A/N: All righty! This chapter'll be fun to write:D. I didn't realize the last one was so short—it was like 4 pages in MS Word, so...

Oh, right, I forgot to put this in the first chapter, but this fic is not for DM/HG haters! It's also pretty dark, or will be, and there probably won't be any fluff.

And, before I forget, review replies(you can skip this if you want, or tell me and I'll put it on the bottom next chapter):

arienachi: Uhm...well, it'll show up in the next chapter(the reason, I mean), and actually it's in this one too. I sorta gave away too much in the summary, but I really, really hate summaries. And see, she hasn't been really speaking to Ron and Haryy, so...well, just read it! :-P

JessicaDracoMalfoy: Thank you;)

Spr0ck3t: Lol!! You rock way more than I do! You actually read it...well, I definitely didn't read itD

Caligirl-HPLVR: Well, unlike Ron and Harry, she does like going home(I think), y'know, she has a more normal home than they do. I think she did before once, didn't she go to France? Or maybe that was during the summer...

chestersgal41594: Thanks!

Jen: Wow. I didn't really think I did, but if you say so...the wording wasn't that great either, but I couldn't think of any other way to put it.

AlgySDB: No! You weren't supposed to guess...at least, you weren't supposed to guess right! Yeah, I like them together too, hence the fic. I like other pairings as well, tho.

Kelly: Well, someone liked my cliffie(it was sorta obvious). Like I said, it wasn't much of one.

Leah Black: I TOLD you it isn't good! No more compliments! Coming for the great writer you are...and you draw soooooooo well, too! I'm the jealous one here!

JakKat: Uhm...thanks, I think. At least I got SOME criticism...which I like(at least, I say I do)! Yeah, I was thinking about changing that stuff and more, so the first chapter is now updated! It doesn't suck SO much anymore...

bali: Thanks—so do I(lol)!

Now, on with the story!

Disclaimer: I don't own it—don't sue me! -cringes-

Alone

Chapter 2: Tears

Hermione gaped at the only blonde-haired, silver-eyed, Slytherin she knew—Draco Malfoy. He knelt not three feet away, gazing intently at a piece of her parchment. Hermione realized with a sinking feeling that it was a poem she'd written after her parents' death. She wanted to snatch it from his hand, but felt as if her voice was stuck in her throat. When he finished reading and looked up at her, his eyes were filled with such a degree of sadness and understanding that, coming from him, she was utterly shocked by.

After a few moments, he simply said "My father died two weeks ago."

Hermione was even more shocked. As she tried to comprehend this, he rose, holding a stack of her parchment. As he slowly walked into the library, she still stared after him until he looked back, raising an eyebrow, which she took to mean he wanted her to follow him. Hesitantly, she rose as well and trailed behind him with her now-empty bag. He led her to a niche in the back she hadn't even noticed on all her previous visits and let her papers fall on the table while he dropped into a chair.

Hermione pulled up a chair as well, still insecure to be sitting with Malfoy, of all people. They were silent for a moment, and Hermione took the opportunity to stuff the parchment back into her bag and dump it on the floor. Then she took the initiative.

"Your father died?" she half-stated, half-asked.

He nodded silently, not bothering to say anything. Slightly irritated, she continued.

"How?"

Malfoy sighed and began to speak. "Voldemort-"she was surprised that he dared say the name "-believed he was a spy and administered the Crutacius Curse on him. Of course, he didn't last very long," he said shortly. Then he turned on her. "What about you?" he fired.

"It was a car crash," she said as shortly, steeling herself as she heard the truth from her own lips, but failing to hold back the tear that slipped from one eye.

Malfoy reached a hand out as if to wipe away the tear, but stopped just inches away from her face, his hand suspended in air. This almost act of kindness from him let flow the tears Hermione had kept bottled up so long, and she put her head in her hands, weeping.

Strange emotions played over the usually inscrutable Slytherin's face. After a few moments, he wordlessly got up from his chair and left the library. Hermione started to ask him where he was going, but by the time she could stop her sobs, he was gone.

Classes began the next day. They were in virtually the same classes as the previous year, so the sixth years fell into their routine at once, Hermione more than the others—she went from class to class as if a machine. She'd never managed to finish any of her homework, which surprised her teachers, with the exception of Firenze, who merely raised an eyebrow and seemed to know more than he was told. Professor Snape had been particularly annoyed(as usual), asking if she had an excuse, and when she'd silently shaken her head, taken the first fifty points of the year from Gryffindor, earning her black looks from her classmates and jeers from the Slytherins. For once, though, Malfoy had not taken the opportunity to make fun of her, staring fixedly at the board instead.

The months passed. Soon it was May, and Professor Dumbledore announced the institution of a Farewell Ball, rather like the Yule Ball of the Triwizard Tournament, to be held on the last Friday of the school year. It was meant to be a farewell to the seventh years, but the entire school was allowed to attend until 11, when only the seventh years were permitted, till 1 in the morning.

The morning of the ball dawned dark and stormy, drawing a gloom over the festive proceedings. Still, there was an air of excitement, in the seventh years especially. No work was allowed to be done that day, so games and impromptu Quiddich matches were held instead. The ball began at 7 and was opened by the Head Boy and Girl, who would be leaving this year, followed by the prefects from each house in order of House Points. This year, for the first time in five years, the Slytherins had won by over a hundred points, and the House Cup was presented to them at the end of the ball. Because of this, every Gryffindor winced as they walked into the Great Hall—it was decorated in green and silver, with serpents wherever you looked.

Hermione was obliged to dance with Ron for the first dance, as the sixth year prefects from Gryffindor, but she'd rather not have danced at all. Ron kept staring at her oddly, but since she hadn't really spoken to him much over the year, this wasn't very surprising. After the first song was over, he drew her to a table in the far corner, his eyes full of worry. Everyone around them was dancing or eating, but he lowered his voice anyway.

"Will you please tell me what's wrong?" His voice was laced with anxiety. "You've been distant since Christmas, and you just won't tell us anything! Hermione, we're your friends, you know you can talk to us, so please, 'Mione, talk to me!" His tirade was rather jumbled, but Hermione caught the meaning. She finally realized how much her friends cared, and just as she had months ago in the library, she put her head in her hands and cried.

Draco Malfoy noticed the exchange from his own table, where he sipped a Butterbeer slowly. So, he thought, the Weasel made the mudbl--Granger cry. A strange feeling of outrage rose in him, but he squashed it and instead made an inane comment to Goyle, for which he got an uncomprehending look

Above the dancing students on the teachers' table, Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. The poor girl, he thought. I would have helped her, but I cannot. When Fate and the power of a prophecy take hold of a person, it's best not to interfere, he told himself for the umpteenth time. As he watched the sight in a corner below him, he took some comfort in the fact that she had friends to help her through her depression.

Ron was bewildered when Hermione started to weep in front of him. "H-Hermione?" he stuttered. When she lifted her head, he was amazed at how beautiful she was, even with red eyes and a tear-stained face. She started to speak, but he realized he didn't need to hear it anymore. So he leaned over and kissed her.

Draco left the Great Hall the moment he saw them kiss. It made him suddenly feel sick to his stomach, so he strode out before he did something uncalled for.

Hermione was stunned. For a minute she didn't react, then slowly moved back from Ron's obviously eager kiss. He might have thought it was the right thing to do, but it really wasn't. She'd know Ron had a crush on her for a long time, but she'd thought it wasn't serious. She forced a painful smile. "I—I'm sorry, Ron. I'm sorry I can't really talk to you, and I'm sorry I don't like you the way you like me." She got up and hurried out of the Great Hall, her mind torn in two.

Draco leant against the wall beside the door to the Great Hall, his arms crossed. He'd just decided that it was the Weasel and not Granger that made him nauseous. Yeah, he looks just like a rotten tomato, he thought. Rotten to the core...though tomatoes don't have cores. Then Hermione came through the doors, and he couldn't resist the temptation to call out.

"Well, well, been enjoying yourself, Granger?" He smirked, his trademark gesture.

She turned back, seeing him for the first time. "What do you want, Draco?" she asked with a hitch in her voice, then sniffed.

He was taken aback. She'd called him Draco. Why? She'd never done that before. Ever. But, he reasoned, it was rather like him telling her that his father had died. He still didn't know why he'd been compelled to do so, but it was over and done with. Not knowing what else to do, he retreated into his 'Prince of Slytherin'/arrogant bastard facade and said "The Weasel your new boyfriend, then?"

Hey eyes flashed angrily, displaying the most emotion she'd shown for many months. "Don't you dare call Ron that!" she cried. "And what we do is none of your business." She sniffed again, her recent tears belying her angry tone and stance.

She's pretty when she's angry, said a voice in his head, but the Malfoy in him immediately squashed it. That mudblood? Ha! As if. He ignored both voices and concentrated on Hermione, who was about to speak, instead.

"If you must know," she said haughtily, crossing her arms, "Ron kissed me because he likes me, but I don't like him. Not that way." She stared him in the eye, but mentally berated herself. Idiot! You didn't need to defend yourself!

Malfoy smirked again. "Touchy, are we?"

"Look, Malfoy, I don't need to take this from you." She spun on a heel and walked down the hall, her spring-green dress robes billowing out behind her.

She looks good in that color, he mused absentmindedly, then remembered something. "Hey Granger, this yours?" He pulled a chain with a rather large mirror hanging on it from his pocket as she turned again. Her eyes widened, and she strode back to him, grabbing for it but missing as he pulled it towards him and inspected it. Though he'd had it in his possession for over six months, he'd forgotten about it till a few days ago and hadn't really had a chance to look it over. It was roughly the size of his palm, which was slightly bigger than Hermione's, and the frame seemed to be made of gold with silver runes etched onto it. He gazed into it, seeing nothing but his reflection, and thought, Wonder why Granger wants this so much? Suddenly, as if with his thought, the image in the mirror changed. There was still a boy, obviously Draco, but he was now kissing a girl, whose face was unseen except for her very pink lips. He drew a sharp breath and thrust the mirror towards Hermione.

She was about to speak, but he cut her short. "What is that thing?" he demanded, hands balled into fists; when the mirror had shown him whatever that had been, it had grown suddenly hot.

Hermione hesitated, but decided that telling him would do no harm. After all, they had confided in each other before, and it wouldn't do him any good to tell anyone. "I'm adopted," she began.

His eyebrows flew up, and he started to ask, "What does that have-"

She resumed her explanation. "The mirror is part of my inheritance from my birth-parents. It's been passed down through my pureblood father's family for decades, quite an heirloom." She put only the slightest emphasis on the word pureblood, but it was still noticeable. "It will show you a part of the possible future—not what will happen, but what may happen. Of course, it could show you a possibility twenty-five years from now, or even your death in, say, seventy years."

Malfoy slowly took this in. Veering off the topic, however, he asked curiously, "Who exactly is your father?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink. "Professor Lupin," she confessed. "And before you ask, no, I don't know who my mother is, and no, he doesn't know I know."

Before Malfoy could say anything, students began to emerge from the doors. The clock had just rung 11, and all but the seventh years came out. Even the teachers were leaving. Hermione quickly pulled Malfoy into a small, side corridor and waited till everyone had passed by.

"Don't you dare tell anyone," she hissed.

"Tell anyone what?" Malfoy asked, purposely playing stupid.

"That Professor Lupin is my father, dimwit!" She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Maybe I should modify his memory, just in case..." she mumbled, mostly to herself, but he caught the words.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise." This, coming from the "Prince of Slytherin," struck her as extremely funny, and she could barely contain her giggles. "What?" he said, annoyed.

She shook her head at him and managed to speak. "Nothing," she gasped, and hurried off to the Gryffindor common room.

Sixth year seemed to have gone by fast for everyone but Hermione. The students on the platform for the Hogwarts Express chattered loudly and happily, while Hermione stood off to the side.

When the train arrived, she sat in the Prefects' carriage on her own, not minding the solitude. She was to spend her summer at the Leaky Cauldron, as she had that December week, and she was thankful her unknown mother had been wealthy enough to provide the funds.

Next year will be interesting, thought Hermione forlornly. Though she hadn't been so happy at Hogwarts, it was obviously better than the Leaky Cauldron. But the summer would pass soon enough, she told herself, and meanwhile, she was old enough to venture into Knockturn Alley on her own this year, and there was much of Diagon Alley itself that she hadn't seen.

End of Chapter 2

A/N: There! I think this chapter was longer than the first. This update was quite fast, for me—my other fics are, erm, dead.

Oh, and I'm not putting anything about the summer.  It'll go straight to 7th year, ok?  Also, don't expect anything long soon;)

I want reviews telling me about EVERY SINGLE TEENY-TINY MISTAKE(I believe they're called flames;). Anyway, I LOVE all my reviewers! -hands out cookies-  Okay, I can't remember what else I wanted to put here, so that's all for now!

Sasami Tombo