as he closed the door behind him, astonished by his hasty exit. She had hit a nerve. But when she was in the dark about something it was her objective to find out what it was. Let it be known that Hermione Granger never let an opportunity to learn something slip out of her grasp.

She quickly stood, and ripped open the door, preparing to follow her fleeing friend. He had truly seemed out of sorts since Malfoy's reveal as an Order memeber. He had kept things from her and Ron, as private and secluded meetings between him and Shacklebolt or McGonagall took place even more regularly. Though, she knew he tried to hide it— to suppress his anger, his shock— nothing slipped from her watchful gaze. She had known whenever Malfoy had been around in the recent weeks. Harry would often come back from those meetings, with his skin stretched taut against cheeks, his whole body tensed, his scar itching. Whatever Malfoy was saying, it was undoubtedly causing much distress for Harry.

Hermione had only spotted the Pureblood once as she made her way from the library one dreary afternoon, her arms laden with various books to whisk her away to a world far different from the one she was already in. Dreams were not enough anymore, riddled with terror and death. Her sole escape was her mind where she could breathe freely, engulfed in the realm of wisdom and knowledge without the pain of her sorrows.

Thus, with her head full of Herbology, contemplating the new possibility that anemone could eat a human whole if they so much as tickled their nose, she had nearly crashed straight into Malfoy unawares. As they met face to face, she suddenly seized up, eyes as wide as saucers. Only a few feet separated them. As they eyed one another, waiting for a fiery quip, one of the more leaden tomes had slipped from her grasp, clattering heavily onto the stone floor. She did nothing. Nor did he. Their gaze had not faltered.

Suddenly, they could hear the ruffle of robes moving down the hall towards them. McGonagall called to the young wizard, telling him that he was already late. He looked his old professor straight in the eye, and turned away, making no comment. The older woman followed, leaving Hermione to persist in her struggle to pay the price for knowledge. She never did manage to pick up that damn book.

However, that was the last she saw of him while the Order resided at Muriel Weasley's home.

The unpleasant memory faded as she scurried down the hall, secretly following Harry as he stormed past the dreary backdrop of soiled curtains and moth-eaten rugs. Every so often she thought he'd spotted her shadowing each and every step he took. Warily, she pressed on even when the rhythmic thrum of her heartbeat pounded dangerously in her chest. The painstaking exertion of chasing after him with complete discretion was a feat in itself.

Until she got lost.

He was nowhere to be seen. Hermione thought she had spotted him making his way towards the ancient greenhouse that was filled to the brim with the most exotic species of plants. Though, she hardly believed Harry would go there out of pleasure unless he was planning death by Venomous Tentacula.

All was silent. She took a deep breath as she looked up and down the hallway. There wasn't a single soul that roamed those dank halls. Feeling the bitterness of defeat, she went to make her way back to where she had started. However, as Hermione began the long trek back, she was met by the angry snarls of someone from the door in front of her. Their shouts became louder, although, they were often interrupted by another calming voice from beyond. Quizzically, she stared at the door, now noticing that it was partially ajar. It creaked open as a cool breeze whipped through from the other side.

Peaking through the crack, she saw that no one was to be found in the room, but the furious cries continued unceasingly from somewhere within. Timidly, she looked at the room about her, keeping her hand on the doorknob in case she chanced upon something unsavoury. Yet, her curiosity was muzzled by heedful logic when she realised that it was yet another room she had never seen before.

The cool shade of the blues and greys that swept over the interior of the room gave it an eerie feel, like most of the house. The walls were shadowed by dark tapestries: some of the Prewett and Weasley families; some that told of Wizarding history in the neighbouring village. Hermione's mouth opened in awe as her eyes trailed up the walls that stretched on high, nearly as tall as the library at Hogwarts. There were children running gleefully through the tightly knit arras that hung from ceiling to floor, as the Goblin rebellion of Tinworth raged in the background. Oddly, as she began her perusal of the dimly lit room, she spotted a tall armoire resting against the far wall. One of the doors had been partially left open.

She turned and inspected the rest of the room. There were no windows, or else the drapery concealed them, and an empty desk sat amidst the ancient finery of the study, void of anything except a purse. Her purse.

She nearly squealed with insurmountable joy. She thought she had lost during the attack on Grimmauld Place. Her hand went and snatched it from where it was sitting, the beaded tassels rustled and splayed against her pale skin. The purple velvet never was conspicuous, but its foreign beauty shone through nonetheless.

Then there was an angry shout that broke from somewhere in the room. Once again the argument was intermittent with the composed reason of another. Yet, it seemed that neither were willing to concede defeat.

Her hand unconsciously reached out to pull the tapestry out before her, gazing behind it, trying to find the source of the noise. She was only met with an unsavory glimpse of moldy wallpaper. She started making her way round the room, coming to a dead-end with each possible conclusion until she came to the last tapestry that bore the image of an extremely beautiful water nymph. She hoped there was something there or else George must have slipped a Mysterious Midnight Moon Madness mint in her Pumpkin juice that morning. There was no other way to explain the voices.

But thank Merlin! She could clearly hear the conversation now. And it was none other than Harry and Shacklebolt. Something was amiss if they were arguing, a fact, which made Hermione's hands somewhat clammy in unease.

"She can't do it! It won't be safe, for God's sake!" His concern emphasised by the obvious screech in his voice.

"Harry, she will be safe. He'll be there. He'll protect her if the need arises," The older wizard tried to reason.

"No! I don't trust him. He'll get her killed! I couldn't let myself live if anything happened to her," His voice practically broke from the impending sob that raked his throat.

Who were they going to send? They wouldn't send Ginny, would they?

Hermione shook with fear. Ginny was too young, Harry would rather sacrifice himself than her. It was obvious. But who would they be sending that was causing him so much pain. Like a sudden shower of rain, her awareness dawned on her. The pace of her breathing swelled with her growing dread.

She had been ready to draw the curtain aside and make her presence known, but her resolve had been broken by the slight tsking noise from the tapestry.

It was the nymph again.

It hissed at Hermione's undesirably firm hold over her seamed domain. The creature glanced at her for a moment longer after Hermione had relinquished her grip to the sea creature. It sneered and returned to its plan of enticing one of the young men that had ambled into her territory. His dark locks reflected in the water. His lips parted in fascination as the nymph reached out to touch him. She had found her prey.

Hermione gently brushed her finger tips against his mouth, feeling the coarse material beneath rather than the rosy flesh of the young man it was meant to be. He didn't respond to her touch, too enthralled by the beauteous myth that waited before him. But that transient peace was shattered when she heard the gentle creak of the door. She was instantly aware of someone else's presence.

"Longing for the touch of man?"

Her hand clenched into a fist over the man's face. Harry still continued with his wrathful tirade trying to convince his superior beyond the tapestry. Her fear and anger would not allow her to turn and meet the intruder's gaze. She hoped— no prayed he would simply leave her be, give up before he could cause her any more dismay.

"Not going to speak to me?" Again she opted for silence.

She leant against the heavy fabric, hoping he'd give up trying to pester her. Without a second thought his hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, trying to get her to look at him. He was unrelenting in his need for her look at him. But she angrily shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

"Are you afraid of me?" She could hear the amusement in his voice.

This was all game to him. His lips were practically a breath away from hers in an attempt to frighten her senseless. She hated the way he came too close to her, using it against her. Helplessly, she squirmed against his body, trying to get by, nevertheless he held fast in his harassment.

"Look at me, Hermione Granger."

Her eyes finally focused on him. He had never used her first name before, let alone address her so formally. If he wanted to mock her he simply would have called her a bushy-haired swot. She pulled back as far as she could, trying look him in the eye. That was when she realised something was wrong.

His hands lashed out, grabbing a hold of her head, her curls slithered about his fingers in a frenzy, as the sharp sting of her magic began to course through her. She wanted to scream for the others to help, but her voice was caught in her constricting throat. If all else failed she would prepare to fight without her wand. She had done it before; she could do it again.

"I'll kill the lot of you. One by one. You were a fool to trust me, Hermione Granger," He shook her hard, his fingers maliciously digging into her skin. But even with the intense pain, his use of her full name did not go amiss. Each word had been spoken with perfect diction.

"You were all fools to trust me—"

Without warning, the scene was broken by the sound of the study door opening again. As much as she struggled and fought against the prison of his body, Hermione stood no chance of gaining the newcomer's attention. It was likely that they would mistake them for a lovers longing for privacy.

His hand clamped over her mouth in a hope to hinder her attempts at escape. But in a final effort to get away she bit ruthlessly into his hand. So hard, in fact, she thought she drew blood, his palm becoming uncommonly sanguine in colour. Grimacing he drew away, giving Hermione a chance to get the person's attention.

Yet, when she clawed past her aggressor, she was met with the bewildered face of Draco Malfoy. Her eyes widened in shock.

Slowly, she peered at the thing before her. It was still looking at her with its large grey eyes until it turned towards the other Malfoy who stood frozen by the door. His hand crept towards his pocket, as was the one in front of Hermione, like mirror images. Immediately, her tormentor morphed into something else entirely. His cool orbs soon turned into the darkest shade of red through the slits she could hardly call eyes. His nose dissolved into nothing, flat and serpentine. His already pallid hands turned the shade of snow, unnaturally long, like a spider's legs, which swiftly drew his wand from his hooded cloak.

Having no lips, his teeth soon took on the shape of jagged needles protruding from his sallow gums.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"RIDDIKULUS!" Malfoy shouted, as the monster swiftly took the form of a giant green balloon animal, disappearing from sight as the door of the previously opened armoire clicked shut.

It had been a boggart.

Draco Malfoy's betrayal was what she feared the most. But what shocked her most was that Malfoy was collapsing to his knees in fright, his hand barely managing to cover his mouth before a sob escaped his trembling lips. He could do nothing to disguise from Hermione the tremor that passed along his shoulders. His eyes were still focused on the spot where the boggart had manifested itself into the Dark Lord, who had raised his wand, ready to kill.

"Malfoy," She whispered, his name hardly resonating in the silence-engulfed room. She had never seen him like this. Never. The contrast between this and his normally arrogant and spiteful self was absolutely petrifying. She would rather face a legion of rabid Thestrals than see anything other than a smirk play on her tormentor's lips. It was completely unnerving.

Slowly, she approached him, her hand coming to rest on one of his tensed shoulders, taking no notice when his shaking suddenly ceased under her touch. But the glare she was granted with as his eyes emerged from behind his trembling fingers was plenty for her to assume he was not thrilled with her comforting gesture. It was like the calm before the storm— that was until the storm struck with a vengeance.

"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME, YOU BLOODY FILTH!"

She stepped back, nearly bumping into something— or rather someone that stood behind her. A hand tightly gripped her arm, pulling her further away from a furious Malfoy. She turned to meet an equally angered Harry. His eyes turning to slits, a transient glow of red subsumed his irises, his nostrils flared in irate perfection. Releasing Hermione in flaring anger, Harry strode forward and pointed an accusing finger at Malfoy, who tried to hold himself together with the last bit of dignity he could muster. A coolness fell over his peaked features— icy and deadly.

"She'll be dead if she takes one step away from our protection! And it'll be your fault!"

She looked at Harry, then Shacklebolt, but then came to rest on Malfoy, whose mouth was tight and thin, his jaw clenched in fury, his eyes rimmed with the tears shed from before. The effrontery of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-His-Life-Hell made him unable to fashion any coherent speech.

"I— I swore my loyalty to the Order. A Malfoy does not take back their word, Potter."

"Then you are lying through your teeth!" Harry's shouts reverberated about the room, shocking the nymph so much, she decided to leave her prey for another day, descending into the murky waters below. Yet Hermione's gaze was soon dragged away by the full and unfettered force of Malfoy's resounding voice.

"I'll make a vow. I will make an Unbreakable Vow," Malfoy schooled his features into a dark carapace, awaiting the half-blood's next move. He looked Harry dead in the eye, not breaking contact even when Shacklebolt took a step toward the blond wizard, trying to reason with him. Nothing would deter him from his plan— he either made the vow and finally proved his allegiance, or was considered the source of all the Order's misfortunes for the rest of the war. If ever he had the chance to survive.

"I will make this vow, even if it kills me. I will not make this offer again, Potter."

Hermione stared at him and then Harry, her fears set in stone. It was her that Harry and Shacklebolt had been speaking of. Not Ginny. It had never been Ginny. It was her, and only her that could ever have been considered intelligent enough to face the greatest task at hand, and the greatest git, simultaneously. Now everything fell into place— Malfoy's apparent tests, Harry's aversion to any conversation involving Voldemort, Arthur Weasley's knowing glances. All she had to do was confront the situation unlike the others. She needed to know once and for all.

"I'm going on that mission, aren't I?"

"We will explain later— What?" Harry swivelled around in shock, hardly able to shut his gaping mouth.

"I have a right to know, Harry," She had to be sure. She had to be ready.

"How did you discover this?" Shacklebolt interjected.

"They don't call you the brightest witch of our age for nothing, do they, Granger," Malfoy intoned, watching her in false admiration. Yet when he saw her step back briefly at his tongue-in-cheek remark the bow of his lips became elongated and innocently cruel. The thought of being bound to him then terrified her. She would be at his mercy when in his protection, insulting her with every passing moment.

"You're afraid, aren't you," Draco's inquiry cut her to the core.

"Give me your arm, Malfoy," She turned on him, her eyes dark and malign. She looked him in the eye; taking a step forward, ready to snatch his arm if he morphed into the coward from their years at Hogwarts.

"Hermione you don't have to do this just to prove something to anyone," Harry was trying to get Hermione to recognise the decision she was making. She would never be able to unbind herself until the magic of the vow saw fit to do so itself or if Malfoy broke his promise. Nevertheless, she knew he valued his life more than that. He was a Slytherin after all.

"Unless you're afraid, Malfoy," She met his scorn with her own, hoping to show her willingness to fight. She would never be treated like an inferior in his presence ever again. He was going to get a taste of the bitterness of his own medicine.

Indignantly, Malfoy held his arm before her, pushing up his sleeve so that it clung about his forearm. The tendons in his arm stood out, his veins weaving about his arm in an intrinsic fashion that accentuated the sickly colour of his skin. But she was keenly aware that he hand not chosen his left arm —the one that bore the Dark Lord's haunting mark.

His fingers wrapped tightly around her arm, clawing into her skin like talons. She assumed that the agony of their predicament had only begun as she gazed into his baleful eyes. She unwillingly clung to his arm, digging her nails into his flesh, hoping to cause him some measure of pain for what he had done to her. What he will do to her. He simply watched her unfalteringly as Shacklebolt's wand came to rest over their rigid embrace.

"Will you, Draco Malfoy, watch over Hermione Granger whilst she is sent on the mission assigned to her?" The question hung in the stagnant air, waiting to be answered.

Hermione peered at the man before her, his eyes as intense as a storm, raging within him and fit to burst. As though oddly reassured by her watchful stare, did he finally decide to make the covenant that would inextricably bind them.

"I will," He barely managed to force the words out before a thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their clasping arms like a red-hot wire. Hermione's eyes opened in utter fascination. She had read so much about an Unbreakable Vow, but had never had the chance to witness one in the flesh. Now she was apart of one.

"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect her from harm?"

"I will," His mournful eyes came to rest on her. His hand briefly clenched a tad tighter than before, eliciting a slight hiss from Hermione's lips.

Suddenly, a flurry of flames engulfed the two that glowed and pulsed as the magic coursed through them. Hermione tried to pull away alarmed by the inferno that thundered about them, but Draco remained steadfast, knowing all too well that nothing would happen to them. She didn't know whether it was Draco's grip that held her tight, or the vow, but as soon as the fire cooled and became only a memory, did he pull her arm from his grasp, leaving her hand behind in midair.

Hermione eagerly inspected her hand, tugging the sleeve of her jumper up to the crook of her arm, wanting to glimpse the workings of the vow. Her eyes traced a faint scar that coursed over and all around, until it vanished beneath the cloth, hidden away like an unbidden secret.

"It will disappear by tomorrow," It was Malfoy who spoke first. His hand hung at his side, his knuckles tight and taut against his already pallid skin. He hadn't even bothered to look. He had practically warranted his demise to gain not only the Order's trust, but hers also. She only hoped that his trust would not allay as quickly as the Vow's stigmatic gift.

"I know," She whispered.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone reviewing and such, but please keep reviewing for me! It would be much appreciated; feedback is like milk and cookies. Thanks. Anyway, there's a link to my blog for this fanfiction on my profile. Go check it out. There are little snippets for upcoming chapters, and images, etc.