A/N: I try to proof read these a few times through before I post them but since I am the one writing it and, obviously, am aware of my intentions…it's really hard for me to catch all of my mistakes. :( I'm sorry for that. I'm neither illiterate nor stupid…just slightly careless and spacey. If you see anything (in any chapter) that bothers you because it doesn't flow, is misspelled, or sounds a bit odd…please leave me a little note in a review! I'd be more than happy to fix it so it doesn't annoy anyone else. I promise I won't be offended in the least bit. Also, the reason that the updates are coming so quickly is because I've been home 4 days this week from school coughing up all of my innards. One afternoon, I thought to myself: "HEY! What better to do while I let microorganisms munch away at my throat and lungs than finish writing my Harry Potter fanfic I started in my FRESHMAN YEAR (4 years ago)!??!"

Don't worry, I'll actually finish it this time…I need the closure.

Thank you so much for the reviews and I apologize for that little rant up there :)

P.S. Sorry this is kind of short (more short that usual, I mean)...I'm tired.
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Light flooded in from the open, double paned window next to a quilt covered twin bed. Hermione lay on it, headphones neatly in place, listening to some muggle music and flipping through a book. Her mother knocked and peeked her head in the door, mouthing something about breakfast. A wide grin grew on Hermione's face and she nodded excitedly. She loved when her mom made breakfast. Ten lean fingers were spread out in front of the face of Mrs. Granger symbolizing the number of minutes Hermione had before she had to sit herself at the table with her two parents for a delicious, protein filled meal. She signaled her understanding to her mother with a cheery thumbs-up and went back to reading her book. Crookshanks stalked into the room pompously with a blue thread hanging from his mouth. Hermione giggled as she picked the cat up, turned it to face her and pulled the string from its mouth. She heard faint yelling but could not decipher the exact words over her music. She placed the ginger haired feline on the bed next to her, grabbed her old-school cassette player and turned down the volume.

"DRACOOOO! DRACO, GET UP." He groaned loudly as his tear-stained mother punched him with both fists in the hip. "DRACO, YOU TRAGIC WASTE OF SKIN, THIS ALL YOUR FAULT."

Hermione tried as hard as she could to hold on to her dream. It'd been so long; she'd almost forgotten what her mother's wonderful face had looked like. It slipped away from her like a hyper six year old in quicksand. She regretfully opened her eyes…what juxtaposition.

Draco was on his feet now, letting his mother pound against his chest. "IF YOU…HADN'T BEEN…SO WORTHLESS…SO LAZY…" Her speech was trying desperately to fight its way through the sobs. "I'M STILL FERTILE! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SO EASILY REPLACED." Draco stared straight ahead wearing a mask of apathy. "…BUT YOUR FATHER, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT US TO DO NOW, DRACO? I CAN'T BELIEVE I LET YOU POLLUTE MY LIFE FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS. I HATE YOU." She spit on his face. "I HATE YOU."

Hermione lie still in her closet, unnoticed, watching the catastrophic scene in front of her unfold. Draco opened his mouth to say something but Narcissa spit on him again and threw a folded newspaper and some splintered wood at his feet before turning, leaving the room, and slamming the door. With a hand on his stomach, Draco slid down the wall and painfully leaned to pick up the paper a half-meter away from him. He scanned the front page for less than a minute and started to laugh. His laughter started low and deep, from the stomach, and slowly evolved into a loud and throaty one that bounced off the walls at all angles. He stopped, punched the side of the nightstand next to him, threw the paper across the room into Hermione's little space, and shouted at her "HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL?"

She picked the paper up and looked at it hesitantly. The headline read in bold, black letters 'THREE DEATH EATERS DEAD IN LONDON.' Directly under the text, there were three pictures: one of Lucius Malfoy, one of Antonin Dolohov, and one of Walden Macnair.

"My wand…she broke my wand. MY WAND." This seemed to put Draco over the edge. His hands pulled through his hair roughly making his the skin on his face tighten. He slammed his head into the wall multiple times splattering red behind him.

The boy had gone mad. His life was floating aimlessly in a cocktail of horrors. If anything else were to happen, he was sure his heart would give up on him…just cease its beating. He had no past to stand on, no present to cling to, and no future to hang on. Not even any possibilities to give him hope. He felt as though spikes were being hammered into either temple.

"STOP! Stop, Draco! You're hurting yourself!" Hermione ran over to him and put herself between him and the wall, slumping down so that she was straddling him. He threw his head back for one last effortless blow and met her clavicle. His head rested there for only a moment before he hurled himself forward to spit out the bile that had pushed its way through his empty stomach and up his esophagus. He continued to dry heave as Hermione hopped up, grabbed the white towel that was still damp in her closet and cleaned up the small mess.

She offered him a corner, which he took and then threw to her feet. She picked up the still spotless piece of cloth and put herself back behind Draco, whose breathing was mellowing. He dragged himself down closer to the floor and leaned his head on the top of her thigh. Precious Malfoy blood was draining out of his head streaking his hair. Hermione pushed the hair away from the split in his head and pressed the towel against it.

Coming into realization of what was occurring, Draco swatted her hand away.

"Get off me, Granger! I don't need your help!"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at the back of his head.

"For one, Malfoy, I'm quite sure there is more of you on me than there is me on you…and two, there's no one around to care." She said, placing her hand back on his head and brushing the hair that had fallen into his face to the side. "You mustn't put your pride before your life."