AN: Thank you people who've reviewed & followed. It's nice to know you're enjoying the story so far! Keep them coming and I'll keep rolling out the chapters! Onwards and upwards.

Nb: I also realised my scene breaks aren't translating through. I've been playing around with it and they disappear everytime I post it on FF. So bear with me on that.

Chapter Four

He pushed himself off from the windowsill, the rain pelting outside only seeming to darken his mood as he thought of the events that had unfolded last night.

Granger.

Mudblood.

Draco ran a hand through his pale locks; eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he remembered her outburst and in turn his own. Why had he gone to speak with her?

His parents.

Despite the fact that he had been brought up following their blood values, the elder Malfoy's had pressed the importance into him in the weeks knelling in his return to school that he was to attempt some kind of reconciliation with Granger. Not Potter, not Weasley, Granger.

A plan deduced by the Malfoy patriarch, Lucius had taken the largest fall out of the three of them in the aftermath of the war- his pallid features and ragged hair that he sported during the end of Voldemort's reign had become front page news, his name dragged through the mud. The papers had been cruel to all of them, but more so Lucius. Without hiding behind the story of a wayward son brought up only to believe in his father's prejudice views, or the surprise saviour of the Boy Who Lived, Lucius was mercilessly targeted by The Prophet and the other wizarding media. He had fallen from his graces, only slightly recouped as he helped track down remaining followers with the Ministry, and was attempting to rebuild the Malfoy name with great pressure upon his back. Lucius was the scapegoat of the war, with Voldemort and the crazed Bellatrix gone; Lucius had been the one in the proverbial crosshairs of the light.

Therefore, it was left to the young Malfoy to also help rebuild the name. If Draco Malfoy were to be seen sparring with the intelligent piece to the golden trio, it would only further vilify the Malfoy name in the eyes of those who had witnessed the torrid horrors of the second war. It had been impressed upon him to act cordially with her, someone who he had hated so much because of her blood. His job was to act reformed, that his pardon from Azkaban and the new world would suit him well and not, as the papers saw it, be proved a disgraceful error of judgement by the Wizengamont.

Well, it could have gone worse. He smiled wryly, pushing himself away from the window once more and entertaining himself with packing his books into his bag. He looked to his rolled up sleeves, the dark mark maiming his flesh, a twisted reminder of the past that he had led; a twisted reminder of the life he lived for so long. Everything he had ever known.

Was Draco Malfoy a reformed man? It was a difficult decision. Draco had known, through inner conflict and the witnessing of what had occurred in the war and at the manor, that Voldemort had been wrong in many of the things he had done, more so the way he had done things. He still recalled Charity Burbage, the look of terror upon her face as she was hovering above the table that day. How the snake had maimed and dismembered the proprietors of Gringotts on his drawing room floor. The most telling of all, however, was that Voldemort himself was a Half Blood. His own dirty blood was no different than most of those he sought to eliminate members of the Order and schoolchildren.

Draco was not as stupid to believe the values of terror and torment that had been impressed upon all under the Lords reign. But that did not mean he wasn't a Malfoy, and that he didn't believe that his blood must hold something more supreme than someone who was born from muggle parents. A mudblood. Granger.

So what if she was intelligent? It didn't matter. She should be aware that she was below him as her knowledge of the magical world had been initially gained from books; there would be so much she wouldn't be aware of. Surely. Alas, it still meant that with his lineage on the line, this may be a sacrifice he had to make.

Rolling his sleeve down as he had since the beginning of term, he stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him as he made his way to the Great Hall.

Every time he looked into the room, he recalled how Aunt Bella had danced along the tables, the shattering of glass and the twisted smirk upon her face. The destruction of it after the final battle, sat with his parents, already alienated from a world that had once feared and accepted him as nothing short of a celebrity.

Across at the Gryffindor table, Hermione sat. She was laughing, smiling at the red haired buffoon as she sipped her pumpkin juice with dainty hands and rosy cheeks. He hated her, how she embodied everything he disliked.

"Always in a bad mood these days aren't you mate?" A twinkle in Blaise's eyes showed slight mirth as Draco sat next to him with a huff, piling eggs onto his plate.

"What is there to smile about when everyone wishes you dead?" He barked bitterly, not bothering with the jovial talk at such a time in the morning.

Blaise looked taken aback a second, before silently moving slightly toward Pansy at his other side, who was talking animatedly to Daphne. The girls had been shunted from their classes, he knew. Pansy was finding it particularly difficult to not be able to command those around her.

The Parkinson's had been in the same position as the Malfoy's after the war. Mr Parkinson had fallen under the same scrutiny Lucius had, yet, due to his lesser involvement had also gotten off lightly after the war. Perhaps Shacklebolt was a bit soft. It was obvious to everyone that Mr Parkinson was out for blood throughout the war, not to mention he was as thick as a post. Where Lucius had believed in blood ideals, he had followed the Lord with eyes open and a view that doing so could protect his family. Not like the Parkinson patriarch, who had done so simply to spill blood and wield his status in the world.

Perking up when owls arrived, he noted one from his mother asking how the first day of term had gone. He snarled slightly thinking of it, of the layered questions asking if he'd spoke to anyone in particular. Granger. He looked to her once more, and was surprised when grey met honey for the second time in as many days. She was looking at him curiously, before she realised he had raised his head and was glaring back at her. She blushed furiously under his gaze and turned away to the red head once more.

Feeling a tug on his shoulder, he turned; ready to bite the head off the person who dared to touch him. To his slight surprise, behind him stood Pansy, a look of unease upon her features and something clutched in her hands.

"Draco… We need to talk."

"Not now, I'm busy."

"No, we really need to talk Draco."

Her voice held an air of finality that he had missed of her. Despite their flailing attempt at relationships in the past, he had grown up with the young woman in front of him. Her worry throughout the war and desperation over the summer had led to a dramatic weight loss in the witch. No longer small and plump, she was almost frighteningly gaunt and held herself with no poise anymore. Draco had been slightly worried about her, but thought her being back at school forced to eat three meals a day may do her some good- away from her parents' home too.

He stood, a swift look around the hall finding Granger eyeing him curiously once more. Snarling in her direction, he stormed from his breakfast, bag slung over his shoulder and nearly knocking out a rather small first year.

Pansy led him from the hall, her eyes showing obvious signs of worry as he followed her before he calculated they were quite fair away enough from the revellers at breakfast and spun her around by the shoulders.

"Pans, what the hell? I didn't come for a tour of the castle."

She fidgeted before holding out the letter she'd been clutching as if her life depended on it, her eyes threatening to spill tears as she watched him read the words in front of him.

Pansy dearest,

I am writing to you today with a heavy heart, a heavier mind.

Your father and I had strict words the night you left to return to school, and needless to say it did not go well. You see, he's been keeping things from me, terrible things which I cannot repeat lest this letter be intercepted. I can't stay with him at the moment, Pansy. We've been through enough.

If you need to contact me, tell the owl I'll be down at the Riviera house with your Aunt Aubree. I urge you to keep contact with your father to the minimum until this is resolved. I am unable to disclose what is happening, Pansy, but please know that it's worse than I thought. Things are afoot that we could not have forseen, it's not safe for us to be near him at the moment.

Stay near Draco, Pansy. He will keep you safe.

Don't trust the others.

Yours,

Mother

Draco looked up at her to see tears falling down her face, her sallow eye sockets drenched with the flow that had begun. He felt a slight pang towards his lifelong friend and placed an arm over her shoulders, drawing her into his frame, a frown set upon his face.

Pansy, despite popular belief, had never been one for fighting. She had told him of how she attempted to get people to hand Potter over before the war in an attempt to avoid it. How futile. Yet, despite her brain being marginally less intelligent than his, she had tried in her own roundabout way to prevent the loss of life. She was no warrior, deep down under the façade of a bitter young woman, she was a scared little girl.

"What does she mean Pansy? What do you know?"

She shook her head sadly, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I don't know Draco, but it must have something to do with those left. It must. If father is involved, it can only be bad news. Mother wanted the freedom that the end of the war would give her, but he's been acting strangely all summer. Disappearing randomly; she thought he had another woman to be fair. But I know… I know there's something afoot Draco. It must be bad for mother to have gone down to France. She's left him Draco, she's actually damned left him."

Draco sighed, mind reeling. The others. He knew too well who the others were. The other Death Eaters. Despite the round up at the final battle and his father's informing of the Ministry, there were still many left. Many dangerous wizards.

Alecto Carrow… Amycus Carrow… Greyback… Avery…Rudolphus… Rabastan…

There were many names. Many more in fact. Many had fallen, but most of those rounded up were the senseless ones who had joined late into the cause and failed to gain the knowledge of the inner circle- the more powerful ones had made themselves scarce. But what could possibly be afoot? There was no Voldemort anymore, and no-one was as true to the cause as his Aunt Bella who had fallen to the wand of the blood traitor Weasley woman. People, who had once resided in his own home as if they lived there too, were now not even acquaintances. In the eyes of the old death eaters, Malfoy's were scum now. Having facilitated rounding them up like cattle, they were left in more disgrace with them than the general public. Had they been in contact with Parkinson Senior? Was something amiss?

The day passed in a blur. The words of Pansy's mother's letter were revolving around Draco's head. Surely, if something was occurring, his parent's may have some knowledge of it? Maybe if it was, someone would have come to them, asked them questions. Maybe threatened them? His fists tightened around his quill until it threatened to snap. He would get to the bottom of it.

Hermione sat at her desk once more, the night colder than the previous, her cloak slung over her shoulders as she scribbled furiously onto the parchment in front of her. She sighed as the thought of another one of the twelve ways that you could banish Snidgets if they were to appear in front of you. At least Hagrid had begun setting homework this year.

A tap at her door interrupted her thought process as she raised her eyes to see the same sight she had the night before. The young Malfoy stood in front of her, hands once again in his black slacks pockets and his shirt unbuttoned at the top, one shirt sleeve rolled up, and the other down.

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

She raised an eyebrow at the exchange before staring blankly at him as she waited what he was going to say. Had he come back to abuse her again after yesterday? Once more she fingered the wand in her pocket, eyes studiously taking in every aspect of him.

Had he come to ask why she was looking at him at breakfast? In truth, she had been contemplating his actions the night before. His need to apologise. His strange demeanour in the evening and bitter mood that morning. Then he had hot footed it out of the hall with Parkinson, and her inquisitiveness had gone into overdrive.

"I came to apologise for my behaviour yesterday. I was out of line. I shouldn't have used the word I did."

His tone was clipped and cordial, and Hermione's mouth fell open with shock. Draco Malfoy was apologising. To a Mudblood.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, as Draco smirked at the look of disbelief upon her face. It was nice to see, despite his false apology, that he had the upper hand. She was lost for words.

"Thank you. I think I owe you one as well, I wasn't exactly forthcoming when you walked to my door yesterday."

They remained in silence for a moment afterwards, Hermione's thoughts racing furiously as she attempted to make sense of the situation. Draco inside was battling with himself. He had apologised to the Mudblood. She had apologised to him. That was cordial enough, right? He thought of his mother once more and her pleas with him to make amends with her. For their reputation.

Pushing himself off the frame, he stalked forward and held out his hand to her, offering her a truce without any words necessary. She sat looking at it for a moment before grasping it and shaking it.

Hermione's mind was racing. Malfoy, who hated her and everything she stood for, had offered her a hand and she had taken it. She was shaking his hand and was unsure why. This boy had tormented her, bullied her and smeared her name through the mud she was supposedly as low as so many times. Now, he was in front of her acting almost gentlemanly. She stared at their hands, realising how soft his large hands felt, his perfectly manicured nails…

"You can let go you know…" His voice was a whisper and she dropped his hand like fire before feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. He smirked at her before leaving the room abruptly. For the second time in as many nights, the young Malfoy had left the most intelligent witch of her age dumbstruck.

Stood in the owlery, the sound of the rain pelting around him calmed his mood slightly. Why had Granger held onto him for so long? Her soft, small hands had clutched to him in disbelief as she had studied him in a moment. He felt loathe to admit, she felt like a human. Not something that wasn't. Her hands had been warm as she touched him, and the feeling of them in his was something he couldn't fathom. It was possible it was the lack of female contact he had encountered in the past few months. Women had either been entranced by his 'bad boy' aura or terrified that he would bury them under his lawns since the war, yet he had no time for female companionship these days. That would have to change.

Tying the letter to his snowy white owl, he whispered the address to it and watched it soar until it was a small white blot upon the night sky. He had owled his mother, duly asking if anything was afoot without using so many words.

As he stared after the small bird, his thoughts returned to the bushy haired witch in her office and the truce they had made. Would that be enough for his mother? He almost felt bereft at being unable to torment the girl anymore, his only entertainment through the drudgery of school. Of course, he imagined that if he was to do it this year in front of any others he would probably end up at the bottom of the lake. How times had changed.

The room was dark.

Dank.

Bare.

It stank.

A smile crept up the features of the elected to stand nearest the cauldron, the avocado potion simmering inside it. His beetle black eyes shimmered with the reflection of the dancing liquid in front of him, an egg timer on a small wooden table to the side counting down the minutes until the final stage would be complete.

"Is it ready, brother?"

He turned to see his sister stood near the back of the room with the others, her voice never wavering despite the dangerous task that they were about to complete.

"Nearly. A minute or so."

"Well you'd damn better hurry up, I see how you said we couldn't do this without her, but we've done all this so far. All this wasting time when there is plenty to be accomplished."

Avery's voice was grainy, as if he had smoked so many cigarettes in his life his voice was threatening to give out. His face was pale and pointy, his nose sticking out underneath the hood of the cloak he wore. No masks were upon their faces this night, just black robes in the dark abandoned warehouse.

"She better appreciate this… Or I'll send her back to wherever she comes from… If this even works."

Greyback. The voice of the werewolf still sent shivers up Amycus' back every time he heard it. Despite being in allegiance with the wolf, Amycus knew enough about the dark arts to be aware that he was a dangerous creature, and the human part of him so far gone that he wouldn't think twice to bite the head off an enemy or claw the insides out someone who rubbed him up the wrong way. He had narrowly escaped death at the war and hidden out in the basements of many of his death eater associates, all of which were understandably on edge at his presence. He was hungry these days, without Voldemort sharing the bodies of muggles between him and Nagini he was scarce of food without robbing muggle mortuaries in the depths of the night, risking capture for himself by muggles and wizards alike. His bloodlust was insatiable.

The egg timer ran out of sand and there was an intake of breath around the circle forming the room. Reaching into his pocket, he turned over the locket in his hands, dropping it with a resounding plop.

One second…

Nothing…

Two seconds…

Nothing…

Three…

Four…

Five…

"Amycus?"

"Idiot!"

"You've done it wrong!?"

She lifted her head, clearing her dark locks from her face. Her vision started focusing, in and out.

In and out.

She felt her breathing get faster, her lungs suddenly crushed under the weight of her own chest. Frantically she began clawing, pulling at her corset and futilely at the strings.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

She began to scream, a wail erupting from her throat as she felt her being have the air squeezed out of her.

She'd felt this feeling once before.

When Molly Weasley had fired the curse at her, she'd felt her body constrict and dehydrate like this. She'd felt her blood disintegrate into the thin air, leaving her body. Her body had felt like dust. Maybe she was dying? Maybe that finally some entity had actually let her out of this twilight world?

Or…

A grin coursed over her features through the pain. She was used to pleasure from pain, and a terrifying grin spread over her features as she dared hope that perhaps someone had found a way…

BANG

Her breathing began to stop, her chest constricted to a point where she might burst, the smile fading from her face…

Was this it?

Suddenly, an eruption. They were catapulted backwards. The room filled with black smoke, the putrid smell of flesh in the air as the cauldron erupted and the green slime inside began to form, something forming from it out of the shattered remains of pewter…

She could breathe again, her hands were returning to normal, her mind felt as if it had been pulled apart and put back together, piece by piece until finally she felt her head clearing and the clarity returning. She dared open her eyes.

Covered in soot, a lone figure remained through those that were now clambering back up from the destruction that had been caused by the potion. His piercing blue eyes surveyed the scene.

Destruction, his one true love.

Decay and chaos. This was chaos and he revelled in it, even if it was to his own. To the sides, death eaters were scrambling up, the smell of blood fresh in the air as some rubbed cuts emerging on their skin from the pewter particles dispersed into their flesh. He sniffed the air, looking through the fog to another figure. Stood through the remains of pewter cauldron, she had opened her eyes to look straight toward him. A twisted grin erupted on his wolfish features.

"Welcome back, Bella, my darlin'."

AN: And that is how that happened! I had to do this early in the story to create the storyline, it's going to probably be quite a long one so hold onto your seats. Once again thank you for the reviews and follows! More reviews guys!

Also I know Greyback was attacked in the books and wasn't meant to have survived, but for creative's sake I love Greyback when he's evil. He's so damn fun!

Love

Maria