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Only the plot is mine...

A/N ~ I am so terribly sorry for the incredibly long wait and I can only hope that this chapter makes up for it!
I have to thank MistressMalfoy for being there for me whenever I need her, and for being my loving muse, I would be so very lost without you. Also, thanks to AkashatheKitty for lending a much needed ear and giving me support and a lot of laughs. And finally thanks to Nicole, for betaing so quickly and always being so encouraging.


Chapter 22, Part 1


Never in his life had Draco ever felt such defiance and hate surge throughout his system so quickly. He fought against his body and mind, trying like hell to keep it from tensing as his eyes left those that were red with homicidal glee and focused on his empty plate, determined not to let the Dark Lord see any sign of his reaction.

Why did it have to be Granger? It could have been anyone else from the Order, anyone at all except for her. Perhaps Draco would have even considered it for a few minutes; but not with her, there was nothing to consider. He knew the moment the Dark Lord’s request was spoken that there was no way he would follow through with the mission; he wouldn’t even make a half-arsed attempt. She was his and Draco would rather suffer the repercussions of a decision to do nothing than hand her over to that psychopath. Besides, he knew the Dark Lord thought him too valuable to do too much harm, and Draco figured his punishment would pale in comparison to what the that bastard was planning to do to Granger.

As if his anger and possessiveness weren’t enough of a bloody nuisance right now, there was the image the Dark Lord had implanted into his imagination: a beaten and bloodied Granger, on the brink of death, her brown eyes wide with pain and sorrow, damning him because it was his fault she was in such a state yet pleading for him to help her.
Draco could feel the bile rising in his throat, threatening to make him sick at the mere idea of it. He wanted to stand up on the table, kick the lunatic in his bulbous white head, and yell at the Dark Lord that he could have Granger over his dead body, which would probably happen had he done so. Apparently, Draco was in a quite violent mood tonight, especially where the Dark Lord was concerned.

Draco swallowed noiselessly and took a deep breath through his nose, all the while reminding himself to stay calm, collected, and controlled. If he indulged in his murderous rage, even showed a hint of what he was feeling, it would give him away. The Dark Lord would know that Draco was having second thoughts before even taking on the mission. Higher ranking Death Eaters did not have reservations about doing their master’s bidding, it was unheard of. Draco would have to keep his wits and play along or else he would be deemed unworthy and disloyal.

So he banished both the gruesome mental picture and the undulating anger as best as he could. Confident that he would be able to face the serpentine savage without bashing his head in, Draco lifted his eyes to once again meet the Dark Lord’s watching him expectantly.

Keeping his voice steady and toneless Draco said, “I mean no disrespect, My Lord, but it is well known that Granger has not been seen out in public for months. It will be near impossible to locate the Mudblood, not to mention the possibility of various wards and members of the Order of the Phoenix I would have to get through in order to abduct her.”

The Dark Lord let out an unnerving high pitched sound which Draco took to be a laugh before smiling carnally.

“I am well aware of that, Draco. I know that this mission will be immensely difficult and that is why I have chosen you to carry it out. As long as you implement your exceptional skills and the darkness within you, I believe you shall be victorious.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Draco said, knowing that no matter how many problems with the mission he pointed out, the Dark Lord would manage to find some asinine way around them.

“Do you accept this mission?”

“I do,” Draco responded, recognizing he had no choice in the matter. Of course, he also had no intentions of following his orders either.

“You have until Saturday. If you have not performed this request to my liking, you will be punished.”

Draco nodded wordlessly, opting to not think about that he had less than a week to accomplish a goal he didn’t care about and what his punishment would entail once he didn’t achieve it. He would worry about that later.

“I put my faith in you, Draco, do not disappoint me.”

“Yes, My Lord,” he answered automatically.

Seemingly content with the conversation, the Dark Lord tore his unwelcome attention from Draco and returned it to his half eaten dinner. Draco took this opportunity to excuse himself from the table, knowing that the longer he spent near the Dark Lord, the greater the chances of him going through with that whole head-kicking spectacle, not to mention the chance of getting his brain violated by way of Legilimency. He had neither the patience nor the energy to deal with either one of those scenarios right now, not when unrelenting flickers of crimson stained and slashed skin dominated his mind.

As Draco rose from his chair, his gaze met Snape’s for the first time since receiving his new orders. He couldn’t suppress the feeling of betrayal and resentment he felt looking at the man he once trusted above anyone else. He had known and yet said nothing. There was no warning, no whisper of what was to come, not once in all those times he had the opportunity to say something…anything. Well now Draco was going to demand answers.

He mouthed “Garden in 15 minutes,” staring into Snape’s black eyes meaningfully. Gone were the subtle allusions of regret and concern that resided in their dark depths, only to be seen as impassive and unreadable as his head bowed marginally in confirmation to Draco’s request.

Pushing in his chair and stepping away from the table, Draco walked as briskly as he could past the hordes of loud and drunken Death Eaters without being suspicious. Some would reach out to him, trying to draw him into conversations or wanting to have a quick laugh. He simply ignored them all, wanting nothing more to get out of the dining hall and escape the heavy feeling that had befallen him as he continued to be bombarded with random flashes of Granger covered in her own blood while life slowly left her body. It was appalling and set Draco on edge more with each passing vision while his lung capacity felt as though it was being restricted. Of course, being around these delinquents who would do nothing but relish in such a sight was not helping. He couldn’t get out of there soon enough, but no matter how quickly he walked it felt like he was wading through waist deep water, hindering his haste.

When he finally reached the large double doors, Draco pushed them open and stepped into the empty cool hallway, desperately and deeply breathing in air that didn’t reek of depravity and perverse evil. The doors closed behind him, shutting out all the noise to the side of his life that he wished he could abandon, just give it the two-fingered salute, say “Fuck you!”, and walk away from it all. But he knew he couldn’t, not yet. As much as it pained him, he owed it to Potter to keep up this sodding pretense in order to help win the war. But the line was drawing dangerously nearer to the point when Draco would say fuck it all. There was only so much he could take.

Taking a seat in an opulent arm chair a few meters from the doors, Draco ripped off his skull mask and shoved it into the pocket of his robes before closing his eyes and taking another deep breath. Willing his mind to clear, he laid his head against the wall behind him and hoped it would be a much easier feat now that he was out of the boisterous dining room. He didn’t want to think about the mission until he absolutely had to; it sustained too much pressure and responsibility, an immeasurable amount that rested solely on him.

Damn it all to hell, that odd feeling in his chest cavity that he had never experienced before, especially when he was assaulted with the various flickers of a blood-covered near-death Granger was not going away. If anything, it was worsening with each new macabre mental illustration. It was really quite annoying in a disconcerting sort of way.

Draco wasn’t sure how long he sat there with his eyes shut as he focused on banishing all thought and regulating his air intake, but he was suddenly brought out of his meditation by the sound of fast footsteps on the marble floor filling the hallway. It wouldn’t do well to be caught off guard and distressed so he lifted his head, opened his eyes, and stood up gracefully just in time to see a small figure in Death Eater robes walking expeditiously in his direction. The hood was up on the robes, leaving the person’s face in shadow yet the regulation skull mask was in being held in a hand…with distinctly dark red nails. He thought he recognized that color of polish from somewhere, but from where exactly he did not remember.
As she came closer to Draco, he caught a whiff of an expensive floral perfume that was somewhat familiar, yet he couldn’t quite place it straight away. He was actually relieved to be focusing on something else rather than the disturbing goings on in the recesses of his own psyche.

Suddenly, with the force of the wind she was creating in her hurry to reach the doors, her hood withdrew from her head a bit. It was enough for Draco to see heavily made up dark eyes, a distinct pug-like nose, and crimson painted pouting lips.

“Pansy?” Draco said as she passed by him, taking a hold of her arm and halting her hustle.

Turning around swiftly, her hood flew off, substantiating Draco’s speculation. She was offended and appeared about ready to tell off whoever was still clutching her arm boldly until she recognized who had stopped her. Her eyes widened and she smiled brightly.

“Draco!” she exclaimed as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek soundly.

“You’re a Death Eater.”

Of course, Draco knew that he was stating the obvious, but at that moment he was too puzzled to care. He hadn’t expected Pansy to be amongst the witless wretches to join the ranks of the Dark Lord and was a bit surprised. While she did believe in blood superiority and that Mudbloods and Muggles were quite below her, she never gave any hint that she would give in to all of that propaganda bullshite that they needed to be exterminated. After all, if the Muggles were gone so would be the make-up, designer shoes, and expensive lacy knickers she fancied so much.

She shrugged as her smile faded. It was no secret that the war had always been the last thing on Pansy’s mind and hoped it would stay that way. As she had often said when the subject would come up, she had more important things to be interested in, most commonly herself, shopping, and the opposite sex…in that exact order.

“Yes, well Daddy said it was time I started doing something with my life. It was either this,” she said unenthusiastically motioning to her robes, “or marry Montague.”

“You chose to risk yourself in a war you hardly care about rather than get married and live a life of comfort?”

“I still have the comfort of Daddy’s mansion. You know Montague was never the same after that incident with the Vanishing Cabinet, all twitchy and muttering to himself, jumping like a scared little Hufflepuff every time someone came up behind him. I absolutely cannot have a mental husband, no matter how much money he has. Besides, even if he wasn’t bonkers he is way too ugly for me to spend the rest of my life with. Not only do I require a sane rich husband, but I need a good looking one as well, so I refused to marry him.”

Draco chuckled lightly, recalling the demanding man Pansy’s father was, ruthless and uncompromising to anyone he didn’t like, and sometimes to those he did, yet kind and soft-hearted when came to his only daughter.

“I can’t imagine your father forcing you to make such a decision.”

“You should have seen him when he gave me the ultimatum. At first, he was shaking and stuttering and I am fairly certain he was sauced, but he amazingly stood his ground once he became more courageous in his inebriation. So he demanded that I either get married or become a Death Eater like him and my brothers,” Pansy said light-heartedly.

“How long have you been one?”

“Only a couple of weeks. I think Daddy was just fed up with me spending his money every day and wanted me to start in on someone else’s. Montague wasn’t the first bloke he tried to set me up with; he’s been trying to marry me off since we got out of school.”

“Not one of them were good enough for you, Princess Pansy?” Draco asked smirking.

Suddenly, Pansy’s demeanor shifted. Her face fell and the spark that lit her eyes since setting them upon Draco vanished, leaving them subdued and sad.

“No, they weren’t. The only one who was saw it fit to break it off with me.”

When Draco raised his eyebrow in inquisition, Pansy waved her hand dismissively and mumbled “It’s a long story.” However, the small and vague explanation did nothing to quell Draco’s curiosity. He was quite enticed and wanted to know who had been the one to finally land her. It was well known that when it came to blokes Pansy always up for a bit of fun, but when it came to actually having an exclusive relationship she was extremely picky and beyond selective. It was as rarity when she would accept the many offers of a monogamous liaison. Her process for consideration was often painstaking and tenacious and she usually found some reason or other why the guy was just not worth it. Only Draco had been known to pass the examination to date, or so he thought, until now.

“Who…?” Draco began to ask who the fellow was, but got cut off by Pansy’s interruption.

“I’m sorry Draco, but I am terribly late for the dinner. Daddy hates it when I keep him waiting. I really must be going,” she said a bit too quickly.

“Yeah, alright then.”

Draco kissed Pansy’s cheek and she pivoted to walk the few steps that would bring her to the doors. Stuck by an unexpected notion, he abruptly took her hand at the last minute, keeping her from going into the dining room just yet. She spun and gazed at him bewilderedly.

“Promise me something, Pansy,” he said seriously, looking deeply into her dark questioning eyes. “Promise me you will be careful. Look out for no one but yourself. Above all else, don’t doing anything stupid.”

She smiled at him again, but Draco had known her long enough to be able to tell the difference between what her usual expression of happiness was and what wasn’t. She looked up at him, her features becoming tender as she absorbed what he had told her. Her eyes held an uncharacteristic amount of affection, woe, and worry and her slightly raised merlot lips spoke of quiet understanding.

“Of course I will,” she replied softly, “but you must promise me you’ll do the same.”

Draco smirked lightly in response. No, he would not make a promise he did not intend to keep. He would not follow his own advice, not after tonight. His decision of forgoing the mission was dangerous, unwise, and it would all be for Granger. Hypocrisy had found a new ally in Draco Malfoy, but at least he had the bolloks to admit it…to himself that is.

“See you later, Pansy,” he whispered as he lightly kissed her forehead before reluctantly letting go of her hand. With a genuine but small smile, he turned his back on her, walking down the hall and out of the mansion.

* * * * *

The cold air of the dark night enveloped Draco as he roamed the overgrown beaten path of the dormant and long unkempt garden, the biting chill piercing through his cloak like a million microscopic needles made of ice. Beyond the small garden stone wall were desolate and bleak moors, the dense fog dancing across the wild grass and heather like a brooding ballet. The moon, high and bright but not full, was sporadically covered by the gossamer grey clouds that were floating about the sky, swinging and distorting the shadows. There was an eerie still quietness to the setting, not one sound of life penetrated the heavy mist and all Draco could hear was his own shallow breathing, the vapor from his exhales merging with the somber murkiness that circled him. He reveled in the barren and gloomy landscape illuminated by moonlight and the disturbing lull that accompanied it, feeling strangely at peace. It surrounded him, drew him in, and reflected his inner turmoil perfectly. How very fitting it was.

Draco stared out into the nothingness of the night without moving as he tried to keep his mind clear until he heard barely detectable footsteps on the worn pathway. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know it was his former Professor walking surreptitiously and slowly only to come and stand directly beside him. Draco did not speak for a few minutes as he was now quite occupied trying to figure out what he would say to Snape without a slew of curse words being the first sound to leave his mouth. As much as he disliked the bastard at the moment, he would not disrespect him.

“How long have you known?” Draco finally asked, his voice hushed yet hard.

Snape sighed and replied, “Not long, nearly a week.”

“Not once in that week you saw it fit to warn me?”

Instead of responding to Draco, Snape retrieved his wand from the depths of his robes, waving it as he muttered “Muffliato.” and turned slightly so that he was facing Draco.

Taking this as a cue, Draco followed Snape’s move and looked at him as he cocked his eyebrow up in question.

“Just a precaution,” Snape told him.

Nodding in appreciation, Draco waited for Snape to continue.

“Well?”

“Draco, you know very well that if you had any prior knowledge of your newly acquired mission the Dark Lord would have known that I was the one who informed you of it. He would not only lose his trust in me, but in you as well. He would question our loyalty and put both of our cover in jeopardy.”

“Fuck his trust,” Draco growled. “You should have told me.”

Snape’s face remained inexpressive at the profane statement as his dark eyes locked with
Draco’s unrelentingly.

“I stand by my decision. You need to accept that.”

Draco sighed heavily as he pushed his hood back and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he did comprehend why Snape had not divulged so much as a hint to him. It would have put them in unnecessary danger and there was a chance that Draco would have reacted differently had he known what he was supposed to do in advance.

It still didn’t make him any less pissed off.

“I won’t do it,” he said adamantly.

“I never expected you to…”

Casting his gaze downward, Draco felt as though a small amount of the weight that had settled on his shoulders since dinner had been lifted.

“But the Dark Lord does.”

Snapping his eyes back to Snape, Draco glared at him and scowled.

“I don’t care.”

“You should, Draco. You know he does not take failure lightly, especially when it is deliberate.”

“I told you I don’t fucking care!”

“Draco…” Snape begin calmly, but Draco interrupted him.

“No! Do not try to pacify me! This is bullshite and you know it!”

“I am merely trying to help you approach this from a reasonable and logical stand point. He will punish you for such insolence and if you do not think this through, you may end up dead. Is that what you want, does death suit you?”

Draco felt his ire recede slightly. Snape was right, if he simply disregarded the Dark Lord’s request, there was no telling how severe his punishment would be. He fancied himself entirely too much to basically sign his own death sentence. He was far too rich, handsome, brilliant, and superior to die so young.

“No, I do not want to die, but I don’t want her to either,” he said heavily.

Snape nodded as if to say “I thought so” before he abruptly turned and walked to a stone bench that was a few paces away, his long fingers indicating that Draco should follow him as they beckoned over his shoulder. Draco glowered, but strolled after him nonetheless. They sat down next to each other and stared out at the dark garden in silence, Draco trying to keep the horrid images that still assailed him at bay, before Snape finally spoke again.

“Have you a plan yet?”

“Take her and leave,” Draco stated impulsively.

“You know as well as I that will not work. As long as you have the Dark Mark, he will be able to find you.”

Having suspected as much, Draco felt the pressure that had ascended only moments ago promptly descend back upon his shoulders.

“I will come up with something eventually,” he muttered despondently, subscribing to the fact that he could not just sit back and do nothing.

“I do hope so, Draco. Perhaps Potter could help,” suggested Snape although his voice was noticeably strained.

Draco let out a short humorless laugh in response, recalling all that had transpired earlier that evening. It felt like it happened a lifetime ago and Draco thought of how truly insignificant it had become.

“I doubt the ponce would want to at the moment, not that I need it.”

“He should be told about the mission.”

“I know,” Draco admitted bitterly.

“I am here if you need me as well, all you have to do is ask, Draco.”

A small smile of appreciation tugged at Draco’s lips as he nodded his head and stared directly into Snape’s ebony eyes that denoted unconcealed sincerity and affection. He had never seen his invariably callous Professor reveal such raw emotion and to have such an earnest gaze focused solely on him by a man he had known all his life to be seemingly detached and distant with the exception of an occasion or two caused Draco to become speechless for a moment and found that he could merely nod his head in concurrence.

Snape cleared his throat after a moment, breaking the awkward silence.

“What of Miss Granger? Will you tell her?”

At the sound of her name, Draco felt his body stiffen and was once more assaulted with flashes of the repulsive violent visions he had tried so hard to expel as he felt the sensation of his chest constricting and cleaving yet again. He had purposely refrained from mentioning her name during their conversation because for a split second he could pretend that it was someone else they were discussing. Her name made the ghastly images in his head and the irritatingly unfamiliar feeling he was experiencing all too real.

Taking a deep breath, Draco shook his head. He would not tell her, not yet anyhow. She was not ready to know. He had never told her what he had been exposed to, what he had to endured all these months as a Death Eater. The only way he could withstand the sick and twisted insanity that was the Dark Lord’s dissolute mind was by nearly desensitizing himself to it. He was a Slytherin, a house in which debauchery and wickedness were common, where such traits were encouraged and passed down from generation to generation as though an heirloom. What Draco had gone through during his service in the Dark Lord’s army was something Granger couldn’t even conjure up in her wildest nightmares. She was too innocent, too light, and too good. He would have to wait for the perfect time and the right way of telling her, until he would know exactly what to say instead of blurting out that the Dark Lord wanted to torture and kill her.

“I will eventually, just not now,” Draco finally said as he stood up. He yearned to leave the mansion and its gloomy grounds, to try and put some of this damnable night out of his head.

Snape rose as well and studied Draco placidly.

“You are quite protective of her.”

“I suppose I am. I do not like it when other people come after what is mine.”

“You hid your reaction to the mission very well in the dining room and have continued to do so until I mentioned Miss Granger’s name.”

Shutting his eyes tightly, Draco continued to be berated with morbid images and his chest remained painfully compacted. He was now also aware that his hands had begun to shake slightly as his palms became damp with sweat. Why in the bloody hell was this happening to him and what in the fuck did it all mean? The simple sound of her surname was enough to illicit such a response from his body and brain that he didn’t recognize and it was maddening!

“Then maybe you shouldn’t say it,” he growled dangerously as he opened his eyes.

Snape continued to look at him ambiguously, his onyx pupils studying Draco thoroughly.

“I have never seen you so affected, Draco,” Snape observed his voice tinged with astonishment.

“I can’t help it,” Draco found himself whispering harshly as his gaze fell to the dilapidated path beneath his feet. “The moment the Dark Lord issued me that damn mission all I can see when I close my eyes, when I hear her name, is her, covered in blood and dying a slow painful death as her eyes, those fucking brown eyes, are cursing me and begging me for help at the same time. Then I get this sensation in my chest, as though it is ripping open yet restricting me as well. I feel like I can’t breathe properly. It just makes me so fucking angry and frustrated. I don’t know what it is and I sure as hell don’t like it.”

As Draco returned his attention to Snape, he saw his former professor’s expression was one of grim comprehension.

“It is understandable.”

“Care to enlighten me?” Draco asked when Snape did not bother to elaborate.

“No. In time you will come to understand it as well. I can only hope that it is not too late when you do.”

“Bloody hell, could you be more cryptic?”

“As for your overactive imagination and temper,” Snape said ignoring Draco’s sarcasm, “learn to control it, use it to your advantage. Add it to the reasons why you decided to participate in this war in the first place, why you have made the decision to fight against the Dark Lord and not with him.”

Draco nodded his head, instantly trying to put the trusted family friend‘s counsel to use.

“I must be going before the Dark Lord becomes suspicious of my absence,” Snape stated.

“Will you let him know that I have gone home to start planning my tactics needed for the mission?”

“I will.”

“Thank you,” Draco said graciously.

“You are welcome.”

As Draco begun walking to the apparition point, he heard the unmistakable sound of Snape clearing his throat. He scowled as he recalled the last time he heard the intonation and had a suspicion he knew what Snape had wanted to say.

Turning on his heel gracefully, Draco looked at Snape expectantly.

“Are you in love with her, Draco?”

“No.” he said quickly without a second thought.

When Snape said nothing in return and only stared inscrutably, Draco said, “Is that all?”

Snape nodded wordlessly.

With one last pointed glare, Draco resumed his departure. As he made his way off the grounds he waited for a feeling of confirmation, the sense of affirmation that usually accompanied his often said declaration that he did not in fact love Granger. Right before he pivoted to disapparate, Draco furrowed his brow confusedly as he realized it never came. He snorted, supposing he was just too preoccupied with all that had happened tonight and dismissed it as a fluke. Shaking his head clear and focusing only on his destination, Draco sighed wearily and disappeared.

* * * * *

Grimmauld Place was dark and quiet as Draco stepped through the threshold and shut the door softly behind him. He didn’t know what time it was, but judging by the lack of activity in the house, he surmised that it was late and everyone was probably in bed. While he climbed the stairs soundlessly, all he was concerned about was relaxing his tired mind and body after such a trying and long day. Fortunately, thanks to his conversation with Snape, the damn images of Granger were becoming more infrequent as was the tightening of his chest, which he was unsettlingly starting to grow used to. He only hoped that a few glasses of firewhiskey and a good rest would help him manage and reduce it from an insistent annoyance to a minor irritation he could easily ignore.

Reaching the landing of the floor the drawing room, Draco paused in his ascendance when he saw light spilling out from the half open door into the hallway. The hushed voices were easy to identify in the otherwise noiseless house and he could clearly tell Blaise, Potter, and Weasley were the inhabitants of the room. Fancy that, those three hanging about together like they were old school chums. How things have changed since only a year ago. Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, Draco continued his short journey up the steps until he came to the third floor corridor.

There was only a dim glow illuminating the narrow walkway on account of the faintly lit wall sconces, but it was more than enough for Draco to navigate his way down the hall. When he passed by Granger’s closed door, he found himself stopping in front of it without a second thought, staring at it the dark and paneled wood blankly. She must have been sleeping, for he didn’t hear anything from the other side of the door but her soft and even breathing. One part of him wanted to go into the room and wake her up, to lose himself in the pleasures of her luscious body and allow his lust to drive out all other thoughts of heinousness, blood, and death. The other part wanted to step away, to leave her alone tonight so she could be peaceful in her unawareness of what was to come, to go into his room, shed his Death Eater robes and the false front that went along with it, grab his very large expensive bottle of alcohol, and go down to the drawing room to tell Potter all that had occurred tonight.

With his upper lip curling in disgruntlement, Draco stepped away from the door reluctantly knowing that he might as well seize the opportunity to speak to Potter without running the risk of Granger overhearing anything while he had the chance. From a cognitive angle, it was better that he talk to the tosser first than to see Granger straight away. If merely hearing her name incited such awful results, there was no telling what seeing her would do to him. Perhaps getting all of this off his shoulders and finding a solid solution would help him get rid of the visions and sensations that coincided with them.

When Draco stepped into his empty bedroom he didn’t bother expelling the looming shadows that dwelled there. The moment he set foot in the room, he noticed that it still smelled of Granger’s distinctively ambrosial musky aroma and his unmistakably masculine perspiration. For uncountable minutes he simply stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed, taking deep breath after deep breath, relishing in the lingering essence. The longer he stayed there, the more underlying scents he detected: her familiar cinnamon and vanilla body wash and his pricey cologne and posh soap, the faint incense of old books that seemed to cling to her clothes and hands, and the sweetness of the lemon drops he constantly consumed, all intermingling delightfully and in perfect compatibility. It was wonderful and arousing to his senses, and damn near intoxicating.

Returning to his wits, Draco strolled across the room and lifted the window open swiftly as he swore at himself for his own foolishness. Wanting to escape the exquisite mixture of fragrances for fear of falling catatonic victim to it once more, he quickly took off his robes and hung them in the wardrobe in the corner of the room. He opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and grabbed the firewhiskey he figured he needed now more than ever.

He left his room and proceeded down the hallway, forcing his gaze to stay straight ahead. It would not do to get distracted again by a closed door, otherwise he may not be able to pull himself away from the girl who provided so much temptation behind it. Once he made it to the stairs, the enticement faded, although not entirely, and he stepped down to the second floor landing once more.

Pushing his way past the half open door, Draco strolled into the room to see Blaise, Potter, and Weasley all seated around a circular mahogany table that had seen better days. There was a near empty bottle of mediocre firewhiskey in the middle and three glasses with varying amounts of the amber liquid sitting in front of the blokes. A fire was roaring in the hearth and the moment Draco stepped over the threshold, the warmth enveloped him pleasantly, coaxing him in to the room further.

At the sound of his footsteps, their subdued chat ceased and six set of eyes darted to Draco. Both Potter and Weasley’s instantly narrowed and they glared at him hatefully while Blaise smirked amusedly. Whatever, he expected the two buggers to still be angry at him; it wasn’t as if he was dying inside from their lack of approval. If anything it tickled him pink to know that after all these years of taking the piss out of them, he could still rile them up with almost no effort at all on his part. As a matter of fact, he just found himself in a much better mood.

Smiling wickedly, Draco lifted the bottle in his right hand and motioned to the other one on the table with it.

“I have extremely finer spirits than the rubbish you lot are drinking. Care to take advantage of my once in a lifetime offer of generosity?”

Potter rolled his eyes in agitation while Weasley stared at the bottle longingly, yet neither said a word. Blaise’s smirk widened as he kicked out the chair across from him in invitation. Draco got an extra glass from the sideboard next to the door and went to the table, setting the bottle down next to the other before he lowered himself onto the chair.

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, does every sentence that comes out of your mouth have to be so bloody arrogant?” Potter criticized.

“Yes, but only to remind commoners such as yourself of my superiority in every sense of the meaning.”

Potter’s glare intensified and he downed the rest of the firewhiskey in his glass.

“You are such an arsehole.”

“Don’t tell me you are holding a grudge because of what happened earlier this evening.”

“Which part? When you nearly shagged my best friend in the hallway right in front of me in my own house or when you rutted her like a bull up against the door knowing damn well we were still on the other side and could hear every effing sound?”

“What do you want me to say, that I am sorry? I’m not. I have never apologized for anything to anyone in my life, and I am definitely not going to start with you. You brought this upon yourself as a result of your own sodding stupidity.”

Draco picked up the bottle, uncorked it, and pulled Potter‘s glass towards him. He poured the alcohol into his own glass and then into Potter’s as the prat looked at him incredulously.

“Oh, come on, Potter! What did you think would happen when you brought Blaise in and presented him in front of her like that with no warning at all? Did you think she was going to rush into your arms expressing her everlasting gratitude and then suggest we all bond over a few games of Spin the Bottle and Truth or Dare?”

Potter shook his head as Draco pushed the now full glass to him.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so, you fucking gobshite.”

“Still, she didn’t have to do something so severe to prove her point to me.”

Draco took a large drink, welcoming the comforting burn that carried down his throat and settled in his stomach just as a bleary image accosted him, gone as quickly as it came. It wasn’t as detailed or gruesome as the ones that preceded it and Draco determined that the much needed distraction of conversation and liquor were actually working.

“Didn’t she?” he asked. “Every other time she has tried to get her point across short of beating it into your thick skull, you have disregarded it.”

“It was only for her protection. She doesn‘t make the safest choices,” Potter admitted defensively.

“Yes but they are her choices to make, it is her life to live. No matter how much you may disagree with her, it is her life and she can do whatever she fancies with it. Stop being such a bleeding plonker, accept it, and move on. Quit pulling stupid shite like you did today or else you are going to lose her, and I will be there to say ‘I told you so’ with a stunningly handsome smile on my face.”

Grumbling incoherently in response, Potter gulped half of his drink and pulled out two cigarettes, handing one off to Weasley while keeping the other for himself, and lit them both with a plastic object the produced a flame with the press of a button. Weasley and Blaise must have helped themselves to the firewhiskey while Draco was criticizing Potter, because they both took sips from refilled glasses as well, watching and listening silently.

“Besides,” Draco continued mockingly, “shouldn’t you be concerned with keeping your own queer arse alive?”

Potter blew out the smoke from his lungs rapidly, the glare he had worn since Draco entered the room not wavering as Blaise coughed a laugh into his glass.

“I am not gay, you fucking git!” he yelled.

“Alright then, who was the last bird you shagged? You must have gotten some tail back at school what with your devoted fan club of twits making puppy-dog eyes at you all of the bloody time.”

Whether Potter had already had too much to drink and his tongue was rather loose or he just wanted to prove he wasn’t a poof, his mouth opened and closed a couple of times as if he were internally debating what he was going to reveal. Clearing his throat, Potter flicked the ashes of his cigarette into a tray, took another smaller sip, and said nothing.

“Don’t tell me you are a virgin, Potter,” Draco said in horror.

“No, I’m not.”

“Well then, who was she?

“I’d rather not say.”

Draco raised his eyebrow appraisingly.

“I guess we’ve all got our secrets, eh Potter?”

He shrugged and said, “I suppose so.”

“So why does Granger have to go telling you every single one of hers if you won’t even tell her yours?”

“Maybe she already knows.”

“I didn’t even know,” Weasley interjected quietly, sounding slightly affronted and rubbing his arm distractedly.

It was the first time that night that Draco’s attention was drawn to the redhead and noticed that his arm was finally out of that ridiculous sling and exhibited a long fresh scar that started at his wrist only to proceed up his limb to disappear under the short sleeve of his shirt.

“Well, after she made that comment about Wanking Weasley over there she wouldn’t have added anything about you taking it up the arse, now would she…which was bloody brilliant by the way, don’t you think?”

“No,” said Weasley stonily.

“You have absolutely no sense of humor Weasley. It must have seeped out of you when you were bleeding from that Severing Charm.”

“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” he retorted into his glass before he tossed back the rest of his drink.

Draco rolled his eyes as he drained his own firewhiskey, immediately reaching for the large bottle in the middle of the table to refill it as the liquid seared its way down his esophagus.

He could already feel some of the stress brought on from his trying day lessen and was hoping that with a few more drinks it would be gone completely, even if it was just for the night. Being in a drunken stupor was more preferable to having a racing mind filled with the sick images of Granger. And although he intended to get thoroughly sauced, alcohol helped to put his thoughts in order, as he learned in 7th year when he finally made the decision that would affect the rest of his life. It may have been the easy way out, numbing the rest of his thoughts with liquor, but Draco knew it would work and allow him to find a concrete solution to the growing problem of what to do about his mission. Unfortunately he was not sloshed just yet, so he would just have to keep drinking until he felt his mind become blissfully blank, centralizing on the one thought he needed to.

“Fine, you’re right, okay, Malfoy,” Potter confessed. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Always.”

“Good, now get off my back about it.”

“Here I thought you fancied blokes on your back, Potter…not that I am offering, mind you.”

“Damn it, I have already told you, I am not gay, so just quit with the fucking jokes already!”

Draco shook his head emphatically as he swallowed a mouthful of alcohol.

“Never.”

“Well then,” Potter said with a satirical grin, “Ron and I will just have to keep taking the piss out of you for being a Mummy’s boy.”

“Harry’s idea has my vote,” Weasley added practically bopping in his seat with excitement at the prospect.

“Fuck off, both of you. Potter, you are just jealous that the closest thing you have to one is Weasley’s fat cow of a Mum. Tell me, does the whole Weasley hovel threaten to collapse every time she takes a step or is it just because the poor state of the pathetic excuse for a house is in?”

Draco could hear Blaise snickering and apparently so did Weasley, whose ears had turned red in anger and was glowering at the Slytherin seated next to him.

“Shut it, Zabini. At least my Mum isn’t known as the Black Widow of the Wizarding world.”

“But my Mum is known, Weasley, which is more than I can say for yours,” Blaise returned mockingly before finishing his drink.

“Yeah,” added Draco, “known for spending half the time on her back with her legs spread and the other half on her knees with a mouth full of cock.”

Potter and Weasley’s mouths had dropped open comically in shock, although their eyes were shining with amusement. They had never heard Blaise and Draco trade barbs about each other’s mothers as they were known to do, so it was obvious that they did not know what to expect: more playful jeering or a full out fight.

Blaise smiled tauntingly at Draco’s wisecrack.

“Funny, I could have sworn it was Narcissa doing exactly that for me last night.”

Now Potter and Weasley had turned their attention to Draco. He knew that they were awaiting either a snappy comeback or his wand to be drawn and aimed squarely at Blaise’s face. While he was still a bit angry at the plonker for shagging Granger and would love nothing more to give him a right good beating, Draco just couldn’t resist falling back into their familiar quick-witted repartees.

“Is that so? I do hope you left her in one peace.”

“More or less. She kept begging me, ‘Oh Blaise, fuck me again please. You are so big and hard, I can’t seem to get enough of you. More, more, more!’ Alas, I just couldn’t say no, so I kept knobbing her. Unfortunately, I think I may have pulled a few muscles giving her what she so desperately craved.”

Draco finished off his third cup of firewhiskey and shook his head in pseudo disappointment, his expression one of complete seriousness although he was dangerously close to smiling brazenly.

“I thought you knew better than that, mate. You have to stretch out first, isn’t that right?” Draco said as he glanced at Potter next to him. He nodded his head slowly in affirmation while looking at Draco confusedly, but kept his mouth shut tightly. Draco suspected that he was trying to hold in his laughter.

“That’s what Potter and I did before right double teaming Isabella the other night. Had her screaming both of our names in wild abandon, especially when Potter here gave it to her up the arse. Of course that was subsequent to me fucking her into unconsciousness.”

The room was silent as Draco smirked smugly at Blaise, dark blonde brows regally raised in expectance as his gray eyes dared his former housemate to reciprocate. Blaise’s lips had set themselves in a straight line and his dark eyes were unreadable, but Draco knew that he was searching for a comeback that would transcend his own. Potter and Weasley were waiting as well, sipping their drinks as a way to hold back their sniggering.

Cracking a crooked smile, Blaise said, “Touché.”

“Damn right ‘Touché’, you bloody bastard!” Draco stated triumphantly. “Now pour me another drink, bitch!”

Shouts of laughter reverberated through out the drawing room from all four of the boys as Blaise dutifully seized the bottle of firewhiskey from the middle of the table and did as directed, not only topping off Draco’s glass but his, Potter’s, and Weasley’s as well, claiming the whole time in between chortles that he would get Draco back sooner or later.

Once the boisterous roaring slowly dissipated and all drinks were replenished, Potter and Weasley were smoking fresh cigarettes as Draco and Blaise leaned back in their chairs, sporadically taking swigs from their tumblers.

“You didn’t really shag Zabini’s mum with Malfoy, did you, Harry?” Weasley abruptly asked after a moment of quiet consideration, which must have been near torture for the spaz to endure.

Potter choked on the smoke he was currently expelling and started chuckling again. Blaise and Draco soon joined in as Weasley’s face reddened with what Draco could only guess was humiliation at being found out as a complete and utter imbecile.

“No, Ron, I didn’t.”

“Fucking hell, Weasley, you have got to be the daftest person on the face of this earth!” Draco exclaimed.

Weasley glared at Draco before suddenly beaming self-contentedly.

“Your Mum!”

The laughter started up once again.

That is how it was for nearly an hour. They would drink, take the mickey out of one another, and laugh. Of course without the influence of the firewhiskey, Draco did not think he would have been quite as open to spending his time with the two Gryffindors but he figured he may as well since he had to speak with Potter anyhow. If there was some drinking and a few good laughs until that point arose, he wasn’t going to complain, not after all he had been through today.

When the bottle of firewhiskey was half gone Weasley had unsteadily stood up, declaring that he fancied a game of Wizard’s Chess, and Blaise instantly called first go at the prospect of taking part in one of his favorite pastimes. Finding himself sitting alone with Potter while the other two settled down at a very old and worn out chess table across the room, Draco knew that it was time to tell Potter about his new mission.

Thankfully, the disturbing visions that had bombarded Draco relentlessly earlier that evening had all but dissipated, although he did have to endure a few blurry flashes of assorted violent images occasionally. The alcohol had done exactly what he anticipated, and while he was virtually hammered, he could still think quite clearly and was able to concentrate entirely on the mission and not the peculiar effect it was having on him.

“We need to talk.”

Potter shifted his green eyes from watching the beginnings of the chess game to Draco, the emerald orbs still holding a good amount of animosity. So he was still pissed off about earlier despite Draco’s lecture on him being a total pillock about the whole thing.

“What about?” he said bitingly.

“I was assigned a new mission tonight, one that is extremely important to the Dark Lord.”

Immediately Potter sat up straighter and nodded his head, the motion indicating that Draco should go on.

“He wants Granger.”

Knitting his dark eyebrows in confusion, Potter frowned.

“What do you mean he wants her? Wants her for what?”

Draco sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his soft hair. He had hoped that Potter would have caught on quickly enough so that he wouldn’t have to go into detail, reliving the exact moment that had set off the discouraging thoughts he had been trying to ignore all night. However Potter was a dumb shite and Draco knew that in order for him to fully understand, he would have to do exactly that. Fuck.

“He told me that he wants Granger so he can torture her, kill her, and send her mangled lifeless body back to you and the Order.”

While Draco appeared to remain imperturbable exteriorly, internally his stomach lurched violently as he summarized the Dark Lord’s villainous and gruesome request. Yet again he was struck with another vision, same as the others; Granger, bloodied and dead. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat for a second time that night, Draco shut his eyes rapidly and tightly, condemning and rejecting the image. It vanished and he looked at Potter to see him with his head in his hands, his eyes closed much in the way Draco’s had been only seconds before.

“Fucking piece of shite arsehole,” Potter muttered.

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

Lifting his head, Potter’s expression had become one of disgust and infuriation, pure hate glinting in his eyes. But there was something else…anguish.

“So what exactly is your mission?”

“To bring her to him, and before you say anything else,” Draco said, holding up his hand as Potter’s mouth opened to speak, “I have already discussed it with Snape and refused to do anything of the sort.”

Potter smiled half-heartedly.

“I may dislike you, Malfoy, but I still trust you. I know you wouldn’t do that to Hermione.”

Draco nodded but said nothing. In all honestly, he didn’t know how to respond, no words came to mind. He surmised that this is what it must feel like to be Weasley, constantly inarticulate and at a loss.

“What is your plan then?” Potter asked as he lit up a fag and extended the pack to Draco.

Shrugging at the offer, Draco took a cigarette out and let Potter ignite it for him using that plastic thingy. He never smoked Muggle cigarettes before, only fine cigars accompanied with a snifter of first-rate firewhiskey on special occasions. Naturally, Draco smoked his first cigarette like a pro, inhaling and exhaling smoothly.

“Don’t have one yet.”

“But why her?” he asked.

“He knows how protective you and Weasley are of her, that you are keeping her hidden away to protect her, how much you care about her. He wants to hurt you, bring down your morale by way of her death.”

“He’s right. I love her so much and she is a huge part of my life. I don’t know what I would do if I lost her.”

Potter’s eyes lost focus and stared out into nothing as his leg jiggled nervously under the table and absently sucked on his cigarette, his face becoming one of troubled anguish.

“You know I would never let anyone harm her, not if I can help it. You have my word.”

Draco didn’t know what possessed him to say it, perhaps it was because he knew precisely what Potter what feeling at the moment because he had been experiencing it all damn night or he just felt the need to say something, but whatever the reason, it was the truth.

That was when Draco noticed the way Potter was looking at him, as though he were seeing him for the first time. He cocked his head to the side and studied Draco thoughtfully, but neither his expression nor his eyes gave any hint as to what he was thinking. It reminded Draco of the way Snape had stared at him only a couple of hours ago.

Slightly uncomfortable being under such unfounded scrutiny, Draco raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat, snapping Potter out of his reverie.

“Sorry, I thought that maybe…never mind,” Potter shook his head and let out a short laugh. “I am either too drunk or not drunk enough.”

“Probably too drunk. You’re a lightweight, Potter. I have seen a house-elf handle more liquor than you.”

As he gave Draco the V-sign in response, Potter tipped his head back and drained his glass of firewhiskey in on gulp.

“Listen, Potter, I don’t want you to say anything to Granger about my mission. I want to be the one to tell her.”

Potter shrugged.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. We’re still pissed at each other and I can guarantee we won’t be speaking for at least a week.”

“Yeah and whose fault is that?” Draco snorted.

Before Potter could answer, Blaise called out from across the room.

“Oi, who is playing winner?”

“I will,” Draco drawled as he stood up. A game of Wizard’s chess and the rest of his drink, and maybe another one, would be a very welcome distraction.

Another hour and two games later, both in favor of Draco, most of the firewhiskey was gone having been passed back and forth between the four boys and the fire had dulled to glowing red embers that still emitted some heat. Potter and Weasley had passed out not too long ago, whether it was from exhaustion brought on from the long day or the amount of alcohol they consumed, or a combination of both, Draco didn’t really care. Potter was sprawled out on the floor on his back, twitching every now and then and mumbling in his sleep. Weasley had some how managed to lose consciousness while halfway upside down in an arm chair, his feet propped where his head should have been, his head resting between the worn arm and seat cushion where it was dangerously close to lolling off of it completely with his mouth gaping wide open. It amazed Draco that the halfwit could be just as thick awake as asleep.

Since Draco had begun playing chess with Blaise, they had been making small talk and chatting noncommittally, Draco holding back from speaking to him bluntly until he was sure the two Gryffindors were out of commission. Now that they finally were, he could ask Blaise what he had been wanting to ever since setting his eyes upon him in the kitchen.

It was common knowledge that Blaise was neutral when it came to the war, but Draco needed to be completely sure that he wasn’t planning on double crossing the Order or him. There also was the reason why Potter accepted and brought Blaise into the house in the first place, intended to distract Granger and not with a game of Exploding Snap. Neither option sat well with Draco.

“Why are you here?”

Blaise raised his head from studying the chess board while trying deciding what his next move should be and looked at Draco with a mixture of indignation and amusement. Okay, so perhaps he had said it a bit harshly, but Draco wasn’t sure of whether or not they could trust him.

“Why to join the brilliantly virtuous Order of the Phoenix and fight against the malevolent sinister Dark Lord and his degenerate followers for the good of Muggles, Mudbloods, fuzzy little kittens, rainbows, and all that shite of course.”

Draco glared as Blaise smiled sarcastically at him, waiting for Draco to at least smirk at the obviously sardonic reason. When his dirty look held strong, Blaise sighed and leaned back in his chair, their game momentarily forgotten.

“Honestly, life at the villa in Tuscany had gotten humdrum. I had already shagged the good looking bints in the village, and the not so good looking ones too, read all of the books in our library, swam in the pool numerous times, and spent countless galleons. Everything became incredibly dull and I thought I could do with some excitement and adventure in my life.”

“So you joined in the war because you were bored?”

“Partly.”

Ignoring the way Draco was looking at him disbelievingly; Blaise finally returned his attention to the chess board and moved his knight.

“Why join the Order and not the Dark Lord?”

“I truly think that Potter is stronger than the Dark Lord, even if he doesn’t exhibit it yet. He’s lasted this long and has survived quite a few encounters with not only Death Eaters, but the Dark Lord himself. He is going to win and I would much rather be on the victorious end of things rather than in Azkaban going mental and serving a life sentence.”

Draco nodded in agreement as he advanced his bishop.

“The other reason?”

“There are loads of birds in the Order that I haven’t shagged yet. It was just too good of a chance to pass up.”

Draco chuckled. Typical.

“You are such a slag.”

“It takes one to know one, mate.”

Their game continued on in comfortable silence, Blaise matching Draco’s skillful technique. It was always a good game when the two intelligent Slytherins played against each other. Their common characteristics of cunning and ambition always made for outstanding individual stratagems and tactics. They were very well matched.

“Do you remember that night we snogged?” Blaise asked nonchalantly, breaking the quiet as Draco overtook his rook.

“Regrettably, yes.”

“Did we ever determine who the better bloke was?”

“It was me,” responded Draco without a doubt.

“How do you figure?”

Draco rolled his eyes, irritated at having to rehash that night.

“You were rock hard; I felt it against my leg. I was only semi, and that was because I was sauced and randy to begin with. You proved to be a proficient competitor, but the physical evidence doesn’t lie. I was the ‘better bloke’.”

Chuckling, Blaise took Draco’s rook retroactively.

“I suppose that is true. But Merlin, were we wasted!”

“Don’t expect a repeat tonight. I am not nearly drunk enough.”

To prove his point, Draco had his knight jump a pawn and destroyed Blaise’s remaining rook to bits.

“Oh, I’m not, just simply looking back at better times, less worries, and all that rubbish.”

At hearing the longing in Blaise’s voice, Draco’s annoyance lessened as he watched his life-long friend stare at the board thoughtfully.

“I know what you mean,” he said softly.

“Of course if you and Hermione wish to expand your sexual horizons, it would be my pleasure to aide you in that.”

As quickly as Draco’s displeasure had left it came back full force, now accompanied with a small tinge of anger, and he growled through clenched teeth as he spoke.

“I’m sure it would be, but no one is going to touch Granger in that way but me. She is mine.”

“Who said I would be just touching her?” Blaise drawled suggestively, his dark irises alight with humor and lust staring deep into Draco’s eyes that were rapidly widening with surprise.

“Fucking hell, what is with you?”

“What do you mean?”

Blaise feigned ignorance as he finally moved an insignificant pawn in a last ditch effort to protect his king as best he could.

“Are you trying to have a go at me, Blaise, because if you are that desperate for a fuck we can wake up Weasley and see if he’ll let you bang him, if you are willing to lower your standards that is.”

Laughing outright at Draco’s awe and horror, Blaise shook his head.

“No, just taking the piss out of you a bit. I was only half serious. I would most definitely be more than touching Hermione were I in that situation.”

Draco sighed with relief, but his ire did not recede, especially since Blaise was still laughing at him.

“Fuck off, you bloody twat!”

“No need to get upset, mate.”

It seemed as though Blaise’s last comment was all Draco’s rage needed to finally rush forth, a rage he hadn’t even known he was suppressing until now. He stood up swiftly and slammed his hands down on the table, shaking it and the chess pieces from the force of his action.

“I can get upset if I damn well want to. As a matter of fact, I am still quite upset about you fucking Granger back at school and if I recall correctly, that is the reason why I haven’t spoken to you since.”

All cheerfulness etched on Blaise’s face subsided only to be replaced with disgruntlement as he reclined in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“That was nine months ago, Draco.”

“That doesn’t change the fact you did it.”

“I wasn’t the only willing participant you know. Hermione wanted it just as much as I did.”

“Stop calling her that!” Draco found himself snarling, his possessiveness joining his infuriation. It was too personal and reminded him of what she and Blaise had done together.

“What? Hermione? That’s her name isn’t it? I am sure she likes hearing it much more than ‘Granger’ or ‘Mudblood’, especially when it is moaned during the throes of passion. You should try it sometime, it makes her unbelievably wet.”

Draco sneered, his muscles tense from restraining himself from jumping over the table and beating the living daylights out of the boy across from him. Blaise must have sensed this, for he stood up slowly and moved behind his chair, using it as a barrier between the two of them in addition to the table.

“Look, Draco, I fucked up, okay. I shagged her that last time mostly just to spite you, to prove to you that I could. You had punched me for fuck’s sake. I had to get back at you!”

Not expecting an admission of wrongdoing, Draco let his death grip on the edge of the table go and stood straight, eyeing Blaise suspiciously.

“I had warned you.”

“I didn’t listen, I never do. You know that.”

Draco’s intense gaze bore into Blaise’s tenaciously, but no matter how severe his stare was, his housemate did not back down and kept his eyes fixed on Draco’s unfalteringly. He couldn’t help but admire Blaise for his sheer audacity.

“Well listen now. She is mine and mine alone. If you try anything like you did back at school I will strangle you with my own bare hands until the very last breath leaves your body, capire?”

“Capito. Of course it will be near impossible to control myself, especially after witnessing that incredibly risqué and arousing demonstration in the hallway this evening, but I think I can settle for my naughty fantasies until I find another bird to have it off with.”

“As long as you don’t act on them,” Draco said taking his seat and feeling his anger slowly fading. He covertly took a few deep breaths, calming himself down.

“For my own physical health I don’t think I will.”

Blaise had remained standing, watching Draco with a guarded expression on his aristocratic face as though he was waiting for another loss of temper.

“Sit your arse down so we can finish our game, will you?”

“Does that mean you have forgiven me?”

Draco thought about it for a moment, reflecting on his friendship with Blaise. They had endured a lot together, had gotten into many rows with each other throughout the years, but none of them had ever been quite as severe nor had they lasted this long. No matter what, his Blaise had always been there for him, up until that day in the corridor when Draco found that he had shagged Granger again. Now Draco realized how much he had missed having Blaise there to have intellectually fueled conversations, to joke wittily with, to have someone who knew him almost as well as he knew himself. These past 9 months without him had been hard; Draco had never felt so completely alone before. And even though he was back with Granger and he finally had someone to talk to that was on the same level of intelligence, he still felt as though something was missing…his best mate.

“I suppose so,” he finally declared.

Grinning, Blaise nodded and sat down, pulling his chair forward as Draco moved one of his chess pieces. It seemed as if the tension and hostility that had been between them since the demise of their friendship had instantly disappeared and it was as though they had never fought.

“I meant what I said about chatting up Granger though. Next time there will be no absolution, only strangulation.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

As he made his countermove, Blaise changed the subject quickly.

“What was that whole thing about anyhow?”

“What thing?”

Blaise snorted.

“Do not play dumb, Draco, it doesn’t suit you. You know damn well what I am talking about, you and Granger virtually going at it in front of Potter, Weasley, and me in the hallway.”

“Oh, that.” Draco said sourly.

“Yeah, that.”

“It was her idea. I guess she finally got tired of Potter and Weasley taking advantage of her and telling her what to do, so she decided to use some drastic measures as a sure fire way to get it through to those gobshites. Of course, I didn’t know she was going to go that far until it happened, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy pissing off Potter and Weasley in the process.”

“So it wasn’t planned out?”

“Definitely not. I knew she had something up her sleeve, but I didn’t know what. I was actually debating with myself whether or not to go to her when she called out to me, but before I could make a decision, I was already standing next to her. The bitch about it is I knew she needed me to carry out her scheme, that without me she would be on her own against the prats, and I didn’t want her to be, so I let her do what she wanted with me. That is until I got peeved because of it and took that little situation into my own hands.”

“Hmm.” Blaise murmured, sending forward a pawn to capture one of Draco’s rather violently. “So are you in love with her then?”

“No,” Draco said adamantly, fed up with people asking him that fucking question.

“I don’t believe you.”

Draco threw up his arms in frustration and glared at Blaise.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Shall I list the reasons for you?”

Bloody hell, this is exactly what he did not need, this pretentious ponce telling him that one, he was in love with Granger and two, there was actual evidence that Draco just happened not to notice, never mind that it was his own damn life and none of anyone’s ruddy business in the first place. Bollocks is what it was, but Draco knew that Blaise would open his big fat mouth and tell him his stupid-arsed reasons whether he wanted to hear them or not.

“If it’ll shut you up about it, then by all means.”

Blaise smiled proudly.

“First off, when it comes to the girls you have shagged in the past, you have never been so possessive of them the way you are with Hermione. If it was any other bird and I told you I wanted a go with her, you would have given me the okay without a second thought. Instead I chat her up a little bit and all you can say is ‘She’s mine.’”

“It’s different with her.”

“Exactly,” he smirked. “You spent what, 3 weeks having it off Hermione in school, and now you have just started up with her again. Before her, the longest you have ever spent being with the same girl was a week.”

“What can I say? Granger is a great shag with an amazing body. I can’t get enough, I always want her, and she is willing to give it to me. I would be totally mental to give that up.”

“Oh I know, I remember very well,” Blaise purred huskily, closing his eyes as a nostalgic and desire laden grin graced his face.

After a full minute in which Draco made a spectacular move using his queen, drained the last gulp of firewhiskey from the bottle next to his foot, and threw a balled up piece of parchment at Weasley’s head, he finally got bored. Draco cleared his throat loudly reminding Blaise that they were in the middle of a conversation, no matter how preposterous it was, and that checking out of it in order to fantasize about the girl his best mate was exclusively fucking was in fact quite rude.

Blaise lazily opened his eyes, now clouded over with lust, but the grin Draco was itching to punch off his face remained.

“Sorry about that, mate, the memories just sort of crept up on me. Where were we?”

“Reason number two of why I am so obviously in love with Granger,” he reminded him sardonically.

“Right. Secondly, you are terribly jealous. I suppose that goes along with your possessiveness, but it is so prominent that I am making it a reason of its own. Not since I’ve known you, even when we were in nappies together, have I seen you get jealous once. But I have one little conversation with Hermione and you get all pissy, threatening me and whatnot. You decked me for fuck’s sake probably all because I got to pop Hermione’s cherry and not you.”

“You deserved it.”

“Says you. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were so out of sorts when Hermione broke it off with you because it meant that she chose Potter and Weasley over you.”

“Humph,” Draco muttered in response. Okay, so perhaps he had been a little resentful that Granger had in fact tossed him aside all because Potter told her to, but that in no way meant he loved her. The prat had ruined whatever they had together, something that was full of heat, chemistry, intelligent conversation, and most importantly mind-blowing, toe-curling, fan-fucking-tastic sex, just because he didn’t fancy who she happened to be doing it with, and she gave it all up for him. Who wouldn’t get a bit jealous, really?

“Great retort. Each one is getting more convincing than the last.”

Draco narrowed his eyes acrimoniously at Blaise’s use of sarcasm.

“Are you done yet?”

“No,” Blaise said smartly. “Third reason, and this is a big one, you willingly let Hermione use you just to piss off Potter and Weasley. If I hadn’t seen it with my very own eyes, I would never have believed it.”

“That was a fluke. Before it got out of hand, I took the reins over about halfway through and made damn sure she knew that using me was unacceptable and it would never happen again. Besides, I would do just about anything to rile up those divs.”

“But the bottom line is that you did it, Draco, regardless of what your motive was.”

Casting his gaze down to their forgotten chess game, Draco searched his brain for a way to discredit Blaise’s foolish notion, but found nothing. There was no way he could prove it wrong, because as much as he loathed to admit it, Blaise was right on with this one. It made him start to question what else he was right about. Damn it!

When Draco had yet to reply because he was too caught up in being slightly alarmed, Blaise continued, all mirth and haughtiness gone from his voice.

“Do you know what the deciding factor was, mate?”

Draco lifted his guarded eyes to meet with Blaise’s serious and sincere stare and shook his head slowly. This conversation was no longer amusing; it was unnerving, distressing, extremely irritating, and bordering on down right terrifying.

“You are one of the most egotistical conceited wizards I have ever known, but when it comes to her I know without a doubt that you would willingly kill for her, would unhesitatingly give your blood for her, and would readily do anything and everything for her. You would die for that witch without a second thought.”

Swallowing the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in his throat, Draco opened his mouth and tried once again to refute Blaise’s presumption, yet as before, he could not. Instead all he heard were two words repeating over and over in his head, words that haunted him and put him into a daze, making his vision blur and hands tremble with aggravation and dread.

“I would,” Draco heard himself say, his voice rough and low, unconsciously uttering the one thought that he never intended Blaise to hear.

“I knew it, you love her.”

At the sound of Blaise’s self-satisfied remark everything that had been building up inside Draco, the confusion, the fear, and most of all the anger burst once again with a force that shook his entire body. He jumped to his feet quickly, sending his chair toppling over behind him, sneering at Blaise vehemently.

“No I fucking don’t!”

“Fine then, maybe you don’t,” Blaise shrugged, pushing his seat backwards and standing up straight and gracefully. “Perhaps it is darker than just love, more intense.”

“Shut up.”

“You just don’t know it yet.”

“Blaise, shut up.”

“But when it does hit you, it will like a ton of bricks. It’ll be wrong and go against everything you have ever been taught, ever known, and you will deny it until it nearly kills you, but you can’t escape it Draco. It and Hermione is under your skin, coursing through your veins, tainting your blood, going deeper than your bones. It will pervade your body, mind and soul without warning, tormenting and torturing you. You will feel like you are going mad because of it and it’ll be the best and worst thing to ever happen to you.”

“I said shut the fuck up!” Draco shouted uproariously as he pushed the entire chess set off of the table, sending various pieces flying through the air in all directions.

Blaise stared at Draco; his dark eyes open wide and his lips slightly parted in shock as Draco scowled at him, breathing shallowly and heart beating rapidly, his hands constricting themselves into fists. Every word that he had just heard cut into him like a dull knife, leaving an impression that burned and scarred more than the Dark Mark.

They did not speak, only continued to look at each other until they heard coughing and gasping coming from Weasley’s direction. Blaise was the first to break their eye contact, and as soon as he did so to go over to the chair Weasley had been sleeping in to thump him on the back, Draco ran his trembling fingers through his hair and began to walk slowly towards the door. He had to get out of there and into his room where he could hopefully fall asleep and try to put their conversation out of his mind.

As Weasley was sucking in air desperately, Draco made his way past Blaise only to be halted by a strong hand grasping his upper arm. He tore his determined gaze from the door, fixing it instead on the friend who just thoroughly fucked him up.

“Checkmate, Draco,” he whispered meaningfully.

Draco yanked his arm out of Blaise’s hold and glared damningly at him before continuing on his way. When he reached the door, pulled it open, and stepped out of the room he could heard Potter grumbling from the floor and Weasley asking bewilderedly “How in the bloody hell did I end up nearly chocking to death on an effing pawn?”

* * * * *

Monday morning arrived and the first thought that occurred to Draco was the only thing he hated more than his blasted insomnia was the sun and its damnable brightness which was currently beaming through a small crack in the otherwise closed curtains, landing directly on his face, the daylight piercing his closed eyelids almost painfully. Turning on his side to face away from the offending shine, he groaned grumpily knowing that the possibility of going back to sleep was slim to none.

Reluctantly Draco opened his eyes and waited for his bleary sight to clear before focusing it on the small alarm clock on the table beside his bed. Ten o’clock, entirely too early to get up for his taste, especially when he didn’t get to sleep until four despite the fact that he got into bed at around one. Unfortunately, he had lain wide awake for a full three hours before finally obtaining solace, and not by choice.

As soon as he had put his head on the pillow, he found he could not get comfortable no matter the position he was in. It felt as though something was off or missing and after an hour of tossing and turning, he realized with much displeasure that his lack of relaxation was due to the fact that it wasn’t what was absent, but who. After only one night of sleeping with Granger right next to him, when he actually fell asleep almost at once and remained slumbering the whole night through, he found that she was in fact the only cure for his insomnia.

With this newly acquired awareness only adding to his racing thoughts, Draco decided to use the restless time to his advantage if possible. He determinedly emptied his mind, which was not an easy task seeing as how the firewhiskey had worn off sooner than anticipated, and tried to come up with a plan for his mission. By the time his overworked mind had finally grown weary and Draco was at last able to nod off into a dreamless sleep he still had come up with absolutely nothing that would work.

Now that he was awake, he would have to employ his fantastic ability to remain composed and immerse himself fully into what ever happened to be occurring at that moment, keeping his concentration centered solely on it, on anything other than flashes of death and notions of love. Draco hoped he would be too occupied with figuring out what to do about his mission to think about them, along with the unwelcome and enigmatic sensations they provoked in him.

Kicking the blankets off of his body, Draco surmised he may as well get the day started, for the longer he laid in bed awake, the better the chances of those unsought inclinations ambushing him. Fuck that!

He got into the shower immediately, afterwards performing his daily rituals of shaving, brushing his teeth, drying his hair, and dressing, going over in his brain various plans of actions, all of which he found seriously lacking in either believability or actability.

As he took one last appraising glimpse at his immaculate reflection in the mirror, Draco grabbed a stack of blank parchment and a quill from the drawer of his bedside table. He strolled down the hall, purposely avoiding any eye contact with Granger’s closed door, and made his way to the library to wait for the arrival of his mother’s owl that made an appearance every morning, always at the same time. It was usually the only highlight of his day.

Draco entered the vacant room and opened the window before sitting down at the long table, setting the parchment and quill neatly upon it. At exactly 11 o’clock when the large antique grandfather clock in the corner chimed, a regal dark gray Greater Sooty owl with brilliantly shinning onyx eyes flew through the window and perched itself on the table in front of Draco, holding out the leg with a letter attached to it.

“Hullo, Hera,” he purred, stroking her feathered chest delicately with one hand as he detached his mother’s letter with the other.

Hera was absolutely adored and cherished by Narcissa, having been a gift given by Lucius to his wife before his incarceration. She was aptly named after the supreme goddess that was said to take special care of married women, an idea that surprisingly enough came from Lucius himself. If Draco ever needed evidence that his father did indeed care about his mum, Hera was it.

Reverting back to the letter in his hand, Draco opened it, reading it slowly and scrupulously, her elegantly written words speaking of daily tea parties with the other Pureblood trophy wives, her flourishing gardens, and that she was doing quite well but she missed her darling son whom she hoped would visit her soon. Draco knew that despite being with friends everyday, she was lonely and not only did she miss him, but her husband as well. He missed her terribly too and Draco absolutely hated that he hadn’t been to see her since arriving at Grimmauld Place, but he just didn’t have the time. When things died down a bit, he would go to the townhouse, perhaps even stay for a few days, and spend some much needed time with her, but until then, exchanging letters would just have to suffice.

Setting down the letter, Draco sighed and being penning his reply. His letters to Narcissa usually consisted of the same aspects they always did. He would mostly write in response to her missives; telling her that he was glad to know she was in good health, her gossip-fueled tea parties sounded dreadfully boring but he did miss the Manor’s delicious homemade currant scones, her gardens always flourished and were constantly lush and beautiful, no matter the season, and that he missed her too and would come to visit her as soon as he could, when he wasn’t so busy.

Draco was consistently vague about the own details of his life, never alluding to his secret alliance, his existence as a Death Eater, or the war in general. He would rather stick to less foreboding and depressing subjects, keeping her as safe from it as he possibly could. Of course, he had no idea what she actually knew and didn’t know about the war, but he wasn’t going to ask. All he would tell her about himself is that he was doing fine and eating properly. Because of his lack of specifics, Narcissa constantly worried about him, and every once in a while her letters would contain words of caution and compassion, begging him to be careful and that she loved him dearly.

It was a bit amusing now that Draco thought about it; war, evilness, and death are what brought out the concern and benevolence in his mother. He knew it was always there beneath her cool and regal polish, but she had never made it as known as she had recently. It was still a bit odd and awkward for Draco to respond to such expressions, but he knew his mother was only afraid of losing her only son, so he offered her as many reassuring words as he could.

Draco finished up his letter and affixed it to Hera’s leg, allowing her to rest on his arm as he walked to the window before sending her back to his mum. He watched her fly gracefully, soaring through the blue sky until she became a small speck and then disappearing from sight completely.

Resolving to come back for his belongings later, Draco walked out the door and into the hallway just in time to see Potter coming his way with a pained expression on his face. Perhaps now might be a good time to talk to Granger and determine whether or not she was ready to know about his mission…and whether or not he was ready to tell her. There was only one way to find out.

“Oi, where is Granger?”

“Haven’t seen her,” mumbled Potter.

“Has she even come out of her room yet?”

Potter shrugged listlessly.

“I don’t think so.”

Now that was a surprise. Usually Granger was up and about before anyone else, being annoyingly peppy while bustling around in the kitchen and fixing breakfast.

“I suppose I will just have to bang on her door until she does.”

“Whatever just don’t make it too loud.”

Draco smirked at Potter, taking in his rumpled clothes, heavily lidded and lethargic eyes, and his slightly green complexion.

“Remind me not to allow you to consume abundant amounts of fire whiskey anymore, Potter. Such fine alcohol is wasted on the likes of you. Butterbeer is much better for poofs with such delicate dispositions such as you.”

With each word spoken, Draco’s voice grew louder until he was practically yelling, his smirk growing into a full grin as Potter grimaced and rubbed his temples at the rising volume, covering his whole face with his hands in the process and muffling an incomprehensible comeback in which Draco was only able to make out “…Malfoy.” at the end.

“Excellent comeback, Potter!” Draco said loudly. “I think I’ll go and wallow away in my misery at being verbally bested by such an eloquent and articulate intellectual.”

Potter removed his hands and glared at Draco unconvincingly.

“Cheers, and give my best to the drawing room floor.”

Sidestepping Potter, who was muttering incoherently under his breath, Draco climbed the stairs and entered the hallway, coming to a stop directly in front of Granger’s closed door. Casting aside any gentlemanly pleasantries, Draco mercilessly pounded on the wood with his fist.

“Go away, Harry!” he heard her shout from the other side.

“It’s me, Granger.”

“Malfoy?”

“No, it’s the Dark Lord come to make peace with all Mudbloods starting with you in hopes that we could go skipping hand in hand together through a field of wildflowers. Of course it’s me, you twit! Now open the door.”

After a momentary pause, Granger did as requested. She stood back in her room a bit, holding open the door and looking deliciously disheveled in only a men’s button-up gray shirt that reached her mid-thigh. His gaze traveled over her petite frame slowly and seductively when without warning he was assaulted with a flash of her standing before him much in the same way except for the fact that in his mind's eye, she was dripping dark red blood from several open wounds as she collapsed to the floor at his feet, softly crying for him to help her as life left her body.

Cursing under his breath, Draco shook the image from his head just as he felt his chest tighten slightly and focused on her face watching him curiously. That was when he noticed the faint darkness and small bags under her eyes and he begun to wonder if she was having just as much difficulty sleeping as he had.

“Rough night, Granger?”

She nodded, running a hand through her untamed hair.

“I had some trouble sleeping.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked inquisitively.

A pink flush tinged Granger’s cheeks as she narrowed her brown eyes and placed her hands on her hips indignantly.

“Yeah. How about next time you boys decide to throw a little impromptu party you search those thick heads of yours, even if it just for a moment, and remember that you are wizards, with working wands mind you, and cast an effing silencing charm?”

A cold chill ran up Draco’s spine at the thought of Granger possibly hearing everything that was said last night, from his important discussion with Potter about his mission to the conversation, if he could call it that, he and Blaise had. He studied her face and the expression of irritation that remained upon his, giving no indication that she had indeed heard anything in regards to what went on in the drawing room last night. It was better to make sure though.

“So what exactly did you hear?” he asked causally, relaxing his facial features into that of aloofness as he leaned against the doorpost.

She raised an eyebrow as though she could see right through his façade and the corners of her lips twitched slightly.

“Nothing distinctive, just a lot of muffled laughing and loud talking. Why? Are you afraid I might have heard something I shouldn’t have?”

Relieved, Draco righted himself and let out a short laugh.

“Not unless you aren’t supposed to hear about Quidditch, the latest broom models, shagging, and girls.”

As Granger rolled her eyes, Draco smirked at his quick thinking, naming off the top of his head all he used to talk about with blokes before his life existed of nothing but war, double crossing, missions he despised, and her.

“What do you want?” she questioned abruptly.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Well I don’t want to talk to you, I want to sleep.”

Before Draco could protest, Granger shut the door in his face, leaving him somewhat stunned at her rudeness. From the other side he could hear her muttering a few complex locking charms and even a ward that he recognized that would deliver a very unpleasant shock to whoever knocked on her door. It was clear that she did not want to be disturbed, not even by Draco, and that his chance at telling her about his mission was blown to shite. Not that it mattered, not when he was still experiencing those fucking images and appalling constriction that went along with them. When he had control over them, then he knew he would be able to tell Granger about his mission, come up with a brilliant plan for said mission and give a very believable and excusable reason for his failure to capture the Mudblood, thereby keeping his arse alive in order to eventually play a crucial part in helping Potter bring down the barmy Dark Lord …in theory.

Draco groaned at the thought of just having to deal with everything that had been piled on top of him in the span of one day, only twenty-four fucking hours and his life had become complete crap, not that it hadn’t been since the end of school. He had never felt so stressed, not even during N.E.W.T.S. and all he wanted to do right now was escape it, get away from the expectations and culpability that had been placed upon him. Just this once he wanted to run away from it all, sod everyone who was depending on him and be the coward they always thought he was. If he was a lesser man, he would do it without a second thought. He seriously needed to stop hanging about with Gryffindors; their ghastly virtue and courage, which was really attributed to stupidity, was starting to rub off on him.

Perhaps Granger had the right idea. Sleep, the oldest, most dependable escape from all problems known to human-kind. Merlin knows Draco hadn’t been getting enough of it in the first place, save for the night he spent with Granger, so using it as a distraction was just a very big bonus.

Draco walked the short way to his bedroom and as he entered, he closed the door behind him, locking and warding it magically. He then pulled off his shirt, tossing it on the floor and yanked his trousers down and kicked them from his bare feet to land next to his discarded top. Standing only in his green silk boxers with his wand tucked into the waistband, Draco opened the wardrobe to extract an extra blanket and hung it over his window keeping it in place with a sticking charm, shrouding the room in cool darkness and blocking out all natural light. Next, he set his wand on the bedside table and opened the drawer to root around in it, flinging aside quills, parchment, bottles of ink, a very expensive folding knife that was a gift from his father, and various other knick-knacks he had accumulated. He reached in the drawer deeper and in the very back he finally found what he had been looking for: the last vial of Dreamless Sleep potion given to him by Snape when he was injured. There was enough to keep him asleep for the rest of the day, and probably through out the night as well. Draco had saved it for a reason such as this and wasted no time uncorking the bottle, swallowing the sweet tasting liquid in one large gulp as he placed the empty phial next to his wand.

The concoction hit him almost immediately as he lay down on the bed and sighed contentedly. A warm rush of tiredness enveloped his body, relaxing him and clearing his mind pleasantly. In mere seconds his eyelids closed slowly. This is exactly what he needed. It was escapism at its very best. Just before Draco drifted off to sleep he concluded that it was severely underrated.