First Up: Disclaimer - I own nothing related to Harry Potter or any of the books or movies, screenplays, etc., about Harry Potter. Those are all J.K. Rowling's and I'm just happy I get to have a little of the sand from the sandbox stuck under my fingernails.

Second: This is my story, and my ideas, from a recurring dream I kept having - the Muse has been bugging my bloody arse off to start typing again. So Muse, if you're listening: Here you go.

Third: This first "Chapter" as it were, is actually compiled of several chapters written together and stored on my compooooter until I felt I had enough of a beginning to keep on going with it. So this is a long beginning - enough to satisfy most avid readers - but you'll be happy to know that the other chapters will be shorter ones, and easier on your brain and eyes.

Fourth: I'll stop blabbing now. Go, read, and please review to let me know if it's worth continuing on. Toodles!

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"Bloody hell!"

Ronald Weasley jerked backwards, rubbing his arm where he had just been bitten.

"Oi! Whose freaking idea was it not to hex him in the first place?"

Harry stood there, a completely impassive look on his face. Personally, he wanted to off the young man in front of them. But Lupin and Moody both had told him and the other members of the Order that this one wasn't to be killed, just subdued.

Hermione Granger, always the curious and inquisitive type, kneeled down in front of the blonde wizard. He was trembling and dirty, and downright feral in his responses. The others hadn't been able to get a word out of him, but the closer she got to him, the calmer he seemed to get.

"What is it, Mudblood? Suddenly having a conscience? Or is it that you never had the backbone to do away with me in the first place?"

Her eyes narrowed as she brought her wand to a point right between Draco Malfoy's now widening eyes.

His trembling started again.

"Not at all, Ferret. Looks like you're more afraid of me than I've ever been of you. Just a coward hiding all this time behind his father's robes. But now that Daddy's off in Azkaban, there's no one for you to put in front of the firing squad instead of yourself, eh?"

"J-just d-do it."

Malfoy's voice tripped over the words. He did look as if he would much rather die than be touched by her. But it was Harry who spoke first, his tone low and unchanging.

"No can do, Malfoy. You're easier to question alive than you would be dead. And I, for one, am looking forward to the day they'll let me have a go."

Hermione, closer than the others, almost thought she heard a low sob come from the obviously beaten young man in front of her, right before he lowered his head into his hands. She spoke aloud, mostly to herself rather than to anyone else there.

"Curious."

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Back at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, voices could be heard coming from the living room of Grimmauld Place. Hermione sighed, exasperated that she had been stuck watching Malfoy in the kitchen. She had much more important things to do than coddle a prisoner. Like look up information on the whereabouts of any of the remaining horcruxes.

"Dammit."

She held her finger up to her mouth, slowly sucking on the tip, which she had just burned while not paying attention to what she was doing. If she wasn't careful, she was going to burn their dinner, too.

Draco sat there, staring at the patterns in the dark wood of the dining table. He had been sitting there for hours, listening to the arguing coming in waves from the living room. He knew they were arguing over him and his fate. Frankly, the thought of his own continued existence was more terrifying than if they were to use the killing curse on him. The thought of facing Voldemort was ten times worse than having to be in a duel with Potter himself. Just then came a large bang from the fireplace.

"All right, all right! Would someone like to explain to me what all this arguing is about? I'm getting too old for this!"

The gruff and grumbly voice of Alistair Moody seemed to effectively end the discussion altogether. Ron looked at Harry, who in turn looked at Remus and then lowered his eyes. He felt slightly ashamed of himself for arguing with his mentor, but he knew that they would get nowhere with Malfoy, and wanted to turn him into the Ministry of Magic and call it a day. But with the exception of Ronald Weasley, no one else was in support of this idea.

Moody smiled and sat down on the nearest couch, waiting patiently for everyone else to do the same.

"Fine, now what were you discussing so loudly when I got here? Something to do with young Draco Malfoy, I presume?"

"Well, sir, you see..."

"What Harry is trying to say is..."

"Silence!"

They all turned to looked at McGonagall, who had just come down the stairs.

"I know that you gentlemen all have the desire to turn in Mr. Malfoy, but you must remember who and what we are dealing with here. The Minister of Magic is no more to be trusted than Percy Weasley. Sorry Ronald, but you know that I daresay speak the truth."

"Yes ma'am."

Ron lowered his head in shame, the thought of one of his older brothers being so dense as to believe that Voldemort had absolutely no desire for world domination, nor that he existed... The mere fact of Percy's existence had caused his family such pain that they no longer spoke his name in the house.

"Now, it would be good for you all to remember the circumstances by which we came to have young Mr. Malfoy in this house with us. First of all, it was Severus Snape, not Malfoy, who killed Albus. I know, I know..."

She raised one hand to indicate that she was not finished.

"I know that Mr. Malfoy was the one who allowed the Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts in the first place, but do you think he would have done so if he didn't think that he would be killed if he did not assist? And secondly, remember that he had the opportunity to be the one to kill Dumbledore, but he hesitated. If anything, that tells me that there might be something redeemable in that young man after all."

Lupin rose from the arm of the chair he had been perched upon, motioning for the others to join him.

"Right then. I say that we table this discussion for later, as I believe dinner will be ready shortly. Off to wash up with the lot of you."

"He sounds just like my mother."

Ron grumbled the words, thinking that no one had heard him as he made his way up the stairs. But Minerva reached out and touched his arm, a twinkle in her ancient eyes.

"I heard that, Mr. Weasley."

Quickly scurrying up the stairs, he heard her chuckle as he turned a shade of red that he never thought possible.

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"Malfoy, you're not eating."

Everyone had come together in the kitchen, lining both sides of the long, picnic style table. It reminded him oddly of the tables and benches at Hogwarts, and a pang of nostalgia hit him as he looked down at his food.

Hermione sat there, studying the blonde in front of her. Except for the smart comment he'd made to provoke her earlier in the day, when they'd found him cowering in the cave, there was very little of the old Malfoy that she knew underneath the skin of this young man. It was curious. Tilting her head to one side, she looked him over thoroughly. Obviously, he had been on the run for quite some time; one step ahead of them. What was it that he'd done to slip up?

For two years, they'd been searching for any and all Death Eaters they could, trying to locate more horcruxes and jail as many of Voldemort's followers as possible. It had been treacherous at times, but not a single of the others had been so visibly afraid in her presence. Malfoy was reacting as if he'd been traumatized. He definitely was not defiant at all, and this puzzled her immensely. Hermione bent her head down, trying to whisper to him.

"What the hell happened to you, Malfoy?"

Draco's head snapped up. Is she talking to me? Indeed. He saw her looking at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to make like she was interested in the other mindless conversation that was going on around her.

His eyes narrowed.

"What's it to you, Granger?"

"Never mind."

Hermione stabbed at the food on her plate a few more times, wondering what it was that bothered her so much about him. It wasn't the typical annoyance that she had felt, all those years on the school grounds. No, this was something completely different. Something akin to her conscience nagging at her that they had it all wrong; that Malfoy wasn't the bad guy they all thought he was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of warm arms circling her torso and lips that softly kissed her on the cheek.

"How's it going, love?"

She turned and smiled into the face of George Weasley., her boyfriend. They had been together for almost a year now, after she finally realized that the Weasley she was fond of had not been Ronald after all, but one of his brothers. The fact that he had felt the same about her floored her completely. She thought back to when he'd let her know for sure:

Hermione had been sitting in the living room of the Burrow, silently staring into the fire for what has seemed an age. She'd tried warming up to Ronald. Everyone thought they were the perfect couple; that they should marry.

She shivered at the thought. Every time she'd been kissed by Ron, it felt like a wet slobbery kiss that someone's little brother would give their big sister. The young man was emotionally immature, and try as she might, she could never manage to hold an intellectual conversation for more than a minute with him.

"Eh-hem."

Barely raising her gaze, she noticed one of the twins standing next to her, vaguely asking her permission to sit next to her on the raggedy old couch. With a flick of her wrist, she indicated that it didn't really matter at that point if he did or not. When she felt the weight of his body sink in next to her, Hermione turned to see which of the infamous pranksters had decided to grace her with his presence.

"Ah; Hello George."

His brows came together, causing his forehead to furrow as he wondered how she knew him to be George, and not Fred. Even Molly had trouble telling her own sons apart from time to time.

As if reading his mind, she chuckled before responding.

"The mole on the side of your jaw, silly. You have one there; Fred doesn't."

Absentmindedly, George reached up to touch his jawline, wondering how he had missed the existence of that little piece of extra skin there for so long.

"Well, I guess there's no hiding anything from Ms. Hermione Granger, now is there?"

Hermione managed a half-smile, before lowering her eyes again and picking at the lint covering her pant leg. She felt uncomfortable sitting beneath the tall boy's gaze. No, scratch that. Tall man's... She could no longer think of George or Fred Weasley as boys. They had indeed grown up.

They were successful businessmen, albeit with a great backer in Harry. And though they still made up many joke products, they had stopped making any that were truly malicious in nature. Now, whether that's because they matured or they'd gotten tired of listening to Hermione harrassing them, she did not know. The thought brought an even broader smile to her lips at last.

"I don't know what it is that I said, but I'm glad I said it."

She shifted her weight a bit, bringing her legs underneath her and turning slightly toward him.

"George, how do you tell someone that you don't feel the same way about them that they do you? Without breaking their heart, that is..."

George sighed and brought one of his hands up, dragging it through his shaggy red hair. He hated being the person that everyone went to for advice. If it wasn't Hermione, then it was Ginny, or Harry. Even Ron went to him to ask him what to do about the girl who was now asking him this question.

"Well, if you're talking about Ickle Ronnykins... The best you can do is be upfront with him, 'Mione. Oh, he's not going to take it well in the first place. But in the long run, he'll realize that it was the right thing after all. Besides, if he really cares about you, he'll only want you to be happy. And if that's not with him, then I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

Her eyes lit up a bit. She had been thinking of finding a way to let him down easily, or to slowly drop hints to make him realize how she truly felt. But George was right. Dragging it out would only make it worse in the long run. She leaned over and gave him a bear hug.

"Oh George! Thank you. You're brilliant! How did you ever think of that one?"

"Because it's what I want for you."

Hermione froze. Something in the way he said it made her slowly pull back, and the smile was replaced by one of her famous inquisitive looks. Was he saying? Did he basically just say? Oh, spit it out already!

"George Weasley, are you saying that you have feelings for me?"

Slowly, the color of his skin began to change. A red flush was creeping from his neck, all the way up to the tips of his ears. And if she had been able to get a look beneath those clothes, Hermione was pretty sure that it covered the rest of him, too. By the time that her conscious mind registered that thought, she had begun to change colors, too.

He nodded, and reached up to put his hands on her arms, which where still surrounding him in a loose hug. George smiled as he noticed her blushing, and saw her quickly lower her eyes, though she did nothing to detach herself from him.

"If I didn't know any better, Ms. Granger, I would say that deep down, you might be harboring some of those yourself for a certain debonair and dashing red-headed Weasley twin."

She laughed out loud as she caught the sight of him wiggling his eyebrows. Hermione smacked him on the arm, and turned a bit to lean up against him. It was a comfortable position, and not one that she wanted to move from.

"I don't know... Maybe."

"Hmm. Well, when you have a better idea, you know where to find me. But I still think you should let my little brother off the hook first."

Nodding in silent agreement, she leaned back a little more, and sat there in front of the warm fire, for what seemed like another age.

"Hermione, are you all right? That's the third time Ron's asked you to pass the potatoes. Off in dreamland again, are we?"

Harry winked as he saw his best friend turning pink. He knew that she hadn't seen George in a while, and he was happy that at least one of the twins had made it to their weekly dinner here at Headquarters. He reached out to take the piping hot bowl of mash, and almost dropped it on the table before his other best friend.

"Thanks."

Hermione felt a gentle squeeze on her hand as George sat down beside her. The sounds of everyone's animated discussions about the latest Quidditch match made her wince. She couldn't believe that in these dangerous times, there were wizards out there who would still rather play a game of Quidditch than search and destroy Voldemort.

The discussions were drowned out in her mind, though, as she caught Draco Malfoy staring at her and George. And the look that quickly disappeared from his eyes as he lowered his head again to finally concentrate on eating the food she'd placed before him. What was that? Was it, hurt? Again, she spoke lowly, beneath her breath knowing that no one probably heard her anyway.

"Curious. Very curious."

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The next day began early for everyone. At six o'clock sharp, just as the sun began to rise, Draco found himself being woken from a fitful sleep.

"Up you go, Malfoy. Why Harry couldn't just get the bloody house elf to come get you is beyond me!"

He slowly opened one eye to see Ron Weasley standing before him, his wand placed very close to Draco's left cheek.

"Oi! Malfoy! Are you deaf? Let's go! The rest of them have already been downstairs since before dawn. You won't be getting breakfast until after this mess, so I suggest you get a move on."

Draco swung his legs over the edge of the bed that Potter had led him to the night before. His stomach grumbled in protest as he reached over to pull his shirt on over his head.

In the fresh light of morning, he saw that he was in a very small room, indeed. There were cobwebs over the only window, and there was barely space for the bed he was sleeping in. It must have been used as a study or pantry by the Black family years ago. He guessed that with the number of Order members who he had seen last night, there was probably a full house, and this was the only safe place for Draco to be kept. At least it wasn't a dungeon.

He shivered at the thought of the Malfoy family dungeons. More than once, Draco had found himself on the receiving end of his father's anger. And though he'd never been forced to participate, he'd seen what his father had done to his and Voldemort's victims. It had abhorred him at the time, and he thanked Merlin that someone had seen to not put him in that position. In fact, he was almost overjoyed not to be in Voldemort's position. Almost.

"Go."

With the Weasel's wand poking him in between his shoulder blades, Draco padded through the hall and down the stairs to what had once been the Black family sitting room. It was a parlor of sorts, meant for meeting and greeting people as they entered the house. There was a fireplace against the far wall, which was good as he was currently without a jacket, and feeling the chill of the morning air in his very bones.

"Dammit, Ronald! Do you think you could have let him at least put his shoes on? What's the point in bringing him down here in bare feet?"

"B-but 'Mione... Wait a second! Do you think he would have done the same for you if you'd been in his place!"

"He's right. I wouldn't."

Everyone turned at the soft sound of the words as they escaped Malfoy's dry lips. Yes, he was cold. And yes, he was standing barefoot on the hardwood floor. But he really didn't expect them to care. To them, he was just another Slytherin who'd been working for the Dark Lord. A traitor to wizardkind.

Hermione walked over and grasped his bicep with her thin fingers, tugging on his arm and pulling him closer to the fire. She was irritated if not angry.

"That's not the point, Ronald. Too bad you never went to a muggle church in your youth. Golden Rule: Do Unto Others As You Would Have Done Unto You. I guess the concept is a little farfetched for purebloods."

"Hey!"

"That's enough, Ms. Granger."

Minerva had been watching the exchange between the three young wizards since Ron had brought Malfoy into the room. In truth, she was proud of Hermione for her actions. The young witch was correct. Just because someone would have treated her like filth if the roles had been reversed did not mean that she had to lower herself to their level.

"Now, please sit Mr. Malfoy closer to the fire so that he may warm himself. He is obviously not in possession of the proper clothing for this house and the chill air that passes through beginning every evening. Mr. Potter, if you could call Kreacher and get him to fetch some proper shoes for Mr. Malfoy. A size twelve, yes?"

Malfoy nodded, understanding that he was being addressed by his former Professor. He kept his face expressionless. It would not do to let them see the happiness he felt when she'd addressed him directly, as if he was indeed still worth something.

"Good. Now that will be taken care of. I will explain to you what will be taking place beneath the roof of this establishment, so that there will be no surprises for you. None that I'm sure you wouldn't be expecting anyway."

The older witch's lips were drawn into a thin line as she explained this would be the Order's version of the Wizengamot. McGonagall did not trust the Ministry, of that Draco was sure. And with good reason. The Minister himself was in Lord Voldemort's pocket. They would find nothing but treachery there. A round of questions would be asked by each Order member, and she suggested that he tell the truth the first time around. Because a record would be made of both questions and responses. They would then break for lunch, after which a second round of questioning would begin; this time under the influence of Veritaserum. A spell would be used to compare his responses, seeing if there were any holes in his story.

"Understood?"

Draco gulped audibly before they began, and nodded. Yes. He understood.

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After several hours of questioning, and at least the last thirty minutes spent listening to everyone's stomachs growling, McGonagall finally called an end to the first round.

"All right everyone. That is quite enough."

She was met with a few protests as both Ron and Harry, along with George Weasley still had a few questions they personally wanted answered.

"I said enough! Ms. Granger?"

"Yes ma'am..."

"Take Mr. Malfoy upstairs. He needs a proper bath and a change of clothes. It would do us no good for him to catch cold before we can finish what we've started. Thank you."

Hermione nodded, silently wondering why she was the one who had once again been assigned to be Malfoy's nursemaid. She quietly led the way as the young wizard followed her up the stairs, and into the large bathroom that was impossibly siturated in the center of the second floor.

Draco looked around him in interest, keeping his features passive. The rest of the house was cleanly, but old. But this one room was much grander than all the others. It had a large triangular shaped bath in one corner, and a shower stall on the other side of the room. He watched as with a flick of Granger's wand, she conjured up some fresh towels and a change of undergarments and clothes for him. A slight blush crept up his cheeks as he turned to look at her.

"Don't worry, Granger. I'm in no mood for a striptease this afternoon."

"Ugh! As if!"

She groaned and pulled the door closed tightly behind her. Boys can be horrible sometimes! Wait a second... Did I just refer to Malfoy the same way I do everyone else? I must be going soft.

Hermione was so absorbed with that thought she managed to crash straight into George as she was walking down the hall.

"In a hurry to get somewhere, love? I thought you were keeping an eye on Malfoy?"

Adjusting herself, Hermione looked up into those eyes, seeing the mirth they held.

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to keep an eye on him? Hmmm? Would someone like to tell me that? You'd think McGonagall wants me to be in there the whole time he's bathing? I think not."

"I think that is exactly what you're supposed to be doing, Ms. Granger. You're a junior auror and you need to start acting like it. Now turn back around and get in there and watch your prisoner."

Hermione shrunk back a bit, the fire gone completely out of her.

"Yes sir."

She punched George soundly in the arm as he began to laugh, she hoped hard enough to leave a mark. Taking a deep breath, she walked back to the door and opened it slowly. As she looked into the room, she saw Malfoy leaning backward in the tub, up to his neck in bubbles. Hermione couldn't control the giggle that came to the surface.

"Merlin Granger! Haven't you ever heard of privacy before?"

His actions were futile, really, but Draco grabbed the nearest towel and attempted to cover himself a bit. This only served to further encourage Hermione's laughter, which slowly became louder, a veritable floodgate waiting to burst.

Draco looked down at himself and understood perfectly. He smiled sheepishly before regaining his typical cool demeanor; but not before Hermione caught the look.

"Curious."

"What's so curious, Granger?"

"You, Malfoy. Just you."

The rest of the bath they spent in silence, Hermione turning around to give him what little privacy she could. She heard the sound of the water going down the drain and gave him a few more minutes before turning around.

"Ready?"

Draco cocked his head to one side as he heard the loud grumble coming from his stomach.

"Hungry."

"Well, let's go then. Molly comes and cooks for us in the afternoons, so you're sure to enjoy lunch today, at least."

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Holding his belly with one hand, Draco thought for sure that he had never had such a wonderful meal in all his life. Not even the house elves at Hogwarts had cooked food to taste this delicious. And he was so impressed by Mrs. Weasley's onion soup that he did something entirely out of character - at least out of character for how they all were used to Draco Malfoy behaving.

"Mrs. Weasley, might I say thank you for such a fine meal."

All eyes turned to look at him as Molly blushed and smiled lightly. Ron and Harry sat with arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Draco quickly looked down at his empty bowl, feeling slightly embarrassed and unwanted in the room.

"You're welcome Mr. Malfoy."

It was then he looked up and found a face of approval coming from the Weasley family matriarch and his former Hogwarts professor. He nodded quickly and swung his eyes back down the table, catching a glimpse of everyone who was currently staring at him blatantly. Weaselette almost choked on her own soup. Ronald had dropped his bread on the plate in front of him, seemingly disgusted. Harry had begun chewing on his hunk of bread, taking out his own thoughts of the matter on the poor piece of food in his hand. Lupin sat quietly, thoughtfully gazing at the young man. Moody had his "good" eye trained on Draco, and the lone Weasley twin had a rather blank expression on his own face. It was Hermione who surprised him the most.

There was a slight twinkle in her eye as she looked at him. She wasn't smiling, but he could feel her emotions radiating toward him, and he swore that she winked at him before he dropped his eyes back down. But on the inside, he was now smiling, too.

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"Well, I-I...I just can't believe it. There's no denying it I suppose, but it doesn't mean that I cannot believe it."

Several hours had passed, and McGonagall was looking, quite amazed at the piece of parchment she held in her old, frail hands. Harry stood, his eyes narrowing as he made his way closer to his former headmistress. Ron came close on his heels.

"What is it, Professor McGonagall?"

"Yeah, when do we get to throw him into Azkaban?"

"I hate to say it, Potter...but it seems we had it all wrong. The boy has been horribly misjudged and has done nothing wrong."

Draco sat, completely still, never changing the range of his gaze, which was focused on the climbing flames in front of him. He felt the increasing heat emanating from the fireplace, but it did nothing to animate him from the position he was now seated in.

If he had bother to turn, he would have seen Harry's lips drawing into a thin line, and Ronald's fists balling up at his sides. Neither one of them could believe it, either. Malfoy-Draco Malfoy, innocent of all charges? It was Hermione, however, that let her emotions get the better of her.

She walked over in front of him, her face white with anger. Her body was shaking with it.

"Malfoy. Malfoy! Look at me!"

The tone in her voice was authoritative, and he felt obliged to comply. Slowly, tears glistening in his blue-grey eyes, he lifted his head to allow his sullen gaze to meet hers. He couldn't believe how angry she was; yet he fully understood.

McGonagall placed one hand cautiously on the young witch's tensed up arm. Hermione slowly looked into the older woman's knowledgable countenance.

"Miss Granger...everyone. We, ourselves will not be sending Mr. Malfoy to Azkaban without a proper vote. The results of this test prove that he acted purely out of fear, and under the influence of both his own malicious father and of Voldemort himself. It has always been the plan of this group to offer Mr. Malfoy a choice, but only if majority rules to give him that choice. All in favor of giving him the right to decide, raise your hands. All those in favor of sending him straight to the Wizengamot, which in turn will most likely sentence him to the dementor's kiss, raise your hand."

Ron Weasley walked over to his best female friend. He bent his head down to whisper to her, but spoke louder in his low voice than intended.

"Hermione, you haven't voted."

He, as well as the rest of the Order members present, were indeed not prepared for her response.

"Vote! You all expect me to vote! How can you?"

Her fists clenched and unclenched as tears began to stream down her rapidly reddening cheeks.

"I have no right to judge him! How can I?"

She got closer to Malfoy's face. So close Draco could feel her breath upon his own skin.

"How could you, Malfoy? You made the first six years of my life at Hogwarts, the place I always thought of as my true home, a living hell! And for what? Because you didn't have the balls to stand up to Daddy? No, I have no desire to judge a person like you...when all you did was judge me my entire life for a reason you didn't even believe in, and for something I couldn't even help."

"Hermione..."

Ron reached out to grab her arm as she began to leave the room.

"Sod off, Ronald!"

"Merlin, what the hell has gotten into her?"

George, who had watched his girlfriend very carefully during the entire exchange, let his voice trail after her as she made her way up the stairs.

"How would you feel, Ron? Having to judge someone you had learned to dislike so much, maybe even learned to hate? And then to find out the only reason that he did so was basically to survive? Hermione can't judge him, mate. I think the only things she feels right now for Malfoy are sadness and pity."

Their attention was drawn back to the fireplace as Moody cleared his throat and spoke for the first time that afternoon in his customary gruff voice.

"Well, that settles it, then. Even without Miss Granger's vote, it is still 4 in favor of giving the young man a choice, and two against. Minerva?"

McGonagall looked down her pointy nose and over the edge of her glasses to give Malfoy a stern look that he remembered all too well from his days in Transfiguration. Her lips made their familiar purse before she spoke.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy. You are hereby given 24 hours to make the decision for yourself, then. You may either join the Order of the Phoenix, or you may choose to be tried by the Wizengamot..."

"One-way ticket to Azkaban!"

"Alistair...quiet please. As I was saying, you may make the choice yourself. In twenty-four hours, this council will reconvene and you may make your decision known to the rest of us.. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly."

"Okay then. I suggest that we all retire for the evening. I am sure that Mr. Malfoy has much to think about, and dinner will be served in two hours. That is all."

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Even though Draco Malfoy had often proven that he could be a more than adequate git, he was not born a complete idiot.

During the 24 hour time limit McGonagall had put on him, he had only two visitors: George Weasley and Remus Lupin. The former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor brought Draco his lunch along with a few words that he supposed were meant to be some sort of apology.

"Eat up, young man. You'll need your strength ...whatever you decide."

As the thin man in tattered robes was about to leave the room, he quietly turned and stared at Draco for a moment.

"For what it is worth Malfoy, I am sorry that you had to go through all that. No father who has any respect for himself should ever do that to his own son."

Draco nodded in understanding, slowly chewing his bite of food as Lupin pulled the door until it clicked softly. His second visitor arrived at dinnertime. A soft rap came on the door, and a flash of long red hair was seen as its owner's head poked cautiously around the door and through its frame.

"Oi, Malfoy...seeing as you weren't making an appearance at any of the meals today, mum said to drop this off to ya."

"Thanks...Weasley. Sorry, but I never did bother to tell the difference between you two blokes."

George smiled broadly, as if he were obviously the more attractive of the two, anyway. After passing the tray to Draco, he leaned his tall frame against the ancient wood and surveyed his younger brother's old adversary.

"Hermione told me I have a mole here..."

George pointed to his jawline...

"...that my brother Fred does not. But, shh...don't tell mother. It would give her one more advantage to use over us when we're driving her wonky."

Draco nodded furiously as he was ravenous, and had his mouth too full of Molly's good cooking to respond otherwise.

"Oh, and Malfoy? Don't disappoint Hermione by making her look like a fool."

And with that, George shut the door quickly behind him. Draco swallowed the food that had termporarily stuck in his throat, shaking his head as he spoke lightly to himself.

"Now I wonder what the hell he meant by that?"

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His sleep was hazy at best that night. Flashes of his life up to that point came to him. When he was five and got his first broom as a present from his father. And right after his sixth birthday party, when Lucius made him go to the dungeons to witness the torturing of some poor muggle man and his daughter. He saw things that day that no child should ever have to see; not even as an adult.

Third year, when a young, defiant muggleborn witch clocked him right outside the castle. Fourth year at Hogwarts, when he'd watched her floating effortlessly across the dance floor at the Yule Ball. It was the second time that he'd really thought of her as a person, and not just a mudblood. And during Transfiguration, when he'd let loose a white dove; but no one had seemed to see the beauty of the creature except for him.

In his fifth year, he'd decided to get back at them; get back at them all. Flashes of helping that toad Umbridge round up Dumbledore's Army. He'd sneered and smirked on the outside, all the while aching within just to be accepted as part of their group. By sixth year...it was too late. Voldemort has already wound Draco 'round his little finger. Or so he'd thought.

Even Draco himself had been surprised when faced with a dying old wizard, he'd been unable to finish the deed he'd been assigned by his father, the Dark Lord, and even his own mother. Ah, Mother; I wonder what has become of you. No doubt his father had done away with her. In the family known as Malfoy, one did not go against the patriarchal wishes. That is precisely why Draco ran...and became one of the hunted.

Over and over and over again, one vision in his mind shone brighter than the others. Granger. The look of hurt she had given him in front of the fireplace just the day before. Draco never thought he'd see that kind of anguish again, but it touched him all the way in the center of his soul. And he never, ever wanted to see that look again.

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Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Go away Dobby! I'm trying to sleep!"

"Shut your arse up Malfoy and welcome to the land of the living!"

Draco rubbed his eyes and shook his head, unable to do more than peer out of his swollen eyelids. He'd been crying. About what, he could scarcely remember; only that it had to do with whatever he'd dreamed. As he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet meeting the well placed slippers awaiting him on the cold floor, he noted the profound sadness that overcame him as he began to meet the day.

"Malfoy!"

"All right already! Don't get your bloody knickers in a twist, Weasley!"

He grumbled as he pulled on a sweater over the clothes he'd slept in the night before, and gingerly opened the door to keep the squeaking noise to a minimum. No such luck.

Down the hall, another door opened in response to the loud squeak of his own. A bushy head of brown hair appeared in the doorframe, as its owner rubbed her eyelids with an open palm.

"Good morning, Malfoy."

He nodded, noting that she, too, hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep.

"Look, Granger, I just wanted..."

He stopped, noticing her held up hand.

"Malfoy, I have a raging headache and I slept for shite. You don't need to apologize. I only hope you've managed to make the right decision; not for me, but for yourself."

Draco quietly walked down the length of the hall until he stood in front of her, taking in her messy appearance - finding that he in fact was intrigued by this side of Hermione Granger.

"Do you often wake up with drool on your cheek?"

Hermione jumped as she slapped one hand to the side of her face, feeling the cold, slightly slimy substance covering her pale skin. She quickly became a shade of red that would rival a steamed lobster, and just as quickly managed to retreat back into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Ronald Weasley poked his head back up the stairwell in front of Draco, looking around with narrowed eyes.

"What was that all about?"

Draco just shrugged his shoulders in response, pushed past the red-haired young man and made his way to the breakfast table. A very confursed Ron Weaasley stood there for a minute or two before finally following their 'guest' to the table to consume his morning meal.

Twenty minutes later, a much neater, more refreshed-looking Hermione came down the stairs and sat down to the meal, which had already begun. Looking around her, she noticed the boys and Ginny were deep in conversation about another Quidditch match, leaving her and Malfoy out in the cold. None of the older members of the Order, save Molly, had managed to wake as of yet.

"Malfoy, I wanted to say sorry for earlier. I was not at all myself."

She watched as he chewed his food very slowly, and swallowed carefully, as if afraid of what to say to her. Finally he spoke.

"Apology accepted."

Hermione sighed. She had hoped for more than that as a response from him, but who was she kidding. Miracles happen, just not every day. Cocking her head to one side, she continued to blatantly stare at the young man while he ate; taking a peek every few seconds to make sure no one caught her starting - especially not George, Harry or Ron.

"Malfoy, what the hell happened to you?"

Draco slowly lowered his fork, wondering if she would ever let up on asking him that. Probably not. He decided to put off answering her until later, which he knew could turn out to be just as bad.

"Later, Granger. I promise you. Later, when we can find two seconds alone, I will tell you."

Hermione nodded, slowly plotting how she was going to get Draco Malfoy alone... I can't believe I'm thinking this! Alone so that she could satisfy the curiosity that was slowly eating her alive.

The rest of the meal, they did not speak. Draco quietly kept his head down and ate, looking up only when spoken to - which really only happened when someone wanted him to pass a dish of food or whatnot. He knew that if he made the decision to stay, and to be a part of the Order, he would not have their respect. Their pity, maybe, but their respect would have to be hard-earned. He could feel it.

Draco also noticed that in-between comments about Quidditch, he was carefully being watched by the Boy Who Lived. Sure, Potter was now a man by most people's standards, but no one held higher standards in this life than a Malfoy. It was something that was ingrained in his very soul from the time he was an infant, and it was not a thing that would be easily gotten over.

Soon he found himself helping to clear the table; a menial task that he had always left up to the house elves, but that he seemed to find some peace in doing under the roof of Grimmauld Place. Draco passed the dirty plates to Molly after he scraped them clean, who in turn washed them carefully and passed them to a waiting Hermione, who was quickly drying them - the Muggle way. For some reason, this brought the faintest of smiles to his lips. Here she was, a full-fledged witch with all the capabilities such endowed, and yet she had so much pride she would still do things the hard way.

"Is that all, Mr. Malfoy?"

The Weasley matriarch's voice brought him out of his private thoughts. He shook the daydreams from his mind and changed his countenance.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley... Is 'what' all?"

The older woman smiled and laughed. She noticed more than everyone thought, and she could tell that the young man was lost in a dream. Maybe it was something in life he had taught himself, to keep away from the sorrows of his everyday living .

"The dishes, Draco. The dishes. Isn't that right, Molly?"

There was a twinkle in her eye as she turned to Hermione and nodded. Yes, the young woman was dating one of her twin boys. But deep down, she knew that George might have great feelings for Hermione, but he would never quite be a solid match for her. Molly Weasley turned, with her hands on both hips, and then made shooing motions with her arms.

"Go on, you two. There are only a couple of hours before the council meets in the living room again, so you'd better do whatever you have to do. Off with the both of ya!"

Hermione reached over and gave her second mother a firm hug, watching out of the corner of her eye as Malfoy looked over his shoulder before making his way for the stairs.

He had almost made it to his door before he heard her voice.

"Hey, Malfoy. You promised, remember?"

He sighed in resignation, not thinking that she would remind him so soon. Draco opened the door to his tiny little room and motioned for her to go inside.

"Ladies first."

Her eyebrows raised, Herimone, though taken aback at his display of chivalry, made haste to get in through the doorframe before anyone else saw her. She's already caught hell more than once in her youth for 'fraternizing with the enemy', and she wasn't about to cause that arguement to begin anew.

The door closed with a quiet snap behind him, Draco noting that sometime between getting up in the morning and finishing breakfast, someone - most likely that horrid house elf Kreacher - had oiled its squeaky hinges. Thank Merlin. He walked over and sat down next to her on the bed, seeing as it was the only place for them to sit within the tiny walls.

As if reading his thoughts, she looked around them.

"You know, Malfoy, I could put an enlargement charm on this room, and afford you a bit more space. Then perhaps we could decide on some more comfortable furniture to conjure up for you. That is, if you're going to stick around long enough to enjoy it."

"I'd like that, Granger."

With a flick of her wrist, Hermione cast her charm and made the room loads larger.

"Scourgify."

She also managed to clean it up a bit.

"You know, I really don't know why those boys had to put you in here like this. I suppose it's to perpetuate the feeling that you're not welcome, or something."

"But I'm not, am I?"

Hermione looked over to see his eyes clouded with sadness. It was true. Most of the people under this roof would never welcome him with open arms. But there wasn't much she could do to change that one. She knew from instinct that Molly had already accepted him. And Lupin. Even George talked to Malfoy on occasion, managing to treat him like a real person. But Harry and Ron would always be a different story. Malfoy might do a few good deeds in the future to earn their respect, but respect and admiration and acceptance were all different things in the universe. She sighed aloud, putting one hand on his left shoulder in a show of comfort. She half expected the flinch he made as her palm rested there, but she didn't make to move it, either.

"No, Malfoy. You're not. I'm sorry, but not everyone here is perfect. Even you could understand that."

Draco drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them with both of his arms. Her hand on his shoulder was currently giving him the only warmth he had felt from another human being since he'd last seen his own mother, and this weighed heavy on his heart.

"And you, Granger?"

"I...I..."

She was saved from answering by a knock on the door.

"We can discuss this later, Malfoy. Coming!"

The door opened, showing a slightly irritated Harry Potter, his eyes narrowed as he looked towards the young man on the small bed, and then to his best friend standing before him.

"It's time. Let's go."

Hermione bit her lip in a mixture of fear and anticipation. Draco merely nodded as he stood up to go downstairs and meet his fate.