Author's Note: I decided to finish up the scene here because I figured both of these two chapters are relatively short, and it's not fair to leave you guys hanging halfway through their conversation. But you might have to wait a bit for Hermione's part. I stayed up pretty late last night rewriting. I know I probably shouldn't be losing sleep over this, especially during school, but I couldn't help it.

So, here's the second half.

Chapter 24

She finally breaks the silence between us.

"Malfoy, please. Help me," she says.

She sounds so, so tired, just a hair away from defeated. It kills me to hear the despair in her voice. Fuck. How can I resist her when she's weak? I have no choice when it comes to her. Goodbye, life.

I turn around but keep my eyes on the ground. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. I just… we need information on the Death Eater camps. Where do you keep prisoners?"

I shake my head. "The only person who knows all of the layouts himself is Voldemort. Everyone else only knows one or two. I haven't ever been to the camp in Bristol."

"Then…"

I sigh and begin to rattle off information.

"They're usually underground, with the entrance guarded by a group of eight men. They're not the best fighters—that's why we need so many of them. There are always eight men, at every hour of the day, because they switch on and off duty in pairs of two, with usually twelve men in the rotation. But the location of the prison is different for each camp."

I glance at her face to see that she's watching me intently, and I have to turn away again. I disguise my moment of weakness as a start to pacing, and I walk a few steps away from her before turning to walk toward her again.

"Once underground, they all look pretty much the same. The cells can only be opened by someone bearing the Dark Mark or Voldemort himself."

"It sounds nearly impossible to free anyone, then," she says.

The urge to comfort her nearly overwhelms me, and I dig my fingernails into the flesh of my palms as punishment. No more of this. No more.

"Like I said, I can't really help you," I say calmly.

"If you really can't, there's not much left to do about it, I guess," she says. "I'm just really worried."

"I know."

After a brief pause, she asks, "Malfoy, is there any way that I can use this—" she pulls out her gold charm "—to contact you?"

I frown. "Why—"

"In case of an emergency," she replies.

I consider it for a moment. "Sure," I say. "First, close your fist around it."

She does as I say.

"Close your eyes."

She narrows her eyes at me before shutting them.

"Concentrate very hard on what you want to show up on my charm. You have to make sure it'll fit all right, or I'll have a hard time reading it," I say.

My serpent charm begins to burn my chest, but I feel numb to the pain. I pull the charm out and look at the back. My initials are now engraved on the charm, and I look up at her.

"What did you mean by it?" she asks, moving toward me and holding up her heart charm to show me the initials that I had marked it with after our first meeting.

I shake my head. "Didn't mean anything. Just reminding you that it was there."

"Really?"

"What else could it mean?" I say.

I have her there, and I can tell. She doesn't have any theories on why I would ever put her initials on the charm. Honestly, I don't know why I did it. Impulse, I guess. I would have marked it with my own initials, but I'm sure she would have thrown a fit and forced me to remove them.

"Did you have anything to tell me when you scheduled our meeting?" she asks me.

"Yeah. I was actually going to tell you something more about the traitor. Finnegan… he was murdered."

She doesn't look very surprised. "It was that, or he'd been caught," she says sadly.

I nod, squashing the part of me that wants to tell her the truth, to tell her that I was the one who killed him. Instead, I say, "I think your traitor sold him out to us, because Voldemort knew where to find him ahead of time."

"All right," she says. "At least we know what happened to him. Do you have any idea who killed him?"

I shake my head. "You can go now."

Her eyes linger on me for a moment as though trying to decide whether or not to tell me something. I wait patiently for her to make up her mind.

"Malfoy, we captured Thorfinn Rowle two days ago," she says.

I chuckle. "Serves him right. Bumbling idiot, he was."

"Well, bumbling idiot he may be, but he won't crack under questioning. Is there any way—"

"Legilimency. He's a god-awful Occlumens. Can't defend his mind to save his life," I say.

"We erm… we don't have a good Legilimens," she says.

"Where'd Shacklebolt go?"

"He's out of the country."

"I see. I thought you'd be pretty good. I heard you had a bit of practice with Occlumency."

"Can I…" her voice fades, and she suddenly looks shy.

I frown. "What?"

She seems to be mentally preparing herself. For what? A negative response from me, I suppose.

Finally, she voices her question. "Can I practice on you?"

"What?" I say, surprised.

"It's just… I haven't ever practiced on anyone with any skill in Occlumency. Harry learned a little, but he's no good at it, and I—"

I shake my head. "Granger, don't worry. Potter's better than Rowle at Occlumency. You'll be able to get into his head just fine."

"But I just want—"

I shake my head again. "You're not getting into my head, Granger," I say firmly.

She points her wand at me. "Legilimens!"

I immediately shut down my mind, giving her no entrance. There is no way that she will ever look into my thoughts. I don't care that I'm capable enough of defending the most important memories from her. I will not let her into my head. I've drawn myself a line, and this is it. She can control my actions. Toy with my body, my heart, my soul. But she will not know my thoughts.

Her attempts to pry her way into my mind tickle more than hurt me. I can feel when she's given up.

"You really are a very skilled Occlumens," she says.

I grin. "Obviously. Otherwise, would I dare cross the Dark Lord?"

She sighs. "Well, I'll be interrogating Rowle in two days. I'm busy brewing a plethora of potions at the moment, and I can't be gone from headquarters for more than an hour at a time."

"Go on back, then," I say. "You've already been here a while."

She nods. "Yes, I should go."

She walks past me slowly, and a moment later I hear the pop of her Disapparition.

Sighing, I make my way over to the couch and sit down. Then I feel the charm burning me through my shirt and pick it up to look at it.

My initials slowly vanish, replaced by the words, "Thank you", in small script.

I can only stare at the charm, dumbfounded. My chest feels incredibly warm, and this inexplicable happiness bubbles up inside me. Bloody hell. I repress the emotion, still unable to take my eyes off the tiny words. Finally, I cover them up with a finger and force my eyes shut.

What have I done to deserve this?

I'm not supposed to be emotional. Emotion generates weakness. Malfoys are strong, authoritative, detached, clever—not emotional.

Never emotional.

Hermione Granger. Hermione. I wish I could call her that. Not Mudblood Granger, not Know-It-All Granger, not Prude Granger. Not Granger. Hermione.

What has she done to me? What have I done to myself?

Fuck.