disclaimer: If it were mine then Harry would walk around shirtless, Draco would be perpetually wearing leather pants, and Remus wouldn't look like such a fop in the movie.

-everything-

He looked like hell.

"What are you staring at?" he growled, running a hand through ragged locks of hair. She shook her head.

"Nothing. You just..."

"Out with it," he frowned. She sighed, knowing he had no patience for trailing comments.

"You look like hell."

"You would too, if you'd just come from the dungeons of Malfoy Manor," he growled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. She glanced briefly at the long, tapered fingers. Remembered the graceful way they held a quill. Remembered the way they so confidently grasped her hand in his. Remembered with startling clarity the way they felt on her and the way they made her feel.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," he muttered. "It isn't your fault."

But it was. It was her fault that this had happened to him—her fault that his hair was mussed and his eye had been blackened and that the smooth skin of his cheek had been sliced in a way that was sure to leave a scar.

It was her fault, because she cared too damn much about him.

It had to end.

She'd never been one for sacrifice—she was not a martyr. But she couldn't stand aside and watch him put his life in Lucius Malfoy's hands every night. She couldn't watch him when he cleaned his wounds, his eyes staring intently at the cuts and scrapes and bruises, not seeing them—but seeing Lucius and Narcissa, standing over him with their wands and their brutal hands and feet that so easily punched and kicked. Seeing his parents, his own parents, mock him.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, peeling his shirt off to reveal a long cut across his back.

"Nothing."

She hadn't always cared about him. The first few weeks she'd been using him to gain information—any information—on Death Eater activities. On his father. On Voldemort.

And he, she knew, was using her too.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, lightly brushing near his black eye.

"What do you think?"

She'd been a whirlwind of emotions in the beginning. Betrayal had never been her strong suit. And yet she'd risk everything—her reputation, her friends, her life—to gain any and all information for the Order. She was seventeen years old and confused. She felt useless and unneeded when Tonks would tell her about her latest mission, or when Lupin would randomly show up at Hogwarts for a visit with Dumbledore—always on Order business, of course.

She'd wanted desperately to prove herself. So she would—she'd seduce Draco Malfoy, and get her information.

"Did they use the Cruciatus?"

"Of course."

She'd always been the type to want to be the best. Obsessive, Ron called her. Batty. Despite the logical part of her brain that told her she wasn't in the Order because she was still in Hogwarts, she still persisted in her mad idea. She had to prove it—had to. She wasn't just Ron and Harry's friend Hermione, the girl who ran around with them for fun and who occasionally helped them out of scrapes or corrected their essays. She had to prove that she was her own person, capable of acting on her very own. She had to prove that she was capable of belonging to the Order.

She should have been suspicious from the beginning, when he didn't bother to turn her away. When he stopped calling her Mudblood.

"Oglethorpe. They're targeting Elbian Oglethorpe."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" he snorted. "The man's Dumbledore's biggest ally, and he's a prominent Ministry official.

"Oh. Of course. Do you know when?"

"Next Thursday evening."

"How?" she asked.

"They thought I was unconscious," he answered, immediately understanding her one-word question that had nothing to do with Oglethorpe.

Easy. It had been too easy. She should have known, should have figured it out. She should have realized that there was no way Death Eater Malfoy could be so easily seduced. She should have realized that he'd never stoop low enough to sully himself with a Mudblood—and she wasn't even the prettiest one in school.

"Here's a wet rag," she said, holding out the damp white cotton.

"Thanks."

She had found out in February—four months after her original plan went underway. She'd stumbled across him on accident, deep in conference with Snape. Hiding behind a shelf full of potions, she'd listened to him discuss his plan with the Potions professor.

"Not a clue, sir. She doesn't realize that I'm using her."

"Tell me again, Draco, what is this supposed to achieve?"

"Father has quite the temper, and he's very displeased that I'm seeing Granger. When he gets exceptionally riled, he lets things slip. Important things. And believe me, seeing me in his home is really starting to piss him off."

She hadn't told him that she'd heard. Because if she told him she knew he was using her, then she'd have to admit to doing the same. And she wasn't prepared to let him go.

"Done," he grunted. She stood there, perfectly still, as he snatched his shirt from the floor. The movements brought a wince to his face, but he kept silent.

"Malfoy," she began.

She had never called him by his first name. Not once. And he had never used hers. She'd wanted, so badly, to use his given name in the recent weeks. She'd wanted to whisper his name in his ear and tell him that she thought she loved him.

But she never did.

"What is it, Granger?" he asked, limping towards the window. She fiddled absently with her grandmother's ring that was too big and had string wrapped around it. She'd never bothered to fix it with a charm, although she didn't know why.

"This...we..."

"Spit it out."

"We have to end." There. It was out.

"Come again?"

"I heard you talking to Snape two months ago, Malfoy. Don't pretend to care for me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked in a cool voice. Not once had he raised his voice to her—not once. She suddenly found herself wishing he'd go into one of his rants, rather than staring at her easily and speaking in such a calm voice. No...she much preferred rage to whatever this was.

"We've...we've both wronged each other, Malfoy. This whole time I've been using you, not realizing that you were on the Light side after all. I was hoping to get Death Eater secrets out of you—but then, you've been passing them along to Snape all along. And you—you've been using me to anger your father, so that you can get those secrets. So you see, we've both been using each other. We're even," she finished lamely.

"Granger," he said, stopping her from walking away from him. "Two wrongs don't make a right." For a moment she felt hysterical, as if her head was about to float away from her body and her feet would take off with her.

"Then what do they make?" He gave her a long look. Her heart paused, then resumed.

"Everything."

-end-