Chapter 1

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Everyone let him in with open arms. It was frustrating.

When Harry arrived with him, both bloody and beaten, and declared the blonde saved his life after being ambushed by Death Eaters in the ministry, everyone was over the moon for him.

For starters, he had his own room in the attic while everyone else had to share.

He and Ron had standing chess matches every night after dinner.

Harry and Ginny invited him to play on their team for Quidditch in the yard.

Molly snuck him chocolates after everyone had gone to bed.

Tonks allowed him to read bedtime stories to Teddy while she and Lupin were away on missions.

Draco Fucking Malfoy reading bedtime stories? She wasn't buying it.

They all seemed to forget what he was like not just a year ago. How he taunted and teased and harassed them. How he let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. How he watched as she was tortured.

They forgot because he was handsome and charming and funny. Because he was good with Teddy. Because he had amazing pureblood manners. They forgot. But she didn't. She couldn't.

It became an obsession. Watching him, following him.

At first it was innocent peaks around his shoulder when he wrote letters. Just to make sure he wasn't communicating with anyone from the other side.

Then it became fishing old letters out of the trash. Just to make sure no one on the other side was communicating with him.

Finally she became obsessed with his room. Watching from the bottom of the staircase as he slipped through, trying to catch a peak of the inside.

Because he roomed alone, he had more privacy than the rest. There had to be tons of nooks and crannies to hide dark artifacts or... whatever she expected to find in there. She had to get in there.

Though she usually jumped at the chance to join the Order on missions, she offered to stay behind with Teddy. After putting him down for a nap, she crept quietly to the attic room.

The door was locked, which didn't make her too uneasy. They all came into the habit of sealing their doors shut at all times.

What did make her more suspicious was the fact that a simple Alohomora wouldn't open it. She had to resort to a stronger, more difficult spell to unlock it.

The room was dull, but very clean. He was probably the only person who made his bed in the morning still. The walls were bare, save for one old letter he had kept from his mother, reassuring him she was safe. It was the only time they ever let anyone from his family contact him.

He had a small desk with a dim lamp that pointed down to neatly organized quills and parchment. She rummaged through the drawers. Nothing. Just some books and a few hidden chocolates from Molly.

His dresser was almost barren. He had only come with the clothes he was wearing and they were ripped to pieces. Molly had offered to let him have Charlie's old clothes, which he took. Hermione thought he would complain. To say something nasty about "Weasleys" and "Hand-Me-Downs". But he didn't.

His closet was just as barren. Just a single muggle coat the order leant him for undercover work and one pressed dress shirt.

It was then she started to feel guilty. To feel dirty.

She spent months upon months going through his trash, going through his letters, following him into rooms so he wouldn't be alone to do anything malicious.

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