»»———— ☽ ༓ ☾ ———-««

"I'm sorry about Snape, Malfoy," Hermione spoke up quietly, finally working up the nerve to go to him.

He glanced up from his glass of firewhiskey, his eyes cold and blank. The rest of the Order had shuffled off in the late hours of the night once Malfoy finished his debrief.

"Yeah, you and every other do-gooder that doubted him to begin with," he scoffed, the bitterness of the words not reflected in his bizarrely disinterested tone.

"I actually didn't," she said lightly, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "I was usually the one defending him when no one wanted to hear it. But either way that wasn't what I meant," she trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow at her shrewdly.

"I know you were close," she sighed. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Malfoy's eyes hardened, a blank wall shuttering over the minimal curiosity he might've displayed before. "I don't need your pity, Granger," he spat.

"It's not-"

Malfoy rose smoothly from his seat, pacing towards her, practically bristling with frustration. "Let's not pretend like you actually care, hmm? All anyone here wants from me is the intel I can bring in, and I like it that way. After all, the only thing I need from you lot is your manpower, as pathetic as it may be."

He towered over her, his gaze cold enough to freeze someone from the inside out twice over. Yet Hermione didn't even flinch, merely studying him calmly, almost with a sadness in her eyes. He hated it- that pity. He hadn't relied on anyone in five years, long coming to accept the reality that he was alone in this world. He certainly didn't need Hermione bloody Granger taking up his cause like he was one of her damn house elves.

"You're self-sabotaging, you know," she told him evenly. "I'm not your enemy, and you know that."

He glared at her.

"Besides," she continued. "Maybe I do care whether you live or die in this war. I'm certainly not the only one. We've already lost far too many- that doesn't make this pity."

Malfoy's nostrils flared as he pushed back from her.

"I don't need your concern, nor do I want it."

"Everyone needs a friend," Hermione said softly. "Even you."

He turned back to her again, his face pulling into a familiar sneer that she hadn't seen in years. "You want to be my friend, do you, Granger?" He taunted. "You wouldn't even know how."

"Do you even know what it's like to have a friend?" She asked, her voice very frank as she watched him inquisitively. "A real friend- someone you trust."

Because Malfoy never truly had friends, did he? He had lackeys or minions. He had crazed pureblood witches hoping to secure marriage. But never a true friend.

"Trust? Now, why would I be foolish enough to do something like that?" He mocked.

He hated how she could drive him up a wall. Every part of his rational mind told him to walk away, save himself the trouble. Yet, some deep-buried part of himself desired to give as good as he got. He never liked losing to Granger. Being on the same side hadn't changed that.

"You trust us enough to work with us," she pointed out.

"Being the lesser of two evils isn't something worth commending," Draco sneered.

Hermione's eyes flared in annoyance. "You know that's not-"

Malfoy advanced on her in a flash, cornering her back against the counter. His hands planted themselves firmly on the counter behind her, caging her in. Hermione inhaled sharply, her words lost as she jerked back instinctively. His entire body radiated annoyance, which was only coupled with his earlier rage from hearing news about Snape. The magic swirled around him like a palpable aura- something dark and powerful, like a storm you see on the horizon hoping it never reaches you. The very surge of his magic had her shrinking back from him before she could think any better of it.

Draco scoffed softly, his anger dimming slightly in the face of her panic. "You talk about trust, and yet you're still scared of me."

She opened her mouth to deny it, but he cut her off.

"Don't," he bit out, pushing away from her abruptly. "Stay away, Granger. I don't want your insipid company."

»»———— ☽ ༓ ☾ ———-««

Malfoy's training from Snape must've stuck because the newly minted Headmaster of Hogwarts- the third ever Slytherin in the history of the school to take the position- managed to sweep through the corridors like a walking fury. While Snape always resembled a bat with his wide, billowing robes and brisk, angry strides, Malfoy moved much like a true serpent. He wore more fitted and ornate robes- something worthy of his station both as Headmaster and the last remaining scion of the infamous Malfoy line. Yet his purposeful strides were swift and cutting as he made his way through the empty corridors.

The new position offered him certain perks, such as being the only living person to truly be in tune with the ancient Hogwarts wards. Now with the protection of these wards and the freedom of being the only person to apparate through them, Draco found he had an easier time sneaking away for Order debriefings without needing to mask his tracks. The school's wards did it for him.

But the price was too high.

Snape might not have been the most comforting of company, but his presence had provided solidarity nonetheless.

Draco scoffed to himself as he made his way up to his offices. He couldn't believe the way Granger had tried to- Well, he wasn't exactly sure what she was trying to do. Befriend him? Right, like that witch had any desire to befriend her bully of nearly a decade. The same person who'd stood by and allowed her to be tortured. Of course, Granger out of anyone else in the Order would be foolhardy enough to try and "save" him, whatever that might mean. They should be fucking grateful for his cooperation. If his godfather hadn't insisted on this path, and if he hadn't been informed the truth about Horcruxes, Draco would never have even bothered with the self-righteous Order. He'd have just gone and slit Voldemort's throat himself. Perhaps Bellatrix too.

But here he was, five years later- still stuck trying to end this.

Just as he'd reached his office, he felt his arm burn and throb with the sensation of a summons. He quickly shut down his irritation and emotions, peeling the disinterested mask over himself as he turned and apparated.

»»———— ☽ ༓ ☾ ———-««

"Draco," Voldemort called silkily. "Oh good, I'd like your opinion on our new guest."

Draco immediately sensed something was wrong as he took in the gleeful faces of his fellow Death Eaters. There hadn't been any scheduled raids lately. No plans of attack. What could they possibly be gleeful over?

"Yes, my lord?" Draco responded smoothly.

He'd just cleared the crowd of robed brethren when his eyes found the source of their interest. Draco could feel his heart stop as he took in the crumpled heap at the Dark Lord's feet.

"We've managed to pick up a lucky stray on the patrols," Voldemort said casually, kicking disinterestedly at the navy blue robes of the nearly unconscious wizard.

"So I see," Draco forced a smirk. He glanced down, meeting the defeated and accepting gaze of none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt. His face was bloodied, and his body twitched from the lingering effects of the cruciatus. "What is it you plan to do with him?"

"I was hoping to get your two sickles on the matter," Voldemort said cheerfully. "It has been ever so long since we've managed to secure a spy within the Order. We never did manage to replace Severus after his cover was blown. Do you think this would be a viable candidate?"

Malfoy tilted his head in mock consternation as he pretended to study Kingsley. Internally he could feel another part of himself shrivel and die. This was hardly a real request for his opinion- it was a test. Everyone with any clearance of intelligence within the Death Eaters' ranks knew Shacklebolt was one of the most wanted Order members. His leadership within the organization was infamously known, second only to that of McGonagall and the late Auror Moody. Everyone knew Kingsley Shacklebolt could never be coerced into turning spy for Voldemort. It would be a huge security risk.

So really, it was up to Draco to sentence him to death.

"I would advise against it, my lord," Draco murmured subserviently. "We cannot guarantee his cooperation. His mental defenses are too strong."

"So what would you recommend?" Voldemort prompted.

Draco inhaled calmly. "Wring him for all the information he'll give." Draco's eyes were utterly dead as Kingsley stared up into them, the fear inadvertently seeping into his gaze. "Then get rid of him. We'll have no use for him."

"None whatsoever?" Voldemort asked curiously.

"The Order doesn't have anything we want," Draco shrugged. "We have no use holding on to him. It'll only invite reason for them to attack us."

"Surely we can set an ambush for their rescue attempt?" Rowle called out.

Draco could see the panic in Kingsley's gaze as his eyes flitted around the room, taking in the sheer number of Death Eaters. Draco had to agree with his sentiments. Despite the five long years of fighting this war, the Order had become no better at prioritizing their choices. Their foolish no-man-left-behind attitude would drive them to attempt a rescue for Shacklebolt. And they would most certainly suffer irreparable losses if they did. They would never get the war back in their hands.

Conclusion: the best solution was for Kingsley to die here and now. Before the Order lost everything to another foolhardy rescue attempt.

"I would disagree," Draco continued in the same uninterested tone he'd perfected from Snape's example. "We have far more to lose if they managed to get him back. He's too important to them, we're better off just killing him. It's not like they would send Potter after him, anyway."

"Too true, young Draco," Voldemort said with a barely perceptible, satisfied smile.

Draco exhaled. He'd passed his test.

"For your careful thinking and strategy," Voldemort continued indulgently, "Draco will get the first shot of this evening's festivities."

The breath left him once again as he felt himself nodding dutifully. Draco turned his gaze back to Kingsley, his own raised wand visible in his line of vision now. Kingsley's big, soulful eyes stared back at him with a deep sense of acceptance.

Too quickly, a haze of memories flashed through Draco's mind.

Kingsley's cautious, piercing gaze when Snape brought him to headquarters for the first time.

Kingsley dragging Draco out of the rubble at a muggle school they'd failed to protect from a Death Eater strike.

His hand clapped him on the shoulder as they shared a moment of quiet, both of them nursing glasses of liquor after a devastating night with losses they both had to live with.

His eyes, finally accepting and trusting as he backed up Draco's assessment for the first time during an Order meeting.

"Crucio."

»»———— ☽ ༓ ☾ ———-««

-- Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix

"Why have you called us again so soon?" Lupin asked curiously.

"Has something happened?" McGonagall asked urgently.

Draco stood before them all, looking completely stoic. The only signs that all was not okay were the faint splatters of blood along the hem of his robes and his slightly disheveled appearance.

"Shacklebolt was killed tonight."

The entire room fell silent as the Order gaped at him disbelievingly.

"He didn't give up any information. I tried to get his body, but you'll likely be receiving it throughout the week," Draco paused, a hint of discomfort seeping through his layers of occlumency. "In pieces."

"What the hell?" Harry recoiled in horror. "What do you mean, in pieces?"

"You're our bloody spy for a reason," Ron fumed. "How could you let this happen?"

"Now, let's calm down," McGonagall said diplomatically. "We don't know exactly what happened."

"What happened?" Molly stuttered, dumbfounded. "What could possibly justify getting Kingsley back in pieces? This is absolutely unacceptable."

Hermione watched in shellshock as the arguing voices became louder and louder, her own blood rushing through her ears slowly overpowering them all. Kingsley was dead. He was really dead. From his robes, it was likely Draco had to participate in the process. She could see the moment his carefully crafted control fractured, his previously dead eyes flaring with fury and injustice.

"He got caught! He was brought in by a random patrol. I DO MY JOB JUST FINE. IT'S YOUR JOB TO NOT GET CAUGHT!"

"How can you stand there and pretend like nothing's wrong?" Ron asked incredulously. "You've still got his fucking blood on your robes."

The entire Order watched in silence as Draco seethed, the tension rolling at the surface of his muscles. Ron had only asked what most of them were already thinking.

"I am not obligated to even have feelings regarding any of this, much less share them. I came here to tell you the relevant information, and I have. Take it as you will."

Draco swept through the door towards the kitchen, leaving the rest of the Order in silence in the sitting room.

Ron was about to storm after him when Remus caught him by the arm. "Leave him," their old professor said quietly.

"BUT-"

"Remus is right, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said firmly. "If Kingsley was caught, there was likely nothing more Mr. Malfoy could've done. We have to trust he did all he could."

Ron's eyes bulged incredulously. "He did all he could? That's not good enough- Kingsley is still DEAD."

"Calm down, Ron," Tonks jumped in firmly. "This isn't a question of Draco's loyalty. It's a war- we can hardly blame each other for every death."

"Of course you would bloody defend your own cousin," Ron muttered in annoyance.

"Watch yourself, Ron," Remus warned lowly. "I know you're mad about Kingsley's death- we all are. But none of us are to blame, not even Draco."

Ron glared at the elders of the Order, all of whom seemed to believe Draco with no qualms. With a gruff exhale, he turned on the spot, disapparating away.

McGonagall and Molly stared in worry as Harry jumped into action. "I'll go after him and make sure he doesn't do anything foolish," Harry announced.

"We'll go with you," Ginny and the twins volunteered. They knew first hand how hot-headed their brother could be, and Harry would need all the backup he could get.

The remaining members of the Order agreed to return directly to their own safe houses. Everyone was still reeling in stunned shock. They were too stupefied to do anything remotely productive tonight.

»»———— ☽ ༓ ☾ ———-««

Hermione knew she would be well advised to return to her own private safe house. It was a quiet little place on the edge of a small lake. It was an old family property passed down on her mother's side of the family that had been in their possession for generations. When the war took a turn for the worse and the property was still untouched, Hermione converted it into another safe house for the Order while taking residence in it herself.

But part of her couldn't help but want to check. If habit were anything to go by, Malfoy would likely be in the kitchen nursing a glass of Firewhiskey. While he was not obligated to share his feelings with them, Hermione had no doubt he had them.

She was oddly disappointed when she found the kitchen dark and abandoned. Perhaps he'd already left? Just as she walked back to the main corridor of Grimmauld Place, planning to say goodnight to anyone left before heading home herself, she noticed a lone light coming from the very opposite end of the hall.

It came from a room she often frequented- the library. Hermione allowed her curious footsteps to lead her towards the light seeping out of the slightly ajar door. She soundlessly slipped into the room, which was lowly illuminated with a haphazardly lit fire. But the sight that shocked her was the statue-like figure in front of the fire.

Draco stood in front of the flickering flames, his back ramrod straight. The only indication of movement was in his wand-hand, which was trembling by his leg. Hermione moved into the room cautiously. He should've heard her by now with his keen reflexes and senses. Yet Draco gave no indication he was aware of her presence. Hermione strode towards him until she was merely a few feet away; far enough that she could dodge any reflexive spells he might shoot her way.

"Malfoy?" She asked hesitantly. Surely he'd heard her by now.

Yet he didn't even twitch in acknowledgment.

"Malfoy," she prompted a little louder, moving slightly closer. She shivered as she felt the cold barriers of his occluding even from her current distance. He'd probably lit the fire to warm up.

Hermione reached out, her fingers brushing his arm cautiously. She nearly flinched back. His body was a block of ice- even through his clothes and outer robes. Draco's head turned towards her mechanically, his eyes completely blank.

"Malfoy, you need to stop occluding," Hermione said urgently, grasping his arm more firmly.

His eyes held hers, yet no sign of recognition.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Hermione huffed in concern, pushing him closer to the fire. She grasped her own wand, casting a warming charm directly on to him. Not that it did much good, the charm was too weak to penetrate the layers of his occlumency. She reached to pluck his wand out of his hand so she could rid him of his heavy robes, but that's when his instincts finally kicked in. Draco's fingers tightened on his wand as he jerked his arm up, grabbing her by the hair so suddenly, she barely had time to react. His fingers entwined in her curls drew her close while his wand dug into her throat.

"Malfoy," Hermione gasped, feeling the wood digging into her jugular. The iciness of the hand at her nape jarred her nearly as much as the wand at her neck. "Draco, stop. It's just me."

His eyes finally flickered infinitesimally, searching her eyes. "Granger." He stated tonelessly.

"Yes," she whispered.

Recognition spread through his gaze as Draco jerkily forced his wand down, though the hand in her hair remained.

"You're occluding too hard," she whispered soothingly, her hand grasping his wrist before it disappeared into her curls. "You need to drop your shields so you can warm up."

She could feel the slightest trembling in his stiff body as her words were finally processed. She reached for his wand once again, pausing as his grip on it tightened once again.

"I won't let anything happen to you," Hermione said firmly, meeting his gaze directly. "I swear."

Draco allowed the wand to slip out of his hand. She stripped him of his outer robes, leaving him in his grey slacks and a wrinkled white shirt. The tension in his muscles turned his body to marble, which remained frozen to the touch. He hadn't stopped occluding.

"Come on, Malfoy, I need you to stop occluding." Hermione urged. "Talk to me. Even if it's just to insult me again," she tempted half-heartedly.

While he didn't avoid her gaze nor her touch, Draco didn't seem to absorb anything else she said. If he didn't drop his own shields soon, he'd cause his body and brain permanent damage. His internal temperature had dropped dangerously, and if Hermione was right, which she usually was, he was currently lost in the recesses of his own mind.

"Don't hate me for this," she whispered. Carefully detangling his hand from her hair so he wouldn't reflexively pull on it, she whispered a silent legillimens as she stared into his eyes.

Trying to breach his defenses was more painful for her than it likely was for him. The borders of his shields hit her consciousness like an icy tundra. She knew she'd never fight her way in, not when even Voldemort himself couldn't break his shields. Hermione merely fortified her own mind, gently nudging against his shields as she softly rubbed circles into his palm. She felt herself slip into his mind, the iciness of his defenses surrounding her like sharpened daggers.

"Come on, Malfoy. You know me," she murmured softly, praying for his defenses to soften enough to drop his harsh shields.

"You're safe now, you can stop occluding."

Draco couldn't remember the haze of events after he stormed away from the Order. He remembered stumbling into the library as his defenses unwillingly hardened. He should be thawing his occlumency shields right now, yet the confrontation with bloody Weasley had left him more on guard than before. Whether he was in front of Voldemort himself or the Order, he was still on his own. He wasn't safe there. There was nowhere he didn't have to be on guard. Even Hogwarts had eyes and ears along every corridor.

The last thing he remembered was clumsily lighting the fireplace in a strained effort to warm his body up, even as he felt his mind slip further into its carefully constructed ice palace.

He thought he might be dreaming when he felt a gentle nudge against his tightly constructed walls. Yet the warmth of the foreign presence on the fringes of his mind was undeniable even as his mental guards fortified around it. But the warmth was just so incredibly tempting. Surely no Death Eaters were capable of penetrating his mind like this?

"Come on, Malfoy. You know me."

The voice was certainly familiar, he realized. Yet surely it couldn't be her? She'd never be so gentle- not with him.

"You're safe now, you can stop occluding."

What if it was a trap? Surely Hermione Granger wouldn't willingly dive into his head. He'd never given her any reason to want to help him particularly and every reason to just leave him to his own icy solitude.

"I've got you, Draco. Let go. Please, let go."

Perhaps he should've fought harder. But honestly, he was just so incredibly tired. He'd held on until he felt frozen down to his very bones. When her sweet voice reached him once again, he felt his barriers simply shatter.

She was just so warm.

He hadn't been remotely warm since Snape died. Perhaps even since his parents died.

Hermione caught him as Draco's legs crumpled under him, slowly lowering him to the carpet in front of the hearth.

"Malfoy?" She asked carefully.

He finally met her eyes without the previous vacancy of his stare. Then he immediately broke into violent shudders.

"Oh god, you're okay. Right, we've got to get you warm," she thought aloud, hauling him close as she dragged them closer to the hearth.

"Granger," he said, his teeth chattering unintentionally.

"Yes, it's me," she confirmed inanely. "You're okay, I've got you."

She had her wand out immediately to cast warming charms on him. She cast them on him, and then again on his clothes just to be safe.

"You're okay, you're okay," she mumbled to herself as she checked his warming body.

His previously pale cheeks were splashed red, his nearly blue lips regaining their color. His skin began thawing slowly, but too slowly for her liking. She rubbed her hands along his arms, hoping good old fashioned friction would do the trick.

"You're so warm," Draco groaned, grabbing at her forearms hard enough to pitch her forward and into him.

Hermione's first instinct was to stumble back from Malfoy. But as she felt his shuddering body against hers, she knew he'd never willingly let her in again if she fled now, not now that he was back in his own mind. She lifted her arms, gently embracing him. Her arms drew circles on the expanse of his back, both hoping to comfort him and hoping that the friction would help warm him.

"Why were you occluding so hard?" She reprimanded softly. "You know better."

Draco knew he should shove her out of his arms. He should've never touched her. Yet she was just so warm- warmer than he'd ever managed to be for as long as he could remember. He tucked his face into the warm skin of her neck, feeling a slight shiver run through her as his cold skin came into contact with hers. But she didn't let go.

"I always have my guard up." He merely said.

"You know that's not safe," she reminded him unnecessarily. "You could've shut down your bodily functions occluding that hard."

"I had to. I couldn't make it through tonight without occluding it all out." He admitted softly.

Hermione's arms stilled on his back. He had never admitted the Order's losses took an emotional toll on him. Most of the Order assumed they didn't, even though the majority of them still believed his loyalty. They all assumed Malfoy had his own reasons for his choices.

Malfoy tensed when Hermione stilled. Great. Now she would remember he spent his night torturing their beloved Shacklebolt and push him away. He should shove her away before she had the chance. He should've never let her this close to begin with. Weak.

But Hermione's embrace only tightened as she pulled him closer still.

"They don't blame you for Kingsley," Hermione assured him firmly. "We know there's nothing you could've done once he got caught. Not without compromising yourself, and we need you to end this war. Especially since you're the true master of the Elder Wand."

Her words comforted him, yet simultaneously left him oddly disappointed. On one hand, she didn't blame him for tonight's atrocities. But on the other, she only valued his life over Kingsley's because he was the master of the Elder Wand and indispensable to ending the war. Why did that even matter? Why did that bother him?

"I numbed him from the worst of it," Draco admitted hoarsely. "When the others were too busy to notice."

"Thank you," she said genuinely. "Even that was more risk than you could afford to take. If you'd been caught-"

"It was the least I could do for him," Draco said firmly. He didn't want to be thanked for making his comrade's suffering any more than it needed to be.

She held him until he was back to a normal temperature. She held him until his shivering stopped. She didn't try to rack him for details of what had happened. She didn't try to whisper false assurances that it'd all be okay. She just stayed and shared her warmth, allowing him to bask in it for however long he needed.

She held him until he finally gathered the willpower to withdraw from her warmth. Part of him never wanted to give up that soothing warmth, but his nerves of steel kicked in, pushing the weakness back.

Slowly, one by one, Draco fortified his walls back in place. Hermione could feel him withdraw even before he gently leaned out of her embrace.

When he finally faced her, cool grey eyes met her warm cinnamon-colored gaze.

"Thanks, Granger," he nodded shortly, pushing to his feet.

"You really should reconsider the whole friendship situation," Hermione spoke up lightly. "It's dangerous to be occluding all the time like that."

Draco sighed, looking back down at her. Illuminated by the dying golden firelight, she looked like his own personal welcoming siren. Even after five years of war, Granger retained some of that hopeful righteousness from their school days.

"I don't have friends, Granger." He said firmly before an even softer admission escaped him. "I don't know how to keep them."

»»———— ☽ ༓ ☾ ———-««