Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except the thoughts in my little brain.

Warnings: Hermione hates Draco, but hey, she did slap him once.

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

"Hey. Wake up. C'mon Malfoy, wake up."

A prod came to Draco's arm, what felt like moments after he closed his eyes. He opened one eye groggily, rubbing the sand out of his eyes. "Mmm?"

Potter was crouching by Draco's mattress looking a bit hunted, glancing around nervously. Oh right. He probably wasn't supposed to be here. Draco stretched for a moment, sitting up, wincing as his back stretched, pulling his wounds raw again. He glared at Potter, but just as he was going to say something nasty, Potter held out a cup of coffee as some sort of combination peace offering, bait.

Draco hauled himself to his feet, then took the cup, shuffling out of the Lair, admittedly without any semblance of his usual grace, but it was god awful o clock in the morning, and there was no time for him to gather his wits, there was coffee to be enjoyed for heavens sake.

He shuffled into the kitchen and sat on the raised hearth by the fire, and greedily drank from the cup. It wasn't the best coffee he'd ever had, but it was coffee, a drink that could almost not go wrong. Draco knew it was supposed to be taken in moderation, supposed to be acrid, bitter, but to him it felt like humanity. Potter tried to say something but Draco blearily waved him into silence, drinking his coffee was more important anyhow.

Once the cup was drained, Draco looked up, mildly surprised to see Granger sitting at the kitchen table. He hadn't noticed her before, but then again, he was barely awake. "Alright, Potter, Granger, what's the occasion?"

"We thought we might get your help, Malfoy," began Granger, her tone more reserved than Potter's. "We need to get a hold of a few things before Harry and Professor Dumbledore can you know, kill You Know Who. And, well, you've been looting You Know Who's places, and this was one, we were sort of hoping you'd let us look through the stuff you, ah, apprehended."

"Why?"

Granger looked shifty, and just shook her head, turning to Potter. "See? I told you, he hasn't changed Harry, he still doesn't trust us!"

To Draco's surprise, Potter snapped at his friend. "Well of course he doesn't Hermione, we've been enemies since we were 11, and we've never been nice to him, ever. You don't trust him either, you know."

Granger pursed her lips, not convinced, gazing at Potter thoughtfully.

Potter turned to Draco, and sighed. "It's dark magic, we don't know how he did it, but Voldemort has objects that have bits of him in it, bits of his magic, in them, and he can't die, not permanently, until they're all gone. We have four left, we need to destroy them, and we aren't sure where to start, but we thought you might have one."

"Right, I have chunks of Voldemort's soul laying about, they really help the energy of the place, help it feel homey, and permanent."

Granger glared at him, clearly her distaste for him ran deep, though he was not surprised. Potter just looked at him patiently, obviously waiting for an answer.

"Fine, whatever, go through whatever you want."

Granger looked surprised but pleased, and got up immediately, rushing from the room, probably to attend to some kind of literary emergency. No doubt someone's grammar was in dire need of editing. Potter got up, smiling slightly, and nodded at Draco.

"Potter. Wait," said Draco, before he even knew the words were out of his mouth. Potter turned back to face him, surprised, but his stupid pleased smile was still plastered on his stupid hero face.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to go?"

Potter paused for a moment before answering, frowning slightly. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe. I have to kill Voldemort, you know. It has to be me, so I'll have to go to find him. Until then though? I don't know. I don't like hiding, I don't like, well, Ginny says you lot, go out in masks and things, I don't think I could do that. But. I don't know. Dumbledore has a group, from the first war, I might see if they'll help me, but I think Ron likes it here, knowing everyone's ok, so I don't know."

"The Order of the Phoenix? Don't look so surprised. You do know my cousin gave you the snidget, Pip, right? The Black family used to breed snidgets, she helped us get some, ah, target related information. Plus she's you know, shagging one of the werewolves, I could smell one on her the moment I saw her."

"You can smell other werewolves?" Potter looked interested, but slightly sick, at the mention of their old teacher and Draco's cousin shagging. Draco just smirked, and nodded.

"Don't mind Hermione, she means really well, she's just still really upset about this animagus stuff," said Potter, eventually, when Draco made no move to respond on the topic of what werewolves could and couldn't do.

There was a weird silence for a moment, and Potter hesitantly turned to leave again.

"Potter?"

"What, Malfoy?"

"I suppose, that it might not be terrible, if you stayed. I suppose you are not the most awful human I have ever met, and if you desperately need a roof over your head, you can stay in a broom closet or something."

"Gee thanks, Malfoy," said Potter, smiling at Draco, who was pretending not to pay him any mind, sprawling out on the hearth comfortably.

Draco remained there for a while, basking in the warmth of the fire before he sat up, his mind, which he had been keeping blank, suddenly coming to a realization. He knew what he needed to do. And he knew whose help he needed. He got up, slipping back into the lair for a long sleeved shirt and his black trainers.

He walked along the winding passages, feeling de ja vu to when he was a little kid and he was a menace, who would run rampant about the castle, a little curious, adventuring terror that his parents had been amused by, and that the nannies and house elves had been afraid of.

He stopped outside the green house, attached to the house, mostly empty now, save a few random plants that had held up despite the neglect. Here, the centaurs had decided to stay, where they could see the moon, and stars through the thick glass walls. He knocked, then leaned against the wall opposite the door way, in his least threatening body position.

Cypress, the dappled grey male looked up, and rolled his eyes slightly, nudging Willow, indicating towards Draco. She rose gracefully, and ducked out of the room nodding at him as she closed the door behind her.

"Yes?"

"How's the little guy?" He asked, indicating to the small centaur in the room. He too had been branded, but unlike Draco, his ugly brand was on his flank, like a branded horse sold for slaughter.

"Fine, Chaos. Did you come here for small talk?" Her tone was clipped, but the trick to talking to centaurs was the same as talking to teachers. Be aware they didn't like you much, and didn't think highly of you based on experience that was not your own fault, and not to take it seriously. Then again, Draco's favorite professor before all of this had been Professor Snape, so who knows, maybe he was just used to being disliked.

Draco shrugged and got to the point. "I need to talk to you about what you'd be comfortable with here." When she didn't respond, merely maintained her ferocious gaze, he continued. "Werewolves, young, like me, might defect if they had anywhere to go, but I know how you, well your dad at least, feels about us. So if it would make you uncomfortable, we can find somewhere else for them to go-"

Before he could finish, she waved her hand dismissively. "Don't assume because my father is judgmental based on race that we are. I will confer, but I don't care. You assured safety and the stars don't contradict you. There is no need for alternate arrangements. I am not my father. "

Draco met her gaze steadily, and with the same conviction, responded, "Neither am I mine."