Disclaimer: I will only say this once - I do not own anything that has to do with the Harry Potter franchise or universe and am in no way at all gaining anything from this except pure fun, and practice for improving my writing skills.

AN: The other fics I gotta work on are just going to have to hold off for now. Yeah, yeah - yadda, yadda I know lol but I'll be updating them soon and aye listen, this plot has plummeted around inside my head for like a year now, so I might as well finally write it. Better late than never, I think.

This is an AU, Non-canon story that is only loosely based from the books and movies SO NO COMPLAINING ABOUT IT. I took full creative liberties with this story and wrote it exactly how I wanted. NO RAGRETS, not even a letter. Your hate will be completely ignored and then sacrificed to the blood-thirsty, evil gods of the Underworld.

Also, occasionally I like to imagine Hermione with darker, caramel-colored skin but that's just me. Even so, for this story I've described her this way. It's no bother if you don't want to imagine her how I've written and if you'd rather think of her in your own light that's all fine and dandy and totally your prerogative. I don't care! I just hope you enjoy it either way.

Caution: this fic will be a 1-3 part series and is super naughty, full of uncouth language and graphic, sexual situations. It's rated M for a reason, so please proceed at your own discretion.

The premise of this fic was inspired by the beautiful, emotional song Oblivion by M83 and Susanne Sundfor from the Oblivion Soundtrack.

Oblivion: The Forbidden Fruit

Part One

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

June 5th, 1991: the Granger's Residence - Hampstead, England

It was incredibly early in the morning, the proof of that shown clearly with the daybreak that was slowly sweeping away the surrendering darkness. The little sparrows and the wrens of the green glen loudly chirped and left their nests to hunt for grubby worms. The glorious, bright streams of sun bombarded through the foggy, grassy suburbia of Heathgate and it beamed through the windows, lighting up the dim residences and waking the majority of the populace to begin their Wednesday routine.

A small, yet resilient young girl still lay asleep in her bed, however she slept unsoundly. It was very unusual for this particular female to not have awakened yet in the first place, seeing as how she typically rose right there with the dawn. The brunette rolled over with a helpless moan, tossing and turning with a nightmare. The gory images in her mind were of betrayals and tragedy - vivid visuals of horrors and the pain so lucid she could actually feel it in her bones as she continued to thrash.

Thankfully, she'd never remember any of it and just as quickly as the unfavorable visions invaded her they dissipated, fading into a liberating warmness that enveloped her conscious with a sudden, mysterious dream.

The stone walls around her were adorned with exquisite tapestries and strange paintings, which very curiously had people in them who seemed to be moving about from one portrait to the other. The vaulted ceiling above her indicated that she must be in a grand castle - an ancient castle. The foggy atmosphere had an eeriness she couldn't quite put her finger on but as she traversed the corridor in this fairy-tale she felt undeniably welcome, a likeness to how she felt in her own home.

Birds were chittering and chirping from somewhere but she couldn't see and out of the haze approached a figure. Despite how ghostly it appeared she surprisingly did not feel frightened. As the apparition got closer she observed his snow-white skin and his remarkable features made him seem translucent, almost transparent against the mist. The teenage boy sauntered towards her, his stark-light, silver hair swaying over his frosty ice-grey eyes. Although grey they glinted aqua-blue while he glared at her gloomily and she was overcome with a sense of impending dread. Then he looked away, blustering past her and lifted his hand to take a chomp of the sour-green apple she hadn't noticed him holding. His pearly teeth matched the rest of him; as he bit the crispy, delectable fruit they sparkled whitely in the sunshine that gleamed through the high windows. He gave her one last look as he chewed his snack, penetrating her with his mystifying stare and the light bursting forth from outside combined with the glint in his tired, sad eyes shone with such a brightness it stung at her own retinas… all she could feel was sadness. The boy was gone, everything had gone white, she couldn't see and it burned. Why was everything so white?

Hermione...

"Hermione…?" The girl stirred, awakening from the dream. She tried opening her eyes but was blinded by the shining sun pouring in, familiar to what was just in her head. "I let you sleep in. Goodness knows you needed it," her mother's tender voice brought her back to the present.

"What time is it?" Hermione purred groggily, wiggling her toes and stretching her arms and legs like a lazy feline.

"It's just past eight, dear. I figured since terms almost over that it wouldn't matter if you were a teensy-bit late but mostly because you've been tuckering yourself out so much from constantly researching what you can about the new school," Roselyn Granger was explaining as she fished the girl's drawers for clothes and by that time Hermione had thrown herself out of bed and was standing in front of the vanity, frantically brushing her tangled mane of unruly curls. The woman sashayed over to her daughter, carrying a fresh, green sweater and a pair of jeans. "Here you go. I picked an outfit for you. All you've got to do is fetch your undergarments and boots. The weather man said we're due for rain,"

"Okay. Thanks mum," she replied.

A distant voice from downstairs reverberated through the house. "Hey, Rose?"

"Be right there Hugo-darling," Mrs. Granger called to Mr. Granger and set Hermione's clothes on the chair. "Think you'll be ready in fifteen minutes? I've got bacon and eggs on the table,"

"Be ready in five,"

"Excellent love, I'll see you in the kitchen."

Young, intelligent Hermione Granger would be twelve that year in September, not long after she arrived at the new private school she'd been accepted into… but this academy wasn't like normal schools. This academy was for children who were different, children of the special sort. This was a solace to her because these children - her future peers - were to be just like her: bequeathed with magical abilities.

Miss Granger was unlike her parents in this aspect and she really wanted to know more about why. So, she couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts and learn so many fantastic things about magic and about herself and…

She picked up the sweater her mum picked out for her; oddly, it was the same leafy shade of kiwi-green as that apple. She awoke so abruptly she'd forgotten all about that strange… was it even a dream? She could remember it taking place in a castle. Had she been mentally transported to Hogwarts? She'd only read about it in the books Professor Minerva McGonagall had lent to her months ago when she'd visited the Granger residence with the acceptance letter. Everything she'd seen in her mind seemed so real as if she were really there and it was like it'd already happened before, a long time ago in another life maybe or perhaps it was a moment she had yet to witness. Surely, it couldn't be a premonition of some kind? The feeling did make her a tad uneasy… a lump in her gut that told her of trials and hardships to come.

Hermione dismissed these notions with a sigh and hastily got dressed, willing herself to forget about it for now. It was all just a dream… but still, that boy. The ghost-like image of him would haunt her.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

September 1st, 1991: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands

The Great Hall was raucous with the beginning of the new term and all of the students and faculty members were elated, loud with mirthful camaraderie as they indulged in the feast. The first-years felt the full-effect of wonderment, dazzled at the marvel that was the ancient academy and home of influential, magical people for centuries.

Hermione felt that way anyway and she couldn't help but peer over at the table where the students donned in Slytherin's green and silver sat snickering. There was a boy over there, a boy with an odd name and eyes made of ice. She'd glanced him on the way up the stairwell in the Entrance Hall previous to the Sorting Ceremony. She'd done a double-take but held an unassuming demeanor as she speculated from afar that he had the same, uncommonly fair features as the mystery teenager from her dream. Although, this recently-appointed Slytherin was clearly not old enough to possibly be the same boy and she couldn't recall what colors were on the teenager's uniform in her bizarre visions.

A chill ran down her spine. Honestly it all gave Hermione the creeps. She shrugged it away and took a gracious gulp of her pumpkin juice with a refreshing smack of her lips, completely relishing in the comforts of her new home and decided to forget the dream, to erase it from her memory for a great, long while. It would be years to come before she'd be forced to give it another thought.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

November 18th, 1996: Gryffindor Girl's Dormitory - Hogwarts Castle

Hermione awoke with a start, huffing and gasping for breath. There was a thin line of sweat uncomfortably beading around her forehead. It threatened to drip and she wiped it clean, letting out a small groan of frustration and tousling her long, wavy tendrils about. She banished them away, the nightmares that still sometimes tortured her. They were terrifying. First she'd be running for her life from a herd of ferocious beasts and then quick as that she's reliving the fateful events of last spring in the Department of Mysteries - when Sirius Black was murdered by that lunatic bitch Bellatrix Lestrange in cold-blood and nasty Voldemort possessed Harry…

"You alright over there?" someone asked her from across the room. It was Parvati Patil. She'd stopped searching through her trunk and actually sounded concerned for her roommate.

"Yes, quite. Thanks," she mumbled and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She was yawning and stretched, waking herself up. Lavender Brown grunted in the bed beside her, still snoring even though the misty morning began to seep steadily through the red-curtained windows and into the room. It was Monday and Hermione had a lot to do, so she couldn't understand a person like Lavender. They were the same age but polar opposites. The girl always slept in until the last minute and then rushed to get ready. To top it off , the narcissist sometimes made herself late to breakfast and even class from taking far too much time to perfect her "pristine" appearance. Apparently not everyone was as inherently practical or punctual as Hermione was.

Hermione - who'd been anointed as one of Gryffindor's sixth-year Prefects - grabbed her wand and the fresh uniform she'd spread out for herself on her own trunk the night before, heading to the lavatory they all shared. Once inside she closed the door and washed her tanned, freckled face at the sink, smoothing it over with moisturizer afterwards. She applied rosy-gold tints of makeup to her cheeks and swept pink shadow on her eyelids, the natural-look she typically displayed. She rounded off by fixing up her shapely brows and once she was done she tamed her chocolatey locks into a messy but flattering bun that rested at the top of her head, secured with a deep red scrunchie. A couple strands of curls framed her features nicely and she was ready to lather her coconut-cucumber and vanilla lotion into her tawny-olive toned skin and get dressed.

Later that day, she left Ancient Runes class and walked through the sixth-floor corridor in the direction of the Prefect's Bathroom on the floor below. Earlier on she'd endured a harrowing workload in Herbology class, getting herself all dirtied and muddied up. Certainly she was ripe with the stench of manure after two hours of tending to the growth in the greenhouses. She'd vigilantly helped Professor Sprout alongside the dedicated Hufflepuffs and after having to sit through another class, she was now desperate to enjoy a soothing bubble bath before she went back to the common room to study.

Initially she was unaware of her surroundings, lost in thought about her classwork but as she was adjusting her heavy bag she listened to the familiar but unexpected twittering of birds in their cages hanging from the ceiling. Hermione never noticed they'd kept any near the sixth and seventh floor stairwell and she wondered what type of birds they were. She was turning to look when the bird song was interrupted by a very distinct, crisp crunch. Hermione's focus instantly snapped in the sound's direction, zeroing in ahead on Draco Malfoy walking towards her. He kept momentum but gazed at her for a second, holding a green apple to his chest and feeling utterly caught off guard by her sudden attention to him. The strong sense of Deja-vu washed over her; she was overcome with the awareness that she'd experienced this moment before, in a memory long-forgotten. Then a small speck of sweet lingered at the corner of his mouth and unconsciously his tongue darted out and captured it, luring it inside in the most tantalizing manner. He'd kept his eyes on her, and Hermione was more… transfixed by this than she'd like. Somehow her feet had become made of stone, weighed down and glued to the floor as if she were a solid statue. She hadn't meant to gape so openly. The silver-haired snake continued to walk by, glaring at her with contempt and awkwardly trying to hide the reddening in his cheeks.

"What the fuck are you looking at, Granger?" he'd snarled, and mumbled under his breath from above her - "Vile swot," he shuffled by as fast as he could but awaited the inevitable verbal assassination that was to come.

Yet, there was nothing. No shouting, no cursing - absolutely nothing from her and he felt so surprised he actually turned around. Astonishingly he was met with the backside of her, the mountain of wild hair on her cranium bobbing as she receded the opposite way down the corridor.

Occasionally, Hermione Granger was prone to that - just simply ignoring him or walking away from his insults but this time he'd swore at her, then topped it off by reminding her just how much he found her repulsive. She'd always despised his insults and would berate him for his blatant disrespect so it was mind-boggling she hadn't come after him or screamed in his face about it. She must really be going through something, not that he'd care. Or maybe… was it possible? Was the Gryffindor Princess herself actually scared of him for once?

Well, he was certain she and Weasel-face were in on it with Pothead, whatever it was. Draco wasn't positive what the irritating trio was up to exactly, but he definitely knew they had suspicions of him becoming a Death Eater over the summer holiday and believed that he got the Dark Mark… which he did, in fact.

When his father was thrown in Azkaban the young Malfoy heir had gotten branded with the obligatory tattoo, signifying his eternal loyalty and devotion to Voldemort, the Dark Lord. From there he was ordered to go forth with the loathsome burden of murdering Headmaster Albus Dumbledore - an incredibly daunting task of the futile variety.

Draco was on his way right then, heading to the Room of Requirement that was upstairs on the seventh-floor. He'd gratifyingly found the ever-elusive Vanishing Cabinet and was currently attempting to mend it but he had to work fast. Holiday break was soon approaching and he was running out of time. Before he knew it, the days would get longer. It'll be April, then May and the school year would be quickly coming to a close. If he didn't succeed by then he might... ugh, things would get really bad, worse than if he were to just go on and kill the old fool. He needed to just get it over with. Unfortunately, Draco knew he was expected to fail, so that Voldemort could dispose of him as a message to the others, a message to Lucius he was not to be defied. This just inspired Draco to do everything he could to succeed.

It was all was giving him so much anxiety, especially with the Dark Lord having taken over his residency and using his beloved Manor as a hideout. He could remember how depressed his mother was as he'd left for his first day of term. Draco had almost cried on his way to the station but there was nothing he or she could do about it. Now, she was a prisoner in her own home and Draco was a prisoner to these ancient walls.

The birds above him chirped happily in their cages as he rounded the corner, up the steps to the next level and without reason his mind drifted straight back to the confusing encounter with that wide-eyed little bint… why had she gazed at him like she was so terrified? He hadn't done anything to her directly, had he? Was it because of his father? Did Lucius happen to fuck shit up at the Ministry more than he'd heard? He was well aware what his Aunt Bellatrix had done to Potter's godfather. Could that be it? What was he missing? There must be something he didn't know. He had to learn more… but how? Maybe he would ask her - ask Hermione Granger.

Draco had been putting up a front for a while now. He didn't find the Great Swot of Gryffindor to be unappealing in the least. Quite frankly it was the opposite. Although she could be a total bitch at times (and a mudblood) he couldn't deny it: the caramel-skinned, honey-eyed beauty was an intimidatingly brilliant witch, and he thought her voluminous, coffee-colored curls to be gorgeous and exotic, not frizzy or repugnant. You'd never hear him say it aloud but she was looking more decent, more attractive each time he saw her (which was a fair-amount, by the way).

Even today with her toppling, messy bun and her dirt-dried skin and clothes she was the epitome of a bushy-tailed, adorable doe. If she ever felt so inclined, he'd fuck her. He'd rut the stuck-up prude into oblivion like a buck. In class sometimes he'd catch himself staring, memorizing her curves. Then he'd go to a place of solitude and bash his candle-stick, unashamedly letting filthy visions of roughly pounding himself inside her infiltrate his mind. He thinks of pushing his long, pulsating cock right into the entrance of her sodden, trim little muff... Hermione would take all of him as he slides himself in and out of her slick tightness, filling her up to the hilt with his meat. He'd be groaning in hot pleasure while he bangs her deliberately against a wall. He imagines her liking it so much she's whimpering and meweling, her petite body writhing against him from the electric friction of their raw fucking - his very own minx. He'd squeeze her perfect, bouncy tits and she'd clench with an orgasm, her sticky juices overflowing all over him. She moans into his ear and…

Shit, he'd better be careful. He was almost at the point where the Room of Requirement started listening and he had a rock-hard tent in his pants. If he kept thinking like that he wasn't sure what kind of trouble would manifest in that ever-changing room beyond the hidden door.

He had to wise-up, for Salazar's sake. Draco couldn't let himself get distracted so easily by such unobtainable whims, not when he had so much to take care of, so much to deal with.

Hours later, long after the sun set and the lunar half-moon tranquilly weaved through the starlit sky, Draco Malfoy was bombarded with night-terrors of a ghastly, nefarious nature and unfortunately for him the torment never ended after that; he'd kept having these visions with her there but they weren't good. She'd be screaming for mercy, for Draco to just end her life so the pain would go away.

Night after night, he'd start out in absolute blackness and he'd be running. So very fast he ran but no matter how far he went he'd come upon one gruesome scene after the next, that which disturbingly always starred Gryffindor's Princess. Obviously, Draco didn't fucking like it. This wasn't fair. What had he done? Was this all his fault? Was this to be Granger's outcome, her fate all along? Yet, it was never at his hands in the nightmares, no. It was a blurry figure, a dark shadow looming over her. They'd be mutilating and viciously raping her bruised, battered form. He wanted to help but he had to look away, sickened by what he saw and the figure wouldn't let him get to her - he wasn't strong enough. He was a weakling just like his damned father. So he would run and run but it was always the same and every scene brought with it a more awful, different crime.

For weeks Draco had these unmerciful, sadistic terrors. He'd tried everything, eventually turning to the strongest Dreamless Sleep elixirs that Severus Snape had as well as Madame Pomfrey's stash. Only for a few days did this work, until Draco built a tolerance and was unable to keep using it on a regular basis.

By the time he'd returned from winter break for the holidays he'd barely slept a wink. He was outrageously knackered and sore in his muscles from a lack of good rest. Not only just but his neck had been constantly breathed down, his movements constantly watched. His joints were stiff, his pale skin jaunt and sallow with black circles under his twinkle-less eyes. He hadn't been able to get any real peace and his poor mother… she was losing it in that house on her own. She was fading fast and the Dark Lord… if Draco fucked this up that snake-mouthed dictator without a nose was going to murder her. There was no other choice - he could not fail.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

January 25th, 1997: the Grounds - Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Highlands

"You've got to be kidding me!" Hermione shrieked and immediately dropped her bag, packing together a huge ball of snow and pelting it right at Harry. She was covered in the fluffy, white substance and it stuck to her face, the warmth from her melting it to water and now she, Harry and Ron were having a snowball battle.

She was soaked. Her black cloak was wet with icy flakes but she didn't care. They were all chuckling like mad, dusty and damp but merry. As the three of them slowed their playful exchange she relaxed, breathing in the frigid cold air in the wind that'd traveled from the bare-boned forests and over the stark white hills around them. For the first time in a while, she felt truly alive.

It had been wonderful to think about something else for a time, something besides the pale-blonde ferret-boy. After their odd encounter back in November the princely Slytherin had started looking more awful as the days went on, as if he'd gotten absolutely no sleep. Hermione hated to admit it, especially with Harry and Ron's theories on him being a Death Eater, but she'd become rather worried over his well-being… and it wasn't just that.

She remembered the dream. How could she not? There it was, in plain view right for her to see: that stupid green apple. Hermione was sure she hadn't had a green apple since childhood and now she recalled why. She'd also donated that lime-green jumper she'd once owned to a charitable cause, throwing a fit during the summer holiday when she was eleven years old because the color was a reminder of how much the dream creeped her out. Now this - her exact vision had sprung to life. Had it been a premonition of some kind all along? Was something bad going to happen and did it have to do with Malfoy? There was no way... was there? She was overreacting, right?

Hermione hadn't hated Divination. She just saw no use for the class if it was being taught by the likes of Professor Trelawney. That woman wouldn't have been able to teach her a damn thing - therefore she thought eventually she'd simply learn on her own time. Hermione never thought she'd one day find out that she'd actually developed such a divine power, if that were the case.

And dare she say that if it was the case, what did it all mean? Why in Godric's good name would she have a mysterious "premonition" about Draco sodding Malfoy years ago, months before she met him? Nothing about it made any sense to her… and his outward appearance had become so glum and down-trodden. His now longer, silvery tresses were always a ruffled mess and his darkened eyes held so much stress and sadness. Hermione could tell he was ruminating on so much, but why? She was getting so very curious. Honestly, he looked seriously drug-addled - like he'd been swept up in the undertow of addiction.

The Princess of Gryffindor shook away the thoughts as she followed her friends through the courtyard and headed down the ground-floor hallway towards the Grand Staircase.

Little did they know, their friendly-fire snow-fight had been witnessed and watching in the shadows around the bend was the Slytherin Prince, puffing on a French tobacco spliff he'd rolled prior to coming outside. The grey smog danced around and how none of them had smelled the smoke, or spied him leering at them was beyond him.

Draco felt a nostalgic longing while he looked over at them, wishing he had more time to spend with his own friends. He'd stared at Granger, enchanted. The fluffy snowflakes had attached to and melted in her long, walnut-brown hair and her Gryffindor gold and red scarf came untangled as she jumped down to pack up more white stuff. She pitched the hard, rounded arsenal at Weasley, walloping him right in the face and they were all cracking up. She was laughing and giggling, genuinely happy and it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. For some befuddling reason, Draco wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that…

He vehemently shot daggers in Ron Weasley's direction as he saw him latch his hand around hers and plant a smooch on her cheek while they faded back within the castle. Overridden with dismay from the realization that he would never get to make Hermione Granger happy in those ways, he felt himself go mad with the question of why he even cared so much.

Ah, oh yes. The night terrors - they still hadn't subsided. All he could think about was her and he really didn't want to. It had started out as just an itty-bitty crush around third or fourth year, probably. It was nothing. He'd merely wanked off to the thought of her every once in a while, engrossed with the fantasy of the forbidden fruit he couldn't have. Now things were completely different... He was invaded with horrific visuals of Granger being taken against her will, tortured until she was bloody and broken and nothing he'd tried stopped the nightmares from returning. Somewhere in the mix, Draco had actually grown feelings for her. In secret, he'd admired her from afar, smitten but unable to approach her. A coward, as always. He was certain that it was his time to fade away... but he couldn't give up on everything, not yet. If Hermione Granger wasn't to be the death of him, then Voldemort would be without question.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

February 14th, 1997: the Astronomy Tower - Hogwarts Castle

It was dark, after rounds and almost ten o'clock when Hermione sat down on the bench against the wall and continued weeping softly, alone in the Astronomy classroom. This was just what she wanted - to be away from Ronald, to be away from everyone. This had been the worst Valentine's Day in the history of her life.

That brainless, dim-witted Lavender Brown… Hermione really ought to just smack her and was unsure why she hadn't when she'd found her canoodled up to Ron in a loving embrace, snogging each other senseless on a lofty chair in the corner of the common room. Lavender knew. She fucking knew Hermione and Ron had a… thing. Hermione wasn't exactly sure what that thing was but it was there and she'd been nurturing the potential they'd shared for years. Frustratingly, that spark had sizzled out.

Earlier that evening her and Ron went on a lovely walk through the castle, tickling and rough-housing with each other along the way. His hazel, ocean-blue eyes had shone with mirth and his jovial face was glowing, indicating that he was glad to be spending time with her, or so she'd thought. He'd even given her gifts; a transfigured bushel of traditional red roses (he hadn't mentioned what it'd been before, most likely something ridiculous) and a last minute card he created using a folded scrap of un-special parchment with a sloppily-written, half-assed poem splayed inside. Disappointingly, it had all been a façade and the Ron Weasley Hermione thought she knew and loved was a lie.

It wasn't fair, she thought hopelessly as the hot tears seeped out of her amber-brown eyes and down her cheeks. Ronald and her were supposed to be together - an item, a power-couple, weren't they? Hermione always believed so but now that felt so foolish. He didn't love her, no not really, not the way she wanted him to and not in the way she could have loved him. It was over, damn him. She'd never be able to give him another chance because she wasn't sure she'd ever fully heal from the trauma.

Suddenly something stirred in the darkness and Hermione could hear footsteps coming up the stairwell. It wasn't necessarily the quietest tower of the castle and it was easy to tell if someone was approaching. "Who's there…?" she questioned firmly but timidly.

The silhouette ascended to the top of the landing and stood there observing her. From the dim shadows the tall, lean-built figure grew closer, taking tentative strides towards her. "Granger…? Uh, it's just me, Malfoy," he replied.

Her eyebrow quirked up at him, bemused. "Just you…?" she grabbed her Vine-wood wand, wielding the only weapon she had as defense and he had the audacity to feel slightly offended. "I don't know what that's supposed to mean when you're… well, you."

Draco could tell by her puffy, flustered skin and frazzled demeanor that she'd just been crying. Somehow, he found in him a desire to be kind to her. "Are you - um, are you okay?" but this was an unwelcome shock to her senses and she was not having it.

"Seriously?" she seethed angrily, gritting her teeth. "Why in Merlin's name would you even care if I was, Malfoy? We've never been friendly," Hermione's earthy eyes glittered, welling up with more saline tears that were threatening to spill over.

"I-I'm…" he was pretty positive that a pathetic "I'm sorry" wasn't going to make up for anything and stopped himself before he rambled onward.

As he sputtered there in a stupor Granger just kept glaring at him, no doubt willing his entire existence to disappear but he wasn't going to leave her yet, not when she was in this condition. He'd happened upon her in the night, upset and alone and what if it was a sign? What if this all was a message to him of the spiritual sort? It was as if their lives were intertwined in the intricate, woven web of time - a bit like their souls were lost within a celestial labyrinth of deep riddles, designed by the sacred universe and it was calling out to him with visions and hidden clues. He and Granger's energies were colliding... Did she ever feel the same, confounding things he did? It felt like they were connected somehow. Would this witch ultimately be his fate and he, hers? Draco had never believed in that kind of thing but reluctantly he might be beginning to…

A single, sad tear stealthily escaped from her sight and he stood up straight, mentally preparing himself for what he wanted to convey. "Why do you waste your time with that idiot Weasley," he asked, his usual drawl slicing through the silence and she shuddered. He knew? Malfoy sounded different, right then. He actually sounded like he was being nice. "Why do you let him make you cry when you could… you could have anyone you wanted, Granger and you choose to lower your standards. It doesn't make any sense," the apple's of his cheeks twinged red as he struggled, sweeping the mass of hair from the front of his eyes but he'd gotten across the point he wanted to relay. The Gryffindor peered up at him, thrown off by his crystal-clear compliment. She wiped the wet streaks from her face and her lavish eyelashes batted at him bashfully, confused but filled with adoration nonetheless. Draco could see that her whole décolletage pinked with a tender blush as it contrasted boldly against the material of her cream-colored turtle-neck.

"How... how did you know?" she stuttered, giving a small sniff and crossed her arms, feeling very vulnerable.

"Just a simple estimation, that's all. I'd gathered, that because it's Saint Valentine's Day and you're up here crying, alone in the Astronomy Tower and Weaslebee is notoriously-known to be a sniveling mongrel, well it wasn't hard to put it together, Granger."

Hermione snorted disdainfully, humorless. "It wasn't notoriously-known to me," she started. "I was blinded by our friendship. I'd thought…" she trailed off and increasingly felt more embarrassed, confessing this all to the Malfoy heir. "Oh, never you mind. It doesn't matter. The friendship is over," she finished with an air of finality.

"Somehow, I doubt that's true. Real friendships last forever," he offered. If any of his Slytherin mates heard that they'd probably shun him from the group. He was being such a sappy-sucker. This girl brought it out in him. Since he'd met her his instinct was to consistently bully her and be mean to her but right now his instinct made a one-hundred and eighty degree turn. He felt the innate need to… protect her.

"No," she said but still she'd been taken aback by his comment. "He's betrayed me without remorse, thinks he's entitled to his actions and justifies it all by blaming me for everything, as if I wasn't interesting or fun enough for him. Well, news flash Ronald Weasley: you're the one who's boring damnit," she sneered sassily, lightening the mood and they both chuckled. Draco felt delighted she might have actually cheered up, even as she lamented on and on about that undeserving, ginger-haired git.

Hermione hadn't noticed how or when the snake snuck by and sat down on the bench beside her, hadn't even noticed when she'd lowered her wand many moments ago. "That's the right attitude. Nicely said, I say." he amiably elbowed her in the ribs and her deep red flush persisted to rise over her freckled face. Draco swallowed the breath that caught in his wind-pipe. His mouth watered, thinking of brushing his mouth across those tiny dots adorning her nose, thinking how much he'd like to nuzzle into her and inhale her essence. She smelled so good so close to him... He lustily gulped down a growl. The girl before him was stunning. She was watching as his Adam's apple slowly bobbed in his throat with great interest. The large larynx protruding behind the skin of his neck showed her that he was, indeed a man.

'Fuck, fuckity, fuck!' he screamed inside his brain, wishing he had the bullocks to ignite himself ablaze in a burning, spontaneous, lethal fire... or Apparate. Hermione was looking right into his eyes and he could tell she wanted him to kiss her. Why would she want to do that? Oh, damnit he couldn't, no, no! He wouldn't. Draco was going to ruin this perfect fucking moment. He couldn't involve her in his unbecoming situations, couldn't make her unsafe. Out of nowhere he was thinking that maybe his nightly-terrors were a warning that if he carried on and pursued a clandestine romance with Granger that he'd likely end up getting her killed or worse, much worse. What if his terrors were trying to tell him to stay away? Hell, with the way the outcome of the war was looking they'd both be dead one day anyway, as much as he prayed that weren't the truth but if so he hoped her death would be painless, unlike in his visions.

Hermione was shutting her eyes, bringing her hands up to graze her fingers gingerly across his collarbone but he grabbed her around the wrists before she made contact with his opalescent epidermis. "Don't," he muttered and she blinked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "It's just - Granger, you know very well that I'm no good for you. I'm. No. Good."

She wanted to cackle at him and make a sarcastic remark, agreeing with him about how much good he lacked precisely but bit her tongue, instead addressing him about his haggard, unhealthy appearance. "You don't look good Malfoy, no offense. You look sick, honestly. Now, I have to ask: are you alright?"

"Stop right there," he interrupted and rudely attempted to belittle her. "I'm not going to talk with you about any of the shit I've endured, princess. I'm sure it wouldn't be so easy for you to relate to any of it, let alone what I have to -" he paused, realizing he'd said way too much.

Perplexed with intrigue, Hermione barreled on. "What? What do you have to -" Draco didn't let her finish and stood from the bench. He began to walk away. "Wait, Draco… Draco what're you -"

"No! You're not allowed to call me that," he reared back, menacingly standing above her and she winced, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself again. "Don't-don't you ever fucking call me that, you hear me?" He hissed, vibrating with rage like a buzzing hornet. The Silver Prince didn't let her answer because he was running away, just like he ran from her in his unsavory dreams. It's just… the way she said his name: it was exactly how her frail voice sounded as she wailed out to him in agony from being beaten to a pulp, torn and crying for him to stop running, begging him to return and save her. He couldn't believe he'd just yelled at her in such a way. He didn't mean to, he'd busted open like an egg, overflowing with immense irritation and Draco reckoned he wouldn't ever be able to look her in the eyes after this.

He should have just fucking kissed her. What harm could one, tiny kiss have actually done? Now, he'd never know. Draco would never smile again.

-~-~-~-~-~.~-~-~-~-~-

AN: Thank you so much for finishing Part One of the 3-part series! If you liked it please leave a review and follow immediately. I will be updating in due time and you won't want to miss it! Are there any questions you'd like me to answer? Cheers to you, my friends. Until next time :0)