If it was you

A/N: So! More excitement for you folks, hopefully. Totally action-packed chapter. Let's just say that at the end of this chapter Harry and Hermione find themselves a little homeless… And also some juvenile delinquent stuff, groping unconscious women, and all this talk about true love is pissing Draco off!

To Christianne, who is undeniably cool. I'm gonna miss you, chickadee.

Attack!

Draco had rightly concurred that yes, there was a possibility that Potter was going to give him nothing short of hell when he showed up at the door of his flat with Hermione out cold in his arms. He would then have to go along with that whole protective rah-rah he went through, like threatening him to milk him for the truth – no, not that truth, the truth. Oh, that's really the truth? You swear? Because I'm going to bloody kill you if it isn't. That whole thing. Draco thought that Potter was almost as psychotic as Granger, if not worse, because it was endearing on Granger sometimes and it was endearing on Potter never. Though, striking upon that thought, he looked down at her with a deep scowl. What sort of stupid idiot would let this lunatic get a job as a bartender, anyway? For it didn't take a genius to know all the sorts of perverts and knobheads that wasted away in there. But hey, maybe she handed out Anti-Drinking pamphlets with every drink she served and lectured them about the dangers of alcohol to the cerebral functions, or something.

Draco frowned.

It just didn't make sense to him, that was all. Her working as a librarian was at least bearable, and understandable because she always seemed like the librarian type (because of her insane love of books, her dullness… and her insane love of books), but sticking her in a place where all of the nocturnal creeps went out to party? Merlin, Potter must be even stupider than he thought.

"Doesn't even bloody take care of his girlfriend," he grumbled, grunting as he tried to shift her in his arms, walking through the hallway of their flat building. Because if he did, in fact, take care of his girlfriend – blech, if he could he'd vomit all over that word and more – he wouldn't have even let her think about getting a job as a bartender. And, man, Draco Malfoy was a cad, all right – but even he wouldn't have let sodding Hermione Granger be stuck in a full room of alcohol-blooded fools. So, obviously, that was saying something.

When he finally reached their flat door, he used his foot to kick the door, seeing as how his hands were preoccupied holding a certain someone who had gone a little too vodka-enthusiastic. He waited for a few seconds; listening for any sound that might indicate someone was in there. Silence. He knocked again, this time louder, with his foot.

Silence, again.

He swore (because Draco was good at that). He assumed that Potter was working late again at that – what was it again? Oh yeah – Auror's office, or something. He squinted his eyes tightly; grumbling under his breath very unpleasant things about his luck that he was sure – sure – hated him. He opened his eyes and looked down at Granger, who still wasn't showing any signs of consciousness. Sure, she was cute, but what the hell was that going to do to help him get into their flat? He'd try the usual wand tricks but knew better; this was Hermione Granger's and Harry Potter's apartment, remember? The flat of two people who had mental issues where one was unfortunately skilled with all sorts of spells, including complicated protective charms, and one had… well, a butt-ugly scar, which he reckoned had its own protective magical powers of its own, like warding away people with its profound ugliness.

He tried shaking her a little. "Granger," he said, but not too loud, for he was still in a corridor where anyone could overhear. He caught a whiff of her hair. She smelled like vanilla. Draco liked vanilla. But that wasn't important. "Granger, wake up. Wake up, you stupid drunk. How am I going to get into your sodding flat if I'm going to be blasted into oblivion by trying to Apparate in?" She didn't stir one bit. Apparently, she was still out cold. Draco began to wonder if she'd hit her head when she fell and it'd sent her into a coma, or something. He said a very bad word. "You basketcase," he scowled. "Why do you only talk when I want you to shut up and when I do need you to talk you won't bloody tell me anything?"

He sighed, looking around, before laying her down on the ground, propping her back up against the wall so she could sit up. He looked at her for a moment, his knees to the floor, and then gently slapped her face.

"Granger. Granger." He had to make sure she wouldn't wake up while he was searching her, because if she did… oh, then today would be a legendary night, for Draco Malfoy would be absolutely murdered by her, without a doubt. When it was clear she would not lapse into sudden consciousness and scare the living shit out of him, he nervously took his hands and patted down her trouser pockets. "Come on, Granger, you've got to have a key here somewhere…" he mumbled to himself as he traveled lower down her legs. Finally, as he was around the ankle area, he felt something. He pulled up her pant leg, rolling it upwards, and bunched down her sock. There he miraculously found a key.

"Clever," he said to himself with a look on his face, holding up the key in front of him. It was warm. He then rolled up her sock again, pulling down her trouser leg, before getting up and fitting the key into the doorknob. The door opened and he let out a sigh of relief before getting back to Hermione and picking her back up. With her in his arms, he went into their flat where the lights flicked on by themselves – some ingenious Muggle invention that sensed motion, he guessed. He used his foot to close the door behind him.

He set her down on the couch and pocketed the key. Then he stood there for a while, watching her. It was particularly odd. He didn't think he ever watched anybody like this before (it had a stalker-ish quality to it that didn't suit him), and he knew very well that if she were conscious she would not be keeping his attention like this. Well, she was a lot more pleasant when she was asleep, that was for sure, for she wasn't glaring at him or spitting at him or cursing his bloodline or being some snarky nut. At least when he saw her this way – not to get sappy, or anything, it was just an observation – he was reminded of the fact that she hadn't always hated him, and she hadn't always been a drinker or a bartender, and she hadn't always been… well, Potter's girlfriend.

Draco grunted.

Potter.

He stepped back and collapsed into the armchair across from where she lay, rubbing his face with his hands, wondering how on earth he had ended up babysitting a passed out Hermione Granger – not to mention the fact that he had had the opportunity to feel her up right outside their flat. Not that he did, because that would have been sick and, well, a terrible thing to do. But still. He was a boy – er, man, you know, he thought about those things. But now he was stuck here until Potter came home, where he would then most likely try and challenge him to a duel for trying to help out his girlfriend, and where Draco would be forced to decline because he was a "good guy" now. At least, that had been what Dumbledore told him, but it's not like Draco would let the man dictate his decisions for him. If Potter wanted to duel him, and Draco knew for certain that he could whip his arse and knock him out cold, then he would do it, just because he could.

He sighed. What was he going to do until then? He couldn't very well just watch Granger sleep, could he? That would be mind-numbingly boring, and he'd heard that rubbish in romance where the men just loved to watch the women they loved sleep… Merlin, that was rubbish. Obviously, those men had issues. Monumental issues – that, and they were insomniacs with nothing else to do. Draco hated those men. Girly men, that was what he called them. It wasn't normal for males to be so sappy but the surprising thing was that there were so many of them walking the streets of Britain now… He shuddered. No, he was not going to watch her sleep. He most certainly was not.

So Draco got up and walked around their flat. He looked at all of their useless Muggle things and picked through Granger's bookshelf – but when he had tried to organize them in the correct order, the books had flown at him and began to beat the living pulp out of them until he had backed away from the premises, when they then calmly slid back into their places in silence. Draco called the bookshelf many things, and none of them were very friendly to the ears. He should have known Granger took extreme measures in making sure that her books were not disturbed.

He smugly walked around, looking closely at all of their quaint Muggle possessions, making faces, and muttering about the space of their flat. It was entirely too small for him (stick over four people in here and he'd already be claustrophobic). He looked in their fridge (yes, Draco Malfoy knew what a refrigerator was) and looked for a beer or something, but the stupid Muggles obviously did not know how to have fabulous alcoholic fun because all he found was orange juice and some other stuff that Draco didn't feel like bothering with. So he marched out of the kitchen, going back to the boring living room. He looked at Granger for a second, seeing if she was still out cold, and sighed when he realized that she was. Running his hands through his hair, he spotted a small pile of photographs on one of the tables.

Normally Draco wouldn't give a cat's nose about photographs, especially about photographs in Harry Potter's apartment. He feared what he would find (naked people pictures, kinky deeds, or just in general, ugly faces) and that was enough to swear off his nosiness in that department. But he disregarded that this time and picked up the pile, looking through it with a passive face, knowing that it had been taken with a Muggle camera since they were all insentient. There they were, unmoving figures in pictures, smiling like happy idiots, entirely boring. He did not even take the time to register some of them, recognizing the Weasleys and Potter and Granger, and happily skipping the ones that already hinted off "Major Potter Moment" with a single glance. But then he came across one picture that he found himself lingering a bit too long on.

It was Granger, and he guessed the picture had been taken quite recently. She was standing on a bridge, smiling happily, with a sweet, little cotton-candy pink sundress on, obviously soaking in and taking advantage of the summer weather and momentary sunshine of London. His eyes traced her features, the curvature of her hips and the wideness of her genuine smile. His eyes roamed across her pale but radiant complexion, and the faint freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. He wondered if Potter had been the one to take this picture, or if she had asked a stranger. Draco stared at the picture. 'Looks like she was having fun,' he thought to himself, and recalled that Granger didn't have very much of that. Fun. Even when she was drunk. And so it was a very bizarre image to be seeing, to see her happiness perfectly captured and frozen. He hated it. It was a stupid picture. So Draco, looking around, shoved the photograph down his pocket. Then he quickly fixed the pile up to look as it had before.

It was a pitiful thing to do, stealing a stupid picture with some girl on it, especially one with Granger in a pink sundress on it. It was probably the single most depressing, pathetic thing Draco had ever and would ever do in his high maintenance life, and he swore at himself for it, but just the thought of this picture sitting at Potter's desk in his office or wedged into the side of his mirror in his room made him sneer quite majestically. He hated stealing the photo. It was damn depressing. He didn't even like pink. But Granger looked nice and he'd always liked it when she smiled or laughed. So, why not? Why not if he wasn't going to get caught anyway? It wasn't as if he'd look at it every night or something. He was pathetic, but not that pathetic.

'Oh, Draco,' he heard a voice in his head sigh. 'You are slipping off the slope, you are. Making your way over to Barmy Town.' Draco only glowered and grumbled in response. He hated it because it was right.

Just then, he heard the doorknob wriggling. Draco looked up and watched as the door opened, revealing a bewildered Potter in the doorway.

"What in the—" he said, obviously disgruntled by the unlocked door, before he spotted the fabulously unconscious Hermione Granger on the couch and his eyes menacingly flickered up at Draco. He forcefully stepped in, his coat and his briefcase still in his hands. "What the hell?" he demanded to Draco.

He then quickly set them aside, heading over to her, but then stopped when he saw that she was breathing. He looked very confused as he looked down at Hermione, who was sleeping on the couch, and then back at Draco. He could tell scenarios and conclusions of what had happened to her were all fitting up in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle now, and he also knew very well that they weren't the good kind. The look on his face was a very good indication of that.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Scarface," drawled Draco, nonchalantly leaning by the table. "She's alive. She just fainted, is all. That's what happens when you party a little too hearty with a bottle of vodka."

"What did you do to her?" Harry asked gravely, looking furious

"What did I do?" Draco snapped, irritated with Harry's constant I'm-Her-Bloody-Protector attitude. She was the one willingly chugging down the poison and he got the blame? "What did I do? You must be out of your bloody mind. I wasn't the one who allowed her to get a job at the Three Broomsticks on Horny Tourists Night. I wasn't the one who didn't teach her about the dangers of drinking. So don't yell at me, all right, Potter? What kind of person are you, anyway? Going about to save the world when you let this lunatic" – Draco nodded his head her way – "get a job as a bartender at the Three Broomsticks?" Draco glared at him. "Obviously not a very smart person. Tell me, when you breathe, does any of that oxygen reach your brain?"

Harry began to walk towards him, not looking very friendly. He ignored Draco's little quip. He was squinting at him. "Horny Tourists – What happened?" he asked, confused, though his eyes deepened in their murky color. It appeared that he had gotten Draco's point, though.

"She was drinking at the job. I Apparated her out. She passed out." He motioned to her on the couch. "Then I Apparated her back here, out of the kindness of my heart." Draco knew it was a highly unconvincing statement, especially that last part, because he didn't even know if he had a heart, much less the kindness to be stored inside it. Both were highly unlikely cases.

Harry merely looked at Draco, as if he was at war with the choice of believing him. He most probably was. But then he looked away and sighed, running one hand through his hair. He sounded tired. Probably was. Poor arsehole looked like hell run over. "Hermione doesn't drink. You know that. She hates drinking. She gives lectures to every person she serves a drink to at the Three Broomsticks."

Draco scoffed quite passionately. "Tell that to the passed out drunk on your couch."

"Look," said Harry almost sharply. "Thanks, all right?"

Draco scowled at him. He didn't sound very thankful.

Git.

"What were you doing there, anyway?" he asked, and he could hear the suspicion in his voice, as well as the gears turning in his head. The tone of his voice and the look he was sending him implied that he thought he had been doing something very unpleasant.

"Not harassing her, if that's what you were thinking."

"Did I say that? I didn't say that." He gave him a serious look. "Listen, Malfoy, I appreciate you bringing her back here and all, but I swear, if you ever –"

"A man was watching her," Draco cut in harshly, definitely not in the mood to hear his asinine threats. "An Auror. I recognized him – he was the one that caught that Death Eater. Front page of the Daily Prophet. Didn't seem like he was thinking about buying her a drink, either. Just thought you should know before you launched off into a full-fledged 'Stay Away From My Girl' monologue that I don't give a single drip of a shit listening to, anyway."

Harry seemed confused which one to remark about first, the Auror or Draco's snake-tongued retaliation. "An Auror? What would an Auror be watching Hermione for?" He was genuinely concerned and confused. Then his expression fell away into one of threatening annoyance. "And I'm not sparing you that lecture because you're still a vicious twat and for all I know you could have felt her up in the hallway!"

Draco's eyes widened. How did he know that?

"Bloody hell, Potter," sputtered Draco. "Do you have sodding psychic powers or something?"

Harry glared at him. "Malfoy, don't tell me that you—"

"Easy, githole, I didn't," said Draco, yet mystified at Potter's… magical powers. "I'm telling you, I didn't, so stop leering at me," he barked when Harry continued to scowl at him.

"Now, about this Auror…"

"I don't know what his business was with Granger, but I'm guessing he's been keeping an eye on her for quite a while." Draco sobered. "I'll check up on him once I get back to the manor, but it's wise if—"

"Right, Dumbledore, I got it," said Harry. As he said that, Draco was looking at him, and he really sort of pitied him. He looked dead tired. Sort of sad to be bringing all this up on him when he'd obviously had a bad day at the office, plus he had that wretched scar that was just so ugly, and he reckoned that it didn't help that much to see his sworn enemy inside his flat with his girl – whatever – passed out on the couch with the possibility that his sworn enemy had felt her up while unconscious. (He didn't, though.) If Draco had been a nicer person, if he'd actually cared about Potter, he would have actually probably apologized or something, like "Sorry your life sucks," or something, but that wasn't exactly true, was it? His life didn't suck at all. Besides the whole my-parents-got-murdered-by-an-evil-wizard-and-now-he's-out-to-get-me-too thing he had going.

Draco nodded at the poor sod, before heading towards the door. He glanced at Granger on the couch but he could feel Potter watching him, so he played it off rather coolly and led himself out. He stepped out into the empty, almost eerily quiet hall, silently closing the door of their flat behind him. And he didn't know why, but he stood there a while. He half expected the door to open behind him and Potter would pop his miserable little head out and call out his name and say, "Stay away from my girl," that whole cliché, and that would make Draco want her even more. Almost like a challenge. But even as he stood there, nothing happened. He heard rustling inside their flat, but no little miserable head popped out the door.

And Draco, sighing, finally left Cheshire Fox Flats, failing to spot a pair of eyes that trailed after him.

ooooo

The next morning, Draco's issue of the Daily Prophet was delivered straight to his desk by one of the subscription owls, as usual. He was still trying to find out about that Auror who had been watching Granger, and so far he'd found out his entire history (not bad, he had to say – although Draco found that he immediately disliked him; they had a little Hero Stalker boy on their hands) as well as his magnificent feats with the ministry. He'd caught a Death Eater, Morrison, two months ago, which was impressive, but Draco had a very uncanny feeling that there was something going on that didn't quite match up.

Because of his investigative business with the Auror, he wasn't able to read up on the wizarding world's events until much later on. And, needless to say, once he had settled down to read the bolded letters of the front page, he found himself frozen in his seat with shock. There was an enlarged picture of a man in the front of the paper with a pudgy face and a grisly beard, smiling and laughing.

MYSTERIOUS DEATH, the headlines exclaimed. CONTROVERSIAL POTION MAKER FOUND DEAD AT HOME. Sources say that a bright light had shown through Charleston VanMussen's manor before finding him murdered the next morning. No clues yet on any potential suspects…

Draco's eyes rapidly read the lines.

…An ongoing investigation… suspected to be cult handiwork…

"Oh, fuck," he whispered.

ooooo

The door opened to Albus Dumbledore's office, uncovering an anxious yet grim Harry Potter.

"What's going on?" he asked with urgency in his voice, sensing the grim ambiance of the circular room and seeing the grave and slightly annoyed pale face of Draco Malfoy. Dumbledore had his hands folded on his desk, looking contemplative and solemn. "I got an owl to come immediately, and –"

"Sit down, Potter," said Draco, almost a little too imperiously. Draco looked particularly eaten up about something, and there was a crease betwixt his furrowed brows that hinted quite clearly that something terrible had happened. Harry took the seat in front of their former headmaster's desk, shooting serious glances at the both of them, before Draco began to speak aggressively. "Did you read the Daily Prophet this morning?"

"Er – no," said Harry. "I didn't have time."

"Take a look at it," said Draco, throwing the issue at his chest. "Front page. Headlines."

Harry nodded, opening up the issue and his green eyes flickering behind his spectacles, reading the content. When he was done, he looked up at Draco. "What has this got to do with me?" he asked.

"I'm afraid," said Dumbledore seriously, "that it concerns you quite a bit. I wouldn't expect you to recognize Charleston VanMussen, for he was never one of the school's priorities to mention, nor was he in any textbooks. He… ah, well, he was a very controversial man in many ways. Perhaps the most infamous of his works as a potion maker was his theory about the Absolution potion. It was a potion he had spent forty years researching and attempting to make, claiming it would be able to make anyone ten times more powerful and even undefeatable when it was finished. Of course, he had already gained a reputation by then, and none of the critical masses even attempted to believe him. He was what you could call an impulsive drunk, and everyone had proclaimed him to be a bit mad.

"By then, ten years had already gone by and Charles was already nearing his death bed. But then a rumor began to erupt that someone had come to him with a proposition. He would allow him to prolong his life as long as he finished the Absolution potion and gave it to him. Apparently somebody out there was so desperate for power that he believed a man that everybody thought was loony." Dumbledore looked at Harry through his half-moon glasses. "Do you know who that man was, Harry?"

Harry was grim. "Voldemort?" he said lowly.

Albus nodded. "Right you are. Voldemort. Now, this was at a time when he had terrorized the entire wizarding world and had enough power, which would certainly bring up the question of why. Why would he be desperate for more power? Because he had foreseen his defeat, that is why. He didn't see exactly how he was going to go, but he had heard the prophecy, and even a man as terrible as Tom Riddle succumbed into mild episodes of paranoia."

"So you're saying that Voldemort is going to try and use the potion to kill me?" said Harry, a little skeptical of the idea. It seemed, to Harry, a cowardly thing to do. Potions was of the sissy variety. No offense.

"It's a little trickier than that," Dumbledore replied. "See, the potion alone didn't take forty years to make. It took much less. It took years of research to see if the idea was plausible, yes, but VanMussen was batty, so most of the time he took advantage of his prolonged life enjoying being a drunk and lying. But you're here because you need to know that they need you to make this potion. VanMussen's theory was that he could brew a potion that could make any person more powerful than he already was, getting energy by drawing blood from his competent enemy and his enemy's mate and mixing it in with some memories from a pensieve."

"But is that even possible?" asked Harry.

He smiled. "Anything is possible, Mister Potter. Of course, we are not absolutely sure he is going in that direction. VanMussen could have been killed by anybody – his drinking habits created many enemies. But I wouldn't put it beyond Voldemort. After all, one of his best subjects in school was Potions."

"But you mentioned a mate," said Harry. Draco noticeably stiffened in his seat. "What—"

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "I was wondering when we would stumble upon this topic." He glanced at the two boys in front of him, sensing discomfort. "This is a very serious situation, I trust you to understand that. If Voldemort is, in fact, planning to use the Absolution potion, he will be keeping a very close eye on you. Yes, it is true he will need the blood of your mate in order for the potion to work. If he receives the wrong blood, the potion will only weaken him – it may even be fatal." He shifted his eyes to Draco, a strange look in his eye. "So we will need to take some precautions. Mister Malfoy has informed me that a young Auror has been spotted watching Miss Granger quite avidly, and while I cannot be certain about the relevance of that to VanMussen and the potion, it only further encourages me to ask you some questions about your relationship with Miss Granger."

Both boys were taut in their seats. Draco unknowingly clenched his jaw as he watched Potter from the corner of his eye.

"It is imperative that you answer my questions with nothing but honesty, Mister Potter, I hope you understand. It will only be of help to us. We need to know. You see, Voldemort not only needs your mate – that word is an understatement; anybody can be your mate. He needs your true love. It is a vast cliché, I know, but love is an important factor in spells. You do remember your mother, don't you, Harry? And the Sacrifice? Love can make or break a spell, even a potion. It is vital in magic in general. And while there is no knowing for certain who anyone's true love is, this is the best we've got." He paused, and Draco found himself listening to his own breaths booming in his ears, and Potter was looking straight at their former headmaster with a hard expression.

"Do you love her, Mister Potter?"

Draco felt something clench inside his chest.

"I think it's because we're living together," said Harry, and there was a little shard of pain in his voice. "Voldemort thinks she's it, doesn't he? Now he's after her, too?" He began to laugh. It was a hollow sort of laugh, metallic and unfeeling. "We aren't even involved!"

Well. That was new.

Harry Potter was angry. It was blatantly obvious to the common bystander. There were slight veins bulging out in his white neck that hinted some major suppression was going on, and the livid look on his face and the dark tone of his voice helped a little, too. No one was a stranger to Harry Potter's miserable rage.

But that wasn't what disturbed Draco. What disturbed him was that they had led him on all this time – Potter and Granger, making it out like they were together. Was it all just a living charade to rub it all in Draco Malfoy's face? Was Granger really all that clever? Draco scowled. He didn't know, he honestly didn't. He wouldn't put it beyond Granger to make up such a cunning plan, but it seemed too underhanded. Then again, he hadn't thought she'd go around punching men, either, so he was at a loss. She'd become so unpredictable. He didn't know whether he liked that or not. There used to be a time when he could have predicted exactly what she was going to do – and be frighteningly right. But now, learning that they hadn't been romantically involved at all caused a fresh bloom of suggestive thoughts to erupt inside his head. That was before, however, the rumbling voice of Albus Dumbledore swept in with a weed whacker and whacked the living pulp out of said hopeful ideas.

"Do you love her, Mister Potter?"

And it didn't matter anymore. Because that was when Draco realized that no, it wasn't about Draco, or Granger – it was about Potter. And if Potter loved Granger, then she was his true love. Which was absolute rubbish to him. Because what if she wasn't? What if true love didn't even exist – was there any proof true love existed? What if Charles VanMussen was just a nutty alcoholic and he didn't even have the Absolution potion? What then? And why'd it have to be Hermione Granger, anyway? Why couldn't it be, like, that Ginny Weasley girl? Or-or Hannah Abbott? Because Draco Malfoy seriously thought that Harry Potter wasn't man enough to handle Hermione Granger.

"Just answer the question, Potter," Draco found himself gritting out, tired of this discussion. He begrudgingly decided he didn't believe in true love because it was too sugary and complex for him to understand. "It's a simple question. Do – you – love – her?"

Harry looked down, silently sighing, reluctant, before telling them quietly that yes, yes he did, and Draco pressed his lips together in a scowl, mentally grumbling to himself that this was going to be hell.

Dumbledore looked at him. "Very well then. We must make the necessary preparations."

ooooo

Draco Malfoy was pacing the room when there was a knock on the door. He had presented all of the information he had gathered about the Auror, Erick Bell, and then spent the last hour and a half trying to figure out a liable plan as well as find that hidden tangent between Bell and Voldemort. They still weren't sure exactly if Bell was working for the Dark Lord, and even if he was, he was risking very much as a highly-established and reputable Auror (which could also make a good alibi and surely deflect any possible suspicions, so it was foolproof if he was working for Voldemort). But why else would his keen eye have been on Granger that night? Draco had also found out from Potter that Granger herself had been feeling as if she had been being watched all this week. It all seemed to match up. But surely Voldemort would not be so foolhardy in his operations?

It was a difficult thing to put together. Charles VanMussen murdered, the creator of the surreal Absolution potion. It would bring power that Voldemort needed. Granger being watched. Potter loved Granger. The pieces seemed to fit. But there was something a little off-color about it… Draco just couldn't put a finger on what…

Unless… unless Voldemort wanted them to think that he was going to use the Absolution potion – to distract them.

Draco sighed. There were simply too many possibilities. They needed another lead, something that could narrow their options down a little.

"Come in," Dumbledore announced, and the door immediately opened as a frantic-looking Minerva McGonagall glided in. Her hat was a little askew and there was something uncanny in her presence that caused both Harry and Draco to halt in their spots, mid-action, watching intently as she handed Dumbledore a piece of folded parchment.

"Albus," she said, and there was a little tremor in her usually stern voice. Draco was reminded then of the time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and had to shake off the memory to focus. "You need to read this. It was just sent to me a few minutes ago. It's urgent."

Dumbledore, sensing the profound graveness of the situation, took the parchment from her, unfolded it, and began to read. There was a rigid, cold silence that eclipsed the room, as the two boys suddenly felt something odd in the air. They both watched him, unmoving, feeling an ominous constricting around their throats. He put the letter down with a grim look on his aged face, triggering alarm to flicker onto their faces and their hearts to pound heavily inside their chests.

"It's from your mother," he said to Draco. "There's been an attack."

ooooo

They immediately Apparated to an abandoned street corner directly beside Cheshire Fox Flats. As soon as the soles of Harry Potter's shoes had slapped down on the moist ground, he had launched his body out of the alley, sprinting towards the entrance and running up the stairs of their apartment building. Draco was not far behind. They didn't know whether Dumbledore was running behind them, which would have been something of a silly sight (the man wore dresses; of course it was funny), for all they heard was the roaring white noise and the rasping drumming inside their ears. But it was no surprise to them that once they had reached the hallway, Albus Dumbledore had been right beside them. Harry and Draco ran down the corridor, ignoring the possible ruckus they were making with their feet pounding down against the carpet, and not stopping until Harry had thrown the door of his flat open.

Just as they had feared, it was unlocked.

As the door slowly swung open, it exposed a terrible sight. The inside of his flat was completely scorched. Each inch of his once white-as-snow walls had been burnt entirely and was now the color of charcoal; they could also still see the smoke rising from the floor. The ground underneath their feet was still crisp from the attack and sizzled as they stepped inside. The three men looked around their environment with a shocked expression, taking a moment to register the destroyed ruins of what used to be Harry Potter and Hermione Granger's housing quarters.

Draco went ahead and observed the wreck, sifting through a few things with his hands, burning himself once or twice from things that had still not cooled down. There were shards of broken glass that crunched underneath their soles, furniture absolutely destroyed, papers and pieces of the curtains that Draco had to stomp on for there were still little blue flames dancing atop of them.

"Looks like they were looking for something," Draco said aloud, noticing that the flat looked like it had been ransacked before being burnt.

"It was no ordinary fire," said Dumbledore. "There's an odd smell in the air that isn't normal among fire fumes."

Just then, Harry Potter said something, his eyes wide with realization. "Hermione," he croaked, his voice raspy. His face looked pained.

Draco's spine shot straight, looking at Harry with alarm. His heart had suspended its beat. "What?"

"She's not here," said Harry forcefully, the fullness of his voice spilling out now, and he was beginning to breathe rapidly. "She was hung over, and she didn't feel well, so I left her here, and Madam Rosmerta owled and said that she was sacked. She was here when it happened – I can't believe I left her –"

"You left her here alone?" Draco almost shouted.

Harry Potter could not respond as coherently as he would have liked to. All he knew was that he felt something hot and sour burning a hole straight through his chest and everything seemed a little fuzzy now because of the lightness that was overtaking his head. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to compose himself. "Hermione," he said again. "We've got to find her."

Suddenly, Harry felt something clamp down on his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see Draco Malfoy accosting him painfully. His silver eyes were molten gray, mottled with rage, and his face angry in color. "Don't tell me that, Potter! Don't tell me they took her!"

"Now, Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy, we do not know anything for certain yet –" interrupted Dumbledore, but even something cracked in his voice. He did not sound as certain as he usually did. "We do not know who did this—"

"Are you mad, old man?" shouted Draco, directing his rage towards somebody else. "Of course we know who did this! The Death Eaters! Voldemort! Who else would need Granger?" Draco, glaring at the other two people in the room, drew his wand. "I'm going to try and track them. I can find her."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid, Mister Malfoy, that you are not yet so advanced as to successfully attempt –"

"They took Hermione," said Harry lowly. "I think he can try whatever he wants."

Dumbledore scowled at them; discontent with the display of 'unity' they were showing now. Both Draco's and Harry's wands then flew out of their hands, landing perfectly in his palm, where he then firmly held them. Draco yelled out in protest.

"Be sensible, you two," he said sternly. "You don't even have a clue where they could have taken her. What we need to do now is think about a plan of action, get some more information, and call in the Order –"

"But they could be using her for the potion right now!" yelled Harry. "What do you expect we do, then? When the potion is all finished and Voldemort is undefeatable?"

"Au contraire, Mister Potter," said Dumbledore. "They don't have you."

They were silent.

This didn't help Draco. "They're using her as bait," he said in an angry tone. "They'll get what they want from her first, and then they're going to use her as bait for Potter. That's what they're going to do."

"That sounds like a very possible hypothesis, Mister Malfoy. However, I do think that" – Dumbledore's eyes flickered to behind them, the once gloomy blue of his pupils relaxing. There was a sudden twinkle in them as he cut short his sentence and smiled. "Ah, but I'm afraid you are very mistaken. How lovely you could join us, Miss Granger, we were just talking about you."

Harry and Draco froze in their spots, not quite comprehending what their former headmaster had said, before they both whirled around to see Hermione Granger standing in the doorway, wide-eyed at their ash-ravaged home.

"Harry," she said shakily, frantically looking around, hopelessly fearful and bewildered by the scene, "what is going on?"

Draco had to strategically look away as Harry Potter ran over to his flat mate and they embraced quite tightly – quite sappily, in his opinion – and found himself holding his tongue, that and many others things. His chest was tight as he heard Potter proclaiming how happy he was to see her, and nothing would ever be the same for any of them, he knew, after Potter had admitted his love for Granger in Dumbledore's office. Not even for Draco. He was plunged in quite a shitty position, really. What were the odds that one entire year later they'd still be fighting over the same girl? What was so obnoxiously special about Granger that she'd managed to catch the affections of two both highly influential men – one called Draco Malfoy definitely being better than the other? And why did Draco still find himself looking at her with that panging beat in his chest when he could have sworn – sworn – that when he'd first laid eyes upon her again with her stupid sunflower oven mitts with Potter after one whole year that he'd absolutely, inscrutably despised her?

And he could have expertly denied it. Draco Malfoy and Denial were best mates, so it wouldn't have been a problem at all. But he just reckoned that there was just something about her that brought out all the ugly truths in him. Even before.

So there it was. Perhaps the single ugliest truth he ever had to conceal. Draco Malfoy, even after all this time, still had a thing for Hermione Granger.

Oi vey.

When the happy couple finally released from their little hug, Draco still couldn't quite look at Granger without that twinge in his chest that made him want to punch Potter in the jaw. But he noticed that in that little stretch of silence afterwards, she'd looked at him and she'd been a bit startled. He didn't know if she remembered the night before, maybe not, but she didn't look angry with him. Perhaps just stiff-lipped. But in the corner of his eye he made out a strange expression that he could have sworn he hadn't seen in years flicker across her face for one quick-as-lightning second, her cheeks a little pink, before it disappeared and she turned to Dumbledore, asking what had happened.

Potter ignored her, surprising them all with a cutting tone. "Where were you?"

"I went over to the Burrow to have some of… erm, Fred's hangover potion," she mumbled ashamedly. "But I was only gone for about ten minutes, tops, I don't understand how this could have happened –" She was beginning to panic.

"It isn't your fault, Miss Granger. We received an owl about an attack, and came over as quickly as we could. We are just relieved that you had capital timing; had you stayed a minute more you could have been hurt, or worse, taken. We have reason to believe that the Death Eaters could have been responsible for this, but we need more information. But, for now, we must get you and Mister Potter out of here. I'm sure one of your neighbors have called the authorities by now, and there is also the risk of somebody coming back, so we must leave. We will all meet at the Malfoy Manor. We will discuss everything there." He gave everybody a firm look. "I have disabled the Anti-Apparating charms Miss Granger has put up – which were very strong and troublesome, by the way, good job" – he winked – "for we cannot risk stepping outside and being seen."

Draco stoically nodded, noticing the way Potter was now protectively holding onto Granger. He also noticed with a spark of intrigue when he let go of her quickly, as if he had just realized what he was doing and thought it to be unnecessary – as if he had been burned.

"Mister Malfoy's manor has exclusive Apparating intelligence, so that should prevent from anyone unwanted following us. Now, we shan't waste anymore time. On the count of three. One, two, three!"

And they all disappeared.

ooooo

Draco arrived first. Then came Dumbledore, and then Potter, then Granger. She was entirely serious as she appeared beside Draco, her jaw locked tight, as if the graveness of the situation had just hit her as soon as she had to Apparate back to the Ice Palace. It had to be something, really, if even Dumbledore's office wasn't safe enough and they had to resort to hiding out at Draco's place. She seemed only a bit perturbed by their meeting spot, her face viciously unyielding, as they all settled into the parlor.

Oddly, Potter silently insisted on keeping his space from her.

"I have just informed the Order," said Dumbledore. "They will be here shortly. Our priority is to find out exactly who attacked your flat, Harry, and what their purpose was. It is also imperative to find out any sliver of news from Professor Snape – if there has been any mumblings or meetings or information we must know. We will all get sorted once everyone arrives. And where is your mother, Draco?" asked Dumbledore. "I trust she is coming?"

Draco nodded. "She's with Lupin and the Order."

"Very well then. But for the meantime, please do not worry. Do not resort to any rash behavior, for that will only make everything worse. Everything will be revealed in due course. There is no guarantee we will be able to conjure up a plan of action today, but we will certainly try. However, before any of that, what we must figure out is how to protect both of you. Mister Potter, it is no longer safe for you to be working at the office – you too, Miss Granger. Do not worry, for I will notify them myself. Both of you must avoid public exposure for as long as needed, so that will require you to lodge in a place that is promisingly safe and recluse."

"What about the Burrow?" asked Hermione, yet immediately after she suggested it she felt herself color with her stupidity.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid that cannot be, Miss Granger. The Burrow is too obvious of a place to put you in. In fact, we must now evacuate the Weasleys and put them in a temporary home – they are in danger, as well. It has to be a place where no one can guess – somewhere very unlikely."

"So I suppose Hogwarts is out of the question, then," said Harry.

"You are right. We cannot put you there for two reasons: the possible danger it might put upon our students, and the possible danger it might put upon you. Perhaps the second place Voldemort would look for you is Hogwarts."

"Then where do you suggest we stay?" asked Granger, her brow crinkling with worry. "Surely you can't just shut us up somewhere on an isolated island!"

"No, of course not," smiled Dumbledore. "While that would be a very good idea, I have thought of somewhere better."

"Where?"

"Why, where else but the Malfoy manor?"

They gaped at the old man.

"W-what?" sputtered Draco, certainly not remembering discussing any of this with the old coot before. He could hear Granger stammering out the same question herself. Potter was silent and did not seem to have any objections to the notion; he appeared to have considered the possibility already. Draco would have been shocked at his peace (considering the fact that if this idea was forced, Granger would have to be sleeping in the same house as his highly attractive archenemy) had he not already been too occupied with trying to figure out how this was possible without anybody being physically harmed.

"Stay here?" exclaimed Hermione, her face white with horror.

"Yes, well, why not?" asked Dumbledore. "It is an ingenious place to put you. Nobody would guess Mister Malfoy to be the host of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. It would be the best choice."

"But Professor Dumbledore!" said Hermione, her cheeks now flaring with passionate color, her eyes flickering to Draco before snatching them back. "Surely there is an alternative! We would only be intruding –"

"Oh, I'm certain Mister Malfoy wouldn't mind," he said, waving it off.

"On the contrary," said Draco, his stomach overcome with a flurry of disconcerting sensations, but was then cut off as several cracking sounds began to barrage the room. One by one, the members of the Order appeared in the parlor where they were, their conversation rapidly dwindling away as Molly Weasley, the last to appear, nearly tackled down Potter and Granger in her hysterical crying.

"Now, now, settle down," said Dumbledore, standing up amongst the crowd of people looking serious and grave. His face was sketched menacingly. "We have important things to discuss."

---

Post-A/N: Finally! Some Draco POV! Must apologize to those of you who aren't particularly fond of Harry/Hermione, but I assure you that there will be none of that in here – Harry's feelings for Hermione is as far as it goes. (That and this other thing, but I won't tell you that till later.) Don't forget to REVIEW, my pretties!