Sanctuary

*~*~*~*

"I think they murdered them in front of her."

No one spoke for several long seconds. Harry opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and said, slowly, "You mean to tell me..." He paused. "You mean to tell me that the reason Hermione is the way she is...is that she saw her parents die?"

Malfoy looked away, giving a slight shrug. "Wouldn't you go mad if you saw your parents murdered?"

Harry gave him a humorless chuckle, and thought of how he'd fainted when the Dementors had made him relive how his mother had been murdered by Voldemort.

"Yeah," he said. "I reckon I would."

Ron closed his eyes, cursing softly under his breath.

After that, the three boys remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

"What I knew I told Dumbledore."

A frown formed on Harry's brow as he remembered what Malfoy had said earlier. "You are a traitor."

Malfoy scoffed. "Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair. "I thought you knew that by now."

"We all knew," Ron told him. "We just didn't know why."

Malfoy cracked his fingers and didn't say anything. Harry looked at him and thought that maybe Malfoy wasn't as evil as he made himself out to be. Sure, he was an irritating, arrogant, egotistical, spoiled brat...but he wasn't evil.

"Why did you do it?" Harry asked him.

"Do what?"

"Why did you tell Dumbledore everything?"

Malfoy didn't respond immediately. When he finally did, Harry and Ron had to lean closer so that they could hear him. "I'm not my father," he said softly. "I'm not a murderer."

He raised his head so he could look at the other boys. "He was planning everything. Right after I graduated, I was to have the Dark Mark tattooed on my arm, and become a Death Eater. He told me he had great plans for me; that once I was a Death Eater, everything would change.

"I thought it was going to be great at first. But as I grew older I started seeing what he really was. He was married to a woman he didn't love, and who didn't love him. He was kissing the arse of a sociopath that was hell bent on world domination. No one liked him. He didn't have any friends--even the Death Eaters thought he was prick. So it dawned on me--everything he had ever said to me, everything he had taught me, was a load of bollocks." The other two boys realized that Malfoy was speaking more to himself than to them.

"Why would Muggleborns be inferior to Purebloods? Granger's a Muggleborn and she's considered to be the brightest witch to have ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. It doesn't make any sense. Why follow a man who thinks the Wizarding World should only be made up of Purebloods, when he himself is a Halfblood?" He seemed to notice that he was rambling, and he cleared his throat before continuing.

"It took me a while to realize that my life was very much like his. If I kept trying to be like him, my life was going to go down the toilet as well. I didn't...I don't want to end up in Azkaban."

Harry smiled wryly. "I bet you don't."

Malfoy shrugged. "I told Dumbledore everything I knew because I wanted nothing more than to have my father rot in prison."

"You hate him," Ron said flatly.

"Yes, I hate him," Malfoy agreed. "He was never my father. He only saw me as an opportunity for the Malfoy name to continue to be associated with the words 'bastard,' 'evil,' and 'arse-kisser.'"

Harry considered the other boy for a moment before asking, "Do you hate Hermione?"

Malfoy thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "No. Can't say I like her much...I prefer birds that are a bit softer around the edges."

Ron laughed. "But you went out with Pansy Parkinson!"

Malfoy shook his head. "Not by choice. My father considered her an appropriate partner for me." He chuckled a bit to himself. "She had all the proper qualifications: a greater interest in gossip than in politics, more knowledge in how to host the perfect society ball than in Potions or Transfiguration, more preoccupied in how to order the servants about than in raising a family properly."

"But," Ron argued, "aren't trophy wives supposed to be somewhat attractive?"

Harry threw his head back and laughed heartily. Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow. "True," said Malfoy, a half-smirk forming on his lips. "But she did have, shall we say...certain appealing talents."

When Harry sobered, he said, "I bet she did."

~*~

The dungeon was hot and dark. The sweat stung miserably at the lacerations and cuts covering her body. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there; all she remembered was waking up to a horrible headache and bound hands. Her back ached from the uncomfortable position.

"What sort of trouble have you got yourself into this time, Granger?"

Hermione whipped her head toward the direction of the drawl she'd heard many times over the years. Draco Malfoy was the last person in the world she expected to see here.

Malfoy took his wand out and muttered a quick, "Lumos."

Hermione eyed the boy warily, half-expecting him to point his wand at her and finish her off. But he didn't; Draco only cocked his head to the side and asked, "Comfortable?"

I'm sprawled on the floor with my bound hands digging into my aching back, Hermione thought. I'm very comfortable.

When Hermione didn't answer, he just shrugged and squatted in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking a nice holiday," she snapped. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

Draco chuckled softly and shook his head. "Still feisty I see." A frown formed on his forehead as he stared intently at her. "You weren't supposed to get caught," he said.

"I'm not exactly happy about it." She struggled against the rope that held her hands together. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Draco gave an exasperated sigh as he watched her struggle and leant forward to untie her. "Why else?" he asked. "Voldemort wants information from you."

"What information?" she asked as she untangled herself.

"I don't know."

Hermione narrowed her gaze at him. "You don't know? Didn't they send you in here to try and get whatever information Voldemort wants?"

"Yes." Draco sat back on his haunches and rested his arms on his bent knees.

"You must know I won't tell you anything."

Draco looked at her and shrugged. "I figured." He sighed. "You're a Gryffindor with the loyalty of a Hufflepuff."

They both fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione jolted when Draco suddenly rose from his position on the floor and started pacing. "You do realize that if Voldemort doesn't receive the information he wants he will kill you."

Hermione massaged her sore wrists. "Voldemort will kill me whether or not I give him any information."

Draco stopped in front of her and dropped to his knees. "You have no idea what you're getting into, Granger. Voldemort won't ask you nicely to give him what he wants." He stopped and took a deep breath before continuing. "They've got your parents."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "What?"

"They've had them here for a few days," he said. "I don't think it takes a genius to figure out why they're here, Granger."

Hermione struggled to pull air into her lungs as she began to hyperventilate. She vaguely heard Draco curse as she felt him shove her head between her knees. "Breathe," he said tersely. "Making yourself faint isn't going to help your parents."

Hermione began to take deep breaths until she felt her heart return to its normal pace. She managed to calm down enough to realize that Draco had his hand on the nape of her neck. Feeling immeasurably awkward, she shrugged his hand off and shifted away from him. Draco only cleared his throat and stood again.

"Listen to me, Granger; you have no idea what he's capable of. You have to tell him what he wants."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't do that. Harry's the most important person in my life, Malfoy. If he's killed, a big part of me would die with him."

Draco stared at her for a moment before grabbing her by the arms and pulling her roughly to her feet. "Potter doesn't deserve you," he hissed before he crushed his mouth to hers. Hermione stiffened but didn't pull back as Draco's grip became tighter. His lips were dry and thin, and he tasted of Firewhiskey. She felt her heart start to beat wildly in her chest again, but wasn't completely sure if it was out of fear. She freed her arms from his grasp, but before she could put her hands on him, he pulled back abruptly. "I have to go," he said, as he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

"Malfoy," she called.

He stopped and turned his head to the side. "Yes?"

"Thanks for untying me," she said.

Draco chuckled and left the dungeon.

~*~

After having dinner, Harry excused himself and went up to Ron's room to have a bit of a nap. But after twenty minute of tossing and turning he gave up and just stared at the ceiling, thinking of Hermione. There has to be a way to help, he thought.

He thought of how she'd helped him deal with Sirius' death last summer. Like always, she'd known that all he'd needed was a good kick in the arse.

A month after the end of fifth year and Harry was still stuck at the Dursleys. Feeling miserably helpless and cooped up, he began to pace the entire ten feet that was the length of his "bedroom." Deflating quickly, he stopped in front of his desk and stared crankily at the pile of letters that sat on the surface. He swiped a hand over them bad-temperedly and threw them all to the floor. His name, written in different handwritings, stared back at him cheerfully. The nerve of them.

A second before he decided to stomp on the wretched letters, he heard his aunt bang at his door an stuff a tray of food through the cat flap. Ignoring it, he merely flopped onto his bed and shut his eyes.

Two hours later he woke with a bright light shining into his eyes. While he blindly reached for his own wand, he heard a soft, "Nox," before someone turned on the lamp that was on his desk. "Hello, Harry."

Harry's eyes adjusted to the soft light that the lamp emanated. "Professor Dumbledore."

The old wizard smiled slightly and surveyed the room. Dirty clothes were strewn haphazardly around the room; there were dirty dishes piled atop one another on his dresser; the dust on every surface looked to be at least an inch thick. Harry didn't look much better. The boy looked as of he hadn't seen the inside of a shower in a week. With a raised eyebrow, he said to Harry, "I never pictured you as the... unruly sort."

Harry sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Yeah, well, things change," he said, as he gave the Professor an insolent shrug. "What are you doing here?"

Dumbledore merely smiled and said, "I've come to collect you."

Harry scoffed. "Have you now? Where am I going?"

"Grimmauld Place."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Surely he was joking...Dumbledore wouldn't be so cruel.

"Harry, I know it will be hard--"

"Hard?" When he looked at the older wizard, his eyes were absolutely livid. "You know it'll be hard, do you? You don't know the first thing about it."

Dumbledore sighed as he waved his wand over the room. Harry's trunk opened as every single article of clothing folded itself to fit in it. The dust cleared and the dishes were left sparkling clean.

"Losing a loved one always has, and always will be, one of the hardest things a human being has to endure. You, Harry," the older wizard told him, "are neither the first, nor the last to feel such pain." The simple statement only made Harry angrier. But before Harry could come up with a retort, Dumbledore raised a hand and shook his head. "I did not say that to patronize you, Harry; it's only the truth."

Harry petulantly rose to his feet, dug a fresh pair of trousers and a t-shirt out of his trunk and dressed. After slamming the lid of his trunk shut, he turned to Dumbledore and said, "Let's go."

**

Hermione had never felt quite so useless in her entire life. Harry's arrival at Grimmauld Place a week before had everyone walking on eggshells. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Ginny never seemed to know what to say to him when they saw him, so they mostly tried to avoid him. They thought that what he needed was some space; Hermione knew better. But the harder she tried to get near him, the more he avoided her like a plague. Whenever she tried to talk to him, he'd simply walk out of the room and leave her there.

And since he started to spend more and more of his time in Sirius' old room, she hardly had any time to try to speak to him anymore.

So, here she was...feeling remarkably frustrated with her lack of success.

What was she supposed to do, just walk up to his room, throw the door open and demand that he tell her how he's feeling?

A gleam came into her eyes as she mentally slapped her forehead. With her mind made up, she marched up the stairs and stopped at the door of Sirius' old bedroom, hesitating knocking on the door.

What if he got mad at her for not letting him alone? She shook her head--she had to do it...Harry needed her. But what if he didn't want her? Huffing a bit, she decided that if he wanted her to leave him alone so badly, he should have said so. Raising her hand, she knocked softly at the carved mahogany of Sirius' door, and waited for Harry to acknowledge her. She knocked again a minute later, after he didn't respond. Quickly becoming indignant, she placed he hand on the knob and opened the door herself.

Her eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, she saw him sitting by the window, one leg bent up and an arm resting on it. He turned his head and just stared at her. "What are you doing?" he asked.

How are you? Are you okay? I just want to help. Any of these would have been proper things to say to him. But what came out of her mouth was, "You're going about this all wrong."

**

Upon hearing her quiet accusation, he suddenly felt unreasonably angry and itched for a fight; Harry stood and fixed her with a withering glare. "I am, am I?" he snarled. "Tell me, Almighty Know-it-All, what way should I be going about? Hmm?"

He heard her sigh a little. "There's no need to be cruel, Harry. I'm not the enemy." She crossed the room so she was standing directly in front of him. "Frankly," she told him, a scowl forming on her face, "you should be ashamed of yourself."

Harry sputtered a bit and said, "I should be ashamed of myself? You come in here--uninvited, no less--"

She huffed crossly. "That's not true, you let me in!"

"I didn't let you in; you just waltzed right in here, just like you always do!"

"And what of it? You're my best friend--"

"Oh, give me a break, Hermione."

"Well, you are! I care about you, you great prat! And I hate to see you like this."

He turned away from her then. "Well, I'm sorry, Hermione, that I can't be the way you want me to be," he told her sarcastically. "But my godfather was murdered because of me less than two months ago, if you haven't noticed."

"Oh, that's right," she growled. "You killed him."

Never on a million years did he expect Hermione to say those three words to him. Stunned silent, he turned back to her and saw the angry tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes. "That's what you think, isn't it?" She shook her head and swiped roughly at the tears that made their way down her cheeks. "You know what? Forget it. You want to make yourself sick with guilt, you go ahead."

She turned on her heel and made her way toward the door. With her hand on the knob, she paused and turned her head to the side. "You know, Sirius would be disappointed if he saw you like this."

Harry's eyes widened and she continued. "Sitting in here, day after bloody day, unnecessarily blaming yourself for something you didn't do." She turned her body so she could face him, and he could see clearly the hurt in her eyes all the way across the room. "If you really cared about Sirius, you wouldn't let his death be in vain. No," she shook her head, "you'd get up and do something."

"Do what?" he yelled. "I'm just a kid, Hermione!"

She snarled at him--she actually snarled at him. "Never underestimate what you're capable of, Harry Potter."

Feeling defeated, he hung his head and sunk to his knees.

"You're forgetting one thing." He looked up and saw that she was standing right above him. "What's that?" he asked.

She too sank to her knees and placed her hands on his cheeks. "You've got me. You're not alone in this, Harry. You've got me."

That seemed to break the dam that held his emotions in place, because before she knew it, Harry was clinging to her, sobbing heartbreakingly into her neck. She embraced him tightly and began to rock him while rubbing a hand up and down his back soothingly. He cried until his throat was raw and his head ached. She kept rocking him back and forth and he started noticing how warm and soft she felt. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he wiped his nose with his hand and pulled out of her embrace. "Thanks," he muttered.

"You're welcome," she told him as she handed him her hankie.

~*~

Remembering that, Harry felt even more determined to help get Hermione back to the way she was. She'd stood by him through thick and thin, and now it was his turn.

Comforted by that thought, his eyes started to droop; but just as he was starting to fall asleep, he heard Ron storm into the room. "Harry!" he shouted. "Harry--it's Hermione, come quick!"