A/N: It's taken me a while, but I've finally written the sequel to It's The End. I recommend reading that first, but I suppose it's not necessary. Please review!

Draco opened his eyes to an empty classroom. His mind was scattered. What the hell just happened? Things had been going well between them and then… what? He felt hot suddenly and backed up against the stone wall behind him to cool off. He slid down and cradled his head in his hands. His one redemption, his saving grace… gone. How would he prove himself to the Dark Lord now? More importantly, how would he save his parents from the Dark Lord's disappointment? The Dark Lord had specifically asked for Potter's Mudblood, bait that Potter would be sure to take. If he couldn't bring her to him, not only would he suffer, but his mother and father would as well. It would be said that he had been raised poorly, that they don't seek to please the Dark Lord, that they don't deserve a place in his new order. Personally, he didn't care much either way. He was only doing this to save his family. If he had his way, Draco would either remain neutral or go into hiding until the war was over. He certainly wouldn't help the Dark Lord (that crazy, melodramatic sadist would meet his end sooner or later) but working alongside Potter and Weasley was unthinkable as he was sure they would never be able to cooperate with each other. Hermione was someone he could work with, but when you add The Boy Who Lived and The Boy Who Is So Desperately In Love With Granger into the equation, the idiocy overwhelmed him. And you couldn't get her without getting the other two.

It boggled him how Hermione could stand the two boys. With the intelligence that she possessed and the stupidity that they had, their friendship didn't really add up in his eyes. Although, he reasoned, he didn't really know either of them. Nor did he really want to. Which was why he had accepted early on, when he actually began to care about her, that they couldn't really last. She was far too good and deserved someone like that. Someone who was concerned for all manners of magical beings, for equality, for doing the right thing. This, he supposed, was why Weasley actually made for a better match than he did.

Draco shut his eyes and tried to recall a pleasant memory before he would be forced to head off to his execution.

Draco made his way up to the top of the Astronomy Tower and saw Hermione sitting precariously on the edge with her legs hanging over. As Draco sat down next to her, she looked up and gave him a soft smile

"You look tired," she said.

He looked back at her with a blank expression. She slipped a hand into his, cupped his cheek with her free one, and gave him a light kiss. She gave him another smile before looking out at the grounds below them. He faintly registered the feeling of her thumb caressing the back of his hand.

"I'm so sorry," he thought to himself.

Unbeknownst to her, she was being led straight to her grave by a man she seemed to have genuine faith in. Trust and faith and love were almost completely foreign to a boy who spent practically every waking moment fighting for himself. There was a brief moment then where he considered not following through, telling her his plans, maybe even asking her to go into hiding with him. The latter he knew would never happen; she would insist on staying and fighting alongside Potter and Weasley. The other two thoughts were just plain idiotic. He knew he had no choice but to follow through, not with his parents at stake.

Draco was brought back to the present by a burning sensation on his lest forearm. A Concealed Dark Mark was sure to be squirming beneath his daily-casted charm. He sighed, got up, and exited the classroom. He walked down to the dungeons and into Professor Snape's office.

"Are you ready, Draco?" Snape asked as he walked in.

He wanted to say no, that everything had gone wrong today and he was sure to be killed and wouldn't it be all right if he just went into hiding until the war was over and the Dark Lord was vanquished? But that was a coward's way out. And he would be damned if Hermione heard that he ran and hid, not helping either side, looking out for his own arse. So instead, he gave Snape a stiff nod as the Floo was activated.

Draco stepped into the flames and emerged in the dining room of his own home. However, there was no table and no chairs, save a large, ornate throne at one end of the hall. There were hundreds of witches and wizards standing around the perimeter of the room, all covered in black cloaks. Draco walked to the center of them all, his parents appearing by his side, and knelt before the throne as Voldemort slithered in.

"Draco," he hissed.

"My Lord," he said softly, staring at the ground.

"Where is the Mudblood, Draco?" He looked around as if she was being hidden behind the Malfoys as a surprise present. "Last I heard, you were doing quite well with your assignment."

Draco felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Another apology he would never be able to voice was shouted in his head.

"I've failed you, my Lord. I don't have her with me."

Draco looked up at that moment and saw a snarl on Voldemort's face. He began to circle the Malfoys as he spoke.

"Not only have you failed me, Draco, you have failed your parents as well. Do you have nothing to say for your transgression? Are you not going to beg for mercy and forgiveness? Crucio!"

Draco screamed out. Every single nerve was on fire. All his muscles tensed and he dug his nails into his hand to try and misplace the pain. At last, the pain stopped and he lied limply on the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to distract himself from the pain. A picture of Hermione swam into his mind's eye and the slightest sensation of warmth spread through him. He heard shouting around him but was too busy focusing on Hermione to pay attention to any of it.

"Draco. Draco, darling, are you all right?" His mother's voice was in his ear, her hand stroking his hair lovingly. He opened his eyes and used all his strength to push himself back onto his knees.

"I'm fine," he said hoarsely. He clenched his jaw and glared up at Voldemort.

"Do you still have nothing to say, Draco? Nothing to beg for? What about you parents? Are you going to let them suffer for your mistake?"

"Kill me."

His mother grabbed onto his arm and turned him to look at her. She looked frantic and frightened. Her blonde hair was no longer smooth and maintained but rather unkempt with strands and knots sticking out here and there.

"Draco—"

He looked away.

"Kill me," he repeated, cutting off his mother, "and leave my parents be. I was the one who screwed up, my Lord. My parents shouldn't suffer for my wrongdoings."

"How very noble of you, Draco. How very… Gryffindor. It seems as though you have let the Mudblood get to you. For that, you deserve to die. And I always give my followers what they deserve."

He felt his mother unwillingly leave his side. There was an eerie silence suspended over the room. Voldemort continued to circle Draco as all the Death Eaters stared on. Draco's heart was beating fast and he closed his eyes again. Another picture of Hermione swam into view. She was in her Yule Ball gown; her face was alight with joy and bliss. The same warmth hit him as he heard Voldemort scream, "Avada Kedavra!"