Author's Note: I am currently extremely frustrated by my statistics homework. And when I say extremely, I mean I'm on the verge of throwing myself out the window x.x But I figured I'd feel a lot better editing the next chapter instead, so that's what I'm doing.

I usually like writing Draco's perspective better than Hermione's but as far as this conversation goes, I preferred Hermione's perspective. It was a bit more challenging, but I like how it turned out. Hope you do too!

Chapter 25

I'm absentmindedly stirring an Antidote for Uncommon Poisons when I look up at the clock and realize that it's already almost half past three. I turn to the only other person in the kitchen.

"Ginny, can you look after the potions while I go out? Malfoy asked me to meet him, so maybe I can finally get some information on prisoners."

"Sure," she replies, getting to her feet. She'd been sitting beside George's stretcher, bouncing pebbles off the opposite wall.

"Thanks."

I exit the kitchen, pause to tell Harry that I'm leaving, and depart from Grimmauld Place.

He's pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table when I arrive. He doesn't even notice my presence, and I take the opportunity to get a good look at him. His white-blond hair is a little messy, but his overall appearance is as immaculate as usual. He doesn't have his cloak on, and his button-up oxford shirt is very flattering.

"Malfoy," I say to get his attention.

He stops and turns to look at me. "Granger. I heard about what happened at Bristol."

"Heard about it?" I repeat. "Then you weren't there."

He shakes his head. "No. How's the Order?"

I probably shouldn't tell him the details. Powerful Occlumens or not, he shouldn't know too much about the Order. After all, we know that there's a traitor. Then again, he didn't know anything from our side about our planned attack on Bristol, so it couldn't be him… could it?

"We're all right," I say. "We think there's a traitor. Do you have any idea who it could be?"

"Sorry, no," he says.

Disappointment.

"But I can help you narrow it down," he continues. "The traitor had to have known about your plans to attack us at the Leaky Cauldron and Bristol, but they can't have known about Nottingham. If they did, I'm sure Voldemort would have known, and it wouldn't have been so successful for you."

Yes, that's true. Who could that be? All of the people who were immediately informed about Nottingham can probably be eliminated. Lupin, Tonks, McGonagall, and everyone who was staying at Grimmauld Place or Shell Cottage at the time should be fine.

I frown. Who didn't participate in the fight at Nottingham? Some of the professors have been gone for some time, but I highly doubt it could have been any of them. Vector, Sinistra, Trelawney… I have the highest respect for all of them—except maybe Trelawney, but that's beside the point—and I doubt that any one of them would have betrayed us.

Then Malfoy's voice interrupts my thoughts, "After Nottingham, I'm sure Voldemort will suspect that you've got a spy in his forces."

I look up to see that he's turned his back to me. "Will you be all right?" I ask.

"I'll be fine," he says after a short pause.

"Some of our people might have been captured at Bristol," I say. "Do you know—"

"I can't help you with prisoners," he says, knowing my intention before I can voice it.

"But… Blaise still hasn't returned. I think he might be with the others."

He turns back around to face me, and that smirk is back on his face. "What, you think I'll risk my neck for the 'friend' who gave me this?"

He rips his shirt open, and buttons clatter to the ground. I hiss involuntarily and take a step back. I stare, transfixed, at the long, ugly scar that mars his otherwise perfectly sculpted chest. I remember the twisted scar that ran across Blaise's back. It doesn't look as thick or long as this one—Malfoy's scar seems to extend lower, under the part of the shirt that he hasn't ripped apart.

"Yours… it looks worse than his."

I start walking toward him, and his eyes burn into me, watching my movements.

"Granger, what are you doing?"

I don't answer, just maintain my pace until I'm right in front of him. I look into his eyes again, wondering just how much it must have hurt to have a gash like this one inflicted upon him by his best friend.

I look back down at his chest, studying the way that his flesh grew back together and healed. Suddenly, I have a desire to heal the emotional pain that this wound left behind. His right hand begins to lift up, and I instinctively grab his wrist, holding his hand in place. To my surprise, he doesn't resist or shy away from the contact.

Slowly, I reach out my right hand and lightly brush the top of his scar. He takes a sharp breath, and my hand jerks back automatically. I can't have hurt him—physically, this scar healed years ago. I glance back up, hoping to see those silver eyes, but they're closed.

For some reason, I'm fascinated. I want to push him, see what he'll let me do to him before he reverts to calling me a filthy Mudblood. I want to know more about this new, civil Malfoy. Then maybe he won't seem as intimidating.

I trace his scar, feeling the rough, bumpy texture beneath my fingers. He shudders just slightly, and a thrill courses through me. Then his left hand wraps around my wrist, preventing me from moving any farther along the scar.

I glance up at him and watch as he swallows. I've never had this effect on him before, have I? He's clearly strongly influenced by me, at least right now. Surely, if the rumors at Hogwarts are to be believed, a girl has touched his chest before. What makes me so different?

No! My mind shies away from the possibility before I can think it.

"Malfoy," I say quietly, trying to get him to open his eyes. I want to see them, use them to get a clue to his thoughts or emotions.

When he finally opens his eyes, I sense nothing. He's closing himself off, hiding from me.

"Don't touch me," he says.

He drops my hand and backs away, and I hide my disappointment. He turns around and uses a spell to fix his shirt. He stands with his back to me for a while, and I wonder what he'll say. I want him to react to what just happened. He clearly felt something when I touched him.

Why do I care? I should leave him alone—he's Malfoy.

After a while, I decide that he won't speak. Maybe he isn't comfortable talking about it. I won't press him, not until he's willing to talk about it on his own. I might scare him away.

I remember the reason why I'm here. Alicia, Lee, and Blaise could be locked up somewhere, and I can't do anything about it. I need to know more about Death Eater prisons if we're going to have a chance of rescuing them. And that's if they're still alive. What if they're dead already?

"Malfoy, please. Help me."

Slowly, he turns around, but he still isn't looking at me. Have I hurt or offended him in any way? I don't understand why he would have this sort of reaction.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks.

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

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

"Then…"

He sighs, and I expect him to tell me off for bothering him about this, but he surprises me by beginning to list details.

"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."

As he finishes, he looks up at my face and immediately turns away. I bite my lip. Did I ruin my chance for friendship with him or something? I don't understand his actions. I note that he's pacing back and forth, toward and away from me.

Then he's speaking 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."

I frown. "It sounds nearly impossible to free anyone, then."

"Like I said, I can't really help you with it," he says, stopping his pacing.

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

"I know."

He doesn't speak, and again I'm curious about what he's thinking. I hate being unable to understand anything, whether it's a book or a person, and Malfoy is frustrating me.

Then I remember the other thing I wanted to ask him about. "Malfoy, is there any way that I can use this—" I pull out the golden heart that he gave me "—to contact you?"

He frowns and begins to ask, "Why—"

"In case of an emergency."

He's silent for a moment, and I begin to wonder if he won't let me contact him.

"Sure," he says eventually. "First, close your fist around it."

I nod and wrap my fist around the small trinket.

"Close your eyes."

I narrow my eyes. The last time those three words came out of his mouth, we ended up snogging passionately. I feel my cheeks heating up as I close my eyes.

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

All I have to do is concentrate? Is it really that simple? I recall the initials that are still engraved on my heart and decide to do the same with his. DM. I release the charm and open my eyes, wondering if it worked. I see him looking at the back of his serpent charm. Then his eyes meet mine.

"What did you mean by it?" I ask him as I walk toward him. I hold up my heart charm, showing him my initials.

"Didn't mean anything," he says, shaking his head.

That's bullshit, it must have meant something.

"Just reminding you that it was there," he finishes.

"Really?" I say doubtfully.

"What else could it mean?"

I… don't know. But I'm beginning to have a lurking suspicion that Malfoy's struggling with himself about something that he can't really control.

I think back to the night when I was released from Hogwarts and wonder if this has anything to do with it. Maybe Voldemort has assigned Malfoy a mission that will eventually require me inside the Order, and that's why a Death Eater ensured my escape.

I push the possibility to the back of my mind—there's no proof of that, so I'll just be careful and make sure that I don't give up anything that could help the Death Eaters.

"Did you have anything to tell me when you scheduled our meeting?" I ask.

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

My eyes drop to the floor, but I suppose this wasn't unexpected. "It was that, or he'd been caught."

"I think your traitor sold him out to us, because Voldemort knew where to find him ahead of time."

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

Malfoy shakes his head and says, "You can go now."

I watch him, unwilling to leave just yet. I still don't know much about him, and I honestly don't know when I'll see him again. I really, really want to figure him out. What's he hiding behind those steel-grey eyes? Beneath those perfect, white-blond locks? Under that cool, calculated expression?

I'll see what happens if I ask him for a favor.

"Malfoy, we captured Thorfinn Rowle two days ago," I say.

He chuckles. "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 says, answering me before I finish asking my question. "He's a god-awful Occlumens. Can't defend his mind to save his life."

"We erm… we don't have a good Legilimens," I say.

"Where'd Shacklebolt go?"

"He's out of the country."

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

Here I go, asking for Malfoy's help.

"Can I…" I begin, but when I look up at his eyes, my voice fails me. What's wrong with me?

"What?" he says, frowning.

Am I really that scared that he'll say no? It's just a test!

"Can I practice on you?" I ask.

He looks surprised, and I'm relieved when he doesn't reject me right away. "What?" he repeats.

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

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

"But I just want—"

"You're not getting into my head, Granger," he says, shaking his head again.

I frown. Is he really as good as everyone says he is? I point my wand at him.

"Legilimens!"

There seems to be a steel wall around his mind. I can't find anything to hold onto, any crevice or crack that I can slip through. He has no weak spots, just a smooth, thick wall that prevents me from penetrating his mind. I throw myself at the barrier several times, but it doesn't do any good.

I can't get through.

"You really are a very skilled Occlumens," I concede.

"Obviously," he says with a grin. "Otherwise, would I dare cross the Dark Lord?"

I sigh. "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."

It's a pain in the arse, really.

"Go on back, then," he says. "You've already been here a while."

"Yes, I should go," I say, nodding.

Still that reluctance to leave makes me walk past him, slowly. When I'm behind him, I spin around to make sure he's not watching me. Then I quickly cast a nonverbal Disillusionment Charm on myself and Apparate to the other side of the room.

Obviously, he thinks I'm gone—he sighs heavily and moves to the couch to sit.

I blush when I see him on the couch. It reminds me of the dream that I'd had about him. I shiver as the scenes begin to replay in my head and force my attention back to the present.

Is it that much of a burden for him to meet with me? Why does he look so… so relieved that I'm gone? And yet, there's something other than relief on his face, something that I don't quite recognize. No, it's not concern—it's not the same expression that I saw last time.

I look down at my heart charm and hold it tightly in my fist, closing my eyes. I know it's wrong to spy on people like this, but I really want to get into Malfoy's head. I'm not sure why it's so important to me. He's just Malfoy. Understanding him shouldn't be a priority to me. Yet I'm still here, hidden, waiting to see his reaction when I've placed two words—"thank you"—on his charm.

I replace the charm under my shirt and look at him to see that he's staring at the charm, unblinking. I see the slightest hint of a smile beginning to form on his lips, but before I can be sure that I didn't imagine it, his face becomes just as impassive as before. His eyes remain locked on the back of the charm.

Does it mean a lot to him that I've thanked him? If so… why does it matter to him?

Then he covers up the back of his charm with a finger and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the couch. I wish I could see into his head, wish that I could penetrate those impossibly thick walls that he surrounded his mind with.

I know that understanding people isn't nearly as easy as solving a riddle or deciphering Ancient Runes, but please, Malfoy, give me a sign, a hint. Anything.

Author's Note: This might be the longest chapter I've done for this story. It just didn't feel right to split the scene up, especially since you guys already got the plot from Draco. It's probably still shorter than the shortest chapter of Vengeance though, come to think of it.

Anyway, all good things must come to an end, and now I've gotta get back to that awful homework. Wish me luck!