A/N: I'M BACK! Not all of you are going to like this chapter. And for that I am truly sorry, but it had to be done. Ah well!

No excuses, I know, so I won't make any. I will keep my personal details out of this and let you all on towards the chapter ASAP because I know how long I've kept you all waiting. BUT, first, thank you to everyone who favourited and alerted since I've been gone.

Special thank you to all my reviewers: Venetiangrl92, AliBelly, .com, loveroffelton, hottopicgirl, StrawberryPeaches, Inkith, Amelia Raihan, glitterboden, Shakespearestwinsister, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Twinzlover, Jadepowell, Talis Ruadair, Strawberries and Cream, Jade Ice Fire, reader204, Little Girlie Wolf, buttercup, IaTeYoUrMuFfinx, ShaiYikes, pamelawright, and Vaneesa85.

Song Selection for this Chapter: Where is my Mind by The Pixies

Chapter Nine: Where is my Mind?

He knew it was a dream from the moment he saw her retreating figure disappearing somewhere into the shadows, somewhere out of his reach. And naturally, even though he knew none of this could possibly be real, he still followed her like a lost little puppy. Perhaps that's all he was good for these days – following her around like an abandoned creature only there to fulfill her cruel desires.

It had to be done, though, someone had to do it. And it wasn't like he had anything better to do. At least, that is what he told himself.

She was moving faster than he could manage, perhaps because she didn't want to be followed or because she didn't know he was there. Either could be true, one never knew with her. Soon, he was running just to keep her in sight, just to keep her long brown frizzy hair within his vision. Her hair only got longer, as did her legs. Her strides became longer than ten of his fast taken steps. She became a giant, even in the distance, and his feet became heavier. He tried though, tried to follow until he couldn't bear to anymore.

She was gone, anyway.

He sank to his knees, only to find that the ground he had been walking on all this time wasn't earth at all, but water. That genuinely surprised him. How had he walked on water? How had she? But he didn't have the time to contemplate the strange occurrence because he was slowly sinking. Apparently, one could stand, walk, and run on the water but one could not kneel.

He had half a mind to stand up. After all, he did have to go find her and who knew how far she had gotten now? But he was tired and he knew the water was cool. It would calm his aching muscles and energize him. Hell, perhaps it would even make him grow as tall as it had made her grow. Was that her secret, then? Had she drank the blissful water? All he knew was that if he was that size, surely he could manage to catch up with her. Then, it would be easy.

He stared down at the water, only to find his reflection smiling back at him. This was rather strange, however, because Draco could not feel himself smiling. He touched his cheek to make sure and that only made his reflection laugh. It was disconcerting. Reflections could talk and tease him some other day. Today he had things to do, giants to catch and such. Couldn't his reflection just behave for once?

He made to swipe at the surface of the water. That would show his reflection! It couldn't exist properly on a rippling surface, now could it? That would teach it to be cheeky to him. No one was ever cheeky to Draco Malfoy.

But before he could do anything, the reflection grinned at him and swam away. It even had the audacity to wave back at him and Draco could only scowl. First, his reflection had outsmarted him and second it'd run away! Or swam away, he supposed. Now his reflection would reach her before he had even figured out what to do. It was all really just hopeless, he realized.

Then, Draco considered swimming. From what he could make out from his now fast disappearing reflection, he could swim fast in these waters. If his reflection could make long powerful strides in such an effortless fashion, surely he could too. It couldn't be that hard. Only, he was too exhausted from running earlier and his legs were numb. It wouldn't do any good to exhaust himself before he'd even found her. What would she think of him? He couldn't even keep up with her. Surely she would think him pathetic. He somehow knew she would.

It didn't matter though. She was long gone.

He decided to drink the water, then. Even if it didn't make him grow taller, it would surely quench his thirst. And then he realized he actually was thirsty, parched in fact! So thirsty that his throat was aching. This too surprised him. Why hadn't he noticed it before, hm? It didn't matter. No, it didn't matter at all anymore.

He scooped up a handful of the clear water surrounding him into his cupped hands and brought it to his mouth, only to find that it wasn't water at all. It was black, slimy tar.

In fact, when he looked around him, he wasn't even in a pool of water, but in a wasteland of tar and ash. Something was burning in the distance because there was smoke all around him. In his mouth, eyes, and ears, irritating his skin. When he looked down, he realized he was waist deep in a pool of the thick tar. How this had happened was far beyond him.

But it didn't matter, because he was stuck.

He began to struggle, attempt to pull his body up out of the disgusting tar. But he couldn't hoist himself out of the wretched liquid because there was nothing solid to gain purchase on. He attempted to swim – because really, he'd rather be covered in the stuff temporarily than drown in it forever – but his legs seemed to be cemented in it. Was that even possible? Or perhaps the stuff was too thick to move in.

Either way, whether he moved sideways or upwards, backwards or forwards, all it seemed to do was sink him in further to his doom. Somehow he didn't seem to feel the panic that should've been there, but then agai,n by that time the acrid smoke had also made him hopelessly dizzy. All he could do was uselessly flail and sink further in inch by inch.

"I'd really stop all of that if I were you," came a voice from directly ahead. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness brought on by the thick smoke. Eventually, he found the perfect image of Blaise sitting cross legged in the very pool of tar he was currently drowning in. "It's clearly not working."

Well, the bastard was as condescending as ever, at least, and absolute perfection where Draco was obviously failing. Blaise was somehow not drowning, even though Draco was. Blaise didn't even have a speck of tar on his perfectly pressed grey robes. For some reason, that irritated Draco to no end. Why did he have to come here and make things more difficult than they already were?

"Stop struggling, you fool," Blaise suddenly hissed with venom in his voice that Draco had never heard before, not in all the years that they had been friends. "You'll only sink further. Would've figured that out if you'd paid a second of attention or had an ounce of intelligence."

But it didn't matter that Blaise's words would've cut him rather deep if he had been paying more attention. No, Draco couldn't pay attention to the cruel words because Blaise was melting right before his eyes. Skin, bones, all the elegant features were bubbling away to nothingness. It was a truly disgusting sight to behold, watching his friend just disintegrate before his eyes while still screaming out cruel things.

All it took was a blink of his eyes and Draco was faced with an image far more disturbing than the melting pile of goo that had been Blaise. Instead, he saw Lucius Malfoy before him, leering at him. Draco had the good sense not to cringe. What would his father do to him if he had cringed?

"You are worthless, Draco," his father told him in that eerie, cool, measured tone. "Can't even manage not to drown!" Draco looked down to find that he had indeed sunk far too deep into the tar, all the way to his shoulders. "You are a disgrace to the Malfoy name-"

But Draco had long since stopped tolerating such nonsense. "I'm a disgrace? If anything, you're a disgrace to the family! Or did you forget that you allowed the Dark Lord to live in our home? Or that you allowed mother to die? Forget all that, did you?"

"Don't be silly, Draco," came another voice, a decidedly pleasant voice. "We all know it was your fault your mother died."

He looked up to find Hermione staring back at him with that calculating gaze of hers. She was no longer a giant and no longer escaping into the distance. No, she was sitting there next to his father like they were old pals, staring at him like he wasn't worth the dirt under his shoes. It took him a moment to realize what she had said about him. It shocked him to the core.

"I didn't-"

"But you did, Draco," came another voice. He tried turning his head toward the voice as best as he could because the tar had come all the way up to his chin by that point. It had been Blaise that had been talking. Blaise was still a disgusting melting mess, though, and that only served to terrify Draco further. "We all know it was all your fault your poor mother died. Very sad."

"But I didn't!" Draco tried arguing.

"You did, Draco," Hermione taunted, linking her arm with Lucius. That more than anything enraged Draco, but he couldn't say anything because the tar had covered his mouth by that point. He couldn't help but struggle, even though he knew it was absolutely useless. "It was all your fault. Your poor, poor mother. I can't even imagine..."

He tried shaking his head, he really did, but all that accomplished was having him sink further in. His nose was now covered in the tar and he was finally beginning to panic. He was going to die here and they were going to watch it happen, quite gleefully apparently. When Hermione slunk herself around his father, he struggled in earnest to stop it from happening, but they just laughed at him. Suddenly, he was pushed further into the tar by a hand on his head.

Blaise had come to extract his revenge.

The deformed figure of what was left of his friend waved nicely at him before pushing his head all the way into the black tar. It took Draco a moment to realize that Blaise was sending him to his death and there was nothing he could do about it. Blaise was going to drown Draco with his own hands.

And then, Draco was sinking. Struggling and sinking, sinking and struggling. His limbs became heavier and eventually he had to open his mouth to breathe. Tar invaded his mouth and poured down his throat as he tried to suck in air from a source that didn't exist. His eyes ached and the tar that had seeped into his nose burned. If he could cough, he would've hacked up a lung. But as it was, both of his lungs were slowly filling with death.

He was getting dizzy, dizzier by the second. He knew this was the end now and was almost sorry to go. Sure, he had hated his life and himself on many occasions, but he had never been suicidal. Not even during his darkest moments had Draco ever been suicidal. His vision turned black and he was gone.

He was sure he was gone.

Until there was light above him.

Then a cough. It was more of a ray of light than anything else, pure, white, unfiltered bliss. Another wretched cough. It took Draco a moment to realize that he was the one emitting such a disgusting hacking noise. It could only mean that he wasn't dead somehow. When he stared above him into the light he realized he was at the bottom of some kind of hole. At the opening were the faces of his tormentors staring down at him and his wretched form.

He was still coughing and hacking up tar from his lungs. Where had all the tar gone? He was covered in it, so surely he hadn't imagined it all. How had he gotten at the bottom of his pit? Where the hell was all the smoke? Staring up, he realized Hermione was still wrapped around his father and they were leaving. She was really going to leave him here. Blaise was still waiving cheerily at him, still a melted bubbling mess. And then Blaise, too, was leaving.

Alone.

Draco didn't even realize when he'd begun to emit the hoarse screams that were ripped from his throat. Screams for them to come back, to at least get him out of here before they tormented him. He screamed but no one came, not Blaise, not Hermione, not even his father. Even when he realized no one was going to come, he continued screaming because screaming was better than nothing. Dying was better than this.

Still alone.

Suddenly, he wished he'd drowned in that tar while he'd had the chance. But wishing was futile, it really got you nowhere. Eventually, he'd ripped his throat so raw with his screams that he began spitting up blood. But even then, he continued screaming. When he eventually lost his voice, he began to mutely shout as loud as he could manage anyway. But eventually, that had to stop as well.

Then all he could do was cry. Sob for being put through this, left like this. But unfortunately, the tears had to dry up sometime.

Eventually, his body had to dry up too, until he was only a cracking pile of bones...

/

When Draco finally jolted awake, he realized several things.

First, he was tangled in the blanket he had conjured for himself and he was drenched in cold sweat. Second, his hands were bleeding from where he had dug his nails in too far, as was his tongue where he had obviously bitten into it. His entire body was sore and he could immediately tell that he had been thrashing around on the stone floor. There were probably a multitude of bruises on his back, his head, his legs...

His throat was sore, so it was obvious that he had been screaming.

When he lifted himself up into a sitting position with a loud groan, he found a bucket and a rag with cold water next to him. When he heard a little shuffle at the end of the hall and a door shut close, he realized it hadn't been Hermione who had left him the water. Hell, he hadn't even known anyone else lived on this floor.

When he reached for the water, wincing all the way, he found a white piece of paper tucked partially under the bucket. Curious, he pulled it out, squinting to make out the letters that just didn't seem to want to focus. Finally, he managed to make out a neat scrawl in the sparse moonlight filtering through the hallway windows.

Silenced the floor for you. Your girlfriend seemed particularly frightened.
Best Wishes,
Meredith Cromwell.
P.S: I do expect my cloth cleaned and my pail emptied.

Draco couldn't help but chuckle at that, but that was clearly a mistake because his throat ached probably more than his entire body combined. He must really have been screaming for it to have such an effect.

All of a sudden, a sort of melancholy swept through him. He had screamed in his sleep, quite violently as the evidence suggested, and Hermione hadn't even come out to wake him up. Hell, she hadn't done anything at all, probably. The woman – Meredith? – had said Hermione had been particularly frightened and Draco knew that meant that she had been paralyzed, too afraid to do anything but sit there and listen. Maybe she had shouted at him to stop. Maybe she had silenced her door.

Maybe she had ignored him and went back to bed.

Hell, a bloody stranger had helped him more than she had! Didn't he deserve more than that? After all, he did sit here day after day, listening to her ramble about little insignificant fucking details about her insignificant fucking life that really didn't matter. Did she just not care about him? He didn't matter one whit to her.

She obviously didn't need him, then, and it was really just a waste of time, wasn't it? He was a burden to her – she had things to do, other friends that could probably listen to her whine about nonsense. Who was he really, but a little bratty kid that wanted her attention? It didn't matter that he was suffering or that it would've been the polite thing to do to come out and help him.

She hadn't and that said droves.

In the end, it was just a stupid fucking dream that had to demonstrate how foolish he was behaving. What had he expected, anyhow? He was a Malfoy. She was Hermione Granger, war hero and what not. It didn't matter that she was a pathetic excuse for a human being. It just mattered that he had actually thought she would have helped him.

She hadn't. Hadn't even opened the door, probably.

He really was alone, then.

Healing himself the best he could after washing up, he made his way over to the door that he had seen closing earlier. Muttering a quick scourigify, he placed the rag in the now empty water bucket. Conjuring a quill and a pot of ink, he jotted down a quick thank you to whoever this Meredith person was. Yeah, he had been raised with manners after all. It wouldn't do to be rude to someone that had shown him kindness. His mother had raised him better than that.

He wasn't like she was. He would've come to help her if he had been on the other side of that door. He wasn't that cruel. No, he definitely wasn't.

Then, for the first time in a long time, he left Hermione Granger alone. It didn't matter anyway, because she didn't give a fuck about him. He only had a vague idea where he was going, but somehow he knew wherever it was, he'd find his mind there.

/

A stretch, a yawn, and protesting limbs were all Draco could register as he regained consciousness. Beyond that, he was vaguely aware of soft bodies around him. Soft bodies? Body? A woman, perchance? He didn't really know and couldn't really rouse himself enough to care. The person - or persons - around him had taken notice of his slow movements and immediately there were hands in his hair, on his face, soothing his aching head.

He didn't know where he was and didn't really want to know either. Knowing would mean acknowledging the fact that he had fallen asleep with others around him and those "others" probably didn't include Hermione Granger.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he cringed.

He knew what had happened, knew that he was as good as discarded, but he didn't want to wake up to acknowledge it. Instead, he sunk further into his already lost mind and into the soft arms of what was unmistakeably a woman. This was undoubtedly a respite from the cold, hard floors he had gotten used to sleeping on. In fact, he was positively warm for once. And the creature – because all women were creatures – was stroking soothing patterns onto his neck.

"Master Draco," she cooed into his ear, her voice resembling something that reminded him of a bird. "Master Draco. You have an owl."

Her voice was breathy now that he came to think of it. It was tantalizing, sexy, and smooth. Nothing like Hermione's timid tone. Did he like it or did he hate it? Was his body capable of liking anything other than the demon that had destroyed him? He managed to crack open an eyelid long enough to know that that was a horrid idea. Fucking lights. Why did the sun have to rise every morning? How miserable did the world really want to make him? It wouldn't be too much to ask for a few clouds now and then, would it?

"Burn it," he groaned, before turning away and burying his face against a blanket. It was made of fur. At least, some kind of fur.

A blanket. That must mean he was in a bed. It was certainly soft enough to be considered as one. Or a couch? Regardless, it was better than being stuck outside the flat of some cold hearted bitch. He didn't need her. He really didn't need her. Of course he didn't need her. That was all he needed to tell himself. It was his mantra. It had to be his mantra.

And as the fingers resumed stroking his hair in a comforting fashion, he realized he had the ability to effectively lie to himself. It was reality, in his head at least. He really didn't need her. That was why it was definitely more than alright when his mystery woman pressed her lips right against his. It was sweet, not something he was quite used to, to be frank, but he didn't care enough to protest just then.

After all, every experience was a valuable one, wasn't it? Before "you know what" had happened, he would've welcomed this with open arms, he was sure of it. Sure, he didn't really know where he was just yet and had no idea who this woman was, but who was he to refuse if someone wanted to take care of him? If that's what she was doing, anyway. Regardless, it was nice. Comforting.

More than he'd ever gotten from Granger, the she-devil, that was for sure.

So, he kissed her back. It wasn't like it was a crime or anything, no matter what his body told him. She had soft lips and soft hands, even softer skin. He couldn't say no to someone so willing. She was practically rubbing against him, she wanted it so bad. Why couldn't he just be normal again and give it to her? Why couldn't he just fucking give in? It wasn't so hard, really, all he had to do was concentrate.

All he had to do was -

"Get off," he growled.

He could feel her still – it wouldn't been hard not to feel her tense up right there against him, she was rather close after all, pressed up against him like that. It was obvious that she hadn't been expecting him to say anything at all, let alone reject her. But he had had to. The second he'd made up his mind about burying himself into her, a sharp stab of pain had travelled right up his spine and resonated through his every limb. It had blinded him. He was still rather blind, he realized, and not even in the proper way.

Fucking Granger. It was always about the bloody bitch.

The girl eventually understood that he actually wasn't joking and got up off the bed. "Get rid of the lights," was all he could mutter when he was sure that she'd left him. He could hear her drawing the curtains shut and almost breathed a sigh of relief. But didn't. Obviously he didn't, Malfoys did not show such signs of weakness. At least not in public

When he opened his eyes, he found that he was in his usual room at the club. Well, it was usual when he was still doing such things. It had been weeks since he had come here and longer since he had actually enjoyed it. He hadn't remembered coming here, but he must have. He had to have some time the night before, right? After what had happened outside the witch's flat when he had –

But that wasn't something to think about. Instead, he turned his eyes towards the beautiful creature that was now standing timidly in front of the luxurious curtains. This place had always been luxurious to suit the tastes of its patrons. The man who ran it had good taste. Couldn't let business go on account of silly furniture after all. But if the furnishings were nice, then the women who frequented the place were a piece of heaven. He must have noticed it before and he probably had. But that must have been a memory from a dream.

She was blonde he noticed, now that he could probably see. So blonde that he wouldn't be surprised if it turned white in the sunlight. She had nice features, but maybe a little too defined. She looked almost like a china doll. Pale, blue eyed, long curly hair... The works. Once upon a time he might've salivated at the sight. She was barely dressed and that was meant to be appealing. She had long legs, smooth creamy thighs. What more did a man want from a woman but to look like that?

What more did a man want beyond Granger?

He shook his head of that thought. It wouldn't do to be thinking such things now. Now, especially now that he was here. He was meant to be broken from Granger's spell, not still be in it. Smooth and steady, that's all it would take, really. He could... persevere. He could be who he always was and never have to think about Granger ever again. He wasn't the kind of guy who could be dropped and fixed repeatedly. Yeah, he refused to be treated that way. At least, that's what he felt like.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked her, then, almost too suddenly. But she was trained to accept odd behaviour, so she didn't blink. But he cringed inwardly, nonetheless. Way to go. Just the perfect way to be smooth. He gestured towards her, too jerkily – he was still tired after all – and she came. He wondered why she came. He could feel himself turning into a jittering mess. "How old are you?"

"My name is Caroline," she cooed, once she had settled back into the covers with him. "And I'm exactly twenty four years old and a day."

She seemed rather proud of the fact and he couldn't understand why. But now wasn't the time to think about stupidity, irrationality, or needs. No, none of that and more. Now was about ignoring it all, even if it meant ignoring it with a stupid little bint.

"Well, then," he sighed, leaning further back into the pillows he hadn't even realized were there. "Happy belated birthday, Caroline."

She giggled at the way he said her name. He tried not to sneer in response. Instead, he plastered a smile on his face. He didn't know if he looked absolutely hideous, or at least as hideous as he felt, but she seemed to enjoy it. In fact, there was even colour in her cheeks. That was odd. It was almost wrong. Colour on such a pale person? Was that even possible, or had she used a spell somehow when he'd blinked? Besides, colour was only appealing on one person as far as he was concerned.

She trailed her fingers over his jaw and for some reason, he let her. Soon, her lips followed and not too long after so did she, straddling him like she thought she was all appealing. And at some level, she must have been. Or perhaps it was the rubbing all up against him, grinding and all that. Maybe it was just that he was starved for physical action (he hadn't had any in weeks! Fucking Granger). Whatever it was, his body reacted. He hardened beneath her.

And fucking hell did it hurt.

He grit his teeth and shoved her off him. In fact, Draco was surprised he hadn't yelled out like a fucking sissy. Yeah, it hurt, but he ought to have just...endured it, or something. Anything to avoid the scandalously surprised look that was spreading over her perfect features. Really, she must have gotten some work done on her face to look like that. No one ever looked that perfect. It was impossible, or at least it ought to have been.

"Is something...wrong?" she asked, almost too quiet.

He shook his head no, which made her bite her lip.

"Am I not pleasing?"

He stared at her. Was she not pleasing? It was possible. She was blonde, and she really ought to have been a brunette. Her hair was too long, and not curly enough. Not nearly frizzy enough. She was too slight. Far too slight. She didn't have caramel eyes and rosy cheeks. She was too tall. Fucking hell, she was nothing like the image in his head, so of course she wasn't pleasing.

But he shook his head no anyway. It wouldn't do to go around offending the girls of the club. They all knew him and in the future he wanted to be accepted back here. Sometime when he wasn't so... under the weather.

"I'm not feeling too well," he said instead, even though he knew it was really her fault for not being Granger. Everything would've solved itself if she had just been Granger. "It's really not your fault, I just..."

"Oh, you poor dear," she filled in for him, making his life easier. At least she had done that much. She coaxed him back into a laying position so he could rest, smoothing his hair back. He supposed he must've started to look ill again, being away from Granger too long. It must have been believable or she must have been a very good actress, because she seemed rather concerned. "You rest, and I'll go get you something warm to eat, how's that?"

Well, if only Granger were like this.

"Yeah, yeah... that would be nice," he managed to mutter before dozing back off to sleep.

/

He could only really sleep for a good solid hour before another owl was madly tapping at his window. At first, it was only annoying, and he could deal with annoying. His patience had really expanded in the past few weeks, at least he could say that. But eventually, the pestering owl turned into madness. Whatever the fucking runt wanted must've been important because it didn't go away.

It turned out that his expertise was needed at work, because there wasn't just one owl pecking away at the now cracked window, but seven. Blaise, the PR fellow, and the ugly goblin had all sent several owls to come and fetch him. Well, at least someone thought he was important, even if it was just for silly things. For a second, that made him almost feel good. Kind of like he was appreciated, or something.

But only just for a second.

Draco had half a mind to skip it all – why go to work when he had already established that he wasn't going to get Granger? It had all been a sham for her, right? But eventually, he pulled his clothes on haphazardly and apparated his sorry arse to Malfoy Industries, where he found a very angry Blaise waiting for him.

"Where the fuck were you? You missed both the meetings you had me schedule!" So it was obvious that Blaise was angry. "Don't you dare just walk away and ignore me, you fucking wanker! Where the fuck were you?" Blaise really ought not to stress so much. Didn't the bastard know it was bad for his health?

"I was...sick," Draco muttered vaguely, heading in one of the side rooms they kept to house all the tea and coffee. Nothing other than tea and coffee though, which was just absolutely dismal if anyone bothered to ask him, which they didn't. No one really bothered to ask him much of anything these days, at least nothing important. "I'm allowed to be sick, aren't I?"

Blaise just rolled his eyes and muttered something incomprehensible. It didn't need to be comprehensible though because Draco was sure it was just a long list of profanities starting with fucking imbecile and ending with murder. For a moment, they both just stood there and it was like it was old times again. Blaise, glaring at him for something he hadn't done, and he just ignoring the murderous stare that was probably well deserved.

"You have the caterer waiting for you in the conference room and you have to go see to the entertainment by five. You got that?" he asked, as if dictating to a small child. "I have actual work to do now, so you better deal with this party planning. It was your idea."

"Yup," Draco stated, nonchalant as ever. Blaise really needed to calm down. He really did.

"By five, Draco," Blaise said over his shoulder before leaving him there. "Don't forget!"

But Draco wasn't really paying attention to all that. He was really just focusing on his breathing. In and out, in and out. Isn't that how it was supposed to go? It wasn't so difficult, really. All he had to do was concentrate and not let anything else concentrate for him. Things were simple once people made them simple. That's all he had to remember from now on. In theory, everything remained constant until you told them to move. In reality, everything was just moving and usually most things didn't stop even if you begged.

Like Granger.

It wasn't really difficult to understand that dilemma, now that he thought about it. She didn't want him. Who was he to force himself on her? She didn't deserve him and he definitely didn't deserve her. If only he didn't feel so sick about it, it would've been practically easy forgetting about her. He was just surprised it had taken him an entire nightmare to figure out what he was doing.

Where the fuck had his mind gone?

Eventually, he realized he couldn't stand there anymore. His thoughts were threatening to consume him and he really wasn't good with dealing with that kind of stuff, never had been and probably never would. What's more, his body was starting to really ache. He'd been too far away from Granger for far too long. He must've looked a mess. But he couldn't think about any of it anymore, couldn't stay there sipping coffee like nothing was wrong. So instead, he went to the conference room to do who knew what. Blaise had told him to do it, so it was probably a smart idea.

There were several carts of samples spread out around the conference room, which startled Draco until he remembered that yeah, he was meant to be meeting the caterer. This couldn't be too hard. After all, he had fantastic choice in food. Even the commoners would love his choice. This could be over and done with in fifteen minutes max and he could be in Blaise's office, sleeping off the headache he'd developed.

That was until he saw her leaning against the table like a sexy beast.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, which was entirely out of character for him. He usually didn't have outbursts in front of strangers. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She smiled, though she seemed startled to see him as well. It was the girl from the club, the red head with the mile high legs. His body must have remembered the fun times he'd shared in bed with this girl because his mouth automatically started salivating. And she did look delicious here as well with that shorter than appropriate skirt and open blouse. He wondered if she'd done it purposely for him.

"Don't you remember? I work with the catering company that handles all of your functions," she stated blankly – almost blandly. And then he remembered that she was boring until someone, or something made her scream. Preferably in pleasure.

He tried to remember if he'd seen her here before, at Malfoy industries that is, but so far he was drawing at a blank. He must have if she had supposedly helped cater all of their functions. They'd had many over the years, under Lucius Malfoy's reign. He'd been a party goer, but they'd neither been as fun or interesting as Draco would've liked.

That was why he'd always sneaked off with a redhead into the backrooms to –

Oh right. Redhead. She literally must have noticed the light go off in his head, because she smirked and stalked closer like he was the prey and she was the hunter. It was disconcerting. This was something else Draco didn't think he was used to. It made him narrow his eyes, which made her falter. But she didn't stop, didn't stop until she was right up against him and unbuttoning his wrinkled shirt.

She wasn't as tall as he was, but she was tall enough. If he wanted to, he probably could've pushed her away, seeing as she seemed rather frail. How had she taken such a rough pounding the last time? Had he even paid attention to such things, or had he just been too drunk to notice? It didn't matter. He stepped away and she seemed unconcerned.

"Have you missed me?" she purred to him. This, at least, he remembered was routine. Was she attempting to fuck him because this was routine, or just because she wanted him? He supposed it didn't matter either way.

What he did know was too occupied with thoughts of Hermione Granger to successfully shag the vixen before him. It just didn't seem right, wasting such an opportunity. But he knew how this ended. He knew he'd be in pain. But somehow, it just didn't seem like it mattered. So, he let her kiss him. He whimpered when the flash of pain passed through his body and nearly screamed when she palmed her hand at the front of his trousers.

"Alright, you need to stop," he muttered, his voice strained.

"You don't mean that," she whispered heatedly into his ear, nipping at the soft skin there. But instead of being incredibly sexy, it just made him want to pass out. "You remember how good it always is, don't you-"

"Not a good time right now. I'll get someone to send you what we want for the menu," he insisted, weakly, trying to push her away and wondering why he was even bothering. Didn't a person like him deserve this kind of pain? It was almost ironic. The devil had taken away the one thing he knew he could count on in life – Pleasure.

An awkward silence passed between them where she appraised him. Maybe he was playing hard to get, if that was something Draco Malfoy ever did. Eventually, she realized he was being completely serious and didn't know why. When in the world had Malfoy ever refused a willing, hot girl? Never, was the answer, so this would've been something of a first. This would've been especially serious.

"Well, owl me when you're not so..." Her eyes roamed his body to come up with an adequate description. "Out of it."

With the way things were going these days, maybe just maybe he'd consider it.

/

It had taken an entire day of working through a haze of pain before he had convinced himself that he really had to go back to Granger's goddamn apartment. He hadn't wanted to, he really hadn't. He had more pride than that, but apparently his body didn't understand the meaning of pride, the worthless thing that it was.

In the end, he had consoled himself with the thought that he wouldn't have to say anything. In fact, if he wanted to, he could be invisible again. Invisible to her, invisible to her life, and even invisible to himself. That wouldn't be too bad. At least he wouldn't have to put up with her and her nonsense. Not that it was all bad. It was just...

He'd had enough of the bullshit.

Enough of everything, really. He was just tired and wanted a restful sleep without having to feel the wracking pains in his body every time he did so. This much Granger could offer and this much he really was going to take advantage of. She couldn't say no to him sleeping here outside of his apartment, he'd been doing it for weeks now so she had no right to deny him. But he disillusioned himself anyway, just in case she had any objections to it.

But he'd forgotten to silence his feet and she'd heard him coming from a mile away. Fucking shoes. Why hadn't he thought to take the damn things off? He ought to have burned the bloody things, they were that useless. He knew it wasn't really the shoes' fault, but he needed to be angry at something. He was too tired to be angrier with himself than he already was and it was out of the question to be angry with Granger.

"Draco?" she called out to him. He hated the way she said his name but loved it more than he ought to have. He could feel the relief spreading through him as every pain in his body receded. It was all gone until he was just a useless pile of invisible goo, melting right against the outside wall of Hermione Granger's flat. "Draco, is that you?"

He had half a mind not to answer her. He deserved some silence, after all. But he knew that if he kept silent that she would get scared. And who knew what she'd do if she was scared? Maybe she'd do nothing and that would be preferable, but she never did anything that was preferable in his opinion. She was annoying, bratty, fucking retarded and a whole host of other things. Never preferable.

No wonder she couldn't do any better than the Weasel.

"Yeah, it's me," he muttered grumpily.

He could hear her shuffle uncomfortably and wished to Merlin that she was suffering. In guilt or discomfort, whatever. He didn't are. He just wanted her to be in anguish just then. It was almost like they were back in school, where he hated her guts and all was right in the world. Sure, he was an ignorant swot then, but she was no better. Hell, she was no better now.

Just a stupid little girl that liked to make other people suffer.

"Did you... did you have a bad day at work?" she questioned timidly.

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Bad day at work."

Suddenly, he was far too tired to be properly cross with her. It required far too much effort. He knew he was angry at her for abandoning him and she wasn't exactly unintelligent. She knew he was angry at her and why. It wasn't like passing the NEWT's, she knew exactly what was wrong and he knew she didn't want to acknowledge it. So who was he to push her into it? He was only here to leech off a few hours of her company so that he could sleep.

"What happened?" she pressed on, obviously hoping to re-establish whatever feasible relationship they had. Not that they'd had much to begin with, she'd made sure of that much at the very least. And thank god, who the fuck would ever want to have a relationship with her? "Do you want to talk about it?"

It dawned on him for a moment that she was talking to him like he mattered.

"Sure, sweetheart, if you insist," he whispered so sweetly that he was sure even his own ears had melted off. "My best friend isn't very relenting, you know. He can be a slave driver when he wants to be." He sighed for effect, so wistfully that he heard her shuffle again.

"I'm sure it's very...difficult," she offered.

"Oh, of course! I'm not used to all of this, none of it at all. But I'm glad you had made me have this experience. I'm thankful for it, learning a lot and making something of myself... what's the word..."

"Enjoyable?" she guessed.

"Gratifying," he insisted. He didn't have to be on the other side of the door to know that she was blushing. He'd played this game with other women before. He knew how they worked. Then it was obvious to him that she was just like every other woman out there. Nothing new, nothing special. He didn't need to waste all this time sitting here, not if he really didn't want to. "Electrifying."

"Is it? Really?" And she seemed genuinely interested.

He smirked. "It is. In fact, just today I finalized the guest list for that party we're going to be having." An absolute lie. They hadn't even come close to finalizing the guest list, but what Granger didn't know wouldn't bother her. "It's going to be so brilliant seeing all the hard work I've been putting in paying off. All because of you."

"Because of me?"

"Because of you," he insisted. "I wouldn't have done any of it without you, Hermione."

He whispered her name like a caress and he just knew she was shivering on the other side of the door, imagining whatever her naive little brain could come up with. Sometimes, it was better that two people couldn't touch, because one's imagination is always better than anything a human can replicate. It deceives one into believing that perfection might actually exist. Draco knew this. Hermione did not.

"I would... really appreciate it if you came, you know," Draco muttered, adding just the right amount of insecurity he knew girls just loved. How could someone knock over something so vulnerable? They just didn't. And Hermione, the girl who was the champion of all things poor and weak, she'd never just throw him over, not like that. "It's very daunting, stepping up into something as large as the company my father left me."

"I don't know..." she said, uncertain.

"Please? I don't think I could do it without you..." he said.

He made it sound like he was going to break apart. At some level in his mind, he was breaking apart playing games with Hermione Granger. Like she was almost like any other girl in his life. For the first time since he'd met her, he actually wanted her to reject him, just to prove that maybe just maybe she was something more than everyone else. He wanted her to prove to him that she was special, something worth suffering for. Because if she wasn't then that would just mean he was he failure, that he was undesirable.

"I'll think about it," she said finally, deciding his fate for him.

And Draco thought he might just cry.

A/N: So, what do you think? I'm very excited to see what you all think about this! I'll try my best to get the next chapter up as soon as possible. Until then, here's a spoiler:

As he pressed himself into her he realized, this was exactly what he was made for. He was at his best when he was this filthy. The pain ceased to matter because this was who he was. And Draco Malfoy never shied away from the truth. No, he embraced it with every pounding stroke.

It didn't even matter that the girl below him was shouting, orgasming, or foaming at the mouth. He wouldn't have noticed and wouldn't have cared, either way. Everything was balanced now.

UNSIGNED REVIEWS:

.com: I'm glad you enjoyed the length and the plot so far. Would love to know what you thought about the new development! Thank you for reviewing.

Strawberries and Cream: We shall have to see :) At least he hasn't in this chapter.

Buttercup: I hope you don't completely hate the turn of events and still like Draco's inner monologue. It should be interesting to see the reception. Hope you're still reading! And I definitely hope you've had a great several weeks. Thank you for reviewing.

ShaiYikes: Thank you! I'm glad you're liking it that much. Hope this lives up to your standards!