a/n: So it's been a long time since I wrote any fic with substance, and I will try to update this regularly! It is unbeta'd, so please feel free to let me know if you see any mistakes or errors. I am open to all criticism! My main concern is keeping the story believable and the characters acting true to themselves, at least within the confines I have given them. As always, all reviews are appreciated! And in case you were wondering I do not own anything related to the Harry Potter universe, much to my chagrin.

Chapter One

The rush and noise of Platform 9 ¾ resonated like crashing waves. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, at how peculiar it is that no muggles noticed them. No one looked up from their papers or conversations to stare at the nervous looking 11 year olds toting large owls, or the rowdy teenagers in long black robes rolling oversize trunks.

She recalled her first year at Hogwarts, how everything in her world suddenly brimmed with a magic that she had always known existed, but had felt foolish for believing in. Suddenly the world was alive with color and sound and possibility.

She couldn't see it now.

The noise was the same, the faces the same, the excitement of the first day of school (something she was always incredibly fond of, even before Hogwarts) was muted and distant in light of what she knew now.

War was coming, and the idea of returning to school seemed so insignificant she had spent endless nights that summer lamenting over it. Why even bother? There was real work to be done, the order was deep underground doing research and she knew that her efforts would be better spent helping them.

But they thought it was too rash, the time would come, they assured her, but for now she needed to keep some sense of normalcy. And besides, Dumbledore wanted Harry at Hogwarts.

"Are you ready?" A voice said from beside her, and she snapped her head up to look at where it had come from. Ron was watching her, a knowing look in his eye.

She doubted his thoughts were nearly as well formed but knew that the sentiment must be roughly the same. She squeezed his arm.

"Of course, let's go."

Hermione, Ron and Harry all set off through the brick wall and hurried onto the Hogwarts Express. No matter what darkness lay ahead in the future, if this was her last time boarding this train, she wanted it to be a pleasant memory.

They found their seats in an unoccupied compartment and Ron and Harry began chatting about what The Order was doing and what they thought Dumbledore had planned for Harry. Harry told Ron and Hermione about Professor Slughorn and how Dumbledore was sure that he held information they needed to bring down Voldemort.

They laughed and had snacks from the trolly and Hermione was finally feeling better about the coming year as the sky outside grew dark.

Just then, Draco Malfoy passed by their open door with a group of his cronies. Harry's eyes darkened and with them, the atmosphere in the small train car darkened too.

"I'll catch up with you guys," Harry said as he slipped away. Ron just shrugged and handed Hermione some more chocolate, which she gladly accepted.

Harry and Draco's feud had always been something of a norm at Hogwarts. What schoolboy didn't have a nemesis? But it had all been relatively harmless fun for years.

Now, with Draco's father exposed as a Death Eater, she had to admit she was a bit surprised to find him at school. But then again, she was sure it was a bit surprising to find Harry Potter, The Chosen One, riding in to attend History of Magic like the rest of them. This was a part of the game, keeping everything calm for as long as they could before the whole world would be thrust into battle.

The train stopped at Hogsmeade station. They waited for Harry, but he didn't show, and eventually they were pushed onto the carts wheeled by invisible Thestrals and out toward Hogwarts Castle, glowing faintly in the mist.

When Harry finally caught up to them in the great hall, he didn't offer any explanation for his tardiness or bloody nose. Once they were alone however, he wasted no time.

"Malfoy's taken the mark." He said.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, her head spinning. She knew, in some rational part of her brain, that Malfoy would eventually follow in his father's footsteps. But the idea of a student, still living in the castle, bearing the dark mark was too much for her to bear.

"You can't know that Harry, I mean think of how completely impractical it would be."

"I dunno," Ron said, "I bet the little git has been begging to sign up for the army of darkness since he was old enough to hold a wand."

"It's not that simple Ron, that's not exactly something you can go around showing people. I mean just having it would mean expulsion, right? Correct me if I am forgetting some Society for the Protection of Death Eater Rights"

"I know it seems improbable," Harry said, shifting in his seat to lean closer to her, his tone urgent, "But what isn't these days? Trust me, the way that Malfoy was talking, or should I say bragging…I'm sure of it."

The three sat in silence, trying to let the information sink in. If this was true, it changed everything. Malfoy wasn't some stuck up bratty kid waiting to run to his father at every turn, he was something much darker, much more sinister, and much, much more dangerous.

Draco Malfoy felt his face tighten as Harry Potter walked back into the great hall. He tried not to let the emotion reach his eyes. Keeping face was invaluable at this point, and he had already started to get cocky. It probably wasn't a good idea to beat the shit out of Potter before school even started, considering his warnings to keep a relatively low profile so his going-ons wouldn't be tampered with. But he felt fairly certain that Potter wasn't going to run off and tell on him. Admitting that he had been brutally beaten by Malfoy didn't seem like something the boy would brag about, and more to the point, it didn't seem like something that would happen anymore. They weren't just students, running to the comfort of their professors. They were men, and men at war. Or they would be very soon.

Draco let his frustration go and turned back to his fellow Slytherins. He was catching pieces of the conversation, but it seemed droll, unimportant, and frankly beneath him.

He stared out across the great hall at Potter again, but his eyes unintentionally tracked to the left of him, where Granger was sitting.

At the sight of her, his mouth did tighten, his emotion did reach his eyes. She was the worst of the lot.

Weasley was so beneath him that he hardly merited a thought. And Potter was going to get what he deserved, all that hubris, all those years spent thinking he was the chosen one, Merlin's gift to the wizarding world. It was pathetic.

But Granger well, she set his teeth on edge. She was sharp as a tack, he would give her that, and she had gusto, but she followed her cause so blindly he couldn't respect her. She had no idea what she was fighting for, no sense of truth in the world, not even an inkling of her purpose. It was as if the fact that she was a mudblood didn't even affect her. It would be better, he thought, if she at least understood her place and rallied against it, but she saw herself as equal, truly on all levels and this was the worst crime a person could commit in the eyes of Draco Malfoy. He had, on more than on occasion, entertained the thought of draining her filthy blood just to show her how foul it really was. He imagined the look on her face as her body emptied and the scarlet syrup pooled below her.

He snapped out of his thoughts as students began standing. He realized he had hardly touched his dinner. It didn't matter. He was letting himself get sidetracked; the golden trio was nothing but a distraction along the way. The Dark Lord had chosen him, and he would not disappoint.

"I just don't think this is a good idea, Professor. I mean, Malfoy is a prat at best and something seriously sinister at worst. You know Harry thinks that he's taken the mark?" Hermione was pacing around McGonagalls office, talking as fast as her mind was racing.

"Miss Granger, I understand your trepidation in this case but there is more to this project than grades. I am pairing you with Mister Malfoy because I want you to watch him."

"Is it true then, does he have the Mark."

"I can't be certain, but given his circumstances it wouldn't be out of the question. Dumbledore is watching him carefully, as is Professor Snape, but I think the more we can keep him under the eye of the order the better."

"Why not just pull up his sleeve and expel him?" She asked, sitting down in a chair with more force than she intended.

"Because we at the order have agreed that it is best if Draco is here at Hogwarts, and not holed up in the Death Eater headquarters. I know that you dislike him Hermione," McGonagall's eyes poured into hers with light and fire, "But please understand that Dumbledore believes he can be saved, and if there is a chance of that, then we must work to get him on our side, to see what he knows, or at least keep him from the darkest clutches of Voldemort."

Hermione wanted to argue, she personally believed that Draco Malfoy was past saving, but she was in no position to argue.

She sighed, rubbed her temple, and pushed her curls back from her face.

"Okay. What do you need me to do?"

"Draco has also been made a prefect this year. His grades are second to yours, you know, he is an incredibly bright wizard."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't argue; she knew her Professor was right.

"As you know, prefects are required to work together on an interdisciplinary study that ties together all subjects of magical learning. It takes the year to complete, and will count for 30% of your overall grade. I am going to pair you and Mister Malfoy together for this project, and you will have to meet at least three times a week to work on it. Now Hermione, I urge you to be tactful here, play dumb, don't pry. I only want you to gauge his appearance, his moods, his demeanor for now. Do you understand?"

"I do." Hermione said. She had resigned herself to this rather unpleasant task already, and with resignation came a pounding headache.

"Don't worry, Professor. I can handle it."

Draco was desperate for a few moments alone. The hum and roil of the Slytherin common room was no longer a comfort. He felt as though he was surrounded by children; no one could even begin to understand what he was going through.

The task given to him by The Dark Lord seemed impossible, and Draco was pretty sure that even Voldemort believed that.

This was punishment, this was the crime of the father befalling the son, and Draco knew that he had no choice. Voldemort wouldn't hesitate to kill his family, to kill him. He probably already planned on it. He was just playing with his food at this point. But it didn't matter; Draco wouldn't call what he felt optimism, exactly, and it certainly wasn't hope. It was survival instinct. He was certain that he would do whatever he needed to do to in order to this survive this. His loyalty wasn't necessarily with Voldemort but with his parents, and their loyalty was with The Dark Lord. Draco had never questioned it; it was fact. They lived on planet Earth, there was magic, some people were better than others, he was lucky, he was pure. End of story.

Draco wasn't stupid, though. He could see that while blood purity was indeed a fact, for Voldemort, blood was more of a means to an end. It was a battle cry for people who would adhere to any battle cry if it meant they could fight for more power. More glory. More money. Control of the world. All in all, it didn't sound so bad to Draco. His side was stronger, their magic was purer, they were ruthless, willing to do whatever it takes to win, and Draco liked to win. He liked to be on the winning side.

He didn't feel like he was winning now. His options were limited, and the reality of his situation was like a long hallway, and he was walking slowly to avoid going through the final door. He had no choice but to kill Dumbledore, but if he could do it without being blamed for it then that was ideal. He would like to be able to remain in the public eye if possible; the idea of being a pariah was somewhat troubling. He cared more about what would happen to him afterwards if he actually went through with it than what it would mean to actually go through with it, to kill one of the most powerful wizards alive.

Draco needed air. He excused himself from where he was sitting with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson and headed for the exit. The hallway was quiet, which was a blissful relief, but the dungeon was still damp and humid, he needed to breathe the cold night air. He began his accent through the castle.

Hermione was comforted by the familiar glow of the fire, the sounds of 1st years laughing and 6th and 7th years arguing over who deserves the best seats. Someone set off a firecracker and a few girls screamed before breaking out into giggles. Cormack was staring at her from across the common room and she glanced away to roll her eyes at Lavender. She felt like she could forget for a moment, if only she could trick her brain into believing that this was all there was to life. She was a 16 year-old girl regular teenage problems. Which boy was eying her across the room, how she was going to pass all of her advanced classes, what to buy on the first trip to Hogsmeade.

But Hermione was smart, and she couldn't turn her brain off no matter how hard she tried. She knew deep down that this was a façade, a farce. She was boiling beneath her skin, she wanted to fight. She wanted to be doing work that was tangible, that would somehow help them win this seemingly hopeless war.

Hermione was not an optimist, although she never once lost hope. She was realistic about everything, logic was her safeguard, and logically she knew that Voldemort's numbers were larger, and that his army would be willing to do whatever it took to win. That was the trouble with fighting for good, you had to abide by a moral compass to do it. They couldn't just go out and kill everyone they suspected of being a Death Eater; that was against the point. She was ashamed to admit that she had thought about it before, how much easier it would be if they could sink their level and play dirty.

Suddenly the fumes from the fire were cloying and the noise was like a rush of blood in her ears. She needed to get away; she was worried if she stayed here it would become obvious to everyone around her that something was terribly wrong. She smiled as she slipped away from the common room and out through the portrait.

She wandered through the hallway silently, casting a charm to ensure her footfalls didn't make any noise. It wasn't against the rules for her to be out, she was a Prefect after all and they had different hours than the rest of the students. But she didn't want to speak to anyone,. She wanted to just wander along quietly for as long as she could, for as long as it took the fire in her blood to calm down.

She meandered up toward the astronomy tower, eager to feel the wind as it shifted from Summer to Fall against her skin.

She was so lost in her own thoughts she didn't realize that someone was already there, leaning against the rails. She froze, taking in the sight of Draco Malfoy. Arguably, he was the last person she wanted to see right now, he would do nothing to help her anger diminish. She considered her options and wondered if she could turn around and walk away without him noticing, but the Slytherin was used to hyper vigilance, and he turned around before she could make her move.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Mudblood Princess out for a stroll."

The words hardly affected her, she was used to Malfoy's slurs, and frankly at this point they seemed uninventive and droll. She heard McGonagall's voice in her head, and knew that she would be working with Malfoy all year. She didn't want this to escalate, but she was already in a foul mood and looking at his slender form in the moonlight, sneering and ready to pounce only pushed her deeper into her anger.

"I thought I smelled something foul on the way up here, I should have known it would be you. There's a definite air of arrogance and failure." She placed her hands on her hips as she spoke.

"Watch it, Granger. I wouldn't mess with me if I were you."

"Oh, I'm shaking," Hermione said, meeting his stare and dropping as much sarcasm into her voice as she could muster.

Draco moved toward her in a rush of peppermint and coffee and something not that different from new parchment. She felt her stomach clench, she really wasn't sure what he was capable of anymore. This close she could see how pale he was, more so than usual. His skin was almost grey, his eyes like pieces of sliver flint, sharp and cutting. He towered over her, his lean arms tight against his sides. She had to steal herself not to take a step backwards. She reminded herself that if it came to a duel, she could overpower him. This wasn't the muggle world where she was left to only her body strength.

"Speaking of foul stenches," He whispered as he got closer to her, "I can smell your putrid blood through your skin…I wonder how easy it would be to tear through it."

She shuddered against her will, and he smirked, turned on his heel, and left the tower.

Hermione felt her anger redouble and walked to the rail to take a few deep, shuddering breathes. It was going to be a very long year.