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Only the plot is mine...

Chapter 22, Part 2


Draco groggily awoke the next morning nearly twenty-two hours later feeling refreshed and well-rested. He remained in bed, looking up at the dingy ceiling blankly as he made yet another effort at trying to come up with a plot for his lack of accomplishing his mission. Since his mind was revitalized, surely the chances of him reaching a plausible solution had to be greater as well as his ability to focus completely on that and nothing else.

To his surprise, after a good fifteen minutes of not moving a muscle and just staring above, he had created a basic outline in his head that could very well be the solution to his big fucking problem. Was it really that easy? Could something he had been stressing over for a day and a half suddenly be resolved in less time than it took him to take his morning piss? Apparently so. It only proved to Draco what a shite load of sleep could do for him.

Unfortunately, in order for his reason of being unable to capture Granger to be credible Draco would need help, something he deeply despised requesting. He never had to ask anyone for anything, especially help, but there was only one person who could make his story convincing, one person who had already offered their assistance without a second thought.

Draco glanced at the clock and noticed that he only had a few moments before he had to be in the library to greet Hera bringing his mother’s letter. He once made the mistake of sleeping late rather than meeting the owl and had been on the receiving end of the extremely agitated bird pecking him on the top of his head with its very sharp beak. Draco suspected it was surreptitiously let into his room by one of the house’s occupants, most likely the wanker with tacky ginger hair.

Remembering that he had left his writing supplies in the library yesterday, Draco got out of bed and after quickly pulling on his previously discarded trousers he entered the room just in time to see Hera flying through the window that Granger must have been responsible for opening.

He went through the daily routine of reading his mother’s letter stuffed with dull details, this time describing the garden brunch she held yesterday, and words of subdued affection. His response was short and mentioned that he was going to be a bit busy this week so if he happened not to reply right away she was not to worry.

Once Hera was sent off with his response attached to her leg and a belly full of expensive owl treats, Draco returned upstairs, getting showered and clothed at his usual leisurely pace. It was nice to have a clear mind for the first time in a couple of days and Draco relished in it. He was not used to overworking his brain and the break was very welcome, especially since the plan he had finally devised still had some holes in it that could only be filled by more hard thinking, from not only him but the person he was intending to ask for assistance.

With that thought, Draco went down to the kitchen to find Potter and Weasley sitting at the table devouring bowls of cold cereal in milk. Granger was usually the one who would take on the culinary responsibilities, but since the fight had occurred it was known that all of the inhabitants of the house, him included, were to now fend for themselves until the Trio made up and all was sickeningly warm and fuzzy again.

Draco grabbed a large green apple, his favorite, from a bowl of fruit on the counter and sat down at the table as he bit into it juicily. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now and he recalled that he had skipped eating yesterday in favor of sleeping.

The three of them ate in silence until Draco finished off his breakfast, figuring he may as well get a move on with this whole asking for bloody help thing. It was now or never.

“Oi, Weasley, I need to borrow that hyperactive twit you call an owl. I would use Potter’s, but it’s too recognizable.”

“Pig?” he asked around a mouthful of food, giving Draco a disgusting view of Weasley’s masticated breakfast.

“For fuck’s sake, chew, swallow and then talk, you great lout. No one needs to see that.”

Potter smiled appreciatively behind the spoon on its way to his mouth as Weasley glared at Draco sorely but followed directions nonetheless. Once he had swallowed the mouthful of cereal that would have been otherwise inhumanly impossible to stuff in one’s mouth, he repeated his question.

“You want to use Pig?”

“If that is what you call it, yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“To send a letter, you ponce, that’s why.”

“To who?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

Weasley’s glare intensified while Potter looked at Draco inquisitively, one eyebrow visibly cocked over the rim of his glasses. Draco stared right back at him, his eyes darkly conveying the message that it had to do with his mission. Potter must have been having a rare perceptive moment, because his head nodded ever so slightly in understanding.

“So can I borrow it or not?” Draco asked when Weasley had yet to answer.

“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “He is probably in the spare room with Hedwig.”

Draco nodded and rose from the chair. He strode to the stairs leading out of the kitchen when it occurred to him: perhaps now that Granger had gotten the sleep she needed, or so he presumed, she would be in a more genial mood and he would be able to speak to her about his assignment.

“Have either of you seen Granger today?”

“She’s in the drawing room reading,” Weasley told him. “But I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. I tried to ask her if she could help Harry and I do some research later on but she just told me to fuck off and threw a candlestick at my head, the one’s that are made out of pure silver. Got out just in time, it only hit my arm.”

Draco smirked in delight when Weasley lifted the sleeve of his burgundy t-shirt up and displayed a large dark purple bruise on his bicep before it morphed into a grimace as he imagined the same sort of thing happening to him.

Right then. There was always tomorrow to chat. He did not want to take the chance of having a very heavy trinket chucked at any part of his body. His life may be utter shite right now, but he did not fancy being taken out by an ill-tempered petite girl wielding inanimate objects as improvised flying weapons.

He turned and continued up the stairs, passing the drawing room briskly on his way to the library to pen the letter he was absolutely dreading.

Half an hour later Draco was sitting at the table with a blank piece of parchment in front of him, tapping the feather-end of a quill against his forehead. Having never been in such a position in his life, he did not know exactly how to ask for help. It was foreign to him, relying on someone other than himself, and just plain wrong. He had been raised to depend on no one, not even his own parents, and so to try writing a letter that went against everything he had been taught was quite difficult. He feared he would appear weak and inadequate because the truth of it was he felt precisely that.

Swallowing his pride and self-disgust, Draco finally wrote down the one sentence he would allow himself to.

“I accept your offer. D.M.”

Draco folded the paper and went to the third floor spare bedroom where the owls were kept. It took him a good five minutes just to catch the tiny bird now identified as Pig for upon seeing the post in Draco’s hand it begun zooming around the room and hooting excitedly.

As he tied the parchment to Pig’s leg, Draco told him gruffly, “This goes to Severus Snape and no one else, got it?”

The owl hooted loudly and flew rapidly out of the window that always remained open. It took Snape only ten minutes to reply to Draco’s ambiguous letter, nine of which Draco spent pacing; the soles of his dragon hide boots crushing the small bones of decomposing rodents that littered the floor. Potter really needed to invest in a house elf.

Snape’s response consisted of him informing Draco that he had spoken with the Dark Lord immediately after getting the post and had been given direct permission to provide Draco with his aid as needed. Draco was to come to Spinner’s End straight away so they could begin to work on sorting out what he had come up with so far. Apparently he understood Draco’s insinuating note impeccably.

So Draco returned downstairs, finding Potter alone in the library reading a large and dingy tome.

“I will be at Snape’s. I don’t know when I will be back.” Draco said from the doorway.

Potter looked up from the yellow-tinged pages and nodded.

“The mission?” he inquired simply.

“Yeah.”

Without giving Potter a chance to question him further, Draco resumed his descent. When he passed the drawing room, he debated whether or not to tell Granger he was leaving, but decided that it was better she did not know; otherwise she would most certainly ask him questions that he now did not have the time nor was prepared enough to answer yet.

* * * * *

The rest of Tuesday and most of Wednesday were spent at Spinner’s End with Snape, formulating and perfecting Draco’s plan, going over each and every meticulous detail, and endlessly practicing Occlumency. When Draco came back to Grimmauld Place to freshen up, his brain was swimming with particulars: what would happen, what could go wrong, what would go wrong, and what his reaction would be to each and every scenario they could think of, and what he would implant in his own head when the Dark Lord would undoubtedly invade it. It was needless to say Draco’s head hurt tremendously.

It wasn’t just the constant planning, hypothetical scenarios, and mind-raping that produced Draco’s painful headache, but also the violent visions and constricting chest that he was inundated with during the first part of the process. It did not help that the subject of the visions was the same as most of their conversations. This in turn caused Draco to become determined to cast them out once and for all, sick of having to contend with both his reality and delusion. Since he couldn’t do away with reality without offing himself, delusion had to go. Therefore, each time a disturbing image popped into his head, he told himself to ignore it, that it was not real and only a product of his own macabre imagination.

To Draco’s relief, it actually worked…after a lot of practice. By the time he had been given leave, he was able to say Granger’s name and even think of his mission and her in general without being mentally and physically affected at all. Thank Merlin! He could finally return to having erotically-charged sexually-deviant fantasies about her whenever he got bored.

He was expected to return to Spinner’s End as soon as possible. According to Snape, there was still very much to discuss and rework. With this in mind, Draco hastened up to the bathroom, having a speedy but thorough shower (including a much needed wank), dressing in clean clothes, and polished his appearance as hurriedly as he could.

In the kitchen, Draco was grabbing another apple for a quick meal when he heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs behind him. He did not have to turn around to know who it was, he could tell just by the recognizably tantalizing scent that wafted into his nostrils as the steps came to a stop. He inhaled deeply, letting it wash over him.

“You’ve been gone,” Granger stated smoothly.

Draco set down the fruit and slowly spun around to lean back against the counter casually and face her. Light colored denims sat low on her hips, exposing a part of her flat stomach, and the dark blue half-sleeved shirt she wore hugged her curves enticingly, the v-shaped collar dipping enough to give him a wonderful view of her modest cleavage. Her hair was in a bun, showing off her long neck and Draco had to stop himself from lunging forward to hungrily fasten his lips to it.

“I have been at Snape’s.”

“Oh.”

“Business. I am due back in a moment,” he added, though he didn’t know why.

She nodded in understanding.

“I just wanted to apologize for yesterday morning. I was still in a rather sour mood from the day before. Add tiredness to it and I became a bit of a…well, bitch I guess.”

Smirking, Draco said, “No need, Granger. We all have our bad days.”

“Yes, but you didn’t deserve it.”

“I always deserve it. Incase you haven’t noticed, I ‘m a git.”

Smiling warmly, Granger moved forward until she was standing right in front of Draco and looking up at him solemnly. Now that she was closer, he could see the dark circles under her heavily lidded eyes and she was a tad pale.

“You helped me.”

He knew she was referring to the other day.

“I know.”

“It was wrong of me to use you like that.”

Was it just him or was there a tinge of regret in her voice?

“It was indeed, but I think you have learned your lesson.”

Her brown orbs flashed briefly with displeasure at which Draco raised his eyebrows, silently reminding her that she brought it on herself and should have known better. She bit her bottom lip and nodded again, this time hesitatingly.

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly as she moved her head down to cast her eyes at her bare feet.

“You’re welcome.”

Draco reached out without even realizing it; his hand curling under her chin and bringing her gaze back to his. He intimately looked upon her pretty face as his knuckles traced up and down her jaw line gently. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

“Still having trouble sleeping?” he asked soothingly.

“Yes,” it was barely a whisper.

“Why?”

“You.”

“You can’t sleep because of me?”

The incredulous humor in Draco’s voice caused Granger to open her eyes, now bright with coyness. She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment before speaking.

“Since that night I spent in your bed with you, as damned uncomfortable as it was, I can’t seem to sleep properly. I just feel like something is missing, and I realized, quite reluctantly, that it was you.”

“Is that so?”

Draco could not hide the smug smile nor the teasing tone as righteous relief washed over him. So, he wasn’t the only one who was affected by her absence. It made him feel a whole lot better that was for damn sure. Now he didn’t need to worry himself wondering what it all meant and if there was a very minuscule, tiny, infinitesimal possibility that what Blaise had said the other night wasn’t complete bollocks. Score one for Draco and piss on Blaise!

Of course, he wasn’t about to admit to Granger that he was having the same dilemma, so he just watched her devilishly, his grin refusing to fade, as her the top of her cheeks turned pink in embarrassment.

He supposed she did not want to give Draco the satisfaction of knowing he had succeeded in not only causing but exploiting her mild mortification, because she suddenly feigned indifference and studied her nails for a moment before answering him.

“I suppose.”

“What do you propose to do about it?”

Granger shrugged on shoulder and said breezily, “I could do an Engorgement charm on both our beds. That way we could sleep together if we want to.”

Forming his expression into one of inscrutableness and looking at her in silence, Draco pretended to think about it only to keep her in suspense of his reply. What was there to think about really? To have Granger’s sensuous body next to his all night, there when he would wake up to that constant urge to shag her, the nearness of her that just seemed to calm him, breathing in her sensual aroma as he slept, was just too appealing to decline. He would be a total prat if he did.

When it appeared as though she was getting ready to give up and walk away in humiliation, Draco finally let his smirk break through once more and said, “Okay.”

“If you’re not careful, one day I am going to slap that self-satisfied smirk right off your ferrety face…again.” She warned hotly before she allowed her plump lips to curve into a flirtatious smile.

She turned to leave, but Draco wasn’t letting her get away that easily. He extended his arm and grabbed her hand that hung at her side. She whipped around and Draco noted that the playful grin had reached her eyes, making them shine alluringly.

“Come here, Granger,” he growled, pulling her into his arms.

Draco wasted no time in placing his lips upon hers. They were soft and parted for him instantly, her mischievous tongue darting out to intertwine with his wantonly. He held her small frame close to his, pushing her breasts against his hard chest as he kissed her deeply and passionately. One hand was splayed across the middle of her back and the other was appreciatively gripping her shapely arse as he grinded his rousing erection into the apex of her thighs. She moaned into his mouth, her fingers immersed in his silky hair turning into fists.

Just as he was about to reverse their positions and toss her up on the counter to shag her right then and there, Draco heard a loud and very familiar clearing of the throat. Not again. Bloody fucking hell.

Draco released his mouth from Granger’s, but held her in the same position he had been when snogging the living daylights out of her. She groaned inaudibly and dropped her head to his shoulder, probably in hopes that his neck would hide her from view.

“Miss Granger,” stoically greeted the head in the hearth with green flames lapping at it idly.

“Professor Snape,” came muffled her response.

“Draco?”

“Yes, sir?” he asked not bothering to hide the agitation in his voice.

“I anticipated your arrival twenty minutes ago.”

“I got…distracted.”

“So I see.”

Draco did not respond and only glared at his former Professor in displeasure. An uncomfortable silence filled the air and Snape cleared his throat once more. How Draco loathed that sound.

“Yes, well, hurry along then. We still have much to go over.”

Snape disappeared but the bright emerald fire continued to blaze, awaiting Draco’s entry.

Reluctantly he withdrew Granger from his arms and forced her to move a back a bit. He reached behind his back, retrieving his abandoned apple and stepping towards the fireplace.

Neither of them noticed the observer of their entire chat cloaked in the shadows of the staircase leading to the kitchen or heard his muted footfalls retreating up the stairs, a prideful smile adorning his handsome face.

“I will be back tonight. I promise,” Draco told her.

Granger smiled at him enchantingly.

“Okay.”

With one last roguish smirk, Draco proceeded to the hearth and stepped through the flames, coming out on the other side back to Spinner’s End. It was only then when he realized his headache was gone.

* * * * *

Draco had kept his word. He walked tiredly into his room at exactly 12:26 a.m. to find his bed three times its original size and taking up the majority of the room, with Granger fast asleep underneath the covers on the far right side. Wearily he stripped down to his boxers and found his most comfortable pajama bottoms from the chest of drawers, donning them with entirely too much gratefulness for a piece of clothing. When he pulled back the blankets and laid down, she shifted from her back on to her side, humming melodically for a few seconds yet she remained slumbering.

As if she sensed Draco’s presence beside her, Granger’s fingertips brushed the side of his bare torso, tickling him slightly, before moving her hand up to rest on his muscular abdomen. How could such a seemingly innocent gesture be so damn arousing?

Had Draco not been so bloody knackered he would have shaken her awake for a quick shag, but the moment his head hit the pillow as Granger’s aroma enveloped his senses, his eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep almost instantly.

* * * * *

Draco woke up early the next day, his internal alarm clock reminding him that he told Snape he would return to Spinner’s End by mid-morning. After the last residuals of slumber left him, Draco realized that Granger’s body had somehow become melded to his and they were currently wrapped around each other comfortably. He presumed that some time during the night he and Granger had met in the middle of the bed for his arm was draped limply around her back and hers across his stomach as her head lying peacefully on his chest and that was most definitely not the same position he fell asleep in.

Easing her out of his embrace, Draco laid her on to her back, letting out a breath of relief that she did not seem to notice the movement and remained deeply asleep. There was no reason for him to wake her up; it was quite obvious that she needed to catch up on the sleep she had been depraved of for the past few days. He knew how it felt to be so completely exhausted that it seemed as though he was one of the walking dead, going through the day with his body only just operating, his mind sluggish and barely functional. At its very worst it was hell to go through. From Granger’s appearance yesterday, he knew she on the verge of reaching that state which meant if she had been bitchy the last few days, she would be downright beastly without anymore rest. No matter how entertaining it might be, he was no going to subject himself, or anyone else, to that.

Draco went about his daily activities of getting ready for the day, even taking the time to pen his mother a quick letter and send it off with Weasley’s owl. It made him chuckle lightly imagining Narcissa’s horrified expression at having the overexcited bird flying around her head in circles wildly.

When Draco returned to his room, he found Granger still on her back and dead to the world. Her hair was laid out on the pillow giving him an unobstructed view of her tranquil face. He had taken down the blanket that hung over his window, so a dim ray of sunshine creeping through the closed curtains illuminated her soft skin, highlighting her long dark eyelashes resting on her soft cheeks and pink lips that were curling into a dream-induced smile. The covers had fallen to her slowly rising middle, right below her firm breasts straining at her lacy white tank-top, the wickedly thin material revealing her dusky pebbled nipples before forming into tiny straps that left her shoulders practically bare.

At the ripple of desire that rushed through out his system, Draco groaned quietly and mentally cursed Snape for being so obstinate about punctuality. Grabbing a spare piece of parchment, he jotted down a note to Granger telling her that he was at Snape’s and he would be back tonight. He then placed it on the pillow beside her, hoping the she didn’t roll over and start drooling on it when he left.

Draco left the room, closing the door softly behind him. He walked downstairs without haste, sneering at the thought of having to spend the day with his cynical snarky former professor redundantly going over every aspect of the plan rather than being locked up in his bedroom fucking Granger until they both could no longer move, and when they finally could start the whole process all over again.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Draco saw Blaise sitting at the table alone, leaning back in the chair and reading the Daily Prophet. He lifted his eyes from whatever article he was reading, using them instead to follow Draco as he passed by, and folded the paper in half to put it down on the wooden surface in front of him.

Draco was doing a fine job of ignoring him, pouring himself a glass of milk and drinking it, all without glancing in that direction. It was when he turned around to get the last apple that he noticed the way Blaise was looking at him, much too haughtily for Draco’s liking.

“What are you grinning at, you twat?”

Blaise crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back further, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You.”

Shite! Draco was very familiar with that twinkle; he had seen it many times before back in their days at Hogwarts. It meant that Blaise had some very interesting and scandalous information.

Draco’s eyelids narrowed in suspicion.

“What do you know?”

Chuckling teasingly, Blaise put the front legs of his chair on the floor and stood up, becoming level with Draco.

“Oh, Draco,” he exaggeratedly sighed, “I know a lot of things. Some that even you don’t know yet.”

“What are you playing at?”

“You’ll find out sooner or later.”

Draco rolled his eyes and strolled to the mantle to gather a handful of floo powder. He called out his destination, green fire bursting to life, momentarily replacing the orange one that previously occupied the hearth.

“I don’t have time for your games right now; I had to be at Snape’s five minutes ago,” he drawled apathetically.

Just as Draco was about to step into the fireplace, he heard Blaise say, “You look rather well rested, Draco. Have a fine sleep last night?’

Draco’s eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s the best I have seen you looking since being here and I just thought it may have to do with getting a good night’s sleep.”

“Piss off,” Draco retorted before immersing himself into the green blaze that transported him to the dark and dingy house.

The rest of Thursday had passed much in the same way that the previous two days did. Draco spent the whole day and most of the evening with Snape trapped in a redundant discussion of preparation and planning, corroborating their detailed stories to correspond exactly, and brain probing in which blocking was fast becoming a second nature. Much to Draco’s delight, by later that night Snape could not find anymore flaws in their plot nor Draco’s Occlumency and gave his nod of approval once everything had been gone over one final time.

Draco was very much looking forward to being back at Grimmauld Place at a decent hour and taking advantage of the rest of the night in Granger’s company when Snape suggested they go out for a celebratory dinner and drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. Reluctantly Draco agreed to the suggestion for the simple fact that not only had Snape helped him out immensely, but not once during the way too many hours they spent together did he even hint at Draco’s piteous need for his help.

When Draco reluctantly mumbled his thanks for this over a glass of firewhiskey while waiting for their dinner to arrive; Snape merely waved his hand, rejecting the recognition, and said aloofly that he would have done it ten times over just to secure Draco’s existence.

It was because of the meal, three rounds of drinks, and an in depth conversation about potions that Draco stumbled into his room at a half-past one in the morning, slightly inebriated and dreadfully drained. The window had been opened and the chilly night breeze made the closed curtains wave hypnotically, allowing the blue glow of the moon to periodically pour into his room and brighten it fleetingly. He knew Granger was there before seeing her silhouette sitting up in his bed, wordlessly watching his every move as he disrobed and changed into the same cozy dark green pajama bottoms he had worn the night before.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked as he pulled down the covers and sat down beside her.

“I couldn’t, not without you.”

“You did last night.”

He could see her shrug just as another light gust blew through out the room, casting the moonlight upon her bare shoulders. She was wearing a skimpy chemise, sexy as hell from what he could make out, even though this one was dark red with no chance of Draco seeing though it.

“I was tired then,” she told him, her voice low and thick.

Draco tucked the cascade of curls that had fallen over her shoulders behind her ear before his fingertips journeyed down the length of her neck to tracing her collarbone and then finally gliding them from left to right smoothly and slowly across the tops of her breasts.

“You still are.”

Whether it was Draco’s tender movements, the huskily mellow tone he used, or the combination of both, Granger’s eyes fluttered shut and she nodded in agreement.

Smirking, Draco lightly pushed on Granger’s chest, savoring the softness of her skin underneath his large hand and forcing her to lie down. As he drew the blankets over them, Draco settled comfortably on his side facing Granger, the welcoming heat radiating from her body and pliable mattress relaxing him instantly.

He only had to glance at her to know she was already asleep. Her breaths were shallow and calm, causing her upper body to rise and fall rhythmically, and her full lips were parted every so slightly.

Then he realized that tomorrow would be the day he would have to tell her about his mission. He had put it off until it was almost unavoidable. Now with nothing to consume his time the way Snape had there was no way around it. She had to know.

Draco wasn’t sure how long he lay there, watching her sleep as he rehearsed in his head exactly how he was going to tell her that he was ordered by the Dark Lord to abduct her just so the pasty bastard could kill her only to fuck with her best mate. After only a half an hour, Draco found he could not fight his fatigue anymore and her beautiful face was the very last thing he saw before falling to sleep.

* * * * *

Next to sex and Quidditch, sleeping in was the very best activity in the world, or so Draco thought as he awoke late Friday morning. He instantly added waking up to a warm curvaceous female body pressed intimately against his and a pleasantly surprising handful of supple tit to that list.

Their position was similar to the one Draco had woken up in yesterday morning, only this time Granger’s back was melded to his front and every part of his body was sublimely in contact with hers. It was divine.

Smiling wickedly, Draco pulled her closer to him, if possible, and began kneading the supple breast in his left hand as he thrust his hips, pushing his morning erection against Granger’s bum. She wiggled and pushed back teasingly, indicating that she was awake.

“Tease,” he said carnally and began placing teasing kisses up and down her shoulder and neck.

She turned on to her back and looked up at Draco, her chocolate eyes dark with desire as she smiled at him enticingly.

“If anyone is a tease, it is most certainly you.”

Draco propped himself up and shook his head, his rakish smirk still in place.

“That is where you are wrong, Granger. I fully intend on following through with what my lewd gesture suggested.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

Before Granger could come up with some smart-arse retort, Draco captured her mouth in a deep and hungry kiss as his hands searched out the straps of her negligee and tugged them down. Granger pulled her arms through them rapidly and arched her back, allowing Draco to push the garment down her waist, exposing her glorious breasts.

Tearing his lips away, Draco moved them down the column of her neck and to her chest, biting, sucking, and laving at her silky skin without pause. His mouth came to a stop when he reached her hardened nipple, his tongue swirling around it tantalizingly and grazing it with his teeth prior to engulfing it entirely. In his hand was the other, alternating between caressing it tenderly and roughly.

Granger’s breathy moans were like music to his ears, an erotic sound that never failed to send him teetering over the edge of all reason. His hand lowered to her bare thigh before sliding it up to find the fabric of her knickers already soaking. He wasted no time delving beneath the cotton and heard himself groaning in desire as her wetness instantly coated his fingertips.

Unable to resist, Draco removed them after a few languid strokes and brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking her juices off of them and savoring the ambrosial taste. It had been too damn long since they had been alone together and he was going to make very sure he made up for it right now.

“Don’t stop,” she demanded huskily when his digits were gone too long from her heated core.

“I am just getting started.”

“Good.”

Granger reached up and captured Draco’s hair in fists, pulling his head down and catching him in a searing snog. As her tongue frantically twisted with his, Draco growled and rolled over on top of Granger, her toned legs opening to accommodate him without delay. He pulled away and sat back on his haunches, smirking at her deviously when she let out a frustrated sound of objection, and begun to tug her knickers down so that he would have much better accessibility to her slick folds, effectively silencing her protests.

“Malfoy!”

The very loud shout that was unmistakably coming from Weasley standing on the other side of the door resounded through out the third floor, causing both Draco and Granger to jump slightly at the unexpected exclamation and halting his attempts at disrobing her, only having gotten as far as bringing her knickers halfway down her thighs.

“This is not fucking happening,” he snarled.

Draco completely had it in mind to ignore that sodding twat and continue along with preparing to shag Granger into oblivion, but apparently she had the opposite idea. She had already managed to pull her knickers back up and was now doing the same to the top of her nightgown.

“You better go and see what he wants before he starts pounding on the door and trying to open it,” she told him.

As if on cue, they heard Weasley yell again, this time his fists knocking on the wood accompanied his blaring voice.

“Malfoy, if you don’t open up then I am coming in!”

With the mood killed and his manhood instantaneously deflated by Weasley’s interruption, Draco got off the bed and strode to his door in anger, opening it forcefully only to step into the hallway and violently slam it closed, leaving Granger and his fading libido behind.

When Draco saw Weasley waiting for him in the hallway, he marched up to him purposefully without slowing. Weasley’s eyes widened and he took a few cautious steps back as Draco came to a halt only centimeters away from him and sneered dangerously.

“This better be real fucking important, Weasley, or else I am going to hog-tie your pauperized, boorish, half-witted, ugly freckled arse and feed you to a very big, very pissed off, and very hungry Acromantula.”

At the mention of the giant spider, Weasley swallowed soundly but stood his ground.

“Harry wanted me to tell you there is an Order meeting this evening at five o’clock and that he wants you to be there for it.”

“Why couldn’t Potter tell me this himself?”

“He…he is at Hogwarts, talking to Professor Dumbledore. They think they know where the Ravenclaw Horcrux is. Oh, and could you tell Hermione about the meeting too? She still won’t talk to Harry or me.”

“Fine. Anything else you felt it so bloody imperative to tell me that you deemed it necessary to yell at me like you lost what little common sense you have left?”

Weasley glared as motioned his head to the direction of the stairs.

“Yes, your mum’s owl is in the library waiting for you, has been for the last hour. It’s not very happy; nearly took my finger off when I made the mistake of going in there to get a book.”

To make his point, Weasley held up his index finger which was indeed cut and bleeding.

“We could only be so lucky,” Draco mumbled.

“I really do hate you.”

“Believe me, the feeling is more than mutual.”

“Mummy’s boy,” Weasley muttered over his shoulder as walked to his room and opened the door.

“Knob jockey.”

“Prat.”

“Pillock.”

Weasley’s response was to slam his door and Draco smirked vainly, pleased with himself for getting in the last word. His pride was short lived as he reentered his room to see Granger sitting on the edge of the bed with her slender legs crossed and her arms holding her weight behind her, smiling at Draco cheekily.

“Have fun?”

“A bit,” he admitted. “You heard then?”

“Yes, I did. Must you two act like a couple of immature boys?”

“He started it.”

Granger laughed melodiously and shook her head at Draco.

“I may as well get a move on with my day since you have to go down to the library to get the post from your mother and write her back,” she said, continuing to give Draco a saucy grin as she stood and walked over to him.

She raised herself on to the tips of her toes, placing a feather-light kiss on Draco’s lips. When Draco tried to grab her by the shoulders and give her the deep snog he planned, she pranced to the side and successfully avoided his attempted capture of her. Draco groaned in frustration and turned to see her opening the door.

“You owe me, Granger.”

“Tonight,” she simply said, winking at him suggestively then stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.

As he heard her open the door to her own bedroom and close it softly, Draco sighed irritably at being interrupted yet again while trying to have a go at Granger. It was really starting to make him angry. He had better get to fuck her soon or else there was no telling what a sexually deprived Draco Malfoy would do to the next sorry sod that prevented him and Granger from shagging.

Since Hera was waiting in the library and probably getting more aggravated with each passing minute, Draco pulled on a clean black shirt before heading downstairs. When he entered the room, Hera let out a high-pitched screech and clicked her beak at him, letting him know just how offended she was by his extreme tardiness. He gave her a few owl treats to distract her and rapidly detached the parchment from her leg before she could give him the same painful treatment as Weasley.

The moment Draco started reading the letter he knew it was nothing like those Narcissa had sent in the past. It was shorter than usual, the pleasantries and detailed descriptions of inane parties and irrelevant updates were gone. It began with her stating yet again how that she missed him, and how it was stilly that in the absence of her dear son she had grown accustomed to being alone. Perhaps that explained why she could now detect certain things she never could before Draco and his father had left, such as hearing the shuffling of little elf feet when they did the cleaning on the floor above her, or even the gentle hum of silence itself. Maybe that was why whenever she ventured out of the townhouse, she got the sensation that her every move was being watched. However, she had yet to find the source or reason for this feeling though it did cause her to be more aware of her surroundings now. At that point, she must have thought she may be worrying Draco, so she added that she was not frightened for her safety, but just found it rather odd and quite perplexing. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, assuring Draco that there was no cause for concern for it was probably just her imagination running wild. The letter ended with her wishing Draco well and expressing her wishes of seeing him very soon as she was beginning to find her frequent social gatherings rather redundant and dull, knowing if he were in attendance for the next one, he would liven things up a bit. She also added that she needed to speak with him about something very important that she would rather not elaborate on in a letter but in person. Until that time arose, which she hoped would be very soon, she would hold him in her heart and thoughts.

“Shite,” Draco muttered, folding the parchment and setting it aside.

He knew the moment he read Narcissa’s words that she was not only downplaying how much she missed him, but the sense of being observed as well. His mother had always been a sensible witch, keeping her wits about her even in the worst of times. Of course she would suspect her imagination, especially when she had no evidence to support her feeling. Draco found it to be complete bullshite. He was certain she was being stalked, even without proof, and wondered if it was in any connection to what she had to tell him that was so imperative.

Draco grabbed a clean sheet of parchment and his quill just as the library door opened. He lifted his head, glaring irately and opening his mouth to give whoever just decided to disrupt the solitude needed to correspond with his mother a right bloody bollocking. That was until he saw Granger enter the room, her hair in damp curls that hung down her back and wearing a fresh pink shirt, dark grey trousers that actually fit her, and black ballet flats. She looked every bit as surprised when she spotted Draco as he was annoyed; clutching the books she was holding tighter to her chest and biting her lower lip apprehensively.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were still in here,” she said, backing out of the library slowly as if he were a hunter and she his prey. “I’ll just come back later.”

“Wait.” Draco sighed heavily just as she was about to close the door and make her escape.

She reopened it only enough to peak her head in, the expression on her face one that told him she was still expecting him to lash out angrily at her for the intrusion.

“You can stay. I am almost done.”

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t,” he drawled with a roll of his silver eyes.

She hesitatingly came back into the room, shutting the door softly behind her and coming to the table to sit across from Draco. He watched her set the books she was holding down, opening them to bookmarked pages and begin reading without delay. It wasn’t as though he wanted her company at the moment; in fact it made him feel a bit uneasy as he had not once had another soul present when writing to his mother. There was a reason for that; he considered it to be a very private matter and none of anyone’s damn business. But he figured since he had the chance, he might as well take the opportunity to finally tell her about the mission. It had practically fallen in his lap and he probably wouldn’t get another one for the rest of the day and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin their night with it. It would be a worse mood killer than Weasley was this morning.

One thing at a time, he reminded himself. First things first, he had to respond to Narcissa. Draco returned his attention to the blank parchment, attempting to ignore Granger’s presence and the reminiscence of their days sitting just this way, doing their homework together in the library of Hogwarts it brought about.

Commencing to write, Draco informed Narcissa that she was not to leave the grounds of the townhouse until he could investigate the situation of her being followed further. He promised he would be there on Sunday and spend the whole day with her and converse about anything she wanted, vowing to arrive in time for breakfast and not leave until he was sure she was completely safe and in higher spirits. He was actually looking forward to it, for he did indeed miss his mother greatly along with her gentle tones, graceful movements, tender kindness, and the unfaltering care she bestowed upon him.

Draco signed and sealed the letter, attaching it to Hera’s leg as she gazed at him standoffishly, apparently still affronted at being made to wait for him. He could have sworn she even turned her beak up at him right before she flew out of the window gracefully. Smirking, Draco thought she had conveyed the famous Malfoy snobbery very well.

He watched Hera fly out of sight and the whole time he was looking out the window he knew Granger was staring at him, he could feel it. So when he turned his head abruptly and caught her eyes focused solely on him, she blushed furiously, quickly lowering her gaze to the book resting in front of her. It was now his turn to stare, and as he did he noticed that she was not reading, merely looking at the pages distractedly gnawing her bottom lip with her perfect white teeth. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, which meant she had something on her mind. But then again, when didn’t she?

“Granger.”

At the sound of her name, her head shot up, slightly unfocused brown orbs meeting his questioningly.

“We need to have a chat.”

She finally released her lip form its torture, now dark pink and swollen, making her look as though she were pouting.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Draco took a deep breath, readying himself for the conversation he had been dreading all week and tried to remember the words he had come up with last night.

“On Sunday night I-”

“Malfoy, I’m scared,” she cried out suddenly, interrupting his well-thought out speech and throwing him off momentarily.

“What?”

Draco blinked and looked at Granger, trying to clarify whether she had just really blurted that out or if he had just imagined it as an excuse to derail telling her about the mission.

“I’m scared,” she repeated softly, as though she were ashamed to say the words again.

Thank fucking Merlin for diversions, even if it was in the form of Granger sharing her, ugh…feelings. He’d take just about anything right now.

“Scared of what?”

“Scared that I may not be good enough to fight in the war.”

Draco certainly hadn’t expected that, but the moment she said it, it dawned on him that this was the reason she had been so out of sorts the past few days.

“You’ve been second guessing yourself.”

She lowered her head as she nodded.

“What brought this on?”

“Harry,” she said. “He would never admit it, but I know he thinks I can’t take care of myself and hold my own, that I am not as strong as he needs me to be and that is why he won’t let me go on Horcrux hunts. What if he is right?”

When Draco did not immediately reply to Granger’s insecure questions but only looked expressionlessly at her, she began to fidget and glance at him anxiously.

“I am not going to disagree if that is what you are waiting for,” he told her.

Granger’s gaze snapped up to meet his and she appeared to be temporarily jolted by Draco’s brazenness before obvious anger and hurt gleamed in her eyes seconds later. He knew he had truly upset her, but he refused to feel guilty for it.

She asked for it and he wasn’t going to hold back, not when he could use this opportunity to help her become a better solider and increase her chances of coming out of this war alive.

“Now I’m not,” she retorted bitingly as she stood up. “How silly of me to presume I would get some sort of reassurance from you.”

Draco cringed slightly at the contemptuous emphasis she used when referring to him and the odd knot in his stomach it created, but swiftly disregarded it.

“Sit down, I am not finished.”

Granger glared at him disdainfully for what felt like hours before finally returning to the chair. Thanks to years of conditioning, it had no effect on Draco and he used the silence to mentally outline the points of his impending lecture.
,
“Listen Granger, everyone has a weakness, it is a well known fact, and yours is a rather large one. You could be great, unbeatable even, if you just learned to control it.”

“What is that?”

“You let your emotions get the better of you.”

“I do not,” she argued indignantly.

“You may think you don’t, but you do. Ask anyone, including Potter, and they’ll agree. Every time you get emotional, it completely overwhelms you.”

“What makes you so sure that is what it is?”

“I saw it that day we interrogated Finnegan. It took you entirely too long to get into the right frame of mind when we needed your assistance. I could see it on your face and eyes, there were so many different emotions running rampant that you just let it consume you.”

Granger’s intake of breath hitched as she closed her eyes, recalling that day in a distant voice.

“I was uncertain we were doing the right thing. Then when I looked down at Seamus, someone I thought was our friend, all I felt was confusion and sadness. I just couldn’t understand why he would betray us.”

“I know. We all saw it. That was why afterwards Potter still denied you, because he knew that no matter what you thought, you weren’t ready.”

Her eyes opened, no longer dark with resentment, but clear and imploring.

“I did it though. I banished those thoughts, those feelings, and I poured the Veritaserum down his throat, made him swallow it. I even slapped him.”

The corners of Draco’s mouth lifted at the memory, remembering just how fierce and powerful she had been in that remarkable moment.

“That you did but it took you entirely too long to get there.”

“I can’t help that I am an emotional person, Malfoy. I have thoughts and feelings that I can’t just push aside instantly.”

“I am not telling you to. You can use your emotions to an advantage Granger. Focus them all on one thing, what is happening then and now.”

“But Moody said-” she began.

“Forget what Moody said, it doesn’t apply to you. You said it, you are an emotional person. If you are pissed off, then be pissed off. If you are vengeful, well you sure as hell better get your bloody revenge, but do not let it overpower you because if you to, it will be your downfall. Regulate it, control it, and manipulate it for your own benefit, for your survival.”

“How?”

Draco shook his head.

“That isn’t something I can teach you, everyone is different in the way they control themselves. But I will tell you this, no matter what you are feeling during battle, always keep it shielded, something else you have trouble doing.”

Granger smirked as though she had one up on Draco, and while he was sure he was about to take her down a peg, he had to admit it looked delightfully sinful on her.

“I can be expressionless when I want, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked back at her.

“It isn’t always about your expression, Granger. It’s about what is going through your mind, what you are feeling, and how it affects your performance. I can tell what you are feeling not only by the look on your face but by the way you move, by the light in your eyes, and you’d best be certain that a highly trained Death Eater will be able to do the same.”

Granger’s mouth fell open before she shut it quickly as though she was going to say something but thought better of it. Instead she tilted her head slightly, furrowed her brows, and bit her bottom lip yet again, gazing at Draco bewilderedly the entire time.

Then, without warning her features became amazingly unreadable, giving Draco quite a shock and allowing him no chance to decipher what her former puzzled expression meant. He unwaveringly looked back at her regarding him attentively, her brown eyes for once not revealing a damn thing she was thinking as they moved over his face rapidly.

Draco was not sure how long they remained unmoving, sitting at that table staring at each other, him unsuccessfully trying to make sense of what she was thinking under her steadfast and unrevealing scrutiny. He was used to being focused on for long periods of time what with being such a handsome bloke, but he was starting to grow uncomfortable at being so closely observed without knowing the explanation behind it.

Granger must have sensed this, for she smiled faintly yet still gave nothing away.

“Can you tell what I am thinking and feeling now?”

Draco scowled and considered lying before deciding against it. There was no way he would be able to back it up believably. Granger would probably tell him to prove it. Perhaps he should reconsider his stance on dishonesty, seeing as how he and Snape had spent the week constructing a largely intricate and totally untrue tale. He had a feeling he would be a brilliant liar. Hell, he would find out soon enough.

“No,” he answered finally.

The wickedly smug smirk returned and Draco had a strong desire to kiss her violently until it disappeared from her pretty face, or was a permanent fixture, he couldn’t decide which.

“Okay,” she simply stated before lowering her eyes the once forgotten books laid out in front of her and resumed reading.

Draco stood up at the sound of the Grandfather clock announcing that it was already two o’clock. He still had to shower, get dressed, and eat before the Order meeting later on this evening, something he was definitely not looking forward to.

He was on his way out of the library and thought his exit would hardly go unnoticed by Granger who was well immersed in her tomes when he heard her softly call out his name. He turned on his heel to see her rising from her seat and walking to him slowly.

“I appreciate your help.”

Draco nodded once as she came to a stop in front of him.

“Could I ask you a question?”

“I would be positive something was wrong with you if you didn’t.”

She pursed her lips together disapprovingly yet he felt a sense of relief as he looked into the depths of her eyes and saw the uncertainty in them.

“What is your weakness?”

Draco brought his hand to the nape of her neck causing her to lift her head and bringing his mouth within centimeters of hers. He did not need to think about the answer, a small part of him had always known since the very first time he had kissed her in the corridor of Hogwarts.

“You,” he murmured against her lips before kissing them softly and leaving the room in a matter of seconds, not wanting to see her reaction to his confession after considering that perhaps he had divulged too much.

The rest of the day was passed in careful avoidance of Granger, which was not too hard to accomplish since Draco had noticed she had opted to stay in the library for the remainder of the afternoon and he chose to sit in the dining room trying to read and waiting for the meeting to start hours ahead of time. Only when select Order members began filling Grimmauld Place for the preordained gathering did she emerge from her sanctuary and take the furthest seat away from Draco, evading any eye contact with him whatsoever.

For the better part of the meeting, Draco surreptitiously tired to get Granger to look his way, just barely aware of Potter’s details of where he and Dumbledore thought the final hidden Horcrux was. Concentrating on cracking Granger’s new and seemingly impassive exterior was far more important to him. For the first time since laying eyes upon her at age eleven, she was making it incredibly difficult for him. She was no longer an open book to him; her bindings were now locked, chained, sealed, and warded. He had no doubts left that she was indeed the brightest witch of their age, she learned quickly and adeptly and had no qualms implementing Draco’s suggested technique. She was doing quite a good job of it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Snape throwing similarly covert glances of his own in Draco’s direction, though he paid them no regard. Instead he continued to watch Ganger, who was in turn staring at Potter, paying attention a bit too closely, as though she were trying her damnedest to not meet Draco’s gaze. For reasons unknown, it bothered him immensely that he had no fucking clue what was going on in that bushy little head of hers. His hands twitched, longing to shake her by the shoulders until she looked him straight in the eyes and he could break down those newly constructed walls around them. He sure as hell couldn’t do that from across the room, now could he?

Why did it suddenly matter now that he absolutely had to know what she was thinking? It seemed as though he was almost obsessed with finding out. He had never cared before, but since this afternoon when she so obviously, and dexterously, concealed her inner-thoughts and feelings from him; it was all he could think about. What was she hiding from him and did her avoidance of him now have anything to do with his admission that she in fact was his weakness? That was the basis for his, and a small voice told him she shared in his reasoning.

Draco finally gave up when she actually turned her chair around to face Potter full on, successfully blocking him from her line of view fully. Bitch. Now he had no other option than to listen to Potter drone on and on about bloody Horcruxes with Dumbledore adding in his two sickles when he thought necessary. A plan was made in which Weasley and Potter would retrieve it, something the rest of them did not need to even be there for, before they both doted upon Granger, asking her politely if she would be able to find a way they could destroy it using her cleverness and superb skills of research. Fucking arselickers. Of course Draco could still not see her face, but he saw her head slowly in consent. Pushover.

Snape was then asked to give an update concerning the Dark Lord and any plans he may have, Draco deciding to listen attentively since he had been exempt from the Death Eater meetings that had taken place in the last week. Snape taciturnly explained that the Dark Lord had been in the process of planning something unknown to him as of yet, but when he found out more, he would immediately alert the Order. Otherwise there was nothing else worth mentioning.

Lupin then gave an overview of what the rest of the Order had been up to, which was nothing much seeing as how things had been oddly quiet in the last week. There had been no battles, no casualties, and no developments. In war that could only mean it was the calm before the storm and they should all expect the unexpected.

When the meeting finally ended hours later, Draco had been the first to rise from his chair, determined to take Granger to his room, shag her, possibly talk about what happened this afternoon, and then shag her again, and again, and again. Unfortunately for him, Granger had been seated closer to the door, and after bidding everyone a hasty goodbye, darted up the stairs before he could even reach out to grab her elbow.

To make matters worse, as Potter, Weasley, Dumbledore, and Lupin indulged in bottles of cold butterbeer, and Draco was just barely able to grab one of his own, he was cornered by Snape who insisted they retire to the Drawing Room for one final intricate review of their plan, including more deeply despised Occlumency exercises in preparation for when they were to be called by the Dark Lord tomorrow.

By the time Draco had escaped the overgrown bat’s clutches and made his way upstairs, it was nearly midnight. He opened the door to his room presuming to see Granger waiting for him as she had been in the past two nights. Disappointment inundated him when he stepped inside to see the window closed and his bed empty. There were no uncertainties that she was most definitely avoiding him. Well, fuck that. He had had enough.

Draco turned on his heel and marched down the hall resolutely to her closed door. He opened the door without even bothering to knock, somewhat taken aback that she had not locked it and questioning whether or not she had been waiting for him to come to her room all this time.

Stepping inside swiftly, Draco shut the door soundlessly as soon as he was over the threshold and was met with the sight of Granger sitting with legs stretched out and her ankles crossed on her enlarged bed as her back rested against the headboard, dressed in the same gray men’s dress shirt she wore when she so rudely slammed the door in Draco’s face Monday morning, fully absorbed in the open book resting on her lap.

His presence had gone undetected until he walked to the foot of the bed to stand in front of her. At the sound of his footsteps, her head lifted and she looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, her lips parted appealingly in surprise at his sudden appearance. Draco smirked at catching her off guard and being able to know precisely what she was thinking once again but quickly reformed his expression into one of aloofness.

“You weren’t in my room.”

Granger raised her eyebrows as the right corner of her mouth quirked upward.

“I know.”

“Why?”

“I had some thinking to do.”

“About?” Draco asked, hoping his tone of voice did not reveal how truly interested he really was.

Closing her book and setting it aside, Granger sighed softly and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. At the rate she was doing so today, the poor thing would have a large chunk nibbled off in no time. Draco would sorely miss it.

“I’d rather not talk about it. I haven’t sorted all of my thoughts out yet, so my brain is still a bit muddled.”

“I suppose that is why you have made such quick use of my advice by shielding yourself and ignoring me completely. So I can’t tell what it is you’re thinking about?”

Granger looked away and nodded her head reluctantly.

Although Draco was a bit annoyed by Granger deliberately concealing her thoughts from him, he could not restrain the proud smirk that gradually graced his handsome face.

“I have to say I am impressed, that is downright Slytherin of you, Granger.”

Her gaze came back to his, her astonishment at his declaration was made evident by the way she released her lower lip only to have her mouth fall open slightly and a pink blush that was adorning her cheeks. It was obvious that she was torn between being shocked at his admission that she had impressed him and that he had seen one of the qualities usually only found in his housemates in her, an ideal Gryffindor. In the end, Draco knew she took it as he had meant it to be taken, as a compliment.

“I should be offended.”

“But you aren’t.”

“No, I’m not,” she said with a small smile.

“You know, if your cluttered thoughts are too engaging, you could always just try and put them off.”

“I get a headache when I don’t allow myself to think.”

“Of course you do.”

Tired of standing, Draco moved to the side of the bed and gracefully lowered himself to take a seat on the edge with his back towards Granger. Behind him, he felt the mattress shift and out of the corner of his eye he saw Granger swing her legs of over the side to sit next to him.

As he had been doing of late, Draco briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath of her arousing aroma before turning his head to visually take her in. Her bare feet, her toned naked legs, her slim thighs, her pert breasts and pebbled nipples straining against the thin fabric of the shirt, her nearly uncovered chest, her long neck, and her full pink lips. Finally he pierced her eyes with his dark silver stare, which she met unwaveringly, and grinned sinfully.

“Maybe I will just have to fuck it out of you,” his voice was deep and filled with a lust that hadn’t been there seconds before.

“Out of my head or out of my mouth?”

“Both.”

In an instant, Draco’s mouth crashed on to hers, claiming it in a greedy and violent kiss that she returned fervently as his hand immersed into her hair, holding her to him possessively, never wanting to let her go. Her hands dove up and under his back of his shirt, the feeling of any small amount of her skin on his enough to make his manhood harden, and flattened them on his back, pushing him down to lie with her on the bed.

Draco leaned on his side and deepened the kiss, thirsting for her in a way that told him no matter how many times he drank her in it would never be fully quenched. His hand moved away from the back of her head to roam down the curve of her body appreciatively, reveling in her irresistible feminine form. Gods, how he wanted her!

Pulling away, Draco attacked her neck with the same vigor her had her mouth, leaving angry red bites that marked her as his before soothing them with his lips and tongue in his wake.

Granger moaned salaciously and her hands found the buttons of her shirt, undoing each one enticingly after which Draco would lavish his provocative attention on each newly exposed piece of skin.

It was when Draco had situated himself between Granger’s spread legs with her fingernails stroking the back of his head encouragingly and his teeth tugging on the band of her knickers that he felt the damnable burn he had grown entirely too used to not suffering in his left forearm.

He growled furiously, releasing the cloth with a snap and dropping his forehead to Granger’s lower abdomen as she let out a startled yelp, waiting for the pain to subside. When it did, he lifted his head to look at the clock on her bedside table. It read midnight exactly, it was Saturday.

Bloody fucking hell, not now! He was going to kill that no-nosed, red-eyed, pasty-arsed, maniacal bastard for this if it was the last thing he ever did!

Using Granger’s thighs for leverage and rising to his feet, Draco snarled, “I have to go.”

“Now?” she asked incredulously, lifting herself to rest on her elbows.

She proved to be a seductive sight, what with her alluringly tousled hair and the fully unbuttoned shirt falling open to present her absolutely perfect tits to him as her legs remained temptingly parted, the dark spot of wetness at the crotch of her light pink knickers the biggest tease of all.

“Fuck!” he yelled, barely noticing the way she jumped at the loud booming of his voice.

Without bothering to explain his sudden ire, Draco stomped to her door, yanking it open so hard that it banged against the wall and slammed itself shut as he walked to his own closed door, giving it the same fierce treatment by kicking it with all his might so that it swung open effortlessly. He retrieved his Death Eater robes from the wardrobe, forgoing the mask as this was to be an informal private affair, and simultaneously pulling them on while grumbling profanities.

Realization soon dawned on him that it would not do to be in such an angry state when he arrived at the mansion, so Draco took a few calming breaths as he perfected his appearance in the darkness of his room. He would need his wits about him tonight if he were to full off what was to be such an elaborate farce convincingly. He only hoped the Dark Lord would not see through it and believe why Draco could not abduct Granger for own his fiendish fun.

Oh shite, Granger. He must have looked like a madman, deserting her like that and trudging out of her room, taking his rage out on doors without any clear reason. Well, she was a smart chit, she could figure it out. But then again, he did not want to chance leaving on terms that had her questioning not only his sanity but her desirability as well, because he was sure that was what was going through her mind right now.

Draco left his room and made his way back to Granger’s, entering much in the same way he had only fifteen minutes before. She was standing near the foot of the bed and appeared to have been fastening the last button of her shirt bewilderedly when Draco came back into the room, at which she halted and stared at him with wide anxious eyes.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

It was the closest thing to an apology she was going to get. Draco did not do admissions of guilt, let alone ask for forgiveness.

“It’s okay,” she whispered and nervously laughed.

“I have been summoned.”

“I deduced that.”

“Cheeky bitch.”

Stepping forward, Draco reached out and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. Her tense expression softened at his touch and she smiled at him saucily.

“When will you be back?”

“I’m not sure. But as soon as I am we will finish this once and for all.”

“Promise?”

“My balls are sure to fall off if we don’t.”

Granger laughed again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Draco smirked and kissed her fleetingly before disappearing with a pop, leaving reluctantly to meet a fate unknown.

* * * * *

The moment Draco’s feet touched on the hard ground and he stepped through the wards protecting the large mansion blanketed in obsidian night, every instinct told him something was off, was very wrong. Of course, it never felt right when he came to this hellhole, but tonight that feeling had increased tenfold. He instantly wanted to leave, to break away from the awful and overwhelming sense of foreboding and never look back. Unfortunately, that was not an option. He was no coward.

Instead Draco did the exact opposite and began walking further into the complex defensive spells surrounding the area. The closer he got to the mansion, the thicker the air had become with the evilness that loomed over it, every ounce of inherited dark magic in Draco’s blood thrumming because of it. It set him on edge, making him vigilant and focused.

As he traveled over the unkempt landscape, Draco went over in his head the account of the failed abduction attempt he and Snape had come up with one last time. A small comfort to him was that since the Dark Lord knew he had received Snape’s assistance, it was a given that he would be there as well, giving Draco some much needed support.

After what felt like hours of walking, the large main doors of the mansion came into view, barely visible except for the flickering outdoor sconce illuminating them. At that moment, he reminded himself that no matter what, he was to remain calm, cool, and collected before clearing his head completely. There was no telling exactly when his head would be invaded by the Dark Lord and he most certainly did not want to be caught with any thoughts that may betray him or Snape.

Draco took a final breath of untainted air and climbed up the few stone steps, looking on unimpressed as the doors appeared to open themselves. He unhesitatingly entered, striding down the dimly lit marble lined hallway purposefully, the loud echo of his footsteps matching the rhythm of his palpitating heartbeat.

There was a dark cloaked figure standing just outside of what Draco had known to be the ballroom, where he had been initiated as a Death Eater what seemed like years ago. He suppressed the detestable memories instantly, coming to a halt next to the fellow Death Eater and discerning that despite the hood of the black robes being up, the distinctive hooked nose was evidence enough for him to know the figure was Snape awaiting his arrival.

“Are you ready, Draco?” he asked stoically.

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied, his expression and tone just as inscrutable as Snape’s.

Snape nodded stiffly before turning around and opening the doors. Draco followed, noting that the large room was as faintly lighted as the corridor they had entered from.

The Dark Lord stood tall and imperial at the end of the room, the hem of his posh ebony robes flowing around his feet in a nonexistent breeze, twirling his long wand with long white fingers, watching them with glowing red eyes and a nefarious grin as they approached.

Flanking the wall to the right of the Dark Lord Draco was his Aunt Bellatrix, Yaxley, McNair, and Dolohov, all of the Death Eaters, along with himself and Snape, he held in high regard and each one nearly as rabidly deranged as their leader.

With only a couple of meters distancing him from them, Draco fell to his knee in perfect unison with Snape, bowing his head in feigned respect until told to rise by a voice that sent chills down Draco’s spine.

“Severus, Draco, I sense failure.”

It unsettled Draco that he was so composed, as though he already knew that Granger was no going to be presented in front of him, pathetically pleading for her life.

He swallowed thickly, but his face and mind remained empty as he opened his mouth to explain their carefully planned reason. Before he could, Snape began speaking.

“My Lord, I fear that failure was imminent. According to my sources, Granger, Potter’s Mudblood, has been taken to an unplottable and highly warded location based on information the Order apparently received that she specifically was being targeted.”

“Are you not a part of the Order, Severus? Were her whereabouts not common knowledge to all members?”

“Potter and the blood traitor Weasley are so protective of her, aside from themselves, only Dumbledore knows of her location. They will not divulge it to anyone else, not even the most trusted Order members.”

The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed at Snape’s response as one pale cheek twitched, but otherwise kept his facade indifferent. This was surely the calm before the storm.

“Do you know, Severus, from whom the Order acquired the information that the Mudblood was a target?”

“That too is unknown, My Lord.”

A heavy silence dense with disappointment filled the cavernous room as angry red orbs rested suspiciously on Snape before they narrowed and intensely focused on his dark inexpressive eyes. Snape stared back, lids unblinking, black orbs fixed on the Dark Lord’s, meeting his fierce gaze steadily. It was obvious the Dark Lord was searching his mind, probing for any sign of deception. Draco was certain he would find none, not after all of that preparation he and Snape had done. The Dark Lord would see only what Snape wanted him to.

He must have been satisfied with what Snape had shown him, for after a minute or so of the tensest staring contest Draco had ever witnessed, the Dark Lord broke contact. He then turned his full awareness to Draco.

“Young Malfoy, it appears that Severus has put in more than enough effort on your behalf in a mission that was initially assigned to you. I must inquire what part you took in it.”

“My Lord,” Snape intervened, not giving Draco a chance to answer. “I assure you that Draco has exerted himself in every way possible trying to accomplish his mission. I was merely there to assist him with-”

The Dark Lord held up his skeletal white hand, halting Snape’s endorsement of Draco, something he was deeply grateful for.

“I would like to hear from Draco now, Severus; your presence is no longer needed. You may go stand with the others.”

Snape bowed his head and was gone from Draco’s side, his sudden absence leaving Draco standing alone in front of the Dark Lord and making him the only center of attention. Now it was only him that the angry crimson demented eyes scrutinized.

“Draco…” he directed, the hand that was lifted now motioning forward gracefully.

Draco squared his shoulders and lifted his chin in determination to not let this barmy bastard intimidate him. He looked straight at the serpentine white face, into the ravenous red slited-pupils unflinchingly, and the words he had practiced in excess came spilling out in a smooth and undaunted drawl.

“The day after Severus and I learned that Granger had been put into hiding, I set out to where Potter and Weasley had been spotted once or twice. Luckily, after keeping an extremely close watch for a full day, they finally made an appearance. I was able to cast a complicated tracking charm on them discreetly that alerted me every time they were on the move. I trailed them for the better part of the week, in hopes of them unknowingly leading me to Granger. I followed them everywhere they went, and all locations were dead-ends. I suspect that Potter has an invisibility cloak, for one moment they would be in front of me, and the next they would be gone with no sound of disapparation to accompany their disappearance. They frequented two places that were unplottable, so the tracking spell would only notify me that they were on the move but could not expose their position. There was no way I could find them or their location.”

The Dark Lord did not waste time staring Draco down before invading his mind. Draco did not fight it when he felt the intrusion, rather he played out in his subconscious the way the whole week he just described would have occurred, just as he had done for Snape every time he entered Draco’s mind this week. Each vision the Dark Lord viewed supported Draco’s account right down to the very last detail.

Finally, the Dark Lord departed with an expression that was no longer a mask of nonchalance. His thin lip was curled into a small scowl and his eyes were blazing. Draco continued standing straight and tall unabashedly.

“Do you admit you failed me?”

“I do, My Lord.”

In a fraction of a second, the Dark Lord’s wand was pointed directly at the middle of Draco’s chest, his face twisted with crazed furiousness and his temper lost.

“I will not tolerate failure!” he yelled ear-piercingly causing a collective wince from everyone else that occupied the room. “Failure warrants punishment!”

Without warning, a severely powerful pain spread through out Draco’s body. It was excruciating and damn near unbearable, bringing him to his knees in agony with the feeling of a thousand burning sharp blades stabbing his entire body. It took every ounce of energy and self-control Draco had no to scream out in anguish although he felt as if he were dying a very slow, very torturous death. He would not give that bastard the satisfaction.

Abruptly the overwhelming pain was gone as quickly as it came, but it had definitely left its mark. Draco opened his eyes that had been shut tightly as residual spasms from the spell racked his aching body, becoming more aware of his knees throbbing from hitting the hard floor violently, his fingernails that were bloody and raw as a result of clawing the marble beneath him, and his sore jaw due to grimacing and clenching it in order to keep from vocalizing the tremendous torment he had been put through.

As Draco remained in his prone position recovering, there was a swish of cool air that fluttered the fringe of light blonde hair that stuck to his sweat-beaded brow. He did not need to look over his shoulder to know that the Dark Lord was now standing behind him.

“We have a traitor in our midst, young Malfoy,” he hissed softly in Draco’s ear, dragging the yew wand down his back.

Oh fuck!

Draco had been so certain he did not slip when the Dark Lord had raped his mind. He had been so fucking careful, and not just in his Occlumency, but in his whole bloody existence as not only a Death Eater but an Order of the Phoenix member as well.

He had alienated his mother, risked his life for both sodding organizations more times than he could count, lost numerous amounts of sleep, and put his life on the line for a damn cause that he cared fuck-all about.

Now it was all blown to shite. There was always the chance that it would happen sooner or later, but some how Draco never really thought about it until now.

He was going to die.

It was then the low hissing interrupted his thoughts, disallowing Draco to come to terms with his imminent death.

“You would be surprised how effortless it is to convince someone to spill their darkest secrets, especially when they are so wonderfully weak.”

No, he would not go out like this; he would not lie down and take it. He would not die right here, kneeling on the marble ground streaked with his blood like some spineless arselicker. He would go out fighting, and take as many as these fucking worthless lowlife twats with him. If he was going to die, he would make damn certain he wasn’t dying alone.

Draco mustered what energy he had left, calling forth his second wind and ignoring the stabbing cramps in his legs as he pulled himself up to full height. He stood solidly although his legs were still a bit wobbly, and kept his face unreadable and his eyes as cold as steel. The pride he felt in himself was immense, and gave him some small shred of hope that he just may get through this alive.

“How strong you are, Draco,” the Dark Lord said almost commendably. “No doubt you received such an admirable trait from Lucuis.”

Holding back the urge to snort, Draco merely gazed at him stonily.

“I believe that it was passed on from my mother.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The Dark Lord smiled venomously, raising the hand that still held his wand. Draco braced himself, ready to drop to the floor and roll away in an attempt to save his own arse the moment the wand shot a green flash in his direction.

Instead, the Dark Lord waved the yew wand in a twirling motion as it pointed to the ceiling. With a resounding pop, Narcissa suddenly appeared next to the Dark Lord’s feet, her hands bound behind her back and her mouth gagged with a piece of what looked like dark emerald silk. When she saw Draco, her crystal blue eyes opened, full of worry.

Confusion inundated Draco. What in the fucking hell was going on?

Forcing himself to stay in place, Draco watched furiously as the Dark Lord bent slightly and gripped Narcissa’s elbow with his thin pallid hand, hauling her to her feet roughly. She grimaced as a small stifled grumble sounded from her throat, yanking her elbow out of his grasp. If she was hurt, she would not make it known. She held her head high, just as she always did, and looked at the Dark Lord with a hint of disgust beneath her cool gaze.

The sickening sound of the Dark Lord laughing cruelly at Narcissa filled the spacious room, only adding to Draco’s rage.

“She puts on quite a show, does she not? One would never know how simple it is to rape her mind. Time and time again she does not neglect to reveal all of her secrets to me.”

Secrets? What secrets? His mother had none…as far as he knew. What had she been keeping from Draco that would land her in such a position, incurring the Dark Lord’s disapproval? And then, he remembered her letter she sent him yesterday.

“You see, Draco, the mission of handing over Potter’s filthy Mudblood to me tonight was not supposed to be as challenging as it turned out to be. After all, you are one of my most skilled and intelligent followers. It should have been easy for you to succeed, and yet you didn’t. This bitch,” he looked at Narcissa distastefully, “is to blame for your trials and tribulations, your eventual failure, and more importantly, your pain and suffering.”

Upon both seeing and hearing the Dark Lord regard his mother with such offensiveness, Draco’s hands clenched into fists, itching to reach for his wand in his robe pocket as he moved one unnoticeable step forward, completely meaning to fire at least seven Avada’s at his pasty form.

Draco quickly glanced to his right as the Dark Lord continued to glare nastily at Narcissa, catching Snape’s eye, assuming he would be as infuriated as he was. His face remained detached, but his eyes were burning with black fire, even as he shook his head at Draco inconspicuously, warning him not to move.

Damn it, he was right. Draco knew that if he were to intervene, it would not only bring about the Dark Lord’s wrath on him, but his mother as well. He was supposed have nothing but the utmost respect and fear for the raging psychopath, and to go against him would cause him to question Draco’s loyalty and motives. There was no telling what he would do should Draco act on impulse. He would have to wait it out, watch like a good little Death Eater puppet as his mother received whatever punishment he deemed worthy. Draco could only hope whatever it was it would not be too severe. Of course, he still had no idea what she was being punished for.

As though the Dark Lord had known of Draco’s bafflement, he removed Narcissa’s gag and bindings with a wave of his wand.

“Tell your son what I have found, Narcissa; tell him what you have done. I am certain he is yearning to know,” he spat.

“I have done nothing but care for my family and their safety,” she responded, her words were filled with intensity and force as her eyes met Draco’s once more.

The Dark Lord chuckled mockingly, his pale hand lifting up to caress Narcissa’s smooth cheek.

“When will you learn?” He asked gently before his next words came out harsh and spiteful. “Caring is only a sign of weakness.”

The slap that sounded as his palm met Narcissa’s cheek drowned out the fierce growl that Draco let out, only to be followed by Narcissa’s cry of shock at the sudden sting. All thoughts of keeping up appearances fled rapidly and he went to lunge at the sick sack of shite who had the nerve to lay a hand on his mother. Only his feet would not budge, they were rooted to the floor no matter how hard he tried to move them. He knew instantly that Snape had discreetly cast a silent sticking charm to the soles of his dragon hide boots in an attempt to keep such attacks from occurring.

Frustrated and pissed, Draco reached into his pocket and took a hold of his wand, pointing it to his feet. Wordlessly, he cast the countercharm to no avail. He tried again with the same lack of result. Cursing in his head, Draco realized that there was no way he could counteract the charm. Snape was more powerful than he was and the spell was just too strong.

All he could do was stand there, watching his mother recover from the Dark Lord’s blow as a pink blotch bloomed on her cheek. She must have noticed the pure ire and hate swirling in Draco’s dark silver orbs when she glimpsed at him, for she held up her delicate hand subtly, implicating that she was fine and he was not to interfere. She then brought it up to her face, seemingly to tenderly rub the sore spot and effectively shielding her mouth from the Dark Lord in order to mouth to Draco, “I know you are angry, but you must clear your mind.”

Draco barely nodded, only just now becoming aware that his mouth had been curled into a sneer since his mother had been called a bitch. He took a deep breath, morphing his features so that they were hard and inscrutable once more despite the fact that he was fuming, determined not to show any sign of an emotion that would be his downfall.

At that moment, the Dark Lord returned his attention to Draco after thoroughly enjoying Narcissa’s pain although he continued to speak to her.

“Since you refuse to speak of your treachery properly, I shall do the honors.”

The Dark Lord cleared his throat as Narcissa’s gaze stayed focused on her son, her eyes imploring his understanding for what was to be revealed to him.

“It seems that during the one of the social gatherings your mother is so fond of holding she was told by McNair’s wife of the impending abduction of Potter’s Mudblood, for which both she and her husband have already been reprimanded.”

Draco quickly shifted his observation to the Death Eater in question, standing off to the side next to Snape, who winced when his punishment was mentioned. Draco surmised that it was similar to his own he received tonight before reverting his concentration back to Narcissa.

“Apparently, Narcissa felt it necessary to mention the vile Mudblood essentially being sentenced to torture and death to several other ladies during lunch the next day, expressing her deepest sympathy for the poor girl and her friends.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose questioningly and Narcissa gave him a sad smile as she nodded her confirmation. It did not surprise Draco in the least. His mother had always been compassionate; she just hid it very well.

“I had known of this profanation before penetrating your mother’s mind.” The Dark Lord continued, the more he explained the more his voice filled with aversion and animosity. “I had been instantly alerted of it by a dutiful follower whose wife had heard it first hand and in turn gave the location of the townhouse Narcissa was residing in.”

“I sent for her at once by way of a few of my henchmen. The brought her to me and she was defiant and disrespectful upon her arrival, refusing to bow down and take her rightful place as one of my faithful supporters. Because of her behavior and concern for a lowly Mudblood, I was beginning to question her loyalty. I proceeded to punish her for her insolence and then search her brain for any other misconduct, quite easily I might add.”

Narcissa’s eyes lowered momentarily, ashamed that the Dark Lord had broken through her mental barriers without difficulty. Draco knew it was probably because of the “punishment” she had been forced to endure, most likely a Crucio or two, her resolve was weakened and the Dark Lord took advantage of it.

“Imagine my astonishment to find that she had been willingly supplying any information she was provided with at her little tea parties to the Ministry Aurors in exchange for persuading them to exonerate her dear husband Lucuis and guarantee his release from Azkaban. With him free, she was planning to leave the country and convince you to abandon your position and Master in order to accompany them.”

Draco was rendered speechless as he closed his lids, breaking eye contact with Narcissa and trying to take it all in. This must have been what his mother was hinting at in her letter to him only yesterday. He would not put it past her. She cared so deeply for him and Lucius that she would do anything, even put her own life at risk, to have them as a family once more, out of danger and together once more.

“Do you deny it, Narcissa?”

The Dark Lord’s question coated in malice caused Draco to snap his eyes back open. Narcissa smiled proudly, pushing back her shoulders and standing regally as she stared at the Dark Lord with unmistakable self-satisfaction. She was magnificent and beautiful, looking every bit the Pureblood Lady she was.

“I am delighted to say I do not.”

At her response, Draco found it extremely hard to suppress the smug smirk that was tugging at the corners of his lips, but it faded the moment he saw the Dark Lord bristling with fury. It brought Draco crashing back to reality, realizing that Narcissa had yet to receive her penalty for her misdeeds. Her audacity would only further his extent of retribution. Fear for his mother’s life rapidly invaded his senses.

“You gave the same information to the Order of the Phoenix as well, resulting in them hiding the Mudblood,” the Dark Lord accused, no longer concealing his temper.

“I did not, but given time if that is what it took to have my family return to me, than I would have without a second thought.”

“Liar!”

The outrageous claim echoed through out the ballroom, each reverberation as loud as its originator.

“You have forced it out of your memory, but I know!”

“You are wrong!” Narcissa shouted back, resulting in a collective gasp from the Death Eaters standing off to the side. “I take complete responsibility for my actions. I am self-assured that my offense is vindicated! I do not want my family name tarnished any longer, to be looked down upon for the poor decisions we have made. I wanted only to have my husband and son by my side where they rightfully belong, in a place that would shield us from a foolish war and the megalomaniac who started it and compelled them to join his ranks or else die!”

“Draco, my darling,” she said, swiftly striding to him and taking his hands in hers. “You must understand that I did it out of love for you and Lucius and fear for your lives. Please forgive me.”

Draco looked at her deeply, drowning in clear pools of aquamarine eyes, shimmering with affection and unshed tears. She smiled at him adoringly and he ached to return the gesture, but he had to maintain his dispassionate demeanor if he were to have any chance at a continued existence. So he whispered to her softly so that only she could hear his words as his lips barely moved.

“There is no fault to forgive.”

Her smile wilted but her eyes brightened at his signification of his words, and the when she spoke again meaningfully, the volume of her voice matched his.

“I should have known.”

Draco allowed his lips to curve up ever so slightly and fleetingly, attesting to her insinuation before becoming stone-faced yet again as through the pervious gesture had never happened.

“Do what you must, my Dragon,” she momentously added.

Her soft hand let go of his to tenderly stroke his cheek once. It pained him to pull his head away and glare at her coldly, but they both knew the Dark Lord was closely watching their exchange, looking for a sign that Draco may be in agreement with her. Even now, when everything was so uncertain, she still wanted to save him before herself.

She stepped away from Draco and returned to her original standing point, her expression one of great braveness.

“I am prepared for my punishment.”

The Dark Lord was now the one appearing self-satisfied, wearing a fiendish leer that turned the whole room cold. He spoke with a silver-tongue, each word enunciated clearly, eloquent, and dripping with toxic venom.

“I do not tolerate loose tongues and betrayal, and I abhor love, especially between a mother and son.”

Although it happened faster than anyone could react, Draco horrifyingly watched it in slow motion as the Dark Lord pointed his wand at Narcissa stiffly and yelled, “Avada Kedavra!” causing a bright green flash to erupt from the yew tip with a rush air and strike Narcissa in the chest, sending her backwards to fall gracefully to the floor and her instant death.

Devastated and in total shock, Draco looked on powerlessly as the Dark Lord scoffed at Narcissa’s lifeless body and glided to stand at Draco’s side to place a icy hand on the back of Draco’s neck, misreading his vacant expression.

“Do not fret, young Malfoy. You will not be punished for your mother’s crimes. I am confident that you have been loyal and would never deceive me. You may bid your farewells and return home.”

He distanced himself away from Draco to move smoothly to where the other Death Eaters were still in position. Draco heard him tell Yaxley and Dolohov to bring her back to the townhouse in Wizarding London after Draco has left and display the Dark Mark over it. Turning on his heel, he sauntered out of the ballroom as if he hadn’t just murdered someone in cold blood and not even sparing the dead woman on his floor a glance.

As soon as he was out of the room, Draco felt the sticking charm being lifted and he shifted his feet to get some feeling back in them as he saw the line of five Death Eaters start to dissipate shortly after their Lord was gone.

Yaxley and Dolohov passed first, both keeping their stares straight ahead, pretending as though Draco and Narcissa were not there. Bellatrix followed, throwing her departed sister a disgusted glower before saucily winking at Draco, her definition of a comforting gesture. McNair came next, his head hung and his eyes shifting sadly back and forth between Narcissa and Draco, his family was a close friend’s of the Malfoys after all.

Snape was the last to go, stooping down when he came to Narcissa to utter in a hushed tone and close her lids, covering the empty crystal blue eyes staring into oblivion. He then stood and came to Draco, looking at him mournfully and squeezing his shoulder in solace. Without any more words, Snape walked to the door briskly, closing it behind him and leaving Draco to say goodbye to his mother.

He moved to her without realizing it, adopting the same stance Snape had. She looked peaceful, as though she was merely asleep, and Draco was amazed at the beauty and serenity she had even in death.

He would have been naïve to think that the Dark Lord would possibly spare her life, but her demise was still unexpected nonetheless. She did not deserve to die; she should never have gotten drawn in to this in the first place. And he was to blame. If only he had gone to see her like she had asked so many times, he would have known about her plans sooner, he could have saved her.

“I’m sorry.”

His own raspy voice full of despair and regret sounded foreign to him, awakening him from the daze he was in since his mother was slain. It was as if a new understanding dawned on him, it all became clear.

No, it was not entirely his fault. He had been so busy this week and unable to visit Narcissa because he was too busy trying coming up with a plan in order to find a way around his mission to bring Granger to the Dark Lord. Narcissa had gotten caught because she was simply giving her opinion on what she had been told by a known gossipmonger about Granger. He had become a double agent in the first place because Granger put the fucking idea in his head.

It was all Granger’s fault. He was tortured relentlessly because of her. The only person who ever gave a damn about him was gone from his life forever because of her. His mother was dead, murdered ruthlessly in front of him because of her. He was completely alone because of her.

A renewed sense of extreme anger washed over him as he fell to his knees for the second time that night, his hand balled up into a fist as he hit the ground brutally until his knuckles were bleeding and throbbing, but he felt only one thing.

He hated her.

He hated her in every sense of the word.

He hated her with each piece of his being; mind, body, and soul.

He hated her passionately and could feel it streaming in his veins, diseasing his blood, embedded beneath his bones, right down to his core.

He hated her so much that he was thought he would go mad as a result of it.

Suddenly it struck Draco, literally knocking him backwards on to his arse.

And then he knew.