Disclaimer: It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't own nothing at all. Don't want it neither. Wouldn't know where to put it.

Summary: Lost, alone and wandless, Hermione and Draco rely on each other to survive. While back at Hogwarts a war is brewing between Slytherin and Gryffindor. This story was started pre-Ootp. Ootp elements have been added (or not) as seen fit.

Chapter 1: The Straight and Narrow

To Draco Malfoy, the inside of Borgin and Burkes was about as interesting as last years racing broom. The seventeen year old sighed and leaned impatiently against the moldy counter while his father stood stoic and unmoved, ignoring his son's restlessness.

Draco had been in this stupid shop more times then he could count and, except for the odd piece here and there, the displays never changed. The display was just that, a display, meant only to appease nosy Ministry inspectors and not really for retail. No one came to Borgin and Burkes to buy the floor items, as Draco well knew, they came for the good stuff, the stuff not on display, the stuff in the back rooms. Draco itched to see the back rooms, had heard tales of the marvelous and wicked magical relics Borgin and Burkes kept there, but no one else was allowed in and it was said to be guarded almost as heavily as Gringotts.

So he was stuck pacing the small, unkempt shop and today was no different then any other of Draco's visits. He'd given the place a once-over and found that not a single damn thing had changed since he'd been there last. It seemed not a single thing in Diagon alley had changed since he'd been there last. It was absolutely boring. After seven years, pre-Hogwarts shopping had become a major chore.

And Malfoys simply did not do chores.

He really would rather have stayed at home or gone out with friends and sent a couple House-Elves to get his Hogwarts supplies but his father needed to pick up a few things from Knockturn alley and his mother wanted to get out of the mansion for the afternoon and while he didn’t believe there was anything in Diagon alley that he wanted at the moment, shopping with his parents meant at least one present, and he had to make sure they got the right thing, so in the end he'd decided to go. And so far it had been a total bust.

His only consolation was that they were very nearly done with their wasted afternoon. Most of his school supplies, including six new books and a set of the finest robes galleons could buy, sat on the counter wrapped in a neat little package charmed to carry it all. His mother was out buying the last thing on his list, his ingredients for Advanced Potions, and if Mr. Borgin ever got around to bringing them Lucius' order, they were going to go look at a pair of dragon-hide boots he'd taken a fancy to when they first arrived. But it seemed Mr. Borgin was taking his sweet time.

Draco glanced over his shoulder at the third member of their party.

Rodolphus Lestrange was standing before a shelf display filled with dolls. Some fabric, some plastic, some hand-sown, a few made of glass, and all of them cursed or possessed or filled with dark magic. Draco turned fully around to frown at the man. Lestrange stood, stock still, staring at the dolls. He had his head cocked slightly to the side, as if listening.

Draco had never met anyone who was crazy before, but he felt, with a distinct certainty, that Rodolphus Lestrange was a complete and total psychopath. And he wasn't far off the mark.

Lestrange and his wife Bellatrix had been staying with the Malfoy's since Voldemort had busted them out of Azkaban a year ago. It was a secret, of course and Rodolphus was in disguise. He was currently going by the name Philippe and his wife by Margaret. Both of them liked to change their aliases periodically. Draco felt this was odd and certainly not very smart since they'd been known to introduce themselves by different names to people they'd met before, but hell, what did he know?

Life at the Malfoy mansion hadn't altered much with the two additions to the household but Draco still felt it was rather creepy to get out of bed in the middle of the night and find Rodolphus Lestrange wandering the halls silent as a ghost, or standing in the front entryway staring out the window as if expecting someone. Even more disturbing were the talks Rodolphus had with Draco. The man seemed fond of him and liked to talk to him about becoming a Death Eater and his duties towards Lord Voldemort. This was nothing Draco hadn't heard before but Rodolphus liked to pepper these talks with comments about how much Draco reminded him of Voldemort and how if Draco really wanted to seize his destiny he should destroy everything that was holding him back. Draco got the feeling Rodolphus was trying to hint at something but he could never fathom what.

Bellatrix was a tad less insane. But only a tad. The woman spent her time talking quietly to herself and mixing potions Draco had never heard of. Other than that she was cold and snappish and Draco stayed out of her way.

Draco wasn't certain why Rodolphus had insisted on accompanying them on their shopping trip. He certainly hadn't bought anything and his presence caused a stir. He was using Polyjuice potion but for some reason he had refused to leave the house that morning without a mask, as if he were afraid someone would see through the potion. Lucius hadn't been able to talk him out of it. So now he was following them around like a specter, white theater mask covering his face, short blond hair matted and awry and amber eyes gleaming wide and staring from out of the eyeholes. He had yet to say a word since they left the house.

Draco stared hard at Lestrange but the man didn't twitch a muscle. Finally he gave up and turned back to the counter. Mr. Borgin still hadn't returned.

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath about incompetent sales clerks and rotten service. His father shot him an irritated look and he subsided stiffly. He supposed his father was still angry with him for not making Head Boy. He'd been read a long and humiliating lecture when his father found out about that. In an attempt to defend himself, he'd pointed out that Lucius hadn't been Head Boy either. He winced at the memory. That hadn't gone over well.

Honestly, he didn't see what the big deal was anyway. He couldn't care less about being Head Boy. The whole thing was a scam; just an excuse for the Professors to give you more work while telling you it was an honor you should thank them for. He would have needed a lot more incentive then a dingy little tin badge to actually motivate him to try for the position.

Draco tossed Lucius a scowl when the man's head was turned. His father could glower and throw tantrums all he wanted, it wouldn't change anything, and it certainly wouldn't make Draco care.

The only thing that did bother him about it was that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who the Heads were going to be: Potter and Granger. In the bag. Hands down. Fuck them anyway. He really hoped it ate up Potter's Quidditch practice time and Granger's study time. Wouldn’t that be a lark. Maybe he'd come out on top of all this after all.

The door at the very end of the dark hall squealed open on rusted hinges and Mr. Borgin appeared, holding a flat, black rectangular box far out in front of him as if afraid of it touching his body.

" Here it is, here it is!" the greasy little man panted, stumping down the hall, "My apologies for the wait."

Draco peered over his father's shoulder with renewed curiosity as Mr. Borgin set the box on the counter with utmost care. It was made of some sort of dull, black metal and, even from where Draco stood, it seemed to buzz unpleasantly.

" Here it is," Borgin said again, in a hushed voice, "Straight from the manufacturer, done just as you specified and not once touched by human hands."

Lucius reached forward and carefully lifted the lid off. Inside were two objects atop a bed of thick black velvet. One was a large, black leather sheath. The other was a shiny, silver dagger. The dagger itself was bright and new and wholly unremarkable. It was plain and unadorned. The handle was smooth and bare of jewels or eye-pleasing designs, the blade was straight and simple. Its only redeeming quality was that it looked, and was, very very sharp.

Draco was disappointed.

" It looks like a kitchen knife." He muttered.

Lucius snarled and opened his mouth but Mr. Borgin beat him to it.

" No, no, my dear boy." The shopkeeper chided, wagging a finger at Draco, " This is a very special dagger, very rare and very hard to make. Right now it is called a Base because it is pure and empty of all outside influences and magical properties. Once the blade is put to use it begins soaking up the energy around it. If used in Dark magic, it begins to soak up the dark energy, becoming a well of power. The more energy it consumes, the more powerful the blade becomes. In time, if treated correctly, it may become very powerful indeed, then it is called a Subtle Knife."

" Oh!" Draco said in surprise, properly humbled, "I've read about these then. But the one I read about was used against Dark Wizards. It was called Expletus Flamma, the Perfect Flame."

A low, mournful moan came from behind them and the three men spared Lestrange an odd glance but Rodolphus didn't move or speak again. He continued staring at the dolls. Borgins continued after a moment.

" Yes, yes, the Flame was one of the most powerful Subtle Knives ever to exist." he looked impressed, " Unfortunately it went missing a little over a thousand years ago. I didn't know old Professor Binns taught about it."

Draco smirked, " He doesn't. It was in a book I came across."

Borgins gave Draco a knowing look, "Been snooping about the Restricted Section, have you my boy?"

" Of course not!" Lucius cut in sharply, "Draco was never one for bending the rules." But he threw his son an indulgent glance, apparently pleased that his son was doing just that.

" Certainly not." Borgins agreed quickly, "Now, to activate the knife, all you must do is grasp the handle and it will begin absorbing energy. Be careful with the blade edge, until the dagger knows you it is just as dangerous to you as anyone else. This sheath is specially designed just for this blade, it will always hold it and never allow the blade to cut through. I must warn you that even with excellent treatment the Base has a very high failure rate…"

" I know how the damn thing works." Lucius snapped impatiently, cutting him off, "Hurry up."

" Yes sir, my apologies."

Borgins picked up the sheath and positioned it against the tip of the blade. Then, slowly and carefully, he slid his hand under the velvet and beneath the dagger so that his skin would not touch the knife. Nudging and prodding, he was able to slide the blade into the sheath. He let out his breath when the blade finally slipped in and he snapped the top shut.

" There, all yours." And he put the lid back on the box with a satisfied bang.

Lucius picked up the leather sheath and examined it with a frown.

" Can I carry it?" Draco asked.

His father looked at him shrewdly but then nodded curtly and handed the sheath to him.

" Keep it under your robes and for Merlin's sake don't touch the knife or you'll be sorry."

" Right." Draco muttered, and strapped the thing to his belt while his father paid for the item. He liked the way the blade looked hanging from his waist and wandered over to a mirror to get a better view. He smirked at his reflection, wishing he didn't have to hide the thing under his robes.

" We're finished here." Lucius snapped over his shoulder, "Stop admiring yourself like a blasted woman and lets go. Come Philippe."

Draco shot his father another venomous glance and stalked after him, Lestrange floating along behind them.

" Good day, gentlemen!" Borgin called after them, " Pleasure doing business. Do say hello to Mrs. Malfoy for me."

Lucius didn't acknowledge the man but Draco looked back just as he was stepping out the door. Borgin started and gave Draco a watery smile but Draco had already seen the hate-filled glare he had been sending their way. Draco grinned wickedly, pleased that he had once again caught the two-faced old bastard in the act and sauntered away, making a mental note to find a way to use Borgin's duplicity to his own benefit.

Knockturn alley was fairly empty but Diagon alley was thronging. Draco gritted his teeth. He hated crowds, the push and the pull and the stifling heat of the late summer sun on black robes, like a wool blanket over the whole town. He was okay for a few minutes but then he wanted to start shoving people out of his way. They meandered along like cows, with no consideration for people who were actually trying to get somewhere.

And it's unusually warm out, he thought in annoyance, scowling at the sky and wiping sweat from his forehead.

He followed his father's retreating back and kept a look out for people he knew. He saw several Ravenclaws his age, a group of Hufflepuff third year girls whom he scowled threateningly at, chuckling inwardly when they shrank back in fear, and he caught a glimpse of two sixth year Slytherins and merely nodded at them as they weren't worth talking to.

Narcissa was waiting for them outside Bowley's Best, chatting with two women who looked as wealthy and overdressed as she did. She spotted them and spared Draco a tiny smile, her perfect alabaster mask softening just a bit.

" Oh there he is!" one of the women cried, "Draco, my dear, its been ages."

Mrs. Pucey, Draco recalled her name with a shudder and consciously straightened his shoulders like a man walking into the lion's den.

No, no, must keep Gryffindors out of this. He chided himself wryly.

"What a handsome young man he is, Narcissa." The other woman, Mrs. Bulstrode cooed, "Just like his father." She added as Lucius took her bejeweled hand and kissed it.

" Ladies." He said suavely.

" Now, now, You mustn't flirt Taniya." Mrs. Pucey admonished as Lucius kissed her hand as well.

Draco and Narcissa shared a dry look.

" It was lovely seeing you," Narcissa spoke up, "But I'm afraid Lucius and I have some business to be about."

" Oh, of course, dear." Mrs. Pucey said, "Far be it for me to keep you from important errands! I shall expect you over for tea sometime this week." And she kissed the air above Narcissa's cheeks.

" I'm having a garden party next week." Mrs. Bulstrode said, "I'll be sending you an invitation."

" I look forward to it." Narcissa replied diplomatically.

" Good day, Lucius."

The man nodded.

" Ta." The women called and disappeared into the crowd.

Narcissa let out her breath when they were out of sight, " Like twin tornados those bloody chits." She snapped, but quietly.

Draco grinned. He loved his mother's cold intelligence and disdain for others. He imagined she'd been quite the stuck-up bitch in her Hogwarts years.

"Mr. Borgins says 'hallo'." He told her because he knew it would piss his father off.

Narcissa gave a barely audible sniff while his father stiffened in disapproval.

" Come along then." His mother took his arm to lead him inside, "Lets go see those boots you simply must have."

" Do not coddle the boy." Lucius said sharply and Narcissa's face tightened but she let his arm slide from hers and did not look back.

Draco gritted his teeth.

The purchase didn't take long, though Draco was still smarting under his father's rude commentary. Lucius hadn't needed anything from the shop, so he'd entertained himself by belittling his wife and son. Narcissa had found herself a neat pair of designer dress shoes and Draco was quite pleased with the Dragon-hide boots he found and wore them out of the store.

Apparently word had spread that the Malfoy's were in Bowley's Best because the Notts were waiting for them just outside the shop. Theodore Nott was Lucius' best friend and Yasmin and Narcissa got along famously. The four people greeted each other enthusiastically and Draco knew that this was going to end with lunch and drinks in the Leaky Cauldron. That would have been all fine and well, except he didn't see Theodore jr. anywhere.

" Excuse me, Mrs. Nott." He broke in politely, "Is Ted about?"

" Oh, I'm sorry dear. Teddy purchased his things last week. He's out with his cousins this afternoon."

Damn.

Not only was his afternoon here not finished as he supposed, but he was going to spend the next hour or so listening to boring conversation, while being stared at by Rodolphus and having to be utterly perfect and polite if he didn't want his father to lay into him when they got home.

As he had suspected, Yasmin almost immediately suggested they all eat together at the Leaky Cauldron and Draco, who followed after them, had just resigned himself to his fate when something caught his eye.

He blinked in surprise and then a slow, cruel smile curved his lips.

There, in front of the entrance to Knockturn alley, was Mudblood Granger. He'd recognize that frizzy hair and huge backpack anywhere. She was peering down the alleyway inquisitively, shifting on her feet as if feeling guilty about her curiosity. Draco looked around for Potter and Weasley but the girl seemed to be alone.

He just had to say hello.

"Father."

" What is it?" Lucius asked, stopping to frown at the boy. Lestrange halted as well, gold eyes turning to Draco.

" Father, may I go say hallo to a friend from school." And he grinned wickedly as he looked over towards Hermione.

Lucius saw the girl and went still. Then he smirked, "I suppose."

" Excellent." Draco started towards her only to have his father's large hand catch him around the collar.

" Do nothing rash, boy. There are too many witnesses around."

" I'm not going to Avada her in the middle of a bloody crowd!" Draco spat.

" Just so we understand each other." He let go of Draco who huffed and straightened his collar.

"Play nice."

" Morsmordre." hissed Lestrange as Draco passed him.

The boy sauntered merrily over to stand behind the oblivious girl. He glanced around quickly and then shoved with both hands, sending her flying into the alleyway with a startled cry.

Watching, Lucius grinned and Lestrange let out another low moan.

fin

AN: This story is based very loosely on Stephen King's The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. The subtle knife is in reference to Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials triology.