An invasion of the senses; the calm, musty, leather-bound world she immersed herself in; the indulgent, cool night breeze caressing her face; and the softly flickering glow of the candle – all replaced by an onslaught of sensory anarchy. Her vision obscured, there was a great wall of nothingness before she saw the floor rush up to meet her. The soothing smell of parchment and night air was swallowed by the scent of masculinity infused with sandalwood and a hint of peppermint. She felt a blinding pain in her midriff and the familiar tang of copper in her mouth. She muffled a groan, a dull throb ensnaring her lower back. Her head swam as she blearily opened her eyes, feeling the small enclosed space between the bookshelves close in on her. The candle had been knocked from the table and extinguished. The darkness was suffocating. A single slant of moonlight penetrated the darkened room, casting shadows onto her face.

Someone groaned before her. She could just make out his solid form in the darkness. She squinted, her eyes searching his face through the unprecedented blackness – pale, silver-blonde hair, greying blue eyes, straight, pristine features and chintz skin. It looked almost like . . .

"Malfoy?" she gasped. She pulled herself into a more dignified position, gasping as she watched with sick fascination the slow, steady crimson teardrops oozing from a gash on his forehead. Feeling her eyes trained to the gaping wound, he raised one ghostly hand and, seeing it come back capped with crimson, he let out a small yelp.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he roared into the darkness. His opal eyes combed the blackness in a panic before they finally came to rest on Hermione, who was backed against one of the towering bookcases, her features softly blurred by the small slant of illumination. He shuddered slightly, his thoughts still an unattainable mass circling his throbbing head. She looked almost ethereal, her ghostly bent form shrouded with the one shaft of moonlight breaching the darkened room. He watched transfixed for a second before his head gave a particularly painful throb and the spell was broken. "Granger," he snarled, "what the fuck do you think you're playing at, tackling me to the floor in the middle of the fucking night?!"

"It was an accident," she offered meekly. "Don't be such a baby, Malfoy. Here, let me." She raised her wand, advancing on the wizard still sprawled on the floor a few feet away from her.

He jumped away, repulsed. "Don't you dare touch me! Don't you dare come near me with your filthy fingers; and I can fix it myself, thanks!"

She gulped and dropped back into her crescendo of moonlight, drawing her knees to her chest and feeling ridiculously vulnerable.

He raised his wand and, with a fluid motion, left the skin below white-blonde hairline as pristine and ghostly pale as before. Sensing her fawn eyes watching him through the blackness, he injected the venom once more into his voice. "Granger, it's 2 AM. People with faces like yours shouldn't be allowed to lurk in darkened rooms at this time of night, least of al go charging into innocent bystanders! You could have given me a heart attack, seeing your face looming around darkened corridors," he growled, pulling himself from the floor. He sat back against the bookshelf opposite her whilst carefully removing flecks of dried blood from his hairline. "I can't believe you knocked me over. Ugh!"

"Actually, you walked into me," she stated without much conviction.

He watched her steadily, expecting some witty retort and perhaps a hex to his already marred face, but she simply sat in her pool of moonlight, looking haunting and slightly eerie. Was it his imagination or did the mudblood look slightly more dejected than usual? The shadows on her skin glowed prominently in the silver light, and that look in her eyes – like she hadn't slept for a thousand years – didn't he know that look? Didn't he see it every time he looked in the mirror? 'What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?" he snapped. "Don't tell me you're such a prissy shit that you study in the middle of the night!"

"I happen to be working and, unlike you, I actually have a completely justified reason to be here. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I-I," he stammered. "I was just- I mean, I-"

"Yeah, I thought as much. You wouldn't want me to tell McGonagall about this."

"Yeah, I'm sure that old bat would just love to hear how you're assaulting people in the middle of the night." Then Draco almost did a double take. Did she just – no, he must've mistaken it. Did the mudblood just smile at him? Probably not, but he could have sworn the ghost of a smirk had crossed her face – a small, somewhat sad smile. Well, whatever it was, it was gone in the shadow of a second. He shifted uncomfortably, but she went right back to looking like the incarnation of misery.

Her eyes watched him, remaining unreadable. The small, dark shadows lingering beneath them told him more than her elusive smirk ever could. He shivered a little, perhaps from the harsh breeze from the still ajar window as he noticed, rather unhelpfully, that her eyes – contrary to popular belief – were not brown, but more of a honey-golden colour, flecked with auburn and intoxicated with a slightly darker, deeper chocolate color, which flashed when she turned her head towards the oncoming moonlight.

Muggles and their fucked up genetics, he thought moodily, picking at the last remnants of blood dotting his hairline.

"Well," he said hastily. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I'd rather not be uncouthly assaulted by you again, Granger. I don't know if it's some kind of fucked up muggle mannerism to hurl yourself at the male species whenever they are unwittingly wandering a darkened room, but it's one I do not – under any circumstances – appreciate."

He hastily pulled himself to his feet, eager to vacate the doleful witch and forget this bizarre experience ever happened. What he hadn't accounted for was the floor rushing up to meet him as an unhelpful rush of blood surged to his head. He staggered, knees buckling, and swayed for a second before falling unceremoniously to the position he had vacated seconds before. There it was again, that insufferable little there-and-gone demi-smile that both infuriated him and made something dangerously close to elation stir in his chest. Salazar, save me. This place is really driving me 'round the twist. . . .

Anger boiled within him, and he was rather suddenly struck with the urge to wipe that infuriating, elusive smirk off her filthy face. If he was going to be caged, tormented and driven to the point of insanity, he wanted her – this moon-bathed, filthy creature whose blood status alone ensured she deserved this agony a hell of a lot more than he did – to feel at least a small part of it. He advanced on her, wand raised, the anguish of the last month poised on his tongue.

She drew her own wand dejectedly, not at all alarmed by his inexplicable anger. Perhaps she hit her head when she fell. What did she think she was doing, almost smiling at him? Their faces – never far from her mind – swam before her in the shimmering darkness. The broken, beautiful dead, all lying too soon in the ground because of people like him! Her own anger flared, and any doubts she expressed to Harry vanished. His expression alone told her everything about the darkness within Draco Malfoy.

They both stood, wands raised, while the wind howling through the open window made the hairs on the back of her neck prick up.

"Go on, then," he sneered. "As if you'd dare do anything to me," taunted.

"Oh, let's not pretend we don't both know I could send you crawling back to bed in a million slimy pieces and do my homework at the same time!" she snapped, unfazed.

Laughing bitterly, he flicked his wand threateningly, but made no move to hex her. Something inside him purred with pleasure at seeing the hate boil in Granger's eyes. Merlin, he needed this, needed to make her feel as lowly as she really was, and he didn't need a wand for that. He chose his words carefully, calculatedly, the malice alive in his voice. "Cut the crap, Granger. Shall we just get to the real reason you're here at 2 AM? Let's face it; everybody knows you only swot up so much because you have absolutely fuck all else going for you. It's glaringly, transparently obvious! You're an insufferable, irritating mudblood who looks like some form of deranged beaver, so don't keep up some high and mighty pretense! You just have to fucking prove yourself all the time, don't you? It doesn't fucking work! Everyone can see you're just a pathetic muggle with a few magic tricks, so spare me your bullshit."

She recoiled slightly, but didn't back down. Her eyes blazed. "Oh, I'm pathetic? You're going to question my reasoning for being here? I happen to be working on something a whole lot bigger than school work. What are you doing here, Draco?"

"And don't even get me started on your inferiority. I mean, just look at you! Even Weaselbee won't have you, so why don't you just snap your wand in half now, and go live with the muggles?" He continued his rant, his wand still poised loosely at her chest, watching silkily and drawing his words as his face twisted into an arrogant smile. He could tell his comment on her orange pet had infuriated her, and he resumed the attack. He didn't lose his cool. He'd hit a nerve, and he relished in it. As much as he told himself it was simply because of her blood, annoying, bossy little voice and stuck up personality that was driving him to this argument, he couldn't exactly quell the feeling that it was something else entirely.

Like jealousy, maybe?

He laughed. Why would he be jealous of this jumped-up mudblood?!

Maybe because she has freedom, or maybe because she has choices, a small, niggling voice at the back of his mind chimed most unhelpfully.

"Or is that why you're really here?" he bit back before his turbulent thoughts consumed him once more. "Potty too mighty now, being the chosen one and all, to care for a pathetic muggle like you? Weaselbee too busy fucking Brown senseless to pay you any attention-?"

"Shut up! Shut the hell up, Malfoy!" she roared, her face reddening.

He laughed victoriously, knowing he had defiantly hit a nerve, and persisted with the obviously sensitive topic of the feckless morons she evidently loved so much. "I doubt Weasel and The Infamous Orphan ever gave a fuck, really. I mean, Weasley would actually need brain cells to care about anything, and Potty's too busy having his hero complex to really pay you much attention. In fact, I doubt they're even going to be bothered when the Dark Lord finally fives you what's been coming your way for a long time, Granger."

"YOU'RE PATHETIC, JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER!" the thunderstruck witch roared. "You skulk around here at night, trying to pick a fight, because you think maybe you can do something to finally make daddy proud—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT MY FATHER, YOU JUMPED-UP LITTLE—"

"WELL, GUESS WHAT, DRACO! YOU'RE A FAILURE, JUST LIKE HIM; JUST LOOK AT YOU!"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" His blood raged within him. She was finally saying it, the thing he feared, yet had wanted her to say so badly. The word haunted him, cleaving his head in two and echoing dully around his mind. Failure . . . .

Failure. . . .

"You're a wreck, Malfoy. Everything about you screams it. You want to talk about transparency? I can see right through you—"

"I SWEAR TO GOD, GRANGER, ONE MORE FUCKING WORD!"

"You're vile. You repulse me, but you know what I think? I think, most of all, you repulse yourself."

She was pinned against the wall before she could even cry out. His hand was on her wrist, nails dragging across the fragile skin there, and his eyes were blazing. "I warned you, Granger. I warned you to shut the hell up!" His voice was a venomous, low and dangerous snarl.

"Get the hell off me!" she cried, trying desperately to wrench her arm from his vice-like grip.

"Twitchy little mudblood, going to get what you deserve." He reached for his wand and, in his moment of distraction, she tore her wrist from his grip and sent him hurtling into the polished oak bookshelf, large dusty volumes crashing down around him.

"Don't you ever," she advanced on him dangerously, barely suppressed rage tearing at her throat, "touch me again."

He sent a flash of scarlet light hurtling mercilessly at her. She was too quick for him and, deflecting it easily, her mouth pulled into a cold sneer – a cruel parody of the elusive demi-smile he had almost witnessed earlier. Keeping her wand hand steady, the festering rage that had been brewing with her these past few days surged to the surface. What she'd give to turn the arrogant, vile, evil piece of filth crawling back to his room in a thousand pieces. The faces of the deceased, never far from her mind, seemed to quiver in the air around her like static. She turned her eyes down to where he was still lying on the floor, fully expecting to see his wand spewing sparks and his mouth in a cruel line.

He watched her steadily as though calculating her movements, something bizarrely like relief flashing in his eyes at the witch's blazing fury.

She lowered her wand slightly, taking in his dejected, pitiful appearance.

"WHAT?" he exploded, cutting the eerie stillness descending upon them," YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING? HIT ME AGAIN? CURSE ME? GO ON, I FUCKING DARE YOU, GO ON!"

Her wand wavered slightly, and then fell as she eyed him sadly. "Malfoy, what—"

"FUCKING GO ON, GRANGER, HIT ME! COME ON, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT?!" he roared.

"Malfoy, I'm not going to hit you," she replied, aghast.

His heart thundered. Couldn't she see he needed this? He couldn't – wouldn't – explain to himself why, but Salazar, he needed this. He needed to feel her rage, her fire. He needed to be consumed by hear and hatred. He wanted to be burned. He couldn't explain it, even to himself, but in that moment, he wanted her to hurt him so badly. His blood coursed through him, intoxicated by her heat, like electricity, or the charge at the heart of a storm. Her fury was touching him like nothing else ever had, ensnaring him until all he could feel was delicious, white-hot emotion. After feeling so dead for so long, he wanted her pain more than anything in the world. She hated him, and finally, the thing at the back of his mind Pansy has only scratched the surface of this morning broke like a dam. He could feel. She hated him, and he felt it, and it made him lose control. The crescendo – the eye of the inferno – it embraced hi, consumed him. The darkness was broken, leaving something white-hot in its place.

Hermione watched him, aghast. "I'm not going to hit you," she repeated faintly. Whatever darkness she felt inside her, this wasn't chasing it away. The inexplicable truth was she didn't want to hurt him. She just couldn't bring herself to when he looked at her with those pain-smeared eyes. The fight had gone out of him and left him at her feet, at her mercy, with an expression horribly like passion – like need. She didn't know what he was feeling – didn't know what had broken Draco Malfoy and reduced him to this, but she wouldn't hurt him.

She knew his expression all too well. He welcomed her pain, because it was the only thing that could make him feel. The only way he could release the hatred and the pain within him. She knew it too well, because it haunted her reflection so perfectly. And that scared her more than anything she had seen tonight. And it told her something; war. That's what it told her. This was war, just as much as the broken, bloody bodies imprinted on her soul affirmed it. She was, once again, seeing the evidence of the ebbing tide of war before her.

One more broken soul.

She eyed him carefully one last time, seeing her own shrouded pain in his silver-blue eyes. She turned abruptly and ran from the room, not quite breaking down, but not quite holding it together either. She ran for what felt like a long time, but it was only a matter of minutes, back through the dark labyrinth of the decrepit old school.

He just breathed. Laid there and breathed for a long time, his thoughts a jumbled mess and his eyes burning. A faraway noise brought him back to himself, and he, too, headed back to his bed. The brunette's running footsteps long since ghosts in the still, silent halls.


a/n: Hello my lovelies! I am so sorry this has taken so long to upload! Gah, I am so so sorry! Please forgive me! I've just been so busy, college started last week and I already have mountains of work and I've just had a total block towards this chapter. I'm still not happy with it but I had to update at some point so here, it's terrible I know! I'm typing away from a college computer so forgive me for any spelling mistakes in this as they appear to not have a spell check. Wtf right? Anyway praying no one's been reading this over my shoulder, and I must say a massive thank you to my lovely beta who is just beyond amazing! I promise to have my next chapter up in two weeks, honestly, cross my heart! Anyway bells about to go so got to run, thanks for your continued support

THBH x