She wished she knew what he was thinking, when his face softened out like that.

It was dusk, but in what little light there was left she could see the dark semi-circles under his eyes and knew he hadn't been sleeping. She saw him every night, sometimes several times a night, but he never stayed with her long and he rarely came back to the dormitories. He wandered and he thought and he worried and there was nothing she could do. Not like he would ever accept her help anyway. Not like she would dream of offering. This was something he had to do on his own, and it was killing him.

If it were any other boy, Pansy Parkinson would not be as understanding. But it was no ordinary boy, nor was it an ordinary request. They all knew about it, and he knew that they knew, but no one ever mentioned anything. It was too important, and the consequences of such knowledge would be death, undeniably. Never have exams seemed so trivial, homework so inconsequential, petty rivalries so unimportant. Hogwarts was no longer a school, it was a training ground. And if Draco failed, there would be no second chances, not from the dark lord. His life would be forfeit.

It was a thought she could hardly bear.

She chanced a sideways glance up at his face, as if to remind herself that he was still here and still hers; and her breath caught in her throat. His head was tilted ever so slightly to one side, making the long line of his narrow jaw seem longer still, and his pointed chin even more prominent. But it wasn't his slack, parted, perfect lips in profile that made her heart beat quicken and her palms heat up, nor was it the light sprinkle of freshly mowed grass stuck in his platinum blonde hair that felt so good between her fingers. It was his eyes. His cool, cold eyes were alive with the orange of sunset, narrowed, as usual, but glowing with warmth and something else that she couldn't quite place. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. It was a rare sight, this tenderness, and Pansy knew it wouldn't last long.

She looked away, back down at the object she had let fall into her lap, because if he caught her staring at him it would be gone much sooner and so would he. He deserved a little respite from being troubled all the time, and if she could give him that she would. Also, she could never let him find out how often she looked at him. It would ruin everything.

Pansy smoothed her thumb across the ball and smiled softly. It was a smile that was perhaps as rare as Draco's, and she would never have let it slip in anyone else's company. She leaned forward onto her elbows, and picked the thing up in one hand.

"Why do you have a remembrall?" he asked suddenly, sounding, for the most part, genuinely curious.

She looked past the dull gold markings on the ball, and focused on the expansive black lake beyond. What had seemed so fabulous to her all those years ago was now nothing more than a pool of stagnant water. The romance of Hogwarts had gone. And although cynicism and maturity had stripped her of her nostalgia, she still held one memory close to her heart.

"Don't you recognize it at all, Draco?" she asked lightly, flopping her wrist back for him to see.

"Should I?"

"This cost me a month of detention, I'll have you know," she informed him frostily.

"Get to the point, Parkinson."

"Fine," she sighed, throwing it to her other hand. "It's Longbottom's remembrall, the one you took from him in our first year."

"Why would you steal that idiot's remembrall?" he drawled, after a moment of silence.

She turned sideways to gauge his reaction, but he wasn't looking at her so she just said it. "That was the day you first kissed me."

A twitch of his nose was all she got in response. She went on anyway, flinging the ball back and forth between her hands. "It was later that evening, outside the great hall. You said Potter was an attention seeking git and I agreed and you smirked, and kissed me. Then, of course, I slapped you and stalked away, but I remember." Pansy held the remembrall up again. "I think you need this more than I do."

"Potter is an attention seeking git," he muttered, face screwed up in a sneer.

"If I agree with you again will you kiss me?"

"No."

She shrugged, hiding her disappointment. "Well, worth a try."

They sat there for a minute or two longer, Draco staring out over the lake still and Pansy looking down at her hands, and the clear ball that meant so much to her and nothing to him. "I wanted you to have this," she said, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.

"Why?"

Because she didn't need a useless old ball to remind her of him, she thought bitterly.

"I don't know," she lied instead.

His response was immediate, and cold. "I don't want it."

"I don't care," she fought back. "Take it."

"No."

"Draco, please."

"I told you," he growled. "I don't fucking want it. Throw it in the lake for all I care."

"That's just it, isn't it," she said, gritting her teeth. "You don't care. You don't care about me, or us, or anything."

He said it slowly, precisely. "There is no us."

She let that sink it, knowing he didn't mean it and it was just the stress talking, but it hurt all the same. She swallowed hard. "That's not what you told me last night, Draco. You're a liar."

"And you're deluded," he snapped.

"You're a bastard."

"You're a clingy bitch."

She narrowed her eyes, and fought back the urge to slap him. "I don't know why I bother with you Draco Malfoy."

He turned right around to glare at her, and her anger dissipated right then and there. She both hated and loved the power he had over her. One look, and her will all but crumbled.

"Then don't, Parkinson," he murmured.

Swiftly, with a seekers agility, he swiped the ball from her hands, and before she had gulped in the breath to protest he had swung back his arm and flung the remembrall out over the lake. It was lost in the gloom, but seconds later they heard the unmistakable splash of it hitting the water.

It took Pansy several attempts to find her voice. When she did, she called him an insensitive git, shoved him in the chest as hard as she could and scrambled clumsily to her feet. He didn't say anything. He just scowled like she was irritating him, and turned back around.

She stood, incredulous. "Is that it?"

"Go away," he said in an even, almost bored voice.

"Fine," she snapped. She stomped her feet a little for attention and when he would not give it to her she walked off, muttering curses under her breath.

Draco didn't notice her departure, nor would he have cared if he did. Pansy Parkinson had been in love with him for six years, and even though he treated her like garbage on a regular basis, she would still love him. Because something's never change. And some girls just don't know what's good for them.

He stared out at the lake not sure what he was still doing here. It was quiet, but it was also cold. Draco was used to the cold, but he didn't necessarily like it. By the time the sun had set in full his skin was chilled, and he felt like an idiot for leaving his cloak behind. But clothing was the last thing on his mind when he brought her out here.

He shivered spasmodically, but forced himself to stay where he was. If he let something as simple as the cold defeat him, how could he call himself a man. His scowl deepened as he realized that was something his father would say, and a violent stab of resentment pierced his gut. His father had always been loyal to the dark lord and look where that had gotten him. His family was disgraced and now it was up to him to get them all out of this mess. He had to do it.

It. He couldn't even think the word.

He hated that.

He hated feeling weak.

He hated being repulsed by the mere thought of what he had to do.

It made him sick to his stomach, but he would not, could not refuse. There was no backing down. It had to be done.

He felt worse than he had before, so he got to his feet and ran a hand back through his hair. He combed out the grass with his fingers and swiped the rest of the lawn off his back. Then he turned, eyes on the ground, and walked slowly up to the castle.

Draco dragged his feet and stashed his hands in his pockets, every step an unwilling one, bringing him closer to the school that he hated and the headmaster that he had to kill. It would be so easy, just two words. Two words, and enough intent to take a life.

He hated Dumbledore. But did he hate him enough to kill him?

He hated Potter. Could he kill him as well?

He hated Pansy. What about her?

Draco concluded, a few minutes later as he walked into the entrance hall of Hogwarts, that he hated his conscience. If there were some way at all to purge it from his system, then he would, at any cost. It was incriminating, debilitating. It had to go. He was deep in thought pondering this possibility when she stopped inches from colliding into him, and snorted loudly. He looked up, and gave a very uncharacteristic start.

It was her.

He recovered at once. His face fell easily into the mask of disdain he reserved especially for Gryffindors, and when the words slid out his mouth they were as icy and cruel as ever. "Weasely, I see you're still wearing your brother's hand me downs. Fetching, very fetching."

Her green eyes seemed to darken proportionately as they narrowed. "Well, at least I don't have my nose so far up my own behind that I can't see where I'm going."

"Weasely," he drawled, tilting his head condescendingly, "even if I did have my nose stuck up my arse I'd still be able to smell and avoid you a mile away."

"Are you always this charming, Malfoy?" she asked, unfazed. "Lord, no wonder Parkinson is the only git stupid enough to go out with you."

"You can talk," he scoffed, crossing his arms as a pair of first year girls filtered out of the half empty dining hall. They avoided him altogether but looked worriedly up at Ginny.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Aren't you shagging Potter?" He spat the name, and grinned as the emotion flashed across her face.

"That's none of your business," she snarled, pointing her finger hard at him.

He sniffed arrogantly. "On the contrary, I think the mating of two blood traitors is everybody's business. There should be a public outcry, someone should send and owl to the prophet, this is front page news." He uncrossed his arms and gesticulated lazily with one hand. "The heading will read: Potter and Weasely have sex: world disgusted."

"You're disgusting," she argued, her cheeks blushing deep pink. "I don't even know why I'm bothering to talk to you at all. You're not worth my time."

"Why are you talking to me then?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Because," she said stiffly, swiping her hair irritably out of her face so she could glare at him. "Unlike some people, I actually have manners."

"Manners won't get you anywhere in this world, Weasely."

"Yeah," she countered hotly, "and neither will insults and disrespect, Malfoy. But I suppose growing up in your household you really wouldn't know any better."

"Shut your mouth," he warned smoothly, "right now."

For some reason, she did. It looked like she really didn't want to, but she did. It could have been because Draco had pulled his wand from his back pocket, or that the hand holding it was holding it so tight that his already pale skin was almost translucent, his knuckles sticking out garishly and his shoulders trembling.

"Ginny? What's going on?"

Ron Weasely strode quickly to his sister's side and gripped her arm, pulling her back. She shrugged out of his hands and kept her gaze on Draco. Ron frowned, and turned to glare at the Slytherin.

"What have you done to her!" he accosted loudly.

Ginny looked, if possible, even more irritated. "He hasn't done anything Ron."

"I heard you arguing," he argued, frowning down at her. "What's going on?"

"The usual," she snapped. "Malfoy was being a giant git and I was just leaving."

Draco's hold on his wand lessened, and he looked at them both with careless dislike. "I'll tell you what's going on," he said, turning to leave. "Your sister was being a slut, a blood traitor, and a disgrace to witches everywhere all in one. She certainly is talented."

There was a low roar, a shout, and then Draco was tackled by something very large and very angry. He yelped, and they both fell to the floor in a kicking, punching, snarling heap. Draco turned his head just as Ron's fist came smashing in to block out his vision, and his cheek stung his ears rang and for a moment, stars exploded before his eyes. But then he felt the lankier boy on top of him and rammed his knee up into his gut, causing Ron to wheeze and roll over.

Draco grappled for his wand on the stones next to him, and just as his hand came across it an elbow jabbed into his jaw, slid down pressed against his neck. He gagged, and Ron scrambled back over and punched him hard in the nose. This time Draco saw red, and blinking, the orange hair and flushed face of the youngest Weasely boy. His hands were around Draco's throat, and he could not utter a spell. So instead, he poked him hard in his side, once, twice, three times, then Ron was pulled off and Draco curled into his side, gasping for breath.

He was still having trouble breathing when he sat up, found Ron struggling in the arms of several Gryffindors, pointed and wheezed, "Stupefy!"

The whole group flew backward into a stone wall. There were more shouts and cries before at last, a curt, authoritative voice disarmed Draco.

"That's quite enough."

Scowling, Draco looked up into the half-moon glasses of Albus Dumbledore. He swallowed thickly, throat on fire. "Professor," he said.

"In my office, please, Mr. Malfoy."

"What about Weasley?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I dare say he will survive. Now, if you please." He swept his arm out in front of him, and Draco had no choice but to scramble to his feet and stalk down the corridor.

Ginny was already at Ron's side, helping him to stand. By chance, he caught her eye as he walked past. He expected her to be glaring at him, but instead of rage he saw something he'd never seen there before. Pity. It only lasted a second, before her eyes flashed to the ground, and then she was pushing her brother away. But it was enough to loosen the pressure on the vice that had him in its grip.

If only for a moment.