Sunday, 11th April 2004

The first thing Hermione was aware of the next morning was the ache running down the left side of her neck. She shifted, wincing, as her eyes fluttered open, only to widen forcefully as the flash of platinum blonde came into view.

Malfoy.

He was sitting against the headboard, watching her with a guarded expression. He tilted his head to the side but did not greet her as she regulated her breathing. Hermione readjusted her position, straightening her back and fighting the urge to rub at the tightness as it bled from her neck and into her shoulder.

"You can stop staring at me," she finally said through gritted teeth.

"I figured it was only fair for me to watch you sleep, as you took it upon yourself to be the creep last night."

"I wasn't being creepy," she shot back. "I was making sure you didn't slip into another coma, or die from a venomous bite."

The emphasis on her last word shifted Malfoy's stoic mask. His eyes flashed for the briefest of seconds, and the high points of his cheeks flushed a pale pink.

"So quick to get to the point, Granger," he observed, his expression once again blank. "I haven't eaten in days and you mean to deny me breakfast before forcing me to answer what I'm sure is a notepad full of questions?"

Hermione bit down on the inside of her cheek. She made a mental note to burn the notepad she had in fact filled with her thoughts during Malfoy's comatose state.

"No," she lied, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll make breakfast once I'm sure you're not here to attack me."

He chuckled at that, his gaze dropping briefly to the duvet before meeting hers once more. "Seriously? You think I want to attack you? Granger, -" he leaned forward slightly "- if I had wanted to attack you, you'd be dead by now."

"Oh, yes." Hermione scoffed. "A werewolf in human form, beaten to within an inch of his life is such a terrifying thought." She rolled her eyes and mirrored his posture, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. She arched an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you last night." He arched an eyebrow right back. "I need your help."

"With what exactly?"

He shrugged. "How about we start with breakfast?" His grin was almost feral, the way it stretched his face, but the sparkle in his grey eyes told Hermione that there was nothing more than good natured mischief underlying his request.

"Fine," she huffed, getting to her feet. "But I'm serving it in the kitchen, and I'm not carrying you there." With that she turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway without a backwards glance.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was pouring pancake batter into a sizzling fry pan. A noise from the hall caught her attention, and she raised her head to meet the gaze of her charge. He was standing in his boxer shorts, the scars she had spent the last three days healing shiny and stark against his pale skin.

"You know, most people would have the decency to at least put a shirt on." Hermione indicated his bare chest with the wooden spoon she was holding.

He smirked as he took a seat at the breakfast bar across from her. "I would have, if I could find my clothes."

"I washed them," Hermione stated plainly, ignoring the way his muscles rippled as he sat, "and I mended them; I figured the recently-beaten-to-within-an-inch-of-my-life look went out of style a few months ago."

He inclined his head briefly in a gesture of thanks as Hermione pushed a plate of pancakes towards him. Using her wand, she summoned butter, syrup, and sugar, as well as some sliced strawberries and whipped cream, settling the condiments between them. His eyes widened at the sight of all the food, but Malfoy said nothing as he began piling a bit of everything on his stack.

Hermione swallowed a giggle as she watched him before forcing her gaze to her own breakfast.

"So," she said as he swallowed the first mouthful, "what do you need my help with?"

He sighed, stabbing another piece of pancake with his fork. "It seems I am being blamed for the attacks."

Hermione choked on the mouthful she had been preparing to swallow. "What?" she gasped, tears forming at the corner of her eyes.

"Yeah." Malfoy chuckled darkly. "The Ministry seem to think I'm the out-of-control werewolf."

There was a pause in which Hermione struggled to regain control of her breathing; she succeeded after a long drink of water, and as soon as she was able to form words without fear of a coughing fit, she said, "Well, are you?"

Malfoy fixed her with a pointed glare, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "Yes, Granger," he drawled, lowering his hand. "I am the Big Bad Wolf, and I'm here to ask you if you'd like to play Little Red Riding Hood."

"You know Muggle fairy tales?"

"Not the point," he huffed.

"I'm sorry." Hermione shook her head. "You just surprised me. Why does the Ministry suspect you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" His voice was barely above a whisper and Hermione had to lean forward to hear him. "They need a scapegoat; I'm the only werewolf in England to have voluntarily registered in the last century, and I'm Lucius Malfoy's son."

"I've heard no whisper of your name in the office," Hermione countered, her eyes narrowed.

"Why would you? As I understand it, your division don't exactly mix with the Registrars or the Capturers."

Hermione bit her lip; he had her there. "I'm working on eradicating the camps, they know that. Why wouldn't they tell me they had a lead? It would only support their case, and give them grounds to ask me to stop."

"Why would they need to? You're not exactly close to achieving your goal. No offence." He added the last bit as an afterthought, noting the thunderous look on Hermione's face.

She continued to glare at him, enjoying the way he was squirming slightly beneath her gaze as she weighed up her options. He was, unfortunately, correct about her work at the Ministry. She was the only liaison in the Werewolf Support Services division, a farce of a position which held no traction or purpose in the promotion of werewolf welfare. She had accepted the role believing she could do some good in the world, but when an mysterious werewolf started making himself known through a trail of brutal murders, her job had become little more than a plaque across a door.

Most of the time she created her own work, as with the report she hoped would lead to the abolishment of the Camps. The Camps, which had been set up two years ago, were primitive settlements located in remote parts of Britain, heavily guarded by Ministry Officials from the Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They were not known for being gentle or understanding of werewolves, and though she had never visited a Camp, Hermione knew they were hellish and unfit for humans - even ones who turned into dangerous animals once a month.

"None taken," she answered finally, dabbing at her mouth primly with a napkin. "Against my better judgment, I don't think I really have a choice but to help you; refusing it would fly in the face of everything I have done so far to help werewolves."

A genuine smile, albeit weak and slightly shaky, spread across Malfoy's face. "Thank you," he rasped. "I really appreciate it."

"But that doesn't mean you can go taking advantage of my hospitality," she said sternly, though the tightness around her eyes had softened considerably. "You are not to leave this house, and you are not to tell anyone you are here. If you need to contact anyone other than me, you must tell me. I don't have any more spare rooms, as much as I'd like to get all the werewolves out of those damn Camps."

He nodded his head in understanding, chewing his mouthful thoughtfully. "How will I contact you if I need to?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "While you're at work, I mean," he clarified. "I assume you wouldn't appreciate me Apparating into your office and bleeding out onto the carpet…" He chuckled, but the sound was dry and humourless as Hermione continued to stare at him as if he had grown a second head.

"I'll figure something out," she replied.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. Hermione mulled over the communication issue, warring with herself over whether or not she wanted Malfoy to have access to her at all hours, clouded by a general feeling of being overwhelmed by the whole situation.

Finally, many hours after she had retired to bed, Hermione decided create a new Dumbledore's Army coin for Malfoy. He couldn't do anything other than alert her to an issue, which meant she wouldn't be inundated with petty requests from the blond, and it was easy to pass off as a common Galleon should anyone come snooping.

Accepting that sleep was eluding her, she spent the next few hours copying the coin, whispering incantations into the dark and hoping the light show they produced wouldn't wake her neighbours. When she was done, Hermione left it on the kitchen counter with a note which read:

Malfoy,

If you need me, touch this coin. ONLY if you ABSOLUTELY need me.

H.G.

Unsure of whether she could actually trust him with such temptation, Hermione returned to bed somewhat reluctantly, and fell into a fitful sleep, peppered with dreams of morphing Galleons and cold grey eyes.