It Started With A Tea Cup

The chipped blue teacup decorated with mangy looking cats was staring at her.

Half empty. Half cold. She and the teacup had a lot of things in common really.

Midnight was the usual time for the meetings of The Order of the Phoenix to begin, but the young woman often stayed up to watched the sun rise – after all, who knew when her last would be?

In the large, wooden kitchen in the house of Black, Hermione sat, deeply involved with a "no flinching" contest with the cat-cup. The room was bathed in the pinkish red, thrown in from the bay windows, and the small urban garden.

Thoughtful eyes broke away and flickered towards the clock on the wall opposite her. The hands labelled Harry, Ron and Hermione were all pointing to "At Home" in the space where the one should be. She heaved a shuddering breath that she didn't know she was holding.

Chocolate hair framed a heart shaped face; messy from half a night tossing and turning – the feathered hair was spiking up in all directions. Dressed in a dressing gown and ugh boots, hands clutched in front of her in the frosty autumn morning, the eighteen year old girl was anything but normal.

To start, unlike most girls her age that were extraordinarily pretty, not in the conventional way of course, but she was completely unaware of it; her clothes were all picked out by her only girl friend and books mattered far more to her than makeup. There was the fact she resided in a safe house with her two best friends of the past eight years, both handsome, yet she never noticed they were boys. Oh, and Hermione Granger was a witch.

A witch, who had just a year ago, graduated from what she considered the best Wizarding School in Europe, with the best passing marks ever seen since Tom Riddle. In fact passing marks identical to Tom Riddle. But what mattered now to the girl was much more than beating past Head-Boy's Potions scores. It was in fact, saving the world.

Lord Voldemort as he was known in later years, was on the rise again. The vast majority of the Wizarding World expected him to attack the famed Harry in his seventh year at Hogwarts, but the final blow had never come. It was now all they could do, that is, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger – "The Trio" "The Gryffindor Three" leading members of the D.A, now V.I.P's of The Order of the Phoenix, to sit and wait, whilst He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gathered his armies.

A lot had since a little mousy-haired Muggle-Born had started Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Innocence had been lost. Family had left her. But now, an honouree member of the Weasley's, almost sister to orphaned Harry, a independent and intelligent young woman sat seated on a wooden stool in the Head Quarters of the most powerful Order in Britain.

Independent, but sad.

For one thing, a girl whose nineteenth birthday was in ten days didn't usually worry whether she would be there to see it, didn't worry about her friends being murdered, didn't worry that – that fucking cup was staring at her again!

With an enraged yell Hermione sprang from her stool and leapt across the table and swiped the terribly decorated mug into its oblivion and the direction of the doorway.

"Well that particular teacup doesn't have nine lives." An amused voice drawled.

Turning to face what should have been a broken mug instead was the chiselled face of a past arch-nemesis standing one hand on his hip the other wrapped around the upright item. He was wearing immaculate ebony robes, a raised eyebrow and a trademark smirk.

"What did it do to you, Granger?" he asked, smirking again insanely. He replaced the cup, still with lukewarm tea in its previous position on the table, and sat down across from her, careful to sweep his robes behind him so not to wrinkle them, looking villainous.

There was a long pause, in which Hermione stared at her school enemy – incredulity in her cinnamon eyes. She was not quite whether to make a run for her wand which was still sitting on her bedside table, three floors and a corridor away or a kitchen knife.

"It was more like the fact that it's in league with Voldemort." She said, rather pointedly.

"Granger, Granger, Granger. How little you think… of the cup and I." Before Hermione had time to respond a long, ebony wand was pressed to her neck in a blur of wide sleeved black robes.

Draco Malfoy – Ten Times Winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile (to which, Harry had been runner up), heir to the Malfoy Manor and fortune, looked like a picture shot entirely out of black and white with a pinkish light turned on it. He was tall, lithe and shadows were emphasising his high cheekbones and eyebrows. White-blonde hair was falling haphazardly, a strand into his right eye. And eyes that were as hard as steel, swirling grey, endless.

Both inhumanly and breathtakingly beautiful.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? Of course with you being on the cover of the Daily Prophet nearly weekly its like we've never been estranged. When was the last time I saw you?"

"I believe it was on the train after Hogwarts… you came into our compartment threw one last contemptuous look at us all and then left," her voice matched his for sarcasm and he laughed again.

"Now listen," he continued, his voice darkened to almost a whisper, eyes wide, "I know you have no reason to believe me –"

"How did you get in here?"

He said nothing, but his eyes clouded over.

"How did you find us?"

"I found you," he muttered softly looking young and very tired. Regaining composure suitable for a Malfoy he pressed the wand tip a bit harder. "The Dark Lord is after you, Granger, now unless you want to end up flobberworm meat," here he raised an eyebrow and remembered the many uneventful Care of Magical Creatures lessons they had once shared, "and I suspect you don't, you leave England and don't look back."

A silence descended the kitchen, and Hermione was well aware that Draco was watching her, his eyes taking in every flicker of her own. Her gaze finally stopped on the old dark green stove.

She laughed.

"You rat bastard. You can't possibly be serious, Malfoy. Seven years you've wished me dead, now you… what? Warn me that your boss is going to kill me and you expect me to leave England?" She looked into his eyes, which were filled with lunatic calm. "Why don't you just sod off?"

"Because Saint Potter and his bodyguard have their wands pointed to my back."

"Are you lost, Malfoy?" Ron's voice rang across the hallway, from the bottom of the stairs where Hermione saw him and Harry standing wands outstretched pointing at Draco's back. Ron's tall and ginger form wearing embarrassingly too small yellow pyjamas decorated with realistic, never stopping hopping frogs that Hermione could never look at for more than a minute without getting a headache. Harry was lopsidedly wearing his glasses and red boxer shorts decorated with hearts, no doubt an early gift from Ginny. She cringed.

"Actually Weasel, no, I just stopped by for a pot of tea," he drawled lazily, still with his back to them.

"Let Hermione go, Malfoy, there's three of us," Harry said in a commanding voice, he took a tentative step forward.

To everyone's surprise but mostly his, Draco dropped the wand and turned around. As he did so the sight of Harry and Ron in comical nightwear greeted him.

"This is the crack team that foiled all of my cunning plans?" He asked sarcastically. "I am ashamed."

"Stupefy!" The incantation was shouted by both Ron and the Boy Who Lived and resulted in Draco being knocked immediately to the floor, his head hitting the table with an awful sounding crack.

A silence echoed in the room for a moment before Ron prodded Draco with his toe, confirming him soundly unconscious he gave him a swift kick.

"That slimy git," he said with feeling.

Hermione still regarding the somewhat surreal scene that lay before her hastily stood up and pushed him off. "Ron!"

Harry was watching, as usual, Hermione got the familiar sense that somewhere in the young man's mind that this was all the starting chapter of a heroic adventure. Anger buzzed in his temples and he strongly wished, not for the first time directed at the Malfoy, he could put enough power into an Avada Kedavra spell. "Did he hurt you, 'Mione?" She shook her head as Harry wrapped a protective arm around her. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Well, Harry," Ron started incredulously, "what do we usually do with Death-Eaters?"

"We hand them to Azcaban," Hermione answered firmly.

Ron looked at her as though she'd gone insane. "This is Malfoy we're talking about, he somehow finds this place even though its protected by hundreds of charms and a secret keeper and you want to turn him so his father can buy his way out?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Hermione laid a restraining hand on the redhead's arm. "We can't kill him, Ron."

It was now Ron's turn to look uncomfortable. Well not as much uncomfortable as hopelessly confused.

Harry agreed. "He could be useful."

Turning to Harry, she noticed something unstable in his calm look. Something that touched only his bottle green eyes, as though he was walking in his sleep.

He suddenly conjured a pair of heavy metal handcuffs out of the kettle and fixed them to Draco's wrists tightly.

Hermione looked at him sharply. "What are you doing?"

"Its simple – Malfoy's a Death Eater," he rolled up one sleeve of the unconscious captive's arm, the Dark Mark stood out on his flawless pale skin a mile. "And we are part of the Order. We need information. He's going to give it to us."

Ron shook her hand off. "Mobilicorpus." Was all he said, smiling. But it wasn't a particularly nice smile.

Draco, whose feet were suspended a few inches from the ground as though being held by an invisible hand, was dragged off downstairs to an empty cellar.

Once down in the darkened square room, lit only by Ron's Lumos spell the blonde was thrown onto the floor. Harry and Ron were either side of him and Hermione, strangely silent followed, tightening the dressing gown around her waist.

Ron was watching over Draco critically, his usual warm sky blue eyes darkened a bit too coldly. "Do you think he'll wake up?"

"Yes he should wake up any minute now." Hermione calculated the time it would take him to shake off two stunning spells.

Harry handed her her wand. "We found this on your dressing table when we went to look for you." He stated. "What was all that about Voldemort being after you?"

"You were there the whole time?"

He nodded.

"Why would he want to warn you anyway, 'Mione?" Ron pitched in.

"That is the eternal mystery that is Draco Malfoy."

Draco blinked.

Vision was slowly coming back to him, slower than speech had. Hazy, brown black and cream were blurred in front of him. He blinked again.

Leaning over him, watching out of a curtain of brown curls was wide almond shaped eyes.

It was Granger.

Absently he wondered if she knew how much she looked like an angel.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Ron.

"By the way, Malfoy, you pale pillock, this room is apperation-proof. So don't even try it."

Draco gave a wide, insanely calm smile and Ron flinched as though he had just watched something particularly disgusting.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry stepped forward as Ron stepped back. "We know you're a Death Eater."

Draco, lying across the wooden floor, black robe either side of him like wings didn't even raise an eyebrow. He merely lifted his hands that were locked in the handcuffs and put them down with a metallic clang.

"So it's torture this time, is it? That should be fun for you."

Harry gritted his teeth.

"You must want information," he continued simply.

Hermione snorted loudly, and the three young men in front of her looked at her. "Would we be likely to get it if we did?"

"Well." Smile. "Not likely."

The girl looked to each of her friends before adding dryly. "I didn't think so."

Draco laughed out loud.

Both Ron and Harry were looking a bit more than unnerved by now. Ron's ears had turned a familiar shade of bright red and Harry his eyes still glacier was pointing his wand at him.

Something told Hermione things were about to get a lot worse.

"If you don't tell us-"

"You'll what? What is Saint Potter going to do?"

For a moment everything froze. Ron glancing at Harry questioningly. Draco looking up, defiant and fearless. But Harry caught her attention the most. On his usual soft features was an ugly look, and he was angrier than Hermione had ever seen him.

And then, everything moved too fast for words.

He raised his wand and brought it down with a sickening 'swoosh' at the same time he cried out – "CRUCIO!"

A horrified yell echoed in the room. But it was the only sound. And it came from Hermione.

The girl had seen only one thing hit with that particular Unforgivable spell before – the vision of the small, palm sized black spider writhing unnaturally, screaming without a voice in unimaginable pain darted across her closed eyelids. Shut tightly against the unseen image of Draco suffering the same way. She loathed him wholly but Hermione would have given anything she owned to have released him from the spell.

The curse hit Draco just above his navel. He barely had time to brace himself for the coming onslaught of his nervous system. Barely, but just enough. The Cruciatus Curse hits like a poison, but instantly and unrelenting. It feels like being hit with something very heavy, pierced by hundreds of knives and struck by lightning at the same time, only the pain isn't physical, it stings from the inside out.

Opening her eyes the sight of Draco would haunt her forever. His usual stormy eyes had lost all focus and clarity, his body was wracked with one terrible shudder after another, his mouth a firm grim line. But no sound escaped the boy, and from the sight of his fisted hands Hermione felt sure this wasn't the first time he'd been under the curse.

Unable to take one more second of seeing her nemesis tortured in the hands of her best friend, underneath harsh wand light, Hermione raised one hand and did something she'd only done once before.

She slapped Harry across the face and Harry, loosing both concentration and balance fell aside and broke the curse.

The room was frozen again, Ron and Hermione not quite believing what had happened, Harry breathing heavily and Draco –

Oh, Malfoy.

All at once, Hermione forgot everything and anything he'd ever done to her, her knees gave way as she knelt beside him, pressing one hand to his forehead and the other shaking him by the robes. If it was possible Draco had drained of all earthly colours, his eyes clamped shut, his hands limp.

"Oh, Malfoy, Malfoy, you insufferable git open your eyes- please. Malfoy?"

Hermione, by nature, was compassionate. She could never stand to see anything suffer – not pitiful house elves, not even proud model-like Malfoys. She crawled from her knees and stood up quivering with emotion. For a terrible, horrible moment she felt like she wasn't on the right side.

"HOW COULD YOU, HARRY?" She screamed, furious tears falling down her cheeks. "HOW COULD YOU EVER THINK ABOUT USING A CURSE LIKE THAT? YOU – YOU'RE JUST LIKE HIM!"

Then the sound of Ron gulping was carried across the small, square room.

Harry recoiled as though she had slapped him; by 'Him' she had meant Voldemort. He knew it. "Why are you crying, Hermione?" He asked quietly, addressing himself to his wand.

"I'm crying for you." Devoid of emotion, logical thought and worries about self-preservation Hermione was standing between Draco and Harry, her eyes betraying her frosty exterior.

This time he looked at her, remorse and self-loathing in eternally sad green eyes. Then he looked at Draco, who was staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry." He said, in an oddly muted tone.

Hermione, in what Draco considered a bold move, snatched Harry's wand out of his hands and flung it at staircase that led back up to the kitchen. "Get out." She snapped coldly.

Ron, who was watching Harry and Hermione like he would two chasers at a Quidditch match raised a hand, "can I go too?" He asked as though he was asking Snape to go to the bathroom.

Hermione nodded slowly as though she was communicating with someone very dumb.

Harry turned back at the last second and said, "We'll be back with Dumbledore and Veritaserum."

The door slammed shut as Ron, his light and Harry left. There was a distinct sound of a teacup smashing moments later, but that was the least of Hermione's problems. She was in a dark room with a Death Eater and he was more than likely very pissed off.

Hermione lent against the stone wall. "Lumos," she muttered and had to stop herself from crying out, "Nox."

Bathed in the white light, against the black hardwood floors was Draco Malfoy sitting upright against the opposite wall, cuffed hands in front of him, smiling.

It was the most disturbing smile she had ever seen. Beautiful, if not a little mad.

It made her heart beat oddly. Gathering herself she wiped away her tears and pointed her wand at him. His eyes threw back the light, like an animal's would and all at once she wasn't upset with Harry, mad at Dumbledore's shoddy protection wards, just very very afraid.

"This wasn't personal, Malfoy and you probably don't care but I wish Harry –"

"What?" Smile. "Didn't curse me?"

"This is not the traditional way you Golden Trio usually capture a villain is it? Since you're worried Potter probably couldn't crucio a cat to death. I've had much, much worse."

"What makes you think I care?"

He smirked this time at the ceiling, trying not to look at her.

"I can see you shaking."

Oh Bollocks.

"Could you do me a favour, Granger? Before Potter brings Dumbledore and a Dementor- could you just swish and flick a death curse this way?"

Surprisingly there was no amusement in his voice and Hermione realised something. He was completely serious.

They both knew a Death Eater's fate since the war had started. The Ministry of Magic regarded its Wanted as a cancer – spreading and wholly evil. They were cut down like treacherous daises. Hexed for information. Fed to the remaining controlled Dementors. Blamed for anything, and everything. When times were hard, she remembered Fudge saying in one speech to the Order, it was important to make the best of what they had. And while she despised the politics behind these decisions Death Eaters got undoubtedly what they deserved.

Even more surprising was the fact she had her wand pressed against his temple.

"Did you want me to say you died in battle, trying to hex me like you'd planned?" She found herself asking awkwardly.

Draco looked at her incredulously his smile becoming forced, but not fading. His gaze left the ceiling. His eyes trailed over her, from her overly large fluffy boots, long legs, messed up curled hair, and black cotton dressing gown. Everywhere but her eyes.

"I could tell your father it was a random Auror if you don't want a Muggle-Born to sully your name."

He wasn't listening and unfortunately his feverish good humour had returned to him. "You'd really do it. Right here. Now. Bloody hell, Granger."

Hermione pressed a little harder. "I couldn't stand to see you a walking corpse. I've seen Azcaban and I have seen what the Kiss does to people. Death Eater or not Malfoy, I would rather see you dead at my wand point than a void."

"You aren't as innocent as you look," he wasn't aware he said it aloud. He turned away from her. "Well – what are you waiting for? It's not like Potter; one of the many Weasley's or Dumbledore will wait for the trail. And if you really wanted to tell my father something, give him a kick in the-"

"Malfoy. I'm sorry for calling you a rat-bastard."

"Its okay. It's probably true," he said, looking taken aback.

"I never said I didn't mean it."

"You'd better hurry up and kill me Her-my-oh-knee, because that's certainly what I'd be doing if we the other way around. And, I wasn't lying. The Dark Lord really does want to kill you."

Another smash was heard from upstairs and Ron's voice called through the thick walls – "Hermione? Are you okay? Dumbledore will be here in a minute." There was a small pause.

"I really think you'd better kill me now."

Screaming Authors Note: Is it OK? Are they too OOC? I know Physco!Harry is really… weird, but I wanted to show how much he's changed. I like Hermione, she's not really in character – since it's mostly through her instead of Harry, but she's such a strong person. I really hate it when someone portrays her as weak. She's got a lot of compassion. This!Draco is sexy. Right? And dynamic. Oh I love writing Draco – he always has so much potential. This essentially will be a D/Hr. Fear not. This was bloody hard to write. It's been stuck in my head for a while and was made by listening to "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan, thus crying a lot, caffeine and inspired by the SS Leather Libraries. Some of the dialog is based on The Chosen by L J Smith, not by plagiarism but the fact I've read it about 80 times. Anyway. Please someone review!

Screaming Reviewers:

luver-of-Tom = Well, Hermione wants to kill Draco because its that or the fate-worse-than-death of the dementors' kiss. So she would be putting him out of his misery effectively.

paradoxical – it doesn't really feature "Tea and Angels" - not yet anyway, but I thought "cat teacups and nearly-killed-by-crazed-best-friends" was a bit too long. Thanks for the review. *ducks behind computer* That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me!

La KitSa – Harry's deranged, isn't he? But we all love him anyway.

Screaming Authors Disclaimer: I never wrote Harry Potter, nor do I claim too. I just leech ideas of the fabulous Ms. J K Rowling and elaborate. Illegally. But I'm not making any money (or keeping Draco Malfoy in my basement) which really, if you think about it, is a damn shame.