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Lupin came upstairs, shaking his head. “He still won’t talk. It’s been eight days. We’re running out of time.”
Members of the Order sat gathered in the secured meeting room in Alastor Moody’s home. Moody’s entire property was heavily warded even before war broke out, of course. “Constant vigilance” applied nowhere as deeply as at home. The Auror and First Wizarding War veteran hadn’t been exactly jubilant at the prospect of disclosing the location of his private home even to allies, but the Order needed as many safe houses as possible. Moody’s was designated as a top-secret holding place. While some other safe houses were best suited to tend to the wounded or serve as a landing place for people who needed help traveling safely to their final destination, Moody’s was an ultimate destination. This was the place for the people the Order needed constant eyes on — and now, a prisoner. They’d managed to capture Angus Rosier, who was believed to know critical information about Voldemort’s movements and the location of at least one Horcrux, but if he didn’t open up soon, the Death Eaters would relocate a Horcrux and make it virtually impossible for the Order to continue their mission to weaken the Dark Lord.
Draco Malfoy had been living here since accepting Dumbledore’s offer of escape at the top of the Astronomy Tower. He spent most of the time laying low. He’d almost turned back to take his chances with Voldemort when he’d seen where the Order intended to keep him. He hadn’t forgotten his brief span of time as a ferret, and even if this Moody wasn’t technically the same person who had Transfigured him, Draco felt sure the false eye recognized him and wouldn’t mind seeing him in smaller and furrier form.
Draco didn’t even know why Moody had a dungeon in his bloody basement. With wall chains and Anti-App warding, the full works. He supposed Moody thought he should be grateful not to be kept there — or in a terrarium — but the plain guest room still felt like a cage. The scraps of news he overheard Order members muttering weren’t reassuring. It was all almost enough to make him relieved to see Hermione Granger walk through the door a few days ago. If nothing else, she was at least someone his age. He knew how to get under her skin, and unlike Moody, Granger didn’t seem likely to make him take his chances in the dungeons or devise some other punishment if he got on her nerves.
“It’s time we get down to brass tacks,” Moody said gruffly. “We need information on what You-Know-Who’s next move will be. If Rosier won’t cooperate with us asking nicely, we stop asking.”
“You’re talking about torture,” Tonks said.
“Someone’s got to be first to say it.”
“We can’t,” Tonks said. “We’re supposed to stand for something. There’s got to be another way. What about Veritaserum?”
“We can’t get the ingredients,” Granger said. “The Death Eaters must have expected we’d try, if we could get hold of a prisoner. They’ve been bombing pharmacies and burning entire fields of Magical crops used for any kind of truth potion.”
Lupin’s lip curled. “Meanwhile they’ll use Legilimency or the Cruciatus Curse on anyone they find. And kill them after they’re no longer useful.”
Moody’s eye rolled toward the door to the dungeon. “Think of it this way, Tonks. We can do a fair amount to him without coming close to what he’d do to any of us if the tables were turned. And what his friends will do to innocent people, Muggles and Wizarding folks, if we don’t get into his brain. It shakes out for the good in the end.”
“I’m with Tonks,” Granger said, pursing her lips in especially prissy fashion. “I just need to study harder. The answer’s got to be somewhere. We can get it without using torture.”
“Unless,” Lupin said slowly.
“Remus, no,” Tonks said. “We can’t.”
“We can’t,” Lupin said. “He might be able to.” He pointed.
Draco flinched as all the eyes in the room turned toward him. “Me?”
“I don’t think Rosier cares that much what we do to him,” Lupin said. “My, er, condition makes me a lower form of being in his eyes. Tonks is a blood traitor and Halfbreed. He’s strong — Alastor, I think you’d break him eventually, but he’ll fight you as long as possible, and we can’t risk him being too mentally damaged in the end to give us what we need.”
Draco collected himself. “You can’t make me do anything, either,” he sneered. “I’m not a member of the Order. I’m under protection. Dumbledore cast the spell himself.”
Lupin nodded. “I reviewed the spell. You were offered magically-reinforced protection and accommodation in a safe house, contingent on your cooperation with the Order. That time’s come.”
“What if I refuse?” Draco said. “You can’t kick me out.”
“No. We can make you less comfortable, though,” Moody said. “It’s getting cramped in this house and I could do with extra space. Granger’s been telling me some interesting stories about Transfiguration.”
Draco whipped his head toward her. “You bossy, blabbing —”
“Not another word, Malfoy,” Hermione spat. “I always thought you looked better as a ferret, anyway.”
Draco gritted his teeth and returned his attention to Lupin. “Without saying I’ve agreed to anything — what would you want me to do?”
“Flirt with Granger.”
There was a screech of wood on wood as two chairs scraped back in unison. Draco and Hermione were both on their feet.
“You can’t possibly expect me to work with him!” Hermione yelled. “He’s been fighting for the other side, he’s partly responsible for Dumbledore’s death, he’s a bigot —”
“Her HAIR is STUPID!” Draco bellowed, slamming his hands on the table hard enough to make a few Order members lean back.
There was silence for a moment.
“Be that as it may,” Lupin said. “I think it’s our best plan. Hermione, I worked as a professor long enough to know I very well can expect students who don’t get along to work together on a project, thank you. That’s all this is. A group project.”
“I might as well go down alone, then, I always end up doing all the work anyway,” Hermione grumbled.
“I was 2 points behind you in O.W.L.s, you can hardly act like you’re that much brighter,” Draco said, folding his arms in a surly pose.
“And Draco, I’d suggest you find something pleasant to say about her hair, or something about her, anyway,” Lupin said mildly. “Rosier is in the Death Eaters because he’s a strict blood supremacist. Intermixing offends him to the core. He might be able to withstand the most painful tortures Moody could put him through until his mind gives out, but I wonder if the one thing he truly wouldn’t be able to take is prolonged exposure to a Pureblood and a Muggleborn who are deeply — insufferably — suffocatingly — in love.”
*
“I can’t believe we have to do this,” Draco muttered as they descended the stairs to the dungeons.
“You’d better get your mind around it soon,” Hermione said. “We ought to practice what we plan to say.”
“Easy enough for you,” Draco said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Where do you want to start? My perfect hair and flawless Seeker’s figure? My family’s wealth? My elegant Pureblood manners?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen those,” Hermione said. “And do you really think I’d be attracted to someone based on their wealth or status?”
“You chase Potter around all the time.”
“That’s because he’s kind, and brave, and a loyal friend.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Spare me.”
Hermione stopped in front of the cell door. Like the door down to the dungeons, this one was made of a heavy wood slab, bolted in place with blackened iron. “We haven’t discussed what to say to him. Maybe we shouldn’t go in yet.”
Draco caught the tremor in her voice. “Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he sneered.
“Aren’t you?”
He was. Not that he felt like answering that question honestly. Instead, he swept into a low bow. “After you, then. You wanted to see Pureblood manners? Allow me to get the door for you.”
He flicked his wand at the door, whispered the charm Moody had taught them, and put a hand on the small of Granger’s back to guide her inside.
She looked over her shoulder at him, chin ducked at a becoming angle, and smiled. “Thank you, you’re too kind to me.” Her tone was warm and sweet, not sarcastic as Draco would have expected. But that was the point, wasn’t it?
“Who’ve they sent this time?” came a rough voice in the corner. The cell was dark, with only a faint glow coming off a potion vial high on a shelf. Rosier’s eyes were much better adjusted to the light, because seconds later, Draco heard a splatter of spittle hitting the ground.
Hermione made a high-pitched noise and jerked sideways, giving the prisoner a wide berth. Draco followed, not eager to get too close to Rosier himself. Hermione pulled herself up into even straighter posture and spoke.
“Angus Rosier, you have been apprehended as a Death Eater actor, accomplice, and spy. You have been provided with adequate shelter and provisions according to standards upheld by Ministry law.”
“Draco Malfoy, is that you?” Rosier talked over Granger as though she wasn’t there. “I thought you’d defected. Did they capture you as well?”
Draco squared his shoulders. “No, I’m not a prisoner. I’m here with Grang— er, Hermione.”
She grabbed his hand. She opened her mouth, presumably to resume whatever legal preamble she felt was necessary, but Rosier launched into a torrent of foul language even Draco wasn’t used to hearing at home. “Mudblood” wasn’t the half of it. The gist, if Draco could parse out the grammatical content from the stream of sickening terms for Granger’s kind, was that Granger was truly awful, definitely the dregs of what humanity and nature had to offer, that Rosier was revolted and outraged that she had the audacity to touch a Pureblood’s hand, and that she instead ought to do something with Rosier’s spittle that Draco had trouble agreeing was physically plausible.
“Silencio!” Draco said, pointing his wand.
The stream of language cut off. Draco found he was breathing harder. Not that Granger was his favorite person on the planet, but.
“Great dragonfire,” Draco said. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”
Hermione was breathing quicker, too. She made an odd noise in the back of her throat. Draco meant to put a hand on her shoulder to offer a steadying pat, but he misjudged her height in the darkness and touched the side of her jaw by mistake.
“You okay?”
She nodded. Her voice sounded tight when she spoke. “I’m fine. He’s not the first Death Eater to have words for me. It caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
“He’s not going to talk to you like that again.” Draco remembered he was supposed to be treating her like she was his witch. What would he even do in this type of situation? He walked up closer to Rosier, brandishing his wand. “You’re not going to talk to her like that again. Ever. She’s as clever as any Pureblood, and even if she wasn’t, sweet Merlin. And as it happens, she’s not just another Mudblood. Muggleborn. Um. She’s very important to me, and.” He meant to add more, some compliment to establish himself as hopelessly in love, but his mind had gone completely blank because the reality was he was down here to torture a prisoner who would probably like to kill him, in the dark. At least there was one thing he could do something about. “You know what, big talker, say it to my face if you’ve got the Gobstones. Lumos!”
The glow filled the room, illuminating Rosier’s grizzled, silent snarl less than a wandslength away from Draco’s face.
“Ooh, do that again,” Hermione purred.
Draco looked over, frowning. “Are you—?” He bit the word daft off right before it escaped. “I, er — are you all right, my angel? I’ve cast the Lumos, surely you don’t need me to cast it again?”
Hermione twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Oh, you’re right of course, darling. It’s just when you stretched your arm out to cast it, I was so struck by how well the light catches your flawless Seeker’s figure. It took my breath away. You must think I’m so foolish.”
Draco cleared his throat. “Not at all, my dove. How could I think anything but that I’m the luckiest man alive?”
“I could just get lost sinking my fingers in your perfect hair.”
Draco crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping a few feet away from her. “Do it then.”
“I — what?”
“Get those fingers right up in there.” Draco reached out, hesitated, then put a hand on either side of her waist, leaving plenty of Yule-Ball-chaperone-approved space between them. “You know how I like it.”
Hermione’s hands were frozen in mid-air. She came to her senses and shoved them onto his head, threading her fingers into his hair. “Oh, yeah. Oh, wow, it’s super soft and silky as ever.”
The weird thing was it sort of did feel nice. She’d gone right down to the scalp, moving her hands to cup the curve at the back of his skull. Her elbows rested gently on his chest, which meant she’d closed a lot of the distance between them.
Draco opened his mouth and blurted, “Your eyes are two warm mugs of tea steaming up at me.”
Hermione's glowing smile never wavered, her warm-tea-colored eyes went from steaming to boiling. "My darling, could I speak with you outside?"
"Of course, anything for you, my little pixieaaaaaahh," he said, as Hermione gripped his scalp and led him out the door.
"What the hell was that?" Hermione hissed. "Mugs of tea?"
"Tea is nice!"
"If we're going to go back in there, we've got to have a plan."
"We do have a plan. Disgust and horrify Angus Rosier. It's going great so far, isn't it?" Draco said.
"No, we're here to interrogate him. Disgust is one tool in your belt, Malfoy. You've got to think like an interrogator. You don't just hit him with our love like a bat. You stick it in his mouth and twist."
"That's awful." Draco paused. "All right, I see. If we're going to get him to crack, we have to be interrogators first and lovers second."
"Fake lovers," she said.
"That goes without saying."
"It'll have to, in front of Rosier. If he catches wise that we're faking it, it's over."
"All right, then. I'll make him believe it," Draco snarled. "Get in that interrogation room, my… spicy little… crumpet."
"Why would a crumpet be spicy? On second thought, don't answer that. I'll talk first," Hermione sighed. "Just try to follow my lead."
They stepped back into the room where Rossier sat chained to the wall. The Lumos had held steady in their absence, and they saw him hunched in the corner of the room. His wild eyes flicked between them as soon as they entered. He didn't move but let out a strange, guttural noise.
"What was that about?" Rosier growled. "Finally seeing that your natures that are ill-suited to one another? Just because he sees fit to roll around in the mud doesn't mean he is mud, girl."
"Agnus Rosier," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "You have been identified as an operative of an effort to overthrow the Ministry and are hereby commanded by the force of Magical law to surrender all information you have pertaining to imminent seditious activities."
Rosier laughed. "'Imminent seditious activities'? Is that what you cowards are calling the Dark Lord nowadays? Has 'You-Know-Who' lost its ring for you?"
"I am authorized to use whatever means necessary, so I suggest you comply."
"You know, of course, the Dark Lord is a man of noble background. Why settle for this sickly specimen? If you've got such a thirst for properly magical blood, I could put in a good word for you and I'm sure he'd be happy to see you on your knees–"
"Confricto!" Draco shouted, and Rosier snapped backward in pain.
Hermione actually gasped. "What was that spell?" Hermione whispered. "I've never heard of it before."
"No need to fear," Draco said a little too loudly. "I'd never let anyone talk to my beloved that way."
"Mmm, you're so strong and capable, Draco," Hermione crooned and squeezed Draco's arm.
"Thank you, darling. Your approval means everything to me."
"You disgust me," Rosier hissed. "And you'll see, Malfoy. She tastes sweet now, but you'll see she's nothing but filth! Keep putting your mouth on her and you'll see!"
"Teach me to do it," Hermione purred.
"To… put your mouth on me?"
"The spell," she said.
"Oh." Draco looked at his wand. “It’s a straightforward Hex, for the most part. Aiming it correctly is the most critical part. It contracts muscles, so you need to aim for a nerve bundle that will target as many areas as possible.”
“Show me.”
Draco pointed his wand. “There and there are good spots.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “My love,” she said pointedly. “We have a fairly considerable height difference between us. Can you please actually show me how to position my wand from my perspective, instead of defaulting to yours?” Like a massive prat seemed implied to Draco, so he swept in before Rosier could hear the unspoken words as well.
“Of course. Come here.” He scooted behind Hermione and folded his arms around her. “Any excuse for an extra snuggle with my love bug. Take your wand in both hands to start. We’ll do it together.”
Hermione swallowed as he wrapped his hands over hers. “Wow, your hands are so much bigger than mine,” she said.
Granger was good, Draco thought. She didn’t sound entirely like she was faking the…something…in her tone. He widened his stance to bring himself closer to her level. His fingertips brushed the smooth vine wood of her wand, which immediately felt like a tactical error. A wizard or witch’s wand held a lot of their magical essence. It was finely tuned to them specifically, an intimate object to touch. Granger’s wand felt…amazing, honestly. Lightly warmed by her skin, and silky smooth, supple but resisting.
And the truly, truly unfortunate piece of this whole position they were in was that as Draco guided Hermione’s arms to point at sensitive nerve centers on Rosier’s body, nerves in his own arms were informing his brain that his biceps were pressing against parts of Hermione that were registering as “curve” and “bouncy” and “oh no.”
“Are you starting to feel the boob — magic??” Draco corrected himself, sounding only slightly strangled.
“The boob magic?” Hermione was trying to sound arch, but her voice was tight, too. “Um, I think I might be feeling something.” Her hips shifted.
Draco jumped back. “Why don’t you try it on your own?”
“Confricto,” Hermione said. Rosier jerked his leg.
“Thanks, that was a very effective exercise,” Hermione said. “Wow, it’s really warm in here. Are you warm? I’m warm.”
“Let me get you a glass of water,” Draco said, appreciating the chance to escape to the quiet corner of the cell with the shelf and pitcher.
“I bet you want to talk to me now, Rosier,” Hermione said. “I’d hate to have to do that again.”
“The Pureblood’s hex was stronger. You’re only proving to me what I already know,” Rosier growled, but there was a somewhat queasy expression on his face that Draco suspected had little to do with the actual magical pain he’d endured.
*
After a short break to give Rosier time to stew in his discomfort, Draco and Hermione headed back down the stairs into the dungeons, this time with a specific mission in hand: find out, if at all possible, where Helga Hufflepuff’s cup was located. Choosing a straightforward torture spell to use was simple enough. Agreeing on the real plan was proving to be more of a problem.
“He hasn’t cracked after a week,” Draco said. “He needs something big. I’m telling you, it’ll work.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t do it!” Hermione said, her shrill voice ringing off the stones in the hall. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “I’m not kissing you.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake, it’s a fake kiss. If it gets the job done faster and we can get back to normal, why not just power through?”
“Oh, don’t even get me started. For one, there’s lots of tactics that can work. More of those pet names. Talk about my breasts again, that certainly flustered Rosier.”
“Maybe not just Rosier,” Draco muttered, giving Hermione a sidelong look.
Hermione continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Most importantly, why would I want to kiss you, even as a fake? Up to a few months ago, you were getting deeper and deeper into a mission all about getting rid of people like me. The Order said I had to flirt with you. I’m not kissing someone who’s only on our side reluctantly after a change of heart too late to help anyone, and that’s final.”
“Fine!”
“Fine.”
Draco reached the door first. It would have been more satisfying to fling it open and storm through, letting it slam in Granger’s face, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to hold it for her and give her a genteel, deferent bow of his head as she sailed in before him.
Rosier’s mouth was contorted into an ugly grin.
“Sounded like shouting outside, and the Mudblood looks sour. Have you come to your senses and broken things off, then, boy?”
Granger did still look frustrated and guarded. Draco had schooled his features into an expression of calm devotion, but apparently the Brightest Witch of Her Age hadn’t mastered any similar Occlumency. At least it seemed the cell door was thick enough to muffle the words, so Rosier had to guess by tone alone.
“A lovers’ quarrel, that’s all,” Draco said. He stepped closer to Hermione, put his hand under her chin, and squished her cheeks so they pushed her lips into a ridiculous pout. “But how can I stay mad at this faaaaaace?”
“Draco?” Hermione mumbled.
He kissed her forehead and put both hands on her shoulders. “You were right, dearest,” he said, looking into her eyes. “You had every reason to be upset with me, and I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to listen more carefully to what you need.”
"Thank you. You're always so considerate," she said, enunciating each word a little too crisply. "So, Rosier, you and the Dark Lord must have been close."
"You can keep his title out of your mouth, Mudblood."
Draco pointed his wand at Rosier's throat. "She'll put whatever she likes in her mouth! I mean-- yes! I have to stand by that!"
Hermione turned deep red but smiled. "All too true, sweetie. So, Rosier, were you and the Dark Lord close?"
Rosier looked at Hermione's mouth as if he might vomit, if he'd been properly fed during his confinement.
"We know you were," Draco jumped in. "My snookums told me all about the Order's intelligence. Didn't you?"
"As though she knows anything about intelligence. Inferior stock."
“All right, seriously, we’re not going to do that,” Draco said. “We’re classmates, and her marks are objectively higher. If you’re going to call her inferior, she’d actually have to be inferior to a Pureblood or else you’re just making me look bad. And insulting my beloved, obviously, the main point.”
Rosier sneered. “She cheated.”
“I cheated!” Draco shook his wand in Rosier’s direction. “If you don’t stop trying to strip me of my accomplishments, I swear to Merlin—”
“We’re getting off track,” Hermione said. “I’m going to take it as a yes that you’re close with the Dark Lord, if it’s hurting your feelings that I use your favorite pet name for him.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“I’ll take that under advisement, thanks. So as a close servant of the Dark Lord’s, you know his health is failing. The Order has been tracking black market dealings of expensive, rare ingredients used in potions such as the Last Measure, Bagshot’s Revival, and others used for critical care. We know he’s dying. That’s why he’s been convalescing at Malfoy Manor so long.”
Rosier laughed. “The Order has no idea what the Dark Lord is capable of, how great his strength truly is.”
“The same strength that led to his downfall at the hands of—” Hermione made a show of checking her notes. “A one-year-old infant?”
“He will never weaken again. He uses powerful magic, steeped in his rights as a full wizard, reclaiming the institutions of the rightful Wizarding World. His protections are kept where no disloyal witch or wizard could ever hope to find them. We’ll root you out of every corner,” Rosier said. “And what’s more, you stupid girl, you think you’re questioning me, but you don’t even understand it is I who question you. If you had truly ensnared a Pureblood, don’t you think your beloved Malfoy would have told you how wrong you were about the Dark Lord? How he’s been growing only stronger for months?”
Hermione’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Malfoy’s been under Order protection since the Astronomy Tower.”
“He means before,” Draco said.
“You were at Hogwarts, though.”
“Before that,” Draco snapped. “All summer.”
“I didn’t realize he was at the Manor all that time.”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Is that why you had to resort to cheating on exams?”
Draco raised his eyebrow. “Is that really what you’re focused on?”
“You didn’t need to. I had to pull some late nights in the library to make sure my top-of-class streak stayed unbroken.”
Draco hmmphed out a laugh that didn’t have much energy to it. “That’s the reason I fell in love with you, of course,” he said, trying gamely to chase memories of the Dark Lord out of his mind. “Your competitive spirit, and brains as bountiful as your curls. Sorry for cheating, but I just had to be sure you’d take notice of me, and all’s fair in love and war, right?”
“War will catch up with you soon enough,” Rosier cut in. “He double-crossed the Death Eaters, and he’ll see a befitting punishment for it. Don’t think he won’t double-cross you, too, girl. He’s a wriggling, spineless weasel, like all the Malfoys are.”
Hermione sidestepped a bit closer to Draco. He expected to see a wicked glint of “ferret, actually” in her eye, but instead there was a sort of steady conviction that made him feel exposed and uncomfortable.
“No, that’s not true at all,” she said. “I can see how you might think that because he changed sides, but that’s because you have no idea what real integrity looks like. He was nearly crushed under the pressure all year, without a safe place to turn or even anyone to talk to. Anyone could break under that. And he didn’t. He had to make a choice between leaving everything he’s known and trusting people he had every reason to expect wouldn’t help him, or doing something terrible. There was no right choice to make. Coming to the Order took bravery and integrity and sacrifice. If anything would make me fall for him, it would be that.”
Draco swallowed hard. The knot in his throat wouldn’t go away. “Granger, can I see you outside?” He turned on his heel and fled without waiting to see if she was coming.
She closed the cell door behind them, meeting him in the hallway. “What’s going on?”
“You can’t do that!” he burst out. “If I can’t kiss you for the sake of getting to Rosier, you definitely can’t do what you just did.”
“Why, what did I do?”
Draco paced, loosening the knot of his tie. “You can’t say things like that about me. The Astronomy Tower, and leaving the Death Eaters — that was hard, and terrifying, and it’s not fair of you to go there just to lie to Rosier. Stick to saying you like my hair, or my clothes, or what I do with my tongue, anything like that. You can’t — you can’t say things that would actually mean something to hear, when you and I know the truth.”
Her eyes were dark. “And what’s the truth?”
The words came out stiff and reluctant. “That you think the same as Rosier does. All the Order do. I acted too late to be anything but a double-crosser and a liability, as far as anyone on either side’s concerned.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m going to hug you, okay? Not a big deal, not like a…whatever this is,” Hermione said, gesturing back at the cell door. “Just a friend hug. All right?”
He stood still, and she stepped closer and put her arms around his body. She tensed for a second, then nudged up so her cheek and nose were in the nook of his neck and shoulder. He could feel her lips brush against his shirt when she spoke.
“I meant what I said, for what it’s worth. At least, the part about it taking bravery and integrity. I can understand if you don’t believe it, but that bit was true.”
A spiral curl twirled out at a gravity-defying angle from the rest of her hair. Without thinking about it, Draco wound his finger into it. “All right. Just — be careful, with what we say to each other.” He sighed. “We didn’t even get the information we were after.”
Hermione pulled away. “Oh, but we did!” She sounded more animated, back to the tone of voice he remembered from the classroom when she felt confident she had the answer. “He said You-Know-Who is reclaiming magical institutions. We suspected he’s used the Founders tokens as Horcruxes, but it makes sense for there to be symbolism to their hiding places as well. Hogwarts would be an important location, but what other institutions would he want to control? Pureblood monuments and estates, and Gringotts, I’m sure of it. He said no disloyal witch or wizard could find it — a loyal follower’s vault might be the answer. A witch, probably, since he said witch first. He was thinking of a particular woman. Which witch is the most loyal follower of the Dark Lord?”
Draco’s eyes widened. “My Aunt Bellatrix.”
***
"Thanks for the update. You're making good progress," Lupin said.
"I can't say it was my first choice, but he's not wrong," Moody said. "Just finish the job."
Draco and Hermione were lounging in the mid-afternoon light of the solarium. Technically, they were in the parlor adjacent to the solarium — Mad-Eye insisted they keep away from windows, despite the glass being triple-warded with illusionary Charms — but even the indirect warmth and light was a welcome break from the dungeon.
"We need to talk," Draco said after the adults had left.
"Right, I was thinking, when we go back, we need to press him harder. Maybe we should prepare a list of questions."
"I mean, we need to talk about us."
"Oh." Hermione sat up. "Oh?"
"I know we've got to go in, you know, much more... assertively then we'd both like. So we need some ground rules. What's fair game, what's off limits."
"If you're worried I'm going to stick my tongue down your throat, Malfoy, you can relax."
His mouth twitched. "I'm not worried about that."
"This is still about what I said, downstairs."
"You admire my integrity, or feel bad for me, or whatever you think. Fine. But this is all fake, so don't go saying something real. It's not fair."
"Wow, that really struck a nerve for you."
"Never mind. Sorry if I'm still upset about completely upending my life."
"No, I mean I wouldn't have said that in front of Rosier, if I'd known," she said. "At least, I would have said it to you first."
"Thanks."
"Anything else I should avoid talking about?"
He hesitated. "You want me to talk about what I don't want you to talk about?"
"Just anything you want to warn me about. Not a big deal."
"No comments about my parents. And if Rosier mentions them, I'll deal with it. Anything for you?"
"No comments about my parents, either, I guess."
"Oh, yeah? What, are they–" Draco stopped when he saw her face flinch and then go stiff. The sunlight from the solarium seemed uncomfortably bright, suddenly, as they each tried not to look the other in the eyes.
"What about your hair, though? Can I talk about how wonderful it is in front of Rosier?"
"Shut up, my hair is great." She laughed and rolled her eyes.
"That's what I said. It's great." He grinned devilishly and Hermione couldn't help smiling back.
"Shut up," she said, hugging a pillow. "You're stupid."
"Don't let Rosier know. But you wanted to talk about kissing, just now. What's off-limits there?"
"I just said I'm not going to stick my tongue down your throat. I'd appreciate you doing the same."
"I'm a gentleman, Granger," he protested. "I'd never. Not in front of company, anyway. But surely the kiss on the forehead I gave you before was fair game? Or was that too much for your delicate constitution?"
"Of course you can kiss my forehead. We've got to have something if we're supposed to pull this off."
"So, 'too far' is somewhere between your forehead and your esophagus. Can we make that line any sharper? This is for the fate of all Britain, I remind you."
"Look, you can kiss my face, all right? Just stay off my mouth and neck. I don't know what I'd do– I mean, I wouldn't want to break character in front of Rosier."
"Naturally. Of course."
Lupin appeared in the doorway. "Moody says he's ready for you."
Just before they entered the cell, Hermione stopped so abruptly Draco nearly collided with her.
“We should set the scene,” she said. “Especially since we need to be mindful of…boundaries…once we’re inside. There are other ways to show intimacy.”
“Oh?” Draco said, trying not to pay too much attention to the twitch of excitement he felt at the word. “What did you have in mind?”
“You could give me your jumper.”
“You want my jumper?”
“Other girls get to wear—” Hermione seemed to compose herself, and when she spoke again she sounded less shrill and defensive. “It’s normal, isn’t it? Other girls wear their boyfriend’s jumpers sometimes.”
“Yeah, it’s a thing.” Draco pulled his overhead. He looked at her face, and there was such an expression of wistful anticipation in her eyes that he felt sort of awkward. “Here,” he said, holding it out.
She took it and pulled it on, straightening the collar and apparently unaware that the slight static rub was enough to make strands of hair float in a frizzy halo. There was no mistaking it now. She was beaming, eyes alight with a happy glow.
“Look, not to be weird,” Draco said. “But this isn’t your first time wearing a boyfriend’s jumper, is it?”
Hermione cuffed a sleeve experimentally and let it drop back down so it almost swallowed her fingertips. “Ron wasn’t really into sharing clothes.”
“Well, that’s barking. You should…wear lots of jumpers,” Draco said. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal to lend her his, especially for a session with Rosier, but it seemed like maybe hugging her or something when she was wearing his clothes would feel like a bigger thing now, so instead he’d said something inane like an absolute tosser. It seemed like it was maybe okay, though, because she stuck her tongue out playfully at his dumb remark.
“I’ve got a chance now, at any rate.” She pulled the collar up over her nose. “Aw, it smells like y—” She stopped. She frowned. She sniffed again. “This smells different, actually. You changed something. What is this?”
“That’s the soap I’ve been using since I came here.”
“What happened to that scent you wore at Hogwarts?”
“If you can imagine, I had more pressing things on my mind the night I escaped than packing a full toilette kit. Lupin had to go out and buy this stuff for me.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“Why? Did you like my cologne?”
“No,” Hermione said. She ducked her nose under the fabric of his collar again. It didn’t entirely hide the pink in her cheeks. "No. Well, I don't dislike it, it's cologne, the entire point is for it to smell nice. Why else would you borrow a boy's jumper if it didn't smell good, but that doesn't mean I noticed yours in particular, it's not like it was my favorite, it was just distinctive."
“That’s all?” Draco blinked. “Good, you’ve certainly convinced me you’ve given the matter no thought whatsoever.”
Hermione pulled the jumper back into position and fiddled with the sleeves again. “I just thought it would still smell like you.”
“If I can convince Lupin to buy cologne on his next supply trip, I’ll let you wear it again,” Draco said. “It looks decent enough on you, I think I can repeat the experience of seeing you in it.”
“You charmer,” Hermione said. “Speaking of repeated experiences, I’m not sure we can put this off any longer. I'll soften Rosier up, and then we'll really give him something to be terrified of. Are you ready?"
"Darling," Draco said. He gently took both of her hands, kissed each on the knuckles, and gazed tenderly into her eyes. "He's going to absolutely hate this."
Rosier was more haggard than earlier. He tried to sit up when they entered but only perched on all fours like an animal. His face was spotted with bruises, and every exhale came out as a raspy growl. Moody had clearly done thorough work.
"What are you doing back here?" Rosier said.
"Since you did such a good job giving your secrets away last time, we wondered if you might give us some more," Hermione said.
"I've told you nothing, you lying Mudblood. And what are you going to do that Alastor hasn't already, eh?"
"The difference is I'm going to make you talk. Expulso!"
Draco quietly whistled, impressed, as her spell sent Rosier flipping back into the wall.
"Expulso!" she cast again, just as he was starting to get up. "You know the Death Eaters' next target."
"I'll never–"
"Expulso! Don't bother opening your mouth again unless it's to answer my question."
"You're a scary lady," Draco blurted out.
"You see!" Rosier sat up with a long, pained grunt. "Even your so-called lover knows enough to fear your brutish power!"
"That's not– that's not what I meant," Draco said quickly.
"Setting aside the question of whether I'm so weak that my natural place is subordination or so terrifyingly strong I need to be eradicated," Hermione said, "what did you mean, exactly, sweetheart?"
Draco composed himself "I mean that he should be scared of you, setting himself against your intellect, your spellwork, your… ironclad determination."
"Thank you for such a kind compliment, my love," Hermione replied with saccharine loveliness.
"What I mean is, I'm impressed. I don't think I could do what you do."
"Oh," she answered, and Draco heard a genuine ring in her voice this time. "Thanks. Don't sell yourself short, though."
"I don't believe it for a second. You're nothing but a pack of liars, every one of you in this place. You're not half so tough as you seem, girl, and the two of you can't hide how much you hate each other."
Draco turned to Hermione and caressed her face.
"The only thing I can't hide is how much my heart races every time you touch me," he said. He pulled her close, so her breasts pressed against his chest, and he suddenly realized how true his words had become.
"I'm not sure I can, either," she said as her face flushed.
He looked in her eyes and her words sprang back to his mind: Just stay off my mouth and neck. Well, he could do that. Turning her face just so, away from Rosier, he leaned in closer and whispered, "Don't move."
He let the tip of his nose touch hers, then tilted his head to let their faces fit better. He could feel Granger's quick exhales against his cheek. When he lowered his eyes, he could detect a nervous quirk at the corner of her mouth.
Her lips were off-limits, but the sweet, sensitive triangle where they met was his to claim. His mouth brushed the skin of her cheek, just next to her lips. Then he pressed more firmly, letting his kiss deepen, caressing just beyond the corner of her mouth. He could feel the slope of the skin change when her lips parted, and it was all he could do to keep his against the side of her mouth instead of seizing her bottom lip for himself. Slowly, carefully, he began to suck on her, taking this bit of her skin delicately between his lips. It seemed to go on, and on, until at last he let her go.
"I don't know how anyone can doubt that," he said.
"Uh-huh," Hermione said vacantly.
Then there was silence, only broken by the soft, distant noise of Rosier retching blood onto the floor.
"Are you ready to talk?" Hermione said to him. "Who are they going after next?"
He looked at her with sunken, panicked eyes and did not speak.
The next hours were spent in a blur: Mad-Eye had always been gruff and insistent, but now the Order worked round the clock, taking shifts, done allowing breaks for solitude or sleep.
"Where's Hermione?" Lupin demanded. Even he was getting sharp under the pressure that pervaded the house. "You're supposed to be in there at the top of the hour."
"I don't know," Draco said. "Look, I don't think pushing this hard is helping. I can't keep this up."
"We've got to break him before his information becomes useless. We've got to do it now. And if all this interrogation is breaking you down, imagine what it's doing to Rosier."
"Yes, I can see the point of it, but… I just… I forgot what I was saying. I'm so tired."
"Find Hermione! We've got ideas for what you can do next."
"She's probably up in her room sleeping, as much as anybody gets to sleep now."
"Then go and get her, so we can brief you on strategy!"
Draco dragged himself down the hall and discovered Hermione was not in her room. He checked all over: the parlor, the drawing room, under the expansive, ornate dining table. Finally, he descended into the dungeon where he heard the echo of a low, feminine muttering. But when he turned the corner, the voice now seemed a bit further down the cold, dank corridor. He had to navigate a few twists and turns, as the deep tunnels under Mad-Eye's estate wound confusingly around themselves.
At last he found her sitting on the cobblestone floor outside a small cell. Her face was hidden in her hands, and they muffled the words that continued to flow out of her mouth.
"I can't do it," she said. "But I have to."
"Granger," Draco announced his presence. She didn’t move, so he knelt in front of her. “What are you doing down here? You should be resting when you can. You’re wearing yourself out.” He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and let his thumb trace the curve of her ear.
"It's not even the sleep, so much as the work," she said. "I've done all-nighters. They didn't involve interrogating anyone."
"Drink some water, at least. Sorry, we’re partners, I should have checked on you sooner.” He was gratified to see her look up, and he pressed a water bottle into her hand. “Lupin wants to see us. To talk strategy."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "They can just do it themselves, can't they? Why do we have to keep doing this?"
"Look, I don’t disagree with you. I’ll see if I can sneak you upstairs if I can. If they think I'm going to drag you by the hair so they can make us do more of this shit–"
"Shh!" Granger shushed him.
"What, you're going to get all hung up on 'shit' all of the sudden?"
"Shh!" she said again, more insistently. Then he heard it: the sound of Mad-Eye's purposeful gait, lumbering down the hall to find them. Hermione grabbed Draco's hand and, in an instant, transformed from quivering mess to sharp-eyed hunter. "This way!"
She bolted down the hall, making turns to avoid the sounds of footsteps, but each bend only brought them closer and closer. When an encounter seemed unavoidable, Hermione pulled open a door and yanked Draco inside after her. In the darkness, she collapsed against him and breathed heavily.
"I can't keep doing this," she said.
"I know you're tired. Me too."
"Not just that. The pretending, about us. We're supposed to be torturing him, but I've just been torturing myself."
"Oh, great, thanks," Draco said.
"Not like that! Look at me," Hermione said, lighting her wand and bringing it to her face. In the recesses of the room, the shadows began to stir. "I know we started out as a ploy for Rosier, but as we kept doing it, I realized–"
"Aha! I knew it!" Rosier shrieked, lunging up out of the darkness.
"–I realized that I didn't want it to be fake anymore. Look, I don't know how you feel–"
"You never loved each other! I was right all along!" Rosier continued, unheeded. He seemed miles away now, in the new light of Hermione's revelation.
"Granger, I've been trying so hard not to let it slip out! I've been so worried that I'd say something too real, or touch you somehow and you'd just know. And that you'd hate me for it, and we'd give it all away!"
"Yes! You do hate each other!"
"But… Draco, that's what I've been afraid of, too. I've been pretending to love you, but I couldn't dare show you the truth."
"I don't hate you. I was so wrong about you. I never knew how brave and how kind you were, until you made me see how much more there was to you," Draco said.
"No, you're not– it's not true!" Rosier shouted, nearly in tears.
Hermione looked back into Draco's anxious eyes. "You've always been relentless, Malfoy, but now I've seen how that can be a good thing. You can be relentless for the people who matter to you. If we'd never had to interrogate Rosier, I don't think I'd ever have known that, not really."
"This is not happening!" Rosier begged. He dug his fingers into his hair and screamed. "I didn't do this!"
"You mean it? You're really not faking?" Draco asked. He tilted his head closer to hers.
"For the first time, I don't have to."
They kissed, and this time it was real. Their lips found each other, eager and warm. Draco put his arms around her, and Hermione let out a soft hum of pleasure as she melted into him, mouth, body, and all.
"It's Ollivander!" Rosier cried. "They're going after Ollivander!"
They kissed a moment more, then paused to take a breath. Draco rested his lips on her forehead and said, "I can't believe we almost missed this."
"I said Ollivander! They're going to kidnap him! Please, God, what else do you want from me?"
Moody burst into the room, with Lupin close behind. "Now we've got you, you slimy bastard! Tell us when, or I'll have them kiss again!"
"Do you think, maybe, after we finally get some sleep, you'd like to have a mug of tea with me? I’d like to find out what else I never knew about you," Hermione said.
"I’ll tell you anything you want to know," he said.