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Chapter Text

14 February, at an undisclosed Death Eater hideout in the UK

Draco Malfoy had been threatened with many things over the years—curses, hexes, knives, murder,  blackmail, tax audits (just to name a few)—but this was the first time anyone had come at him with a chamber pot. 

It flew past his head and smashed into the wall behind him, scattering ceramic shards and dust. 

“I’m warning you,” Hermione Granger said. “Come any closer and I’ll take your head off!” 

He believed her. If Fenrir Greyback’s unmoving body was any indication, the woman was not to be underestimated even without a wand.

Draco brushed dust from his shoulder. “And to think I hurried all the way over here to rescue you.”

The chamber pot was only the latest casualty. Broken furniture and glass littered the floor, but it was Greyback’s bleeding body that was the real surprise. The werewolf was slumped over the iron grating in front of the unlit fireplace, impaled at three points. Draco was about to walk over to the body when Granger snatched up a fireplace poker.

“Don’t take another step!”

“Now, now.” He held up his hands to show he was unarmed, not that she could use his wand even if she managed to get her hands on it. “Let’s all just calm down .”

That was not the best choice of words. Nothing good ever came of any man telling Hermione Granger to calm down. Draco knew that better than anyone. 

“Calm down?” Granger waved the poker in his face. “How dare you ask me to calm down when you people have  kidnapped us to use as…as—”

“Pleasure slaves?” Draco supplied, only because that was the phrase Voldemort used earlier that evening. “I’m here to stop that from happening.”

“Really?” she scoffed. “Could've fooled me from the way you were busy swapping captives with Greyback like..like we were collectable trading cards!”

Oh, the lady was cross about that . 

"Listen to me very carefully,” Draco said, holding up his empty hands again, “I only accepted Greyback’s offer to trade because it meant I could send two captives to safety before I came to get your ungrateful self.”

The poker lowered to groin level now. “You got Padma and Parvati out of here?” she asked, in a small voice.

“Yes.”

“I hope you told them to alert the Ministry so they can send help.” 

Draco almost wished there was another chamber pot to throw. “No, I stamped their Frequent Capture Card and told them to have a nice day. Of course, I instructed them to alert the Ministry!” 

Granger dropped the poker, but not her suspicious attitude. “Malfoy, please tell me you had nothing to do with this…”

“I had nothing to do with this!” 

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll personally see to it that you rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life.”

“Yes, well. The way things are going, I don’t expect to see my thirtieth birthday, so your commendable diligence may not be required." He forced himself to gentle his tone when he next spoke. “Are you done suspecting me now?”

“Sorry.” She really did look at it, too. “I…apologise for jumping to conclusions.”

Her steel facade was cracking. Draco could tell from her trembling hands and wobbly lower lip. 

“What did you do with Greyback’s wand?” he asked. 

“It’s under the mattress, inside of a pillowcase. I wasn’t sure if that locking spell you told us about was activated, so I made a point not to handle it with my bare hands.” 

He was close enough now to see the damage Greyback had inflicted on her in the brief amount of time she’d been alone with the man. She didn’t protest when he tilted her chin up to treat the burgeoning, hand-shaped bruises around her neck. He ran the tips of his fingers down her throat, trying not to scowl in case he made things worse. 

“Are you having trouble swallowing?”

“No."

“Headaches, nausea or dizziness?”

“ You give me a headache.”

He snorted. “You’ll survive.”

“Will I?” she asked, now looking at him rather seriously.

“Granger,” he murmured, pitching his voice low, “if I had something to do with you being here, do you really think I would have swapped you for anyone else?”

The salacious implication was vague, but her blush told him she picked up on it. “I wouldn’t presume to know," she retorted, with a primness he found both endearing and frustrating. 

Normally, he enjoyed their little song and dance routine. They were good at finding ways to avoid labeling their unusual relationship. Hermione Granger had been his handler for two years now and at some point in time, she became something more . If he was going to blow his cover as a spy that night, the least she could do was be honest with him. 

Whatever additional response she might have been working up to in her big, busy brain was waylaid by a sudden wet coughing. 

It was coming from Greyback. He was still alive. 

Chapter Text

One hour earlier

“I’m telling you, I like ‘em with spirit ! Set my loins on fire!” 

“You know, Macnair, they make a cream for that,” said Antonin Dolohov. 

There was laughter around the table despite the tension in the room. Voldemort had only just left and it would take the gathered Death Eaters a few more drinks to remember how to relax again. 

Walden Macnair’s chair scraped along the stone floor as he stood up, none too steadily, and raised his overfilled goblet. “Comrades, a toast to our Master’s generosity this evening!” 

The former professional executioner had already polished off an entire bottle of 1980 Chateau Margaux that the Carrows brought. The wine they toasted with was as old as Draco, while most of the men drinking it were two to three times his age. He suspected that quite a few would be requesting aphrodisiacs to be able to uplift their ‘flagging spirits’, so to speak.  

“Harry Potter’s not going to take kindly to us kidnapping two of his closest friends. You realise we might go to war over this?” 

“We’re already at war, Anton! Why not treat ourselves to the spoils, eh?” 

Draco rapped his fingers against the armrests of his chair as he surveyed the small group seated at the table. “Don’t the spoils generally go to the victor ?”

“That’ll be us, soon enough. I’m just gettin’ a head start on the celebratin’!” To demonstrate, Macnair tugged on the leash he held in his free hand. Collared to the other end was a Petrified Ronald Weasley, his red mottled face frozen in fury.

The summons to appear had come out of the blue that day. None of them anticipated that the Dark Lord would risk holding a meeting during the current period of heightened Ministry surveillance. 

They were even more surprised when the Dark Lord revealed his reason for the summons. As Macnair said, it was a celebration – a perverse Valentine's Day treat to improve morale. The truth was that the Death Eaters were in crisis even before the recent flurry of DMLE raids.  Voldemort’s original inner circle had diminished to a handful of trusted lieutenants. The rest were either dead or in prison. There were new recruits, but these individuals could be more accurately described as hired thugs and mercenaries rather than faithful followers.

After the Dark Lord’s announcement, the dread in the room became palpable, but there was also an undercurrent of lust. It was easy to spot those among them who had a penchant for more intimate forms of violence. Mostly, however, the Death Eaters were wary and weary. 

Voldemort did not stay to partake in the festivities, claiming he had evolved beyond the need to ‘sate his base desires’. Draco wondered if the absence of base desires had something to do with whatever was going on (or perhaps not going on?) under the Dark Lord’s robes. 

How did snakes reproduce, anyway? Cloacas , wasn’t it?

“That one looks like he bites .” Amycus Carrow stared at Ronald Weasley as if the redhead was a dish no one remembered ordering. “Dolohov’s already had a mishap when he brought in the Lovegood girl.”

Augustus Rookwood chuckled. “By mishap, you mean the chit nearly ripped his ear off.”

“Now, brother,” said Alecto Carrow, “you know Walden doesn’t mind a bit of rough play.” She stared pointedly at Macnair. “But should you desire a less challenging evening, my friend, we brought more than just fine wine with us. There is some equipment you may wish to borrow.”

Unlike the other Death Eaters whose assigned ‘gifts’ were standing beside them, Alecto’s captive was seated across her lap. Cho Chang’s Petrified countenance was serene in comparison to Weasley’s rigid apoplexy. She was still dressed in her Gringotts executive robes, having been caught in London on her way home from work. 

“Speak for yourself, sister,” Amycus grumbled. “I don’t like sharing my things.”

Macnair snorted. “Bollocks. The two of you are sharin’ your gift tonight, aren’t you?”

“I may not play well with others, but my sister remains the exception ,” Amycus said, sending a fond wink at Alecto. 

Dolohov reached for more wine. “Merlin, I’m going to need something stronger…”

“You’ll need your wits about you if you intend to keep your other ear intact!” Rookwood advised.

A deep, drawling voice joined the conversation. “How did Miss Lovegood manage to get the better of you, Dolohov?” 

It was Fenrir Greyback. He sat at the head of the table some distance away from the others because he insisted on putting his feet up. Of the assembled Death Eaters, Greyback was closest in age to Draco. 

The werewolf cast an appreciative eye over Luna Lovegood’s bloodstained mouth. During her capture, she’d managed to tear off a chunk of Dolohov’s left ear in addition to leaving a nasty scratch down the side of his face. Dolohov’s Petrificus had struck her in the middle of a smirk. As such, she looked diabolical. 

“If you’re so keen to experience the girl’s charms for yourself, how about I swap her for one of your docile darlings?” Dolohov leered at the Patil twins. “How come you get two , anyway?”

Greyback grinned. “They come in a set.”

“If siblings constitute a set, why have I only got one Weasley?” Rookwood’s gift was Ginny Weasley, captured while on an Auror assignment with her brother. 

Greyback put his feet down so he could reach for a decanter to refill his cup. “You’ll find that our Master rewards results and unlike you, I consistently deliver.”

“Pah, you’re nothing but a glorified hunting dog!”

“Better a hunting dog than an old workhorse destined for the abattoir,” Greyback replied, ignoring an indignant Rookwood. “But if I’m to swap, I’d much rather do it with Malfoy .” He gestured at Draco with a tilt of his cup.

“What do you say? A pretty pair of twins in exchange for one of the Order's most prominent members, hmm?”

“I’ve got a prominent membe r right here!” crowed Macnair, grabbing his crotch. 

Alecto Carrow rolled her eyes.  

“Why the specific interest in my gift?” Draco asked. 

No one was surprised when their Master presented Hermione Granger to Draco. She’d been a well-known thorn in his side since Draco’s schooling days. Like Cho Chang, Granger was abducted on her way home from the Ministry. Unlike Cho, Granger was not in official uniform. She was dressed in a short-sleeved, dark red, velvet A-line dress that fell to the middle of her calves. 

Draco couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her in something other than the plainest of plain clothes for when they met in secret. Red was a bold choice for her but it looked very fine indeed against her colouring. It belatedly occurred to him that she might have been on her way to a Valentine’s Day date. 

His eyes immediately narrowed at Ronald Weasley. The Weasley siblings were captured somewhere between Rowardennan and Inverarnan in the Scottish Highlands. Granger, meanwhile, was taken from Diagon Alley, so it was unlikely that she had arranged to meet up with the Orange Menace. Either way, the notion was unpleasant. 

“You’re probably not aware, Malfoy, but I have unfinished business with that tasty little morsel.”

“I’m not keen to insult our Master’s generosity by regifting his present, Greyback,” Draco said. He paused to take a pretend sip from his cup. “But I’m willing to be persuaded.”

Macnair clapped his hands. “O-ho things are finally livening up. The lad takes after his late father!”

“And how shall I sweeten the deal for our young Master Malfoy?”  Greyback asked, ignoring Macnair’s cavorting. 

“Your infamous list of informants–I want it.”

Greyback snorted. “Everyone does.”

“Give me the list and you can have Hermione Granger,” Draco said. 

There was a pronounced silence. Even Macnair observed quietly. 

“Fine, we have a deal,” Greyback conceded. 

Draco reached into his robes and pulled out a carved ivory snuff bottle. He slid it across the table. 

Greyback uncapped it and then raised an eyebrow at Draco. “This is a Pensieve. You want the list now ?”

“How often do we have a chance to see each other in person these days? Let’s finish the  transaction here and now.”

Rookwood was scowling at Draco. “How the devil did you sneak in a Pensieve, you jammy bastard? The detectors should’ve gone off.”

“What did I tell you? Just as slippery as Lucius,” Macnair said. 

An unperturbed Greyback was already in the process of extracting the contact list directly from his memory and syphoning it into Draco’s miniature Pensieve. Ordinarily, any sort of recording device was prohibited at Death Eater gatherings, but as Rookwood alluded to, Draco had his ways. 

Envious eyes watched as Greyback completed the extraction and returned the bottle to Draco. The informant network had taken Greyback and his cronies years to establish. It was highly coveted intel on both sides. 

“I’ll have the Patil twins sent to your room,” Greyback said, with a tug of his forelock. “Pleasure doing business with you, Malfoy.”

Draco pocketed the portable Pensieve and stood up to leave. Not once during the transaction did he so much as glance at Hermione Granger, who was standing in Petrified silence beside his chair. 

Chapter Text

Presently, in Fenrir Greyback’s room

“Oh dear.” Granger peered down at Greyback’s body. “I could have sworn he was dead.” 

Draco was impressed at how she could be both scared and scary at the same time. 

“Fenrir Greyback, taken down by an unarmed Muggleborn witch. The shame alone ought to be enough to end him.” He prodded at Greyback with his boot, garnering a wet gurgle from the injured werewolf. “The Order should give you a medal, Granger. I can’t tell you how many people have tried to kill him over the years, myself included. How did he fall?”

“I sort of got him into position and pushed him,” she explained, sheepishly. “He was very drunk. I don’t think he saw it coming.”

That was probably true. No one could conceive of a woman like Hermione Granger existing outside of the pages of a novel. 

“It takes a lot more than this to kill a werewolf, I’m afraid.” Draco searched Greyback’s pockets, finding and pocketing a pack of expensive cigars. As per Voldemort's rules, there were no weapons to be found, not even a switchblade. “But it’s just as well you didn’t kill him because that would have triggered an alarm.”

Granger frowned. “What alarm?”

“We call it the Mortality Register. It’s another one of Voldemort’s precautions, like the wand-locking spell that limits wand usage to its owner. In the event one of us suffers an unnatural death at a gathering, every Death Eater wand on the premises emits a silent alarm.”

“To let you know the group is under attack?”

“ And to discourage us from attacking each other,” Draco added, cheerfully. “There’ve been zero murders since.”

Granger was not amused. “Why haven’t you mentioned this in any of our monthly meetings?”

“A spy has to keep some secrets for a rainy day.”

Her stare hardened. “Suffice it to say it’s a bloody monsoon right now, you cagey bastard. Don’t think I’m letting this go after we get out of here. Is there anything else I should know? I’m aware that you can’t cast Unforgivables and Apparition is blocked within the warded boundary.”

“We are prohibited from using any spells, charms, potions or artefacts that can conceal or record.” Draco took a coverlet from the bed and draped it over Greyjoy’s body. “Which means we’ll have to hide him the old-fashioned way, unfortunately.”

They both grimaced at the large, bloody mess on the floor. 

“I’m going to lift him from the grating and then I’ll see what I can do to staunch the blood loss.  We need to keep his heart beating.”

There was a sloppy, suction noise as Draco levitated Greyjoy, wrapped him in the coverlet and then levitated the unconscious werewolf into the armoire opposite the bed. Next, Draco dealt with the blood stains. Concealment charms would have been more efficient, but he was forced to use basic cleaning spells to avoid triggering the alarms. 

All of this only took a few minutes but Granger was already pacing a hole into the rug by the time Draco was done. 

“Alright, so what’s the plan? What do we need to do to get everyone out?”

“ We aren’t doing anything. I’m sending you back to the Ministry.” He knew what she was going to say next, not that it made the conversation any less tedious.

“How do you propose to rescue everyone on your own? This is a den of vipers, Malfoy. None of you trust each other! Your own colleagues would kill you if they suspected anything!” Her hands were on her hips now. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not .”

“Yes, I am .” 

“I said no .”

“Then I’m just going to follow you so you might as well let me come if you don’t want me to interfere with your plans,” she huffed. “Where to next in order of urgency?” 

Draco contemplated forcefully Stunning her and sending her back through the fireplace. Honestly, there was very little she could do to prevent it. He could, in fact, do whatever he wanted to her and no one , not the Death Eaters, or the Ministry, would know the truth of what transpired in that room. 

He looked at her now, with her messy hair, pink cheeks and big, earnest brown eyes, staring at him as if he wasn’t capable of doing a hundred different awful things to her. That these thoughts even occurred to her was what distinguished people like him from people like Hermione Granger. 

And yet, in some twisted cosmic joke, the DMLE trusted him with her.  

“Malfoy?” she prodded. “Did you hear what I asked?”

Yes, she wanted to know who they should rescue first. The answer was her , damn it, not that the stubborn little witch would listen. 

He sighed. 

“The Carrows will take their time to set up their preferred method of play, so Chang can probably wait. Lovegood is safe for the moment as well. Dolohov is chronically impotent. He’s likely to sit this out or request a virility potion.”  

Granger chewed on her lower lip, her anxiety evident. “That leaves Macnair and Rookwood.” 

“Both are unmitigated perverts,” Draco admitted, looking everywhere except at her mouth. “Macnair, in particular. I wouldn’t trust him with the well-being of a pet rock.”

“Ron will want us to go to Ginny first.”

Ah, but he enjoyed how quickly she made hard, ethical calls (probably as much as her colleagues were occasionally disturbed by it). As if to remind him that she was a consistent duality of opposites, Granger proceeded to look at him like she was a puppy he was contemplating kicking. 

“So…you’ll let me go with you, right? To save Ginny?” 

That face was going to be the death of him. He held his hand out to her. “Fine. Let’s get Baby Weasley first.”

For Ronald Weasley’s sake, Draco hoped Macnair was partial to a bit of banter before buggery.

Chapter Text

Death Eating was not a popular occupation for good reasons.

It was illegal. There was no hazard pay, or indeed, any pay. The work was difficult and dirty, and the internal politics was literally murder. For inner-circle Death Eaters, it wasn’t so much a job as an inherited legacy. With no new recruits deemed worthy of taking the Mark in recent years, they were forced to outsource menial tasks. 

Draco explained to Granger that this was why there were about twenty hired guards stationed around the castle. 

She was alarmed by this fact. “That’s a lot…”

At the moment, however, they were only dealing with four on the second floor. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” he reassured. “These idiots are bottom of the barrel. They’re lazy, careless and rarely sober for very long when there’s alcohol available.”

They were currently crouched in the darkness beneath a set of stairs. In fact, there seemed to be an abundance of poorly lit nooks and crannies. The placement of the already meagre lighting appeared haphazard at first, but upon closer inspection, it looked like it was by design. 

“Is it just me or is this place decorated like a carnival horror house?” Granger was pulling cobwebs out of her hair. She brought some of the sticky strands to her nose for a tentative sniff. “This is artificial!”

Draco kept his eyes on the guards who were meant to be patrolling the corridor, but who were instead sharing a bottle of Ogdens’. “That’s because this castle is a LARPing venue.” 

“What does that mean?”

He responded with a raised eyebrow. “How does a Muggleborn not know?”

“ This Muggleborn spends most of her time in the Magical world trying to take down one of your genocidal maniacs.”

“It’s the acronym for Live Action Role Playing,” Draco said. “Muggles dress up in costumes and stay for a weekend of historical reenactments. Or so I’m told.”

“That explains the chamber pot in the room and the numerous suits of armour. It’s all part of the aesthetic.” 

Indeed, there was a comically large number of suits of armour displayed along the corridors. 

Granger appeared to be thinking now. Draco braced himself. 

“Malfoy, how well do you know the layout of this castle?”

“Not terribly. Aside from the lower ranking Death Eaters who organised the event, this is the first time any of the inner circle have been to this location.”

“But you know where all their rooms are?”

Draco nodded. “More or less. At the very least, I know which floors they’re on.”

“We can assume the Patils got word to the Ministry about our location, but the rescue party the DMLE sends won’t know the castle’s layout. They’ll have their hands full just navigating all of Voldemort’s security measures.”

“I can draw them a map and send it back with one of the captives we rescue. If your colleagues have any brains they’ll look up any Muggle information on the castle.”

Granger pointed to a suit of armour. “Let’s make use of those. We could leave messages inside the suits and use them as landmarks on your map. That way the Aurors won’t be going in blind during the infiltration.”

It was a worthwhile idea, Draco thought.

When the guards weren’t looking (which seemed to be ninety per cent of the time), they carefully skulked to the next alcove, now meters away from Rookwood’s room. One of the guards tripped over his own feet, falling over in a fit of wheezing laughter.

Draco was disgusted. “Just look at these clowns. They might as well be leaning on their spears.”

“I’m glad they’re incompetent. It means better odds for us.” 

The waver in Granger’s voice prompted Draco to turn around to look at her. Her hands were shaking, so he held them for a moment. He reminded himself that although she had undergone the same basic training as Potter and the Weasleys at the Auror academy, Granger worked in intelligence analysis. She was not a seasoned field operative. 

“Yes, Granger,” he said. “It’s a good thing.”

“How are we going to…you know? Take them out?”

Take them out? He tried not to smile. “Well, we could always impale them on some fireplace grating.”

She scowled. “Please don’t joke.”

Stunning the guards was the most efficient method, provided Draco had the element of surprise. They might be idiots, but they were still idiots with wands. 

“I need you to close your eyes and cover them with your hands. Keep them shut or you’ll be temporarily blinded.”

How did a person look at another like she was doing now? Like her heart was right there beating behind her eyes. She clutched at the sleeve of his outer robes. “Wait, what are you going to do?” 

“The only thing I can do with these odds – distract and surprise.” He squeezed her gripping hand. “It’s going to be fine. Just stay hidden until I’m inside Rookwood’s room.”

He waited until she was covering her eyes as instructed. After that, he snuck a final look at the guards, doing his best to memorise their positions before casting Lumos with the intensity of a stadium spotlight. 

Closing his own eyes didn’t adequately shield Draco from the lingering afterimages that seared behind his eyelids. As disorienting as it felt for him, it was worse for the guards. As predicted, they didn’t reach for their wands initially, but instinctively lifted their arms to protect their eyes as they stumbled into each other. That was Draco’s cue to Stun them.

The ambush would have been textbook perfect had it not been for the bottle of whiskey that shattered on the stone floor. Still half-blinded, Draco hurriedly levitated the unconscious guards to Granger’s hiding spot. 

“What about that?” Granger silently mouthed, pointing to the broken bottle of Ogden’s. Draco only had time to put a finger over his lips before Rookwood’s door flew open. 

The older man was shirtless,  barefoot and armed. “What the devil is going on out here?” He squinted at Draco. “Malfoy? Zzat you? Why are you–” 

Draco cut him off with another question, posed with indignation He flung an arm out towards the broken bottle. “It seems some of our men have been drinking on duty.”

Rookwood went from wary and confused, to sheepish. Scratching his chest, he stepped out into the corridor, looking around in puzzlement when he failed to locate the guards stationed on that floor. He stared down at the shattered bottle and the puddle of whiskey. “Ah, I gave them a little, er, something. Seemed a bit rough to pass the night only listening to all the fun, you know?” 

With a long-suffering sigh, Draco reached into his robes to take his wand out. “Watch your step, old man. There’s glass all over the place. Go back inside and I’ll clean up this mess before anyone else notices.”

“Aha, would you? Good man,” said Rookwood. He clapped Draco on the shoulder and then turned to walk back to his room. 

Draco Stunned him before he reached the door. 

Granger immediately popped up from her hiding spot like a meerkat. She bolted into the room, heedless of Draco’s glare because he’d told her to wait for him. Rolling his eyes, Draco cleaned up the broken glass and then levitated Rookwood’s body ahead of him into the room.

Macnair’s room was slightly larger than Greyback’s, accommodating a table laden with savoury treats, drinks, chocolates, fruit and a few different varieties of libido-boosting concoctions. Rookwood had clearly been settling in for the long haul. 

Ginny Weasley stood beside the bed, collared and leashed to a bedpost. Granger was in the process of smothering her in a crushing hug.

“Hermione, really! I’m alright!” 

“Are you sure?” Granger asked, probably for the umpteenth time. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“I think he was working up to it, but no, he didn’t hurt me.”

The youngest Weasley was fully dressed and impressively composed. The only thing missing from her person was the blindfold. Her assessing gaze took in Rookwood’s insensate body, lying at Draco’s feet, and then settled on Draco. 

“Hermione,” she asked, without taking her eyes off of him. “I’m guessing there’s a very good explanation for why Draco Malfoy appears to be helping you?”

Granger got straight to the point. “He’s a spy working with the DMLE.” 

Draco was willing to entertain another minute or so for an extended explanation, but apparently, Weasley didn’t require one. 

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Merlin. Have you got the others out yet?”

“Parvati and Padma are already back at the Ministry. I was rescued after them and then we came for you,” Granger said. She was in the middle of unfastening Weasley's collar and lead. 

“What about Ron, Cho and Luna?”

“They’re next on the list.”

“Does Harry know?”

“Hmm?” Hermione asked, slipping the collar free from Weasley’s neck. “Oh, you mean about him ?” she inclined her head towards Draco. “Yes, Harry’s the only other DMLE official that knows, besides me and Moody. Even the Minister isn’t aware.”

“How come you know?”

“Oh, er. I’m his handler. Been going on two years now.”

“Is that right?” said Weasley. The look she gave Draco managed to convey an entire interrogation session’s worth of questions. 

“She’s favouring her right leg,” Draco said, taking some pleasure in Ginny’s small pout of annoyance. 

She glared at him over the top of Granger’s curly head. “ She got a well-earned sprain from kicking that son of a bitch in the knackers.”

Granger patted her friend on the shoulder. “Oh, well done, Ginny!” she praised, so earnestly that Draco coughed in amusement when Ginny’s cheeks turned pink. 

“He came prepared, Hermione. The bastard was wearing a cup .”

“Ugh!” Granger pulled a face. “The pervert .”

For some reason, both women side-eyed Draco, who immediately took offence. “Why are you looking at me? I’m not wearing a cup.”

Ginny was made to sit on the edge of the bed so Granger could examine her injured ankle. It was red, swollen and well on its way to turning purple. 

“She can’t walk on this,” Granger stated.

Draco concurred. “I’ll apply a splint before we send her off.”

“Hold on, send me off? No, I’m staying!”

Draco felt like he’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes. Salazar save him from Gryffindor women. “You’re injured and unarmed. If you’d like your friends and colleagues back safe and sound, I suggest you do as I say and stop wasting my time.”

“I can help!”

He rolled his eyes. “You can barely hobble. I’m not dying tonight because you don’t know when to retire from a fight.”

That shut her up. A sympathetic Granger filled Ginny in on the Mortality Register and the other restrictions placed on the Death Eaters’ wands. 

“In short, Malfoy and I need to get the others out as quickly and quietly as possible. We have an advantage so long as we remain undetected.”

“What do you mean, ‘Malfoy and I’?” Draco growled. “ You’re going back with Weasley!”

To say he was fighting a losing battle was an understatement. Hermione Granger had picked her hill and was determined to die on it if necessary.

Chapter Text

The most effective strategy Draco had in his arsenal was the element of surprise. However, it was a card he could only play once . After that night, his cover would be blown. There would be no returning to the Death Eaters. 

Given that no alarms had been raised so far, it was safe to assume that their initial rescues had gone unnoticed. As to how long that good luck was going to last was anyone’s guess. They sent a reluctant Ginny Weasley back to the Ministry via Floofire, along with a hastily scrawled map of the castle based on Draco’s memory. Four out of seven kidnapped people were safe. 

Next on the list was Luna Lovegood and this was when they ran into their first serious problem. 

Antonin Dolohov’s room was located at the end of a ground-floor corridor that was adjacent to a small courtyard. There was no way to reach the room without passing the courtyard. The problem was that seven guards were not patrolling their designated sections as they should have been.  

Instead, they were congregated in the courtyard, drinking from hip flasks, smoking and playing a lewd version of Exploding Snap. Visibility was improved in this part of the castle, as moonlight supplemented candles and lantern-light. This was fortunate because the plan Draco devised with Granger hinged on them being noticed . 

Granger surprised him when she pulled out Ginny Weasley’s collar and lead from her pocket. 

“That dress comes with pockets,” Draco blurted, and was immediately dismayed to realise he’d said this out loud. What was it about this woman that made him fumble more than usual? It was just as well that he was about to retire from the spy business because he was seriously losing his edge . 

Granger gave him a quizzical look, “Why wouldn’t it?”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just what were you planning to do with that?”

“Live Action Role Play,” she replied. She unclipped the collar from the lead, handed it to him, and then lifted her hair to expose her nape. “Could you please put this on me?”

“Granger, if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking–”

“Look, we want to surprise them, right? Just like you did with Macnair.”

“What I did with Macnair didn’t involve parading you in front of him as a distraction!”

“We do what we must,” she insisted, but when faced with his look of dismay, amended it to a gentler, “We do what we can . And I can do more to help you than just hiding in the shadows.”

Despite his reservations, Draco’s hands moved to do her bidding. His fingers weren’t nearly as steady as he would have liked as he selected a slot in the collar to fasten the buckle. Based on the existing indents in the leather, he could tell that Ginny Weasley’s collar had been fastened much tighter compared to the generous slack he provided Granger.  

The collar was not designed with the wearer’s comfort in mind . There was no soft lining or gently rounded metalwork to avoid damaging delicate skin. The crudeness of the equipment was the point .

It was funny, really. After a decade of serving the Dark Lord and witnessing all manner of atrocities, it was this tangible, hamfisted symbol of subjugation that turned Draco’s stomach. Clearly, this was what came from spending too much time with Hermione Granger. 

The last two years had changed something in him. Spying for the Order had the unexpected side effect of giving him a purpose other than survival, and purpose, it seemed, was a counteragent to apathy. What an inconvenient time to grow a conscience.

After the collar was fastened, Granger lowered her hair, rolled her shoulders and shook out her limbs like a dog shaking water from its coat. Only it wasn’t water she sought to shed, it was nerves. 

There was something riveting about Hermione Granger in these moments when she managed to carry everyone else along with her in the wake of her focused determination. Potter and Weaselface probably saw her like this more often. Draco found himself envious of that special history. 

Oblivious to his inner tumult, Granger picked up the lead, clipped one end to the silver ring at the front of her collar and handed the loop at the other end to Draco.

“Come on, Malfoy.” She nudged his boot with the tip of her sensible, flat shoes when he continued to stand there, complicated thoughts still percolating. “Let's go be distracting together.”  

Draco didn’t think it was possible to underestimate the laziness and incompetence of Voldemort’s paid help and yet the evidence was standing several meters away in the courtyard. 

He had the lead wrapped several times around his fist as he half-dragged, half-pushed Granger along the corridor. In hindsight, perhaps a tighter setting on the collar would have been a kindness because her neck was going to chafe from the friction.

“They’re not looking,” she complained through gritted teeth.  

Their stumbling presence should have drawn the men’s attention. It was highly inappropriate for Draco to be taking an extremely valuable Ministry abductee for a jaunt around the castle.  

“Give it a moment,” he whispered into her ear. He caught her responding shiver just before he pulled her towards the wide, stone-arched entrance to the courtyard. They were now in the guards’ direct line-of-sight.  

Their plan to lure the men to them was a good start. The issue was that they needed to sell a very specific scene and unfortunately, Draco knew that Granger’s acting chops were not up to scratch. But that was fine because Draco’s adaptation to the plan was contingent on him behaving like an utter bastard and luckily for them, he was a method actor. 

With his back facing the courtyard, he shoved Granger against the wall and braced his palms on either side of her head. Even with her assortment of bruises and scrapes, she was too pristine, too unaffected in both appearance and demeanour to have recently endured both Fenrir Greyback and Draco.  

The way to rectify this problem also happened to be a means through which Draco planned to attract the guards’ attention. 

“Make some noise.”

Granger cleared her throat and then scuffed her shoes against the gritty stone floor. 

“That’s not the kind of noise I’m talking about, Granger,” he drawled.  

He splayed a hand over her ribcage, just under her breast. She was so slender that his thumb and forefinger were almost on opposite sides of her torso. Up until that point, Granger had been peeking over his shoulder to observe their targets. When he touched her, she tilted her head up to give him the most innocent, questioning look. 

Was it monstrous of him to grow hard in his pants? Probably. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.  

“I…yes.”  

“Forget that you do,” he whispered, close enough that his lips brushed against hers. He felt her jolt. “For the next few minutes, I’m a Death Eater and you’re mine to do with as I please.”   

Her brown eyes widened with surprise, caution. Fear.

Good . 

“What–”  

“I’m sorry,” Draco cut her off, and then he kissed her.  

He managed to pull a gasp out of her, could feel her shock as she tried to make sense of his actions. As expected, though, Granger was quick to catch on. Shock soon turned to wary compliance. Rigid lips became pliant. 

She thought she was playing along, which meant he needed to dial up the intensity. The kiss gradually tilted her head upwards, so Draco sped up the process by cupping her jaw to tip her head all the way back, exposing the column of her throat. He ran his lips along her jawline, then down her chin and travelled lower still until he was mouthing around the collar. Her stunted little gasps turned into an outright shriek when he pushed the tip of his tongue under the leather.

Draco was vaguely aware that Granger had been half-heartedly swatting at his shoulders. He pulled away for a moment, but not far enough that his lips weren’t in constant contact with her skin. 

“ Louder ,” he ordered. “You’re barely putting up a fight here.”  

He saw the flames ignite in her eyes–her indignation was adorable –but before she could snap at him, he kissed her again. 

“Mhhf!” she protested more authentically now, pinching his forearm. Her legs began to twitch from the suppressed urge to kick, until she finally lifted her right knee. 

Draco smiled into the bruising kiss, hooked a hand under her knee and hauled her up. In short order he had both legs wrapped around his hips as  his pelvis pinning her against the wall. There was no disguising his hardness and unfortunately, that only worked in the plan’s favour. 

She shoved hard at his chest. “This–we–you! Malfoy !” 

He had successfully reduced her to angry incoherency. Now she was making some proper noise.

“How’s all that brainpower helping you now, hmm?” he taunted, loudly enough that the encroaching group of spectators could overhear. “Is that why they stuck you behind a desk at the DMLE while the real heroes do all the work?”  

It was abominable of him to be having this much fun as he watched her struggle to stay in character. Her heaving chest was distracting, to be honest. The modesty of her dress’ neckline only added to its appeal. Due to her elevated position, Draco was confronted with her pretty collarbones. He couldn‘t resist placing admittedly tender kisses on each visible protrusion, before applying the stiffened tip of his tongue to them. 

The shocked whimper that came out of her made them both stop to stare at each other with raised eyebrows. One of her hands was clawing into his shoulder, the other hand clutching at his hair, undecided on whether it needed to push or pull. It was too dark to see her blush, but Draco could practically feel the radiant heat emanating from her face. 

Without breaking eye contact he gently blew across her kiss-dampened decolletage.

“So this is the trick to shutting you up.” 

She slapped him. It was a good slap, too, despite the awkward, cramped angle. The resulting sound of her assault echoed in the corridor, followed by male laughter.

“D’ya need a hand there, Mr Malfoy?” 

“Looks like she already gave him one, bahahah!”  

Keeping a firm hold of her lead, Draco lowered Granger to the ground and spun them around so that they both faced the guards. He kept her arms restrained behind her back. As Draco walked towards the guards, he slipped his wand into her hands, hidden in the space between their bodies. From the guards’ perspective, Draco appeared unarmed. 

The first part of their plan to lure the men into the corridor had succeeded . The next part required the men to relax their guard, to trust Draco enough to collectively approach him within a radius of no more than two meters. 

They needed to be close for the spell to work.  

Two of the seven men were holding their wands. One of them warily approached. He was slightly older than his companions and not nearly as drunk. 

“Mr Malfoy, we were told that none of our Master’s gifts are to be taken out of the rooms.”

There was a soft snort from Granger. Draco assumed she took issue with the captives being referred to as ‘gifts’. She was supposed to remain silent, but at this rate, her temper could jeopardise their charade. 

Draco adapted accordingly. “Yates, was it?” he asked. 

“ Yatesley ,” the man corrected. 

“Mr Yatesley, seeing as you have the hands to spare, could I trouble you to freeze this harpy before she makes another attempt at bludgeoning the family jewels…”  

Granger’s surprise and anger upon hearing this request was very real. The men laughed, whistled and cat-called while Draco grunted from the pretend-effort of maintaining his grip on his captive. 

“Please be quick about it or I’ll just do it myself!”  

Yatesley obliged by casting Petrificus .

“Appreciated,” Draco said, with an audible exhale. He passed a hand over his damp brow. “In hindsight, I should have done that before I took her out of the room, but a Petrified face is such a turn-off…”  

“Been given’ ya trouble, has she?” 

“That’s putting it mildly…”  

One of the younger guards cleared his throat. “Pardon my asking, sir, but didn’t you agree to swap for her with Mr Greyback earlier?”

Like all henchmen lower down in the pecking order, gossip about the higher-ups was a prized commodity, and apparently, news of the night’s eventful dinner had travelled.

“Yes, and unfortunately, he asked me to swap back ,” Draco said, with a long-suffering sigh.  

“And you’re not happy with that arrangement, sir?”

The young guard was elbowed in the ribs by the man next to him. “Would you be happy swapping this skinny little thing for those twins?” 

Draco made a show of looking around before speaking in a theatrically loud whisper. “At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I’d rather have a hot meal, a pint of something frosty, and a soft, willing body to roll around with in between clean sheets.” 

“Hear, hear!” said the rib-digger. 

There were nods and general murmurs of agreement. It was risky to question the Dark Lord’s judgement, even with respect to a gift, but it was a thrilling risk when an elite Death Eater did it first. 

“Funny sorta Valentine’s gift, to be sure.” 

“It’s meant to be a reward for their loyalty, you dolt. What’dya expect the Master to give ‘em, eh? A coupon for a Muggle bed n’ breakfast?” 

“What’s wrong with chocolates and a card?” the young guard chipped in, amidst guffaws.

“Beats gettin’ your ear chewed off!”

Mere minutes had passed but by then, all the guards except Yatesley had put their wands away. Some were even relaxed enough to resume sipping from their hip flasks. 

Yatesley was proving to be a sticker for the rules. “Mr Malfoy, I’m going to have to insist on escorting you back to your room.” 

“Ach, untwist yer knickers, Yatesley! No harm in havin’ a little wander.”

“Actually, Anton’s the reason I came,” Draco informed. “It’s rare any of us get to meet in person so I thought he might spare a moment to discuss business. And as for this little minx…” Draco fondled one of Granger's curls. “I didn’t think it wise to leave her unattended.” 

Draco rummaged inside his robes, pulling out the snuff bottle containing Greyback’s list of informants and the pack of cigars he had taken from Greyback’s pockets. He wasn’t sure if the men knew about the true purpose of the snuff bottle, but their expressions suggested that that piece of gossip had reached them as well.

Predictably, it wasn’t the snuff bottle they were eyeing with interest.

“Say, I have a proposal,” Draco announced. “Seeing as I have no interest in making another attempt to scale Mount Scratchenbite…” This was met with amused chuckles from the guards. “Would you gents be willing to look after her while I catch up with Anton? I’ll throw in this pack of Montecristos,” Draco said, holding up the cigars.  

“Now, when you say look after…”

“In exchange for keeping my little tête-à-tête a secret, she’s yours for the duration of my meeting,” Draco replied. 

There was silence and then a palpable shift in mood.

Men , Draco thought. They were as civilised and amiable as anything, but give them the opportunity to wreak consequence-free carnage on a helpless woman, and their true natures were revealed.

“That’s mighty generous of you, Mr Malfoy! We’ll be happy to mind the lass.”

“It’s a happy Valentine’s Day indeed, boys!”

Draco waited for them to come closer in order to take Granger from him. He kept one hand on her back, over her crossed wrists. His other hand held her lead, ostensibly preparing to give it to her new minders. 

The men didn’t see it coming because they weren’t paying attention to Draco . All eyes were on Granger. It was a simple thing for Draco to grasp his wand, which had been safely held in Granger’s hands the entire time. 

The spell he used was one of hers, in fact. She called it Afterimage and the last time she used it was when she was memorising spell incantations for the NEWTS. 

Draco cast Afterimage three times and watched as doppelgangers appeared – three perfect copies of every person present, including Draco and Granger. The clones swarmed the corridor, each mimicking the movements and speech of their original versions, but with a three-second delay. 

It was orchestrated pandemonium. 

As the spell caster, only Draco could see the yellow aura that distinguished a clone from a real person. He Stunned all seven guards in quick succession. Most of the men had their wands out, but not a single one had used them for fear of friendly fire. 

Once the guards were incapacitated, Draco discarded their wands and levitated their frozen bodies to a hiding spot. He then freed Granger from Yatesley’s Petrificus , prepared to receive a slap or worse. 

Once unfrozen, Granger stumbled forward into Draco’s arms. He caught and then released her quickly, assuming she’d be furious with him. When he opened his mouth to repeat his earlier apology, Granger stopped him with a raised hand.

“Save it.” 

A heavy knot formed in his chest as he watched her set her dishevelled clothing to rights. The knot proceeded to sink into his stomach when she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Granger–” 

She cut him off again. “You apologised in advance already, didn’t you? Look, I get it . I was the weak link in our plan, I understand. We both had the same goal in mind but you’re…” She seemed to reconsider whatever word she was about to use. “...you’re more flexible in your approach. We needed to convince them that I was being dragged around unwillingly and that’s precisely what we did. It worked.” She was having trouble meeting his eyes, but Draco could already see her innate resilience kicking in. “The sooner we move on, the sooner I’ll stop feeling so foolish.” 

They were silent for a moment, and then he gestured to the collar. “Let me take that off.” 

She turned and lifted her hair, flinching a little when his finger grazed her neck. 

You’re not foolish , Draco wanted to say. You’re normal . I’m the defective one . 

But instead of telling her these things, he consoled himself with the knowledge that on this occasion, what was wrong with him had helped more than it had harmed.  

“Come on, Let’s get Luna out of here,” Granger said, after Draco slid the collar off. “I hope to God Dolohov hasn’t hurt her.” 

“He tried, but he couldn’t get it up and was too embarrassed to ask for a stiffy potion,” said a wispy, lilting voice. 

Granger yelped and clutched Draco’s arm in alarm. Draco was just as startled, but was better at hiding it. 

Luna Lovegood stood in the corridor not far from Dolohov’s open room door. Her mouth was still smeared with blood and she was still dressed in her monkey-print pyjamas. The only difference was that the front of the pyjama top was now soaked in blood, as were her fluffy white bedroom slippers. 

“Luna!” Granger launched at the other woman, fully prepared to administer a crash tackle hug, but she stopped short at the sight of the blood.

“Don’t worry, it’s not mine,” Lovegood informed. Her blue-eyed stare was unnervingly blank. “Hermione, why is Draco Malfoy here?” 

“It’s alright, Luna. Malfoy’s with us! He’s been working undercover for the Order.” 

“I see,” said the blonde. She smiled at Draco and he realised there was a distinct difference between a Luna Lovegood who didn’t like you and one who considered you her friend. He got the feeling that she had just struck his name from a list he really didn’t want to be on. 

“Where’s Dolohov?” Draco asked. Lovegood seemed much too sanguine for Dolohov to still be an active threat.    

“This way,” she said, cryptic as fuck.  

Granger wasn’t the least bit fazed as she hurried to follow her friend without a word, though she did pause to ask Draco what a ‘stiffy potion’ was.

For the second time that evening, Draco found himself in the unexpected position of attempting to save a Death Eater’s life. As it turned out, Dolohov was in even worse shape than Greyback.

“Do I even want to know how ?” he asked. This was a lie. He really did want to know.  

Fortunately, Lovegood had no trouble providing a succinct explanation.

“Well, after I bit his ear, he warned me not to try anything else because I had no chance of escaping. He said I wouldn’t be able to use his wand even if he put it in my hands. I said I didn’t believe him. He laughed at me and gave me his wand, and that was when I stabbed him through the eye with it.” 

“The things an unarmed witch can do with pointy objects and a can-do attitude,” Draco muttered. He was crouching over Dolohov’s body, trying to decide whether it was safe to remove the wand. 

“We can’t just leave him with a weapon,” Granger insisted. 

Draco was incredulous. “Forget ever using a wand again. If he survives, I think he’ll be drinking out of a straw for the rest of his life.” 

They settled for tying Dolohov’s hands and feet together and then sliding his body under the bed rather than folding him up inside the armoire. The cleanup had to be less meticulous compared to Greyback’s room because they were running out of time. 

While Granger provided Lovegood with a quick update on what had transpired so far, Draco prepared the Floofire. 

“But will you be safe with him?” Lovegood asked, unbothered by the fact Draco was standing beside her.  

“Yes, please don’t worry. Hurry up and go through!” 

Still, Lovegood hesitated. “Will you have to kiss him again?”  

For the span of several breaths, the only sound in the room came from the crackling of the fire. 

“Er, saw that, did you?” Granger said. “We were trying to get past the guards without setting off any alarms. Distraction and misdirection…that sort of thing.

“I was about to leave the room when you two showed up. Then I saw you kissing so I thought it was best to wait until you were done.”  

“Bear in mind that kissing in combat situations is only to be attempted by qualified experts,” Draco said, ignoring Granger’s death glare.  

“Are you sure you won’t come back with me?” Lovegood asked. 

Draco had been down this same route three times that night already with Granger, so he answered for her. “Short of forcing her to go, the answer seems to be ‘no’.”  

“What he said,” Granger confirmed, before she shoved Luna into the fire. 

Chapter Text

No sooner had they sent Luna through the fireplace when the explosions were heard. They were powerful enough to cause the room to vibrate, causing dust billowing down from the ceiling. 

Draco grabbed Granger by the arm and pulled her back to the fireplace. “The Floofire is still active! Go now !”

Granger shook him off. “No! Ron and Cho are still here!”

He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “It may have escaped your notice but there’s a battle going on out there!”

“Yes, I know!” She actually smiled. “It’s Harry .” The name was spoken with such conviction, such unshakeable faith.

It continually amazed him how Potter could inspire such devotion. Or maybe the more apt description was insanity? Because only crazy people like Granger ran towards the sound of explosions rather than away from it. 

They left Dolohov’s room, sprinted down the corridor and cut across the courtyard in the direction of the dining hall. When they arrived there, Draco skidded to a halt when he saw the damage.

The roof was gone, not merely destroyed or caved in. It simply wasn’t there anymore. He looked up at the exposed night sky, abundant with stars and the dissipating smoke from recent wandfire. The explosions sounded further away now, characteristic of a fast-moving battle. 

At some point, he wasn’t leading them any longer. Granger grabbed his hand and pulled him through corridors and up the stairs until they were on the second floor. There, a fierce duel was taking place between the Carrows and about a dozen guards, versus three Aurors, one of whom was in the air.

“Harry!” Granger called out from the parapet. The broom-mounted Auror broke formation and sped towards them

Potter didn’t even wait for the broom to come to a stop before dismounting. It was impressive in an obnoxious, main-character sort of way. The sight of an enraged Harry Potter bearing down on them in full Auror getup with his wand and eyes blazing was not a sight Draco would soon forget.

“MALFOY!” Potter roared. 

Muscle memory overrode rational thought as Draco automatically assumed a defensive stance, his wand held out in front of his body at forty-five degree angle. 

Who they were and why they were there didn’t matter because the moment had been reduced to two adrenaline-fuelled wizards and a sixteen-year old grudge. Draco felt his magic rise up under his skin. It was as if liquid light flowed through his veins, waiting to be channelled through the conduit of his wand. 

But then, a gentle grip on his wrist brought all that churning potential to a sharp halt. He remembered a sound he’d heard in a Muggle cartoon a long time ago – of a braking car coming to a comical, screeching stop. This was like that.

He caught a glimpse of Granger’s pale, worried face before she stepped in front of him. The business end of his wand grazed her ear before Draco shifted into a neutral position. Potter did the same, though with more hesitancy.

To step into a duelling field was something even toddlers knew never to do. To do it to Draco and Potter at the precipice of casting meant two things. The first was that Granger effectively crippled Draco’s ability to defend himself against Potter, and the second was that she knew they would stop in time. It wasn’t foolish Gryffindor bravery at work. It was trust. 

She trusted them. Both of them. 

And just like that, Draco wasn’t quite so jealous of the bespectacled berk. Potter, meanwhile, had marched up to them, still looking furious. His burning green gaze scanned Granger’s appearance, eyes bulging slightly when he spotted the more prominent bruises and scrapes. 

Granger was still standing in front of Draco, windmilling her arms in the air. “Harry! Damn it, I’m fine! Draco’s the one that saved us! Didn’t the others tell you?”

“Yes, but they also said he gave you to Greyback !”

She shook her head in frustration. “Look, it’s a long story and we don’t have time right now! We just sent Luna away, but there’s still Cho and Ron!”

“I already got Cho out before the Carrows boxed us in.” Potter pulled her in for a hug while simultaneously attempting to glare a hole through Draco’s head. “Luna’s back at the Ministry now?”

“Yes, which means Ron’s the only one left!”

“Stupid git wouldn’t have it any other way. Malfoy,” Potter said, resigned. He turned his attention to Draco, looking like he wanted to follow through with murder after all. “Thanks for the map. It was useful, even if it looked like you drew it with a wax crayon.”

A hex flew over their heads, hitting a suit of armour and causing it to collapse into its consistent pieces. 

Granger resurfaced from where Draco had shielded her under his outer robes. She coughed at the chemical stench of burning plastic. “Did the suits of armour help as reference points?”

“They did. We found the room where Cho was being kept really quickly.”

“Is Cho alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Do you know where Ron is being held? Macnair’s room was empty when we checked it,” Potter informed.

“I’ll come with you to find him!” Granger said. 

“No!” said both men. 

Potter scowled at Draco. “Just watch her for me.”

Draco ignored the indignant protests from Granger. “Potter, are your eyeglasses not working? Unless you’ve got reinforcements on their way, it’s obvious your team is outnumbered!”

The truth of this was evident in the way the Aurors currently engaging the Carrows were being steadily driven to the front of the castle. 

“If you would like to avoid losing any of your people, I suggest you rejoin the fight. I’ll locate Weasley. Given the racket you made breaking into the castle, Macnair is probably halfway to the Anti-Apparition boundary by now.”

“With Ron as a hostage?” Granger asked. “Won’t that slow him down?”

“Yes, which is why I can still catch up to them if I leave now,” Draco said, staring daggers at Potter. He placed his hands on Granger’s shoulders and spun her around to face Potter. “Keep her with you.”

“Could we please not speak about me as if I wasn’t here!” 

Draco was at the end of his patience and was grateful when Potter stepped in to take Granger by the elbow. 

“Come on, Hermione. You’re with me.” 

“Potter, know that If anything happens to her in your care, I’ll take the entire Ministry down with me.”

Both Granger and Potter looked gobsmacked, though in different ways. Draco took advantage of Granger’s momentary shock to leave before she could muster up any further protests.

Chapter Text

Walden Macnair was not like most other Death Eaters in Voldemort’s inner circle. He didn’t come from a noble Pureblood house where taking the Dark Mark was an intergenerational legacy. Nor did he possess the cunning and connections of an outlier like Greyback, who had earned his status within the Dark Lord’s ranks. 

What Macnair brought to the equation was strength, brutality and endurance. His tenure as the Ministry’s official executioner was flawless, with one exception – Buckbeak the Hippogriff. 

Macnair wasn’t the most imaginative wizard, but he was a survivor. Draco wasn’t surprised when a tracking spell revealed Macnair had masked his whereabouts as soon as he was outside the castle. However, the old fool neglected to cast the spell over Ronald Weasley as well, so it was Weasley’s tracks that eventually led Draco to the pair.

The fleeing Death Eater was nearly at the Anti-Apparition boundary, using a minute Lumos to light his way. Draco could barely see where he was going, but casting any sort of light risked spoiling his ruse. 

“Walden!” Draco hissed. “Wait up!”

Macnair spun around, startled. Given the uneven terrain, he wasn’t using the collar and lead. Rather, he grasped the back of Weasley’s robes with a large hand and hauled the young man along. 

The captured Auror bore the characteristic symptoms of non-specific Imperio . He was a puppet that would obey any command from Macnair. This fact was demonstrated when Weasley stepped in front of Macnair, effectively becoming a human shield.

“ Malfoy ? Is that you?”

“No, it’s Saint Valentine, you daft old man.”

Macnair took a step closer. “How’d you–damn it all! Did anyone else make it out?” 

“I don’t know! I assumed it was just me! But I suspected one of us might have had better luck escaping with our gift when Imperio was cast.”

“Ah, felt that, didn’t you?” the older Death Eater said, referring to the silent alarms triggered by Voldemort’s magic restriction spells. He looked up at the patches of night sky beyond the tree canopy. “Means our Master felt it, too.”

“He’s not sending help, Walden,” Draco stated, in a flat voice.

“Yeah, I know,” Walden said. “We’re on our own, as is our way.” He wasn’t quite despondent, but there was definitely bitter resignation. Macnair turned back towards the Anti-Apparition boundary. “On that note, we’d best get a move on before those Ministry bastards find us.”

“No arguments there, though I’m very glad I caught you before you left.” Draco left a sheepish pause. “The thing is…” 

“What?”

“You have something I want.”

“And what would that be?”

Macnair’s dim Lumos deepened the hollows in his craggy face, including his prominent sleep creases. He looked like a man who had just stumbled out of bed. Draco wanted to laugh. After all that boasting about the debauchery Macnair had planned for Weasley, the old pervert probably fell asleep as soon as he got to his room.  

“That ginger baggage you’re carrying.” Draco gestured at Weasley with his wand. “I want him.”

“ Weasley ?” 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Draco clicked his tongue. “Does it matter?” 

“He’s my hostage, so yes, it bloody well matters! What d’ya want him for?”

It didn’t require any pretending for Draco to deliver the next line like the words were being choked out of him. “It’s personal.” He wanted to avoid a fight, but if Macnair refused to hand Weasley over, Draco would have no choice but to force the issue.

“How personal?”

The licentious old bastard really wanted to hear Draco spell it out.

“I want him In the biblical sense, as the Muggles are known to say.”

Macnair took a moment to process this revelation before he doubled over with laughter. “Oh, Circe! I wish your da was alive to see you now! And here we were all assuming the reason you never installed a new lady of the Manor was because you’re just difficult to please.” The laughter died down to a thin wheeze as Macnair recovered enough to ruffle Weasley’s hair. “So you’re wantin’ a piece of this, eh? We could share?”

“Hmm, not really my thing. I was an only child, after all.”

“If you want me to hand him over, you’re going to have to cough up somethin’ worth me riskin’ my life while I stand here and consider your request.”

“I’ll interrogate him personally and share with you whatever useful information he provides,” Draco offered.

Macnair snorted. “You’re going to do that for me anyway if you want me to keep my mouth shut about this little deal. I want something now , boy.” 

As expected, Macnair was fishing for a more substantial catch.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” Draco said, with a sigh. He made sure his wand was visible to Macnair as he slowly reached into his robes to take out the snuff bottle. 

“Ah, that’s the ticket,” Macnair said, smiling broadly as soon as he saw the tiny Pensieve.

“Do you have any idea how valuable this is? Particularly if Greyback’s out of the picture?”

“Aye,” Macnair said. “But seems to me that you consider our young friend here a bit of a prize as well. Be quick about it and hand the thing over. I’ll die before I let those bastards put me back in Azkaban!”

What was that other Muggle saying? Something about old dogs and new tricks? The trick Draco pulled on Macnair happened to be one of the oldest in the book.  

“ Catch .”

It was, at most, three seconds worth of distraction when Draco tossed the fragile bottle into the air, but it was two seconds more than Draco needed. If that night had taught him anything, it was that trust truly was a most formidable weapon. 

Macnair’s strength was astounding. Even when struck at close range with an Impedimenta that carried him up and backwards into a tree, he remained conscious long enough to cast Reducto .

Draco’s quick shielding charm caused the assault to deflect off of his right side, but it still packed a punch. He heard his ribs crack as he fell to his knees on the leaf-littered forest floor. The last thing Draco saw before he succumbed to his injuries was Ronald Weasley’s feet running towards him. 

Chapter Text

10.55pm, 14 February 

Department of Magical Law Enforcement, 

Level 2, Ministry for Magic, London 

Harry watched from behind a charmed, two-way mirror as a Ministry medic treated Draco Malfoy in the next room. 

He hated using the observation room because it made him feel like a voyeur, but for the first time, Harry understood their function. Depending on the person being interrogated, sometimes, covert observation really did reveal interesting findings. 

He picked up the clipboard on the table and flicked to the page outlining Malfoy’s injuries. Burns to the right shoulder, two broken ribs, four broken fingers and a scaphoid fracture. The breaks were already healed, but the burns would take a little longer and needed to be covered to prevent infection in the meantime.  

Though not life-threatening, Malfoy’s injuries were severe enough to warrant a stay at St Mungo’s, but the DMLE decided against it. As far as the public was concerned, Malfoy was still a wanted criminal. Until he was officially debriefed and processed, it was safer for Malfoy and for the community if he remained in Ministry custody. To that end, a DMLE interrogation cell had been turned into a temporary hospital room.

Harry flicked through several more pages until he came to the summary medical reports for the other captives rescued that night. The most serious injuries were bruises, ligature welts, and Ginny’s fractured ankle, but that only covered the physical wounds. Of the seven people kidnapped, only Ron, Ginny and Hermione had undergone any kind of sort of training that could have prepared them for such an ordeal. And of the three, Hermione’s training was basic, at best. 

All the victims would carry emotional scars from the trauma. However, one could be forgiven for assuming Luna Lovegood had escaped completely unscathed on account of how unaffected she seemed. It was difficult to tell with Luna, but then Harry knew it was also difficult to tell with him , and he definitely felt his wounds–both the visible and invisible ones. 

The door to the observation room opened and in walked Ron, balancing a pile of sandwiches and a mug of tea on a plate. He was freshly showered and wearing a set of grey, Auror training sweats. 

Harry glared at his best friend. “Shouldn’t you be recuperating with your sister?”

“What do you think I’m doing now?” Ron said around a mouthful of roast beef and horseradish on rye. “Plus, you made Ginny go to the Burrow, which means Mum is kicking up a coddling frenzy, and I want no part of it.” He picked up his tea and drained it in three audible gulps. “Ahhh, that hits the spot.” 

“Excuse me, Mr Potter,” said a hollow, tinny voice. It came from the medic in the observation room. The woman had the tip of her wand pressed to her throat in order to speak to Harry through the enchanted glass. “I’m finished with the patient.” 

Harry used the same method to respond. “Thank you. Director Moody is waiting outside, would you mind showing him in, please?”

“Hermione’s waiting as well,” Ron added. 

“I know.” Harry frowned again. “Neither of you understand the concept of rest and recovery.”

Ron snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

“She went through hell tonight! Do you have any idea how lucky all of you were? If we didn’t have a person on the inside–”

“But we did,” Ron interjected. “The bit I’m struggling to accept is that the pasty-faced bastard in the other room was the one responsible for the rescue.”

There was a buzzing sound as the door to the interrogation cell opened. The medic held it open for Alastor Moody, who lumbered into the room in his characteristic loping gait. 

Moody’s eyes were on Malfoy, but his next words were for Harry. “If there’s anyone else in the room with you, turn the sound off.”

Ron gave Harry a withering look. 

“Look, I’m sorry you didn’t know about Malfoy, but we couldn’t tell anyone,” Harry stressed. “Not even you. His file literally has the words TOP SECRET stamped in big red letters on the front.” 

As Moody reminded Malfoy of his rights, Harry tapped the glass wall to mute the sound. Ron and Harry watched as Moody used a DMLE Pensieve to record Malfoy’s recollections in response to the older wizard’s questions. This method proved to be a quicker and more accurate way to obtain witness statements which could also be revisited as needed. 

In the absence of sound, Harry couldn’t help but over-analyse Malfoy’s gestures and body language. It was unfortunate that regulations required him to be shackled to the bed, but the restraints would come off as soon as Moody was finished with the interview.  

Despite his injuries, Malfoy sat tall and straight in the bed, somehow managing to look down at Moody despite the fact the other man was standing . Harry was so used to Malfoy’s perpetual look of snooty contempt that he wondered if it was a trick of bone structure rather than a product of personality. 

Ron eventually broke the silence. “So they’ve been meeting in secret for two years, huh?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Who’s the genius that decided to make Hermione his handler?”

“That would be Hermione.”

Ron choked on the bread crust he was nibbling on. “Seriously? Did everyone conveniently forget their history? Or that slap in third year?”

“As the only Muggleborn currently working in the DMLE, Hermione correctly pointed out that she has no familial wizarding ties that could potentially constitute a conflict of interest. Moreover, she insisted that her history with Malfoy would make him more rather than less likely to trust her. He knows she’s nothing if not fair-minded.”

To his credit, Ron actually considered these reasons before speaking. “Yeah, alright. I can sort of see the logic.” 

The interview didn’t take long due to the memory-based nature of the process. Malfoy didn’t need to speak, all he needed to do was recall . What would typically take hours to relay verbally now took mere minutes. A transcript of Malfoy’s statement would be prepared in due course. Before he left, Moody sealed the Pensieve cap using charmed wax, and removed Malfoy’s shackles. 

By then, Ron had eaten his sandwich crusts and was now opening a box of Chocolate Frogs someone left for him at the DMLE reception. It had not always been the case, but Aurors were extremely popular among the citizens of Wizarding Britain. Every year on Valentine’s Day, admirers brought flowers, chocolates and cards, all of which were subjected to security checks before being passed on to their intended recipients Aurors. 

Unsurprisingly, Harry’s haul invariably required Reducio to be able to fit into a single bag. He shared most of it with his colleagues. The two men were chewing on Ron’s Chocolate Frogs in expectant silence when the door buzzer sounded again. Another visitor entered. This time, it was Hermione. 

“Here we go,” Harry said, walking over to the glass to turn the sound connection back on. 

Like Ron, Hermione was dressed in an Auror tracksuit, though it appeared to be several sizes too large.

“Yours?” Harry asked. 

“Yes,” Ron said. He looked troubled. “Does she know we’re in here?”

“Probably.”

“And you still think we should be listening in?”

Harry shrugged. “You can leave if you want.” He didn’t look away from the couple he was observing. “I need peace of mind. Also, there’s something you need to see.”

“What is it?”

“Just watch, you git.”

Ron wasn’t happy, but he stayed. Meanwhile, in the interrogation room, Hermione was being nagged . 

“I told you, I don’t need to go to the hospital. The medic already gave me the all-clear.”

“Even so, what are you still doing here at work?” Malfoy asked. 

“Good question,” Harry muttered. 

“Moody is handling the official paperwork, but nevertheless, there are reports I need to see to!”

“ What reports?” Ron asked.

“ No reports,” Harry deadpanned. 

Malfoy scoffed, staring pointedly at the slight tremor in Hermione’s hands. “I doubt you could see to making yourself a cup of tea right now.”

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” she said, even as she patted Malfoy’s hand consolingly, “I’ve already had something to eat, but it’s not like I could sleep right now even if I wanted to.”  

Ron gave Harry an incredulous look. “What the hell is happening here? If I said that to her, I’d get my head bitten off for my trouble!” 

Hermione frowned as she rubbed at the red marks around Malfoy’s wrist that were left by the shackles. “You know, before tonight, I never gave a second thought to what it feels like…in every sense of the word…to be restrained like this. It’s inhumane.”

“I think that’s the point, Granger.” Malfoy caught her fidgeting hands and intertwined their fingers. 

“Harry,” said Ron, without looking away. “Harry, what is happening…” 

Harry was very still and silent as he continued watching. Ron took his cue.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked. 

“Fine, all things considered,” Malfoy replied. 

She sighed. “Well, consider that you suffered burns and broken bones.”

“All are injuries which have been healed or are in the process of healing.”

When she continued to look sceptical, Malfoy grabbed a handful of the grey sweatshirt and reeled her in until she was sitting over the side of the bed. 

“Wait, let me answer that again.” He brought their foreheads together and tucked her clean, damp hair behind her ear. “I feel terrible. I’m in agony. Do you feel sorry for me?”

Hermione nuzzled at his cheek. “Shall I ask them to get you more pain relief?”

“If they give me anything more, I might do something you’ll regret.”

“Don’t you mean something you’ll regret?”

He smirked. “I don’t think so.”

In the observation room, Ron hurled an accusatory Chocolate Frog at Harry. “You bastard . I’m going to have nightmares .”

Malfoy was now toying with Hermione’s sweatshirt. “What are you wearing?”

“I didn’t have anything suitable in my locker, so Ron lent me this.”

“Don’t wear another man’s clothes, Granger,” Malfoy grumbled. 

Ron made gagging sounds. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You’d rather I walk around the Ministry in a torn, dusty, blood-stained dress?”

“You looked beautiful in that dress,” Malfoy said, though he didn’t seem pleased about this. “Were you planning on meeting someone tonight?”

“I  meant to,” she admitted. 

“I see.”

It was amazing how the glass separating the two rooms didn’t immediately crack from the sudden drop in temperature.

“But alas, he stood me up,” Hermione said.

Harry snorted. Even Ron had to admit that Malfoy’s disgruntled expression was amusing. 

“What sort of idiot would leave you waiting?”

“That would be you ,” Hermione replied, with a ghost of a smile. At Malfoy’s look of confusion, she proceeded to explain. “We were supposed to meet next week for our usual mission catchup, but I wanted to bring it forward. So I sent you a message to meet me in London earlier tonight.”

“Tonight?” he repeated. 

Her cheeks were pink now. “Yes. Only you just happened to be Summoned to Voldemort’s depraved Valentine’s Day celebration. Who would have thought the Dark Lord would beat me to the punch?”

“Merlin, this is excruciating,” Ron complained. “Even I’m not that thick. He has to know what she’s getting at!”

Harry shook his head. “He’s not thick, he’s cautious. And to be fair, this is probably the first time in two years they’ve met each other without his mission hanging over their heads.” 

“Speaking of borrowed clothing,” Hermione continued, “I can’t believe they put you in Azkaban robes! Surely they could have found you something less problematic to wear?”

Malfoy glanced down at himself with a half-smirk. “Orange really isn’t my colour, is it?”

Ron snorted. “It really isn’t.”

“To be fair, it’s not your colour either,” Harry muttered, unwrapping another Chocolate Frog. 

“Well, technically I am a captured fugitive, Granger.” Malfoy's tone was teasing, indulgent. “They can’t release me back into the wild until I’ve been tagged and rehabilitated.” 

“And neutered, hopefully,” Ron added. 

“You’re not some wounded animal!” 

“If I were, would you take me home?” Malfoy spoke in such a soft, low voice that the eavesdropping duo in the observation room instinctively leaned closer towards the glass. 

“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about, actually.” Hermione’s face was red. “When the DMLE is done with your debriefing, you’ll need somewhere to stay. We provide a sort of halfway house for people in your position. Former informants and the like. It’s not Malfoy Manor, obviously, but there’s a full-time counsellor and–”

“Yes,” Malfoy said.

Hermione blinked. “Hmm? Yes what?”

“Yes, I’ll stay with you.”

“ Wow . I think you could fry an egg on her face right now,” said Harry, sympathetically. 

“Pfft! That woman made her own bed!” Ron countered.

“And it sounds like Malfoy’s just invited himself to lie in– ouch !” Harry rubbed at the spot on his arm where Ron had flicked him.  

Currently, Hermione was groaning and covering her face with her hands. 

He gently peeled her hands away. “You were about to ask me, right?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, but it’s egotistical to assume, Malfoy.”

Ron grunted. “S’right. You tell him.”

“Moody told me that I’ve met my mission quota,” Malfoy said.

“What quota is he talking about?” Ron asked.

“Malfoy’s agreement with the DMLE states that he has to achieve a list of mission objectives or achieve equivalent outcomes before the Ministry will consider bringing him in,” Harry explained. 

Hermione nodded. “That’s right. You would have met the quota by just providing Greyback’s informant list. Rescuing the captives wasn’t necessary. The least I can do in my capacity as your former handler is provide you with a place to stay when you walk out of here with nothing but the clothes on your back.”

“Are you providing that option to me as my former handler, or as the woman who wore a red velvet dress to see me on Valentine’s Day?”

Harry dodged the second Chocolate Frog missile that came flying at him. 

“Stop smiling,” Ron yelled.

“Oh, come on, that was pretty smooth!”

“Ugh! This is almost as bad as that time I walked in on you and Ginny snogging!”

“That was five years ago!”

“Harry James Potter, if you make me watch these two lunatics kiss, on Godric’s honour I will self- Obliviate .”

“Calm down. I know it’s a lot to take in but you didn’t see him earlier tonight–”

“Apologies,” Ron said, with a sniff. “I was busy trying to preserve the structural integrity of my arsehole.”

Harry stopped smiling. “Don’t joke about what nearly happened to you.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “If anyone can joke about it, it should be me.”

Harry sighed. “I wanted you to watch them because you’re the most likely person to react badly if it catches you off guard. Merlin knows I already did.”

“You reacted badly? Good job. When?”

“When I ran into them during the raid,” Harry said, sheepish. “Hermione looked like she’d been through the wringer and when I saw Malfoy, all I saw was ‘Death Eater’.”

Ron contemplated Malfoy through the glass. “Really? All I see is a Face I Want To Punch.”

“Yes, well…I acted the same way, but Hermione jumped between us.”

“She would,” Ron said, commiseratingly. 

“And then Malfoy insisted he would rescue you by himself because I was needed elsewhere and Hermione would only get in the way because she was wandless.”

“Oh, I bet she loved that…”

“My point is that she trusted him to bring you back. That’s no small amount of trust, mate.” 

Ron scratched at the back of his head. “Look, I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful bastard given the bloke did save me and all, but Harry, have we even considered that Malfoy only became a spy in the first place because he worked out he was on the losing side? Who’s to say he hasn’t been stringing Hermione along to keep up appearances?”

“Isn’t that first part the reason why so many spies turn?” Harry asked. “As for the second thing…I’ll admit I was dubious at first. But then Malfoy basically threatened to blow up the Ministry if I let anything happen to Hermione. You should have heard him. He meant every word of it.”

Ron took a moment to absorb this. He was markedly less agitated when he finally spoke. “But they haven’t made anything official yet?”

“How could they while his mission was ongoing? Moody’s suspected it for a while, though,” Harry informed. “I mean, it’s not like she’s the first handler to fall for her charge, right? He said that Hermione’s mission reports read, and I quote, ‘like a slow-burn romance’.” Harry looked relieved to finally be able to share the burden of this knowledge.

“Ew.” Ron looked appalled. “Why does Moody even know that phrase?”

Harry inclined his chin towards the other room. “In any case, I think we’re about to witness those embers finally ignite.”

“We should probably give them some privacy, Harry.”

“Probably,” Harry agreed.

Neither man moved from their spot.

Chapter Text

Hermione did not usually have difficulty speaking her mind, not even in situations when she provided the only dissenting opinion in a room full of more powerful others. It was this integrity (according to Alastor Moody, anyway) that made her a suitable spy handler for the DMLE’s riskiest asset. 

Currently, however, in the strange limbo she was navigating between Draco Malfoy-the-Death-Eater and Draco Malfoy-the-free-wizarding-citizen, Hermione was tongue-tied. 

There was something between them. She might not have been emotionally ready to confront this fact, but she couldn’t help but be intellectually honest about it. The problem was that Hermione had no idea how to proceed to the next stage, or even what that stage looked like. She and Malfoy hadn’t once engaged in conversation that wasn’t about his mission. Theirs had never been a relationship that entailed asking each other how their day was going or how they were feeling. 

In her mind, the person who confessed their feelings first was at an immediate disadvantage. Better to be the one to respond to a confession, right? Leaving it up to Draco made her a coward, but she could live with that. She had put her life on the line plenty of times in the course of executing her duties. 

Her reputation could take this one hit. 

Her heart, however? That was a whole other story and the man who was currently looking at her like he could read her mind was her heart’s most dangerous adversary. 

There were a million things she wanted to say, but could only manage, “Thank you.”

“What for?” 

“For saving everyone. You’d already earned your freedom at the start of the night. The rescues were surplus to requirements.”

“So…you’re offering me a place to stay out of gratitude?” 

“I’m offering you the option to stay with me because I didn’t want you to think we were…throwing you away after your mission was complete.”

Hermione paused to gauge Malfoy’s reaction. He didn’t seem pleased with where the conversation was heading. 

“Once the paperwork is complete, you’re a free man. You can do whatever you like,” she added.

“I see.”

Malfoy stared at her. She began to fidget, if only to give her eyes somewhere else to look. 

“Hermione.”

His uncharacteristic use of her first name made her flinch. “Y-yes?”

“Is that what you think you are to me? Surplus to requirements ?”

“I…I wouldn’t presume to know.”

“You presume to know things for a living,” he snapped.

Okay, he was definitely cross. “What do you want me to say?”

He tilted his head to the side and squinted slightly at her, as if he was trying to scry her innermost thoughts. “I’ve spent years treading water in an ocean of lies. The last two years have been different, though. You made it different. The one thing I could always expect from you is the truth .”

“Look, I don’t mean to be difficult or selfish, but–”

“You’re not ,” he growled. 

Hermione could see he was trying to be careful with his words. 

“I mean, you—yes, you’re difficult as hell, but you’re not selfish. Trust me, I know selfish. I followed in my father’s footsteps because it gave me what I thought I wanted. When I realised I’d made a mistake, I changed sides as easily as I do my robes. It’s always been to save my own skin.” He paused for so long that she was forced to look at him. 

“Not until you.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “I didn’t save you and the people you care about to earn extra credit from the Ministry. I did it because you’re important to me. More important than, well, me . I did something unselfish . If I had any doubts about how I feel about you, this evening erased them.”

When Hermione continued to remain silent, Malfoy leaned back against the pillows and crossed his arms. “But it looks like you still have lingering doubts. Come on, then. Out with them.”

“I…I mean, we really don’t know all that much about each other–”

“You know everything worth knowing about me and any incompatibilities we experience will be offset.”

His confidence was galling. “What do you mean by ‘offset’?”

Malfoy's responding expression could best be described as an earnest leer. “By how much I like you. By how much I want to touch you, kiss you, fuck you. I like you so much I’ll even be nice to Weaselby for you.” 

A series of muted thumps could be heard from the neighbouring room (they ignored them).

“Of course, there’s no guarantee I’ll have enough redeeming qualities to balance out my negative ones.”

“I think I’ve already seen you at your lowest, Malfoy,” Hermione said, solemnly. 

“You’ll probably want to throw more chamber pots at me.”

Hermione choked back a snort. “I’m sure I’ll manage. After all, I’ve had two years of hands-on experience.”

“I’m broke,” he declared.

“I make enough to support us.”

“I’m unemployed.”

“Only temporarily,” she countered. 

“Your parents will hate me.”

She shrugged. “They can join the club.”

“You’ll be ostracised,” he stated, flatly. “Excluded, suspected. Disrespected. And a part of me will secretly rejoice in that because the more isolated you become, the more likely you are to rely on me.”

Hermione’s hands twitched from the urge to rub at the goosebumps along her arms. “You sound like you’re trying to discourage me.”

“Is it working?”

“No,” she said.

“Good.”

“We do have one very important thing in common….” 

The makeshift hospital creaked as she climbed up on it. 

“Oh, yes?” he asked, slightly flustered now. 

Some wicked, perverse part of Hermione enjoyed seeing him squirm when she straddled his lap and slid her arms around his neck. The hair at his nape was so much softer than she imagined.

“It’s annoying doing this in front of an audience, but I suppose it can’t be helped,” she muttered, almost to herself. 

“Ignore them,” Malfoy whispered, entranced. She could feel the tremor in his hands when he held her waist.

“I have been.” 

Hermione slid her hands away from his neck, down over his chest and then up under his horrible orange top. She hesitated when her fingers encountered the bandages wrapped around his ribs. The scent of burn salve was strong. 

“You’re still recovering.”

“I could be half dead and I wouldn’t care.” He shifted her a little on his lap, letting her feel the prominent bulge under the coarse cotton of his trousers. 

His beautiful silver-flecked, grey eyes were becoming blacker by the second. Hermione wished she had something more impressive to offer than her own plain brown. Nevertheless, his transfixed expression did not suggest he found her eyes wanting in any aspect.  

When his gaze flickered down to her mouth, that was all the incentive she needed to lean forward and close the gap between them. This kiss was nothing like the one they shared outside Dolohov’s room. This was full of nervous yearning.  It was a quintessential first kiss. 

A lump formed in her throat. Of all the things to make her feel painfully young again…to think that all it took was Draco Malfoy kissing her like he was shy . 

The gentle plucking of lips was fine and all, but Hermione wanted to give him the truth he asked from her in no uncertain terms. If she couldn’t tell him, then she would show him.

After she was satisfied that she had gently committed the taste and feel of his lips to memory, she licked at the seam of his mouth. The reward for her boldness was his low groan as their tongues finally touched. 

His hands ran up and down her back, somewhat indecisively, cupping her shoulders and tracing the vertebrae along her spine. The thickness of her oversized sweatshirt did a good job of preventing her from becoming overwhelmed by his touch. Her own hands came up to clasp his face, providing tactile encouragement to follow her lead, to chase deeper angles and to provide her with an anchor point so she didn’t float away. He’d been keeping up a slow, steady roll of his pelvis against her core. It was maddening. They needed to stop because if they went any further, she’d be forced to kill the witnesses in the other room. 

So, with the intensity of a portkey pulling her from one location to another, Hermione forced herself to break the kiss and sit up. 

Malfoy’s eyes opened a few seconds later, giving her just enough time to savour the sight of his parted, rosy, wet lips. He looked beautiful; kiss-drunk and blurred around the edges

“Is that… chocolate ?” he asked, looking perturbed all of a sudden.

The unexpected question had Hermione blinking in confusion before she understood what he was getting at. 

“Oh, uh, yes.” She felt her blush reach her ears. “I got a few boxes this year and I usually keep them in the tea room to snack on whenever I need a sugar hit and I needed one earlier…”

He looked unimpressed with her rambling explanation. 

“Moving forward, I’ll be the only one giving you Valentine’s Day chocolates.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow at that edict and he had the decency to look a little sheepish. 

“Alright,” she said, trying and failing not to smile. “And does moving forward also include you coming to stay with me?” 

“Yes, Granger. I’ll allow you to be responsible for me seeing as I am homeless, jobless and without a knut to my name.

She beamed. “You know, I wish it was still Valentine’s Day. Given how we approached this, it would’ve made for an auspicious start to the first day of our cohabitation.”

“I suppose it would also serve as a nice ‘fuck you’ to old Snakeface, to reclaim the day after his efforts to pervert its meaning.”

There was a scuffling noise from the observation room, followed by a burst of staticky feedback that made them wince. 

“Pardon the interruption,” said Harry, “but I thought you might like to know that it is currently 11.57pm. Technically, you still have three minutes to piss off Voldermort.”

“ You’re a creepy bastard, Harry Potter ,” Hermione said.

“Ron’s here, too.”

“Hey!” came Ron’s slightly muffled voice, and then, “Er, sorry…we’ll give you some privacy now!”

More scuffling sounds and arguing could be heard before the communication line closed. The mirrored wall separating the two rooms turned an opaque white. 

Not that it mattered to the couple in the interrogation room, who only had eyes for each other. 

Malfoy pulled her in for another kiss. “Happy Valentine’s day, Granger.”