Hey, I've decided to extend this into a 3 chapter ficlet – but I am warning you, it might not have a happy ending. As much as I love Dramione, I seem to have an aversion to writing out of canon… Possibly my loyalty to Ron/Hermione kicking in (check out my 'Missing Moments' series!). This chapter might be a little dark… but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Rated T for language and attempted assault.

Draco had really had enough of school now. In his opinion, the end of his final year couldn't come soon enough. Things just weren't the same as they used to be. Many of his friends had not returned to Hogwarts; the Slytherin common room was pretty empty these days, and he was usually bored as a result.

Many of the children of the Death Eaters who had been killed in battle or sent to Azkaban did not want to return to school. He understood how they felt; the social stigma to being a Death Eater's child was pretty bad; mix in the grief of losing said parent and the confusion over how much of what you had been brought up with was brainwashing and how much was truth, and hey presto; you have a lot of reclusive teenagers.

The only reason he had returned to school was because he was determined not to hide away. He may be many things, but ashamed was not one of them. In his opinion, he had been through more in the war than many on the 'right' side; he had served his sentence and taken his punishment. If everyone else wanted to hate him, fine. He didn't care.

That didn't stop the fact that Hogwarts was a lonely place for him now. Zabini had returned with him, but Pansy and Goyle had both decided against coming back – and obviously Crabbe was now dead. He spent a lot of time on his own nowadays. It didn't bother him particularly, he wasn't exactly the 'pally' type, but it had been nice to be surrounded by like-minded people. The problem was now many Slytherin's didn't know their mind at all. Some still believed the Dark Lord's mantra, others were in a confused state of flicking between the two sides, and still others were now saying they'd never believed what Voldemort had said, but hadn't wanted to tell anyone. His home away from home now felt more like a refugee camp.

Draco wandered through the streets of Hogsmeade alone. It was a chilly Saturday afternoon in late November, and he had gone to Hogsmeade mainly to kill time. There was nothing going on in the castle at all, and he had wanted something to do.

He walked down the main street and passed many students from the other three houses, who would either look away or sneer at him as he walked past. He would glare right back at them defiantly, as if daring them to challenge him. He wouldn't be judged by anyone who hadn't walked in his shoes.

He had been to Honeydukes, Zonkos and was contemplating going to the local bookshop. He was beginning to regret coming at all; the shopkeeper in Honeydukes had sold him his bag of fizzing whizbees as if she was serving a mountain troll. He was fed up. The idea of visiting the bookshop appealed to him. It was quiet and dimly lit, with plenty of alcoves to sneak into and hide behind a book. He could get out of the cold and kill some time without being regarded with disgust by everyone around him. He strode briskly towards the door and pushed it open, welcoming the rush of warm air that hit him in the face.

As he had suspected there were not many people in the shop, and he managed to get in without being noticed. He went to the back corner, the 'Magical History' section, where the dustiness reflected that this was probably the least visited area. Good, he thought to himself, satisfied. He was just in the process of selecting a particularly large book from the shelf to hide behind, when he saw a familiar bushy haired head buried in a book in the 'Dark Magic' section.

His breath caught. That feeling was back again, making him tingle all over. Of course she'd be here, her and her bloody books. Fuck, he thought. He'd been trying to avoid one and one situations with her all year, in case she tried to ask him about his behaviour in the manor; the way he saw it, there would be no way that conversation could go well for him.

'Why didn't you stop her, Malfoy?! You were right there when she was torturing me!'

Or, worse;

'Why did you try and stall her, Malfoy, I know that you recognised us. Why did you care if we lived or died?'

He didn't know the answers to either of these questions, and he often lay awake at night thinking about it; hearing the echoes of her tortured screams. It turns out Draco was very unlike his aunt; he did not have the stomach to watch torture, he had seen a lot of hapless people tortured in his manor, and many murdered afterwards, and had cringed every time. However, the vision of her torture had stuck with him like no other. He had told himself that it was because he personally knew her, even if only as an enemy, he still knew her – and it was hard to watch someone you were so familiar with in a situation like that.

Whatever you say, sneered a sarcastic voice in his head, the voice he'd been blocking out since that night in the hospital wing.

Why did she have to be there!? He hated the way he felt whenever she turned up; he felt so… out of control. It was like his loathing of her made him incapable of proper thought. He wished she'd just piss off and leave him alone. He wished she'd be out of his sight for ever. He wished it wasn't all so fucking confusing!

He took a book off the shelf and pretended to read it, staring at her over the top of it. She took another couple of books off the shelf and went and sat in one of the squishy armchairs that the shop had tactfully put in the corners. He watched her as she opened a new book; she flipped through the pages, looking almost feverish with excitement. He rolled his eyes, what a swot. She started reading, almost voraciously. Her face was slightly too close to the pages and her big, brown eyes moved from side to side at a rapid pace.

She really was nauseating, he thought in irritation, but was for some reason unable to draw his eyes away. She kept blowing stray curls out of her eyes, not wanting to let go of the book to put the locks behind her ears. Just bloody do your hair in the morning, he thought to himself exasperatedly, then I wouldn't have to look at your stupid 'dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards' hairdo every day. Honestly, sometimes he just wanted to go over to her, and run his hands through it, just to untangle it, so he wouldn't have to stare at the mess all the time. He wouldn't have to watch those plump, pink lips blowing the ringlets out of her face. Perhaps if her hair was sorted out, he wouldn't be drawn to staring at her so much.

She took two of the books to the till with her purse ready. The witch on the desk greeted her cheerfully, almost lovingly, staring at her with admiration. It was a stark difference to the treatment he got. The hate coursed through him with renewed passion. The witch carefully wrapped her books in brown paper, and handed them over to her.

'Four galleons, please, dear.' She asked, almost nervously.

Hermione looked confused.

'It says they're four galleons each…'

'Oh, yes, but… not for you, Miss Granger.' Replied the witch, almost as if talking to a celebrity.

'You don't have to do that…'

'Nonsense, four galleons – I won't take a knut more!'

'Well… alright.' Said Hermione, grudgingly, handing over the money.

Draco sneered at her from his hidden alcove, Little Miss Perfect.

She left the shop, and Draco suddenly found himself following her, and he couldn't stop himself. It was as if his body was attached to hers by a piece of string, and there was nothing his mind could do about him being led away.

What are you doing!? He inwardly screamed at his traitorous body. How is she doing this to you!?

He exited the shop, and saw her a little way down the street. He started off in her direction, unable to tell himself why. She wandered towards the edge of the Hog's Head and stopped, so he did the same – maintaining a safe distance so she wouldn't notice him. He absently wondered where Potter and Granger's boyfriend Weasley were. Urgh. Thankfully Granger and the Weasel didn't seem to engage in many public displays of affection, but whenever he saw them holding hands, or if she gave him a peck on the cheek, he would feel positively nauseous with disgust. He assumed they had probably gone for a drink in the three broomsticks while she went book shopping.

She had stopped, and was standing at the corner of the Hog's Head, rustling in a little beaded bag. The wind picked up and blew the hair out of her face, and he saw her lips pursed in concentration, as her arm disappeared impossibly far into the tiny bag.

Suddenly, a throng of students walked in his field of vision, and he lost sight of her. When they cleared… there was absolutely no sign of her. Draco's eyes narrowed in confusion. Just as he was wondering how the Hell that had happened, he swore he heard a shriek. A shriek that took him back to the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Something felt off… he couldn't explain it. The logical part of his brain was telling him she had probably just ducked into the Hog's Head, but a more animalistic part of him could sense that something bad had happened.

'Shit.' He murmured in frustration under his breath, hating himself for what he was about to do. He walked towards the Hog's Head to investigate, reminding himself horribly of Potter and Weasley. First though, he made sure he wasn't going to make a fool of himself by taking a good look through the Hog's Head Window… She's not there. He went over to the corner where she had been standing, right next to a back alley that lead to the lesser visited part of Hogsmeade; the thick, dark woodland behind the Shrieking Shack. He peered down the dim alleyway; and could see nothing out of the ordinary. He frowned with confusion. Just as he was about to give up, berating himself for being such a bloody idiot, he saw something odd in the distance.

Where the path towards the Shrieking Shack met the scrubby grass of the woodland, about a hundred metres away, the shrubs were moving of their own accord, as if someone invisible was trudging through them.

'Oh fuck.' Exclaimed Draco under his breath, not liking how this was looking.

Just leave it! The Slytherin part of his brain was yelling at him. You're too far away to see properly, it could just be the wind, or an animal! Even if it is her, what do you care?! What is WRONG with you!?

He growled in frustration, but already knew what he was going to do. He drew his wand, and ran up the path towards the woodland.

By the time he got there, there was no sign of any movement in the underbrush. He swore again under his breath, feeling like a sodding imbecile, but trudged in a little deeper, just to be sure.

He continued to edge through the woodland, feeling disgusted at the state his new dragon hide shoes were getting into, and furious at himself for even allowing himself end up here. He would not let himself consider the reasons why. Just then, his internal grumbling was interrupted by the snap of a twig… and possibly, although it was so quiet he barely heard it, a whimper.

His heartbeat started to race. He had been right, something had happened to her. Oh bollocks, this was bad. What the hell was he going to do?

Of course, his body was taking him towards the source of the sound before his mind really had a chance to decide. His breath hitched. He couldn't hear anything, and the light wasn't good in the woodland. This is insane! Go back, you idiot!

'Please! Please don't!' Someone sobbed, and he recognised the voice, he knew it was her.

What the Hell was going on!? Where was she!? The voice sounded nearby, but he couldn't see anyone in amongst the thick trees and untamed shrubs. They must be magically concealed, he realised with dread… which means they might be able to see him. He took out his wand and non-verbally cast a disillusionment spell on himself, hoping against hope he wasn't too late.

'You really think begging's going to do you any good, Mudblood?' Said a leering, menacing voice.

Shit… Draco recognised that voice… it was sickeningly familiar… it was his Uncle Rodolphus.

He had escaped during the round-up of the Death Eaters and had not been seen since. His wife, Bellatrix, had refused to stand down, such was her loyalty to Voldemort, and had been taken to Azkaban for it, but Rodolphus had valued his own skin more, and ran.

'W… what do you want?' Granger said through frightened tears.

'Oh, well… I think you got off too easy in the battle, my dear,' sneered the disembodied voice, 'thought my side ought to take something from you for all the trouble you've caused. Everyone knows Potter would have got nowhere without you. Do you know what I've had to do to avoid being thrown in Azkaban, Mudblood? I am a Lestrange, a pureblood, reduced to concealing myself and sneaking around, stealing food to get by… these things are… unbecoming… to a man of my stature. I've been looking forward to getting my hands on one of those responsible, and I so hoped it would be you. It appears I was in luck, my pretty.'

Oh Hell, this sounded bad. He hoped against hope it wasn't going where he thought it was. He had to do something… but he couldn't see where they were! Shit, shit, shit.

'Leave me alone!' She yelled, and Draco heard the bravery in that voice, 'You let go now! I won't let you do...'

There was a loud SMACK, Granger squeaked with shock and pain. It sounded like she'd just been slapped.

'Next time you answer back to me, it's the Cruciatus curse, my dear!'

Draco edged closer towards the sound of the voices, trying desperately to make no noise in the undergrowth; he thought he knew where they were, but he had no idea what to do about it. He couldn't duel Rodolphus Lestrange! And if his uncle heard something, he would most likely disapparate somewhere with Hermione and then she'd be lost for good. If he could only see them, maybe he could think clearer… what spell would make them visible without Rodolphus knowing?

'Now… how shall I begin this?' Said Rodolphus greasily, with the air of someone who is deciding which part of a delicious meal they should eat first.

Fuck. There was no doubt in Draco's mind now. He was going to rape her. He'd seen him do it to others.

There was a rustling sound that sounded horribly like someone removing a cloak. Draco was feeling sick. He was getting desperate now, what could he do!?

Suddenly there was a dull thud that sounded like punch and a cry of pain – a male cry. Something crumpled to the floor, and something else took off into the woods. It sounded like Rodolphus had just been kicked in the balls, and Hermione had ran off into the woods. Inexplicably, Draco felt a surge of pride for the Gryffindor golden girl. Maybe he wouldn't have to get involved at all.

'You bitch!' Yelled Rodolphus, pointing his wand in the direction she had ran, 'Homenum revelio!'

Hermione became visible, Draco could see her running off in the near distance, and he cursed inwardly that she hadn't managed to get away.

'Well well, my pretty, if that's the way you want to play it… Crucio!' Rodolphus' extremely well aimed curse hit its mark, and the forest was suddenly alight with her screams. Draco fought off the urge to curl into a ball and cover his ears. He had never wanted to hear that sound again. Think, dammit! Oh Merlin, oh fuck, help me, help me…

The Slytherin in him was assessing the situation; he couldn't just curse the invisible Rodolphus, what if he missed, and gave away his position? Then he'd have no hope of helping her. He couldn't think clearly; her screams were making him want to vomit… those screams of terror and agony were fuel for nightmares for the rest of his life.

'That's enough,' said Rodolphus, there was a sick satisfaction in his voice. Draco could see the crumpled form of Hermione quite nearby. Her breathing was broken and ragged. 'So, I can see you're not going to take this lying down.' He chuckled darkly, 'I do like them feisty… but enough messing around… Imperio.'

Oh shit. This was really happening. If he, Draco Malfoy, didn't stop being an idiotic coward, standing there stock still behind a tree, he was going to witness the rape of Hermione Granger. He had never been particularly brave, or good at thinking in a crisis. For the first time in his life, he wished he was a Gryffindor.

'Now then, Granger, tell me… are you a virgin?'

Draco stopped breathing; hoping for her sake that she wasn't, and hoping for his sake that she was.

'Y…y…yes!' Was the answer that felt dragged from her. She was fighting. Merlin, she was strong.

Something snapped within Draco then, and the fear was broken. He felt anger filling him; was he really going to let Rodolphus violate perfectly pure Hermione Granger? No, he was not that much of a coward. He started to edge forward, towards the visible Hermione.

'Good,' said Rodolphus, sounding appallingly pleased, 'Now take off your clothes… all of them.'

Hermione was crying, and she began to undress herself with odd, jerking movements, fighting the curse with all she had.

As Draco edged closer, he could finally see the outline of Rodolphus, blending in perfectly with the surroundings. Hermione was now in her skirt, blouse and socks. Her hands were fumbling over her blouse buttons. Fury like Draco had never known coursed through him. With cool calculation, he pointed his wand towards Rodolphus, and began to edge out to a clearing where no trees would be in his way.

'Too slow!' Rodolphus yelled at Hermione, 'Diffindo!'

Hermione squealed as her remaining clothes were sliced down the middle.

'Crucio!' Cried Rodolphus again, and Draco could almost hear the sick smile on his face as Hermione writhed in agony in her shredded clothes.

He finally had a clear shot through the thick trees.

'Stupefy!' Cried Draco.

He hit his target straight in the chest and Rodolphus crumpled to the ground. Hermione finally stopped screaming.

'Incarcerous' he snarled, binding up Rodolphus as tight as he could. It had taken all the strength he could muster to not use the killing curse.

Hermione was sobbing in a crumpled heap on the floor, looking blindly at what must have been Draco's blurry outline under the disillusionment charm.

'Who… who's there?' She asked shakily.

He contemplated just leaving, so that she'd never know who'd saved her life and he wouldn't have to deal with her telling him she was right about him all along… but he couldn't. For some reason, he couldn't just leave her crying and scared and half naked in the woodland. Although a big part of him was saying he'd done more than his bit, and she should be able to take it from here, he just couldn't. Additionally, a tiny tiny part of him, the little part that didn't really loathe her, wanted her to know he had saved her life. Just so she knew that she was in his debt… yes, that was the reason why.

He sighed and removed the disillusionment charm.

Hermione's eyes widened when she saw him, and tried desperately to cover herself with her shredded clothing.

'Malfoy!?'

'Yeah, it's me.' He said tiredly, running a hand through his hair.

'You… you saved me?'

'Guess I did…' He said, almost bitterly. Oh Damn, why did she have to believe in the good in everyone? Couldn't she just tell him to piss off and then never speak to him again?

She was looking at him with those big, brown, trusting eyes, and he couldn't look away. Her hair was even wilder than usual, and her cheeks were glistening with tear tracks.

'Fuck, Granger,' he mumbled, looking away from her quickly as he noticed her bra had been sliced down the middle through her shirt, 'Reparo.'

She flushed scarlet, as her clothes stitched themselves back together.

'Th…thank you… can you get me my wand?'

'Why not…' he said sarcastically, but without malice, 'apparently we're best friends now.'

He pointed his wand at Rodolphus' lifeless form, 'Expelliarmus.'

Two wands flew towards him, and he threw Hermione's back to her.

She looked at him, a tiny smile on her lips.

'Oh, please don't start, Granger.' He said wearily. He didn't want to think about all the implications of everything he'd just done. He never wanted to think about it.

'Malfoy…' she said timidly from her position on the ground.

'What?' He said listlessly, fighting the urge to curl up on the ground with his head in his hands.

'C…can you help me get back to the village? I don't think I can stand… or apparate.'

He sighed impatiently, '… fine.'

He pulled her up from her crumpled heap on the ground, and slung an arm around her waist, trying desperately not to notice how warm and comfortable she felt to hold. He pictured the centre of Hogsmeade and began to twist on the spot.

They landed in a crumpled heap in the middle of the crowded street, and much to Draco's dismay, Potter and Weasley just happened to be pretty nearby. They had heard the apparition crack and noticed Granger on the ground, and were running their way.

'Bloody Hell! Hermione! We've been looking everywhere for….' Came Weasley's voice, before changing to a snarl 'Malfoy!'

'Ron, it's ok… he's just saved my life!'

'What?!'

Malfoy groaned. 'Alright, alright… I need to go. I can't be bothered with this.' He started to stride off, eager to get as far away from this whole thing as possible.

'And tell someone that Rodolphus Lestrange is unconscious and tied up in the woods, would you?'

Potter and Weasley looked at him, astounded.

He headed into the Hogs Head for a much needed strong firewhiskey. As he sat there, considering everything that had just happened, he reached one conclusion; it seemed he didn't hate Hermione Granger.

Shit.