Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Jane Eyre!

1.

"If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends." - Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

It was an unusually chilly night in the outskirts of London. Hermione Granger sat alone at a dank and fairly deserted muggle bar, with her wand was stowed in her jeans pocket, and everything of worth to her packed into a small duffel bag that lay by her feet. Looks were deceiving, as she had managed to fit in not only her clothes and other nondescript possessions, but also collection of books that could have been hard pressed to fit into a single bookshelf. Needless to say, she had been practicing the Undetectable Extension Charm. She was also nursing a small gin and tonic. Hermione didn't usually drink on principle, but tonight she made an exception. Tonight had been a hard night. Tonight, she was, in all senses of the word, alone.

It hadn't been easy, getting the hang of the memory charm. It was a deviation from the standard Obliviate spell. It had been tricky. She had to get it absolutely right. There was no room for error, there had to be no oversights on her part. These were her parents, for heavens sake. Her parents. After all, they were still her parents, weren't they? Even though they had vacated her childhood home and moved to Australia, even though their names were different, even though they didn't know their daughter existed. Even though, to them, Hermione was just a name. It didn't mean anything, nor did it hold any significance.

At least they were still alive, Hermione thought, trying to console herself. Her hands clenched tighter around her drink, knuckles turning white with the force she was exerting. It was she who was dead. Her parents had no memory of her. She was dead in their minds- no, worse still, she was non-existent. It had been almost too easy, after weeks of preparation, to perform the spell. Just a muttered incantation, the twist of her wand and eighteen years worth of love and joy and memory, were gone.

Hermione refused to cry. When this is all over, when Harry defeats Voldermort, she told herself forcefully, stressing the when in an effort to suppress the nagging if. I will find them, and lift the spell. And everything will be all right. Right now, I just need them to be safe. Safety is of paramount importance. This is the only way.

She raised her glass to her lips and sipped, relishing the burn of the alcohol as it slid down her throat, burning away her bleak thoughts, burning away her pain.

Something moved.

Hermione didn't turn her head, but she had caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. It was that man. He had come in earlier, about ten minutes after she had taken her seat in one of the far corners of the bar. Sparing her only a passing glance, he'd abruptly departed, only to return a couple of minutes later to order a drink and take a table not to far from hers. She thought nothing of it, nothing of him. He had dark brown hair and was dressed in casual muggle clothing. But now that she thought about it, suspicion started to rise. He had barely even moved. He had remained so still she had forgotten he was even there. His drink remained untouched. And he was watching her. She couldn't be a hundred percent sure of it, but there was an uneasy feeling stirring in her gut. He was watching her.

Hermione got up slowly. She had to leave. Maybe it was something, maybe it was nothing, but she wasn't going to take any chances. She wasn't expected at the Burrow for another week but she'd make do. She'd find somewhere to stay, and ward it. But she wasn't going to stay in this decrepit bar and mope, not when there could be possible danger lurking behind her. She gripped the duffel bag in her left hand and let her right hand casually drift to her pocket where her wand was. Constant vigilance, she reminded herself and she walked to the door.

"Stop."

The man spoke quietly, in a tone that made it seem more like a request than a demand.

She was right. He had been watching her! Hermione quickened her pace and kept her gaze firmly to the front.

'Don't leave."

Hermione continued to ignore him. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. She was almost there!

"Dammit! It's not safe! They are looking for you! Stay here!"

She froze. He must be a wizard! Slowly, she spun round, wand drawn and at the ready. Hermione stared at him, and watched the emotions flicker across his face like dying candlelight, before being finally extinguished into the impassive expression it was before.

In the short moments before his face became unreadable Hermione thought she detected a few things. Revulsion. Unease. Desperation. Confliction. It was enough to make her halt in her tracks and fully capture her attention. The man looked like a hunted animal.

She did not lower her wand.

"How is this muggle bar any safer than outside?"

The man got up from his chair in a single fluid motion, and approached her, wand in hand.

"I warded it against people that mean to harm."

"Who are you?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Who are you!"

He didn't answer.

"I need to know who you are and why you cast that spell!"

More silence. She could see him getting tenser and tenser though, like a snake coiled up and ready to attack.

Hermione ground her teeth, and pointed her wand at him threateningly. "Who. Are. You."

"Do not test my patience, mudblood!" the man spat, and his whole countenance changed. His face twisted into a snarl, he raised his wand in a sinister motion.

Hermione's heart sped up. Mudblood. He called me a mudblood.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Stupefy!"

She was quick, but he was quicker. She watched in horror as her wand jerked out of her by an unseen force, and flew in an arc through the air into her opponent's hand. Hermione knew she needed to run, needed to get away but her feet seemed glued the ground, she couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything. She watched transfixed, as the man's hair grew lighter and lighter and his features bubbled and distorted like wax, as he stretched upwards, growing slimmer and taller into the menacing form of Draco Malfoy.

"Granger, I need you to listen to me," he hissed. "Do not move, do not struggle, or there will be hell to pay."

Hermione looked around her desperately. She had no wand, and she doubted she could beat him physically. Malfoy had maneuvered himself so that he blocked the door. The barman had disappeared, presumably to the kitchen behind or the restroom. She had no means of escape. He noticed her looking towards the kitchen door.

"The barman? I Confunded him. He's on his way home as we speak. It's just you and me Granger." He didn't sound satisfied or arrogant or hostile. He didn't really sound like he felt any type of emotion at all.

Anger coursed through her. It was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, the death eater. The one who had indirectly poisoned Ron, who had nearly killed Katie with the cursed necklace. Draco Malfoy, the one who had let Death Eaters into the school, where they attacked and injured with impunity, Greyback who bit Bill and left his face deformed. Draco Malfoy, the one who was there, atop the Astronomy Tower, with Dumbledore and Harry. And because of Malfoy, Dumbledore was dead. Dumbledore was dead. Blinded by rage, Hermione wanted to launch herself at Malfoy, never mind that she hadn't a wand and he had two, never mind that he was a trained Death Eater. She wanted to hurt him, she wanted to make him pay. Her hands were balled into tight fists, and she was shaking. It took every ounce of her self control to keep her from hurling herself at Malfoy

"I am not going to hurt you, Mudblood." he said tersely, and with disbelief, as if he himself could not believe the words he had just uttered.

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" Hermione couldn't keep the derisive laughter out of her voice. "You waltz in here under the influence of polyjuice, forcefully take my wand as you turn back into your loathsome self and you tell me you're not going to hurt me? Why don't you just call your Death-Eater mates in and finish me off?" She hoped she sounded a lot braver than she felt.

"Listen to me!" his composure broke, stalked over to her and grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. His eyes bored into hers, she had never been in such close proximity to Malfoy before, he looked half mad. They were nose to nose, in a perverse imitation of a moment right before a kiss.

"Listen to you?" she wrenched away from his hands, a difficult feat, for he had an vice like grip on her shoulders which she was sure would bruise.

"You killed Dumbledore!" she spat at him. "Why should I listen to you?"

"I didn't kill him!" he growled, he raised his hand in the air as if he wanted to hit something or grab his hair in frustration, and then he lowered them and he schooled his face into a blank mask as he sneered. "Didn't you listen to your precious Potter when he told the heart wrenching story?"

"But you might as well have!" Hermione yelled in return. "You as good as killed him! You snuck in the cursed necklace, you poisoned the mead! You let the Death Eaters into the school! You were there up on the Astronomy Tower! You had him cornered nice and proper for Professor Snape, so even if you couldn't kill him, there were at least ten others that could! You could have killed him-"

"BUT I DIDN'T!" The half crazed Malfoy was back. "I didn't! I couldn't do it! I failed. I failed at the one task the Dark Lord set for me. Do you think I wanted to kill Dumbledore? Do you think it was something I desired to do? Do you think the Dark Lord asks you to do things, like your wonderful Order? Do you think he said 'Draco, would you do this for me, if you don't mind, if you please?' "

He laughed, a bitter, broken, maniacal laugh that had Hermione's hair standing on end.

"No! He says, 'Draco,do this. Or else.' Do you know what the Dark Lord does? Do you know what depraved, unnatural, perverse acts he makes his followers do? What he makes me do?"

He staggered over to her and grasped her shoulders once more.

"I have seen death, Granger... to see death, but not to know death, is an affliction borne by those who follow the Dark Lord… last night another died, and I could do naught but watch. Charity Burbage," he shook her again, more gently this time. "Professor Burbage, you must know her. She was murdered by the Dark Lord. And before that…there were raids. Countless muggles, countless mudbloods, all defenseless, all dead."

Hermione felt her stomach plummet, she knew Professor Burbage, she had taught her back in third year when she had taken Muggle Studies. Another innocent, snatched up by the greedy hands of death.

"And when one of us disappoint the Dark Lord…. We are the only ones twisted enough to torture our own, to kill our own. I am sick of seeing death, Granger! I am sick seeing it, of causing it! But why should I be? Mudbloods. Filth. You're a mudblood. You're dirty and impure and unworthy of magic. You don't deserve to be here. And yet I couldn't let them kill you? Why didn't I let them kill you?"

Hermione felt a chill run down her spine.

"They were out for you tonight, Granger," his voice was merely a whisper. "They were going to kill you tonight. Not on the direct orders of the Dark Lord, no. He knows not of this mission yet, after all they are only seeking to earn his approval. Killing you, killing one of the golden trio and a mudblood to boot, would surely earn his favour. And my family needs that. We need the Dark Lord's favor. "

"You were foolish, mudblood. I cannot believe the Order gave you such scant protection. You placed the simplest of wards upon your home, they were easily broken. Fortunately when they broke in, you and your parents were no longer there. And you didn't ward this bar either, and you sat with your back to the door! You left yourself vulnerable. But I tracked you down first. I saw you just sitting there…. and I couldn't do it. Not another murder. I don't need more blood on my hands. I went back out, and I warded the place. Heavily. No one will know I'm here. I doubt the rest will notice my absence, after all, the Malfoy brat is only an inconvenience, an annoyance...more importantly no one will know you're in here. No one will be able to find us until I lift the protective enchantments. You're not going to die, Granger. Not tonight."

"So I sat here. Watching you. Wondering why you have a right to live, when you're nothing but a mudblood, an abnormality. Why you, Potter's best friend, made me stop and think. I despise Mudbloods. You pollute the wizarding world with your muggle customs and ignorance of magic. But as much as I despise people like you… you don't deserve to die. Not like this. Not how the Dark Lord has planned you to. No one deserves such an end. I don't want your pity, Granger. I don't want any of your ridiculous Gryffindor compassion. I don't want your thanks. I'm not doing this for you, you are nothing to me. It's just that… by saving you, I'm saving me."