Part I: Mal

Mal (French) – Bad, Evil

Hermione had dreamed of Harry again; of that she was certain. As she slowly regained consciousness, she could feel his presence at the edges of her mind.

He'd died nearly two years ago now, but sometimes in sleep her damnable brain managed to conjure a nearly flawless image of him. In these dreams, Hermione could still hear his voice, his laugh, and she could see the unmistakable way his hair stuck out at wild angles, simply refusing to lay flat. In the very worst dreams, Hermione could still smell him—the scent of the forest and of dried sweat from when they were still hunting Horcruxes, mingling with the familiar scent of just Harry. He was always so real, so visceral, that waking hurt.

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Had Lived.

Hermione shook her head, feeling the image of him quickly slipping away from her. Part of her wanted to grasp at the image and hang tightly to it—to never let it go. But the other part of her—the rational part—told her to let the image fade, to let Harry go.

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Had Died.

He had been coming to her in her dreams more often as of late, and Hermione supposed that that was not unusual as the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts came nearer.

Hermione could no longer be certain about the precise date of the actual day, but she could feel the change in the weather, the slow shift from winter into the height of spring. The trees came alive again and the flowers bloomed. The scent of the air changed, too, the harsh wind of winter turning into the light, gentle breezes that caressed her face. The birds tittered and called to one another with a relaxing, pleasing sound.

Yes, she was certain that May was fast approaching.

They had been so sure—so very sure of their plan: find Voldemort's Horcruxes, destroy them, and kill Voldemort.

Of course, it hadn't been a simple plan by any means. They had trekked the vast wilderness of England, hunting down every last of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

Or, so though they'd thought.

Somewhere along the way, they'd missed something, because when Harry Potter had walked into the Forbidden Forest to sacrifice his life to destroy Voldemort's final Horcrux—himself—Voldemort did not die. Instead, he returned triumphantly to Hogwarts with the Elder Wand in hand, while a sobbing Hagrid held tightly to Harry's lifeless body.

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Had Sacrificed Himself.

Hermione herself had come to the conclusion that Harry was a Horcrux right as he had disappeared, and she could still remember surveying the scene at Hogwarts with a calm sort of detachment, as if she were floating outside her own body. Harry was a Horcrux and had to be destroyed in order for the Order to defeat Voldemort.

Neither can live while the other survives.

In that moment, Hermione's logical brain took over, as it often did, and she was able to survey the situation neutrally. Harry had to die—her best friend—had to die. But at the end, it would've been for something, and Harry's life would have meant something. Hermione knew that was all Harry ultimately would have wanted, and therefore Hermione could accept his death.

But ultimately, Harry had died for nothing.

The aftermath had been complete and utter chaos. Neville Longbottom had valiantly refused to accept defeat and fought on until he was quickly silenced with a bored wave of the Elder Wand, blood spurting from a deep slash in his throat. Those who were smart—ran.

Hermione ran, knowing there was no possible way to defeat Voldemort because they had missed something. She ran, trying to keep her hold on Ron's hand, knowing it was impossible in the chaos. There were people and creatures running in every direction, curses being shot into the air—she lost her grip on Ron in a matter of minutes, and he was carried away from her in the tidal wave of destruction.

It had been nearly two years since she'd seen Ron. Hermione wondered if he was even still alive. She hoped so.

Two years, and she still wasn't sure what they had missed.

For two lonely, bleak years, Hermione had lived in the Forest of Dean, obsessively researching, constantly going over the information she had collected when she had been on the run with Harry and Ron, determined to find the final piece to defeating Voldemort. She would never stop looking—ever. She'd spend the rest of her life searching, just to make it so Harry's death wasn't entirely pointless.

It was the very least she could do for her best friend's memory.

Standing from her makeshift bed, Hermione dressed quickly in a worn t-shirt and a pair of leggings before grabbing her purple beaded bag from the end of the bed and heading outside.

Hermione made her way to very edge of her wards, where there was a large, familiar tree—her favorite spot in the forest. She sat, sighing, and began to pull books, parchment, and a quill from her bag. For what had to be the thousandth time, Hermione scanned her notes: Quirrell, Diary. Ring. Locket. Cup. Diadem. Then, there was substantial bit of blank parchment, followed by a name—Harry's—that was written in Hermione's tight, neat handwriting. Hermione's chest spasmed for a moment before she forced herself to exhale heavily.

Based on Professor Slughorn's memories, they had understood that there had to be seven total Horcruxes: six, then the one piece of soul that Voldemort himself kept. Definitively, they had found five, and Hermione had been certain that Professor Quirrell had been a Horcrux, bringing that number to a total of six. Hermione had been wrong.

Hermione hated being wrong. She bit her lip, hard, and slashed another line through Quirrell's name.

All of the objects that Voldemort had used as Horcruxes had been important to him—artefacts, and relics. Hermione cursed herself again for believing that someone like Quirrell was important enough to warrant himself a shard of Voldemort's soul. She added another line through his name, roughly enough to slightly rip the parchment.

Already frustrated, Hermione sighed again before opening the book on the top of the stack. Hogwarts, A History. She had read the book countless times, nearly to the point of memorization, but perhaps this time it would supply some insight on what it was that she was looking for.

She had gotten through nearly four chapters when she heard a branch snap. Instantly, Hermione's head snapped up and she quietly closed the book, listening closely for any sign of another human being in her proximity. After years of living in the forests of England, she was quite adept at risk assessment. A branch snapping could be anything, but in the unlikely event that there were Snatchers in the forest, Hermione had to be alert. She and her tent were disillusioned, and she was safely inside her wards, so as long as she stayed still and quiet, she would not be detected.

Another branch snapped sharply, closer now.

Stay calm, Hermione reminded herself repeatedly. Voldemort ruled the British Isle with brutal totalitarianism, and Snatchers had become increasingly rare—especially in more remote areas such as the Forest of Dean.

The rustle of leaves, even closer.

He strode from the forest with the practiced air of a noble, and Hermione found herself about to scoff, instinctively, before she remembered that she was trying to be quiet. She tensed and sucked a breath in.

He looked different, but that pale blonde hair gave him away: Draco Malfoy, walking through the forest looking rather serious, and completely out of place.

Hermione studied him for several minutes, her panic mostly replaced by sheer curiosity. Hermione hadn't seen Malfoy since the day she, Harry, and Ron had been captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor. Involuntarily, Hermione shuddered before returning her thoughts back to the Malfoy standing in front of her.

The first thing she noticed was that Malfoy had grown quite a bit. He had always been tall, but during school, he had been lanky and pointy. At some point over the past two years, he had filled out, and where there once had been only bone, there was now muscle. Where there once had been pointiness, his features now appeared to be carved from marble.

Hermione's immediate thought was that, well, Draco Malfoy was rather fit.

Hermione shook her head, banishing that thought.

Predictably, Malfoy was dressed head to toe in black, and Hermione nearly laughed at how ridiculous he looked wearing trousers and a button-up as he traipsed through the forest. Ever the aristocrat, Hermione supposed. She watched as Malfoy's eyes caught on something on the forest floor and he crouched down, hastily rolling up his sleeves as he did so. Malfoy ran his fingers over the ground and his serious expression flickered, turning into the infuriating smirk that Hermione recognized instantly.

It was when Malfoy picked up a handful of earth and allowed it to sift through his fingers that Hermione noticed the Mark on his left forearm.

The Dark Mark.

Harry had always suspected that Malfoy had been Marked before their sixth year, and it been all but a foregone conclusion when Malfoy had tried to assassinate Dumbledore, but Hermione had never seen the physical evidence that Draco Malfoy had indeed become a Death Eater.

Hermione felt her stomach drop. She stared at the Mark as Malfoy continued to study the earth with his fingers, the darkness of the Mark a sharp contrast with the paleness of his well-toned forearm, such an ugly image engraved on such beautiful skin.

Hermione almost felt sad for Malfoy. Almost.

He had been a boy when he had been Marked, but as he stood before her now, he was very much a man. Perhaps he hadn't had a choice then, but he certainly had a choice now—and he wore Voldemort's Dark Mark seemingly with pride.

Hermione was so lost in her thoughts about Malfoy that she didn't even notice that he had stood up and taken several steps forward—until he had walked directly into her wards with a startled oof. Hermione watched in amusement as his nose struck her wards first—served him right, the pointy bastard—and clearly confused, Malfoy took another step forward, which resulted in Hermione's wards repelling him completely, blasting him back several meters onto his aristocratic arse. Hermione chuckled silently.

Malfoy, for his part, looked like he had just been Confunded. His expression of confusion, in an instant, twisted into something that looked like rage, before he schooled his features into neutrality, his lips set in a straight line as he stood back up. He walked forward until he was directly in front of where Hermione's wards began. "Who's there?" Malfoy asked, not unkindly.

Hermione did not reply.

Malfoy sighed. "Whoever you are, I'm not here to hurt you." He paused for a moment, perhaps expecting a reply. "I'm tracking a unicorn, and I think it's been through here recently. Maybe you've seen it?"

Hermione's curiosity piqued. Malfoy was looking for a unicorn? Here? Hermione didn't think that was a possibility. For all intents and purposes, the Forest of Dean was a Muggle area. Furthermore, what would Malfoy need a unicorn for? It was then that Hermione was transported to her first year at Hogwarts, when Voldemort had killed unicorns in order to keep himself alive.

She felt herself grow cold. Of course Malfoy was looking for a unicorn on Voldemort's orders. Hermione could not let that happen.

Malfoy was still standing at the edge of her wards, now looking slightly dejected. He sighed one final time before he turned and began to walk away.

Hermione barely thought before she acted: she grabbed her wand and ran through her wards, pointing her wand at Malfoy's back. "Stupefy!" she cried.

Malfoy hit the ground with a thud.

When Hermione Rennervated Malfoy, he was bound by both magical and Muggle means on the floor of her tent with his wand just out of reach. She stood over him, staring down at him, as he slowly regained consciousness. His grey eyes blinked several times before they adjusted to the dim light of the tent and he found himself staring up at her. His mouth twisted into a sneer and his face flushed red. "You bitch!" he shouted, struggling against his binds.

Hermione did not reply, watching him struggle as she pointed her wand at him.

"I should've known it was you," Malfoy spat, struggling even harder. "Only a swot like you could've constructed wards that complex."

"Why are you looking for a unicorn?" Hermione asked coldly.

Malfoy ceased his struggling for the briefest of moments and looked up at her with a confused expression. "What?" he asked.

"Why are you looking for a unicorn?" Hermione repeated.

Malfoy blinked, then continued to fight the binds. "Oh, fuck off, Granger!"

"I'm not going to let you go until you answer me," Hermione said airily, enjoying watching Malfoy struggle.

"It's none of your godsdamned business, Granger," Malfoy spat.

"Are you going to kill it? For Volde—"

" Don't!" Malfoy cut her off, his eyes growing wide with fear. "Don't say his name. Or did you not learn your lesson the first time?" he asked bitterly.

Hermione felt her own eyes widen, confused by the apparent display of fear on Malfoy's face. She didn't know how to reconcile that expression with the Dark Mark that he bared so brazenly. Against her own volition, Hermione felt her wand fall to her side. "Why do you think there is unicorn here at all?" she asked. "This is a Muggle area. I certainly haven't seen one."

Even bound on the floor of her tent, completely at her mercy, Malfoy rolled his eyes. "For someone who buried her nose in books for so many years, you really are daft, aren't you? Firstly, it's probably drawn to all the magic here. And secondly," he continued haughtily, "Unicorns only appear at night. Been wandering around the forest at night, have you, Granger?"

Hermione bit her lip. Well, he certainly had a point.

"No," he said, drawing his conclusion, "I didn't think so."

"Why are you looking for a unicorn?" Hermione repeated.

He rolled his eyes again. "Confidential business."

"I won't let you kill it," Hermione said angrily.

"I hadn't planned on it," Malfoy replied simply, attempting to shrug even through his binds.

Hermione blinked. Well, that was surprising.

"Can you move me to a chair or something?" Malfoy continued. "Your floor is supremely uncomfortable."

Hermione rolled her eyes again, but conjured a chair for him and levitated him into a seated position. "Happy?" she asked.

"My thanks," he said, with an aristocratic tilt of his head. "How long have you been out here? People think you're dead, you know."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and stared at him. "What people?" she asked, curious.

Malfoy shrugged again. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied with that infuriating smirk.

Well, yes. That was the reason she had asked the question. Malfoy was still completely and utterly exasperating. "The unicorn," Hermione repeated for the umpteenth time.

"Well," Malfoy drawled, "if you would untie me I could show you what I intend to do with it. My guess is that it will return here tonight, just based on the amount of magic contained here." He attempted a shrug again.

Hermione laughed cruelly. "Unlikely, Malfoy."

Malfoy tilted his head, seeming to study her before letting out a heavy breath. "I meant what I said," he finally said, his voice softer and more serious. "I'm didn't come here to hurt you."

"No," Hermione finally snapped, "you just came here to hurt a defenseless unicorn!"

Malfoy's eyes hardened. "Just because I refuse to tell you my reason does not mean I intend to maim it," he replied coldly.

"Oh, so I'm simply supposed to take your word for it, Malfoy? I saw that horrible Mark on your arm," Hermione spat.

Malfoy blanched, and his face paled. "You don't know anything, Granger," he said.

His tone was ice and Hermione felt herself shiver at his words. She steeled herself and took several steps forward, once again training her wand on him. "What I know," she began, "is that your people killed Dumbledore, killed my friends, killed the Order—"

Malfoy's ire seemingly vanished, and he chuckled. "You really don't know anything, do you, Granger? Hiding out in the woods like a recluse—"

"I am not—!" Hermione protested.

He quieted and stared at her again, long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. Hermione bit her lip and looked away. She heard him let out a long sigh, followed by another long bout of silence. "Fine," he said finally. "Reach into my left pocket and you'll find everything that you need to know."

Hermione narrowed her eyes but closed the gap between them, gingerly reaching into Malfoy's left pocket, not wanting to fully touch him. Inside his pocket, Hermione's fingers closed around something hard and metal. She pulled it out and stared at it, completely flabbergasted by what she found in her hands: a single Galleon. She looked up at Malfoy, confused.

Malfoy merely nodded, a gesture that indicated that there was something more to the coin. "If you look closely, you'll see that it has no serial number."

Hermione turned the coin on its side, inspecting its circumference. Just as Malfoy had said, there were no serial numbers. "What—?" she began, before pausing and swallowing. "W-why do you have this?"

Malfoy appeared to think for several moments before he spoke again, "It's how my handler gets into contact with me," he said, his voice low and his eyes averted.

"What?" Hermione asked dumbly. "Handler?"

"My handler for the Order."

"What?" Hermione repeated.

"For fuck's sake, Granger, are you really a dimwit?" Malfoy asked harshly. "I'm telling you that I'm a spy for the Order."

"The Order?" she asked. "I thought—The Order—We lost—?"

Malfoy nodded. "Yes," he replied. "We did."

Hermione was struck then by the surreal thought that Draco Malfoy had said we, as if he were lumping himself in with the rest of the Order.

"But there's still a small faction. I'm not privy to most of the details."

"How long?" she asked quietly. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since my sixth year."

"But, Dumbledore—" Hermione began to protest.

"Planned," he replied coolly. "All of it."

"But—"

"—I know you have all sorts of questions, but can you please, for the love of Merlin, fucking untie me."

Hermione nearly jumped, but raised her wand and vanished both sets of binding. Malfoy groaned and stood, stretching. Hermione was struck by just how tall he was. She flinched away as he stretched and cracked his neck. "Can you get me into contact with them?" she asked hurriedly. She had been alone for so long, so convinced that the Order was gone. The idea of seeing her friends again—any of them—had her feeling desperate.

Malfoy nodded. "Yes—"

"Now?" Hermione asked hopefully.

He shook his head. "No," he replied, seeming somewhat apologetic. "They contact me. I have no way to contact them. I'll relay your location the next time I'm called."

"Who?" she asked. "Who is it? Who's still there—who's still alive?"

"I don't know," he said with a little shake of his head. "Like I said, I'm not privy to most of the details. I pass information to my handler—" he cut himself off, sighing. "I don't even know who it is. They're Polyjuiced every time."

Hermione felt her heart sink. Now that she knew—someone was still out there—she wanted to be there so badly. "Oh," she said quietly. "I suppose—I suppose that makes sense."

Malfoy stood and strode towards the opening of the tent, peering outside. "The sun has set," he said after a moment before pulling the fabric to the side and gesturing for Hermione to step outside. "Come, I'll show you why I was looking for the unicorn. I'd appreciate my wand, too, if that is at all possible."

Hermione grabbed Malfoy's wand, handing it to him as she followed him outside, where he walked just outside her wards before taking a seat on the ground, his long legs crossed. She sat down next to him, rolling her own wand in her hands. After several minutes of silence, she asked, "What are we doing?"

"We are waiting," he said. "Quietly, might I add."

Hermione pressed her lips closed.

They waited for several hours. Hermione fidgeted, uncomfortable with the silence and stillness, while Malfoy remained still and stoic next to her. Around midnight, Hermione heard the telltale signs of twigs snapping and the rustle of leaves that indicated someone was approaching. Hermione's first instinct was to run. Malfoy, seeming to sense this, placed a hand on her knee. "Be still," he said. Hermione found herself shocked by the gentleness of his tone and his touch. She forced herself to remain still, despite her best judgement.

The rustle of leaves grew closer, and Hermione had to suck in her breath of surprise as a lone unicorn appeared in the clearing, looking just a regal as Hermione had always imagined, it's mane shimmering and glittering in the moonlight. Its coat was a beautiful, creamy shade of white that put even Malfoy's blonde hair to shame.

Beside her, Malfoy rose slowly. He approached the unicorn carefully with his left hand outstretched. He clicked his tongue gently as he got closer, and the unicorn took several tentative steps before dropping its nose into Malfoy's open palm. Gently, Malfoy rubbed the unicorn's snout, his fingers traveling upwards.

Hermione watched in awe as the unicorn dropped its head even lower and closed its eyes in pleasure, allowing Malfoy to scratch behind its ears.

He was speaking to the unicorn in a hushed tone words that Hermione could not hear, but the unicorn had clearly been lulled into a sense of security as it cocked its back hoof and leaned more heavily into Malfoy. It was then that Hermione watched Malfoy slowly pull what appeared to be a switchblade out of his trouser pocket. Hermione shot out of her position on the ground and ran towards Malfoy. "No!" she shouted, pointing her wand at Malfoy once more.

Instantly, the unicorn balked and ran back into the forest.

Malfoy turned towards, looking enraged. "What the fuck, Granger?" he spat.

"You said you weren't going to hurt it!" she accused.

"I wasn't!" Malfoy insisted.

"Then what's with the knife?"

Malfoy looked down at the knife in his hands and sighed. "I wasn't going to hurt it, Granger," his tone softer. "I just needed a bit of his horn."

"And that's not hurting it?" Hermione asked sarcastically.

Malfoy shook his head. "No," he said simply. "What a lot of people don't know is that as long as you don't remove it at the base, a unicorn horn will grow back completely. And if you didn't notice, I asked it for its fucking permission first. But now you've gone and scared it off." He shook his head in frustration.

"I'm to believe you asked a unicorn for its permission to cut off its horn?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes. It may surprise you, Granger, but I have learned quite a bit about magical creatures since my school days."

It did surprise her, frankly.

"What's it for?" she asked. "The horn, I mean?"

Finally, he answered her, "I need it to make the antidote for Veritaserum. I brew it every few months for the Order, in case anyone ever gets captured."

Hermione stared up at him in complete and utter confusion. The antidote for Veritaserum was incredibly difficult to brew—Hermione herself wasn't even entirely sure how to brew it—but before her stood Draco Malfoy—Marked Death Eater—who brewed it for the Order.

She had recognized the Malfoy that had walked into the woods, but this Malfoy—the one in front of her—she did not recognize at all.

He scowled at her. "I'll be back tomorrow night," he said. "Getting this horn is extremely important. Try and stay out of my way, will you?"

"If you had just told me what you needed it for when I asked for the first time—" Hermione began.

He rolled his eyes again. "You always had to know everything. Absolutely irritating."

"Well, you're infuriating," Hermione shot back.

Malfoy shook his head. "Goodbye, Granger," he shot back, before apparating away, leaving Hermione, once again, alone in the woods.

a/n: Hello, everyone, and welcome back if this is not your first rodeo with me. Ideally, this story will be updated once a week, but I do not have a set schedule at the moment-however, I do have 8 chapters completely written and ready to be edited. So, let's go on a little adventure, friendos!

Feedback is always appreciated!

Until next time,

Peanut
xoxo