Hey guys! So this is my very first Harry Potter fic of any kind. I'm a latecomer to the Draco/Hermione fanclub, but I have to say, they are simply magical together (even if only in imagination) and after the seventh movie, with the Malfoy Manor scene, I knew I just had to write a fic for them.

So here it is, my first attempt at a Dramione fanfic. Please review, but no flames please! Hope you all enjoy! xx

It wasn't the screams, or the blood, or even the sadistic cackling of his aunt that had Draco Malfoy at his breaking point. He had been used to watching Bellatrix's psychotic rampages before, finding that he could block out the cries of whatever poor soul she or another Death Eater was torturing.

No, it was her tears that set his teeth on edge, the glistening, strangely beautiful drops that ran down her face being the one thing that finally broke his battered heart.

Because Hermione Granger never cried. Ever.

Except now.

Her beautiful face twisted in unimaginable pain as his aunt had her way with the Gryffindor princess, carving the derogatory name into the porcelain skin of her arm. He watched, his mind silently screaming out for Bellatrix to stop, mirroring Hermione's own shrieks.

As her skin was sliced, Draco's gaze was drawn to the drops of blood that fell to the floor.

They were red.

An unwanted, unwelcome memory entered his consciousness as he watched her lovely form writhe in agony, of the other time he had seen her blood, when she had accidentally sliced her finger during a potions class in Fifth Year. He didn't remember anything about that particular lesson except for the fact that it had been the very first time the indoctrination about mudbloods had been shaken.

Because her blood had been red, not a dirty mud color. Scarlet, just like his.

And that had been the day Hermione Granger had become important to him.

Now, watching her being tortured at the hands of one of his family members, watching her tears fall, and watching her blood drip down, Draco was suddenly gripped with something he could only chalk up to being his conscious, a tiny voice that whispered urgently in his ear to save her.

But then Potter and Weasley entered, and once again the darkness seeped back into his pores, back into his soul. But no sooner had it settled back into his bones then a knife was at Hermione's throat, a thin line of blood bubbling at the sharp blade's pressure, shaking Draco from the black fog, dissipating it completely. And again, the tiny voice whispered in his ear to save her.

He was raising his wand at the exact moment the crystal chandelier came crashing down, and all hell broke loose. Flashes of green blazed everywhere, a cacophony of shouts and spells being aimed at anybody and everybody. A body barreled into him, clawing desperately at his hands for the wands he had just taken from the Golden Trio. Instinct told him to fight back, and he did, throwing himself into the physical fight.

And then he locked eyes with his attacker. With her.

The merging of steely gray with warm chocolate brown jolted him to his very core, stilling his movements as well as hers.

It all came rushing back. Long glances in class. Feathery touches in the hallways. Stolen moments in the shadows of the arches. Sweet kisses, heated embraces.

Every memory, every moment between them for the past two years was remembered in those few seconds. Everything else faded to the background in comparison to her.

"Come with us." The softly spoken words jolted Draco back to reality, the sounds of the small battle raging around them making him think he had imagined her saying it.

"Draco, come with me," she pleaded again. This time there was no doubt of what she had said. Her eyes held a frantic anxiousness, her voice fraught with desperation.

In the three seconds that passed between her plea and his answer, Draco thought of every possible excuse not to. It was too dangerous for him. It was too dangerous for her. He was evil, a Malfoy with the Dark Mark. He couldn't leave his family, his mother. He was a Death Eater, a servant of Voldemort. Weasley would maim him and Potter would kill him.

But the sweet sound of his name coming from her lips muddled his mind with thoughts of a simpler time, when there was just him and her, together.

So he agreed, his hoarse whisper of consent bringing a ghost of a smile to Hermione's features. She took his hand and gripped it tightly, apparating them away.

And then, darkness.