A/N: I am SOOOOO sorry for the hideously long time between updates. If you didn't know, I've been working on my own original novel, so I've been quite busy with that. I'm sorry! Please forgive me!

The Monster's Souvenir: Chapter Seven

Another day passed, and although the "relationship" that Hermione and Draco had did not progress, it didn't diminish either. He had kissed her once more, and made an obvious point of sleeping so close to her that she could feel his heart beating against her back and his nose in her hair. When she'd tried to move it to make Draco more comfortable he simply put it back wordlessly.

As if anyone could like anything about MY hair!

The two presently were on a bench that sat in one of Draco's bedroom windows, overlooking a breathtaking landscape that was the Malfoy property.

"There's so much room to run," Hermione whispered, unintentionally voicing her concerns of freedom in an innocent comment. Almost instantly after passing her lips, Hermione choked up, fighting back against the lump forming in her throat.

"I guess," he replied nonchalantly, eyes drifting lazily over the scene. "You'd think it'd be a child's dream, having so much space." Hermione wondered how he remained oblivious to her panic. Maybe he wasn't.

"I never much cared for the outdoors," Hermione said, turning her attention to the boy next to her. His eyes reflected the snow-covered forest in front of him. "I always had my books," she said, gently smiling at old memories of him. He'd always gotten onto her for being a bookworm.

"I used to love the outdoors," Draco replied, the shadow of a smile on his face. He scooted in closer to her, the cushion on the bench dipping just a bit under his shifted weight, causing Hermione to scoot closer as well. He wound his arm around her waist rather domestically. Hermione fought the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

"Used to?"

The smile disappeared from his face as he turned to look into her questioning eyes. "Everything can be conditioned out of a person," he replied flatly.

Her heart ached for this boy; this boy who'd seen too much and knew too much to back away from. Hermione knew he'd be a valuable asset to the Order, but she also knew that having him blatently betray his father wouldn't be something he'd easily agree to.

Kissing a muggle-born in the dark was something entirely different than slapping his father across the face.

A sudden thought occurred to Hermione, and really without even thinking she blurted out: "Why don't you have any pets?" The look he gave her made Hermione want to laugh out loud, but she didn't want to scare him into silence.

"I had an owl, once, when I was eleven," he said.

"What happened to it? Flew away?" She asked, leaning in slightly closer unconsciously. She liked being near to him.

"No," he said, an emotion flickering across his face that Hermione couldn't identify, "My father said it was useless, so…"

Hermione cut him off with a gasp. "He killed it?" she asked, stunned. Honestly she didn't know why she was surprised, he'd shown worse expressions of evil just since she'd been there.

"He made me kill it. With the Curse," he ammended. Hermione was frozen in disbelief. "He thought it would be good… practice. For, you know, when… he… came back."

She didn't need to ask who he was. Voldemort.

"This isn't what you want, Draco," she whispered. He looked at her like she was crazy. "I know you don't want to be like your father," she whispered, noticing his eyes drift unintentionally to his unmarked left arm. "There is so much you could do to help end this war."

He let go of her waist and looked away from her. "You're wrong," he said. Hermione could tell he didn't mean it. "This is what I want."

"No it's not!" She said back, her vision starting to blur.

"You don't know anything about me! Stop acting like you know everything! YOU DON'T!" He shouted. Hermione flinched away, tightly closing her eyes. There was a long moment of silence in which all that could be heard was small whimpers and sobs from Hermione and Draco's heavy breathing. Finally he hesitantly touched her face, and felt like he'd been just been slapped as she flinched away.

"Why can't I be mad at you?" He whispered, utterly confused. Anger was an emotion he was familiar with; an emotion he knew how to use. The feeling of his blood boiling in his veins was a rush, one of the few things that made him feel human; one of the few things that made him feel anything at all. He didn't understand why Hermione suddenly made it so difficult for him, or why his heart suddenly ached with regret for the terrible things he'd done in the past.

"I'm sorry," he whispered sadly, using both hands to gently coax her into looking straight at him. Her dark amber eyes were filled with sadness and hurt, and Draco didn't understand why he felt like he was dying inside.

"No, you're not," she whispered. As mildly as she said it, it hurt Draco so badly that it nearly killed him. He felt sick to his stomach, his head was aching, and his blood felt like it was freezing in his skin.

Draco soon realized that he wasn't imagining things as he started to shiver. He looked at Hermione, who looked like she was having trouble breathing, and she too was shaking, whether from cold like him or from something else he didn't know.

"What's happening?" he asked, his voice impossibly weak.

"I don't know," she said, "I just… need to be happy with you. I need us to be happy together."

She voiced what he was already thinking, and without much thought at all he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, and in an instant reaction, his blood warmed, his stomach felt fine, and his head no longer ached. He couldn't explain it, but there was something connecting him to Hermione, and it seemed that the connection wouldn't allow them to upset one another, as they just had done.

Just when Draco had decided he rather liked kissing Hermione Granger, the unthinkable happened.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

Cold, slow, and calculating, Lucius spoke barely above a whisper, though his words seemed to echo through the room like a burst of thunder. Draco looked to his father, then looked to Hermione, who's eyes had gone wide and her breath had hitched.

Draco's heart was pounding in his ears as Lucius quickly strode over to them, taking Hermione by the hair and yanking, hard. She yelped. His gut lurched painfully.

"Father, please—" He began, but was abruptly cut off as a gloved hand came crashing down on his face, a back-handed slap so hard that he was knocked backwards and off of the windowsill.

"I'll deal with you later," he hissed, the venom in his voice lingering dangerously somewhere between being livid and ready to kill. He gulped, and watched as his father pulled Hermione by the hair out of his bedroom.