See Summary.

Malfoy was knocked backwards, legs sprawling, crying out as he fell face down on the wooden flooring. Embarassed, and angry, he got up, making his famous rude hand gesture. Hermione rolled her eyes, and offered a hand. “I may be helping you,” the Slytherin said revoltingly, “but I am not about to touch a Mudblood.”

Hermione gave him a look. “Harry, no. You can't go on your own. It's too dangerous. Please, think about this.”

He nodded in answer. “I have, and I've made my mind up. None of you are coming. If I die, then my last thought will be, thank Merlin none of you were with me.”

Malfoy froze, shock plastered upon his pale, pointed face. “No. No! Father doesn't . . . . he can't . . . . he loves me, they both do!!” Hurt vanished, replaced with pain, before settling on anger. “You're lying. You're just making this up because you're jealous, because I actually have a Dad who loves me and who's alive!”

Harry's face looked even more exhausted then it had ever been before. Although he had slept a lot, it just was not enough to keep him stable for the next working day. Plus, he had never felt more frustated and hopeless. If only he could find a way to stop the dreams.

Harry stood pensievely in front of the sink, thinking hard. How was this going to work? Suddenly, a scream pierced the air with insufferable volume. He fell to the floor, hands over his head, trying to block out the noise.

Despite not being afraid, he grabbed his wand inside the pocket of his jeans, just in case of an attack. Nothing yet, but he was not going to underestimate him. Not in this state.

Harry accepted his words, but would not believe them. Even though the young Slytherin was not a murderer, it had all been through the love for his family, but now . . . . his father was gone, extinguished from the world, like the naked, vulnerable flame of a dying wick. So what if the dreams had stopped? He was a killer, and nothing would wipe that from his stained conscience.

“I don't hate you,” came Hermione's quiet voice, touched with tenderness. “That's what made me upset. I thought you hated me, and I don't mean in a mocking, selfish style. I mean, in the way that you hate Harry. What you said,” she whispered, “I never knew, words could hurt so much.

Draco! No, stop!!” Hermione's voice echoed over the clearing.

Harry squinted. Somehow, she had managed to release herself from the pit.

“You're not like this!! Think about what you're doing! Remember your conscience! Lower the wand, please! I know you're angry, but-”

“What else do you suggest, Mud- Granger,” he corrected, ignoring the look on Harry's face, “He's going to kill us, anyway!”

“I myself,” continued Malfoy, head down, “have an apology to make. E-Even though you're a filthy Mudblood, I feel that you- understand me. I've learnt that now, and more importantly- you saved my life. Th- I mean, I appreciate it.”