Hermione was surprised the next morning when she arrived in the meeting room several minutes before 10 AM to find Shacklebolt, Ron, and Harry already present and seated, seemingly waiting for her. At Harry, she narrowed her eyes. "Harry?" she asked.

Harry grinned and shrugged. "I know you retired me," he replied. "But I—" he cut himself off just as his eyes flickered towards her, and Hermione immediately recognized that he was talking to her and her alone. "I still have to know."

His whole life. Voldemort had been his whole life. Of course, he still wanted to know. Hermione merely nodded.

There was a small chess board in front of Ron. Hermione watched as he moved his knight, avoiding a bishop, and moving dangerously close to the opposing King.

Shacklebolt was waiting patiently, his hands clasped together atop the table. He was watching her.

Hermione blinked and took a deep breath. "In two days, Draco will steal the prophecy." Everyone remained silent, so Hermione continued, "The next time he calls me will be so he can deliver said prophecy. After which he will be joining the Order fully. Does anyone have any objections?"

"Malfoy has provided us valuable information, losing him as a spy could be a detriment to the Order," replied Shacklebolt.

Hermione nodded. "I know," she said. "And I'm not saying that losing Draco as a spy won't possibly be detrimental to the Order, but the Order has two other spies. We won't be playing blind without him."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ron's bishop corner the opposing King, making its escape impossible. "Checkmate," he said quietly. The King promptly shattered across the board. He looked up at Hermione seriously, his eyes narrowed. "Do you think Malfoy would be more of an asset as and Order member than as a spy—or does this stem purely from your personal feelings?" he asked.

Hermione swallowed. "Both," she replied honestly. "But I've thought about this at length. I genuinely believe he would be more of an asset as an Order member."

"And what makes you think that?" Shacklebolt asked.

"He's been a Death Eater since he was sixteen years old," she said quietly, looking to Harry. He merely nodded. Harry had known then, even despite her and Ron's protestations. "He knows Him better than anyone in the Order—perhaps even better than Harry. He's the reason we even know about that snake—I don't know if I'd have ever figured that out on my own. Draco knows Him. He knows how He thinks."

"And he'll help us destroy it?" Shacklebolt pressed. "The snake?"

Hermione nodded confidently. "Draco wants Him dead just as much as the Order does. The other spies—I can't speak for them. But this is personal for Draco."

His chess board reset, Ron leaned back in his chair and turned to Harry. "What do you think, Harry?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry merely shrugged. "I trust Hermione," he replied. "And I trust her judgement."

"Then let's take a vote," Ron said. "Those in favor of Malfoy joining the Order, raise your hand."

Hermione's hand instantly shot into the air, followed quickly by Harry's. Ron stared at his chess board for a moment before apprehensively raising his own hand. Shacklebolt stayed still.

"The ayes have it, then," Harry announced. "Malfoy is officially joining the Order." He shook his head minutely. "Words I'd never thought I'd say."

"I hope this is not a mistake, Ms. Granger," Shacklebolt said grimly, shaking his head.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, before nodding towards the maps on the walls. "Do you see that map? The one of Luxembourg and France?" she asked. "That was Draco. He did that—to give the Order an advantage." She paused, closed her eyes, and swallowed forcefully. "Draco lied to Him and was tortured for it. I was there. It wasn't the first time, either. Draco was willing to sacrifice himself to give the Order an advantage—I think the Order would be lucky to have such a member."

Shacklebolt remained quiet, staring up at Hermione.

"She has a point, Kings," Ron said after a moment. "It's thanks to Malfoy that Fleur and Bill were able to successfully infiltrate the Ministry in Paris. Their information has been useful. We wouldn't have been able to do that without Malfoy."

So Fleur and Bill were also still alive.

Shacklebolt briefly looked down at his hands before nodding. "This is true," he replied quietly. His gaze returned to Hermione. "However, I remain wary. Malfoy's loyalty is on your shoulders, Ms. Granger—he is your responsibility. I fear that you have been tricked. If Malfoy turns on us, it could mean the demise of the entire Order. Are you certain of his loyalty?"

Hermione clenched her jaw. Shacklebolt had no idea—not the slightest idea of what Draco had been through, or of how loyal he had truly been. And to insult her judgement? Her feelings for Draco were not a hindrance, they were an asset. She wasn't being fooled by her feelings—she saw Draco clearer than probably anyone else ever had. She knew him. "I am certain," Hermione replied coldly. "I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life."

"The ayes have it, then," Shacklebolt eventually conceded. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

Hermione woke before the sun on the day Draco was going to steal the prophecy, her stomach positively twisted into knots. As she pulled herself out of bed, her stomach lurched violently, and she found herself retching directly onto the floor. Hermione groaned and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before banishing the mess.

Today was the day. The day Draco would steal the prophecy. She stared down longingly at her bed, knowing that if she got up now, she'd be exhausted later. She would need her energy, she knew, for whatever came next. Her stomach twisted again, and Hermione immediately knew there was no point in trying to sleep anymore. There was no way she'd be getting any sleep until she knew Draco was safe.

Instead, Hermione rose and headed to the bathroom to take advantage of the early morning and the rare quietness of the house to take a long shower, hoping it would sooth her nerves.

It helped minutely. When she was done, she dressed quickly and headed downstairs. Predictably, the first floor was also empty of people, so Hermione forced herself to eat a slice of toast and to drink a cup of tea. Feeling aimless, she wandered into the living room where only days ago there had been a party. There was still evidence lying about—a handful of empty beer bottles on the coffee tables, and the stale scent of alcohol still hung in the air.

Hermione perched herself on the couch and found the remote to the old television that she was constantly hearing in her bedroom. She turned the television on and began to flip through the handful of stations it received. Finding nothing of interest, Hermione quickly turned the television off. She stood and walked to the other side of the room where there was a large bookcase, which she promptly rummaged through. There was nothing of interest here, either. Hermione let out a huff.

How was she going to get through the day? she wondered.

"Can't sleep either?" asked Ron's voice.

Hermione, startled, jumped and turned to find Ron sitting at the dining room table in the adjacent room, his chess board in front of him. "Oh, my gods, Ronald," she said, exhaling heavily. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," he replied, grinning at her.

"Why are you awake so early?" Hermione asked as she took a seat next to Ron. He had just started his game of chess—only a few pawns had advanced. "And why are you always playing chess?"

Ron merely shrugged. "I don't sleep very well," he replied. "And chess helps me think."

"Funny, Harry said the exact same thing—about sleeping, I mean."

"I suspect there are many of us around here who don't sleep well. We all handle it in different ways. Harry pretends he sleeps or disappears entirely, I play chess, and George drinks until he passes out." He shrugged. "We all do what we have to do." Hermione nodded, watching as Ron's bishop took an opposing knight, which was then promptly taken by the queen. "Fuck," he swore.

"Now, I even I know that was a stupid move, and you know how rubbish I am at chess," Hermione said, laughing.

"I was testing a strategy," Ron grumbled. "Clearly, a bad idea."

"Clearly," Hermione agreed.

"It's today, isn't?" Ron asked after a moment, resetting the chess board. "When he's going to steal the prophecy? That's why you're awake and looking like you're about to jump out of your skin."

Hermione nodded jerkily. "Yes, it's today—and I don't even—I don't even know when. He didn't even tell me. I just—I feel sick to my stomach."

Ron had never been very good at hiding his feelings. Like Draco, he had pale skin that tended to hint at the slightest hint of irritation. A light red flush had begun to creep into Ron's cheeks and Hermione immediately stopped talking, feeling awkward. Beneath the table, she began to fiddle with her fingers.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "I don't know—whether or not I should talk to you about him?"

Ron's pawns once again began their ascent on the board. He swallowed and pulled his fingers away from the pieces, leaning back against his chair. "I don't—I can't pretend to understand it, Hermione," he replied after a moment. "There was a time—that I thought—you and I—" Ron cut himself off. His face darkened further. "But that time's passed, hasn't it? You're not the same and I'm not the same. It probably wouldn't have worked then, but it definitely wouldn't work now." He paused.

Secretly, Hermione agreed. She and Ron would have never worked—not really.

"I just have one question," Ron said after a moment.

"What's that?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Is he good to you? Does he treat you right?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she replied emphatically.

"Good," Ron said, returning to his chess pieces. "Because if he gets here, and I find that he doesn't, I'll kick that ferret's teeth in."

Hermione couldn't help her laugh. "Fair enough," she agreed.

Ron gave her a lopsided grin. "Here, play black," he said, gesturing to side of the board opposite him. "It'll help you keep your mind off of it."

"Go easy on me?" Hermione asked.

"Absolutely not," Ron replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes but tilted the board towards her, eager for anything that would take her mind off Draco and his impending mission for the time being.

They played several rounds of chess in silence—Hermione losing heartily every time—before the Order members began waking up and moving about the house. Ginny walked into the room, halfway through their current chess match. "Ron—" she began, as if she had known she would find him here, before her eyes rested on Hermione and grew wide with surprise. "Oh," she said quietly. "I did not expect this."

"Hi, Gin," Hermione replied just as Ron took her queen. "Dammit."

Ginny laughed. "Hi," she said. "You two are—playing chess?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked back down at the board, searching for a way out of her predicament even though she knew she had effectively already lost. Moreso, she didn't want to look Ginny in the eye. The existence of the prophecy was still a secret, and therefore, Draco's mission had to be, too.

"Hermione needed to take her mind off of some things," Ron replied.

Hermione looked up, meeting his eyes. She could see Ginny expectantly waiting for an answer from her. Slowly, Ron blinked and minutely nodded. He was harder to read now—she'd never be able to read him as well as she once had. But now, in this moment—she could read him. Tell her, he'd said.

"Draco has a mission today," Hermione said quietly after a moment. "An important one—his last one."

"I assume you can't tell me what it is?" Ginny asked, sitting down next to her.

Hermione looked back to Ron, who slowly shook his head. "No," Hermione replied. "Not yet."

Ginny nodded as if she had expected as much. "Well, if you need to take your mind off it—I'm about to make breakfast. Chess is boring anyways," Ginny said brightly.

Hermione looked back to Ron who grinned and nodded. "It's been fun, Hermione. But you're right—you're rubbish at chess."

She rolled her eyes and stood to follow Ginny. With a flick of her finger, Hermione knocked over Ron's King. "Checkmate," she said.

"Not how it works!" Ron shouted back as Hermione followed Ginny into the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked seriously as soon as they reached the kitchen. "You look positively ill."

Hermione shook her head. "The first thing I did this morning was throw up, Gin. I think I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

In a perfect impersonation of Molly Weasley, Ginny promptly pushed the hair from Hermione's face and laid her palm against her forehead. "You're clammy, but you don't have a fever." Ginny fixed her with a serious gaze. "You aren't pregnant, are you?" she asked.

Hermione immediately pulled away from Ginny. "No!" she hissed. "We only had sex the one time!"

Ginny stared at her for a moment before sighing. "How about a calming draught?" she asked.

"No," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "I don't know when this is happening—I need to be prepared."

Ginny appeared to ignore her as she opened a cabinet that appeared to be full of potions. Hermione's heart beat painfully in her chest—Draco had brewed nearly every single one of those potions, she knew. They were identical to the ones inside his own kitchen. Ginny pulled a potion from the shelf and pushed it into Hermione's hands. "Here," she said. "Take at least half of it. I swear you're about to jump out of your skin."

It was a good brew. She knew it was a good brew. Draco had brewed it, so of course it was a good brew. She wouldn't be any good for Draco if she was a mess, she reasoned. She pulled the cork from the vial and took a sniff. Immediately, she felt calmer. Draco didn't need her today—he would assure her he was safe, then it would be days before he'd come. He had things he had to settle.

A calming draught would be okay, right?

Right.

Just as she put the vial to her lips, she felt a nagging feeling in her gut—something telling her not to take it. She wanted to ignore it—because of course, she was being irrational. But the nagging feeling continued, and she placed the vial on the counter, pushing it away. "I can't, Ginny."

What if something goes wrong? nagged her self-conscious.

Something was going to go wrong.

Now that she had thought it, she couldn't unthink it.

Something was going to go wrong.

Nothing was going to go wrong, Hermione told herself. Draco had a plan, and he had Harry's invisibility cloak. Nobody knew about the prophecy. Nothing was going to go wrong.

Nothing was going to go wrong.

"Okay," Ginny replied, looking entirely unconvinced.

"Let's make breakfast," Hermione said, forcing a smile to her face.

"I mostly said that as an excuse to get you away from Ron. I usually make breakfast by myself. I'm a Weasley. It isn't difficult to prepare eggs and toast for a house full of people."

"Oh—"

For the second time that morning, Hermione was startled. She turned to find Harry, who was looking at his shoes.

"Sorry," he continued. Harry looked up, his eyes avoiding Ginny all together. "I just—I have something for you, Hermione."

Hermione went to Harry, who immediately pressed a small, wrapped item into her hand. "A Portkey," he murmured. "For here. Just in case."

Something was going to go wrong.

Hermione merely nodded and took the Portkey, placing it in her pocket next to Draco's coin. Suddenly, her chest felt right. She needed to be away from everyone—immediately. "Excuse me," she said robotically, her voice sounded foreign to her. She pushed past Harry and ran up the stairs and to her bedroom, promptly closing the door and leaning against it, struggling to breathe.

She needed to calm down. Hermione fought to remember Draco's promises—this was the safest mission the Order had ever tasked him with—he would be fine—Draco wasn't worried, so why should she be?

Because she loved him, of course.

Breathe, she reminded herself, and it was Draco's voice that she heard. Breathe, Hermione. I'm going to be fine.

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

The tightness in her chest began to ease as Hermione continued to force her breathing.

I'm going to be fine.

He was going to be fine. Draco was going to be just fine.

There was a knock at her door. Hermione closed her eyes briefly before forcefully exhaling again. Draco was going to be fine, she repeated to herself before opening her door.

She wasn't surprised to find Harry on the other side. "Hermione," he said immediately. "I didn't mean to imply—"

Hermione cut him off with a wave of her hand. "No, I know," she replied. "I just—I have a bad feeling, that's all."

Harry took several steps into her room and closed the door. He nodded knowingly. "I know," he agreed. "I feel the same way every time Ginny leaves for a task. She always comes back in one piece."

Hermione glared at Harry. "That—isn't the same thing at all, Harry," she replied, her heart clenching painfully in her chest.

"I know—" Harry said, nodding. "I just mean—We're always going to worry. There's no changing that. There's nothing we can do but wait and hope for the best."

Hermione supposed that Harry had a point. Draco's mission was already underway—it was completely out of her hands. There was nothing she could do. Catastrophizing certainly wouldn't help matters.

"Just—" Harry continued after a moment. "Believe in him. That's what I do with Ginny."

I believe in you, she had told him. She had meant it. That was something she could do—She could believe in him. She believed in him. "I can do that," Hermione replied, nodding emphatically.

"Just breathe," Harry reminded her, gently squeezing her shoulder.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

Believe.

Draco could do this. He had assured her that he could do this.

Draco could do this.

Her breathing returned to normal, but the sick feeling in her stomach persisted. She was equal parts exhausted and uneasy, and she collapsed into her bed with a huff. Harry joined her, crossing his arms across his chest and staring at the ceiling with her. "I didn't expect—" Hermione began before pausing. "Well, truthfully, I didn't expect any of this. The Order. You, Ron, Ginny. I was certain you were all dead—but, that being beside the point. You've all been—fine. With him, I mean," she clarified. "I would never have expected that."

Against the mattress, Harry shrugged. "Truthfully, I'm just happy you're alive. If he helped keep you safe—well, then he's fine as far as I'm concerned. He's been a good spy, and I trust your judgement."

Hermione turned her head to look at Harry. "Shacklebolt doesn't," she muttered. "You're different, you know? Less—brash. More pragmatic."

He shrugged again. "I died, remember? Some things aren't as serious as I used to make them out to be. If you're happy, then I'm happy."

"Thank you," Hermione said quietly. "That—actually means a lot to me."

"You're my best friend, Hermione. You always have been," he replied, in lieu of further explanation.

Hermione took his hand, gently squeezing it. "You've always been mine, too."

They laid like that in comfortable silence for a long time, staring at the ceiling, and Hermione had nearly begun to doze off when something began to burn hot in her pocket. Immediately, she sat up and pulled the Galleon free. "CLEARING," the coin read in all capital letters. "EMG."

"EMG?" Hermione asked.

Harry also sat up. "Emergency," he replied gently.

An emergency. Something had gone wrong.

"I have to go," Hermione said, frantically searching for her purple beaded bag.

"Go," Harry agreed, instantly finding her bag and pressing it into her hands. "Be careful."

Hermione closed her eyes, pictured the clearing, and promptly disapparated. There was a twisting, wrenching sensation behind her navel and suddenly she was back in the clearing. Draco was nowhere to be seen. "Draco!" Hermione called out.

Suddenly he was before her on the ground, yanking Harry's invisibility cloak off and over his head. The first thing Hermione noticed was that he was bleeding—heavily. For a moment, she was frozen, her eyes traveling down his body. There was a large tear in the leg of his trousers where the bleeding seemed to be coming from. Her first thought was that Draco's leg looked—wrong. As her senses returned to her, Hermione realized that she was looking at Draco's bare bone, sticking directly through his skin.

She moved immediately, running to him and falling onto her knees before him. "Draco! What—?"

He met her eyes and pressed Harry's invisibility cloak into her hands. When he spoke, his voice was shaking, "I need you to do something for me, Hermione," he said. "Can you do that?"

Hermione instantly nodded. "Tell me what to do, Draco."

Draco winced. "I need you to take that cloak and tie it here," he said gesturing to his leg, directly above where his wound appeared to be, "and I need you to tie it as tightly as you can. It's going to hurt a lot, and I will probably scream, but whatever you do—tie it as tightly as you can."

Hermione wrapped Harry's cloak around Draco's leg, pulling it taut. Draco hissed between his teeth, his eyes tightly shut. She ignored the urge to drop the cloak, pulling it tighter around Draco's leg even as his groans of pain grew louder. She pushed the thought that she was hurting him out of her mind as she knotted the cloak. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

Draco shook his head. "Don't be. You did well. I need to see a Healer—soon.," he said. He ran his hand through his hair, covering his forehead and hair in blood.

Hermione took his bloody hand in hers and thought of the safe house. The dining room table where she had played chess with Ron just this morning. Again, there was a twisting and wrenching sensation, and then they landed—hard, on said dining room table, directly in front Ron and his chess set. "Blimey!" Ron shouted, jumping back from the table.

"We need a Healer now," Hermione said frantically, still gripping Draco's hand.

Ron's surprise did not last very long. Almost immediately, his eyes narrowed seriously, and he nodded. "I'll get Lav," he said.

Several Order members had made their way to the edges of the dining room, curious about the commotion. With a scowl, Hermione withdrew her wand and promptly slammed the doors shut. This was not how they would find out about Draco.

Draco was gripping her hand painfully. He was positively grey when Hermione looked down at him. "I got it, Hermione," he said in a shaking voice. He attempted a smile, which promptly morphed into a grimace. "I got the prophecy."

"I knew you would," Hermione replied, gently squeezing his hand. "You weren't supposed to get hurt, though. I thought that was part of our deal."

He winced. "I rushed it. I was sloppy. I thought—I thought I knew all the security measures—I missed one," he said. "I set off an alarm."

Hermione's stomach flipped and she felt herself grow cold. "Do they—" Hermione forced herself to swallow her panic. "Do they know it was you?"

Draco attempted a smirk. He nearly pulled it off. "That's the other thing," he replied. "It was Theo—" he broke off, grimacing. "Theo caught me, and he let me go. He's one of the other spies."

"Are you—?" Are you sure, she had begun to ask, just before she was interrupted by Harry, Ron, and Lavender Brown entering the room.

Immediately, Draco grew quiet, and his eyes narrowed. His hold on Hermione's hand tightened minutely. She attempted to squeeze back, assuring him that she would not be leaving him.

Hermione watched as Lavender took a place at the side of the table, studying Draco's injured leg with a critical look. Lavender had never struck Hermione as the type of person to become a Healer, and Hermione was about to voice her objections when Lavender's right eye swiveled unnaturally towards her. Just as Lavender's eye fixed its gaze on Hermione, Lavender turned to her. Her face had been mauled—three huge parallel scars marred her face, from her forehead down to her chin. The scar had not spared her right eye. It was a fake eye, very similar to that of Alastor Moody's. "I assure you, I know what I'm doing," Lavender said calmly, as if she had read Hermione's mind, before turning back to Draco's leg.

Hermione merely nodded.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Lavender asked, looking up towards Malfoy. She paused briefly. "Is this who I think it is?"

"It's Malfoy," Harry replied quietly.

Lavender immediately withdrew her wand. "No, I can't—"

"He's one of us now, Lavender," Ron said gently. "We took a vote. He's part of the Order now."

Lavender's right eye swiveled to where Hermione was still holding Draco's hand, then to her face. Hermione nodded. "He's been on our side the whole time," Hermione said quietly.

Lavender sighed heavily, but her wand returned to Draco's leg. "Malfoy, can you tell me what happened?" Lavender repeated. "Were you cursed?"

Draco was trembling now, his teeth gritted. He shook his head. "Had to get away quickly," he replied. "Very nearly splinched myself. No curses. This was all me."

"Ron, I need a blood replenishing potion. I want to stabilize him before we move him to the infirmary." Lavender was studying Draco's injury critically. She sighed again. "I'm going to have to regrow a portion of this bone—it's too badly broken."

Hermione watched as Lavender poured a blood replenishing potion down Draco's throat. His hand had begun to grow cold in her own, and he was very nearly white. Hermione was certain he was about to pass out completely. He coughed on the potion but managed to swallow most of it. Slowly, color began to return to his face. Draco squeezed her hand.

"He's stable for now," Lavender said. "Let's take him to the infirmary."

With the help of Harry and Ron, Draco was quickly levitated, and Lavender began to lead the way to the infirmary. Hermione still held fast to Draco's hand. His eyes never left her face.

Once they reached the infirmary, Draco was promptly lowered on to an empty bed, and Lavender began shouting orders. Draco was forced to swallow half a dozen potions before Lavender finally paused, staring down at Draco grimly. "I have to remove this bone," she said. "I'm not going to lie; it's going to hurt—a lot. Do you want a pain relief potion?"

Draco winced and gripped Hermione's hand tightly. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No," he said forcefully. "Just do it."

"Draco—" Hermione began to protest.

He cut her off with gritted teeth. "I have important information. I need to talk to you—to the Order. A pain potion would have me out for hours."

Hermione's eyes flashed to Harry's, who was standing in the corner, looking bewildered. He shrugged and nodded.

Hermione sighed. "You are infuriating," she said quietly before ducking down and kissing his forehead, ignoring the blood that had dried there.

"Yes, I know," he replied. "I need something to bite down on."

Lavender, as if expecting Draco's request, promptly handed him a tongue depressor.

Draco placed the wood between his teeth. "Do it," he mumbled around the wood. He squeezed Hermione's hand so hard she was afraid he would crush her bones. She squeezed back.

With a wave of Lavender's wand, the bone sticking out of Draco's leg promptly disappeared. Draco screamed through his teeth, biting down hard on the tongue depressor. Hermione blinked away her tears. She hated seeing Draco in pain, and he had been in far too much pain today. Her nerves were positively fried, but she could not cry right now.

Lavender pulled the tongue depressor from Draco's mouth and immediately pressed a vial of Skele-Gro to his lips. After swallowing the potion, Draco promptly collapsed against the pillow. His grip on Hermione's hand finally began to loosen. "He needs to rest now. It will take a while for that bone to regrow," Lavender said, before pulling a white sterile curtain around Draco's bed and disappearing, leaving Draco, Hermione, Harry and Ron alone.

The room was silent for only a moment before Draco spoke, his voice hoarse: "I got it. I got the prophecy. It's in my robes," he gestured weakly to his side.

With her free hand, Hermione pulled the orb from Draco's robes. She held it carefully in the palm of her hand. It glowed brightly in her hand as a storm brewed just beneath its surface, dark grey tendrils swirling around each other. The prophecy flashed briefly, reminding Hermione of lightning. Briefly, Hermione wondered if the prophecy foretold of destruction or creation.

"That is the prophecy that the Order has requested," Draco said seriously. "I offer it to the Order as a vow of my loyalty."

In the corner, Harry stood with his arms crossed. He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. "Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Malfoy."

End of Part I

a/n: See you 7/14, where we will start Part II. In the meantime, I'd love to hear your thoughts.