Draco hadn't known where exactly they were taking him when the Hogwarts Express had come to a stop. He'd been looking out the window of the compartment when they were stilled; they arrived at the familiar platform they'd step foot to every year since they were eleven and he rose out of his seat automatically, following the crowd of people. He had stood frozen for a moment, looking at the place that sat before him, filled with people the Ministry considered to be on their side, protecting their children. No one buzzed with excitement, no one buzzed with chatter or cries of happy reunions between family members. No, there hadn't been any of that—just people whispering and looking ill-eased. 

After he'd been bumped into by several people because of his lack of moment, Draco had been about to move when someone reached for his hand and started tugging him away.

He had been about to protest, about to tell one of those Aurors that he had done nothing wrong, that he hadn't meant to cause any threat, that he was innocent, but then he'd caught sight of the back of Harry Potter's unruly hair, his hand clutching his.

Potter had moved fast between the people in the platform, their lingering eyes, their whispers of support, and the watchful and full presence of the Ministry. Although Draco was trailing behind Boy Wonder, he'd still been able to see an aggressive frown on his face, a distrusting look behind his glasses as he pulled him to a mass of redheads.

Draco had been close to ask what the hell was going on, why were they all gathered in a corner, or who these other misfits he didn't recognize were protecting them as they stood in a circle. He had been silenced of his questions when Potter tugged his hand again, putting it on a wheel that everyone had been clutching as well. 

One, two, three, and the object had begun to glow and he'd been spun.

The atmosphere had been twisted and swirled and he had the sensation he was going to die, but he was stabilized by Potter's arms and then released. He'd been inhaling like all the air of his lungs had been puffed out of him when he noticed the entire guard of the Chosen One was standing in front of muggle homes. He'd raised an eyebrow, wondering what they were doing there.

"Come on, let's go inside," Potter had said to him, nudging to the buildings.

Draco had been about to protest, but, in mid blink, he  saw something that wasn't there before. The muggle homes had expanded; another building came out and spewed magic at him as Potter's followers marched inside and ushered them both in with urgency.

He had been shoved through the door by Potter when he'd noticed how old, dark, and cold the house was. He'd taken a curious step further into the home, seeing a few strange objects, but with the same haste they'd been moving him, someone grabbed his elbow and tugged him away; his eye barely caught sight of a symbol on the wall that he'd recognized from somewhere.

"....take us as idiots!" Bang. "You know perfectly well that the Ministry has been infiltrated, Remus! You've to talk to Kingsley about this!"

As he'd been trying to process everything that he had just been put through for the past few hours, Draco Malfoy blinked and refocused himself back into the present. He was sitting in an old chair next to a Weasley twin, silence among everyone else on the table as Potter shouted. He was still a little dazed, but was quickly reminded of where he was when he looked down at his lap and saw those soft and fragile hands that belonged to the Brightest Witch of the Age.

"Harry," the werewolf sighed, his eyes looking tired, "we cannot put Kingsley into any situation where his position can be compromised. He's a great Auror, and an even better spy. If we begin to have him move things around for our complete benefit, they'll come after him. We can't lose him now."

"I don't trust them," Harry said through gritted teeth, his arms crossing over his heaving chest. "I hate to even say this, but ever since Fudge was sacked as Minister, the Ministry is untrustworthy. We've seen enough to know that not even the Aurors can be trusted. I just...."

When Boy-Who-Lived paused to take a deep breath, Draco placed Granger's hands on the tabletop of where he sat. He watched them for a quick second, feeling like he could see rays of warmth come out of every line and wrinkle her skin had.

"We shouldn't have come back to Hogwarts, the three of us," Harry muttered, his green eyes looking at his shoes as Lupin waited for him to continue. "We put everyone else in danger by being around them. Look at how many people were at the platform, Remus. What if...What if something had gone wrong and they got hurt?"

"If the Ministry's not to be trusted, Harry, they would've gotten hurt regardless," Remus said to Harry, his tone calm. "But like 'Dora is always saying, it's better to focus on what went right for the day than what could've gone wrong."

There was a freckle on one of her knuckles, Draco spotted it right away. It was on her left hand, on her ring finger. It was—

"Since when has she said that?" Snorting from beside him, Malfoy was pulled away from his view on the freckle as the Weasley twin aimed a teasing glance at a woman with bright, pink hair. "Don't tell me you've lost your drink-a lot-party-hard-and-to-hell-with-the-world attitude, Tonks? Merlin, you've settled down."

"Marriage and motherhood does that, doesn't it?" And from across Draco, there was the other twin who was wearing the same mocking glance. "My, you've become mature and dreary, my dear Nymphadora."

With eyes wide now, Draco zeroed his focus on that woman with pink hair. She was fuming from her stance next to the Weaslette, her eyes igniting into a dark color and her hair into a flaming red that represented the current anger on her expression.

"Don't call me that!"

"Of course—"

"Our apologizes,"

"—Dearest Dora." The twins were grinning now.

When Remus gave his wife a look that pleaded her to settle herself, Draco was still very aware of the latter. There she was, Nymphadora Tonks—or Lupin now. His cousin, his family and blood. The idea of having a relative on the outside seemed so incredulous because all he'd ever known was his parents and the mental Bellatrix, he couldn't help himself from staring.

"Back to the subject, please," Arthur Weasley cleared his throat, trying to bring back the attention to those in the dining room. "We've got to get moving in a few moments and we really need to get everything cleared before we depart."

Nodding once at the Order member, Remus turned back to Harry. "So, I assume everything's set in motion? You're going to tell us what our role is in order to help?"

"Erm..." Harry shared a glance with Ron, a secret passing through them before he turned to look at Remus. "Actually, we can't really involve you in the plan."

"And before you lot begin to protest, we'd just like to say that not even we know. She's keeping it a secret from us. She thinks that...She just wants to make sure the information stays with her in case we get split up or someone lets something slip," Ron added in, trying to defend them as Lupin began to frown.

Remus let out a disapproving sigh and leaned back into his chair. "It doesn't surprise me, actually, but that's Hermione for you, isn't it?"

Looking away from Tonks, Draco snapped the eyes he was borrowing to his cousin's werewolf husband. The man had grey eyes that Draco had never noticed before, all-knowing and rimmed with exhaustion.

"You're absolutely sure about this, Hermione?"

Malfoy felt a surge of panic enter him as Lupin talked to him; he remembered what Granger told him about not responding to anything he didn't know.

Taking the silence from Hermione as hesitation, Remus threw her a sympathizing expression. "It's not easy what you're going to be doing, Hermione, and we all respect you for it. Dora and I have difficulty on a daily bases, but we go home mostly every night..."

"Of course you're always welcomed with us, sweetheart." And popping out of nowhere, Draco felt someone's hand on his borrowed-shoulder. As he looked up to whoever was touching him, he saw a plump, redheaded woman that was no doubt Mrs. Weasley. "Our home's always opened for you and Harry, you know that."

A silence loomed among everyone in the dining room, looks of what could be interrupted as pity, understanding, sadness, loyalty, and admiration mixed as one. And it was all directed at who they thought was Hermione.

"All right, I think it's time to go," Arthur Weasley murdered the moment of silence as he took out a pocket-watch and shook his head at what he saw. "Say your goodbyes, Hermione."

Draco shot Granger's eyes open: where the hell where they taking him now? His unvoiced question remained so as someone pulled Granger's body up. Arms embraced her as Draco attempted to push away. All of it was in vain because, one, two, three, four and five, six, and seven people past him around.

Granger's hair was flying everywhere, obscuring his vision with brown curls that smelled like strawberries. He had given up for a moment as he was tossed to the Dynamic Duo, knowing that he was not going to be able to escape them. Potter gave him a sad smile, a fleeting hug, and the Weasel was last to envelope Hermione in the tightest embrace.

The stupid prat is so obvious, Draco mused to himself, frowning as Weasley hugged Granger's body with ferocity that one would assume he was never going to see her again. He knew he was in love with her, but come on. He could have a little more self-will not to drool over the Bookworm in front of his family.

"Arthur," Lupin stood from his chair, "may I have a private word with Hermione before she departs?"

Looking down at his pocket-watch, Mister Weasley said, "two minutes, Remus. We've got places to be, you and me."

The people inside the dining room began to clear with Mrs. Weasley's command, her order adding for them to pick a room and begin to clean it for their stay. There were protests from the others, one especially loud groan from Ron, but they were silenced when her voice got louder and she threatened their lives.

Harry was the last to leave, his feet slowly moving out of the doorway as he gave Hermione one last sad smile. He could see that awful look in her eyes, like she hadn't a clue what to feel and do, and Harry hated himself a little more for it.

"Don't worry, 'Mione, he's not going to badger you for information," Tonks waved her wand with a Silencing Charm spewing out, turning and giving the brunette a teasing smile. "He wanted to, of course, but he understands your need to keep it to yourself."

In Granger's body, Draco cleared the girl's throat and nodded once. He felt like he was about to go into a daze again as Nymphadora gave him a warm look, her eyes twinkling in a grey that matched her husband's.

"I hope you don't mind that I told Dora about your last letter to me, Hermione," Remus began, taking out a square parchment from his trousers and showing the girl what he meant. "She's still an Auror so she might be able to help."

Draco was sinking into a further silence the more words were directed his way. What was he supposed to say? Stupid, bloody Bookworm hadn't mentioned anything to him.

Giving him some relief, Tonks proceeded with the conversation. "Remus and I...Well, we were quite surprised about your request, Hermione. Especially since you wanted no one else, not even Harry and Ron to know about it—"

"We just want to make sure you're absolutely sure about this," Remus cut in for his wife. "We know you're quite capable of taking care of yourself, but the idea of you asking to protect and think about letting a Slytherin classmate of yours into our protection... Well, you can see how we were a little skeptical about it. It wasn't hard to assume this Blaise Zabini forced you into something."

"And then you mentioned the Greengrass family," Tonks added, "and that was even more bewildering for us. It took us a few days to consider it, but we know your kind heart, Hermione, so we went with it. We couldn't approach Mrs. Zabini because she's too in You-Know-Who's circle, but we promise to keep watch for her son when the moment comes. As for the Greengrass family, we talked to the father. He was scared out of his mind, for one, but he didn't want to accept our help. He said he knew  the Death Eaters were going to find him regardless...He just asked protection for his two daughters."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Remus gave Hermione a serious stare. "We're parents now, Hermione, and we understand the incredible lengths that someone will take in order to protect their children. So, we will help as much as we can with this. You have our word that Blaise Zabini and the Greengrass girls will be as safe as we can make them."

Tonks placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, squeezing it tight, but Draco was far gone now. He didn't hear anything else that came out of the woman's mouth, her werewolf's, or even as Mister Weasley poked his head in and told them it was time to go.

He had asked Granger to keep an eye out for Blaise, to make sure he hadn't too much pressure on his shoulders, and that he didn't get hurt or hurt himself while Draco was stuck as a Gryffindor. He wanted Granger to act as a babysitter, but this...

X

The walls were painted a very light, pastel, lilac-y color. It was soft, like a murmur on the walls instead of strong and pigmented shout. Hung on these walls were various abstract paintings, paintings that gave the impression of flowers and spring all rolled into one squared confinement.

Behind the headboard of a bed that was boarded by the same shades of lilac, only blending out from the walls by the texture of the sheets and the sky-blue pillows, was a wall that was decorated differently. There was no pop of flowery art, but a different sort of art captured in a collage plastered together. They were pictures, some with that essence of magic that could only make them move, and others still and completely ordinary.

Uneasy, Draco took a step to the headboard to get a better look at those photographs.

There were pictures of her, of Granger, as a child. She was so small with big curly hair and such a toothy smile. She was often with an adult in the pictures, her parents, presumably, but there was also a few of her with other children. There was something in her eyes, those still eyes on those muggle pictures that made it seem like the air she was submerged in was so easy, like childhood was nothing but pictures and those ridiculous smiles she was sporting.

It was different from what he could remember from his childhood, those moments in Granger's pictures. There were smiles, hugs, kisses, and friends in them. All he could recall from his was lessons on how to sit properly, how to eat properly, how to behave properly, and books given on how to think properly. His childhood was in shades of a murky grey, while Granger's were painted with the breezy lilac color on her walls.

The collage expanded and he looked at the ones that moved. There was Potter, Weasley, and she in what was their First Year. They were standing tightly together, laughter radiating out of them like it was impossible to be contained. She still had that happiness in her brown eyes, but for a moment as she blinked in the picture, there was also a glimmer of worry that no little girl should have.

More of those pictures of the Golden Trio were spread among the collage. There were birthdays, moments in their common room, on the train, inside a small room, in the grounds of Hogwarts, and in a field with chickens and pigs. Scattered among them, there were also pictures of Granger with other Gryffindors, with some Weasleys, Sirius Black and the werewolf, and even of her and Tonks.

Although he didn't have half as many pictures—not even one-fourth of the ones in her collage—that's not what he focused on. As the pictures moved, laughs were shared, hugs were given, memories were made, Draco could see her eyes twinkling more and more with worry. There was an exhaustion apparent around her eyes, the brown in them less bright.

He lifted one of those borrowed and fragile fingers of hers to trace the fingertip of it over Granger's face in a picture where she was wrapped in a thick, ruby scar, the Weaslette beside her with a matching scarf around her neck, too. He wanted to say the tiredness in Granger's face came from being Potter's friend, but he knew he'd be wrong. Sure, it was one of the factors, a main one, but there was also another very apparent reason.

The war was unavoidable since the moment Potter defeated the Dark Lord when he was a baby, when his mother died to save him and he became the Boy-Who-Lived. A fool could even see that everything that was going on now—the Dark Lord rising, Death Eaters, and all the murders—was just the way things were going to go. Because things were happening the way they were supposed to, Granger was always going to be a target. She was a Muggle-born; she was automatically considered one of the names in the walking-dead.

He shook his borrowed-head and removed the fingertip from her picture. He didn't want to think about it, didn't even want to begin to imagine how death would be brought to her. He'd almost gotten the sight to that the previous summer, in his home, by his aunt, and he couldn't let the memory resurface.

Sighing to himself, he turned away from Granger's wall and continued to look around her room. There was a weird looking chair that had wheels on it with a spiral spine, and sat tucked into her desk. On her desk was an even weirder contraption he'd ever seen, it was like a metallic box with a glass screen. Disregarding it, no doubt a muggle device, he bent slightly on her knees to get a closer look at the floor-bookcase she had.

Typical, he snorted in his head, running that fragile finger over the spine of books as he read their titles.

As he continued to explore the personal collection of the Brightest Witch of the Age, he was unaware of  the footsteps approaching from outside Hermione's bedroom. Lost he was in the fact that he was deeper into the personal space of the Bookworm, a place he wondered if Potter or the Weasel ever had been, that he didn't hear when someone twisted the doorknob of the door and pushed it open.

"Hermione."

Startled away from a book entitled Romeo and Juliet, Draco spun himself around on Granger's heels to the sound of a voice that disrupted him. Her wand was out in a flash.

Standing by the entrance of the lilac room was a woman he didn't know or had ever ran into before. She had long, straight brown hair and big, brown doe-like eyes—ones that were identical to the ones Hermione Granger owned. This woman with soft features, warm expression, defined nose, and high cheekbones was the Bookworm's mother.

Say something, Draco. You're Granger. Say something, he urged himself, but nothing came out. He was just frozen now, Granger's heart beating in her chest so loudly that he was sure her mother could hear it.

"Oh, my beautiful girl," the woman said, her voice just as warm and sweet as her face looked. With a longing and strong sense of nostalgia in her chest, Jean Granger headed for her daughter, arms wide. "Come here, love."

He'd been about to take a step away, about to recoil away from the muggle's arms, but he lost the will to do so. The woman was hugging him—hugging her daughter so tightly that she wasn't aware it was hurting her daughter's chest and the boy currently possessing her body.

"Your dad had a bit of an emergency in the office, but he'll be here soon," the woman murmured, still embracing tightly. "Oh, I've missed you, Hermione."

Recalling those plain and unmoving pictures of Granger's childhood, Malfoy could now understand why her eyes gleamed with happiness—why her smiles were so grand they had to have hurt her cheeks.

It was because of this; because from the moment Granger came into the world, from the moment she was given to these muggles, she was surrounded by love—pure love. The type that made your eyes glitter with happiness, with warmth; that made you grin like there was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to ever run from; it was the type of love that passed into your bones and you couldn't help but want to give it to as many people as you could. It was the one that made you care for anyone, to want to defend the world.

Remembering what Granger had done for Blaise, for Daphne, even, Draco recalled Tonks' comment about Granger's noble heart. She really did care for anyone and anything. 

As a small act of redemption, Draco hugged the woman back.

 "I missed you too, Mum," he whispered, hoping if there was anything he'd do right, it would be to make sure Granger's parents enjoyed some time with their daughter before the unavoidable finally caught up to her.