Hogwarts was quiet, the empty corridors lit only flickering lamps. It was long past midnight. Still, Draco opened the door of the Room of Requirement cautiously - one could never be too careful. Luckily, no one seemed to be in sight. He hurried along the long corridor back to the Slytherin common room. He had stayed in the Room later than usual working on the task set to him personally by the Dark Lord. The enormity of the situation had sunk in a few weeks ago, and a small part of his heart was constantly prickling with a feeling he had never experienced before: sheer terror. Already, unsettling thoughts persistently ran through his mind daily. What if he failed? He knew what would happen. He would die. His parents would die. And he would not let that happen.
That fear in him, uncontrollable, had made its appearance in a pathetic act of desperation. The cursed necklace had not managed to reach Dumbledore and had also raised Potty's suspicions (he had heard the Golden Trio's heated debate about it on the way to the Great Hall). It was a warning, none too early at that, to remind him that he would have to be more discrete about his future movements.
That fear in him, grating away at every inch of his heart, had driven him to forgo his homework, lessons, almost all his classes… even Quidditch, the only bright light in this dark world he had trapped himself in. The fear had steered him in a narrow, winding path up this steep cliff, and he couldn't turn back. The only option he had was to continue pushing forward, higher and further, with the lone hope that it led to a safe haven for him and his parents at the end of the journey. The mission Voldemort had given him had trapped him in a corner, with no one to confide in. He was alone in his quest for the impossible.
He wondered at how he used to idolize the Dark Arts, his relationship with them almost as deep as that of his young father's obsession. His obsession had been great, spending hours pouring over tomes of Dark Arts' related books, and even the most grotesque of the potions or foulest of curses had never deterred his fixation on the topic. Over the years, he absorbed all there was to know about the Dark Arts.
The Dark Arts meant power over the weak - he loved that feeling of power. He had seen countless times how insensible Muggles and foolish Mudbloods and half-bloods had been killed in 'accidents' over the last two years since Voldemort's rising. The fear in their eyes as they realised what was happening, the dominance in the killer standing over his prey – he had desperately wanted that command so much.
The Death Eaters had exhibited such power, and this appealed to him, and he had, once, greatly longed for it. It seemed the only way to get people's reverence. Even recently, when he had entered Borgins and Burkes during the holidays, the stupid, slimy Borgin had instantly cowered before a mere sixteen-year-old boy the moment Draco had extended his left forearm and shown the mark it bore, further impressing on Draco the power he now exuded.
But barely two days after that, the offhand and casual way Voldemort had lazily muttered "Crucio", sending Goyle Senior writhing on the dirt in pain, had sent pain which pierced right through Draco's soul... It haunted him, that look, though it had never affected him before.
Did he really want to be the person to inflict such pain?
Draco mechanically walked down the flight of stairs, deep in thought, on his way to the Slytherin common room, when he was pulled abruptly from his thoughts. He cursed silently. His foot had gotten stuck in a trick step. He tugged hard and stumbled slightly when his foot jerked free. Just then, the staircase started moving, slowly bringing him further away from the dungeons and the comfort of his bed.
What luck, he thought, aggravated. Draco quickly walked down the stairs before they decided to change again, cursing Hogwarts and its moving staircases.
"Malfoy? What are you doing out so late?" Hermione asked, more out of curiosity than actual concern.
"That's none of your business, Mudblood." The tone was sharp, but his eyes were dull, too tired to project the malice he usually had when speaking to her. Even the vulgar word had no piercing edge to it. He stalked off, but his movement lacked the typical Malfoy elegance.
"Malfoy…" she started tentatively. "Are you all right?"
"Bugger off, Mudblood." This time the insult came with slightly more force, but not due to meanness, but irritancy. He walked away quickly, trying to avoid further questioning from Hermione and her need to know anything.
Suddenly, Draco stumbled, just a slight movement, but Hermione, noticed and rushed to steady him, though albeit is a cautious manner.
Draco pushed her away, but the gesture lacked emotion. Hermione held steadfastly to his arm. Draco glared at her. His eyes locked with hers; the uncertainty and worry in them unmistakable.
The dark circles around his eyes were prominent against his pale, almost translucent skin; even in the dim lighting they could be seen.
His vision swam… and his world turned black.
--
Draco woke up in a brightly lit room. He was in the Infirmary.
"You're up." Hermione looked up from her book. "You've been out for quite a while - almost twelve hours."
Draco's brow creased. She hadn't been here the whole time? She was nothing to him.
"Why are you here?" Draco asked.
"Well, Madam Pomfrey said that you fainted due to over exertion. That's because of the late nights out, I presume? It's not very good for your health, you know. I read somewhere…," she babbled on, sounding like she had swallowed a textbook on the subject matter.
He coughed, interrupting her tirade. "I understand, but why are you," he emphasised, "here?"
Hermione turned pink.
"Oh. I-I thought that you would like someone to be around when you came to. And, most probably, I triggered your fainting by probing too much earlier."
Draco felt a tinge of disappointment. He had actually thought, for a moment, someone cared, even if it was a tiny bit, for him.
Apparently, he did not manage to hide this fact well. Hermione noticed it immediately.
"Not that I was compelled by my guilt to stay here, but just that…" she started.
Draco reached out and touched her hand, and she stopped.
"It's just a bloody righteous streak Gryffindors have in them right?"
Hermione unfroze, smiling slightly.
Just the, Madam Pomfrey appeared from inside her office.
"Good, good. You're up," she said briskly, brandishing a small vial at him. "Take that when you get back to your dormitory. And please, please! get some rest. You, boy, have been seriously overworked. You are allowed to leave now."
Hurriedly, Draco got out of the infirmary bed, happy to leave. Hermione followed his brisk footsteps out of the room.
Outside the Infirmary, Draco turned to her.
"Er… Thanks, Mu- Granger," he said curtly. Inside, he was wondering what he could do to express his appreciation. She was the first in a long time to touch and warm his lonely self. "I-"
Peeves cackled above them, singing merrily,
"It makes me gawk,
when Granger and Malfoy decide to talk.
What is happening to the world?
It sends my brain in such a whirl."
Draco glowered at the poltergeist. With his wand discretely pointing at Peeves, he muttered, "Langlock."
Peeve's made a rude gesture at him, since his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Hermione laughed at Draco's unexpected action.
"Well, I guess we should part here, before people start to come through this corridor," Hermione said.
"Er… Goodbye, then, Granger." Draco turned away awkwardly.
"Bye, Malfoy. Take care of yourself."
--
It was night. Draco lay on his bed, staring up at the stone ceiling. The dormitory was lit dimly with faint green lights. Most of the sixth year boys were asleep; Crabbe and Goyle were already snoring. His thoughts wandered over to Hermione and his life.
She had helped him, in more ways then one. Her small act had given him another outlook on his life that he had needed. He realized that though his fear had driven him up that path, it led to a divergence in the path. And it had driven him to find his light. The world wasn't all cold and uncaring. In the most unexpected places came the most unexpected help. Even for friendless, lonely people like him.
He made up his mind then. It was going to be over, all the fear, all the secrecy. After this mission, he would take his mother and go far away, away from Hogwarts, Britain; someplace that Voldemort would never think to conquer. There, he could start a new life, as a completely different Draco, not lonely, not friendless.
With that thought in mind, he reached for the vial beside his bed, opened it, and swallowed the contents in one mouthful. The effects of the potions were immediate and within moments, Draco Malfoy was asleep, and for once, without a frown marring his sleeping form.