Draco approached her Sunday evening in the common room while Hermione was sketching out a plan on a piece of parchment, trying to make sure she was covering every angle.

"I found a reporter who's very eager to help," Draco told her quietly. "I even got a chance to speak with her directly when she was at the manor to interview my father, so my father doesn't even know." He hesitated. "I know you don't seem to like it when I tell my father about your affairs."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Would you, if you were me?" she challenged, and Draco winced.

"No," he admitted. "I wouldn't."

The reporter had ways into Hogwarts, he told her. She could be in place when they needed her to be, so long as they gave her warning. Draco suggested telling her that some professors would anonymously give her a scoop on what was really going on in Hogwarts with the Headmaster gone, and he asserted that Snape and Lockhart would give interviews, even if no one else would. Hermione turned this over in her head thoughtfully.

"Is that good enough?" Draco asked. "Will that work?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "That will suffice for that part. Thank you, Draco."

Draco gave her a small grin.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad to help you however I can."

Hermione fixed her eyes on him.

"Are you?" she asked mildly, and Draco looked startled.

"Of course," he said. "Hermione, you know I count you as… you're special. You're touched, and you're powerful. Magic marked us together as equals in ritual. I would not forget that."

Hermione surveyed him carefully.

"Would you be willing to help me more if I asked you?" she said finally.

"I would," Draco said immediately. "How can I serve?"

Again with the formal language...

"Why?" she asked. "Why are you willing to help me so easily?"

Draco gave her a meaningful look.

"Hermione," he said. "You are destined for great things, marked by Magic. I want to be at your side when you do."

"Sure," Hermione said. "But I'm trying to stop the Heir of Slytherin. And you're adamantly against that." She tilted her head. "So why are you helping me with this?"

Draco looked uneasy, though he hid it well.

"If Magic has marked your quest, I am sure—"

"The real answer, Draco," Hermione snapped, and Draco faltered.

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes silver and gleaming slightly in the candlelight, and Hermione calmly held his gaze, not backing down.

"I seem to have earned your ire somewhere along the way," he said finally. "And I would like to earn your esteem back instead."

Hermione considered.

"So, to paraphrase, you know I'm cross with you, and you want me to not be mad at you anymore and be nice to you again," she summarized.

Draco winced.

"Such crass, direct language," he said. "What are we, Gryffindors?"

"But is it accurate?" Hermione challenged. "Is it true?"

Draco looked torn.

"Yes," he said finally. "That's true."

Hermione sighed.

"I am happy to have you help me, Draco, and honestly, it will go a long way to put you back into my good books, but do you even know why I'm mad at you in the first place?" she asked plainly. "Do you even know why I've been so frustrated with you all year?"

"I don't," Draco said immediately. "If it is because I have failed in protecting you from—"

"I can protect myself," Hermione snapped. "Draco, it's because you've been so mean to the Muggleborns all year long."

Draco paused, looking befuddled.

"Mean to the Muggleborns?" he repeated.

"You've taunted them in the halls all year long," Hermione said, her patience wearing thin. "Mocking them, telling them they'll be next, that you hope the Heir will kill the next one. You've been openly bullying people over their blood status for months."

Draco continued to look puzzled.

"But I haven't mocked you, Hermione," he said. "You—you're New Blood. I've seen your power. I see the feats you pull off in class. You're not Muggleborn. I would never say such a thing to you."

"This isn't about me," Hermione said, tugging on her hair in frustration. "Draco, this is about you being mean to others."

"But they're Muggleborns," Draco said. "Why do you care?"

"Why do I care about other people?!" Hermione couldn't believe it. "Draco, I care about other people because I'm a good person! What kind of question is that, 'why do you care about someone else?'"

She held her head in her hands and groaned.

"Look," she said, pressing her palms into her eyes. Little spirals of color spun in black on the back of her eyelids, so Hermione didn't have to look at Draco's stupid face. "I can't teach you how to care about other people. But you could at least work on dropping the blood prejudice, you know."

"Why?" Draco sounded worried. "Hermione, it's a well-known fact that Muggleborns are—"

"Draco, some day we are going to have to have a long conversation on this topic," she said. "A long discussion." She paused, sighing. "…regardless, that's why I've been mad at you. I don't like seeing you bully the Muggleborns. It's mean, and it bothers me a lot."

Draco seemed to have fallen silent, and Hermione eventually pulled her hands away from her eyes, her vision refocusing to the dim light.

Draco was looking at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I did not mean to draw your ire," he said quietly. "If you had told me, I would have stopped."

"Will you stop now, then?" Hermione challenged.

"Yes," Draco said immediately. "I'll stop immediately."

Hermione blinked, then raised her eyebrows. She still couldn't pull off the trick where she just raised one.

"Will you help me with my plan to catch the Heir, then?" she said. "Even if it's dangerous and requires incredible trust on your part?"

Draco sighed.

"You don't understand some things, do you?" he said. He looked almost softly amused, and he took her hand in his, fixing his eyes on hers. There was something deep and molten in the silver of his eyes, something with weight, and Hermione felt her breath catch.

"I would promise to be faithful to you, Hermione," he said quietly, his eyes holding hers, "to take your enemies as my own, to help you against those that would harm you. I would respect and honor you, and I would trust you completely in good faith and treat you without deceit. I would stand at your side as you faced the world if you would have me there."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I'm not currently accepting Oaths of Fealty," she murmured, tugging her hand away, and Draco's lips twitched into the smallest smile.

"I know," he said. "That's why I didn't give one, only told you what I would do."

Hermione's lungs didn't seem to be working; her breath was caught in her throat, and words were hard to form.

"When I say it would require trust, I mean immense trust," she stressed. "Without you questioning me as to why."

"Okay," Draco said. "What would you have me do?"

"I mean it, Draco. You'll need to—"

"Hermione," Draco said. He caught her hand in his again. "Give me this chance to prove myself to you."

His eyes were earnest, molten but open, and Hermione felt herself torn.

Draco, despite his usual Slytherin Prince persona, had always seemed extraordinarily open with her. It had started somewhere midway through their first year, after Halloween but before Christmas. He showed her genuine vulnerability, he didn't put on arrogant airs around her, and the words he said were meaningful – not just the general brush-offs he gave everyone else. And he treated her… well, to be honest, with almost a veneration.

Hermione hadn't the slightest idea why he did. What had she done, somewhere, that had earned his esteem to such a degree?

It was difficult to accept and trust his earnestness when she didn't understand the logic behind it.

Why...?

If he meant it, if he would actually trust her completely, Draco would be incredibly useful. It would enhance her plan dramatically, to have Lucius Malfoy's son as a tool to use strategically. But if accepting his help meant strings were being tied to her that would influence things further down the line…

Hermione sighed.

"Alright, Draco," she conceded. "Here's what I'm going to need you to do…"