A/N: Welcome to my collection!

What is this collection about? As stated in the description I'm going to try and break down the 'shades' of Dramione. It's a pairing that has so many different levels that toy with the boundaries of light and darkness and I wanted to explore all the ins and outs of it, and I figured post-war is the perfect point in the timeline to let me do this realistically. Each of the stories in here will be revolving around a 'shade', and in 31 stories I probably won't cover them all, but I'll get a good amount done.

Will the stories link or can they stand alone? Both! I'm going to do my best to loosely connect each story onto the next so there's an underlying journey and development of the relationship tying every shade together, but since I'm on a pretty strict deadline for this, I apologise in advance if that all falls apart. Either way, I can safely say that every story in this collection will be able to stand-alone, so feel free to jump to any one you please if you don't want to read through the whole thing.

What can I expect? Naturally, you can expect the first couple of stories to be dark and angst-y, but rest assured I'll get delivering on the fluff and romance as we go (with the exception of the first couple of entries). There will be some mature themes scattered around, and I will post warnings accordingly.

Okay, now that's out of the way we can get on with it. This first story takes place during the war, and will therefore act as a sort of prologue if you're going to read everything continuously instead of bits here and there. Warnings for this entry for mild horror imagery / language and profanity.

I : The shade of … Regret

A Death Eater's Awakening

'Bound at every limb by my shackles of fear,

sealed with lies through so many tears.'

- Lies, Evanescence

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Another terrible scream tore from her throat. Her body convulsed violently as the cold blade ripped through her skin and coated itself with her blood; the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse were causing her nerves to spasm beyond control.

The Death Eaters encircled her. They were all looking down, but not one of them batted an eyelid at the sight of her torture or even the symphony of misery her echoing screams created... including Draco Malfoy.

There was a time when he would have been deeply disturbed to witness such a thing, but since causing pain and terror (above that of infantile pranks and insults) had all too suddenly become part of his lifestyle, he'd become desensitised to it. It was amazing how quickly one became numb to such sounds, really… but quick as it may have been, the psychological damage it inflicted on him would not heal easily.

He felt dead inside, and watched, completely and utterly void of emotion as his cackling aunt pierced the girl's flesh with the knife again.

Feelings equated to weakness, and weak-links amongst the Death Eaters were always promptly disposed of. Draco had learnt long ago that his survival would be at the cost of his emotions and humanity, and even then it wasn't ever guaranteed he'd make it through a new day alive...

He shivered when he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end at this thought, and he immediately shook his attention back to the present. It was fruitless for him to dwell on a reality he could not escape.

Hermione lay sprawled on the floor at his feet, looking very much like a rag doll that had been dropped by a careless child. She was crying, but no longer making noise.

She was defeated.

That more than anything ought to have triggered some kind of emotional response in Draco, but even as the reverberations of her final screams buzzed in his ears, he looked at her with dead, grey eyes. And she looked back at him, that infamous fire of hers still burning strong within her brown. He saw that she may have lost the strength to outwardly fight back, but it was clear that unlike him, she was refusing to give up.

Her eyes held a peculiar expression: one that seemed to have been formed by a combination of emotions. Draco saw, on the surface, that familiar mask of burning hatred she had harboured for him since she was eleven. But hidden beneath that, lay nuances of pity, horror, and even a hint of sadness that Hermione possibly wasn't even aware of. But whether she did or not was irrelevant; the fact remained that a Mudblood who had just been tortured to within an inch of her life was feeling sorry for him.

And with that realisation, Draco felt his situation became all too real. A sudden wave of fear took its hold, causing his heart to spring into action and pound against his chest for what felt like the first time in months.

He scrunched his eyes shut as he desperately tried to squash the emotion. But it was too late; the fear had already broken from its confines, and when Draco opened his eyes once again, he felt nothing but sheer horror.

And then, without even meaning to, he shifted his gaze to stare at fresh wound on Hermione's arm. More specifically, to the trickle of bright red blood that was seeping out. From the wound, it dripped onto the mahogany floorboards, whereupon it picked up the appearance of what it should have looked like to begin with: dark, brown, and mud-like.

He snapped his head away, shaking it free of the sight before tentatively looking back, having half-convinced himself he was imagining it.

He wasn't.

Mudbloods didn't exist. And here Draco was, standing in allegiance with a band of people who were determined to rid society of this very thing.

And just like that, the world as he thought he knew it shattered around him.

He began shaking. Across the room, he could see his father looking at Hermione with that familiar dead mask over his countenance.

He must know, Draco thought. He'd been a Death Eater for decades; surely he'd seen plenty of Muggleborn blood spilled in his life. So why the fuck didn't he tell me?

His body turned rigid, a sudden wave of anger boiling up inside him. He wanted to scream, but knowing he'd be killed on the spot, did his best to suck it back.

Fear. Draco surmised. That must be it.

From the floor, Hermione stared at her one-time peer, noticing how he was looking at his father. She saw his jaw twitch, and his eyes flicker angrily. And despite the ordeal she'd just been through, she knew what must have happened.

Malfoy had come back from the dead, to a very rude awakening indeed.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you liked it - please give it a review or follow if you did; that would be incredible! If dark stuff like this isn't your thing then I hope you'll give this a chance because story 3 is where the fluff and happier stuff comes into play - promise! :)

XXX

This collection is being written for the Harry Potter Halloween Collection Competition, and for this entry I used the prompt, scream.

Story word count: 817