A/N: My second attempt at a little Dramione. A little more in character than my last (well, I like to think so) and with a more somber tone. Draco is so very fun to write.
Draco sat in his room at Malfoy Manor, brooding. He was recalling his darkest day and his biggest regret as they were all wrapped into one. Not a single day had passed that he hadn't mourned for the loss of his innocence and his future.
He could recall it all as though it were only yesterday, mores the pity.
He had been standing in the foyer when they were brought in. Someone (most likely Granger, since the other two could barely think without her encouragement) had made a last ditch effort to conceal their identities and if he hadn't been there, it could have quite possibly been successful. His aunts eyes didn't miss the way his widened when he saw Hermione, her clothes ripped and dirty, face swollen. They didn't miss the pain written clearly on his face as he watched them manhandle her and throw her onto the floor as though she were trash. To them she was, he supposed.
He sighed. He'd stopped thinking of her as a Mudblood long before that day and since, he had often wished that he'd continued the Pureblood way of thinking. Things would have been far easier.
It had started in the Room of Requirement and it had ended in blood.
The nosy little bint had been following him, trying to determine what is was that the Dark Lord had ordered him to do. He had been trying to fix the cupboard in the Room when he had heard a not so subtle someone moving around behind him. He'd stood there, frozen until a bushy haired witch had sheepishly walked out into the open. He had sneered, then she had asked what was wrong. Why did he look so unhappy lately, why was he so withdrawn?
He had been shocked and fled the room as quickly as was dignified but her concern played on his mind and he couldn't help but be curious as to why one-third of the golden trio was suddenly so interested in his feelings.
Draco had tried to put it from his mind but it had eaten at him for weeks and he'd finally had to do something about it. He had stalked into the library and walked up to her, towering over her small form. She had quirked her brow at him, thoroughly unimpressed.
"What's your deal, Granger?"
"Well Draco," she said, emphasis on his first name. "I've been rather worried about you lately."
He slumped into the chair next to her, a mixture of disgust and confusion on his face. Why did the stupid wench care how he was? He was a Death Eater for crying out loud!
"What's it to you?" He asked sullenly. Anger, disdain and disgust he could deal with - in fact he thrived on it - but concern... That was new.
Hermione folded her hands in her lap primly and stared him down with a force not unlike that of his father.
"Well if I'm going to stop you letting those friends of yours into the school it will be far easier if you were on our side."
He almost laughed at the recollection. How he must have looked, his mouth agape like that of a fish.
Soon after that, he had agreed. He didn't want to, but her gentle (well, sometimes gentle) coercion had persuaded him in the end. As had his love for her.
He had agreed to spy for them and everything had been fine until the day she had shown up in the manor. It seemed Bellatrix had known of his weakness and the second she'd seen the concern in his eyes she had disarmed him and had him bound, forcing him to watch as they committed cruel acts upon the girl he loved. Tears had flowed freely and his father had looked at him with derision.
Her friends had burst through the door and for a split second there had been hope. They had been too late.
That hope was gone and so was she. He hadn't been into that room since.
Draco wept.