Summary: (AU) (DMHG) It’s the middle of the war. Gaining the trust of someone on the opposite side is not easily done, especially when your ulterior motive it to kill her. But when the trust is returned, the line between black and white isn’t so clear anymore.

Disclaimer: Everything except the plot belongs to JK Rowling. Now leave me be.

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Draco kneeled down by Voldemort’s feet, face down, waiting.

“My Lord,” he murmured, smelling the icy cold rotting stench of the stone floor. He idly wondered how much blood had been spilt and cleaned from it.

“Rise.”

Draco did as commanded, never once lifting his submissive head. He knew the Dark Lord was sitting on this throne, like he always did.

“Look at me,” Voldemort hissed, his voice snaking through the air menacingly. Draco obliged.

Years had not affected Lord Voldemort like it did to the rest of the subjects. Draco, twenty-two as of last week, had matured and grown from the frightened little boy he was when he first joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, to the confident, loyal servant of Voldemort. The Dark Lord looked untouched by time, his smooth, grey-white skin contrasting eerily with his blood red eyes. His thin, bloodless lips curled in a sneer.

“You have been at odds with that Mudblood for a while, have you not? That ‘Granger’.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Draco’s voice was smooth and just loud enough. Years of service, advice, and humiliation brought about his perfect image. His face twisted at the thought of the girl.

Last he had heard of her, she had duped Voldemort yet again, marking it up to a total of seven times. For Lord Voldemort, that was seven times too many. She had managed to penetrate through his wards, creating and inventing spells to counter or to sneak past his attacks. She was a danger.

“I have a mission for you.”

“Whatever my Lord commands of me.”

“I want her information. I want her knowledge. I want you to get that for me. And when you are done, at my command, you will dispose of her.”

“My Lord,” Draco started, a question evident in his tone. Voldemort gave no sign of stopping, so Draco continued, “do I have the permission to act as a double-agent?”

“An intriguing idea,” Voldemort hissed, eyeing his servant with a gleam in his eye. His crimson eyes stared right at Draco’s grey ones. He met the Dark Lord’s gaze unflinchingly.

Voldemort was skilled at Legimency. At a single glance, he could attack and read people’s minds as if they were books, or an object that could be viewed at on one’s leisure. Draco, while proficient at Occlumency, could never entirely shield his mind from his master.

“An intriguing idea,” Voldemort repeated, lifting his arm so Nagini could coil around it. “But a double-agent for whom?”

“You, My Lord,” was Draco’s prompt reply. “Always you.” Draco had learned how to evade tricky questions like that a long time ago. His father always loved firing them at him.

Voldemort regarded Draco for another moment, before sharply nodding his head. “You shall do this task alone. Speak of it to no one.”

Draco bowed his head in agreement.

“Report to me weekly. If you get caught, then kill yourself. But Draco Malfoy,” Voldemort’s silky tone was dangerous, cutting, “I doubt you will be careless enough to be caught.”

“Never, My Lord,” Draco murmured.

“You start as soon as possible,” Voldemort hissed.

“Yes, My Lord,” Draco answered back, recognizing his dismissal. “I shall not fail you.”

“No, you shall not,” Voldemort agreed.

Bowing respectfully to his master, Draco bowed out of the small audience chamber, out into the empty, small, stoned hallway. The door slammed close in front of him, and Draco straightened up, staring impassively at the black door.

Walking down the hall, hearing his footsteps echo emptily, he wondered where it all started and where it was going. A Malfoy’s first rule was to never obey another, but evidently, Lucius had missed the memo. Now Draco had no choice but to follow in his father’s footsteps, offering up his services and loyalty to a master.

But it had been worth it. Draco was sure of it.

A better future, one without muggle-borns; just pure-blooded wizards and witches, as it was meant to be. Their line of magic had to stay pure after all, and Muggle blood just simply muddied the power up.

That was the future Draco was working towards. That was why he served Lord Voldemort, the one who set the vision into action.

And yet…somewhere down the line, the goal of having a brighter future without Mudbloods became mixed and confused with the term ‘power’. Draco wasn’t even sure what they were fighting for anymore; he knew what he was fighting for, but did everybody else?

A ghastly scream penetrated the stone walls, but Draco ignored them. Bellatrix was probably having fun with another one of her toys. Azkaban was her playground, full of her toys.

Only a handful of months ago, Voldemort had stormed Azkaban with the help of his Death Eaters and Dementors, taking the prison easily. Without the Dementors to guard the place, the prison was virtually defenseless.

Since Voldemort had already struck at the Ministry of Magic beforehand, it was assumed that he would take some time and regroup. Lord Voldemort used that assumption and gained his advantage by striking right away in the least expected place. No one, save Voldemort and his followers, was expecting the attack, so security had not been tightened very quickly.

Wards were cut down in a matter of seconds. The few Aurors that were on duty were slaughtered or captured, and the prisoners had been set free. Many of the freed prisoners chose to serve Lord Voldemort, while the others had fled the island.

They didn’t get very far; after all, Azkaban Prison was in the middle of nowhere. But Voldemort had been gracious, and Portkeyed them straight in front of the Ministry of Magic.

It had been a statement:

What will you do now?

Lord Voldemort had overtaken one of the strongestwizarding holdings that the Light had. There wasn’t much that anyone could shout to that.

Draco weaved his way between prison cells and hallways and torture chambers, finally coming to the exit. He stepped out and Apparated to his apartment.

Apparition in Azkaban was impossible save for one spot: the step right in front of Azkaban’s only entry. It was designed that way so that anyone who was lucky enough to Apparate on the spot would be ambushed by watching Death Eaters.

Draco Apparated right in the middle of his living room, not surprised when he saw Blaise Zabini lounging on his couch. While the two weren’t exactly ‘friends’, they were close acquaintances.

“Blaise,” Draco nodded towards the dark-skinned man while he took shed his outer cloak.

“Draco,” the man greeted him back. “How was the meeting?”

“I’m back, whole and sane, aren’t I?”

“No, my friend,” Blaise chuckled, “you lost your sanity a long time ago. We all did.”

“Watch what you say,” Draco warned as he moved into his bedroom to change cloaks. “You never know who might be listening and who just might twist your words.”

“True enough,” Blaise agreed. “Are you allowed to tell me what your meeting was about?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” Blaise mused.

“For you.”

Silence fell between the two.

Then-

“Merlin, Malfoy, do you ever stock your fridge?”

“No,” Draco answered, coming out of his room, Muggle attire on. He found them more comfortable than everyday cloaks – not that Voldemort would ever know. Merlin help him if his master found out he liked something that Muggles created. “Why should I stock it if you clean it out every time you come over?”

“So I can have something to eat?”

“Pansy not feeding you properly?”

“Oh, you know. Pregnancy and cooking don’t really go hand and hand.”

“What about all your house-elves? You must have a dozen at least.”

“They take too long,” was Blaise’s excuse, “and it’s too much effort to punish them.”

“Find your snack elsewhere. I have a mission to plan.”

“Quick to kick me out,” Blaise rolled his black eyes, but complied. “Pansy sends her love.”

“And I send my blast-ended skrewt.”

“Will tell her.”

“Thank you.”

Blaise shut the door firmly behind him before Disapparating. It was an oddly formal and polite habit of his. He hated Disapparating in front of someone when he was about to leave. A quirky thing of his.

Draco twirled his wand, locking the door and setting his wards up. Living in a Muggle apartment (he had sworn he wouldn’t even touch the area it was located in until Voldemort stepped in with a valid point; Aurors were less likely to search Muggle apartments than wizarding compounds) had its advantages, but chances never really tipped in his favor.

Draco opened the pantry carefully, touching just behind the back of the handles as to not disturb the fine layer of dust coating the doors. Inside was a small fridge, stacked with all sorts of food with the help of an interior enlarging charm. He swiped a sandwich and carefully closed the door. He grumbled as he sat down on his kitchen table; only Blaise would make him go to such extremes to hide his food.

Chewing thoughtfully on his sandwich, Draco thought over a plan for his mission.

Getting close to Granger…a Mudblood. Draco might’ve changed and adapted to a lot of things (moving to a Muggle apartment, wearing Muggle clothing, and fixing his own food to name a few) but getting close to a…a thing that he absolutely loathed was simply impossible.

Of course, one can’t say ‘no’ to Lord Voldemort unless he had a death wish.

And of course, Draco Malfoy did not have a death wish. So he would have to shove his Mudblood hate aside and concentrate at the task at hand.

…

It was not easy.

Draco resisted the urge to hurl his sandwich as he thought of a way to earn Granger’s trust. But he restrained himself. As a Malfoy, vomiting up a simple sandwich was undignified.

But he had a vague plan sketched out. It would require a great deal of sacrifice and acting on his part, but he was pretty certain he could pull it off.

To gain information from Granger, he would have to earn her trust. As far as he could see it, there were a couple of ways he could gain her trust: as a comrade, as a friend, or as a lover.

He tossed option three out before the thought fully formed in his mind. He tossed option two after quick consideration, which left option one.

A comrade. Draco could tolerate (key word) working as the Mudblood’s comrade for…well, who knows how long. Probably months, considering his record and the unstable condition the Order was in.

Several months ago, years ago, even, for some of them, Voldemort had infiltrated top-notch spies into the Order, and one even in the inner circle. Unfortunately, one of his lower minions accidentally gave them away and ripples of distrust went through the Order of the Phoenix. Veritaserum flowed like water and all of Voldemort’s spies were weeded out. The Dark Lord wasn’t particularly happy about it, but the lasting effects of his actions were enough to make up for his servant’s bumble. Not that the servant didn’t get his punishment though. Draco still saw him sometimes in one of Azkaban’s cells, kept there for Bellatrix.

Security had rose sky high in the span of five seconds for the Order. Draco snorted. One would have to be an idiot to miss the shambles that the Order was in. They did a fairly decent job of hiding it, but thanks to his own spies, Draco knew that the Order was disarray , scrambling to recruit trustworthy people while tightening security while trying to find a way to beat back Voldemort without losing more of their numbers.

It was obvious who was winning the six year war.

Funny, if ten years ago, someone had told Draco that he’d be one of the Dark Lord’s most loyal servants, Draco would have sneered condescendingly and say, “Damn right.” But now, the only thing he wanted to do was get the war over with and go on with his life.

But no. The war changed and became his life.

Vanishing the crumbs of his sandwich with a wave of his wand, Draco stood and went to the bathroom. He braced himself against the sink, staring into his reflection.

A pale faced, aristocratic face stared back at him, with finely cut sharp features and grey eyes, framed by light blonde hair.

He wondered what other people saw when they looked at him. Did they see a monster? A savior? A familiar face? A stranger? A killer?

Draco would honestly like to say that he saw himself as a believer, a person who stuck to a goal and would never give up. He could say, though, that he was a pure-blooded wizard and damned proud of it.

But… thinking honestly, he knew what people what see when they looked at him.

A traitor. A coward. A killer. A monster.

He pretended that that didn’t hurt.

Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand out of stress before walking out of his bathroom. He went into his potions room (an empty room he had converted) to brew some of his Anti-Veritaserum Elixer. Only he knew the formula, and only he had the power, experience, and knowledge to mix it. Snape would probably know as well, but he was busy creating other potions for the Dark Lord.

He had created the potion a couple of weeks ago in his spare time. Despite many of his classmates’ opinions in Hogwarts, Draco was quite intelligent and resourceful. It took three days to brew, with many expensive, rare, and dangerous Potions ingredients. It was a good thing that he had connections and money, otherwise he’d never be able to pull the whole act off.

As he stirred the contents in his cauldron, Draco thought of his plan.

To get to Granger, he would have to go into the Order of the Phoenix and either pretend to work as a double spy for them (while in reality he was working as a double spy for Voldemort) or join and help her create counter spells and charms against Lord Voldemort.

But, step one: finding a way to enter the Order of the Phoenix.

Draco paused in his stirring, almost forgetting that if he stopped for too long, the cauldron would melt from the reactive contents and then blow up.

Details…Draco hated them, but for this plan, every single step, heck, every single breath had to be planned. Nothing had to go wrong for this mission. His personal hatred for the Mudblood Granger ensured that. The damned excuse for a witch had to go either way.

And so Merlin help him, he would kill her, Voldemort be damned.

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AN: Ok. My attempt of a DM/HG fic with a realistic plot and (hopefully) character development. I’m lovin’ it so far, and the short chapters are a relief to my usually huge-ass chapters.

This will be an unbeta-ed fic. Unless I change my mind by looking at my atrocious grammar.

Inspired by Robin4’s Unbroken Universe series and luckei1’s We Learned the Sea. Read their fics – they are gods.

I hope I have Draco’s character down alright. Constructive criticism is like water in a desert for me. Reviews are nice too though :D