Please stop ignoring my letters. I miss my son. Your father misses you too. We want you to come home.

I crumple the letter and look glumly at the mountains of roast turkeys, potatoes, chipolatas, and Christmas cake in front of me. There are more people than I expected staying for the holidays; two whole tables are filled with students. Hermione's here too, a sulking Boot sitting down from her on one of the benches. I'd heard rumors that she'd told him she didn't like that he never took her seriously and never cared about what she wanted to say, and that she'd dumped him. I'd also heard that he'd dumped her because she wouldn't go to bed with him, but, judging by the look on his face, I'm inclined to believe the former.

I push my plate away and head for the library. It's become sort of a safe haven for me, better than my cold, dark dormitory. I sit in a corner in a soft chair and do homework or read books on alchemy, which is quickly becoming an interesting hobby.

The clock in the hall is chiming 2:00 when I start hearing an odd whimpering. I put my book down and listen; it seems to be coming from the opposite side of the room. Then a scream pierces through my chest, and I''m suddenly back in Malfoy Manor. I know that scream.

Hermione is sprawled in a chair, her body contorted, tears streaming down her face. "No, please. Please stop. Please."

I instantly start shaking her. "Hermione, wake up. Wake up!"

She clings to me, her eyes out of focus. "Where's Draco? I have to help him!"

What? "I'm right here. What are you talk-" Then I realize she's not fully awake yet. She's still in the nightmare. "Hermione, wake up! Wake up now!"

She sits up straight, still clinging to my arms, but more alert. She looks around the room, her brow knitted. "What happened?"

"You were having a nightmare. You said you needed to help me."

She turns bright crimson as she releases me. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Her scream is still echoing in my ears. "Are you...you all right now?"

She nods, so I get up to go back to my corner. Before I take a step, she speaks, her voice quiet, hesitant. "Draco?"

I turn back. "Yeah?"

"Would you...would you mind if I talked to you about it? It helped loads last time."

I hesitate.

"Please?"

She has that look again. I sigh and take the seat across from her. "Go ahead."

"I've had at least one nightmare every night since the war ended. At first, it was mostly about my torture, or Greyback and what he would do to me. Those were bad enough. Then the nightmares started morphing and I wasn't being the one hurt anymore. It became Ron, or Harry, or Neville. My parents. The Weasleys. Professor Lupin. Lately, it's been you."

"Why?" The question is out before I can stop it.

She shrugs and I catch a glimpse of Mudblood as her sleeve pulls up. My breath instantly catches in my throat. "I don't know. Maybe because I've been worrying about you. You look even more ill than I do."

"I'm fine," I reply automatically.

"You're lying."

"I am not!"

She leans forward, reaches her hand out to touch my arm. "Please talk to me."

I jerk back immediately as her fingers brush the Mark, bracing myself for the inevitable burn. It doesn't come. "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry." And she does look sorry. "Please talk to me. It might help you."

I'm already out of my seat, backing away. "I'm fine. I don't need you help. I'm fine."

But her scream is still echoing in my ears long after I'm gone.


The fire is spreading fast; I don't know if we're going to make it out in time.

"Draco!"

I look down. Hermione's holding her arm up, struggling to keep her balance on a teetering pile of junk. "Help me!"

I reach, but our hands slide apart. "Hold on!" I yell, vigorously wiping my hand on my pants as I fly back around. This time we connect, and I pull her from the pile. "I've got you!"

"Draco!"

I feel her fingers slipping and try to grip tighter, to no avail. "Hermione!" I yell as she topples into the fire. "No!"

"You killed her." Potter is suddenly floating in front of me.

"No!" I yell again, frantically searching the flames for her. "Hermione!"

"You killed her, Draco!"

"Draco! Draco, wake up!"

I shoot upwards, my heart pounding out of my chest. I look around frantically, but the flames are gone.

"You were having a nightmare." Hermione's standing above me. "Are you ready to talk yet?"

"It's not big deal," I reply, forcing my breathing to slow. "Just a stupid dream."

"You are either going to talk to me now, or I'm going to lock your legs so you can't move until you talk."

I look down at my legs, then back up at her. "You wouldn't dare."

She crosses her arms. "Do you want to take that risk?"

I glare at her, but she glares right back. She's serious. Neither of us is backing down from this. Finally, I sigh. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Why weren't you on the train at the beginning of the term?"

I sigh again. "Because I was already here."

"Why?"

"Because my father disowned me."

Her jaw drops. "Why?"

"Why do you think? I'm a blood traitor. I Stunned two Death Eaters during the battle. I raised my wand to Stun Aunt Bellatrix so she wouldn't kill you and Longbottom. I killed Greyback, one of the top Death Eaters, to save a Mudblood."

"But you didn't kill Greyback."

I laugh bitterly. "Well, that's not what my father heard. He sent me a letter at the beginning of the term telling me how disappointing I am, and how I'm weak and a coward, and how he wishes I would have died instead of Crabbe and Goyle because, quote, 'they were stupid, but at least they were loyal,' end quote."

"Oh, Draco."

I can't stand the pity in her eyes. "Anything else?"

"Why did you defend me? With Greyback, I mean."

"I owed you. You saved me in the fire and from Yaxley."

She leans forward, her gaze penetrating my skull. "Would you have killed him?"

I cradle my head in my hands, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know. I wanted to."

"Really?"

"I hated him. I hated all of them." I realize my slip before she can answer and push myself off the chair. "I have to go."

"Draco."

But I don't turn around.


The nightmares go away for a little while, but are back full force by February. I don't understand it.

"It's probably stress," Madam Pomfrey tells me as she hands me a Sleeping Draught. "You aren't the only person who's needed something for sleep and anxiety."

I turn to go, but she stops me. "This is not going to become a habit. You need to talk. That is what's been helping, correct?"

I don't answer. She's right about the stress; we're only three months away from N.E.W.T.s now. Our professors have been giving us loads of classroom work, mostly in pairs. Of course, nobody wants to pair with me, so, as usual, Hermione steps in.

"Nobody seems bothered by the war anymore," Hermione says one night as she transfigures a dinner plate into a mushroom. "It's like they all forgot what happened."

"Well, most of them weren't tortured by a maniac or forced to watch countless people tortured and killed," I reply flippantly, focusing on transfiguring my teapot into a tortoise.

"Is that why you defected?"

"What?" I spin around to face her, dimly aware of my teapot crashing to the floor.

"Reparo." She sets the teapot on the table between us. "Did watching countless people be tortured and killed make you defect?"

"Why do you care so much?"

My tone is harsh, and I wait for her eyes to well up, but they don't. "Why didn't you tell your father? You knew it was me. Why did you pretend you didn't know us?"

I turn away, tapping the teapot with my wand. Nothing happens.

"Draco?"

"What?" I snap, facing her. The teapot teeters again, but she catches it before it falls.

"I'm waiting for an answer."

"You aren't getting one."

"Locomotor Mortis."

I lose my balance as my knees lock together, but manage to brace myself against the table, shooting her the nastiest look I can muster. "I hate you right now."

"I could have used a full-body bind."

"I still hate you."

"So I have heard. I'm waiting."

"Being a Death Eater isn't as great as I thought it would be, okay?" I snap. "You thought I was cruel here? You thought I reveled in the pain of others here? It was nothing compared to what they did. Use the Cruciatus Curse on every non-Pureblood you come across? Fine. Kill someone you know who's in front of you begging for their life? Not a problem. Hunt children with the express purpose of turning them into werewolves and recruiting them? Carefully cut people's fingers off with a tiny silver knife? Force people to harm their own family members?"

My voice is getting higher and higher. "I'm not like them. I'm a bully. I'm a mean person. But I didn't want to torture people. I did it; I enjoyed it. At first. But their screams haunted me. I never murdered anyone. I was too much of a coward. They talked all the time about what they wanted to do to Harry Potter and his friends. Especially what they wanted to do to Mudblood Granger. Potter was the Dark Lord's toy to play with, but the Mudblood? Everyone could have a piece of her. I couldn't allow it. I didn't want the screams of people I knew haunting my dreams."

My legs unlock and I pitch forward, putting my arms out to brace my fall. Arms wrap around me, carefully helping me to the floor as my whole body shakes. I bury my head in my hands and sob as the arms release me. The presence is still there on the floor next to me, but it's not saying anything or touching me. When my sobs give way to shuddering gasps, a handkerchief appears. I mop my face, blow my nose, take a deep breath.

"I don't think you're going to have nightmares anymore."

I snort. "No, you seem pretty intent on that one."

She smiles. "One of us has to be."

"Why? After everything, why do you care?"

She looks thoughtfully past me. "I don't know."

"Do I have to lock your legs too?"

She laughs, a real laugh, for the first time since the term started. "I honestly don't know. I just do."

The nightmares do go away, which is good, because we have very little time left to study for exams. Hermione and I spent every evening sitting in the library working through piles of notes or in am empty classroom practicing spells. We talk too, when we need a break. A little about the war, a lot about our classes and other students. Nothing earth-shattering, but it's civil.

It isn't until the week before the N.E.W.T.s start that Hermione asks a more serious question. "Why did you hate me so much? Was it just because I'm Muggleborn?"

I put down my quill, taking a deep breath. "That's a complicated question."

She smiles. "I tend to like complicated answers."

"I had never met a Muggleborn until I came here. My parents had always taught me that Muggleborns were inferior and dirty, that they had stolen magic from Purebloods, and that they would never be as good at anything as we are. You know."

She nods.

"I honestly didn't have a problem with you when we first started school. I actually felt bad for you because you were alone and Potter and Weasley and the others teased you. Then when I saw how smart you were in classes, I was happy that someone could compete with me on the same level. My friends weren't good in every subject like we were, or good in anything really. You knew Crabbe and Goyle."

She smiles. "Then you found out I was a Muggleborn."

"Yes." I take a breath, ready to rant. "There was actually a list of all the Muggleborns in the school in the Slytherin Common Room. I didn't believe you were one at first because you were so kind and intelligent, but then you said you were in class. That was hard for me. I had to keep up appearances; my father would know if I left you alone. My friends would abandon me. The Death Eaters would never accept me. That was a real worry back then, before I found out exactly what they were. It was easy to be nasty to others, but you were so bloody nice. It got easier after you started hanging around Potter and Weasley. I despise them; I still do. I always had more of a problem with them; they were so bloody arrogant. It got even easier when my father abused me because 'the Mudblood is beating you in classes, Draco. That's unacceptable.' and when my friends were goading me into being nasty. I shut down the part of myself that had any ounce of compassion and made myself enjoy the pain. It's easy to hate a group of people you've never met. It's hard when you know them and when they're kind to you."

"'It's easy to hate a group of people you've never met. It's hard when you know them and when they're kind to you,'" Hermione repeats softly. "Maybe that's the key to ending hatred."

"I don't think we'll truly ever extinguish hatred."

She shakes her head. "A sad, but true fact. You know, even with as nasty as you were to me, I don't think I ever truly allowed myself to hate you."

"Why not?"

"I just couldn't." She bites her lip. "Remember when we talked about being in the foreground versus being in the background?"

"Yes."

"Being Harry Potter's best friend was really lonely. People tolerated me because of him, but, besides Neville, nobody really tried to get to know me. When Ron and I bickered, Harry took his side. It was always two against one. And Ron could be as mean as you were sometimes. I don't know. I sensed that same loneliness in you that I was dealing with."

"I was drunk on power. I had everyone in my House at my feet, ready to do what I wanted. I could ruin anyone's day with just one word. Professors were afraid to cross me. My father even told me he was proud of me a few times, that I was a good son. Obviously that opinion has changed now. By the sixth year, though...that was lonely. My father was disgraced, so it was my job to save the family honor or get all of us killed. I bragged about my mission, but the stress of it nearly killed me. Nobody could possibly understand that."

"When Harry first accused you of being a Death Eater, I denied it for a long time. But you looked so ill and so scared that I knew something had gone horribly wrong."

"I saw you watching me. I couldn't take the pity I saw in your eyes. I wanted to lash out at you, but a small part of me appreciated that anyone even noticed how much pain I was in."

She smiles a little. "There weren't many other things to notice. Harry and I were fighting, especially after he nearly killed you, and I was trying to avoid watching Ron snog Lavender all over the school."

I make a face. Weasley snogging was always a revolting display. "For someone who claimed to love you during the war, he was a massive prat."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

My curiosity is piqued. "What?"

"He admitted that one of the reasons he hated you so much was that he felt threatened by you." She ducks her head, her cheeks reddening. "He found out that I fancied you our first year and he was worried I would go off with you."

I was not expecting that revelation. "You fancied me?"

She nods, her cheeks getting even redder. "I thought you were really attractive. Plus, like you said, we were comparable in intelligence. Though I suppose some of the Ravenclaws would have been too, had they ever bothered to look my way."

I'm not sure how to respond to that.

She seems to understand, and jumps a bit when she looks toward the window. "Merlin, the sun is rising!"

I look too, at the red reflecting off the windows. "I suppose we stayed up all night."

There's a weird feeling in my stomach as we head to our dormitories to get some sleep. Hermione fancied me? I never would have expected that.