Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Harry Potter series.

Author Notes: It is just something that was in my head. I am thinking of continuing this story into a D/Hr post-HBP fic.

Summary: Draco Malfoy was given a second to chance to redeem himself. He was sent to find something for the Dark Lord. When Hermione unwittingly stumbled upon Snape and Malfoy, she was hauled into a mess that defied all expectations of right and wrong and light and dark. She must learn to cope without the comfort of Hogwarts and solid facts. A story of redemption and understanding. Eventually, D/Hr.

Just a short FYI, I took the liberty for Harry and Ron to visit Hermione's parents. It is rather insignificant. I just wanted a setting and I thought it would be fitting since I always wanted to develop Hermione's character.

A Moment Afterwards

Slightly alarmed at the unlocked door of her house, Hermione peeked from the doorway and saw her best friend standing at the edge of the sidewalk like he was at a precipice with ominous water howling for his soul. "Harry?" she said softly as she step down the small pathway toward the sidewalk of her house.

Harry seemed out of place, a boy caught in a tangle of death and rage standing alone the quiet morning of a suburban town. His back seemed to be emitting waves of turmoil and most prominently, grief. She read Harry's back like a book, deciphering the tense stance. If she was observant enough, she could see the tired slump of the shoulders and the gradual bent of responsibility across the spine. Hermione traced wrinkles of his nightshirt and the way it hang on his gangly form with her staid eyes. Simple quiet observations have taught her many things, maybe too much.

She padded down the walkway with sensible warm navy slippers and a head filled with thoughts. Her head barely reached Harry's shoulders as she stood next to him, staring at the same silent street. She molded her hands around her mug of hot chocolate and savored the warmth. As she brushed an unruly curl from her face, she cocked her head inquisitively at her brooding friend and nudged him with her shoulder.

Harry whipped his head toward the disturbance like a startled owl. He exhaled loudly in relief. "Hermione," the corner of his lips twitched, "Why are you up so early?"

"How 'bout you?" She swept stray strands of hair from her face with an exasperated sigh and warmed her lips against the mug. She swung on the balls of her feet and requested softly, "Wanna sit down?" Hermione jerked her head toward the bench on the porch.

"Sure." He gave her his quirky smile.

They sat together in silence. The day was barely beginning. The sky was still dark with a seeping stain of pinkish orange. The air was cool and the mild fog had not yet been lifted. It was a soft silence. One of those gentle moments of peace and stillness that can almost break a person's heart with its fragile beauty.

Hermione traced the white stars painted on her mug and let her fingertip dragged across the ceramic. She was silent with her thoughts, attempting to winnow her thoughts from fluttering distractions. She pondered a bit longer on the friendship between her and Harry and everything from the malnutrition squirrel that just crossed the street to the vivid image of Hogwarts. She came out with the determination to say something and took in the chilling morning air.

She bit her bottom lips and watched the hot chocolate swirls and spins. "I am glad I met you, Harry Potter," she said softly as she drummed her fingers on the half-finished mug of hot chocolate.

Harry chuckled. "And I am glad I met you, Hermione Granger." They still did not turn to look at each other, mesmerized by the beginning of the rising sun. Morning was arriving, soft and delicate.

"I would have been so different if I haven't met you and Ron—if I wasn't a witch."

Her candid statement caught him off guard. He did not remember a time when one of his best friend ventured into something more personal that the score of her latest potion essay. He turned his eyes toward petite girl with wild hair but she kept on searching the sky for something that he did not know about. Harry responded thoughtfully, "Yeah, I guess so. I guess I would've been different too if… but I don't think I regret it."

"Oh no!" Hermione yelped in surprise, "I don't regret being witch and getting the owl about Hogwarts. I am just saying you guys changed me."

Harry scrunched his face into a questioning frown.

Another moment silence, this one was stifling and scratchy. Hermione fiddled with the hem of her long-sleeved nightshirt then she drew her knees toward her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She wished the ground would just swallow her now. She was no longer sure that Harry could understand the importance of her words. But, she supposed, that it was her fault for skittering around and making extremely vague and ambiguous statements. She played with the rebellious curl that framed her face, twisting the curl around her index finger and tucking it behind her ear, and then repeated the process again.

"I was always alone, Harry," she began tentatively opening a buried box of unwanted memories. "Always different. I was the smallest one in my school. I was always quiet. My mom told me that even as a toddle I liked playing by myself. I rarely played with other children despite how many play dates she set up for me. Things just got worst in primary school. They want you to play together, asking questions about best friends and favorite sport." She recalled sulkily.

"Hermione, it is just part of growing up. Of course, teachers and parents wanted you to play with kids," Harry chuckled.

She clasped her hands together in determination and plowed on. "I had friends. Few. But I guess I was just different. When we moved, my parents set up their dentistry here, things got even worst. Kids already got their cliques. So I turned to books. I find it so fascinating that there are so many things to learn about. I always thought that if I know more than I can carry on a conversation with anyone." Honey brown eyes sparkled at the imagination of the breath of knowledge available in the world and vestige of childhood excitement danced on the curve of her soft wistful smile.

"Mum always said that I got my head in the clouds. So when the letter arrived, I was so excited. Confused and scared but excited. I thought to myself: a brand new start. A clean slate. So excited 'cause I was special, not just different. I was so scared that I wouldn't belong that I read books and books about general wizard history and Hogwarts. I guess that plan backfired, huh?"

He shifted uncomfortably. He never had such a conversation with Hermione. He never knew of her life before Hogwarts. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "For making fun of you in the first year."

"Thanks Harry," Hermione gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "It wasn't just you. I felt different and it wasn't a special different anymore. I was in a whole new world, living in a fantasy world. But there was simply no happily ever after." She could feel her eyes burn as she remembered the gradual slip of childhood naivety. She laid her chin on top of her knees and kept on staring at the glow of red and orange.

"But, then, there were you and Ron. Life just did feel so lonely anymore. I know I am different. I know I am just the know-it-all-Hermione and I rather not change. I am just glad I got to see the other side, the not lonely side."

Harry was speechless. Words flew in his mind haphazardly in no coherent order like a dozen golden snitches. He never really thought about Hermione's past and her first year experiences. "I-I've never known," he stuttered and shook his shock of disorderly black hair sheepishly.

Hermione beamed at him and leaned her head on his shoulder. A friendly and comfortable gesture that reminded her how much she had learned about the bubbly warm feeling of friendship and the comfort of belonging. "I just want you to know, Harry. I was thinking… last night—"

"When are you not?" Harry teased.

"Hush," she swatted his arm playfully, "I was thinking about now and tomorrow and next week. I was thinking about how… it is not a fantasy world anymore. I was thinking about what you have to do and what I have to do."

"Hermione, you don't--"

"Let me finish, Harry." There is an edge of urgency in her tone. She placed her mug on the bench and turned her body toward him. "This is all very real. Death is very real." She could feel the burning clump in her throat. "I realized that I never really talked to you. Sure, I talk to you about homework, mischievous plans, school and S.P.E.W. and stuff like that. But I never really talked to you." Hermione clasped her hands around Harry's right hand. "I want you to know you changed my life. I will never… forget you. You are like… like… a brother to me." She could feel the hot tears rolling down her cheeks now. "And never forget that I love you, Harry."

Harry was alarmed by the sudden plethora of emotions that rushed over him. He felt claustrophobic by the sheer power of eloquence but he took a deep breath and stilled himself, trying to express his feelings in his not-so-articulate way. Harry ruffled his hair in contemplation to what to say and gingerly wiped her tears from her cheeks. Harry stared at Hermione watery eyes and placed his hand on top of her hands uncertainly.

"I love you, too, Hermione," Harry gave her a crooked smile, "Believe me, you changed me life too. I mean I don't think I could've passed Hogwarts without you. I mean I got a chance to be an Auror because of you."

She threw her arms around his neck and gave a great sob. Harry patted her back awkwardly.

"I am sorry for being so silly. I just want you to know. I just want you to know that there are people who love you. That's what makes you stronger than Voldemort." Hermione untangled herself from Harry's arm and furiously wiped away her tear. She fussed over her damp cheeks nervously.

Harry smiled sadly. "You just kind of reminded me of Dumbledore just then. He always said that Voldemort underestimates the power of love. I never put much thought into that."

She flushed at being compared to Dumbledore and straightened her overlarge sweatshirt uneasily. She began thoughtfully in a way that made Harry's heart swell with so much pride that it could have burst. "You and Voldemort are not all that different. Both orphans. Both had a rather awful childhood. Both incredibly powerful. The difference is your parents and his parents. I guess you knew you were loved at one point or another but Tom Riddle never did experienced such thing."

"I guess."

"Or you aunt and uncle did something right in the way they took care of you even though I cannot fathom what would that be."

Harry snorted.

"Hey, why are you guys up so early?" piped a sleepy Ron from the opened doorway. His red hair was in disarray and he was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Hermione removed any traces of tears, stood up and grabbed her empty mug. "Nothing," she answered nonchalantly, "Just talking to Harry."

"You mean boring his ear off," Ron replied impishly and received a sounded smack on the back of his head. "Ow, that hurts, Hermione!"

Hermione looked fondly at Ron and gave his a peck on the cheek. "It is suppose to, sleepy head." She sashayed inside the house and disappeared from view.

Ron blushed beetroot. "What's the matter with her?"

Harry looked at his best friend bemusedly. "Just being Hermione," he said as he clapped jovially on Ron's back and followed Hermione inside the house.

"Blimey, how can anyone be so cheerful in the morning?" Ron grumbled and followed his two friends into the house.

The rickety candle-filled lamp that hung from the ceiling dimly lighted the small sitting room. The room had a musky smell of abandonment despite the two people bickering the room.

"I don't need your help," a voice tried to sneered but only ended in painful gasps.

"On the contrary, I think you do, Draco," an older voice sneered smoothly. "I don't think those broken ribs will heal themselves and that's a nasty little gash across your back."

"Your fault," Draco Malfoy wheezed in agony, clenching his mid-section. "I could've done it. I would've!"

"Yes, in a century or two. The Dark Lord has no time for dalliance."

"You stole my glory. He told me to do it. Not you," he roared angrily and doubled over in pain.

"Don't be a child," Snape snarled. "You gave up fairness the moment you decided to have the Dark Mark etched in you skin. You gave up your innocence the moment you bowed in front of the Dark Lord. Don't give me petty arguments about glory and honor. There are no such thing, child."

Malfoy tried to lunge at him; instead, he coughed spatters of blood onto the sot-covered floor. "I'm not a child."

"Then do not act like one. That would only get you kill." Snape swooped forward and waved his wand in complicated motion toward Malfoy's ribs. Malfoy winced in pain. When Snape was done with the incantations at the ribs and shoved a pint of slimy potion down the brat's throat, he moved to Malfoy's back.

Malfoy jerked Snape's wand away from his back where a long deep gash resided. "Let it healed by itself."

"Don't be stupid," Snape snapped, "That would take days and it would leave a scar. Worst, it can get infected."

"I want it there. It will be a reminder," Malfoy said solemnly. "I will always remember." Suddenly, his whole expression hardened into a countenance of deep abhorrence and determination. His gripped the threadbare sofa and pain etched into sharpness of his salient features.

Snape looked at the boy in front of him. He sat erectly on the threadbare couch despite the recently healed ribs and recently cleaned gash on his back. His white-blond hair matted from dirt, tears, and sweats. Dark circles cast a deathly look in the stony gray eyes and the pointed face was pallid like the sickly moon. There was a cut at the corner of his eyebrow in a crescent shape that bordered his right eye.

In the last thirty seconds, Draco Malfoy turned into a man.

"Drink it," he suggested, "It disinfects." He paced the bottle on the table and walked out of the sitting room up one of the hidden passageway.

Malfoy stared at the gurgling plum potion on the table. He could drink the potion or he could run away from all of these. He wanted time to reversed itself to a time when he could hide beneath his satin sheets and he could pretend that everything was all right. He wanted his mother back to her usual grace despite the frosty distance. He wanted to eat breakfast at long, polished mahogany table with his father and mother. But it did not matter what he wanted; Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, had been reduced to nothing but a puddle of slob and he hated it.

The image of his mother sprawled across the dirt ground without her usual grace and glamour flashed before his eyes. He remembered how warm the blood was when it soaked through his Hogwarts uniform. Her eyes fluttered and she struggled to lift her hand up and placed it on his cheek, leaving a mark of grime and blood. She gave him a weak smile before fading into darkness. He remembered his anger and rage but he remembered the fear that gripped his chest most clearly. He could feel the tears waiting to burst forth and he bit his lips until it bled.

He could hear him calling for him. His slithering voice glided through his spine with deliberate malice. But Draco could not hear anything. His eardrums were filled with the sounds of his pounding blood. "Draco Malfoy, you will answer me when I speak to you." A sharp pain sliced through his side.

"Yes," he choked out, "My lord." The pain lingered and gnawed at his flesh.

"Good, Draco."

He hated the way he say his name. He felt filthy under the Dark Lord's naked gaze. He was nothing but his toy and he feared him and he hated it. He hated every fiber in his body. He hated his every weakness, every pain, every thought.

The Dark Lord continued, tapping the tips of his long pale fingers against the stone. "You failed your task, Draco." His name ended in a hiss. Draco clenched his fist and kept his mind blank, awaiting his predicted punishment.

He remembered the way Snape stepped forward out of his peripheral vision. Anger threatened to override the fear. He took his chance. He took his escape. Draco could have reigned powerfully in the Inner Circle but Snape snatched from his hands after all of his hard work. He seethed with resentful anger.

"Speak, Severus."

"Without the boy, this operation would have been disastrous. Potter had lost his support and the Order suffered casualties. They are divided and uncertain without the old coon. Draco did well. More trainings are what he needs." Snape addressed the Dark Lord.

"Yes. The boy did get much farther than I thought he ever would."

Draco thought bitterly, he wanted me to die.

Fenrir Greyback rushed forward indignantly. "The boy is a bloody coward." He bared his razor-sharp teeth. "Look, his hands are shaking so bad. Give him to me, my lord. I am hungry tonight." Draco recoiled away from the formidable werewolf and stumbled over his mother's stilled body.

Dark Lord turned his eyes toward the werewolf; Greyback suddenly balked away and stumbled back into the semicircle. "Do not ask for too much, Fenrir."

"Yes, my lord," he clenched grimy hands.

"Draco." He could red eyes probing his mind. "The task was completed but you fell short, my boy."

Draco wanted to retch at endearment. "I understand, my lord." He waited. Everything was excruciating slow. He could every drop of water hitting the stone ground like a ticking clock.

"I have another task."

He head snapped up and emitted a painful grunt from the sudden movement. He hated how he could feel the thousands needles impaling his side. A dozens thoughts fluttered in his mind, almost suffocating him. He bowed his submission again and hid his face. "My mother, my lord?"

"She will be taken care of," the Dark Lord said flippantly. His long nails clicked a rhythmic tempo. "I need you to find get something for me and bring it back, Draco." With a wave of his hand, the semicircle dissipated and left behind Snape and his mother in front of the Dark Lord.

He glanced around suspiciously but the persistent tapping of devilish fingernails drew his attention back to the front.

"You will not fail me, Draco. Your mother will certainly want to see you succeed." The red eyes glinted. "Someone had misplaced this… item that I want and you will find it and bring it back to me, Draco," he reiterated.

Suddenly, Draco realized the importance of success in this mission. This was his last chance. It was the last chance for the continuation of Malfoys. "I understand. What is it that you wished, my lord?" Each word was consciously thought through and enunciated.

"A gauntlet." The snake, Nagini, slithered discreetly next to the Dark Lord; its emerald eyes glimmered behind the shroud of darkness. "A very special gauntlet."

Draco noticed a brief flash of surprise in Snape's eyes before it disappeared. "My lord?" Snape addressed the darkness with a blank expression.

"You will help him find it, Severus," the darkness hissed. "And if the wretch is not dead, bring her to me."

He could almost see the alarm and almost a flicker of fear from Snape. "Yes, my lord." Snape stepped back with a bow.

"My lord, I don't need his help," Draco protested, the anger shimmering beneath marble white skin.

Another flare of pain erupted across his back. "Draco, you will listen and you will obey." He could hear a hiss of agreement from the snake comfortably nestling in the darkness.

"Yes." He bowed his head and peered from behind his curtain of blond hair. He could almost block out the pain. The startling amount of pain was beginning to numb. He almost didn't care. Almost.

"Severus, take care of the boy since you seem so fond of him," the voice sneered.

With a curt nod, Snape yanked Draco painfully to his unsteady feet and was gone in a pop before he could protest. Narcissa wheezed, suddenly aware of the departure of her son and the brief brush of his lips against her forehead.

"Narcissa, your little boy is all grown up."

The dams are broken and tear flooded forward, drenching her ashen face.

Please, reviews would be very nice.