An Aversion to Change.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Summary: After his failed attempt on Dumbledore's life, Draco seeks refuge at the Order of the Phoenix. Sent back to Hogwarts with suspicious title of Head Boy, he is forced to share a dormitory with none other than Hermione Granger. But with war looming on the horizon and another danger even closer to home, their seventh year of Hogwarts is anything but ordinary.

A story of compelling intrigue, hidden motives, dangerous secrets, and obvious passion. Animagi, Quidditch, the Order of the Phoenix. Masquerades and riddles. Hate and love. Pleasure and pain. A blend of contradictions that, for two people, makes a truly unforgettable final year. Slow moving D/Hr with plenty of plot.


Chapter 1.

Desertion. ( Hülgamine).


Draco was thrown unceremoniously onto the rough stone floor at the Dark Lord’s feet. The rock cut slightly into his face, but little scrapes were the least of his worries. Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore. Instead, Snape had to do the deed. Because of Draco’s weakness, he had botched his first mission. He was in trouble, and he knew it. And if one was in trouble with Voldemort, one had a singular option: to beg.

“Please, my Lord. Forgive me. I was weak. I was taken in by the old codger’s empty promises. I have failed you.” Draco hung his head lower, if such a feat were even possible. His voice was filled with sincere shame and regret.

“Silence!” came Voldemort’s authoritative voice from his elevated seat on the red wing-backed chair. “I do not wish to hear your miserable excuses, boy. I wish only to be obeyed, which you have not done. And for that, you deserve only one thing.”

Draco steeled himself for death’s swift approach. It would not be the first time he awaited the bright green light of the Killing Curse. But instead of death’s icy grip, he was dealt an astonishing amount of pain.

“Crucio!”

Draco writhed on the floor, curling up into a ball and hugging his legs to his chest. Such pain was not unfamiliar to him; he had, after all, lived with his father for 17 years. But as familiar as the pain was, he had not grown accustomed to it. For who could ever adapt to the feeling of his eyes being seared with a white hot poker? Or a wedge being driven under his nails? Or his organs being torn to bits by savages inside his own skin?

His father, Lucius Malfoy, was now looking on as his son was being tortured. His cold eyes held no pity within them. Instead, they were filled with stark disappointment and utmost disgust. His lip curled as he heard Draco pitifully cry out in pain.

The pain stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun, leaving Draco sweaty and panting on the cold floor. Voldemort removed his gaze from the worthless boy at his feet and barked an order to Lucius.

“Remove this boy from my sight! Take him back to Malfoy Manor and teach him a lesson of your own. I expect you back here within the hour to receive further instructions. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Lord,” he replied obediently.

Lucius walked over to a motionless Draco and roughly grasped his upper arm. Hauling the young man to his feet, they both Apparated with a small pop and arrived mere seconds later at Malfoy Manor.

Lucius threw Draco down immediately upon their arrival; it was as if he was loathe to touch his son for a moment longer than was necessary. He then started in on his own brand of punishment: a mixture of physical and emotional torture that he had perfected over years of fatherhood.

For nearly an hour, Lucius slung insults at Draco, demeaning him in every possible way. Every so often, he would throw in a well-aimed hex or a kick to the stomach or a whack across Draco’s face with his pointed cane. The result was a broken and bleeding boy, lying motionless but still conscious on the white marble floor of the manor’s foyer. Blood oozed out of Draco’s body steadily, pooling and congealing on the floor, providing a horrifyingly beautiful contrast of crimson upon ivory.

With a final insult and kick to Draco’s ribs, Lucius glared at his son with tremendous revulsion and stalked away.

Draco’s mind registered the sound of his father’s heels and cane upon the hard stone floors and heard the pop of his Disapparation. It was only then that Draco allowed himself to move. With pitiable slowness, he moved to a wall, creating a wide streak of smeared blood across the floor. He pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing with pain and breathing slowly. He could feel one or two of his ribs being pushed into his lungs, impeding his breath. Every slow inhale brought a burst of pain, every burst of pain brought another gasp, and every gasp brought more pain. It was an unendurable cycle.

The pain kept Draco from falling into the coveted state of unconsciousness. He kept the tenuous grasp on his sanity intact by reassuring himself that a release from the pain, be it the blessed unconsciousness or death, would come soon. Unconsciousness was the savior for Draco this time, as it had been all the times before. His head slumped against the wall as he fainted from blood loss.

XOX

How much later it was when he woke, Draco was unsure. All he knew was that his wounds had been seen to and his chest had been wrapped. Instead of lying on the marble floor in a pool of his own blood, he was now on the black leather couch in his father’s sitting room.

Mother found me, he thought with certainty. Had it been his father, Draco would still be bleeding on the floor.

He opened his eyes, feeling too weak to move much more than that. The deep and icy voice of his father came floating to Draco’s ears from behind the couch.

“Luckily for you, the Dark Lord said that all was not lost. He has come up with a way for you to redeem yourself. You do not deserve such a chance, but the Dark Lord is merciful.”

Merciful. Draco inwardly scoffed at this remark, but made no outward gesture of his emotion. To do so would have practically requested another beating, or possibly even death.

Lucius moved to the front of the couch to better regard his son. He sneered at the bandages, as if they too were a sign of weakness.

“But know this: if you fail this mission, he will do worse than kill you. Do you understand me, boy?”

Draco feebly nodded his understanding and tried to stay awake and alert enough to hear the Dark Lord’s new orders. When he finished explaining, Lucius rose to leave. “You understand what you need to do, Draco. Do not disappoint me.”

The last was said with an unspoken threat. With that, Lucius left.

XOX

A week passed. Draco was no where near fully healed, but he had regained enough of his strength and his mind to realize what he had to do.

I have to get out of here, he thought desperately. He mounted the long staircase to his room, pausing often to catch his breath. He clutched the banister with shaky white fingers, breathing deeply and simultaneously groaning in pain because of his cracked ribs. He finally reached his room and leaned against the door in exhaustion. More than anything, he wanted to rest. But I can’t. Not right now. I have to get out of here first.

As quickly as he could, Draco ripped open his drawers and started haphazardly piling his clothes into a trunk. Pants, shirts, boxers, socks, everything. He would leave nothing in his bureau or his bathroom.

He tried not to think of his mother, the poor woman who had actually cared for her son’s well-being. It was she who endured most of his father’s wrath when Draco was a child. But now that he was legally an adult, Lucius was able to beat Draco as much as he wanted without fear of retribution from the Wizengamot. He owned half of them anyways, so complaining would do little to no good. Draco hoped that his father would not kill his mother while he was away, but there was no possible way to predict the sadistic man’s actions.

Getting downstairs was a bit more difficult than going up. The weakened boy tried to silently lug his heavy trunk down the stairs. His attempt was not met with much success. Halfway down, his shaky fingers, now coated in a thin sheen of sweat, lost their grip on the awkward trunk. It banged down the stairs and loudly echoed in the empty foyer. He knew that it was only a matter of time until his mother would come running to stop him. Ignoring the blackness now threatening his vision and his wounds, newly opened from his physical exertion up and down the stairs, Draco focused his eyes on the door.

With heavy and slow footsteps, Draco continued. The distance, which could have been no more than ten feet, seemed to be ten miles. It was an interminable walk.

This must be what the steps of a dead man feel like, he thought.

He finally reached the threshold and took a deep breath. With a determined air, he stepped over it, officially outside the boundary that had trapped him for so long. Once he was halfway down the walk, he turned around to regard his house one last time. The dark and brooding structure held no love for him, and he felt none in return. He hated each gloomy stone, each grotesque gargoyle, each threatening spire, each looming chimney. With a triumphant smile, he Apparated to the address that Dumbledore mentally sent to him just seconds before his death.

The last thing Draco saw as he disappeared was a flash of his mother. She was bracing herself against the doorway of Malfoy Manor with a look of defeat. She, of course, realized what her son was doing and that she was powerless to stop him. Even from the distance he was at, he could see tears falling steadily down her pale face. She raised one hand to her head, cradling it gently. The other was over her heart, her fingers flexing slightly as if the movement was the only thing keeping the worn organ working. Draco felt a tug at his own heart: leaving his mother, the woman that had cared for him and raised him, was harder than he expected.

He saw her only for a moment, and then he was gone.

In an instant, Draco landed in a run-down neighborhood. He could hear the other people living on the street going about their lives as loudly as they possibly could. Babies were crying, lovers were arguing, and children were laughing. All of these normal noises that Draco never really had a chance to experience hit him like a brick.

He sighed. So this is how the other half lives. Draco did not regret his decision, but he did wish it could be another way.

As he walked towards the address, the house slowly materialized. At first came a small and worn door. The door was then surrounded by tatty-looking walls and windows covered in thick cobwebs of pearly white. He raised his hand to the door knocker, shaped like a snake. Draco grimaced as he took another deep breath and knocked twice on the door to 12 Grimmauld Place, headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

I like it!
Next!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 2.

Homecoming.


Draco stood in front of the black and dirty door, wondering if anyone had heard his knocks. He raised his hand to the knocker and was about to rap again when the door opened. His eyes opened wide as he immediately recognized the witch that answered the door.

How could anyone not recognize that hair? he thought.

Indeed, Hermione Granger’s hair was quite a mess. Her brown locks were bushier than normal, some parts of it sticking up wildly. Draco wondered what she had just been doing and was about to ask when…

SLAP!

Hermione’s hand connected with the left side of his face with a velocity that left him staggering. He reeled to the right, then regained his footing and looked at her again, receiving yet another vicious slap to the opposite side of his face. He glared at her, both sides of his face now stinging. Her brown eyes were glowing with a ferocity that Draco did not think was possible for her to have. They were ablaze with hate, sparks dancing wildly inside her brown orbs. She raised her hand to slap him again when it was caught by a pale and freckled hand.

“Hermione, what are you doing? Hermione?” Ron said looking at her. Hermione said nothing. She remained staring forward, breathing loudly through her nose. Ron followed her eyes to Draco’s red-faced figure.

nuts, he thought.

Upon seeing his worst enemy standing on his doorstep, Ron’s blue eyes widened in shock then immediately narrowed. His freckled face turned purple with anger. Ron launched himself at Draco with a roar. Catapulting himself into Draco’s stomach, the two boys flew off the porch and onto the dead and prickly lawn. Ron was screaming obscenities and trying to hit Draco, who was doing his best to dodge Ron’s blows. But with his barely-healed ribs agitated once more by Ron’s dive into his chest, Draco was finding it hard to breathe, let alone move.

Draco heard Hermione scream from the porch. Apparently, those inside of Grimmauld Place heard as well. In seconds, Hermione was joined by five members of the Order. For a moment, all were still and gaping.

Moody was the first one to come to his senses. He yelled in surprise and tramped over to the grappling boys as fast as his prosthetic leg would allow. Kingsley Shacklebolt followed him quickly and grabbed Ron off of Draco. Ron strained against Kingsley’s strong hold but was unable to budge the black man’s iron grip. He may have been unable to move, but still had perfect use of his vocal chords.

“I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him! The bloody bastard! Let me go, so I can kill him!”

“Shut your yap, boy, before Kingsley has to keep that closed too,” Moody growled. Whether it was his threat or Hermione’s appearance at his side that silenced him was debatable. But whatever the reason, Ron shut his mouth and looked at Draco with daggers in his eyes. Draco was sure that he would have another go with Ron before too long.

Once Moody was close enough to see who exactly Ron was attacking, his swiveling blue eye stopped still in its socket, focused entirely on Draco. Draco could almost hear the cogs working in Moody’s twisted mind and started to worry just the slightest bit.

If I get turned into a ferret again…

Although Draco was sure this thought crossed Moody’s mind, the scarred man made no move towards his wand. He was about to release the breath he had been holding when Moody’s eye started to spin again.

“Up,” Moody demanded. Draco did not expect a hand and neither was he offered one. He issued the order and limped back towards the house, telling the motley group of wizards and witches that had gathered to watch the scene to get back to work.

“Sorry about that, Weasley,” Kingsley said in a deep voice. He let Ron go, who twisted away from Kingsley’s arms with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Come on, Ron,” Hermione said, grabbing his hand. “Let’s go back in. I want to warn Harry about who’s here.”

Ron glared at Draco, who had managed to flip over onto all fours.

“Couldn’t we just leave him here? Maybe in a few little pieces?” Ron tightly gripped his wand and set his mouth into a ferocious grin.

Draco could feel Ron’s eyes burning a whole through his head, but was too weary even to sneer in retaliation. Instead of showing Ron this weakness, Draco for once kept his head down, knowing that he would have to make up for the display of submission later.

When I’m feeling better, Draco thought with a sinister grin to himself. I’ll get the Weasel back good.

“No Ron, now come on! We’ve got to get in to Harry. Leave him to make it on his own. He obviously thinks he’s strong enough,” Hermione said spitefully.

I’ll have to remember to add the Mudblood to that list, Draco thought. He watched Hermione walk back into the house with Ron. She was holding onto his upper arm, practically dragging him away from the prospect of a weakened Draco.

He waited until they were completely in the house before attempting to stand. And it was a good thing he did. Draco fell three times before he managed to gain his footing without causing himself excess amounts of agony. Once he discovered he could move without blacking out, Draco made his way to the door at a cripplingly slow pace.

His back screamed as he bent down to pick up his trunk, which had landed amongst the dead weeds of the long-neglected flower beds lining the walk. He hissed as a stray nettle cut into his skin and looked at his bleeding finger quizzically.

If this is any indication about how things are going to go inside, thought Draco, sucking the blood coming from the cut, I'm screwed.

XOX

“Hermione, you’re not thinking of actually telling Harry, are you?” Ron asked. His blue eyes were full of worry and caution now that his best friend was in the mix.

“Well, I was going to, but now I’m curious,” Hermione said, stopping in her tracks to face him. “Why wouldn’t I tell him, Ron? Would you rather he found out on his own?” she asked in an obvious tone.

“I’d rather he not find out at all.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “While ideal, you know that’s unrealistic. I just think he should hear it from us instead of it just being sprung on him.”

“But how are you going to tell him?” Ron said in an exasperated tone, as if that had been his point the entire time.

Hermione furrowed her brow, as was normal for her when she was thinking.

"Ha, didn’t think of that, did you?” Ron said with a triumphant smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “No, Ronald, I haven’t. I don’t think there will be any easy way to tell Harry about...”

“About what?” came a voice from right behind her.

Hermione yelped and jumped in the air, turning around to face the voice. Her face fell a bit as she saw it was Harry, but she immediately covered up her unease with a smile that was perhaps a bit too cheery.

“Harry, don’t do that. You nearly kill – scared me out of my skin.”

Harry gave her a weak smile. “So tell me what, exactly, Hermione?” He looked at her with expectant green eyes.

Suddenly a crash and a great shrieking came from the front door.

“DIRTY BLOOD IN THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! FILTH, ALL OF YOU, FILTH!” The obscenities shouted by the portrait of Mrs. Black rang throughout the house. Hermione could hear the other Order members scrambling to cover the portrait back up, as well as the obvious snigger of whoever had uncovered the painting. Hermione had one guess as to who the culprit was.

“Someone’s here?”

“Yes, Hermione, tell him about our visitor,” piped up Ron with a pointed look at Hermione.

She shot daggers at Ron and sighed. Oh Ronald, Hermione thought with a sigh. Why do you do this to me?

“Yes, Harry, someone’s here. Um, let’s see. There really is no easy way to say it. So, I guess, someone’s here and he…”

“Is standing right behind you,” finished a cold voice. For the second time that day, Hermione jumped and whipped around to confront the voice.

nuts, she thought.

The cold voice belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy, who had somehow made his way into the house and navigated through it well enough to find where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were talking.

Ron, who had just begun to calm down from his exertions in the front yard, turned red once more and launched himself at Draco again. If it were not for Hermione, he would have ended landed it too. But she caught his arms at the last second, using her full body to pull him away from Draco.

“Oh really Ronald, control yourself!” Hermione scolded as she restrained him. “You’re acting completely juvenile and…” She was about to continue on when she noticed just exactly what she had done.

Pulling Ron away may or may not have been the best decision Hermione could have made. Stopping Ron from tackling Draco may have saved both parties a significant amount of physical pain, but it also left the path from Harry to Draco absolutely unobstructed.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Päris valus vastuvõtt...
Aga edasi paluks!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 3



Reluctant Acceptance

Harry was frozen with shock. He stood in the hall with his mouth gaping and his green eyes wide in surprise. He stared at Draco for a full minute, truly not comprehending what he was seeing. To the surprise of all, he made no move towards his wand and no threat of physical violence. Instead, he just stared. Draco felt uncomfortable under Harry’s intense green gaze, which was not quite a glare, but not exactly welcoming either.

“Happy to see me, scar head?” Draco taunted, both to break the awkward silence and to get a rise out of Harry.

But Harry did nothing. He simply kept staring at Draco, apparently lost in thought. Draco would have preferred if Harry had tried to take a swing at him or curse him; something as an act of vengeance.

Merlin knows I deserve it, thought Draco, steadily looking back into Harry’s eyes. Not only had he facilitated Dumbledore’s murder and hell, almost murdered the man himself, but he had also made all three of their lives as miserable as humanly possible. And now for Harry just to stand there when he obviously had the advantage… It’s not right, Draco thought.

Harry’s eyes changed shades almost too quickly for Draco to perceive. A bright, intense flash was anger, no doubt in response to Draco’s jibe. But the bright green faded quickly to despair. Draco smirked, knowing exactly how Harry was feeling and that it was the worst pain he could wish on his enemy. Harry broke eye contact with Draco and looked at the wall, trying to hold back the tears that now made his eyes shine.

Ha, I won, thought Draco with juvenile triumph, unconsciously lifting his head higher into the air.

Then Harry looked up again. In his eyes now was an emotion that broke Draco’s rebellious spirit and tore his attitude to ribbons: pity. Harry gave the smallest shake of his head, communicating with Draco though his mouth was set in a grim line.

I was there, the headshake said. I saw your resolve waiver. I saw your strength weaken. I saw you back down. I knew you in your moment of weakness and I will never forget it. I hate you for it, but I’m sorry for you.

Draco’s lip curled into a sneer. d**n you, Potter, he thought, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth.

The silence that had taken over was obliterated as fast as it had come. The intense, momentary connection was gone.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, ferret?” asked Ron venomously.

Malfoy glared at his carrot-topped classmate. “It’s none of your business, Weasley,” he snapped defensively.

“Like hell it’s not, you fucking bastard!”

“Language, Ronald,” Hermione hissed.

“Yes, language, Ronald,” Draco mocked. He laughed cruelly as Hermione huffed and glared at him, arms crossed over her chest.

Ron looked ready to pounce again. He stopped when he heard the familiar clunk of Moody making his way down the hall towards them.

“Oh, so you know he’s here then?” Moody asked Harry rhetorically.

Harry nodded anyways. “What is he doing here, Professor?” he asked in a nasty tone.

“Never you mind, Potter. You have more important things to focus on than this piece of pond scum.”

Draco scowled at the insult. Although, by usual standards, he thought wryly, pond scum is ridiculously tame.

“Follow me, Mr. Malfoy,” Moody grunted. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He nodded silently and followed Moody out of the hall and into a small room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were close on his heels and tried to enter into the room behind him.

“No, no, no. Not you three,” Moody growled. He brusquely ushered them out of the room and cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door.

“That’ll keep out those damned Extendable Ears,” Moody muttered to himself after a satisfied look at the door. “Now, Mister Malfoy, you had better explain yourself, because I have half a mind to hex you on the spot.”

Half a mind is right, thought Draco as he looked around the room. He was purposely ignoring Moody’s question for a time, trying to establish some form of control. Unfortunately, Moody seemed to know what Draco was doing.

“I needn’t remind you that you are not amongst friends here, sonny. So I’d start answering some questions if I were you.” He withdrew his wand and held it up threateningly. “You made a very nice ferret the last time, I hear.”

Draco looked at the wand, his grey eyes lightly filled with some trepidation, then back at Moody. “What do you want to know?”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be,” Draco said vaguely. Moody straightened and took a threatening step towards Draco.

“Maybe you misunderstand me,” started Moody. He raised his wand at Draco, who looked at him coolly.

“No, I understand you perfectly,” he drawled. “Except I can’t answer questions if I’m a ferret,” he said with a straight face. Draco called Moody’s bluff. He waited tensely for the ex-Auror’s reaction.

“And I can’t expect an honorable answer from a boy who makes such a fine rodent,” he muttered, lowering his wand. “It seems that I’ll have to do this the hard way.”

Moody turned. Draco expected him to pull out a vial of Veritaserum from his oversized trench coat. He prepared for an intense struggle, but need not have worried. Instead of a vial, Moody raised his wand into the air. Out of it appeared a wisp of smoke that zoomed off through the walls. Within two minutes, Draco heard a knock on the door.

“Enter,” said Moody in his gravelly voice. In walked a man Draco had never seen before. “This is Channing Orman, our newest Order member. He is our resident Legilimens.”

Channing Orman looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was of average height and build. He had mouse-brown hair, a high forehead, dull brown eyes, and a slightly bulging nose. He dressed in standard black robes and carried himself in a manner that was in no way extraordinary. Altogether, Channing Orman was completely and utterly average in every way. And it was for this reason that Draco did not trust him.

He’s too normal…someone who can slip through the cracks, Draco thought while scrutinizing the content-looking man, whose brown eyes roved passively over everything they encountered. He seemed not to take in anything, but Draco knew that look. Channing was absorbing every minute detail of the room, committing it fully to memory. He knows more than he lets on, Draco thought with certainty.

“You called me, Moody?”

Draco sneered. Even his voice is unremarkable. Does the man have even a spark of originality?

“We need to find out if we can trust sonny jim over there.” Moody sharply gestured in Draco’s direction with his head, making his spinning eye suddenly change direction.

Channing nodded silently and walked over to Draco.

“Sit down, please,” asked Channing politely, gesturing to a chair.

Disgusted with his civility, Draco remained standing and his face took on a haughty air. Put off by his cold reaction, Channing seemed to lose his composure only slightly. He coughed in the back of his throat and mumbled, “Or keep standing.”

Draco raised his head proudly as Channing approached him. His eyes were the color of cold metal; he swore the brown eyed man flinched when they made eye contact. Channing tried to smile reassuringly, but it simply appeared as one of nervousness as he silently cast the spell.

A wave of disgust ran through Draco as he was forced to relive some of his most painful memories in front of Channing. There was Draco when he was a tear-filled boy, watching his mother and father having a horrific fight. At Hogwarts now, having his first real encounter with the famous Harry Potter on broomsticks. Third year, getting punched by Granger. Channing went through these memories quickly, although why he was going through them at all was lost upon Draco.

Channing came to the more intense memories quite quickly and set about exploring them thoroughly. He saw Voldemort’s cruelty through Draco’s eyes, the horror undiminished by time and distance. He saw Voldemort giving Draco orders to kill Dumbledore, Draco failing that mission, and the punishment for his weakness. The pain was still fresh in Draco’s mind as well as his body. He flinched as he saw the Cruciatus Curse take hold. His torso hurt as he saw his body being beaten by his father. He felt weak at the sight of his blood upon the cold marble floor.

A black space then appeared in front of Draco’s mind, meaning that Channing was seeing this black space as well. Draco could feel him probe further into this chunk of missing memories, but Draco knew he would find nothing. Relenting, Channing skipped to the memory of Draco leaving, once again putting him through seeing his broken mother for possibly the last time.

The spell cut off immediately and Draco felt his whole body relax. He had not realized how tense he was during Channing’s scan. His muscles ached slightly and he was breathing deeply.

“Nothing there, Moody. He’s clean.”

Draco tried not to let the surprise show on his face. Channing failed to mention the obvious chunk of black. Any other Legilimens would have reported that immediately, Draco thought. He caught eyes with Channing and surreptitiously quirked an eyebrow. When he met Channing’s eyes, though, he saw something much different than passive observance. His eyes were hard, calculating, and somehow, Draco thought, privy to a piece of information that no one else knew. They were secretive and sneaky, putting Draco further on edge.

The look lasted only a moment, though, as Moody coughed, attracting Channing’s full attention. He looked skeptically at Channing; Draco swore he was on the verge of questioning his credentials. But instead, Moody dismissed him a grunt. He turned to Draco now, both eyes glaring at him steadily.

“If I find that you’ve been hiding anything, boy…”

“You heard him. I’m hiding nothing,” Draco said coolly.

“Then what is your purpose here?” Moody asked finally.

Draco looked down and hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to phrase his request. “I’m taking up Dumbledore’s offer,” Draco said to the floor. He raised his eyes to Moody expectantly. “I want protection.”

Moody’s face twisted into something akin to a mean smile. “And what if I told you Dumbledore’s offer only stood when he was living?”

“Then I’ll leave,” Draco ceded. “But with him gone, the Order is in disarray.”

“It’s in no such state!” Moody interrupted defensively.

Draco ignored him. “I just figured that you all could use a little help with investigations. Surely there’s something I can do to help.”

“Help? You?” Moody barked. “Ha! You must think I’m mad if you seriously think I would consider that. One of Voldemort’s boys, looking for protection, is not going to be put in with the Order.” Moody continued his raspy laugh.

“Fine,” said Draco, his cheeks flushing slightly from embarrassment. “I’ll leave.” As Draco turned to the door, Moody’s sharp laugh sounded behind him.

“Not so fast,” he said, as Draco turned back around. “The Order does need help.” His face twisted into a gnarled grin and he paused dramatically before saying, “Our resident House-Elf has run off.”

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Hah! Ei ole abi vaja jaah?
Edasi!

[Hanna Mia Sunrose]

Äge.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 4

A Machiavellian Beginning

“I can’t hear a thing,” said Hermione, whose ear had been pressed against the cold wood door for nearly five minutes. “Can you guys hear anything?”

“Not with your talking,” hissed Ron shooting her a look. “Shh!”

Rolling her eyes, she backed away from the door to lean against the wall. Her scowl went unnoticed as Ron turned his attention to the door again. He squished the side of his face against it, distorting it to a mixture of grotesque and comical proportions, blue eyes focused on nothing. Harry had not said a thing since Moody and Draco had gone in there. He just kneeled with his ear pressed against it, a grim expression on his face and a far-away look in his eyes.

Both boys suddenly sprang from their positions on the floor.

“What? What is it?” she asked urgently.

“They’re coming out,” Harry answered. “Quick, act normally.”

Harry and Ron started to talk about Quidditch quite loudly as Channing Orman appeared from the door.

“Oh, hello Mr. Orman,” said Harry while poorly feigning surprise. “How are you today?”

Channing shook his head. “I know you were listening outside the door,” he said plainly.

“What are you talking about?” Harry said, again pretending quite poorly to be clueless.

“Potter, please. You have a very expressive face. You’re a terrible liar.”

Unsure if he should take Channing’s statement as a compliment or not, Harry chose to ignore it. “What were you doing in there?”

“It’s none of your business. But think about it and I’m sure you could come up with an explanation.” The trio fell into silence. By the time Harry had formulated a question, Channing had disappeared.

“Well he was helpful,” said Ron sarcastically.

“Actually, he was,” countered Hermione. “At the end of the school year, who did we lose?”

“Dumbledore,” answered Ron. Harry stayed silent.

“Yes, but we lost Snape as well.” Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry ball his fists.

“I wouldn’t really count that as much of a loss, Hermione,” said Ron darkly.

“And why would we care about him?” asked Harry through clenched teeth.

“Because of what he could do. Snape was skilled in Legilimency, as was Dumbledore. With both of them gone, the Order was in need of one. So then Channing joins…”

“Orman is the new Legilimens!” Ron realized.

“Exactly,” she said, surprised and pleased at Ron’s quick uptake. “He was obviously probing Malfoy’s mind to see if he can be trusted.”

“But how good of a Legilimens is he? A skilled Occlumens could easily protect his mind,” Harry noted.

“There’s no way to know,” ceded Hermione. “We just have to hope that Channing is an awfully good Legilimens or that Malfoy is a poor Occlumens.”

The conversation died there. Each one of them was thinking the exact same thing: that Channing had better be a d**n good Legilimens.

After a minute, Harry went back listening at the door.

This is futile, Hermione thought, resuming her relaxed pose against the portrait-covered wall. Moody has obviously charmed the door. She and crossed her arms and stared at the door vacantly, but with her mind whirling. One question wove its way through her thoughts, standing out against all the others: what is Malfoy doing here? Solution after illogical solution appeared in her mind, giving her the most frustrating feeling of dissatisfaction she could imagine. Hermione sighed angrily, earning another loud “Shh!” from Ron.

Boys… Hermione thought, rolling her eyes.

Harry and Ron were suddenly thrown onto the floor by the swiftly opening door. Had Moody not looked so severe, Hermione would have laughed. Clutching his metal leg in one hand and his wand in the other, Moody hopped out. He had taken off his metal leg in order to facilitate a quieter approach, thus catching Ron and Harry attempting to eavesdrop. They looked up at him in surprise.

“I can see through doors, you know,” he growled at the boys. Hermione chuckled to herself, but her glee was cut short as she saw Draco materialize from behind Moody. He was not looking as glum as Hermione had hoped, which gave her reason to be suspicious. She waited on tenterhooks for an explanation.

Unfortunately, no explanation was offered. Instead, Moody issued several orders. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. I need to talk to you both right now. Ms. Granger, show Mr. Malfoy to the empty room at the end of the hall. Your luggage and your owl,” he said, addressing Draco now, “are already up there.”

Not but a second had passed when Harry and Ron each went into a fit of hysterics coupled with poorly concealed rage. Through his tense laugh, Harry managed to speak. “Professor, you make it seem as if Malfoy is going to be staying with us. That’s ridiculous,” he said confidently.

“Ridiculous,” Ron agreed. “Right?”

“I’m afraid not. Mr. Malfoy will be staying with us for the rest of the summer.”

Moody got no further in his explanation than that. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all spoke at once.

“No, Professor, do you know what he tried to do? This piece of nuts! I mean...” “Bloody hell! You are mad! Why…” “Would you do this to us? Do you know what he has put us through? This is…”

“My decision!” yelled Moody, silencing the entire group. “I don’t expect you lot to understand it, but I do expect you to act reasonably. And that starts with listening to what I say. Potter, Weasley, in here. Granger, take Malfoy upstairs. Now.”

The edge on his voice and the look in his eye confirmed that Moody was not to be disobeyed. Ron and Harry both cast sorry looks at Hermione, who obviously had the uglier end of the bargain. Moody cast one expressionless look at Hermione and walked in after Harry and Ron, closing the door behind him. Hermione was left alone in the hall with Draco.

She did not spare him one glance. Quickly, she stormed off through the intertwined halls of the House of Black. She took the turns sharply and nearly bolted up the stairs.

“What, Granger? Think that if you walk fast enough, you’ll somehow lose me?” Draco taunted from behind her. His long legs easily matched her pace. Fighting the urge to glare at him, Hermione kept walking.

Finally, she thought. The empty room at the end of the hall was in sight. Just a few more meters…I can make it without slapping him.

“The portrait downstairs was right,” Draco drawled. “There is filth in this house.” Hermione bristled, knowing that he was not commenting on the state of the floors. She bit her tongue as he continued. “If my history is correct, the Black family was one of the purest bloodlines, next to my own, of course. Pity it had to be reduced to this.”

They arrived at Draco’s door, which Hermione bodily shoved open. “Meals are usually announced. If you miss one, you eat alone. Don’t go into any of the other rooms unless you are instructed to do so. The bathroom is down the hall – the third door on the right.” She said all this very quickly and in a terse voice. She turned to go, amazed at her resiliency for putting up with Malfoy’s taunts. Just as she thought she was safe, he spoke.

“Now tell me Granger, because I’m curious.” Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. She knew from the tone Draco was using that what he was going to say next was not going to be pleasant. “Has Potter ever told you what happened that evening on the tower the night that Dumbledore died?” He paused dramatically. “How he did nothing to stop the Headmaster’s death?”

“What would you know about it?” she hissed.

XOX

It was almost too easy. “Granger,” Draco said, followed by a short laugh, “I was there.” His lips twisted into an evil smirk and his eyes narrowed, glinting dangerously.

Hermione snapped. She rounded on Draco, fury making her brown eyes leap. She raised his hand to hit him. Just before her palm landed with a satisfying smack on her target, a grip like a vice caught her wrist. She cried out in surprise and pain. Before she could retaliate, she was turned around, her arm twisted painfully behind her back. Malfoy jerked her arm up, making Hermione cry out in pain. She rose onto her tiptoes trying to alleviate the hurt.

“He never told you then, did he Granger?” Malfoy hissed in her ear, taking delight in the look of fear that he knew was on her face. “Had to read it in the papers, eh?” With her body up against his, Draco realized just how much taller he was than her. He also noticed how fragile she was in his arms. I could snap her in two, he thought with a malicious grin, and tightened his brutal hold.

“He’ll tell us when he’s ready,” Hermione said, her voice shaking slightly. This broke Draco out of his thoughts.

“When he’s ready. Ha!” Draco scoffed. “Potter is a coward, Granger, we both know that. He’s weak, and his weaknesses are what will cost him in the end. Unless he can master his faults, he will never win against the Dark Lord.”

“Harry is not weak, Malfoy. For one thing, he doesn’t resort to violence to get what he wants. In that way, he’s stronger than most,” she spat.

Her insult was not lost on Draco. He scowled and lifted Hermione’s arm up higher. He smiled as he heard her whimper in discomfort. As he spoke to her, he raised her arm higher up her back, slowly increasing her pain. “I owe you for your greeting at the door,” he said, a sick smile coating his voice. “Watch your back, Mudblood.”

With that final whispered threat, Draco threw her away from him. Unprepared for the sudden lack of support, Hermione fell forward onto the floor with only one arm to catch her. She landed on her side with a grunt. Immediately, she flipped onto her back; she was afraid to keep her eyes off Draco for too long.

She brought her eyes to his. Her chocolate brown orbs were swirling in an interesting new way. For the first time, she looked at Draco with fear.

About time, Draco thought smugly.

He watched coolly as she picked herself up quickly. She backed down the hall, cradling her sore right arm. Once she was a few meters from him, she turned her back and strode quickly towards the stairs. Twice, he saw her look back. Twice, he met her look with the same stony face of apathy that he had spent years perfecting.

Draco heard her go down the stairs and, feeling quite proud of himself, stepped into his new room, which desperately needed a good cleaning. A layer of dust coated all the furniture, even, to Draco’s horror, the bedspread. He ruffled the sheets and sneezed as dust tickled his nose.

“They could have at least cleaned up a bit,” Draco said to himself. Drawing his wand from his pant’s pocket, he set to cleaning the room. He opened the window widely, allowing his eagle owl to come and go as he pleased. Several “Scourgify!”s later, the room was bereft of all evidence of disuse. The dust was no more and the cobwebs that were hanging in the corners like thick pearly veils were gone, as were the spiders and bloodless insects that dwelled within them.

Draco looked around the cleaned room, still frowning. It was considerably smaller than his room at home and considerably simpler as well. A modest single bed was located on the far side of the room, next to which was a small window. A bureau lay on the other side of the room. When Draco had been cleaning, he was not able to totally remove the funny stench coming from it.

The room definitely needed work, but Draco had a whole summer to improve it. For now, satisfied that it was at least a little bit more sanitary, he flopped down onto the bed and thought about his little “game” with Hermione. He knew he should not have brought up the scene on the roof, but such an opportunity was impossible to resist. Though it showcased his own faults, it would also shake her confidence in Harry. And any chance he had to weaken Hermione’s faith in her precious hero…well, Draco would take it without hesitation.

He chuckled as he remembered the look of fear on her face. She won’t tell Potter or Weasley either, he thought confidently. She won’t want to worry them. Then, something hit him. Something surprising, but not at all depressing. He thought how fragile she felt in his arms, the stark look of fear in her eyes, and the almost erotic feeling of control he had over her. Control… he thought, shivering in twisted delight. Won't that be nice…

His mind drifted off into that direction for a bit and he dozed, having the most delightful daydream of Granger serving him meals and cleaning his manor while Draco lounged about on his black leather furniture, basking in the satisfied glow of a job well done.

[Lana Marye Allen]

Veel!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 5

Summer Suspicions

Draco’s flight from Malfoy Manor and his subsequent acceptance into the Order of the Phoenix was the commencement of a truly awful summer. Sure, he was away from Voldemort and his father, but at least those two men could stand to look at him. Draco’s existence was acknowledged, even if it was in the form of orders and beatings.

Well, the orders part hasn’t changed much, he thought while dusting off an ignored dresser in a long-forgotten room. He sneezed loudly as some of the dust traveled up his nose, causing more dust to explode from the old surface. He coughed and reeled away from the dresser, rubbing his gray eyes rid of the dust. He glared grumpily at the offending furniture and flopped down on the bed, onto which he had just put newly washed sheets. He sighed as he looked at the ceiling.

Draco hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was feeling quite lonely. He had been living at Grimmauld Place for nearly a week now. Hardly anyone in the Order even looked at him, to say nothing of talking to him. The only interaction he had involved people telling him what room he would be cleaning and which household pests to avoid.

He stared moodily at the ceiling for a bit longer, growing ever more discontent, when the door to the room swung open. Draco sat up on the bed, quickly drawing his wand. What he saw surprised him.

Hermione and Ron stumbled into the room. Their lips were locked in what looked to be a ferocious, but sloppy kiss. Draco could hear Ron’s tongue work its way in and out of Hermione’s mouth. The sound sickened him.

Unwilling, and nearly unable, to hold his silence any longer, Draco cleared his throat and drawled, “You have no form whatsoever, Weasley.”

They broke apart immediately, blood rushing to Hermione’s already-flushed cheeks and reddening Ron’s ears. Ron was embarrassed into silence at being caught, but Hermione, refusing to be intimidated by Draco, spoke up.

“And you know what ‘good form’ is then, Malfoy?” she said bitingly.

“As a matter of fact, Granger,” he said cockily, leaning back against his elbows on the bed, “I do.” He gave her a knowing smirk and winked roguishly, causing her to sneer in disgust.

“I don’t think Parkinson counts, Malfoy. You’re supposed to snog another human, not a dog.”

Draco’s proud expression fell at the mention of Pansy’s name. His relationship with her had never been anything but physical, but he was still defensive. After all, she had been his first time. More importantly, he was not about to let his taste be insulted, and by Granger of all people!

“Leave her out of this,” Draco said, standing up.

“A little defensive of your pregnant dog, Malfoy?” countered Ron for the first time since he stumbled in. Hermione’s audacity seemed to have inspired him and he looked confidently at Malfoy.

A vicious smile appeared on the blonde boy’s face. With venom lacing his voice, he hissed, “Better a pregnant dog than a Mudblood.”

In a flash, Ron withdrew his wand. Anger flared in his bright blue eyes. “I’m sick of you, Malfoy! Sectum-”

“No, Ronald!” Hermione screamed. Hermione knocked Ron’s wand arm, causing the curse to erupt from his wand and land about a meter from where Draco was standing. A hole the size of a football was blasted into the wall, leaving nasty-looking scorch marks.

“Hermione!” Ron rounded on her. “Why did you do that?”

“Because it would have hit you!” she yelled back indignantly. “Look!”

Indeed, Ron’s curse would have ended up rebounding back on him. Draco had silently cast a protective shield around himself when he saw Ron go for his wand. The sheer shimmer of protection around him was easily seen by one who was paying attention, but not to one who was hastily casting a spell.

“Looks like Granger just saved your life, Weasley. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way round? Or is the Mudblood wearing the pants in the relationship?” Draco gave a wry laugh and smirked at Ron’s sudden self-consciousness.

Hermione noticed the change in her friend. “Come on, Ron. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door, glancing back once to shoot a dangerous glare at Draco. He simply smirked even more and mouthed the words, “I owe you,” into the air.

Hermione raised her head defiantly, wordlessly ignoring his threat. A second later, she was out the door after Ron. He heard the clumsy boy ask Hermione if she thought he was manly and the faint laugh of her reply. The rest of their conversation was heard only by the walls as they moved out of Draco’s range.

Well, he thought, moving back over to the dresser, at least I get some form of entertainment around here. With a smile on his lips, he resumed cleaning the dresser, in quite a better mood now that he got to insult both Ron and Hermione in one go.

XOX

After his little incident with Ron and Hermione, Draco spent two weeks without the least bit of human contact. He received angry glares from the trio whenever he had the misfortune to pass them in the halls.

Granger and Wealsey must have told Potter what happened, Draco thought as he ignored another one of Harry’s irritated looks. They can’t keep a secret between them.

Draco was busy making rounds through the house, armed with his wand and a rubbish bin. Today, he was instructed to pick up any trash that may be lying on the floor. He was to visit all the rooms, save one: the meeting room where Draco had first talked to Moody. He was told that under no circumstances should he ever enter that room again unless an Order member was there with him. Moody had told him that the punishments for disobeying would be “severe” and “mightily unpleasant”.

But Draco was not deterred by such vague threats. He was going into that room. And he was going in alone for the sheer purpose of disobeying a direct order.

Before even approaching the door, Draco flicked a few pieces of trash at it. They hit the door – an Imperturbable charm had not been cast upon it. Now he could take the next step and listen for signs of life from within the room. He walked casually over to it and crouched down, pretending to pick up the trash. He placed his ear to the door and heard nothing.

Draco smiled and withdrew his wand. He tried the handle, which, to his great surprise, turned with ease.

For a room that is off limits, it is remarkably easy to access… The ease of his entry made Draco suspicious. His senses stayed sharp as he silently closed the door. He placed his trash bag in an inconspicuous corner of the room and started his perusal of the off-limits area.

He wandered over to one of the tables and glanced at the papers upon it. Schematics, he thought as he rifled through them. These are of the Dark Lord’s old hide-out. I’m surprised they have this much intelligence on him. His eyes wandered over to a list of three possible locations for his new hideout. Where he is now is their number one choice, Draco thought. He was tempted for a moment to destroy the documents, his old loyalty returning in a dangerous fashion.

He was about to set the papers aflame when he heard footsteps outside the door. Without a second’s hesitation, Draco dove behind a couch, praying that he would not be seen in his glaringly obvious hiding spot.

If Moody comes in, I’m fucked, Draco thought.

But the recognizable thud of Moody’s heavy metal boot upon the floor was not present. Draco let out a sigh of relief. The ordinary brown shoes moved quickly through the room, stopping numerous times to pivot back towards the door.

Whoever is in here is not supposed to be, thought Draco with certainty. I wonder...

The brown shoes passed the couch and stopped at the table where Draco was standing not but one minute before. Draco decided to take a peek. He inched out slightly from behind the couch, just enough to see the stranger’s head.

Brown hair, Draco thought with a sensation of familiarity. The man then turned around, affording Draco a better view of his face. Who it was made his jaw drop.

Channing Orman turned back around. Draco saw him going through the papers on the desk. Eventually, Channing found what he wanted. He folded it up and shoved it into his pocket. Looking furtively around the room once more, he silently walked out of the room and shut the door with as little noise as possible.

Draco stayed crouched under the couch, listening for his possible return. When a minute of silence passed, he lifted himself up, brushing off the cobwebs and dust that had settled onto his clothes.

“Let’s see what Orman took,” Draco said to himself. The papers on the table were arranged very much like how they were found. He’s good, Draco thought. There’s no evidence that he ever was here, except for…hm… Draco narrowed his eyes in thought: the list of Voldemort’s hideouts was gone.

He took quick stock of the other papers on the table and left in a hurry. He did not want to be in that room longer than he had to be, especially after what he suspected was a theft had taken place. He crossed the room in a few strides and picked up his hidden garbage bag. Checking that the coast was clear, Draco exited the room and walked a few meters away. Lines of thought appeared on Draco’s forehead, disappearing into his hairline.

What could Orman possibly want with that list?

Draco had some thinking to do.

XOX

Summer was half-over now, and Draco was starting to feel the heat, both literally and figuratively. Today, the Order had him de-gnoming the yard. The noon sun beat down on his pale skin, making it uncomfortably red. He had long since abandoned his t-shirt, opting instead to work bare-chested in the yard. He was now beginning to regret that decision. Draco had experienced a sunburn only once before on a spontaneous summer holiday in the Caribbean. But that was when he was much younger. Now, he would have another one and he was certain it would not be any fun.

Things were also heating up around the Order. Draco was unaware if anyone had noticed that the list of locations had gone missing, but a few days after Orman took it the Order started to buzz with activity. Draco only heard snippets of conversation, so he was largely unaware of what was happening. The few bits that he did know involved the locations of a few Horcruxes. This had Harry leaving Grimmauld Place for days at a time with other Order members, much to the chagrin of Ron and Hermione but the delight of Draco.

But Ron did not have too much time available to dwell on the fact that his friend was away on possibly life-threatening missions. He had received an assignment as well: he was to work on recruitment with Remus, Hagrid, and Charlie. This meant he was often gone as well. Currently, both of them were away, leaving Hermione alone and unprotected.

Draco smirked at the opportunity. I’d be mad to let this pass, he thought wickedly. He did not know exactly what he was going to do, but he knew it would be good.

He heaved another kicking gnome over the fence with a grunt and squinted up into the unrelenting sun. He wiped sweat from his fair brow and made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

“I’m a Slytherin prince, and here I am doing servants work,” he grumbled as he chucked another gnome out of the garden. “I think it’s time for a break.”

Feeling grimy and sticky from his sweat, Draco sighed in relief as the glorious shade of the porch touched his skin. He prodded his arm a few times with his finger. His skin returned to its normal whiteness for a moment, then transformed almost immediately back into red.

“Fantastic,” he muttered underneath his breath. “Fan-bloody-tastic.”

He tugged his shirt back and was about to open the kitchen door when he heard voices from within. He recognized Hermione’s almost immediately. The other voice was vaguely familiar as well.

“Ms. Granger, you have to understand-”

“No, I don’t!” Draco heard Hermione say angrily through the door. “Ron and Harry get to go out on these missions, these dangerous trips, and I am stuck here. What good am I doing?” she asked.

“You’re-”

“I’m not doing anything!” Hermione cut in before the man could answer. “I’m completely useless.” Instead of angry, Hermione now sounded close to tears. “I just wish I could be of some help.”

Draco heard the man sigh, then say in a low voice, “You’ll have a mission soon enough, Hermione. I know it for a fact.” Draco could imagine Hermione’s skeptical expression. The man continued talking. “Moody will tell you about it soon enough, I imagine. He’s actually quite afraid you won’t accept it.”

“What mission would I not accept? What is it? Please, Mr. Orman?”

Draco stiffened. Orman again. That man is everywhere…

“I’m afraid I can’t say anymore right now. But don’t worry; you’ll face your share of dangers soon enough, Ms. Granger. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

Draco heard Orman walk out of the room, but to his knowledge Hermione was still there.

Perfect, he thought with a smirk as he silently crept into the kitchen.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 6

Sweet Revenge

Hermione was dumb with excitement when Channing told her that she would receive an assignment soon.

I wonder what it will be, she speculated while getting a glass of lemonade. Possibilities raced through her mind, each as unlikely and more tantalizing than the next. It doesn’t even matter! she smiled to herself. I’m getting an assignment! I get to be useful!

She contentedly took a small sip of the tangy brew, rolling it around her mouth and over her tongue, enjoying the simultaneous tartness and sweetness. It was simply perfect for such a hot day. She swallowed and took another sip when she heard a voice from directly behind her.

“No lemonade for me, Granger?”

Hermione jumped a mile high and spat out her drink in surprise, showering the kitchen with a fine, sticky spray. She whipped around, spilling even more of it onto the floor. She then came eye-to-eye with Draco, who had somehow managed to sneak up right behind her without making a single sound.

“Such a mess you’re making. I hope you intend to clean it all up,” he drawled with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” she choked, clutching her throat. “I expect you to.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget what I owe you, Granger. Potty and the Weasel aren’t here to protect you now. Orman is gone, as are the other Order members. It would be advisable to listen to me.”

“In your dreams,” Hermione retorted. She knocked past Draco, putting so much force into her hit that he pivoted slightly.

“Hey!” he said, roughly grabbing her arm. “Did I say you could leave?”

Hermione felt her anger grow and tried to restrain it. As much fun as it would be to aggravate Malfoy, he had a point. She was alone and had left her wand in her room. He was bigger than she was and could easily hurt her if he so chose, which was a distinct possibility and most likely his first choice. She yanked her arm out of Draco’s strong grasp, but stayed where she was, staring defiantly up at him. This seemed to please him. He smirked as he talked.

“So, you haven’t gotten a mission yet, Granger?”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

“Or is it?” he asked paradoxically.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “You’re not making sense, Malfoy. Don’t assume that you know more about my assignment than I do, because I know you don’t. You aren’t allowed to have any contact with the Order meetings. You’re clueless as to what is going on.” She saw his face get a little redder and his mouth thin with anger. “So nice bluff, Malfoy,” she continued, now the one smirking, “but it’s not going to work.”

With that, she turned to go, only to find his hard grip on her arm once more. He moved close behind her and whispered into her ear, “I’m not as clueless as you may think, Granger. I know that Potter is off searching for the Horcruxes. I know Weasley is in Romania with one of his 17 pathetic brothers, the werewolf, and that oaf recruiting. I know more than you think, and now, more than you yourself know.”

Hermione was surprised that Draco knew so much about the Order’s doings. “You’ve been listening at doorways,” she accused with narrowed eyes. Her face was dangerously close to his.

He gave her a sly smile and his grey eyes sparkled mischievously. “Whatever works.”

She sneered at him. “You’re despicable.”

“You have no idea,” he said cryptically. “Petrificus totalus.”

Hermione froze, literally. She did not notice that Draco had slipped his wand from his pocket. She was completely unprepared for the attack and could do nothing to reverse the spell.

Draco took a step back to admire his handiwork. He smiled and appraised Hermione like DaVinci himself.

“Now where to put you?” She saw his eyes sweep the room and land on a broom closet. “Perfect.”

Draco’s hands then wrapped around Hermione’s hips. If she was able to speak, she would have gasped in surprise, not only at his audacity but also how warm his hands felt against her skin. With almost no effort at all, Draco hefted the statuesque Hermione into the closet. He set her down and leaned her unsteadily against an assortment of mop handles coated in spider webs. She tried to glare at him, but her eyelids would not cooperate.

“Bye-bye, Granger,” Draco chuckled sarcastically as he gave a wave. He started to close the door, then stopped.

Maybe he’s having second thoughts, hoped Hermione nonsensically.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said as an afterthought. “Go ahead and tell everyone how I bested you. I don’t care if I get into trouble. It will at least show that even the ‘cleverest witch of our year’ can be beaten by someone more cunning.” He smirked and shut the door, leaving Hermione in total darkness.

She heard the soft tread of his footsteps walk away and the nearly silent click of a door being closed. She waited in silence (as if she had a choice) for Draco to return and tell her that it was all a big joke. Why he would have done this was beyond her. She clung to the thought for about five long minutes, then decided that she was being silly.

Bastard! Hermione thought vindictively. He knows I won’t have any other choice but to tell whoever finds me what happened. He’ll get an ego boost no matter what... She fumed for a bit, trying to break the spell’s hold, but knowing that it was near impossible. I’ll make him pay for this, she thought resolutely. He’s going to be sorry...

XOX

Hermione was found several hours later by a more-than-surprised Mrs. Weasley.

“Hermione, dear!” she shrieked. With a wave of her wand, Hermione was unfrozen.

She regained her footing, then lost it just as quickly. All Hermione could do as her legs gave way utter a little squeak of fright. Her knees cracked against the hardwood floors and her palms stung as they hit with a smack. Not being able to react quick enough, her head bounced off the wood with a great thud and lights flashed before her eyes, which were filling with reflexive tears.

Mrs. Weasley was at her side in an instant. “Oh, careful now, Hermione. That’s it, nice and slow.” Her maternal instincts took over as she gently urged Hermione into a sitting position.

“Oooh,” Hermione groaned. “I ache all over.” She stretched her arms out above her head and to her sides as best she could. She rolled her neck and heard several joints pop along her back as she flexed. Her legs still felt like pudding; Hermione was quite sure she would have to spend a decent amount of time sitting before they decided to work once more.

Mrs. Weasley sighed and shook her head, massaging one of Hermione’s arms and summoning an ointment for her head. Then it came, the inevitable question: “Dear, what happened?”

Hermione glowered at a spot on the wall. She could not make eye contact with Mrs. Weasley while she told of how she had been bested by, of all people, Draco Malfoy.

But to her great satisfaction, Draco got in trouble for his little stunt. Not only was he vigorously scolded and assigned extra chores, but once Ron and Harry found out, each of them hexed him on several different occasions. They claimed the Jelly-Legs Jinxes and Bat-Bogey Hexes were all just “slips of the wand”. Moody knew the truth, but allowed it to happen anyways. Hermione liked to think that her old professor was fond of seeing Malfoy in different levels of discomfort and wondered if he ever considered changing Malfoy into a ferret permanently.

Hermione reclined in her bed, lofting her current book above her. She paused for a moment and sighed, thinking about the characters. She was in the progress of reading a Muggle book that most girls her age had read and adored: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Hermione was completely caught up in the lives of the characters. She felt very much akin to strong-willed and intelligent Elizabeth and saw a bit of Ron in easygoing, goofy, and shy Mr. Bingley.

It’s obvious that my fictional counterpart is not going to end up with Mr. Bingley, she mused. I wonder if I will.

She frowned slightly. Her relationship with Ron had only been average as of late, if that. Although they had bickered plenty while just friends, their fighting escalated as soon as they became a couple.

Not to mention Malfoy’s influence, Hermione thought sourly. Ever since we walked in on him, Ron has been trying to act all…manly. It’s so irritating.

Her thoughts then took a turn. Malfoy, she thought. Now Malfoy has Mr. Darcy written all over him: arrogant, class-conscious, and desperately needing a lesson in humility. But there is one worrying factor. Elizabeth is bound to end up with Mr. Darcy. They’re perfect for each other…

Whatever thought may have come next disappeared as a pale hand snatched the book from her grasp.

“Malfoy,” she growled, “give that back.”

“No,” he answered simply.

“Give it here!” she demanded. She rose from the bed and stood with her hands on her hips openly glaring at the boy now rifling through the pages of her book.

“What is this anyways?”

“It’s a book, Malfoy. I know you may be unfamiliar with the concept of books and reading and actual intelligence, but you can at least try to understand.”

Malfoy ignored her jibe and perused the back cover. “Sounds dumb,” he said and tossed it carelessly onto the floor.

With an indignant gasp, Hermione shoved past Draco and picked up her book. A few pages were now crinkled due to his negligence.

“Malfoy, you idiot. Look at what you did!” She shoved the wrinkled page underneath his nose. He shoved it away.

“Temper, Granger,” he said with a cocked eyebrow. “You remember what happened last time you got short with me.”

“I won’t allow that to happen again,” Hermione retorted. She grabbed her wand from her nightstand, eyes blazing with cautionary fire.

Draco eyed the wand apathetically. “I wasn’t about to waste my time,” he said lazily. Then, he started to meander towards the door.

“Wait, why the hell did you come in here in the first place?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes!” he said theatrically. He spun around and faced Hermione with a smile. “Moody wants to see you downstairs,” he said pleasantly.

Hermione was immediately suspicious. A smiling Draco was never a good sign. “Why?”

“And they said you were clever. It pertains to your mission, obviously.”

Hermione sneered at him.

“Oh, and they wanted you down there about ten minutes ago,” he added as an afterthought.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Her face tightened into an expression which made her look like she had swallowed a lemon. She rounded on him dangerously. “And they just sent you up now?!”

“No, they sent me ten minutes ago. I just took my time.”

Hermione let out a poorly restrained growl of frustration. She rushed out of the room, knocking past a snickering Draco and silently promising revenge.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

UUT!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 7

Hermione’s Mission


Hermione yanked open the meeting room door, facing the expectant looks of all the important Order members. All, save for Ron and Harry, looked quite annoyed because of her tardiness. She mumbled an apology and took a seat between her friends.

“It’s nice of you to join us, Ms. Granger,” grunted Moody from across the room. Several Order members took this as an opportunity to discuss amongst themselves the nature of Hermione’s lateness. While Moody tried to call the distracted group back to attention, both Ron and Harry leaned in.

“Hermione, why were you so late?” whispered Harry.

“Malfoy does not make as good of a messenger as you all think he does,” she seethed.

Hermione wanted to continue, but the room silenced before she could speak more.

“I suppose you all want to know why we are meeting on a day when there is nothing scheduled,” Moody preempted. “It’s none of your business why we are; we meet when we need to. That’s the nature of the Order. But I will explain anyways. We need to hear updates from our three newest Order members who have been working throughout the summer. Ron, we’ll start with you.”

Ron stood, as did Charlie, who was also at the meeting. Between them, they covered how recruitment was going.

“People are willing to support our cause,” Ron said confidently. “The governments of several countries said that we could call on them if we needed to. They would be more than happy to help.”

“And where is Hagrid with his report on giants?”

“Due to injuries he sustained in the field, Hagrid couldn’t be here today,” said Charlie. “But he did get a bit further with them than last time. I think he convinced a whole clan of them to join.”

“Every bit helps,” said Moody. “And Remus? What is his status?”

“Check you calendar, sir,” answered Charlie.

“Ah, yes. Well, anything else to report then?”

“Just that we’re trying our hardest to encourage support. We’re confident that more people will join.”

“Good, good. Harry, what about you?”

It was now Harry’s turn to stand, which he did with little encouragement. He eagerly launched into his tales about finding two of the Horcruxes and destroying each one. His tales earned mighty rounds of applause and numerous claps on the back by many an excited member.

“Great job, Harry,” Hermione whispered to him as he sat back down.

“Orman? Do you have anything to report?”

“Nothing new. I’ve not been able to find out anything about You-Know-Who’s newest hiding locations. All searches I have made have turned up inconclusive. I’m still looking, though,” Channing said levelly.

“So you have nothing?”

“Regrettably, no sir. But I will do everything in my power to attain the required information.”

“Fine. You all may be excused, save for Tonks, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. You can stay as well, Channing.”

They watched as the other members filed out, happily chatting about Harry’s discovery of Horcruxes and the support they were gathering from neighboring countries. Once the other members left and the door was shut, Moody visibly relaxed.

“I hate talking in front of that crowd…gets me antsy,” Moody said more to himself than the group. His electric blue eye spun wildly in the socket and settled on Hermione for a moment.

“Now that the main part of the meeting is over, it’s time to discuss what you three will be doing as far as your schooling goes.”

Before Moody could get any farther, Harry cut in. “I’m not going back,” he said in a firm voice. He steadfastly held Moody’s appraising gaze, his eyes holding no indecision.

“And no one asked you to, Potter. Your work is here now.”

Harry relaxed his tense body against the plush armchair. He looked serene now, but Hermione saw a bit of the past float into his eyes, clouding them with a mixture of sadness, anger, and revenge. She shivered at the unfamiliar sight.

“And we get to work with Harry, right?” asked Ron hopefully.

Moody raised a gnarled eyebrow at Ron. “No, Mr. Weasley. Both you and Ms. Granger will be attending Hogwarts.”

“What?! Why? Harry needs our help! We have to stay here with him.”

“Harry will have the whole Order behind him. You will be helping him by helping yourself. And Molly would never consent to you not finishing Hogwarts,” Tonks said.

“This is rubbish,” Ron complained. “Hermione, come on. This is rubbish, yeah?”

Hermione simply shook her head. “No, it’s not. Think about it, Ron. We’re not strong enough yet to wage a full-fledged war on Voldemort. We still have a lot to learn. And what about our futures? This fight isn’t going to last forever. We’ll need jobs. Going back to Hogwarts is the most logical option we have.”

Ron glared at Hermione. “How could you take his side instead of Harry’s?” he accused.

“If you haven’t noticed, Ronald, Professor Moody and Harry are on the same side. Don’t accuse me of not supporting him!”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve done anything to help,” Ron blurted.

As soon as he spoke, Ron realized his mistake. Hermione’s eyes flared with anger for a moment, then turned hard as stone, masking the sadness she instinctively felt. She was about to stand up and leave when Moody spoke.

“About that, Ms. Granger. It’s time for your first assignment.”

Hermione’s head shot up at Moody’s words, as did Harry’s and Ron’s. All three listened with rapt attention.

“McGonagall doesn’t know I’m telling you this, but you’ll find out within the next few days anyways when your letters arrive. As you probably assumed, Ms. Granger, you have been made Head Girl.”

Hermione looked truly surprised at the news and beamed widely. Harry and Ron nodded sagely, as if they had known all along, and patted her on the back.

“Your letter will detail all your responsibilities and privileges. As you well know, the Head Girl shares a dormitory with the Head Boy.”

“Oh, who is it?” interrupted Hermione. “I bet it’s Ernie; he was always really intelligent. Or maybe it’s…”

“Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione stopped mid-sentence and turned her head to Moody. Her jaw was nearly to the floor in shock. Confusion whirled in her eyes as she struggled to formulate complete sentences. Harry and Ron were silent.

“But…how? Why? What? This can’t be. Malfoy? After last year…letting the Death Eaters in…with Dumbledore…there’s no reason for it. He shouldn’t even be returning to Hogwarts! But to be given the honor of Head Boy? There must be a mistake.”

“No mistake, Ms. Granger. This was done intentionally in order for you to complete your mission. We do not believe that Mr. Malfoy came here of his own choosing. Even after having him searched by Orman, we still feel that he is a spy for Voldemort. And so we wish you to be a spy for us.”

“You want me to spy on Malfoy, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Exactly. We arranged that he be made Head Boy to make it easier for you. You will almost always be in close proximity to him and you are to take note of any suspicious actions. Read his mail, snoop around in his room, try to urge any information of Voldemort’s whereabouts out of him. You are to report to Orman or me with any information that you may gather. Yet be warned. Malfoy may be nothing more than a ferret,” Moody spat, “but the bugger is cunning and more than capable with a wand.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. “Does Malfoy know that he’s Head Boy yet?”

“He doesn’t even know he is attending Hogwarts this year. He’ll find out tomorrow when his letter arrives. We’ll deal with him then. Do you accept this mission, Ms. Granger?”

Without hesitation, Hermione answered. “Yes, of course.”

“Good then. Oh, and one more thing. Whatever you do, do not trust him. That boy is as greasy as his hair with the disposition of an insulted hippogriff. Do not trust him.”

Hermione nodded gravely at Moody’s serious tone.

“You three may be excused.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione said short goodbyes and walked quickly from the room.

“Come on,” said Harry. “Up to my room. We have to talk about this.”

They walked up the stairs, each keeping a careful lookout for Draco. Hermione did not know if she could handle another encounter with him, especially so soon after learning that she would be living with him for an entire year.

Harry shut and locked the door to his room. “Why did you say yes?” he said in a stern tone.

Hermione’s confused expression hid the small bit of anger that she felt. “Why wouldn’t I have agreed?”

“It’s dangerous, Hermione. He’s dangerous. You of all people should know that. Moody placed you in undue jeopardy. I think I’m going to talk to him about it, perhaps persuade him to give the mission to someone else.”

Hermione leapt in front of the door. “Harry James Potter, you shall do no such thing,” she said, barring the way. “You and Ron go out on dangerous missions all the time, missions that threaten your very life. I’m going to Hogwarts where I’ll be protected by my teachers and my friends. No one else will be able to do it as well as I. I’ve known him for almost seven years now.”

“But Hermione,” said Ron, “now you’re actually living with the brute. What if he attacks you?”

“Then I’ll hex him right back. I’m not going to be caught unprepared by him again. I can handle myself.” She looked at them steadily. “He doesn’t frighten me.”

Too much, she added mentally. For Malfoy did frighten her a bit. His intensity was worrying. She had a feeling that once he was committed to something, there was no breaking him of it.

Ron and Harry looked at each other hesitantly. After a moment, Harry turned to Hermione. “I want a report every week, from both of you,” he said to Ron. “I want to know what’s happening and how everything is going. If anything happens, write to me directly and I promise I’ll take care of it. Just…” he broke off, looking down at his sneakers. “Just be careful, Hermione.”

Hermione thought she saw a teary sheen in Harry’s bright green eyes. She moved from the door and hugged her friend. “I promise, Harry. I’ll be careful.”

You won’t lose me, she thought.

She pulled out of Harry’s arms and went into Ron’s. “Thank you both for trusting me with this. It really means a lot.” She wiped an errant tear from her eye as she smiled at her two best friends. “Now I really have to write home to my parents. They’ll be ecstatic. Head Girl! Who would’ve thought?” She left the room with a smile.

XOX

Harry watched Hermione leave the room. His friendly smile turned into a frown.

“I don’t like this,” he said to Ron. “I don’t like this at all.”

Ron made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat.

“I know you two may not be getting on the best right now, but watch her, Ron. Protect her.”

Ron looked at his friend confidently. “I will.”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 8

Reaction Time


To Moody’s word, the letters arrived by owl post the next day. Hermione eagerly ripped open her letter, which was about the same thickness of Draco’s. Eager to prove to herself that Moody was telling the truth, she read the note that informed her she was to be Head Girl.

As she reached the last sentence of the letter, which was hard to do for the tears of happiness obscuring her vision, a shiny gold badge materialized on the table. She dropped the letter and picked up the badge with reverence. She tried not to smudge the perfect golden shine it had when reflecting the light. She smiled widely as she received congratulations from the Order members.

Draco walked into the happy scene with a scowl. He immediately noticed the golden badge in Hermione’s hand and was about to make a unkind remark about her being a know-it-all Mudblood when he noticed the ten armed Order members standing around her.

Maybe later, he thought shrewdly.

He saw Ron reading his letter as well, but saw that he had no badge. Not surprising, Draco thought with a smirk. He was just about useless as a Prefect…

“Here’s your letter, Malfoy,” said Hermione. She shoved the thick envelope underneath his nose and took a step back. “Open it,” she said in an unusually soft and almost frightened voice.

He shot her a curious look and hefted the letter in his hands. It felt heavier than usual. That, and Hermione’s odd actions, made him suspicious.

“I’m not going to Hogwarts this year, Granger,” he said in an obvious tone. He tossed the letter onto the table and turned to leave.

“Oh yes you are, sonny,” said Moody who suddenly appeared right in front of Draco.

He openly glared at the ex-Auror. “No, I’m not,” he said sternly. “I’ll do work here at the Order – continue on with what I’m already doing. There’s no way I’m going back.”

“Dumbledore’s deal didn’t extend through the school year, boy. You’ll be going back or you’ll be out on the street. And I don’t think a defector from Voldemort would do very well on his own. So you’ll be going, whether you like it or not,” Moody said. He did not bother to disguise his threatening tone.

Draco thought about Moody’s words. Bloody hell. He’s right. I need to stay here, or at least be under their surveillance. f**k, he silently fumed.

Without saying a word, Draco ripped open his letter. The first note he got was written in McGonagall’s sharp script.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been given the prestigious responsibility of Head Boy for this year.

The position of Head Boy requires much more responsibility, but also has quite a few advantages. You are now allowed to check out books in the Restricted Section of the library, have the location and password to the school kitchens, an extended curfew, and share a dormitory with the Head Girl. You will receive more instructions on the Hogwarts Express in the front compartment.

I offer you my congratulations and am sure that you will fulfill this post to the best of your abilities.

Yours, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

A golden badge, nearly identical to the one Hermione was holding, materialized on the kitchen table. Draco looked at it in horrified astonishment.

“This is a mistake,” he said quietly, still staring wide-eyed at the badge. “This has to be a mistake.”

“No mistake, Mr. Malfoy,” said Moody. “You’re Head Boy this year.”

“I can’t…I…I can’t,” he stuttered. His face was paler than normal and his eyes were wide in shock.

“You don’t have a choice,” said Moody with an air of finality. “We’ll go to Diagon Alley in a few days for your supplies.” He nodded smartly and left the room, obviously content that Malfoy had received the news without blasting anything or anyone to smithereens.

Draco looked up for the first time since receiving the letter. He was met with the accusing and cold stares of Hermione, Ron, and Harry.

I think I’m going to be sick, he thought.

As if in a trance, he silently walked out of the kitchen and up to his room.

XOX

The trio lurked outside of Malfoy’s room. They were supposed to tell him that lunch was being served, but none of them wanted to knock on his door. It loomed before them like a totally impenetrable barrier that none of them even wanted to consider crossing.

“How do you think he’s doing?” Hermione asked.

“Who cares?” said Ron. “The bastard deserves all he’s going to get.”

“The whole student body is going to be against him, Ron.”

“None of the Slytherins, that’s for sure.”

“True,” ceded Hermione, “but still. The rest of the school…the professors…He’s going to have an awful year.”

“You seem to have forgotten the hell he put us through for six years, Hermione,” said Harry. “He made us miserable. Now it’s his turn.” He glared at the door, still thinking. “And what do you care anyways? He was the worst to you!”

His implied accusation put Hermione on the defensive. “I don’t care!” she said. “But I still have to live with him. He’s going to make me miserable.”

“Shh, keep your voice down!” hissed Harry.

“Then ignore him,” suggested Ron, carrying on with their conversation.

“How can I ignore him when I’m supposed to be spying on him, Ron?” she asked in a barely audible tone.

“Don’t ask me,” he shot. “It’s not my mission.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but decided not to pick a fight.

They all fell silent for a bit, staring at the door. “One of us has to get him,” Hermione said finally.

Ron looked at her with his eyebrows raised. “Be my guest.”

She huffed and stepped forward, tentatively knocking on the door. “Malfoy?” she said into the frame. No response. “Malfoy,” she repeated. “lunch is on.” He still refused to answer the door.

Hermione nodded sharply. “Okay, let’s go.” She started to make her way down the hall when she heard Harry’s voice.

“But what about Malfoy?”

“Now look who’s caring,” Hermione shot back at him with a playful smile on her face.

Harry exchanged devilish looks with Ron. “You’ll pay for that one, Hermione. Won’t she, Ron?”

“Oh yes,” Ron said with a playful grin.

Simultaneously, both boys ran at her, making Hermione laugh madly as she raced down the hall. Mrs. Black’s portrait shrieked obscenely in response.

XOX

Draco heard their words from inside of his room. He was, after all, just on the other side of the door. He heard them talking about him, Harry and Ron with vindictiveness, Hermione with something akin to compassion. He was sickened with the Mudblood’s pity, but knew that all she said was true.

Draco was genuinely afraid to return to Hogwarts. He knew that this year would be one of the hardest he would ever have to experience and he was not looking forward to it.

The whole student body will loathe me, he thought with his head in his hands. He had been thinking this thought for the past two hours in the same position: his back against the door, his knees to his chest, his head in his hands. I am the one responsible for Dumbledore’s death. I let the Death Eaters in the school. I’m the one who made Hogwarts unsafe. He wondered if as many students would be returning to the school.

A thought then occurred to Draco that had not before. Do people think I killed him? The Ministry, having actually listened to Harry for once, had released an official statement declaring Snape the official murderer. But people still knew that Draco was up there. After all, he had come running out with Snape. Surely I’ve been implemented in his death. Guilty by association, right?

Draco’s heart sank deeper into his chest as he thought of how intense the students’ hate would actually be.

The professors, too, he realized. The people I count on for grades. Draco was a bright student and got the marks he deserved, but now there was a possibility that the professors would not be fair. He shuddered to think of the prejudice that he would experience in the classroom.

At least I’ll still have the Slytherins on my side. That is possibly the only up-side. He gave a small smile as he imagined bossing around Crabbe and Goyle and at the sex he was bound to have with Pansy. His smile grew wider as he imagined Quidditch. Alright, two upsides, he thought. They don’t have any reason not to allow me on the team. He closed his eyes in pleasure as he remembered the rush of seeing the Snitch, the weightlessness of a sudden turn, the speed of a sudden dive. He envisioned playing and actually beating Gryffindor for once when his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a knock on the door.

He heard Hermione say his name softly. He didn’t feel like responding and hoped she would just go away. She said his name again and reminded him of lunch.

Still feeling slight nauseous at the prospect of being Head Boy, he ignored her. Finally taking the hint, she backed off. He flinched when he heard her shriek with laughter and winced at the sound of three sets of running footsteps thundering down the halls.

He sneered at their gaiety. “What have they to be happy about?” he mumbled to himself. “Their leader is dead, their savior is weak. They are going to lose the fight. They should be drowning in their sorrows, not rejoicing with each other.”

Coldness gripped his heart and his eyes filled with frustrated tears. “They are all going to die in the most horrible ways, but they’re still smiling, still happy, still embracing their lives. Stupid hope-filled juveniles.”

Draco stood up now, angry at nothing. He began to pace the room.

“I know what life is really like,” he said out loud. “I’ve lived the reality of it, not the protected, safe version that they’ve been exposed to their whole lives! Life is full of mistakes and disappointments. It’s full of letdowns and lies. Life is miserable and hopeless. Silly fools,” he spat. “They have nothing to hope for, nothing to smile about, nothing to cling to…except each other.”

He stopped pacing and looked at the ceiling with tear-filled eyes. He willed them not to spill, but the desire was weak. Tiny orbs of glass melted from his steel eyes and ran down his pale cheek.

They have each other, he thought. And who do I have?

He knew the answer. With tears still running down his face, Draco braced himself at the window, looking out into the deep backyard.

No one, said the little demon in his mind. And Draco knew it was right.

[Lana Marye Allen]

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