Eyes for Eyes

by esotaria

A fight between Harry and Hermione rends the trio asunder, and when Draco Malfoy is drawn into the affair, all hell breaks loose. Slightly AU in regards to Hermione's parents. Written for the Dramione Fic Exchange.

Title: Eyes for Eyes

Author: Katie

Disclaimer: Everybody belongs to J.K. Rowling, I do believe.

Rating: R....pretty much.

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Summary: A fight between Harry and Hermione rends the trio asunder, and when Draco Malfoy is drawn into the affair, all hell breaks loose. Slightly AU in regards to Hermione's parents.

Hot. She tossed fitfully, still mostly asleep as she threw off her sheet, and then pulled off her tank top and shorts when that provided no relief. She frowned as she heard voices screaming. The heat grew, waking her up in stages, but even as sleep departed, the screaming remained. As she opened her eyes, a dull roar registered in her ears and she jumped up out of bed.

The house was on fire.

She opened the door to her room, relieved to find that the flames had not reached her just yet. The smoke, however, had and it was the smoke that killed. She dropped to the ground and crawled to her parents' room, the screaming growing louder and louder. She was confused and terrified, blinded by the smoke, nauseous from the terror. Why were they screaming like that? Had the fire reached their room? Why hadn't they escaped?

She finally reached their door, opening it in a panic.

"Mum, Dad----"

"CRUCIATUS!"

A fresh scream of pain burst from her mother and she looked up in horror to realize that this was no simple fire. Voldemort had come for Harry Potter's Mudblood friend. His form was indistinct, barely discernable from the smoke that permeated the room, but his glowing red eyes pierced through the fog, burning her soul and leaving a chill.

Sobbing, she reached for her wand, not knowing what she could do but unable to do nothing. But her hand could hardly move; every inch towards her wand was a battle with the unnaturally dense air and gravity. She was helpless, enraged, terrified.

But as she continued to reach for her wand, panic growing at Voldemort's increasingly malevolent smile, something struck her.

"This is just a dream. This is just a dream. This is just a dream. This is just a dream. This is just a dream."

"This is just a dream."

Hermione opened her eyes, terror still powering her heart and pumping panic through her veins. She sat up, gasping for breath. She looked around frantically. It was dark, and cold – why was it so cold? Everything was burning...

"No," she whispered, and grabbed her wand. With a hurried "Lumos," she snatched a letter from under her pillow.

Hermione dear, it read,

One hardly knows what to say in a letter like this. Your father and I are both fine. We had a bit of a cough after the fire, but your Mediwizards soon put that to rights. I have to confess, I was a bit baffled as to why so many wizards would respond to a simple Muggle fire. But Dumbledore arrived and explained the whole situation to us.

How could you not tell us about this Voldemort person? While I have always been proud of your wizardly accomplishments, I never would have allowed you to remain in a world where a second Hitler was planning genocide against people like you!

From here her father's hand took over.

Your mother answered her own question, I think. Rest assured, poppet, I understand. I can't say I'm okay with the deception, but I know and respect your reasons. And your mother does too, a fact which she'll remember once the panic subsides.

Anyway, considering how dangerous this Voldemort sounded when Professor Dumbledore described him, you might be wondering just how we survived. The police, I believe you call them Aurors, said that the attack probably wasn't meant to kill. It was a cursed fire, but who in their right mind would go anywhere near a regular fire? And no "Death Eaters" hung around to make sure we were dead. No one really understands why Voldemort didn't try harder to kill us, but it's not my job to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm grateful that your mother and I are alive, and that you're safe at Hogwarts.

Your mother has something she wants to say.

The Aurors are sending us to America for our protection. Voldemort's a powerful force in England, but evidently he's not powerful enough to even want to chase someone across the ocean. Even if it is the parents of one of Harry Potter's best friends.

Come with us, dearest. I know you love the magical world, and I know Harry's one of your best friends, but I can hardly sleep at night, worrying about you, constantly in danger because you practice magic and have Muggle parents. I live in dread of getting one of those owls from Dumbledore, telling me my little girl has been brutally killed. You'd be safe in America. If Voldemort wants to hurt Harry, there are plenty of people still in England whom he could go after. Oh God, I know that sounds horrible of me, it is horrible of me, but I can't bear the idea of you remaining in England while that genocidal maniac is gathering power. More than anything else I want you safe.

We send you our love and our prayers,

Mum and Dad

Tears battered at the wall's of Hermione's eyes. Her parents were alive and safe in America. Voldemort's attack had not succeeded. Her dreams were just the product of stress and trauma, simple phantasms of emotion, nothing more. 'It's been four months!' she thought furiously as she clutched her pillow and gave into the sobs. 'Why can't I get over it?' The dreams came less frequently of late, but she still felt groggy and irritable more often than not. Her temper, never on a tight rein under normal circumstances, was breaking free more often than not, and she knew the boys were getting tired of it.

"Hey, Hermione, are you awake in there?" Ron's voice crept up the steps. "Come on, it's time for breakfast!"

'Speak of the devil.'

"I'm coming!" Hermione shouted exasperatedly and quickly dressed herself. She stuck the letter in her robe pocket to banish the lingering fear. She opened the door to identical expressions of relief on Harry's and Ron's faces.

"About damn time," Ron muttered. "We've been waiting forever! Breakfast will almost be over!"

"Oh nonsense, Ron," Hermione snapped. "We'll still have a half hour by the time we get down there."

"As I said, it'll almost be over," Ron grumbled and they made their way to the Great Hall. Ron and Harry chattered excitedly about Quidditch while Hermione remained lost in thought, seemingly focused on putting one foot in front of another. By the time they reached the breakfast table, the two boys had noted her silence.

"Okay, Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry asked, plopping down in his seat.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked irritably.

"It's a simple question, Hermione!" Ron responded in kind. "You've been completely silent the whole bloody walk down! We haven't heard one peep of 'Honestly, you two, can't you stop thinking about Quidditch for one second and realize that the O.W.L.S. are just months away?' out of you."

Hermione winced, and then sighed. She chewed on her lip as she piled food onto her plate, putting off her answer.

"I had the dream again," she said at length.

Harry and Ron gaped at her.

"Again?" Ron asked. "Hermione, it's been four months!"

"And you weren't even there," Harry added with a touch of asperity. "Shouldn't you be over it by now?"

"I KNOW I should," Hermione replied, "and it's been getting better, really. I've just been stressed out recently, and... Well, it's still scary to think about. My parents came so close to dying, and it was all because of me."

"Well they didn't," Harry snapped. "You weren't there for the bloody attack, your parents weren't killed, or even injured, and now they're safe in America. So stop bloody acting so bloody traumatized and just be grateful they survived!"

Hermione stared at the boy, mind frozen. Dimly she was aware of an ache in her chest and in her temples, two surefire signs of her very rare crying fits. Not that they had been rare as of late. She stood up slowly, not registering Ron's protests, and fled the Hall. Ron watched her go, then sat back down again and glared at Harry, who was staring into his food.

"You really fucked that one up, mate," he growled.

"Oh sod off," Harry spat, and ignored him for the rest of breakfast.

Hermione curled up in bed, clutching her pillow and sobbing.

"Hermione?" Parvati Patil hesitantly pulled back the curtains surrounding the bed. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

Haltingly, Hermione described the dreams she'd been having, and Harry's callous, even vicious comments of that morning.

"The little prick!" Parvati gave Hermione a comforting embrace. "I swear, that boy can be such an asshole. Self-centered little bastard." She continued describing Harry with a variety of imaginative curses until Hermione's tears subsided and she was simply exhausted and miserable.

"You can stop now," she said with a half-hearted smile. "I think I've heard enough."

Parvati shook her head.

"You know what you need?" she said, switching topics. "You need a Girls' Night."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh no," she said, "you are NOT going to use this as an excuse to give me a makeover."

"Makeover free, I swear!" Parvati said. "This will simply be a good old, chocolate and ice cream eating, men cursing, girl bonding session." Hermione still looked skeptical. "Come on, Hermione, remember what happened in first year when you had a crying fit and didn't listen to my advice."

Hermione looked at her. "You mean with the troll?"

"Exactly!" Parvati grinned at her.

"Are you saying a troll will invade the girls' dorm if I don't agree to this Girls' Night?" Hermione asked, a faint grin shyly making its way onto her lips.

Parvati waggled her eyebrows humorously.

"History has been known to repeat itself," she said. "Either that or Professor Binns simply recites the same lecture over and over again and we're all too asleep to notice."

This actually provoked a laugh from Hermione.

"Fine," she said, "I'll do your Girls Night."

"YES!" Parvati squealed and hugged the other girl. "It will be wicked fun, I promise."

Hermione's crying fit had caused her to miss History of Magic, but by the time McGonagall's beady eyes were watching seventh year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students file into the classroom, she had recovered herself enough to be among them. She sat as far as possible from Harry and Ron, ignoring Ron's attempts to make amends (if he really wanted to patch things up, he wouldn't be sitting with Harry), and seething at Harry for ignoring her, as if she was the one in the wrong. By the end of the period, she was furious with both of them. By the end of the day, she was fantasizing about the various different hexes she could use to make their lives a pit of endless suffering. An intense desire to cry surged and abated with no apparent pattern.

Hermione walked into the girls' dorm room exhausted, irate, depressed, and nervous. She felt almost seasick with emotion. Then Parvati held up a bottle of Elderflower wine and a package of Marie's Bad Mood Banisher specialty chocolates, and the bushy haired girl could have cried with relief. Suddenly all was well. She snatched the chocolate and munched on it as the other two girls crowded around her comfortingly, filling her with a warmth that was only two thirds due to the chocolate. Lavender blathered on about how Parvati had explained the situation to her, Harry's behavior was absolutely abominable, she couldn't believe how Hermione had tolerated the callousness of those two boys over the years, and so on and so forth. Hermione didn't mind the chatter. It was comforting in its unquestioning sympathy.

Lavender and Parvati, being well-versed in the art of Girls' Night, then dropped the subject of Harry. Liberally pouring out glasses of the wine, Lavender declared that it was "time to forget those stupid boys" and tried to drag Hermione into a discussion on how to tame her forest of curls and what types of glamour spells would best suit her complexion. At first Hermione was too depressed, and then she was too drunk, to protest the subject matter. The three girls giggled uproariously as they tested different looks on each other, giving Lavender curls worthy of Hermione's mop of hair, turning Hermione's into a veritable rainbow of colors, and at one point accidentally depriving Parvati of all of hers. Hermione tried to choke back the giggles as she fixed the problem, but as soon as the spell was cast, the giggles turned to tears.

"Oh sweetheart." Parvati quickly gathered her friend into a comforting hug.

"Harry Potter is an unmitigated jackass," Lavender raged. "Just look at the horrid way he treated Parvati at the Yule Ball! The boy doesn't have a sensitive bone in his body."

Parvati huffed with unabated irritation.

"He's a complete prat, that's what he is," she declared.

Hermione nodded furiously.

"An ungrateful, good-for-nothing brainless JOCK," she said venomously. "Sure, he's always the one to face down You-Know-Who, but does he survive on brains? NO. He survives on thrice-damned LUCK. Meanwhile, every time we actually need a plan, I'm the one to come up with it. And do I get any appreciation for it? No! It's always 'Harry, thank Merlin you're all right!' 'Harry, that was bloody brilliant!' "Harry, you're my hero!' The sanctimonious jackass just has to SURVIVE in order to get commendations." Hermione gnashed her teeth and bit her hand in an effort to vent her rage.

Parvati handed her another piece of chocolate.

"No hand biting," she scolded. "That's what soul food is for."

Hermione viciously bite off a piece of the chocolate.

"And really, he acts like he's the ONLY one in the world with something to be traumatized about," she continued to rage. "'Oh, my parents are dead, my godfather is gone forever and I have to live with obnoxious relatives, boo hoo hoo.' No sympathy for Neville, whose parents are in the bloody LOONY BIN, forcing him to live with his draconic grandmother."

Lavender looked puzzled.

"Neville's grandmother is part dragon?" she asked.

Hermione looked askance at her.

"No," she said slowly, "it was a figure of speech. She's just a vicious, penny-pinching, fiery-tempered, old monster of a woman."

"Oh."

Hermione rolled her eyes and moved on.

"Anyway, he doesn't spare a single THOUGHT for Neville, even laughs at the stupid pranks that prat Malfoy plays on him. Not a single concern for the Muggle born students on this school who are just as much targets for You-Know-Who's plots as he is, and he bloody YELLS at me for still being terrified about how the Dark Lord PRACTICALLY KILLED MY PARENTS! It could have EASILY turned out a different way... Mum and Dad could be dead by now... We don't even know why the Dark Lord didn't do more to kill them... And all he can say is 'They're still alive, you've got nothing to be scared or hurt or sad about.' THE BLOODY SELFISH PRAT!" Hermione burst into renewed tears, and Parvati and Lavender drew her into an embrace.

"We should punish the bastard," Parvati said.

Hermione laughed bitterly.

"Believe me, I've thought of a million different ways, and all of them would get me expelled," she said.

"Which defeats the whole purpose of the exercise," Parvati agreed.

"Why don't you seduce Draco Malfoy?" Lavender suggested.

Hermione gaped at her. Even Parvati looked stunned at her friend's preposterous suggestion.

"Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked disbelievingly.

"Why not?" Lavender said. "He's hot, Harry hates him, and he'll do pretty much anything to piss Harry off. And simply dating another student won't get you expelled, even if it is a Slytherin."

"Need I remind you that I have no interest in either sex or dating?"

"And it's about damn time you do!" Lavender reprimanded. "There's more to learn in school than just what's in the textbooks. Dating in your teen years is an important part of normal human development, and integral to finding the correct life partner later in life."

"I don't want to get married either!"

Lavender sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I think she may be onto something, Hermione," Parvati said.

Hermione groaned. "Not you, too!"

"Well think about it!" Parvati protested. "It's the perfect revenge. He and Harry can't stand each other, and are always doing whatever they can to piss the other off--"

"Something I'm not entirely innocent of, either," Hermione interjected.

"So you just switch allies," Parvati finished. "Harry's hurt you, now you want to hurt Harry. Malfoy's always up for a game of 'Let's Torment Harry Potter.' It'll piss Harry off, won't get you expelled, and he's not exactly unattractive..."

"He's a DEATH EATER!" Hermione wailed.

"And HOT!" Lavender retorted. "Besides, nobody knows if he's a Death Eater or not. Shouldn't make accusations without proof."

Hermione didn't look convinced.

Lavender sighed. "Look, we're not saying you have to like him, Hermione.

We're just saying that, if you want to piss Harry off without getting expelled, Malfoy's the way to go."

"And certainly the most pleasurable," Parvati added. "Just listening to Pansy talk--"

"I do NOT want to know about Pansy Parkinson's sex life, thank you very much!" Hermione cut her off. "Or Malfoy's for that matter." She shuddered.

"Just think about it, Hermione," Lavender wheedled.

And despite herself, she did. Inebriated by the lateness of the hour, not to mention the excessive quantities of chocolate and wine she had consumed, Draco Malfoy was looking like an increasingly viable option for revenge.

"....okay," she said at length.

Lavender and Parvati crowed triumphantly, and immediately dove into a lecture on the proper way to snare a man that lasted well into the early hours of the morning.

Hermione woke up the next morning agonizingly sober. The sunlight shining through her dorm room window made its way into her mind unfogged by sleep.

"Oh God."

She sat up and groaned, burying her head in her knees.

"I can't believe I did that," she moaned. "What the bloody hell am I going to do now?"

What had looked like a viable option at 2 o'clock in the morning did not hold up to scrutiny after a few good hours of sleep. Hermione Granger couldn't seduce Draco Malfoy --- the two couldn't even hold a civil conversation! Too many years of pain, Household rivalries, and Malfoy's senseless hatred for all things Muggleborn stood between them. Fortunately, she had the entire weekend the find a way to tell Lavender and Parvati "no."

Things, however, did not quite go as planned. First, the shame of even thinking about seducing a Slytherin, much less Draco Malfoy, caused Hermione to avoid her housemates and spend most of the weekend in her room. When she did venture out, it was to find out that Lavender and Parvati had spread the story of Harry's mistreatment. Gryffindor students had yet to take sides on the issue, but a definite tension pulled at the air, and Harry seemed none-too-pleased about the situation. He continued to give Hermione the cold shoulder, renewing her own fury in turn, so that Lavender and Parvati's harebrained plan once more seemed worth trying. By the time Monday showed its face, Hermione regretted even more bitterly than before her decision to not join her parents in America.

She skipped breakfast that morning, sick to the stomach, and wanting to put off another Harry and/or Malfoy Sighting. She made her way to Potions reluctantly, each step a step further into utter dread. Predictably, the first things she saw upon entering the classroom were Ron and Harry. The two boys turned around, Harry giving her a disgusted look, and even Ron looking angry and betrayed. Hermione was floored. It was one thing for Harry to be pissed --- he was the one in the wrong, of course he wouldn't want to admit it and so kept blaming her. But to have Ron, who had heretofore seemed mostly sympathetic, if silently so, to Hermione's plight, was too much.

She shot both of them a venomous look, and stormed right past them and Neville Longbottom, who sat right in front of them, to sit in the empty seat next to Draco Malfoy. All movement in the classroom stopped.

"And what brings you over here, Mudblood?" Malfoy sneered, the shock all but entirely covered by scorn. "Potter and the Weasel finally recognize you for the trash you are? Or did you finally recognize them as trash?"

Hermione shot him a glare, once again wondering how anyone could find such a pinched, obnoxious expression attractive. She almost regretted her decision to sit next to him, but it was too late to back down with pride intact. She refused to gratify him with a response, but simply pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, and began copying the directions on the board. She could hear Ron sputtering in the back, Neville timidly trying to say her name, obviously terrified of going through a class without her, and Harry's low, bitter growl for both of them to leave her be.

Malfoy seemed surprised by her silence.

"What, somebody need a tongue of worthless scum and cut off yours, Granger?" he asked. "Maybe that's why you chose to sit here. You can't talk Dumbbottom through the Potion without a tongue, and you needed a partner who wouldn't blow up the caldron in your face."

'Remember where punching Malfoy's gotten Ron all these years,' Hermione reminded herself fiercely. 'Don't say a word. Not one bloody word.' She continued to copy the directions.

Malfoy's third attempt at provocation was interrupted by Snape sweeping into the classroom. The teacher's beady eyes surveyed the room, quickly alighting on the impossible pairing in the front row.

"And what do we have here?" he asked softly, gliding his way to their table. "Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy. Are either of you ill?"

"Hard to say, sir," Malfoy said cheerfully. "Granger's always ill-looking."

Hermione seethed, but met Snape's gaze evenly.

"No, sir."

An eyebrow ascended.

"Under the effect of some sort of spell?" Snape queried.

Her gaze remained steady.

"No, sir."

Even higher.

"Very interesting," Snape murmured. Studying the two a final time, he moved to the front of the room, and began the class.

Hermione worked without saying a word, or even acknowledging Malfoy's existence. For his part, Malfoy was content to sit back and make snide comments as she worked. About half way through the Potion, Snape arrived at their table to check the potion's progress. He quickly observed Hermione's diligence and Malfoy's leisure.

"Miss Granger," he sneered, "while I realize that you live to glorify yourself, would you please refrain from stealing both work and credit from your more than capable partner? Mr. Malfoy is not a Longbottom."

Hermione merely looked at him and nodded, repeating to herself 'Attacking a teacher merits expulsion.'

"Truly," Snape continued, "if you wanted to show yourself off to your best advantage, Miss Granger, you should have remained working with Mr. Longbottom."

Hermione closed her eyes, and choked out: "Yes, sir."

From that point forward, Hermione made sure to include Malfoy in the process, and much to her surprise, he toned down his obnoxious commentary. She thought viciously to herself that it was probably because he needed to concentrate in order to prove he really wasn't as bad as Neville. Although few could truly reach Neville's level of incompetence.

A small explosion behind her, and Hermione turned around to see Neville completely covered in neon pink warts. The entire class shook with laughter, and Snape made another few token comments about Longbottom incompetence. Neville shot Hermione a confused, hurt look before allowing Snape to send him to Madame Pomfrey, and Hermione tried to convey her silent apology.

'Try to get back at Harry and Ron, and all I really do is hurt Neville in the bargain,' she thought miserably. Twenty agonizing minutes later, the class ended. Hermione rapidly packed up her books, eager to flee to Arithmancy, which she blessedly had without either Ron, Harry, or Malfoy.

"Hermione, what the bloody hell was that about?!?" Malfoy watched with amused detachment as Weasley stormed over to their table. "Sitting with Draco Malfoy? I mean, I knew you were bloody mad, but I thought you were ANGRY, not bloody CRAZY!!!"

The girl didn't even spare him a glance as she pushed by him and hurried to her next class. Ron stood rooted to the ground, once more reduced to sputtering gibberish.

"Looks like you're getting the cold treatment, Weasel," Malfoy sneered as he moved to join him. "By a Mudblood, no less. Looks like she's finally seen you for the crap you are."

"Why you--" Ron swung his fist.

"Lay off it, Ron!" Harry snapped, grabbing his friend's arm. "The slimeball isn't worth it." He dragged Ron off, grumbling inventive curses the entire way. Malfoy simply rolled his eyes.

'Still,' he thought, 'this is really bizarre. I knew the three were fighting, but why the hell would she drag me into it?'

"And do you, Mr. Malfoy, have any insight into the truly abnormal behavior we've seen today?" Snape asked, walking the boy out of the classroom.

Malfoy shrugged.

"The trio's gotten into a pretty big tiff," he said. "Rumor has it about the attack on Granger's parents."

"And this would lead her to sitting with you how?"

Malfoy snorted.

"Far be it from me to understand the inner workings of a Mudblood," he said condescendingly.

Snape gave him a sharp look.

"Remember where you are," he warned, and Malfoy looked suitably contrite.

"Yes, sir."

"No go," Snape said dismissively. "You're going to be late."

Malfoy nodded and hurried off, and Snape watched him go pensively. There was something very wrong about this situation, and he regretted not reading the girl's mind when he had the chance. Granger he couldn't care less about, unless she was in immediate danger of somehow damaging Harry Potter. 'And Merlin knows we couldn't have that,' he thought darkly.

Malfoy, however, was his protégé. The boy had neither Potter's raw power or Granger's innate brilliance, but a far more balanced mix of the two, plus a liberal dose of sheer cunning. And cunning was something desperately needed by Dumbledore's forces. There was no hope of his willingly joining forces with the aged headmaster; Malfoy had inherited a twisted, perhaps even evil nature from both of his parents, and delighted far too much in the Dark Lord's violence. But Snape forced himself to hope. Malfoy jealously guarded anything and anyone he held dear; indeed, Snape knew that Draco Malfoy was one of the few things standing between him and the Dark Lord's wrath. If he could find a way to harness that possessive streak, he could provide Dumbledore with a valuable tool.

Snape sighed. 'Enough of these musings,' he told himself firmly. 'Another herd of nitwits will shortly arrived.' Firmly putting all thoughts of Draco Malfoy and his own double life aside, the professor reluctantly prepared for his next class.

Hermione's uncharacteristic indecisiveness about The Malfoy Plot continued and worsened. She didn't have the stomach (or the knowledge) to seduce the Slytherin, but nor could she simply give up on the idea. Harry and Ron weren't exactly begging her to forgive them; indeed, the situation was quite the opposite. And as long as they continued to give her the cold shoulder, Hermione refused to just do the same. They were the ones in the wrong, and she would make them pay for it.

So Hermione compromised, and stalked Malfoy, though she would never call it by that name. When Slytherin was practicing on the Quidditch field, she sat outside and did homework in the stands. She sat next to him in the classes they shared, and all but walked with him during the changing of the classes. And mealtimes found her, almost unwillingly, watching him. He was still bratty, obnoxious, and evil, and a relationship between the two of them remained impossible. But the sheer impossibility of the situation, and of her task, aroused a morbid fascination with her, and she found herself puzzling out how such a twisted relationship could succeed. She became detached from her own life, observing her increasingly abnormal behavior as a stranger. She knew that something had to change, but she had not the strength to do so herself.

So, quite predictably, Malfoy did it for her.

Three weeks into the insanity, he had had enough of the Gryffindor girl's inexplicable behavior. If he had a role to play in the melodrama of her life, he at least wanted to know his lines so he could rip them up and tell her to go fuck herself. As it was, he had no understanding or control of the situation. And a Malfoy was always in control.

Seeing her at yet another practice, he decided to confront her at the end, after the rest of the team had left. This resolve only heightened the confusion he invariably felt in her presence, throwing him off a great deal. By the end of practice, Draco Malfoy was not a happy wizard. He growled at his teammates to sod off, and stormed over to where Hermione sat, packing up her books and momentarily oblivious to him.

He grabbed her bag and tossed it forcefully onto the ground.

"What the fuck are you up to, Granger?" he hissed.

Hermione yelped, then returned him glare for glare.

"What the hell's your problem, Malfoy?" she snapped back.

"YOU." She reached for her bag, and he slapped her hand back. "You've been stalking me, Granger, and I want to know why."

Hermione pulled herself up with dignity.

"I have done no such thing," she said calmly.

"Bullshit." Malfoy spat, barely missing the hem of her robe. "What are you playing at, Mudblood?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, disconcerting Malfoy even further. It did nothing to improve his mood.

"How badly do you want to hurt Harry?" she asked, suddenly switching topics.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow at her. "What, I suppose you have a plan to do such that? One of the sainted Potter Trio? I think not."

"As you are well aware, the 'Potter Trio' has been reduced by one," Hermione replied coolly. "How much do you want to hurt Harry?"

Malfoy paused and studied her. His scrutiny elicited no reaction, and he remained as perplexed as ever.

"What's it to you, Granger?" he asked.

"Let's just say I'd like to hurt him myself," she answered darkly.

"Ooooooh, Granger's got a bad side," Malfoy said mockingly. "I always knew the good little girl act was too perfect to be true."

"He betrayed my trust!" Hermione growled.

"And that excuses everything," Malfoy sneered. Hermione simply glared at him, and he sighed dramatically. "So do you have a plan for getting your just recompense?"

Suddenly she turned a very deep shade of red.

"....yes," she murmured, and then fell silent.

Realization dawned.

"Are you propositioning me, Granger?" Malfoy asked, half-incredulous, half-scornful.

"Good lord, the boy has a somewhat decent vocabulary," Hermione snapped acerbically, fighting to recover her composure. "What do you think?"

Malfoy seethed, but the idea was beginning to take hold. Damned if he'd let her know that, though.

"I think your vaulted brilliance has just been exposed as a complete and utter sham," he replied. "You think I'd sully myself with the likes of you?"

"Not even to hurt Harry Potter?" Hermione asked indifferently. "Besides, you're assuming I'd let you touch me." 'Never mind that that's what Lavender and Parvati had in mind,' she thought. "All you'd need to do is pretend we're going out. Hang out a bit, hold hands, that sort of thing."

Malfoy smirked.

"That isn't the way I play the game, Granger," he said, leering slightly for good measure. Hermione met his gaze with surprisingly equanimity.

"It's the way I play it," she said firmly.

'We'll see how long that lasts,' Malfoy thought, a plan of his own solidifying in his mind. It would be so easy to take this just a step farther than Granger intended. One little step, and the Potter Trio would be irrevocably severed.

"Very well then," he said, smirking. "Tomorrow starts the Hogsmeade weekend. Care to join me for a butterbeer?"

Hermione studied him warily. This was not the pinched-faced adolescent she was familiar with; had it not been for the flickering glint of malice in his eyes, she could definitely see the attractiveness that had Lavender and Parvati swooning.

"I'd be delighted to," she said dully, fighting off a vague sense of dread.

The morning of their date did not dawn. At least, the rain pouring down from an abyss of ebony clouds made it impossible to tell whether or not the sun had decided to rise. 'A truly auspicious beginning,' Hermione thought sourly. Through tremendous force of will alone did she get up out of bed and dress herself in one of her nicer outfits. She and Malfoy had agreed to meet up during breakfast, and Hermione made her way to the Great Hall with even greater reluctance.

As usual, the room was filled to the brim with students eating their breakfasts. Malfoy, however, was impossible to miss, standing in the doorway the way he was.

And wearing what he was wearing.

It wasn't anything particularly fancy: somewhat tight black jeans and a black turtleneck. Hermione had no idea how he managed to make such a simple outfit utterly ooze sex appeal.

Maybe it was the black eyeliner.

Hermione approached him nervously, very, very aware now of why he had Lavender swooning. She was half-tempted to swoon herself, until she remembered who he was. And then she remembered what their relationship was supposed to be, and thought that swooning may have been appropriate.

'This is getting entirely confusing,' she thought dazedly.

Malfoy smirked knowingly at her expression.

"Looking good, Granger," he said smugly.

Hermione tried to think of a witty retort.

".....thank you."

She wanted to shoot herself.

Draco sniggered quietly to himself. He loved being able to do this to girls, he really did. What it was about black eyeliner, he didn't know, but it got them every single time.

"Shall we be off, then?" he asked. Hermione nodded dumbly, and took his proffered arm without thought. Tense and terrified as she was, she didn't notice the dumbfounded stares she and her escort received from the entire school population, but Malfoy did, and he reveled in it.

They rode to Hogsmeade in silence. Hermione spent the time trying to calm her racing heart. 'You're too tense, Hermione!' she scolded herself. 'You're never going to pull this off if you can't get comfortable with him.' But try as she might, she could not relax.

For his part, Malfoy was trying to figure out the best way to seduce her without getting slapped or having her scream "RAPE!" Having come up with no ideas by the time they arrived at the little wizarding town, he decided to play it by ear. He was Draco Malfoy, the Great Seducer; he always got his girl.

The Hog's Head Tavern was full of Hogwarts students when they walked in, but somehow a waitress appeared the moment they found a seat. Malfoy ordered himself a shot of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, having lost his taste for the softer taste of butterbeer, and was shocked to have Hermione order the same. The girl looked utterly frazzled. 'Trying to settle her nerves, I see,' Malfoy thought with an internal smirk. 'This will work very nicely.'

"So what exactly happened between you and Potter, anyway?" he asked as they waited for their drinks.

"What's it to you?" Hermione snapped.

"Well, I am part of the revenge plot," Malfoy pointed out. "I might as well know what I'm getting revenge for."

Hermione sighed, slumping into her seat.

"My parents were attacked by You-Know-Who five months ago," she said quietly. "They survived, somehow, but it's still a really big shock, you know? I keep having nightmares about what could have happened, what if they had died..." She paused for a moment to regain her voice. "And....well.....Harry got sick of dealing with it."

Malfoy snorted disdainfully.

"Bloody martyr complex," he said derisively. "The bloke's a prat, Granger. It's about damn time you realized it."

For a moment Hermione looked like she would jump to her friend's defense, but only for a moment. Instead, she slide further down her seat, only perking up once their drinks had arrived. Malfoy watched her gulp down the Firewhiskey, impressed when she didn't come up coughing up her lungs. 'Don't tell me Granger's a drinker.'

One look in her eyes shot down that theory. Already they were covered in a slight haze. 'Nope, she's definitely a lightweight.'

"....I have the urge to get rip-roaringly drunk," Hermione announced after a long pause.

Malfoy grinned.

"Be my guest."

Three shots was all it took. Malfoy wanted to laugh at the absurd simplicity of it all. Just three bloody shots.

She was not a temperamental drinker, that was for certain; after announcing her intention to get "rip-roaringly drunk," she had not said another word. She sat, sipped, and stewed. After ten minutes of watching her do this, Malfoy decided it was time for a change.

He gave her a very obvious look over, then caught her gaze and smirked.

"You are very sexy when you're drunk, Miss Granger," he said.

"And you," Hermione spoke very slowly, carefully enunciating each word, "are an in-cor-ri-gi-ble liar."

Malfoy laughed.

"Only you, Granger," he said, "would use a five syllable word while wasted."

Hermione sniffed.

"In-e-bri-a-tion is no excuse for poor vo-ca-bu-lar-ry," she responded huffily.

Malfoy dropped the money to cover the bill on the table and stood.

"Come on, Granger," he said, helping her to her feet.

"Where?" Hermione asked, flushing a deep red at his proximity.

Malfoy led her out the door, whispering in her ear: "My room."

Looking back, Hermione had to say that, being perfectly honest, the experience sucked. If that was what sex was like all the time, she had no clue how the human race managed to survive for so long.

Then again, maybe it was better when you weren't a) a virgin and b) drunk off your arse.

Malfoy....well, she supposed she might as well call him 'Draco' at this point....slept peacefully by her side. Every once in awhile he would let out a loud snore, making Hermione giggle in spite of herself. Draco really did have his moments. Too bad they were all while he was asleep.

Shyly, Hermione reached out her fingers to explore his sleeping form. He really was beautiful, she admitted to herself. His skin was very smooth, unmarred by any sort of scar or –

There was a dark discoloration on his arm. Frowning, Hermione moved to examine it closer. Her eyes widened upon realizing what it was.

"Oh no," she whispered. "Oh, oh no."

But there was no denying what it was.

She slipped out of the bed, trembling as she gathered her clothes and silently got dressed.

'No no nononononono....'

Still asleep, Draco never noticed her leave.

Draco didn't see Hermione for the rest of the weekend. 'Should've known the little prude would get a case of the morning afters,' he grumbled to himself. Granted, he had all the fodder he needed to do some serious Pot-head tormenting, and telling Pansy had really gotten the rumor mills going, but Draco was not inclined to leave it as a one-night stand. The sheer wrongness of Draco Malfoy, son of a known Death Eater, fucking the brains out of little miss Hermione Granger, darling of teachers and goody-too-shoes of the Potter Trio, proved to be a surprisingly large turn on, more so than any of the wiles of Pansy Parkinson or Blaise Zambini. Besides, if the Granger girl was suitably repentant, Potter could probably find it in his most beneficent of hearts to forgive a simple one-night stand. But a long term affair? That would shatter the trio for sure.

No, Draco Malfoy was not content to let the deal die.

Once again, he took matters into his own hands. Monday morning they had Potions together, and rather than arrive early, as was his wont, he waited until she had arrived at the classroom, alone. Before she could sit next to someone, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her to an empty table. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he leaned back in his seat with a smirk and waited for the chaos. No silence this time --- the room immediately erupted into whispers. Weasel was sputtering a few rows back, and Draco entertained the idea of him choking on his own shock and needing to be sent to Madame Pomfrey. Potter didn't say a word, but Draco could feel his venomous glare on the nape of his neck, and it felt wonderful. The other Gryffindors were a mixture of confused, concerned, and angry, both at him and Hermione. The Slytherins, of course, knew their housemate too well to think he'd betray their House. They emitted a vibe of confusion and vicious excitement.

Glancing at his partner in crime slightly dampened Draco's own excitement, however. She was completely stoic. No vicious satisfaction, not even a sign of timid triumph. She seemed to take no pleasure in Potter and the Weasel's distress, and this did not bode well for future rendezvous. Draco didn't dare try to talk to her during Snape's class -- the professor would be lenient, but would undoubtedly ask questions after class -- but he resolved to pull her aside at some point and hash it out.

Until then, he would take advantage of her passivity to torment her erstwhile comrades. Weasel sounded like he was going to have kittens; no doubt he'd get into even more trouble than usual with the Professor. And with the Weasel in a fighting mood and no Granger to keep the both of them in line, Potter's naturally bellicose personality would probably get him at least three detentions. The question of Granger aside, it was shaping up to be a very good day.

Gryffindor ended up losing seventy house points that period, and Potter and Weasel racked up five detentions each, all without Draco expending any effort. His mere presence next to the Granger girl, working quite peaceably with her (she didn't say a word all period, simply pointed to that which he was to do), had the entire Gryffindor half of the class in chaos. Granger's two playmates only lost thirty of that period's total -- Dumbbottom blew up yet another cauldron and lost ten points, and various other stupid mistakes cost other Gryffindors the rest. The effects of these mistakes (Longbottom's hair had become vaguely Medusa-like, slivering and hissing and causing the stupid arse to faint dead away) and their cause gave Draco no small measure of glee.

Hermione grabbed her books and fled the moment class ended, leaving Draco with clean up duty. Snape asked if he wanted the teacher to give her detention and Draco smirkingly told him not to bother -- the two would work it out shortly. The professor shot Draco a suspicious look, but much to the younger man's relief, was not ready to ask questions just yet. Despite their differences, Snape would more than likely inform Lucius Malfoy of the affair, and Draco didn't want to explain things to his father just yet.

The rest of the day marched on the way days always had, schoolwork effectively absorbing Draco. Potions was Draco's only really good class, and even then, in rare moments of self-honesty he had to admit that he was more competent than brilliant. The rest of his classes, especially Arithmancy, required a great deal more mental exertion. Bad marks meant unhappy times at the Malfoy Mansion, and that was something to avoid at all costs.

Last class of the day, Draco remembered that he needed to find Granger and ask her what her problem was. He wondered briefly how the hell he was supposed to find her in a school as big as Hogwarts, before realizing with a mental slap that, nine chances out of ten, she was in the library. Class ended and he packed up his books and headed toward Pince's domain. The library grew larger with every school year, and Draco had no hope of finding Hermione without Madame Pince's help. The dour librarian despised everyone in the school, even Dumbledore, with Hermione as the only exception. But Draco was sure he could smarm the girl's location out of Pince. 'Make up something involving a book....'

He reached the librarian's desk and adopted his most charming smile. Madame Pince did not appreciate it.

"What do you want, boy?" she snapped peevishly.

"Could you tell me where Hermione Granger is?" he asked pleasantly.

Madame Pince gave him a sharp look.

"Look for her yourself, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "My job is to tend to the books, not to help lazy young children find their comrades."

"I'm sorry to trouble you with it," Draco said contritely, "but my father has sent me some ancient manuscripts that Hermione had expressed an interest in. She said she wanted to look through them and see if she should recommend them to you for acquirement."

Madame Pince's expression changed so rapidly, Draco had to bite back the urge to laugh.

"Ah, of course. Miss Granger takes her duties on the Library Advisory Committee so seriously. I shall be sad to see her leave." Madame Pince sighed a little, then said brusquely, "She should be in the back, by the windows closest to the Arithmancy section."

Draco nodded, giving the librarian a slight bow and thanking her profusely. He made his way to that back section, pondering what exactly he would say. Slytherin girls weren't exactly famous for being shy, and the morning after syndrome was a very rare occurrence. The only time he had ever had to deal with it, the girl turned out to be a lesbian who was too scared of him to inform Draco before they slept together. It was not a particularly pleasant memory.

When he finally found Hermione, her back was facing towards him, and she was scribbling something on a disgustingly long piece of parchment. Draco smirked as a wicked thought introduced itself. Moving very quietly, he swooped down upon the girl, planting a kiss on her neck and fondling her breast. Hermione let out a startled yelp, which Draco quickly suppressed with his other hand.

"You know, Granger," he said, "morning after shyness doesn't usually last beyond that first morning."

Hermione got herself under control and, pushing him off, straightened her robes and glared at him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked imperiously.

Draco plopped down into the seat across from her, putting both of his feet on the table and crossing his ankles.

"You've been rather cold since Friday night," he said. "Why?"

Hermione shrugged and buried her nose in her parchment again.

"I've been busy," she said.

"Avoiding me," Draco added. "You talked so big about pissing off Potter and getting your revenge, and the moment you get your vengeance, you curl up like a little girl and hide. What happened to your vaulted Gryffindor courage?"

Hermione paused, then said very slowly, each word a painful contraction in the labor of giving birth to thought: "I saw the Mark."

Draco looked at her.

"Of course you saw the bloody mark," he said sarcastically. "It's rather difficult to hide in the throes of passion. What does that bloody matter?"

Hermione looked up, glaring at him.

"You're a Death Eater, Draco Malfoy! I gave my bloody virginity to a thrice-damned Death Eater!"

"And this comes as a shock to you?" Draco asked. "Merlin, Granger, you, Pothead, and the Weasel have believed I've been a Death Eater since at least age three for the past six years!"

"There's a big difference between thinking something and then actually finding out it's true," Hermione choked out.

"Sucks to be you, then," Draco said viciously. "So what, you're just going to let Potter win? Let him prove that once again, he defines what's right and wrong in this world, because he's Harry Fucking Potter, the Boy Who Bloody Lived? You should've been a bloody Hufflepuff."

"At least he's not a Death Eater," Hermione said.

"Well thank bloody Merlin for that," Draco said. "That makes everything better."

Hermione glared at him, face an unflattering shade of red, eyes brimming with tears.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," she said lowly.

"With pleasure," Draco sneered, and, bowing with mock elegance, stormed out of the library.

'No more,' Hermione vowed to herself as she fled back to the Gryffindor dormitories. 'I'm going to go to Harry and Ron, I'm going to apologize, and I'm going to end this madness. Right now.'

She spent the rest of the night hiding in her bed, hissing for Lavender and Parvati to "sod off" when the two girls asked her what was wrong. Suitably terrified of the other girl's wrath, they complied, curling up on the bed farthest from Hermione's and concocting various theories in inaudible whispers. The two drifted off into sleep long before Hermione gave in to its call, only to be haunted once more by dreams of futures that never were. She woke up that morning crying, terrified, and vaguely sick. Going to Harry and Ron and pretending to be in the wrong was the second to last thing she wanted to do in the world, but she needed the safety and comfort they provided. She needed protection from Draco Malfoy and the Dark Mark that burned in her memory.

She walked timidly to the Great Hall, fear scraping her heart and whispering dark portends in her ear. She could barely breath, much less think, as she approached Harry and Ron, hoping against hope that she would have a heart attack and die before talking to them.

"Ha-" Cough. "Harry? Ron?"

The two boys turned around slowly, giving her blank, cold looks. 'Shit, this does not bode well.' Tears fought to break free of her eyes, and she hastily wiped the few successful escapees away.

"I...just wanted you to know.....that I'm sorry, really sorry, for how I've been acting recently," she choked out. "My behavior recently has been absolutely horrid, and I hope you two will forgive me for being an utter prat. It was wrong of me."

Ron, as usual, was the first to explode.

"Wrong of you is one way to put it!" he shouted. "I mean, I can you see getting mad at Harry for what he said---"

"But then you threw yourself into the arms of Draco Malfoy," Harry interrupted, snapping. "What the bloody hell is up with that?"

Hermione tried to reply, but she didn't know what to say.

"Draco Bloody Malfoy!" Harry continued, his voice steadily approaching a roar. "Why in the world would you start hanging around the likes of Malfoy? He's a SLYTHERIN! He hates all Muggleborn! Hell, he probably led the attack on your parents, and the only reason they're still alive is because he's an incompetent arserag. But what does that matter to you? You don't get mad at the people you SHOULD get mad at. Oh no. You get all pissy and self-righteous on ME, and then go romp around with DRACO MALFOY."

"Harry--" Hermione started.

"NO," he growled. "I don't want to hear it. You want to be friends with Draco Malfoy, fine. Just stay the hell away from me."

"Yeah, what he said!" Ron seconded firmly.

Hermione looked at the two boys, perfectly still, as if time ceased to function. Then, awkwardly as a marionette, she nodded, and made her way out of the Great Hall.

Draco watched the fiasco from the other side of the room, hearing every infuriated word thanks to the acoustics of the room and the dead silence of the entire school population. He had broken up the trio, just as he'd hoped. Unfortunately, the Gryffindor girl did not look like she was going out for revenge. All resistance to Potter's self-righteousness was blasted away by that lovely little tirade of the boy's. Draco felt some small pleasure at her utter misery, but outweighing that was his desire. Sex with Pansy and Blaise was boring --- everyone expected him to screw the Slytherin girls, his father had done the same thing in his time. But the pride and joy of Gryffindor? That was an accomplishment, and twisted enough to make sex interesting without even doing anything beyond the usual. Draco, along with his refined features, had inherited his mother's taste for the sensually perverse.

Draco stood, and calmly followed Hermione out of the Great Hall. He managed to catch up to her on one of the staircases, which was being ornery and not going in the direction she needed it to go. He found her sitting on the stairs' end, feet dangling over the edge, sobbing fiercely. He sat down next to her but a good distance apart, carefully planning what he was going to say.

"...your parents were attacked four, five months ago, correct?" he asked gently. Hermione nodded, too drained to care that she was talking to the cause of the whole mess. She didn't care about much of anything at the moment.

"I was only initiated two months ago, Hermione," Draco said. "So I can promise you that I was in no way, shape, or form involved in the attack. I haven't been involved in anything, honestly. The Dark Lord doesn't trust much to new recruits these days."

"....would you have gotten involved?" Hermione asked.

Draco shrugged.

"Then, probably," he said honestly. "It's a bloody stupid thing, pissing off the Dark Lord. But now..." He took a chance and lightly placed his hand on top of hers. "Let's just say I don't make a habit of hurting allies."

Hermione laughed bitterly.

"Lovely, I'm allies with Draco Malfoy," she said, slightly hysterical. "The person who stands against everything I believe, know, and love."

"I am perfectly fond of books, I'll have you know," Draco said jokingly to lighten the tension. "And honestly, Granger, Potter was being a complete and utter prat. The bloke has a bloody martyr complex, and he simply cannot stand the idea of anyone in the world suffering just as much, or, heaven forbid, MORE than he does."

Hermione glanced sharply at him, eyes livening up with suspicion.

"You're being uncharacteristically nice, Draco Malfoy," she said.

Draco smirked, shrugging.

"You're an enjoyable lay, Granger," he said. "And I don't give up my pleasures easily. Besides," he leaned back and gave her a mischievous look, "anyone on Potter's bad list is immediately worth checking out in my book. Even if it is a Muggleborn."

Hermione shook her head, blushing slightly.

"This is so surreal," she said softly.

Draco gave her hand a light squeeze.

"Just give it some thought, okay?" he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he turned around, and walked back down the steps, giving them a slight kick and telling them to "get a move on, you bloody bastards."

Hearing that, Hermione let out a slight giggle, and thought to herself that maybe being on Draco Malfoy's good side wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Hermione remained curled up in one of the Common Room's overstuffed chairs long after the rest of the Gryffindors had gone to sleep. Life with her Housemates was getting increasingly difficult. The Gryffindors, unable to hate her because of Harry's behavior, but unable to support her because of her own, settled for ignoring her and being only slightly more civil to Harry and Ron. Even Lavender and Parvati, while impressed with the mousy girl's accomplishment, found themselves shocked and a little horrified that Hermione had gone through with their crackpot plan. The two girls No one believed that it had been a one-time thing, or that Hermione regretted it. 'Thus creating a self-fulfilling prophecy,' Hermione thought dryly. 'Although it isn't really a prophecy. Consensual reality, perhaps?' She searched her mental encyclopedia for the correct term for her situation, creating an intellectual barrier between herself and the despairing loneliness she hadn't felt since her first year.

"Hermione?" The girl looked up to see Neville standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching her with timid eyes.

"Hey Neville," she said softly. Fawn-like, he came off of the stairs and headed towards the chair across from her, plopping down in it with his usual grace. A frightened silence trembled between them, threatening to shatter into daggers if mishandled. Hermione didn't dare speak.

"...why'd you do it?" Neville asked at length. His tone was confused, hurt, but not accusing.

Hermione sighed, hugging herself slightly.

"I was angry and hurt," she responded, "and it seemed like the perfect revenge. I regretted doing it immediately and stopped, but it was too late. Now Harry and Ron are treating me worse than before, and I've completely alienated the rest of the House. I'm still pissed as hell at Harry and Ron, and I don't know whether to say 'Hell with it!' and continue the affair just to spite the little pricks, or if I should just accept months of utter isolation in the hopes of regaining their trust, even though they utterly shattered mine. And Malfoy's been so disturbingly nice...." Hermione trailed off, moaning and trying to bury her head in her knees. "It's a mess, Neville. It's a complete and utter mess."

"You wouldn't have to be alone," Neville said earnestly. "I'll still be your friend. I won't care that you got friendly with Draco Malfoy, or that everybody else in the House is ignoring you. I'll always be your friend."

Hermione sniffled.

"What if I choose to stick with Malfoy?" she asked.

Neville's candid gaze never wavered.

"I'll be your friend, no matter what," he said firmly.

A few tears snuck down Hermione's cheeks, only to be quickly wiped away. She didn't say a word.

"...so what are you going to do?" Neville asked after a few moments had passed.

Hermione hesitated.

"He hurt me," she said softly. "And I can't live with the idea of him getting off scott-free. I want to hurt him back."

"Why can't you just keep ignoring him or something?" Neville asked, slightly baffled.

Hermione looked at him.

"Haven't you ever wanted to hurt someone who's hurt you, Neville?" she asked. "Like Malfoy or Crabb and Goyle?"

Neville shrugged.

"I just want them to leave me alone," he said candidly. "I don't care what happens to them after that."

Hermione smiled sadly.

"You're a better person than I am, Neville," she said, and Neville blushed.

"We've got Potions in the morning," he said, hiding his face. "We should probably get some sleep."

Hermione nodded as the two of them stood. Before the boy could leave, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into a warm hug.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Neville hesitantly wrapped his arms around her.

"Least I could do," he responded.

The next morning, Hermione sat next to Draco in Potions. Ron looked furious, Harry disgusted, and Neville resigned. The rest of the Gryffindors whispered but didn't bat an eyelid -- after all, it was what they had been expecting all along. Snape passed by them without comment, although the look he shot the pair was dark and almost worried. The mere idea of concern from Snape had Hermione's nerves on edge. Draco didn't look at all surprised; he gave Hermione a cocky smirk and whispered "Library after school," and then set to work on the potion as if nothing unusual had happened. Hermione wondered how he did it, and if it was some sort of potion. And if it was a potion, where she could get some. Her hands shook as she chopped herbs and poured in chemicals, but through sheer dint of implacable will, she did not make a single mistake. Their potion was perfect.

After that, the affair settled into what could be called a comfortable routine. The two met once or twice per week for their lascivious encounters, and continued to partner up for Potions, although they ignored each other in the other classes they shared. Draco savored the confused discontent of the Gryffindor population and the quiet rage of the Potter duo and Professor McGonagall, who felt almost as betrayed as Harry and Ron. As for Hermione, she once more adjusted to a life without friends. 'Don't be melodramatic,' she scolded herself. 'You still have Neville on your side.' Even so, without Harry and Ron, Hermione found much more time for reading in the library. And that, she convinced herself, was a good thing.

A month or so into their relationship, Draco was just about to sneak up on Hermione and grope her when the Dark Mark burned. He yelped, completely ruining the element of surprise, and Hermione whirled around.

"Malfoy?" she asked with concern.

Draco quickly adjusted his features and gave her a winning grin, mentally wondering what exactly made the Dark Lord think that having his summons hurt like bloody hell was a good idea.

"Just thought I'd surprise you," he said. "I'm off for a bit." He leaned over, pressed a kiss to her lips and tweaked her left nipple and then sauntering off. Once out of sight, he let his face fall and the tension to reach his shoulders. He muttered and grumbled as he fetched a portkey attuned to the Dark Lord's location from a box hidden in his room. Heading outside, Draco activated it.

Much to his surprise, Draco was ported to the Malfoy mansion. And only two people were present: Draco's father, and the Dark Lord. 'This cannot be good.'

"Welcome home, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said coolly. Draco inclined his head respectfully.

"Thank you, Father," he replied.

"Ask him about the rumors," the Dark Lord hissed curtly, his glowing red eyes set unwaveringly upon the young Master Malfoy.

"Yes, my lord." Lucius turned to his son. "Draco, we have heard some unsettling reports from the children of other members of the Inner Circle about you and one of Potter's friends...Hermione Granger."

'Not good at all.'

"What sort of reports, sir?" Draco asked, fighting back nervous nausea.

"Do not stall, boy," the Dark Lord said. Draco gulped, then nodded.

"While I do not know the exact content of what you heard," he said slowly, "it is probably all true. I am sleeping with little Miss Hermione Granger. She and Potter had a falling out over the attack on her parents almost seven months back, and I saw it as a good opportunity to rend the trio asunder."

Lucius looked almost impressed.

"And has it worked?" he asked. At that, Draco grinned freely.

"Better than a charm," he answered. "They have not spoken for over a month, and the Gryffindor House is torn over the issue. Old Professor McGonagall looks like she hasn't slept in weeks."

Lucius slapped Draco on the shoulder and beamed proudly.

"Very clever, my boy," he said, "very clever indeed."

"There is still more that can be done with this," the Dark Lord rasped. Lucius turned to face him.

"Pardon, my Lord?"

"Bait," the Lord said. "Bait for young Mr. Potter. His... heroism assures that he cannot ignore a friend in need, even if he is furious with that friend. And you, Draco Malfoy, have provided us with the perfect way to get that friend with very little fuss." His shadowy lips curved up into a scythe-like smile. "It is not as an elaborate scheme as I would like, but simplicity has its own sort of beauty."

"A truly brilliant scheme, my lord," Lucius said obsequiously.

"It will take some time, my lord," Draco said, just barely covering his nervousness. "My relationship with the Granger girl is purely sexual. She does not trust easily, and she is not angry enough with Potter to do something foolish. I will need time to woo her before I can get her out of Hogwarts."

The Dark Lord nodded slowly.

"Very well," he said. "Take your time, but do not dally. My patience with this weakened state wanes daily."

Draco nodded. The Dark Lord waved a spidery hand, dismissing him. With one last glance at his father, who was positively shining with excitement and pride, Draco took out the Portkey that led to Hogwarts, and returned to the school.

How does one woo Hermione Granger? Draco spent the next week pondering this. Everyone and their cousin's dog knew the girl went giddy for books, but everybody gave her books. Potter and Weasel gave her books, and she never fell for either of them. He could try sharing some of his favorite novels with her, but she didn't seem to have an interest in anything that wasn't boring, dry, and put most people to sleep. He couldn't try to play on her reformist sympathies by pretending to have second thoughts about becoming a Death Eater because he already was a Death Eater and she knew it.

'Oh for fuck's sake, Malfoy,' he growled to himself. 'Just go with the usual. The girl fell for Lockheart just like the rest of the ninnies when he was obviously an idiot; why should you be any different?'

Reassured by his superiority over Gilderoy Lockheart, Draco set to work.

Hermione walked into the enclosed garden cautiously, a little wary of what was going on. Draco's note had been unusually....flowery, and very disconcerting. And his choice of location didn't help any. Draco was acting very un-Draco-like, and it had Hermione's nerves on edge. She reached the center of the garden and gasped.

A gigantic bed stood proudly in the clearing, draped in red silk sheets and drenched in rose petals, the smell of which was overwhelming. Candles littered the open space, some so close to the grass and the flowers that Hermione was afraid they'd catch fire. And then there was Draco, wrapped in a red satin robe, a sultry expression on his face.

Hermione started to gag.

Draco's expression changed from sultry to panicked so quickly, Hermione would have laughed if she hadn't been ill. He ran over and grabbed her elbow, supporting her weight as he led her over to the bed. Hermione quickly got rid of the rose petals before gratefully collapsing on top of it.

"I take it you're not faint from approval?" Draco sat down next to her, his tone an odd combination of detached, amused, and hurt.

"Sensory overload," Hermione replied weakly. "Will you please turn off the bloody candles?" Draco obliged. "Thank you."

"Funny, I never pegged you as the swooning type," he said, leaning back himself.

"With how overpowering that stench was, I'm surprised you weren't swooning!" Hermione retorted. "Good lord, Malfoy, rose petals and scented candles? What in the world were you thinking?"

Draco's tone was defensive when he replied: "I thought girls liked those sort of things."

Hermione paused, then sat up to give Draco a probing look.

"What's going on, Draco Malfoy?" she asked suspiciously.

Draco flushed, cursing inwardly. He hung his head and hoped that his presumed embarrassment would cover for his very real panic. 'Think, boy, THINK!'

"I...I just wanted something more than sex," he said haltingly, hoping she'd buy the story. 'Lies are more convincing mixed in with truth.' "I don't really have any friends in Slytherin, and....well, it'd be nice to have somebody to talk to. Even if it is a Mu-Muggle-born."

Hermione looked approvingly at how he stopped and corrected himself, and Draco felt the panic wash away with triumph. It was working.

"Next time you want to talk, Malfoy," she said humorously, "don't try to recreate a scene from a bad romance novel."

Draco looked up, shocked.

"So you DO read novels!" he exclaimed. "Merlin, I didn't think it was possible!"

"Only once!" Hermione said huffily. "Because my mother made me. It was horrid."

"Oh come now, Granger," Draco said, readjusting his seat so that his back rested against one of the poles holding up the canopy. "You can't condemn all novels because the only one you read was a piece of crap."

Hermione snorted.

"You sound like Madam Pince," she muttered.

"Madam Pince reads novels?"

Hermione nodded.

"She's even written a few," she said. "Based on what her life was like back when she was here as a Hufflepuff."

Draco gaped.

"Pince was a HUFFLEPUFF?!?!" he exclaimed.

Hermione smirked and nodded.

"But....but she's Pince! Dragon of the Library! Hater of all things Student, one Hermione Granger excepted." Hermione giggled. "And Hufflepuffs are all a bunch of smiley-faced fluffballs!"

"Now Malfoy," Hermione said. "Helga Hufflepuff wanted to take all magical persons in and treat them equally. And Madame Pince is very egalitarian in her hatred."

Draco blinked.

"Put like that, I suppose you have a point," he said. "Merlin, Madam Pince, Hufflepuff. It's enough to make a bloke's brain explode."

"Please don't, I don't want to clean up after you." Draco made a face at the girl, and she grinned cheekily. A bell tolled, and her grin faded slightly. "Sounds like it's time to head back to our rooms."

"Yeah." Draco sighed and helped her off of the bed, which he then promptly vanished, leaving no sign that someone had been there behind. The two walked back to the castle proper in silence.

Just as they were about to part ways, Hermione grabbed Draco's wrist.

"If you ever want to just talk, Malfoy," she said quietly, "just say so."

Draco smiled.

"Duly noted," he replied.

Flushing slightly, Hermione got up on her toes and quickly kissed his cheek, scampering off the moment her lips left skin. Draco stood rigid, shocked. For all of their physical intimacies, this one night and that one innocent kiss had been the most intimate of all. All they had done was talked. Nothing confidential or deep; just casual, and a little silly. And then, without any help or hint from him, she had kissed him. An innocent kiss, but one of the few instances of physical contact she had initiated between the two of them since the start of their relationship. Slowly, a feeling of triumph buoyed his feet so he could move again, and he strutted back to his room, feeling very satisfied with his life.

'Not the way I planned it by far,' he thought as he stripped down and crawled under the covers, 'but a very successful night nonetheless. The bitch might actually fall in love with me after all.'

Step Two of Malfoy's plot to take over Hermione Granger was set into motion the next morning. It was quite simple, really --- "brave" the wrath of the Gryffindors and sit next to his paramour. The Gryffindors would raise bloody hell, making them look like arseholes in Hermione's eyes, Hermione would find herself further estranged from her Housemates, and Draco would come out looking like a brave and determined lover. Simple, elegant, and disastrous. His father would be proud.

Hermione sat utterly isolated at the Gryffindor table. Under normal circumstances, the table was always crowded, students often getting elbowed and bruised by its tightly packed energy. But somehow, ever since the start of the Malfoy Affair, they had miraculously found a way to put enough space to comfortably seat an ogre or two between Hermione and the rest of the students. A few of the girls occasionally bridged the gap and tried to make amends, but the cold reactions of the rest of their Housemates soon ended that. 'A school's a school, no matter where you go,' Hermione thought a little sadly. 'Rather stupid of me to think I'd escape peer pressure in a wizarding school.' Neville continued to sit with her, and glared defiantly at the rest of the Gryffindors. Hermione appreciated his support, but there was only so much the two of them had to talk about, and so most of their meals together passed in silence.

Thus ostracized, she was shocked but not in the least displeased when Draco came over and sat down next to her without ostentation of any kind. Their conversation the night before had been very short -- as were their more intimate encounters -- but oddly relaxed. She spent so much time mothering ("nagging") Harry and Ron that she never really got a chance to just joke with them, be silly and young. And with nobody else to talk to, Hermione was more than willing to chatter with one Draco Malfoy.

"And a good morning to you, Miss Granger," Draco said jovially as he plopped down. Hermione shot him a coy look.

"Are you trying to be smarmy, or is it just a gift?" she asked.

"I believe most women find it 'charming,'" Draco corrected airily.

"Only the witless," Hermione replied.

Draco sneered at her, and Hermione returned in kind, hers slightly ruined by a fit of giggles. Draco was just about to smirk himself when the Weasel stormed over, his furious face out coloring his outrageously red hair. Both Draco and Hermione fell silent, and Hermione inched closer to Draco, the Slytherin unable to tell if she was seeking protection or seeking to protect.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron growled.

"Eating breakfast with my girlfriend, Weasley," Draco replied calmly.

Ron glared slightly at Hermione before saying: "Girlfriend or not, this is the Gryffindor table. You're not welcome here."

"But the Slytherin table was just so crowded this morning!" Draco protested silkily. "And I saw all the space over here around Hermione and figured I'd keep her company."

"She's fine--"

"--Don't you DARE try to speak for me, Ronald Weasley--"

"--so go away from our table and leave us alone!"

Both Hermione and Ron were vibrating with increasing fury, Draco's absolute serenity providing a stark contrast.

"You can't kick me out, Weasley," he said. "First year students are required to sit with their Houses at breakfast to foster House spirit, but the older students are encouraged to sit with their other friends to foster inter-House unity. I have every right to be here."

"You little---" Ron lifted his fist and was just about to swing when Snape's voice sliced through the tension.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron froze, then slowly lowered his fist.

"No, sir," he chocked out.

Snape's voice was frigid.

"Then kindly return to your seat and resume your breakfast," he said, and glowered until the boy complied. Once Ron had left, he turned to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, may I have a moment?"

Draco and Hermione shared a concerned and puzzled look before Draco replied: "Of course, sir," and followed the teacher out of the Great Hall.

Snape led the boy down the hall a ways, well out of hearing range of any of the breakfasting students. Then he turned and shot Draco a hard, probing stare. 'Legilmancy,' Draco thought even as he instinctively erected a barrier. Snape didn't seem to know whether to be angry or pleased at the strength of his pupil's mental wall.

"What are you playing at, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, almost wearily.

Malfoy put on an innocent face.

"What do you mean, sir?" he asked politely, and received a growl for his efforts.

"This relationship with Hermione Granger," Snape hissed. "She is well below your station in life, and I know you too well to think that you are not concerned with such things."

Draco shrugged.

"There's nothing wrong with Mudbloods when it's just a little fun," he said.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Snape reprimanded sharply. "Watch what you say and where you say it."

Draco nodded and said "Yes, sir," contritely.

Snape sighed imperceptibly, dimly conscious of the warning signs of an upcoming migraine.

"Your father would not be pleased to learn of this relationship," he said softly.

"You needn't worry about my father, Professor," Draco replied. "He knows and approves of the affair."

Snape glared sharply at the boy, a spike of intense pain increasing his ill-temper. 'Draco is either lying about his father's knowledge, or he and Lucius are planning something,' he thought warily. 'And knowing the Malfoys, it is undoubtedly the latter.'

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "You may return to your breakfast."

Draco inclined his head respectfully.

"Thank you, sir."

Snape watched the boy strut back to the Great Hall, almost wanting to cry at the idea of visiting the Headmaster and having to deal with Albus' insufferably generous sweet tooth. But the situation with Hermione Granger left a queasy feeling in his stomach and a sour taste in his throat. Like all of the teachers, he had noticed the break-up of the Inseparable Trio, and it reeked of Malfoy. 'A noxious scent indeed,' he thought darkly, before steeling his stomach and turning towards the Headmaster's office.

A Dark Revel. Contrary to its boisterously sinister name, Dark Revels were meticulously planned and executed affairs, and not a wild frenzy of slaughter. The Dark Lord utilized them to eliminate irritating wizards, create panic in key Muggle locations, and to keep his followers satisfied and obedient during unsuccessful periods in the war against the Ministry. The murders were both efficient and sadistic, and kept his followers amused and out of trouble.

Draco was no stranger to Dark Revels; the current one would be his third, and most eagerly anticipated. His schoolwork was piling up, the teachers continued to silently blame him for tainting their precious Hermione Granger, and his father was pestering him to "just woo the little bitch already and be done with it. It's been almost three months, and the Dark Lord grows impatient." As if Draco didn't already know that from the warning flashes of pain the Dark Lord kept sending him through his Mark.

Needless to say, Draco was under a great deal of stress. And nothing relieved stress like a good old fashioned blood-letting.

This night's target was a small mixed Muggle and Wizard town placed almost exactly between the capitals of the Muggle and Wizarding governments. Small enough to seem terrifyingly random, but located where it would definitely be noticed. If Draco remembered correctly, it was the hometown of the Patil sisters. The Ravenclaw one was your typical Ravenclaw, but the Gryffindor occasionally forgot that their Houses were mortal enemies and made cow eyes at him. Sickening, really. He'd enjoy watching their parents die.

The Guests, about fourteen in number for this expedition, apparated just outside the town walls. Moving silently, shielded by black cloaks and horrific white masks, each Guest went to his assigned location and the slaughter began.

The Killing Curse was a favorite among many of the Dark Lord's followers, and certainly favored by the Dark Lord himself. Draco, however, was more inclined towards Petrify and Cruciatus; he preferred to savor his killings, and every scream of agony ripped from his victims' throats took with it a piece of his pain, leaving him refreshed and stabilized.

He crept up the stairs of his assigned house, glancing at the pictures cowering in their frames. The faces of the two girls most frequently shown looked vaguely familiar....

Draco's eyes widened, and he grinned with malicious glee. This was the Patil home. 'Much thanks, my Lord,' he thought, chuckling. 'Sickening little Gryffindor bitch is going to suffer.'

Reaching the bedrooms upstairs, he opened the nearest door quietly and blessed his luck. He found the master bedroom, where the parents slept. Dimly he could hear the sound of screams coming from the neighboring houses, but silence shields had been placed around each location so that the deaths of the first victims would not disturb the latter ones. The Patil parents dreamed on, oblivious to their fate.

"Petrificus totalus," he whispered, and their bodies froze. The act of freezing awoke the mother, but while her eyes communicated her terror, she could not speak. The father somehow continued to sleep. Draco smirked. 'I know just the thing to wake him up...'

"CRUCIATUS!"

The older man woke up then and tried to scream, but his mouth was frozen shut. Draco quickly fixed that so he could savor the sounds of Mr. Patil's agony.

"That's for the stupid cow eyes your daughter keeps making at me," he said conversationally. "CRUCIATUS!" Another scream. "And the Gryffindor House in general, for a) being Gryffindor -- CRUCIATUS!" Tears rolled down Mrs. Patil's face, watching her husband's suffering. "And b) not even living up to its own House reputation by completely turning its back on Hermione." Draco paused, judging the quality of the father's screams. The man had another good wail or two before he'd lose his voice and need to be simply exterminated. "CRUCIATUS! That's for Harry Potter being a stupid prick. CRUCIATUS! And Ronald Weasel, for being the even stupider prick." The man's voice was dying. Draco casually cast the killing curse and turned to Mrs. Patil. "As for you, my dear madam..." He started to cast Cruciatus when the Dark Mark suddenly came to life. Cursing softly, he cast the killing curse on the woman and apparated to the town center. 'A ceremonial killing,' he thought. 'Looks like this was a morale-building excursion.'

He joined the throng of Death Eaters circling their Lord, who had two victims bound at his feet. Draco's heart clenched and he could barely breath -- Hermione and Potter! A second later, the panic cleared, and he realized that, while the girl's hair was insanely curly, it was dark, dark black and not Hermione's reddish brown. And the boy, while having Potter's lanky mess of hair, had watery blue eyes, not Potter's emerald green. His initial fears unfounded, Draco still found himself filled with a sense of unease.

"My friends!" the Dark Lord rasped. "My comrades and my loyal followers. These recent weeks have been hard on our cause, and our destined victory less certain. I have heard rumors and whispers of discontent and loss of faith." Fear swept through the crowd. "I understand your concern!" the Dark Lord reassured. "In times of hardship, it is indeed hard to remember that right will always triumph. And that is why I brought you here today.

"Look at the havoc you have wrought tonight! The bodies filling each household! The blood flowing through the streets. The 'Great and Mighty Dumbledore' may seem to be winning, but he could not protect this town. The home of two of his precious students. A place full of so-called innocent lives. He may seem strong and cunning, but all of his strength and wits can stand against our combined power and the justness of our cause!"

'Certainly not with Professor Snape losing credibility with the Dark Lord by the day,' Draco thought dryly. Both he and his father knew that Snape was Dumbledore's pet spy, but Lucius could not gather any evidence to support his suspicions, and Draco actively shielded his favorite professor. The man protected him in a school that punished the powerful and ambitious, and treated Draco with the warm sort of respect he rarely received from his own father. Traitor to his cause or not, Draco did not want to see his professor hurt. As he had told Hermione, he did not make a habit of hurting allies.

"Dwell not on present trials!" the Dark Lord continued. "Keep your eyes on our future glory! HARRY POTTER WILL FALL!" He cast the killing curse, and the young boy screamed from the depths of his soul before collapsing on the ground, dead. "And all who side with him." His hellish red eyes met Draco's for a long, pregnant moment, before he turned to the girl and cast the killing curse on her as well. Her death took far, far longer than the boy's had. Draco understood the message far too well.

The Dark Lord glided up to him as the rest of his followers dispersed, returning to their homes before the Aurors arrived.

"How goes your scheme, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, his voice deceptively placid.

Draco gulped, knowing the only acceptable answer.

"She is ready, my lord," he said. "Name your date."

The Dark Lord nodded approvingly.

"A week's time," he rasped. "Come the full moon."

Draco nodded and bowed.

"Yes, my lord," he said. He remained in that position until the Dark Lord faded away, vanished to wherever it was that he called home. Trembling and feeling sick to his stomach, Draco touched the Portkey to return to Hogwarts.

Hermione walked into the Gryffindor common room and was struck by two things: its turbidity, and its silence. No sound disturbed the room....except sobs. Suddenly concerned, Hermione made her way through the crowd, seeking the source of the tears. She found Lavender and Parvati at the center of the throng, Lavender's arms wrapped around a hysterical Parvati. Hermione dropped to her knees.

"Parvati, what's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

Vague, angry grumblings stirred the room, and when both Lavender and Parvati looked up, their eyes were full of hate.

"What are you doing here?" Lavender asked furiously. Hermione was startled by her vehemence.

"I saw the crowd and heard someone crying," she said honestly. "What happened?"

"They're DEAD!" Parvati screeched. "My parents are DEAD!"

Hermione fell backwards, shocked.

"What?"

Parvati had resumed sobbing, so it was Lavender who answered coldly.

"The Death Eaters attacked Parvati's hometown last night," she said. "They left no survivors."

"Oh god," Hermione breathed, and reached out to touch Parvati comfortingly.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Parvati shouted, scrambling back. "YOU FILTHY WHORE! YOU'RE FUCKING THE BASTARD WHO KILLED MY PARENTS!!"

Hermione froze.

"We don't know that Malfoy was involved, Parvati," Neville piped up firmly, coming to Hermione's defense.

"Oh shut up, Neville," Lavender growled. "Everybody knows he's a fucking Death Eater."

Neville stood his ground.

"Everybody thinks," he corrected. "Nobody can prove."

"Oh, so you've joined the Draco Malfoy fanclub, Neville?" Lavender sneered. "After everything he's done to you?"

Neville's lips trembled, but while his courage faltered, it did not fall.

"No, I don't like Draco Malfoy," he said, stuttering only slightly. "But you can't accuse him without proof. And you can't attack Hermione for something she had no control over or involvement with. It's not fair."

"Parvati's parents being DEAD is what's not fair," Lavender hissed.

Neville's strength of will was obviously fading.

"T-two w-wrongs don't m-make a....a right, Lavender," he stuttered.

Hermione stood slowly, unable to deal with any more of this. Before Lavender could make another vicious retort, she pushed her way through the crowd and fled the Gryffindor tower.

Drawn by some instinct, Draco wandered out into the evening, making his way towards the large school lake. Curled up on its shores, just beyond the reach of its miniature waves, Hermione was the picture of silent despair. Draco felt a tug on his heart. 'So much for the vaulted Gryffindor loyalty,' he thought angrily. 'Siding with Potter when he's obviously wrong, turning on her the moment she makes a single mistake...' A sharp twist, but he knew it was true.

Shaking off his tangled thoughts, he sat down next to his girlfriend? lover? partner in sin? and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She did not hesitate in settling into the embrace, and they remained for some minutes in a dark but comfortable silence.

"Were you involved in the murder of Parvati's parents?" Hermione asked.

'I should have known this question was coming,' Draco grumbled to himself.

"No," he lied.

Hermione looked into his eyes, and Draco knew that somehow, she knew he was lying. Surprisingly, she did not yell or hit him or throw any sort of a fit. She simply sighed, and almost gently pushed him away.

"I can't do this," she said quietly.

"You've known from the start that I was a Death Eater, Hermione," Draco said defensively. 'This isn't happening. This just isn't happening.' "What did you think we did, walk around with picket signs, shouting 'VOTE LORD VOLDEMORT!'?"

Hermione laughed bitterly.

"I guess I did," she said. "I could deal with just a Dark Mark. I could pretend that your father pressured you into it, that all you did was sit around and go 'Mudbloods suck! Purebloods forever!' I could ignore everything else. But I can't ignore this. I can't ignore the fact that a friend of mine is now an orphan, and that the person who made her that is you."

Draco watched her walk away numbly, wondering if this was all some horribly twisted dream. He'd had some killer nightmares before: the Dark Lord finally catching Professor Snape and killing him, his father discovering his wavering loyalties and punishing him for them.

But none of them hurt quite so much as this.

Grabbing a rock, he hurled it furiously into the lake, not caring what manner of monster he may have pissed off in the bargain. In fact, he almost wished some tentacle beast would arise out of the water and devour him whole. It would doubtlessly be more merciful than the Dark Lord in killing him.

He really should have expected this. Sleeping with him aside, Hermione tenaciously held onto her principles in even the worst adversity. He should have known that she would dump him as soon as she found out about the Patils. Now there was no way in hell she would consent to go anywhere with him. The Dark Lord was going to kill him. Slowly, and with as much agony as was Dark Lord-ly possible.

'Think, you dull-witted numbskull!' he ordered himself fiercely. 'There has got to be SOME way out of this mess.'

A plan had been lying dormant in his mind for awhile now, born of his growing protectiveness. Whether she hated him or not, Hermione had become one of Draco's prized possessions. He had toyed with the idea, at times more seriously than others, of defying the Dark Lord to protect her.

And now it looked like protecting her was the best way to protect himself. 'Funny how these things work,' he thought, bitterly amused.

Glancing at his pocket watch, Draco realized it was too late to seek out Professor Snape. He'd have to wait 'til morning. Exhausted, terrified, and sick at heart, he trudged back to his rooms, wishing it was morning.

Mornings were not Professor Snape's best time of the day. The Potions master was brooding at his eggs and sausage, cursing anything and everything under the sun and most especially Dumbledore's jurisdiction, and did not note the younger Slytherin's approach until Draco coughed discreetly. Upon hearing that, Snape looked up and blinked with surprise.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked blandly.

"I need to speak to the Headmaster, sir," Draco said solemnly. He met the teacher's gaze steadily, deliberately not putting up a mental shield. Snape's face grew ashen, and he jumped to his feet, scaring the wits out of his neighbor, Professor Sprout.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, his voice surprisingly calm. "If you will follow me."

After sedately exiting the Great Hall, the two men sped through the castle corridors, up and down random staircases until, Draco quite dizzy and confused, they reached the Headmaster's Office.

"Caramel camels," Snape snapped, and the door swung open.

"I rather thought you liked caramel, Severus." The Headmaster's voice floated lightly through the air.

"There's a time and a place for all things, Headmaster," Snape said, clenching his teeth. "Speak, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco had been gaping at the elaborate decorations in the room, but quickly focused his attention on Dumbledore. The Headmaster's patient gaze somewhat soothed the young man's frayed nerves, and Draco began his story.

Dumbledore nodded as Draco trailed off, finished with his tale.

"I am glad that you came to me with this," the Headmaster said, solemnly but with kindness. "Defying He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a difficult and risky task." He smiled slightly. "I was rather hoping your relationship with Miss Hermione Granger would alter your opinion of Muggles."

Draco stiffened and glared.

"My opinions on Muggles have not changed, sir," he said firmly. "There are exceptions to every rule, and Hermione is one of them."

The Headmaster paused, then chuckled softly.

"Very well then," he said. He lapsed into silence, his face adopting a thoughtful look. Glancing at his Potions professor, Draco found neither comfort nor explanation. His nervousness began to rise.

"Doubtless you know of Professor Snape's activities in your organization," Dumbledore said at length. "And doubtless you know of his declining status in the Dark Lord's favor." Once more, Draco nodded.

Dumbledore leaned forward, steepling his fingers and shooting Draco a piercing gaze.

"I want you to take his place," he said firmly.

Draco gaped at the older man.

"What?" he asked.

"Severus tells me that you are progressing far more than quite nicely in your Occlumency studies," the headmaster continued. "And your position as son of one of the most favored members of the Inner Circle, and one who has yet to betray his trust, as far as the Dark Lord knows, will grant you even more information than Severus had access to. Your assistance would be invaluable."

"Look, Headmaster," Draco said, finally shaking off the shock. "Just because I don't want Hermione hurt doesn't mean I'm suddenly on your side. I still think Muggles are a waste of air and ninety-nine percent of Mudbloods a waste of education. All I want to do is protect Hermione." 'Even if she wants nothing to do with me.'

"A noble ambition indeed, Mr. Malfoy." Draco turned around to face his Potions professor. "But do you really think that keeping her out of harm's way this one time will really protect her?" Draco glared at him, and Snape met his eyes coolly. "Your politics may not have changed, but should the Dark Lord triumph, Miss Granger will die. You are not strong enough to protect her from the Dark Lord's full power."

Draco trembled, wanting to deck his professor for making him face a truth he did not want to acknowledge. Snape was right; once would not be enough. As long as the Dark Lord and his followers lived, Hermione would be in danger. The others would not see her as an exception to the rule. There were no exceptions. She would not be spared.

One or the other, he had to choose. Hermione or the Dark Lord. Love or politics.

Nauseous, Draco realized how Hermione felt.

And he made the same decision.

"What do you need me to do?"

Draco found Hermione, unsurprisingly, in the library, working on Transfiguration homework. He walked up to her silently, wanting to put off this conversation as long as possible. No such luck, however -- the moment he was within two shelves of her she whirled around, her expression fading into exhausted pain when she saw it was him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked dully.

"We need to talk," Draco replied softly.

Hermione looked for a moment as if she were about to protest, then sighed and sat back in her chair, a tacit, if blatantly reluctant, agreement to listen.

Draco placed himself in the chair across from her, putting his feet on the table and crossing his ankles. He crossed his arms as well and fought for words.

"Three weeks into our relationship," he said abruptly, "I received a summons from the Dark Lord. He and my father had found out about the affair, probably through some of my fellow Slytherins. Naturally, they wanted to know why the hell I was dallying with a Mudblood. I told them that it was to hurt Harry Potter, and so on and so forth. The Dark Lord thought it would be fun to use you as bait to lure Potter out of Hogwarts." Hermione looked horrified. "Naturally, one does not ever tell the Dark Lord no, but I did manage to put him off for a bit by saying I'd need to actually woo you." Horror turned to fury. "At first I was a little bothered, but I wasn't planning on going against the Dark Lord about it. In trying to woo you, however, it seems the one I wooed was me. Last night I realized that I couldn't go through with it. So this morning I went to Professor Dumbledore and confessed to him, hoping to find a way to keep you and, sadly, Potter safe without me dying."

Anger had become simply suspense.

"Did you find a way?" Hermione asked.

"We think so," Draco said, relieved that she hadn't exploded at him yet. "It'll be dangerous, and we'll need your help, but it should work."

Seeing as Hermione did not look utterly repulsed by the idea, Draco began to outline the plan.

Draco and Hermione walked into the Hog's Head tavern, the boy trying to cover his nervousness and barely succeeding. Glancing at Hermione, he grumpily noted that she appeared far more collected than he did. He looked around for Pettigrew -- 'Why Pettigrew? The rat's a moron! Then again, I suppose I can't complain...' -- and caught sight of him in the back corner, hidden in the shadows. 'Rule 113 in the Death Eater's Handbook: Never sit anywhere unless it's a back corner with plenty of shadows. Nobody ever thinks of looking for the bad guys there.'

Draco got snarky when afraid.

He caught Pettigrew's eye and nodded, acknowledging the other's presence, then led Hermione over to a table in the middle of the room, right in the path of brightly colored rays of sunlight. They picked up their menus and Draco leaned over to whisper in her ear: "Sure Potter's coming?"

Hermione nodded.

"Dumbledore talked to him," she replied just as quietly.

"And the...his comrades?"

"Coming with him."

Draco nodded, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to keep calm. 'Being the bad guy isn't nearly as scary as being the good guy.'

"So what are you ordering?" he asked lightly. Hermione shot him a look.

"Butterbear and chips," she replied. "You?"

"Butterbear and split the chips," he said.

"Who said I was going to share?"

"Me."

"Well aren't you cocky."

"I prefer the term 'confident.'"

"Just because you prefer it doesn't mean it's accurate."

"Touche, Miss Granger--"

Just then, Harry Potter walked in.

Draco glanced over at Pettigrew while Hermione beckoned Potter over to their table. Pettigrew nodded at him and then stood, worming his way towards their table. He arrived just as Potter was sitting down, but before he could reach out and apparate away with the boy ---

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

The Aurors arrived.

'Now for the really dangerous part.' Draco gave Hermione's hand a squeeze, then slide backward, vanishing into the crowd. In the same dark corner that Pettigrew had hid in, he apparated to the Malfoy Mansion, the Dark Lord's chosen meeting place.

The large gathering of Death Eaters looked startled at Draco's abrupt appearance with neither Potter nor Pettigrew. Draco pushed through the crowd and dropped to his knees.

"Pettigrew's been captured, my lord," he said breathlessly. "Aurors stormed in just as he had reached Potter."

The Dark Lord's fury was palpable.

"How did they know?" he hissed.

"Doubtlessly, we have a traitor in our midst, my lord." Lucius Malfoy's eyes immediately turned to Snape, who remained unperturbed.

"Perhaps the girl simply went to Dumbledore herself," he replied calmly. "Mr. Malfoy was the one to suggest the interview, and he and Potter have no love for one other. She may be a Muggle, but she is not entirely witless."

"She is a Gryffindor," Lucius retorted. "They have no understanding of subterfuge."

"Nor do they harbor any love for Slytherins," Snape replied. "She is obviously not your traditional brainless lion."

"Silence!" the Dark Lord ordered. All sound ceased. "Stand, boy."

'This is it,' Draco thought as he rose slowly. 'Need to prove she loved me. Need to make sure the Dark Lord doesn't see my failure.'

He met the Dark Lord's piercing red gaze.

"So you DO read novels!" he exclaimed. "Merlin, I didn't think it was possible!"

"Only once!" Hermione said huffily. "Because my mother made me. It was horrid."

"Oh come now, Granger," he said, readjusting his seat so that his back rested against one of the poles holding up the canopy. "You can't condemn all novels because the only one you read was a piece of crap."

Hermione snorted.

"You sound like Madam Pince," she muttered.

"Madam Pince reads novels?"

Hermione nodded.

"She's even written a few," she said. "Based on what her life was like back when she was here as a Hufflepuff."

He gaped.

"Pince was a HUFFLEPUFF?!?!" he exclaimed.

Hermione smirked and nodded.

"But....but she's Pince! Dragon of the Library! Hater of all things Student, one Hermione Granger excepted." Hermione giggled. "And Hufflepuffs are all a bunch of smiley-faced fluffballs!"

"Now Malfoy," Hermione said. "Helga Hufflepuff wanted to take all magical persons in and treat them equally. And Madame Pince is very egalitarian in her hatred."

He blinked.

"Put like that, I suppose you have a point," he said. "Merlin, Madam Pince, Hufflepuff. It's enough to make a bloke's brain explode."

"What are you playing at, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked.

He put on an innocent face.

"What do you mean, sir?" he asked politely, and received a growl for his efforts.

"This relationship with Hermione Granger," Snape hissed. "She is well below your station in life, and I know you too well to think that you are not concerned with such things."

He shrugged.

"There's nothing wrong with Mudbloods when it's just a little fun," he said.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Snape reprimanded sharply. "Watch what you say and where you say it."

He nodded and said "Yes, sir," contritely.

"Your father would not be pleased to learn of this relationship," he said softly.

"You needn't worry about my father, Professor," Draco replied. "He knows and approves of the affair."

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said after a slight pause. "You may return to your breakfast."

He inclined his head respectfully.

"Thank you, sir."

The Dark Lord cut the connection, and Draco nearly stumbled from relief. He hadn't let anything slip. He was safe. He watched as the Dark Lord turned to Snape. Lucius radiated vicious glee, and Snape just a touch of fear. Draco fought to keep his own fear from showing --- nobody could know of his friendship with the teacher. It would ruin his credibility.

"Meet my eyes, Severus," the Dark Lord said coldly. Snape complied, and Draco watched with silent, sick horror as his professor fed the Dark Lord the memories he and Dumbledore and Hermione and Potter had created: memories of Hermione and Snape conversing amiably, of Hermione telling Snape about the fight with Harry, her relationship with Draco, and Draco's suggestion that she invite Potter to Hogsmeade to try and make amends; memories of Snape's suspicion, and of going to Dumbledore and working with him to protect Potter; memories of his time as a spy.

The moment the Dark Lord cut the connection, Snape reached into his pocket to summon the Aurors, but the Dark Lord's curse was faster.

"CRUCIATUS!"

Snape fell to the ground, unprepared for the agony and unable to summon aid. Draco stood, shocked and horrified as the Death Eaters cheered and Snape writhed with pain. 'He's going to kill him,' Draco thought numbly. 'He's going to cast Cruciatus until he goes insane, and then he's going to kill him.' Draco's favorite killing technique, but he had never felt so sick.

'I have to stop him. Professor Snape is mine. He can't kill him! He can't!' Draco moved to do something, anything, to protect his professor. "My Lord—"

"CRUCIATUS!"

Draco screamed in agony as the Dark Lord turned the curse on him. His insides were on fire, his blood became acid. His head exploded, his balls were ripped off, his skin was flayed off of his muscle. Or so it seemed. Draco prayed to fall into unconsciousness, but he remained agonizingly awake. The curse had only been turned on him for a moment, but Draco remained curled up on the ground for a long time after, moaning from the pain. Dimly he was aware of Snape's continued torment, and he cried shamelessly for himself and the professor he could not protect.

An eternity later, the Dark Lord stopped. Draco waited for the killing curse, but it never came.

"Return to your homes!" the Dark Lord ordered, then turned to Draco. "Take that fool Dumbledore his pet, and let him see what happens when you trifle with the Dark Lord."

Draco moaned his acknowledgement. He felt the Death Eaters vanish one by one, until he and Snape were the only ones remaining. Gathering his strength, Draco fought back the pain and crawled towards his professor. The older man was shuddering, arms wrapped around himself, fingers moving in a bizarre pattern. Draco felt himself begin to sob once more. No peace in death. Just the twisted, broken remnants of a brilliant mind, a reminder to Dumbledore and a warning to all who would betray.

Trembling, sobbing, feeling as shattered in heart as his professor was in mind, Draco fumbled through Snape's pockets, seeking the device that had been to summon the Aurors and be the man's protection. He wrapped his fingers around it, activating the summons, then curled up at Snape's side and gave full reign to the grief that overwhelmed him.

St. Mungo's. Draco hated the hospital the moment he set foot in the place. It was cold and sterile and bright, nothing like the dark and soothing nest that Professor Snape had built in his room at Hogwarts. The Professor would have despised the place.

Of course, Draco thought darkly as he stared through the window into Snape's room, that would have been the professor of old. This new professor, with his shattered mind and broken soul, took no notice of his body's location. He was somewhere else entirely. Draco watched the play of his fingers, their random patterns of movement, and hoped it was somewhere reasonably happy.

"Draco?"

Draco turned around at the sound of his name, and saw Hermione, Potter, Weasley, and, surprisingly enough, Longbottom, standing behind him, all looking surprised. There was a palpable tension between The Trio, highlighted by the protective way Longbottom stood between Hermione and the other two boys. Draco bit back a surge of jealousy and forced himself to be grateful that Hermione one loyal friend. Even if it was Longbottom.

"Ah, the Boy Who Lived still lives," he drawled, adopting his usual persona. "Don't get cocky, Potter --- luck doesn't last forever."

Potter's hatred was refreshingly normal, but the weary disgust in Hermione's eyes was almost too much to bear.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Potter asked coldly.

Draco glared at him.

"Visiting my head of House, you nitwit," he snapped. "The better question is, what are you doing here? You despised each other."

Potter's expression softened into something resembling guilt as he approached the glass.

"He sacrificed his life to save mine," he said softly. Draco wanted to rip his throat out.

"Not you," he said angrily. 'Me.'

Hermione, noticing Ron and Harry's tension, and unable to remain much long herself, timidly took Ron and Harry's arms and gently dragged them away. Neville remained, however, and Draco was disgusted to see understanding in the other boy's eyes. 'I don't need sympathy from the likes of you, Dumbottom!' But Neville didn't say a word. He simply walked up to the glass and looked inside, watching his most hated professor.

"I didn't know Professor Snape played the piano," he said quietly after some moments.

Draco was shocked.

"What?" he asked.

Neville pointed inside.

"His fingers," he said. "They're moving as if on piano keys. He's playing a piano."

Draco looked, and saw that Longbottom was right.

"I didn't know he played the piano either," he said.

Neville nodded, and then, again with that infuriating understanding, said: "Well, good luck, Malfoy," and hurried off in the direction the Trio had went.

Draco sighed, feeling sapped of strength. The only two people he ever really cared about, one lost to him forever, the other unwilling to ever see him again. But it was too late to turn back now. Whatever the outcome for himself and Hermione, Draco could not support the Dark Lord the way he once had. He had Hermione to protect and Professor Snape to avenge.

"I'll see you at the end of things, Professor," he said quietly, and then walked away.

The End