As the lift sped to the ninth floor, Malfoy and Hermione groped covetously and the dim light above them flickered rhythmically. The agility of the lift had caused them to end up on the ground. Spilling out at their destination, Hermione's back was graced with the steely touch of stone.

"Quick," hissed Hermione. She had pushed Malfoy off of her and sped to the staircase. Before reaching even the second step, she was stopped by a stern hold on her shoulder. Malfoy spun her harshly, and pushed her against the chilly wall. He had moved with such hostility and swiftness until now… Now with his face barely an inch from Hermione's, he exhaled leisurely; his warm breath on Hermione's lips was peppery, it made her mouth tingle.

Surrendering to Malfoy's lips, Hermione fiddled with his robes until they'd loosened. She continued to play, scaling his arm as they kissed and her mind became preoccupied as she came across raised skin. Pulling back Malfoy's sleeve, Hermione stared down at what looked like a tattoo wholly lacking in ink. His hand tried to flinch from Hermione's grasp as she continued to stare.

"What happened to your Dark Mark?" she asked Malfoy softly.

"It scarred." Where it once shone black when Voldemort was at his highest power, it was now a faint white; a raised scar in the shape of the haunting skull. Hermione ran her fingers over it once more and smiled. "A reminder," sneered Malfoy.

It was something that intrigued her, the scar on Malfoy's wrist. As stereotypical as it felt, the scar made him more appealing. It was notable that he was nothing more than a scared little boy, desperate for his mother, but this scar poised the question, perhaps there was something beneath his harsh exterior.

Lacking in notice, Malfoy spun Hermione around and pushed her against the rough wall again. Relaxing his weight against her, he glided his hands down Hermione's thin waist to her shapely hips. Hermione could feel his lips in the crevasse of her neck, smiling irreverently.

It was such an invigorating feeling doing something wrong, bad, something that was frowned upon. Not only was she fornicating in public, but she was doing it with one of the most malicious people in the wizarding world. It was the same rush Hermione received when she helped Harry to discover new secrets and methods to conquer Voldemort. Though in this case, Hermione knew she was doing more bad than good.

As Malfoy searched her underwear ravenously, the impact of what Hermione was doing hit her harder. Ron was just floors above, probably wondering where his girlfriend had gone. Whilst Malfoy penetrated Hermione, so did the agonizing guilt. Even though it felt so unbelievably amazing standing with Malfoy inside of her, the feeling of remorse was too overwhelming to enjoy the moment.

As it had been for the past several years, looking at Hermione Granger brought bold envisions of the word 'Mudblood' to his mind. It had been that way since he was young. Naive and gullible, his mother and father impressed their beliefs on him, suggesting how worthless Mudbloods and Muggles were, and the importance in Voldemort's rule. With deeper thought on the subject Malfoy could recall Lucius peering over the Daily Prophet, "Vermin," he hissed. "These Mudbloods are vermin, Draco."

And that's all they seemed for years, worthless, dirty vermin. People at such a superior height in society shouldn't have to fraternize with such an inadequate breed. But for the first time in his life, Malfoy felt differently. This Mudblood in particular was everything he wanted in his life, she was attractive, intelligent, fiery and sentimental when needed. If it weren't for her corrupt blood he'd take a chance in associating with her in public. After all, the world of Gryffindor and Slytherin had ended with the final year at Hogwarts; now everybody was in much the same place.

Malfoy's breathing began to accelerate in Hermione's ear and it made her body prickle with excitement. It took ridiculous effort to keep from spreading flat against the wall as Malfoy infiltrated her savagely. The concoction of the cold in front, and the heat expelling from behind created a comfortable medium. If it weren't for the guilt that continued to overwhelm Hermione, she'd be in the most enjoyable place.

Continuing to pant, Malfoy momentarily paused and softly clasped Hermione's earlobe with his teeth. She let out a suppressed moan and Malfoy joined in as he came. After his hands had gently journeyed down Hermione's waist, he pulled away. It was not even a minute before Hermione had darted to the lift, the raggedly dressed blonde chasing after her. Catching the golden grille just in time, he sneered. "Why are you running, Granger?" His angry stare pierced Hermione.

"I shouldn't be down here, I need to leave."

Malfoy's sneer was pronounced; he nodded severely. "Go on then..." And Hermione was gone. Traipsing through the dancing couples, she sat shakily beside Ron.

"Enjoy dancing with a snake?" spat Ron.

Hermione ignored him, trying to shake off the recent recollections that were flittering through her mind.

Ron's face contorted in disgust, much like Malfoy's often did. "You smell like him."

Hermione turned abruptly. "What?"

"You smell like his sickening cologne." Exhaling shakily, Hermione disposed of the thought that Ron knew more than he should.

Past midnight, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione returned back to The Burrow. The way Ginny and Harry were so fondly conversing with each other was nauseating in Hermione's eyes. All she wanted at this moment was to be alone in the warmth of her own bed, and in her own home. However, at the moment, the dingy mattress on Ginny's floor and a good book would suffice.

Just before ascending upstairs, Ron took Hermione's wrist. "What's going on, Hermione?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're being so strange and difficult." As Hermione struggled to look offended, Ron continued on. "I don't just mean all this business with Malfoy – I mean it's barbaric, it's not like you!" Hermione's stomach churned queasily. "Still," said Ron. "You haven't looked my way lately with a smile, and I'm finding it hard to believe that you're not understanding my attempts to tell you that…" As his voiced trailed off as he shone a delicate pink.

"That...?" asked Hermione with all the fake ignorance she could manage.

"You know," he said in a quiet voice. "Sex."

Hermione took a moment to compose her thoughts, as though this was the first time she'd heard such a thing, but truthfully, she was mulling over which lie to tell. "Ron, I don't want to offend you," said Hermione and she took his hands in hers. "I'm…" The words 'not in love' danced on Hermione's tongue for a moment, and then she realised it wasn't true. Although it was a different love, it was still love. "I'm not ready… Just give me some time," she told him.

Ron eventually nodded understandingly, and kissed Hermione on the forehead. Watching him stalk up the stairs, she couldn't help but shed a few tears. She felt so unbelievably torn, and didn't have a clue how to mend it.

Lying in bed, Hermione stared up at the ceiling of Ginny's bedroom. Mulling over the events of the Ministry Ball was now frequent for Hermione. Often it bought about such remorse that she slept for no more than four hours a night. Other instances it would bring about such a ravenous feeling for Malfoy she couldn't help but feel tempted to return. At this point she felt the damage was done. She didn't have a relationship, nor a future, with Ron. At times she contemplated whether the same experience with Ron would feel as exciting and pleasurable; but she doubted that Ron's skin would feel as silky to touch and his handle as tender.

There seemed no going back now. Ron wasn't the sort to ignore an affair…yet Malfoy was the type to grow bored of such a foolish pursuit like Hermione. It was impossible to choose which way to lean; it almost seemed a never-ending battle.

The next day, at the first chance Hermione found she Apparated to the Malfoy mansion. She stood before the overbearing black gates talking animatedly to herself; she reasoned, and rationalized aloud, and then bore tears and laughter in an absurd manner. As she mused over ridiculous thoughts and notions in her head, Malfoy was in the mansion only yards away.

"Draco," said Narcissa, as she fiddled with a silver hand mirror. "I couldn't help but notice you were very close to that Mudblood the other night. Dancing, if I'm not mistaken."

Before Malfoy could concoct an answer, Lucius had slammed down his Daily Prophet and stood tersely from his bulky armchair. "Is this true, Draco?" His eyes were levelled in a nasty glare that Malfoy was so familiar with; after all, he often provided similar himself.

"It was a show," Malfoy said immediately. "For the Ministry."

Narcissa smiled fondly at her son as he crossed the room leisurely to finger the books on the shelves. "I think that's really quite clever, Draco," she said warmly before she continued to observe herself in her mirror.

Lucius however, dangerously advanced towards Draco. "I don't care if it's clever," sneered Lucius. "And I don't care what the Ministry thinks of our place in society, I don't want you to associate with Mudbloods!" His voice had inclined to a menacing tone. "You're not to associate with such a breed!"

Draco whipped his head around dangerously, however he took a double take as something outside the window had caught his eye. It was a far distance, but it was obvious sight. Trying to perform as genuinely as possible, Malfoy excused himself from the room and began down the stone lined pathway to meet Hermione Granger.

"You have to leave, Granger," yelled Malfoy as he neared the gate. Pulling out his wand he pointed it at the tear-stained brunette standing through the thick iron. Hermione didn't answer but sobbed vaguely. "Why are you here?" shouted Malfoy, as though raising his voice would provoke her to answer.

"I don't want to go back to Ron." Hermione slowly held her hand to mouth, as though she'd just spouted vile blasphemy. Tears filed their way down her cheeks as Malfoy continued to yell.

"That's why you were here in the first place, to get away from that worthless excuse for a pureblood!" Malfoy bared his teeth. "That's pathetic," spat Malfoy. "Get your priorities right, Mudblood." Before Hermione could even sort her priorities in her thoughts, Malfoy continued. "Your priorities are at that shack with Weasley. That's where Mudbloods belong, that's where you belong. Now leave! I don't want to see you again." Hermione shook her head softly. It was preposterous that what Malfoy was saying hurt her so much. "Why do you keep coming back?" questioned Malfoy impatiently.

"Because I was scared," she cried. "You were lonely, and I was scared!" Hermione could see that Malfoy understood what she was talking about. His brow had furrowed in concern, and his wand lowered slightly. "It's not so horrible having the company of a Mudblood is it? I didn't dirty you, did I?" Malfoy looked to the ground momentarily. "You needn't say anything," said Hermione softly. "I know you agree."

With vast suspicion, Lucius was watching through the window. "Who is Draco speaking with?" he enquired. "It doesn't look like that Parkinson girl."

Narcissa flared her nostrils. "She was such a lovely girl, I loathe that she's gone."

It seemed that Hermione was making progress until Malfoy raised his wand once more and ordered, "Leave!" Hermione faltered back on her footing. "My father will kill you!"

"Your father wouldn't kill so much as a fly if he doesn't want to go back to Azkaban," hissed Hermione.

It all seemed to happen quite fast. It wasn't even apparent that Lucius was descending from the mansion until he was standing severely behind Malfoy. "What is this?" he hissed.

A startled Malfoy turned to face his father. With the entire colour drained from his face he mustered a small voice. "I'll handle this," he told him.

"Handle what?" Lucius turned on Malfoy so he could provide a domineering glare directly into the identical eyes, but even after an officious stare and raised voice, Malfoy didn't obediently answer. Flinging his wand arm harshly, Lucius sent Malfoy flying. He projected so high that he travelled towards the iron gate. Hermione gasped as she envisioned Malfoy connecting harshly with the impenetrable iron but fortunately it seemed that he slipped right past the parallel bars without even a scrape. He hit the ground rather solidly before Hermione could reveal her wand to help.

Lying on his back, Malfoy gaped up at Hermione with tears running from his eyes. He breathed with aching lungs, trying to recapture the breath that escaped as he hit the callous ground. "Leave," he said. Hermione bent down to lay her hands upon him, but he spoke more forceful this time. "GO!"

As Lucius strode through the gate, he shot a hex towards Hermione, luckily just missing her shoulder. Without needing anymore provoking, Hermione stood and turned on the spot. The image that remained in her mind once she'd left was of an innocent boy being crudely abused. Malfoy was mid air once again as Hermione had Apparated. She left with the ringing of Lucius' venomous voice in the air, and it haunted her dreams for nights to come.

Only hours after Malfoy had yielded to his father's maltreatment, he lay in his majestic bed amassed in silken sheets and pulsating with dire pain. His left eye socket throbbed as tears leaked from his ducts, and his right shoulder stung even without the pressure of being lain upon. Too scared to seek his mother for repair, he spent the night in darkness contemplating, still and scarcely breathing.

It wasn't until a month later, after loneliness arose once more and Malfoy began to question his father's ethics again, that he secretly pondered about Hermione. He had spent too much time by himself, prowling through the mansion, often lost in how to entertain himself.

He had sustained mild amusement looking through the photos he'd found in his father's old school trunk. Looking down at a young Severus Snape bought back great memories. It seemed that now with Snape gone, protection for Malfoy had been impeded. Lucius had been able to get away with anything he wanted. He was ignorant to the fact that if he slipped up just once, he'd return to Azkaban for life; but of course, the ministry wouldn't send a man to Azkaban for merely beating his son and wife.

Not even Narcissa was a saviour to Malfoy anymore. Since her return from Azkaban she had become dishevelled and uneasy. She had made an effort to rebuild a new stance in society, whereas her husband didn't want to do anything of the sort, and certainly wouldn't stand for it.

Sometimes to get away from the commotion his parents supplied, Malfoy would journey to Diagon Alley. The stray looks of disgust, however, caused him to return to his mansion not too shortly after departing. Malfoy had arrived at the point where he couldn't bear being alone any longer, and the nagging thought of Hermione Granger caused him to take action.

Extracting a quill he put it to a piece of parchment. He was convinced that sending an owl didn't seem nearly as needy, but in secret he craved for a swift reply.