OOC: It's been a long time coming I'm aware but I think I've finally got my groove for this thing. I'm having to handwrite my posts to feel like I'm giving it my best. I hope you are well and speak soon!

IC: By contrast, the Head Girl had had a rather wonderful day after her Care of Magical Creatures class. Charms had proved just as engaging as previous years. So enlightening in fact that Hermione hadn't even minded that Professor Flitwick had deftly pushed aside her enquiries about the charm that he had created for Hagrid.

Twice.

Still, her mood hadn't been tarnished, despite Ron's albeit unwitting attempts at such a task. For an impressive four hours after that rather unexpected class, Ron Weasley had managed a near constant complaint string about all three of their partners.

Amidst her classes, the Gryffindor had been paying quite close attention to the behaviour of her house mates. Their seeming compliance to work alongside the Slytherins on the whole would make quite a few of her obstacles as Head Girl easier to manage. Anything that made her life easier, especially when it came to matters that she simply had no control over – her pet hate – was a plus in her book, no matter the source.

Now if only the Head Boy would see things the same way, life would be much easier but at least it was currently tolerable between them – an improvement on past relations. So she focused instead on the difficulties she could do something about – like tutoring Neville in Transfiguration during their joint free period between Charms and the subject in question. She couldn't help but sympathise with the poor wizard, for although he was obviously talented when it came to Herbology, it seemed to make mastering a great many of the other subjects harder than they should be to grasp.

Really, he was almost as useless as Ron at times when it came to grasping magical theory, let alone the practical application but Hermione liked a challenge and Neville was always enthusiastic; a contrast to her two best friends. She often told herself that Harry was a good all-rounder – he understood theory and application equally well, yet he took a leaf from Ron's book of laziness far too regularly to be the 'great wizard' that she had called him once.

“Hermione?”

The question brought the young witch out of her internal musings, her hazel eyes meeting his green ones as they smiled simultaneously.

“Sorry Harry, I was deep in thought. What do you need from me?” she said quickly. However, before the wizard could even open his mouth to respond, an anguished yelp came from the Slytherin table.

That caused momentary shocked silence across the Great Hall, making even Harry, Hermione and Ron to peek over to the table in question, not that they were really in the dark. Lavender Brown had been talking about Blaise's unfortunate incident all damned day. Her lamentations that such a thing should not happen to such a wizard nearly had even carefully controlled individuals – Hermione included – wanting to slap the girl to get her to shut up simpering.

“Serves him bloody right,” Ron muttered under his breath as he served himself some potatoes, Hermione's keen ears catching the barely audible words, her lips immediately tightening into a frown.

“Hush Ron,” she snapped, before shifting her cool gaze back towards Harry, a questioning expression on her features. “You wanted to ask me something?”

The green-eyed wizard nodded briskly before leaning forward slightly so that he could talk lower and still be heard by the young witch. “Why Malfoy?”

At that Hermione rose to stand immediately, glad that she had finished dinner early as she scooped her books into her bent arms that she used as a cradle. “Because he is Head Boy Harry. It makes sense, seeing as I do so many other duties with him already,” she hissed in reply, eyes flickering upwards to land on the Slytherin in question briefly.

She had hoped to avoid that question until later on, knowing that Harry and Ron weren't always understanding of her logical, if uncomfortable choices. Ahough she had been grateful that the question had been innocent, she did not appreciate the youngest Weasley male's growing infuriation with the situation she had placed herself within.

“He's bad news Hermione!” Ron blurted out, reaching out for her forearm to secure her staying to listen to what he thought was clearly sound advice,

“For the love of Merlin Ronald, he's Head Boy and I'm Head Girl! I'm not looking to engage in a tryst with him!” The words were spoken deathly quiet for a crowded dining hall that had returned to loud bustle and noise after the initial shock of Blaise's outcry.

Even if Ron couldn't decipher her words or tone, he was sufficiently quelled by the stern look in her eyes. “I... Fine,” he relented reluctantly after a few heartbeats, releasing her arm but still scowling.

In return, Hermione smiled a little tightly at them both before making her way across the Great Hall to the double doors. It was half five already, but the witch hoped she could squeeze in a shower and perhaps some extra reading before her patrol with Draco at seven.

The smooth, black surface of his highly lacquered broomstick slipped among the trees, its polished handle gleaming darkly in the moonlight. Dark clouds were swirling in the sky, and far in the distance thunder crackled. The rider ducked and weaved among the branches, knees bent and arms outstretched, face tilted upward toward the blackened, swirling sky. Soft, crystal drops of rain began to fall, sliding down his cheeks like tears, catching in his eyelashes and slowly soaking through the thick, luxurious wool of his cloak, warmed by his own body heat by the time the moisture reached his skin.

Draco felt everything with an icy clarity: the brittle, freezing wind across his bare hands, the shifting gravities that pressed against him as he soared in dizzying loops, the moon above him, below him, above, below. He breathed in the forest, tendrils of pine coating his throat and tongue, thick as syrup.

The cold air seemed to make sounds crisper: The loose tail of his cloak cracked like a wind-whipped flag, thrashing against the sides of his legs with every turn. He squinted against the cold, eyes watering, but the tears made his vision even sharper. Sheets of rain whipped past in glittering streaks and moonlight silvered the world. White-blonde strands of hair stuck to his face, plastered down by the rain. Rivulets of water ran across his face, a streak of lighting brightening the sky for a heartbeat. The rain pounded down, his clothing now soaked. A chill ran through him and his pulled higher into the sky, above the trees, soaring weightlessly with his eyes closed, the rain stinging across his face as he flew even faster, leaning forward onto his broom, almost horizontal.

The cold was head clearing though, and cut through the events of the day, leaving him in a state of peace. As soon as dinner had ended, Draco had found himself outside, his body leading him there of its own accord.

He slowed his broom, bringig it to a graceful halt on the flat roof of the astronomy tower. There were no observers tonight. The rain, now hailing down with a loud forcefulness around him, completely obscured the stars, and it made the moon a hazy gray-white figure in the distance. Draco found the door and pulled himself through it, into the winding staircase of the tower. The inside of the castle was warmer than outside, but an uncontrollable shiver ran through him. He had flown in the rain before, of course. Whole games of Quidditch had been played in the middle of storms.

What he needed now was a hot shower and a change of clothes.

His soaking uniform dripped onto the stone floor, leaving puddles behind him, which he ignored. Some house elf would clean them up. It wasn't his problem. And if some little first year wasn't watching what they were doing and tripped, well, lesson learned he thought.

The Slytherin trudged up the stairs to the dormitory he and Granger shared. The candles flickered, making the corridor warm and inviting. Warm, he thought with a longing sigh. That particular adjective was sounding pretty good. When he opened the door to the common room, Granger was nowhere in sight. He deposited his broom against the wall, leaning it carefully with its handle upward. He pried his shoes off with his toes and threw himself into a plush, cushioned chair in front of the fire tiredly. His wet clothing was soaking the fabric of the chair he sat in, but he paid it no mind. Someone else would fix it.

A deep chime from the enormous clock in the corner of the Heads common room sounded seven times, and Draco Malfoy sighed. No hot shower, he thought, peeling off his wet cloak. Time for patrols. Warmth would have to wait for another time. The wet cloak was heavy, and he tossed it across the back of the chair with a sigh. The uniform underneath hadn't fared any better. The dark charcoal sweater was completely soaked, sticking to him uncomfortably, the collar of the white shirt beneath it crooked and turned half translucent. He loosened his tie and took it off, then slipped his wet shoes back on with a soggy "squelch". His nose crinkled in distaste.

Removing his wand from a long, thin pocket along the side of his pants, Draco performed a quick drying charm. He felt the water being sucked off of him, warm moisture taking it's place. The spell didn't completely dry everything. His shoes in particular still felt quite wet, and patches of his uniform still felt uncomfortably damp, but it was an improvement. The charm had almost completely dried his hair, but now it stuck out at odd angles away from his thin, pointed face. His mother would have had a fit, he mused, if she had seen him like this. However, it was his duty as Head Boy to start patrols at seven, and he didn't have the time to make himself presentable as a Malfoy.

Speaking of which, where was the mudblood Head Girl?

At times, Hermione relished the freedom that came with having separate quarters to the rest of her House, even if it did mean occasionally sharing space with the Head Boy, who had, it seemed, taken on a mission in life to try and make her life difficult in some of the most subtle ways possible. Even talking about dealing with Draco Malfoy in a semi-amicable manner immediately set Ron's temper flaring and these days, even Harry looked ill at ease with his best friend getting along with their long held rival. In all honesty, she thought that after five years of schooling together, the boys would have at least tried to find a way to survive that did not involve hateful, pointless insults and yet, alas, sadly not. Her method of talking business with him and not dealing with the Slytherin beyond that seemed to work quite well and implementing such a measure would be a lot easier not living with him.

Maybe she'd try and suggest it to them when they were not so annoyed at the fact she had 'shacked up' – Hermione suppressed a snort of derision – with her Slytherin counterpart, whispering the password to the portrait that led to the shared common room, finding it mercifully empty. Relieved but hardly complacent, she paced across the well-furnished living area and only relaxed fully when only her muted footsteps over carpet could be heard. The stormy weather only made the girl even more grateful for the stone walls that encapsulated the warmth of the open fire, setting the books she had borrowed from the library upon the almost filled bookshelves that were a unique aspect of this common room. It was a feature that, perhaps unsurprisingly, Hermione had been very pleased with, especially considering what Professor Dumbledore had told them as they had been escorted to their quarters for the first time.

From her continuous re-reads of Hogwarts: A History, Hermione was more than aware of the rumours that surrounded the location and style of these jointly shared rooms, despite many past students knowing what lay within. It was a portrait not far from the bathroom that the prefects were allowed to use, meaning that it was easy for Ron to come and visit her after a nice relaxing bath post-rounds and she had already shown Harry how to get there. Neither of them knew the password, but the portrait could be asked to allow certain people through as guests but only when accompanied by Hermione or Draco. This meant that their personal space did not get encroached upon without the direct involvement of the other Head pupil and any purposeful violation would mean immediate revoking of their title and position. After all, they were supposed to be setting a good example for the others to follow.

At any rate, Hermione found the rooms as comfortable as the Gryffindor common room though she had originally noted with amusement that the rooms were all decorated in colours that were not house related, so to avoid controversy. There were a few comfortable chairs, a couch, numerous bookcases and a large window that had already been used frequently for mail to be sent to them regarding Head duties.

Thunder clapped heavily then, disrupting her from her inner musings to remember with a start that she wanted a shower before some light reading. Books were likely to put her in a good enough mood to bring up the topic of the noise that Draco and Pansy made on a near daily basis. If the Head Boy did not listen, of course, Hermione had every intention of warning to make Professor Dumbledore aware that his social exploits were interfering with her studies. Seeing as soon as she had obtained the reading list for the year during the summer, Hermione had personal copies of all the textbooks scattered throughout her bedroom and the living area. Although initially holding reservations about leaving her books out within Draco's reach, so far she had seen him browsing through them, but none had disappeared. It was, at least, some progress. Then again, maybe he had not realised that the books were hers yet.

Lost in printed words, Hermione reluctantly pulled away from the mound of books around on her bed at sounds of movement outside her portrait door, half-rolling so that she was standing on the far side of her bed. The sounds of squelching – that certainly did not sit well with her practical nature; what had he been doing – were silenced as the clock chimed.

Seven o'clock. Well, she mused as she set down a Herbology textbook, for all his faults, at least he's punctual. There could have been worse Head Boys, she knew. “Hello Draco,” she greeted, stepping out of her bedroom and taking in his dishevelled appearance with a raised eyebrow. He would object to her calling him by his given name, she knew, but they were supposed to be working together and Hermione refused to let a silly, petty House rivalry get in the way of simple politeness now that they had to spend a lot of time together, by choice or not.

This would be their first patrol together as a pair, having already worked out schedules for the entire term. Another good thing about her counterpart; he did not shy away from commitments, at least when it came to Head duties, so even if he was an insufferable prat the rest of the time, he at least made an effort when it came to things that simply had to be done.

Pulling out her wand with a raised eyebrow, Hermione gestured to him questioningly. “Do you want me to try and make you less... damp?” she asked, not out of kindness, but simply because she did not want to have to deal with a wet, sulking Draco Malfoy all patrol. That would get very tedious and she did not want to ruin the strained accord they seemed to have achieved already.

Draco's eyes flashed; anger mixed with distrust colored his pale features, which he set into a scowl. “Never point you wand at a Slytherin unless you're looking for a duel, Granger,” he spat, turning sharply on his heel to leave the common area, not looking back to see if she was following. He'd be damned if he was going to let Potter's little mudblood cast a charm on him, especially as an improvement on his own. He'd rather be soaking wet than have her cast a drying spell on him. She was such a bleeding do-gooder, he thought contemptuously. Always acting better than everyone else, always on the 'good' team.

She may have been the Head Girl, but damnit, he was the Head Boy. Draco Malfoy would not put up with her know-it-all behavior the way everybody else did.

They performed their patrols in silence. Draco was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to make conversation, and besides, what was there really to say to her? Dumbledore had made it infinitely clear that their roles as Head Boy and Head Girl were dependent on their ability to set a good example of friendly inter-house relations for the rest of the school. Were they to be caught fighting, they both might lose their titles. The humiliation would be great.

Saying nothing to her was easier than trying to say nice things to her, or even neutral things. He didn't care what she thought about last week's transfiguration exam, he didn't want to hear about which books she was reading, and he certainly didn't want to hear about Potter and Weasley. He was silently praying the silence between them would last.

Draco was suddenly stopped in his tracks. Had it not been for the sharp “Pop!”, he would have tripped over the house elf that had just appeared. It cowered in front of him, it's bulging eyes aimed at the floor, shivering nervously in it's dingy loin cloth. Draco took a quick step away from it, taken aback by it's sudden appearance. Though he knew that the castle employed many house elves, he had never seen one. House elves made themselves almost invisible to their masters, only appearing if needed. All their work was done when no one was looking. To see one of the disgusting little creatures in front of him was far from usual.

“M-Master Malfoy-” it croaked, tennis-ball eyes flicking up at him for less than a second before focusing on the floor once more. “Vurney comes to tell you-- to tell you-- to tell you that... that--”

“Oh, on with it!” cried Draco, at the brink of his patience. “What did you come to tell me?”

The elf's eyes welled pitifully with tears, threatening to spill in enormous drops down it's wrinkled, knobby face. If it didn't answer it, Draco was ready to teach it a lesson.

“The missus Malfoy, she's been kidnapped!”

Tears rolled down from it's enormous, bulging eyes and it shook violently, cowering below him, waiting for the expected blow from his master. It didn't come- Draco was in shock and hardly even saw the elf. His mind was reeling.

“Kipnapped by who?” he demanded. Was it by a fellow Death Eater hoping to usurp his father from his prominent position? Was it one of the many that the Malfoy family had wronged, seeking revenge?

“The- The Order, Master!” said the elf, trembling from head to toe. “It was the Or-Order of the Ph-Phoenix! The Order that stole the Missus!”

“Why?!” demanded Draco, advancing angrily on the creature. “Where did they take her?!”

The house elf froze, it's body going rigid, eyes opening wide. “The Master...” he whispered. “My Master summons me...”

And the elf disappeared with a sudden pop. Draco tried to grab at it before it disappeared, but it was too late. His fingers made no purchase and he grabbed at thin air. “No!” he yelled. “Come back! I'm your Master! Tell me where they took her!”

The long, empty corridor echoed back at him with his cries, but there came no answer. He couldn't summon the elf if his father demanded it. In the Malfoy family, Lucious was head, of that there was no question.

Eyes wide, full of anger laced with panic, Draco whirled on the girl a few steps behind him. “You!” he hissed, drawing his wand and pointing it at Hermione. “I know that you and your little friends help the Order. Why did they kidnap her? Where did they take her?!”

His wand was poised, aimed right at her chest.

It was not often that Hermione challenged Dumbledore's decision, but walking in silence alongside one of a house that abhorred her existence in mere principle, she wondered how this could ever get better when it was only her actually putting effort in to be nice. Then again, that might actually be the problem, for his worst moods came out at those precise moments. 'I'm hoping for a miracle and we've already had one of those this generation. I'm doomed.'

If he had only let go of his pride for two seconds, Draco would be warmer and Hermione's nerves would not be rapidly fraying with the sounds of squelching as they did their rounds around the fifth floor but no that was far, far too much to ask of him. Awkward or not, she did not relish trying to strike up a fruitful discussion with the sour Slytherin and when the house elf materialised before them both with an audible pop, Hermione hesitating a few steps behind the boy, frowning. The poor creature was distressed and Draco Malfoy was treating it... him... (Hermione could not tell) as if its well-being did not matter in the great scheme of things.

Perhaps a house elf actually daring to appear before him had rattled his good sensibilities, Hermione thought, half-listening to the news that the magical being imparted, not wanting to be rude if the information was confidential. Vaguely, she was aware mention of his mother, Narcissa Malfoy... wait, did the house elf say kidnapped? That snapped the Gryffindor right back to attention, startled for a very different reason than the Head Boy.

The Order had kidnapped Narcissa Malfoy. That made no sense! Who would suggest that and more importantly, who would actually dare to try and snatch the Malfoy lady from right under the enemy's nose? Pieces were not adding up fast enough and her mental racing distracted her away from the distressed Slytherin to not really pay any attention to him until he had pulled his wand on her.

'Bugger.' Completely at a loss for words, both in terms of explanation and rational argument to talk Draco Malfoy down (because he was hardly going to listen to reason right now!), Hermione stared the boy down without letting a shred of her self-doubt flow through to her expression. Instead, sympathy flashed through her eyes, feeling sorry for him. No matter how bad a person was, no one deserved to be told news like that, especially not at his age.

“I'm sorry Draco, but I'm...”

“What is going on over there?” came a stern, sharp yell from halfway down the corridor. The voice belonged to the Herbology professor, rapid footsteps indicating that she was very close by, possibly around the next corner, but Hermione did not dare take her eyes away from her would-be attacker, defiant to the last with her mouth gaping open for only a few seconds before taking the initiative on the matter. This situation would cost them both the Head title unless there was a reasonable explanation for why she had a wand pointed at her in the middle of a corridor when they were patrolling.

“Put your wand down!” Hermione hissed back at the Slytherin meaningfully, glancing just behind him to where she could finally see the shadow of the professor about to turn the corner, gesturing with her hand in a downwards motion.

Finally, the short, rotund form of the Herbology professor came into view clearly and Hermione acted fast and certainly without thinking. Had Harry or Ron been with them, they would not have thought twice about turning the Slytherin in for rule-breaking but she was not them. Proud of being practically minded, the Gryffindor decided to do damage limitation, unable to shake the feeling that this was the most unnerved she had ever seen Draco Malfoy and at this particular moment, was more terrifying than the prospect of the Order having a moral rethink.

“Miss Granger? Mr Malfoy? Explain yourselves! This is no way for the Head students to be behaving!” Professor Sprout demanded, piercing through Hermione's mind deliberation momentarily.

And the reason Hermione was terrified was that she had absolutely no way of knowing what Draco Malfoy was going to do next, for when someone was so emotionally distressed, logic and reason ceased to apply. Books and cleverness were not going to save her if the Slytherin chose to attack her regardless of the professor's presence.

A few thoughts passed through Draco Malfoy's head in very quick succession.

First, Granger was a bloody little backstabbing liar, pretending to want to make peace with him, while she had probably known all along that the Order was going to kidnap his mother.

Second, if he didn't waste a single second, he could hex Granger before Professor Sprout could disarm him, which might not solve his current problem, but would certainly make him feel better.

And last but not least, if he did cast a malicious spell on the putrid Gryfindor before him, he would at the least be stripped of his title, and possibly expelled from school.

Choices, choices.

"Orchidium!" growled Draco, wand pointed straight at Hermione, and a bouquet of flowers erupted from the end of his wand. He caught them deftly in one hand and handed the bouquet to Hermione. His eyes then traveled down to Professor Sprout and he shrugged. "Just thought she deserved some flowers. Thought this might send the right message about inter-house relations," he said calmly. "It's part of a new program Hermione and I are thinking of implementing. So far we're calling it 'Flowers for Foes'. I know, Professor Sprout, it's a terrible name, but we're still planning."

"Actually, Hermione," said Draco, and though his voice was cheerful, his gray eyes were full of steel. "We should get back to the common room. I really need your help with one of my projects."

Somewhere in the background of the blood thudding through Hermione's ears, she could faintly hear Professor Sprout's delighted outburst at Draco's idea, that she could only presume he had pulled out of his arse at the situation's turn. 'Flowers for Foes'? It sounded awkward, clumsy and altogether wrong for an initiative and she lost her focus on the situation for a few moments to ponder whether their Herbology professor had been so blind-sided by the use of flowers to put the point across.

Flowers which Hermione currently held tightly between her fingers. It was nothing extravagant; a bouquet of pansies, but merely holding something like that given from Draco, no matter the intention, made her extremely uncomfortable. Though it seemed unnecessary, the older woman looked to Hermione for clarification, to which the Head Girl could only managed a smile that she hoped looked vaguely embarrassed and a nod.

“Oh... I see!” came the professor's breathless reply, smiling in obvious relief. “Well, it could use a little work, but the medium and idea is there, but please don't point your wand at Miss Granger in the hall again Mr Malfoy, or points will have to be docked. The same goes for you Miss Granger, if the situation would ever arise. You two must set the highest example.”

There was still quite a lot of corridors to patrol before their rounds were over, but it was painfully obvious that doing that was simply out of the question now, Hermione turning her hazel eyes onto Draco Malfoy levelly and wondered just quite how difficult it was going to be to not get hexed to high heavens by the Head Boy once they were in the comfort of their own quarters. There was only a brief moment where Hermione toyed with telling Professor Sprout the truth about what was going on, for she was not related to the Order or the Death Eaters in any way, though like most she advocated Harry's cause.

Facts were what Hermione needed at the end of the day and even if Draco was going to attempt to hex her into senselessness, she was confident that she could either duel with him adequately or at least manage to escape and find help. Grey eyes that stared at her were hard and unforgiving, but she reminded herself sternly that this boy had just been informed that his mother had been kidnapped and by her allies, no less! That had to be nonsense, though, she told herself with certainty. Nothing could be gained from kidnapping the wife of Lucius Malfoy, for it was clear that the Malfoy family had chosen a side a long time ago. Something, regardless of Hermione's desires on the matter, had shifted and now there was this giant mystery lingering over the disappearance of Narcissa Malfoy.

And of course, like always, Hermione welcomed it, as long as she could talk with the Head Boy reasonably. They had the same goal in mind and she just needed to put that across, regardless of allegiances.

“I... yes, of course Draco. I think I know which one you mean.” she supplied briskly, hands fiddling absently with the flowers, unnerved by what had already transpired and the anxious awaiting of what might come. “Professor, I'm really sorry to have made you worry, but we must be on our way now. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

After glancing meaningfully across at her counterpart and giving another polite farewell to their professor, Hermione turned and walked away from this corridor, getting a sneaking suspicion that she would never forget what happened here. Her lips were pressed together the entire trip back to the Head common room, except to turn and say to Draco once they were out of earshot of anyone...

“Don't. Just don't. Forget rounds and come on.”

The atmosphere between them had shot from being tense to positively electric post-detention/expulsion scare and the walking pace had increased at least from Hermione's side at least, desperate to get back to the privacy of their quarters and try and figure out what was going on before Draco blew a fuse, which he did look extremely ready to do at any moment. She could only hope that he might realise that she backed up his story with the professor. Gratitude might be too much to hope for but even just a realisation that she was not cowering from facing him, just changing to an appropriate field.

Password spoken softly and portrait open, the girl slipped inside and turned to face the Slytherin behind her almost immediately, arms crossed and looking quite defiant, wand in her own hand now. “Now, if you want to try and hex me that's perfectly fine Draco, but that won't help this situation at all.”

Her hands spread out to the sides, wand clasped loosely, as if she hoped that Draco would actually listen, waiting for him to make a move before she would speak again, ready to defend herself at a moment's notice. After all, this was not some ordinary distraught student; this was Draco Malfoy, a talented, calculating and potentially arrogant wizard whose mother, who he apparently adored, had been kidnapped.

Treading carefully was not always her strong point, but Hermione hoped she could do it well enough to avoid being cursed into oblivion and back again for the sake of Draco's venting before they could examine the facts. He was no idiot, and did not possess a hot-headed temper like Ron. In fact, he was more like Harry and hoped that, despite their being enemies, logical process and need to understand would override anything else.

Black robes whipped around his legs as he strode quickly through the hall. His determined, long-legged strides meant the much smaller young woman beside him had to hurry as much as she could, but he didn't spare her so much as a backward glance to see if she was keeping up with him. His mouth was pressed into such a tight line that his lips turned almost white, blending in with the rest of his whitened face. He had always been pale, but having learned that Narcissa was in possible danger, the blood had drained from his face and bleached him of any color.

He entered the common room behind Hermione, who was trying to be reasonable with him. Draco didn't want to be reasonable. He wanted to kick something really hard, and he wanted to save his mother before the enemy did anything to her. And if Hermione thought hexing her would do him no good, well, she was dead wrong.

“Expelliarmus!”

The wand held loosely at Hermione's side flew from her hand and thudded against a book-case lined wall. In no more than a heartbeat, Draco had pinned the defenseless Gryffindor against the wall, the lines of his face spelling an expression of rage. One of his hands held both of her small wrists above her head, his fingers digging into her skin. He loomed over her, close enough he could smell the scent of her shampoo on her hair, could see a faint smudge of ink on her cheek left from the side of her thumb brushing her face. His other hand held his wand, which was pointed straight at her, and it was steady. There was no quiver in his stance, no shake in his hands. No professors to stop him now, he thought.

“First, don't you dare call me Draco, filthy mudblood. What ever made you think we were on a first name basis? Do you think because we share the same dormitory that we're friends? Because we're not, and we never will be. Even if you weren't a mudblood, you're still one of Potter's best friends, and on top of it, now your side has kidnapped my mother to do god knows what to her!”

The tip of his wand pressed into her stomach and he scowled. “Now remind me why it would do me no good to hex you? Because I can think of a certain unforgivable curse I could put on you that might give me all the answers I want.”

There was a ringing in Hermione's ears that simply would not be banished and it was disrupting her clarity of mind in a way that would most certainly hamper her ability to calm anyone down right now, let alone Draco bloody Malfoy! Her eyes slid closed for a few moments, breathing deeply and considering fighting against his grip before conceding that no matter what she tried, he could cast before anything close to escape happened.

Mudblood. Once, an utterance of that word would have appalled Hermione, holding her head up remarkably high despite the compromising position and his repeated insults. Yes, she was born of a non-magical world and despite whatever any racist purebloods thought of it, Hermione was proud of her heritage. If Draco wanted to insult her, he'd have to do a much better job than that.

The vinewood and dragon heartstring core wand was far out of her reach, not that Hermione even awarded it a passing glance, staring straight back at the Slytherin in the wake of his threats and accusations, releasing the breath she had taken minutes earlier. Last year she had been in a much worse situation than this, but that did not stop the creeping nervousness and fear that came from realising that you were helpless at the hands of your worst enemy.

Friends? Them? Hermione could not think of anything more abhorrent, freezing in place at the mere mention of the Imperius curse. The answer was simple and honest, but would not satisfy his curiosity for the truth of the matter.; she did not know anything about what the house elf had told them both in the corridor.

His wand was pointed at her unwaveringly, but Hermione refused to flinch away from him, even if he did decide to use an unforgiveable upon her, helpless as she was. All he would find out is that she really did know nothing about his mother's disappearance.

"Fine Malfoy," she hissed out, deciding that now probably was not the best of times to be pointing out that she was simply trying to be civil by using his given name over his family one, "I wish I did know something and if the Order have kidnapped your mother, I intend to find out why because it does not make sense!"

Everything had to fit logically, and if, after research, it turned out that the Order had taken Narcissa Malfoy, it would work against everything Hermione had ever believed about those she called allies.

"You're lucky it doesn't serve me to kill you right now," hissed Draco, giving Hermione one final, firm shove into the wall before releasing her. He didn't immediately back away, but instead stood over her, seething down from his far greater height. "If I find out you are in any way involved in what happened between my mother and that damned Order, I swear you will live to regret it."

Slowly he turned, fighting every urge he had to hit something. Most people didn't realize exactly how restrained he was. He managed to exude a cold, calm exterior, even when he was boiling on the inside. It gave him no satisfaction that Granger had seen a crack in that facade. Since childhood he had been groomed to control his emotions, to keep his feelings at bay, to never let others get to close. Hermione fucking Granger of all people had caused him to momentarily forget himself and lose control. It wouldn't happen again, he swore to himself as he marched up the stairs to his dorm. He paused at the door, hand poised over the handle, then pointed his wand toward Granger's, which was still lying on the ground.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The wand lifted into the air, then floated toward Hermione, hovering benignly in the air in front of her. "You may need that," said Draco in a monotone. "Since you intend to find out why a house elf appeared to me tonight saying your friends kidnapped my mother."

He gave her one last cold, calculating look, then went into his room, locking the door behind him. Draco slid against the door till he was sitting on the floor with his knees bent toward his chest. Why mother? he asked himself. Why the one person in the world I actually care about? The person least able to take care of herself? What do they want with her?

Lucius would know, he thought, dragging himself up from the carpet. He went to the window, where an owl was waiting patiently in the window sill. Father will know what has happened, he thought, scribbling a note. "Father," it read. "Mother has been kidnapped by the Order of the Phoenix. We must get her back. I await your command."

He attached the short letter to the owls leg and it left, it's feathers gleaming in the pale moonlight. He should have a response the following morning, he thought, and sat down at his desk table. He knew it would be a sleepless night, and he set to occupying his mind with the next month worth's of homework.

Narcissa Malfoy Disappears Without A Trace?

It was splayed all over the Daily Prophet, as if it was some ground-breaking news, and had immediately became the topic of breakfast for all, though the Slytherin table was conspicuously quiet. Even bemoaning Potions first thing with the Slytherins came secondary to the news that Draco Malfoy's mother had gone missing and there were all sorts of rumours going around already, the worst one being that Lucius Malfoy had been forced to murder his wife in a show of loyalty to the Dark Lord.

Despite the fact that everywhere around her was a reiteration of what the house elf had told her yesterday, Hermione Granger was more puzzled by Draco's reaction post-assault than anything else. Logic could answer for why his mother had supposedly been kidnapped (she had spent the better part of three hours going through the options): a misunderstanding, a bare-faced lie by the enemy and most distastefully, that it was simply the truth.

That seemed to be a point that her thought processes centred around; making sense. Last night certainly was not helping, for just at the precise moment that she had expected Draco Malfoy to force her to give whatever answers he thought she must possess, he had caved and left her with little more than some colourful bruising and threats that Hermione was not foolish enough to treat as empty. Thankfully, she was quite positive that her involvement with Narcissa Malfoy's kidnapping was non-existent... but that only meant that if the Order were held responsible, his vengeance would be thrust into their direction.

If only the house elf had chosen to interrupt Draco Malfoy's sleep, intimate time with Pansy Parkinson; frankly anything except their bloody patrol! Whilst it had given her an outlet to research into a situation that she had been quite oblivious to, it had also alerted Hermione to a side of the Head Boy that she had held no particular desire to ever witness. Or see again for that matter.

“Hey, Hermione?” The questioning came just after Ron had swallowed another forkful of sausage, peering across sleepily at the girl in question, who switched from thoughtfulness to attentive almost immediately.

“Yes Ron?”

His fork tilted so that it pressed against the headline for the Daily Prophet, points making tiny indents in the paper, leaning forwards so that his face was scarce inches from hers and Harry's, who had slipped into the secretive circle whilst her counter-question had been posed.

“Harry? What's going on?” The girl gave her a side-long look, half-expecting one of them to blurt out that Narcissa Malfoy was holed up in the Order headquarters and leave her flabbergasted until she could corner one of them later to find out why no one told her?

“He's not here, is he?” The whispered, cryptic words made Hermione frown, narrowing her eyes as she sighed, tired. Unsurprisingly, she had not slept well last night after her 'encounter' with Draco (damn whatever he said, she was going to be civil!) mind alert and although she was loathe to admit it, a little frightened that he would be coming back to interrogate her again. It was a side to the Head Boy that Hermione feared she would see again before the year, or indeed, month was through.

“Who?” Hermione snapped, close to the end of her tether, which earned her a cautionary glance from two uneasy teenage boys. That did not help her mood. “Well, who?”

“Malfoy, Hermione. He's not here.”

'Of course he isn't! His mother just disappeared and we, the good side, apparently did it! Us, who are supposed to be the people that rescue the victims, not make them. Us who do not stoop to such low means to achieve our goals!'

None of that rant escaped Hermione's lips of course and, she instead settled for a piercing glare, coupled by a successfully self-deprecating sigh for it was a strange occurrence, even without the knowledge that she had secreted away in her mind. It had been a popular discussion on the train ride towards Hogwarts and Hermione was more than sick of their obsession with the Head Boy being some sort of spy for Lord Voldemort at their beloved school and that, along with the rest of the Slytherins, Draco Malfoy needed to be kept an eye on.

“Both of you, stop it with this nonsense!” Hermione hissed, leaning in further so to limit what might be overheard, certain that she had both of their attentions. “You should be focusing on researching the Horcruxes, not whether the Head Boy is secretly involved in his own mother's kidnapping.”

The mention of the subject of the moment - the Horcruxes – seemed to sober at least Harry but Hermione was not going to hang around to see if Ron followed suit, already gathering up her books from the long table so that she could walk away. It was only a hand on her arm that stayed her retreat and from the quickness of the movement, it could have only have been...

“Just watch him? Better to be safe than sorry.”

Hermione tensed at Harry's plea, letting her brown eyes fall closed as she considered what he was asking, fleetingly considering it a good idea to tell him – one of her closest friends – what had happened last night. At least he wouldn't go off and try and assault Draco Malfoy in retaliation. Well, not immediately. He, unlike Ron, would share her concerns about the legitimacy of the Order but it was all Harry had left. They all held determined lines of what was right and wrong when it came to this war, and to tell him that those he trusted were responsible for something so utterly atrocious...

“No Harry. If Headmaster Dumbledore trusts him, why can't you?”

That would have been utter nonsense up until last night, but Hermione Granger firmly believed that the only side that Draco Malfoy was on was his mother's. He could have used the Imperius curse and made her do all sorts, like break into 12 Grimmaulds Place to check for himself; he did not have to take her word but he had returned her wand and let her be.

Hermione had vowed to find out the truth beneath the startling news that they had received on patrol last night for what was turning out to be a frighteningly long list of reasons. The fewer people that knew, especially if it turned out that the house elf was right, the better she thought as her brisk footsteps carried her away from her two dumbfounded friends. No doubt they were torn between disbelief and begrudging realisation that Hermione, as always, had a good point.

Her first class slot was free for the day and so, Hermione took the opportunity to peruse the Daily Prophet in the safety of one of the darkest corners of the library, reading the article that had been published so soon after the impromptu declaration. The fact that the lady of Malfoy Manor had gone missing was not under dispute it seemed; had Lucius Malfoy made it public purposely, to try and curry support for his family, despite their obvious allegiance to Lord Voldemort?

The near-death of Headmaster Dumbledore the year previous had been a critical blow to the Order's activity, for the loss of Severus Snape had been a devastating blow that many had expected but hoped never to come to pass. Professor McGonagall ran the school at the moment in the wizard's stead. What Draco and Hermione had faced at the beginning of the year had been a well-rehearsed act of their beloved Headmaster on the part of Professor McGonagall.

If he did not pull out of his coma soon, no one knew what to do. The old man, mature in both years and wisdom, had always been the leader and now, without knowing whether that strong presence could still be reclaimed, the Order had been left in limbo. In light of that, it because disturbingly clear that some might be foolish enough to try and unbalance their opposition through less than savoury methods. Hermione flinched, casting away that doubt as much as she could, but the seed was already there, sown by the house elf and Draco's obvious distress the previous night.

The girl knew genuine distress, rage and confusion when she saw it; had seen it blind better men and women than Draco Malfoy to sound judgement. For now, like he believed in her ability to figure out the truth, so Hermione would believe in his obliviousness to the truth of the matter, what ever it may be. Setting the paper down with a huff, Hermione picked up a NEWT level Transfiguration textbook, eager to distract her mind from the torment that doubt could wreck upon even the most organised and sure of thinkers.

And yet, despite her best efforts, Hermione knew she would spend the rest of her spare time that day trying to figure out a way to discern whether Narcissa Malfoy was in the Order's grasp, for her own peace of mind, more than to assist Draco Malfoy. He likely had his own ways in addition to the flimsy promises of a Mudblood and if she did come to him with answers, it would be a long stretch to expect him to believe her if she did not have solid proof.

Once, she might have asked Professor Snape for assistance in such a delicate matter, given his duality of loyalty but since the end of the last year, he had been notably absent from Order affairs and exclusively glimpsed those who followed Lord Voldemort. A confirmation of loyalty or simply information gathering? Hermione did not know.

There were a great many things she was not privy to these days when it came to the Order it seemed and that cheered her not at all.