After that, Draco's attitude fluctuated horribly. On some days, he'd let himself treat Hermione a fraction of what he knew she deserved, and like the stupid half of his brain wanted to.

On days like that, he wouldn't do anything nice, but he wouldn't be his normal Draco self either. He'd help with her work. He'd joke around. There were no smiles or laughs from him, but every once in a while, she'd let her lips curve up just slightly, or allow a giggle to escape, and her eyes would brighten in a way that made his heart soar.

But whenever Draco forgot himself and wasn't as mean to her as he should've been, he always worked to ignore her the next day. He wasn't venomous like he used to be, and he'd still talk to her, but he made sure to act icy and distant just to make sure that there were no misunderstandings about his opinion of her.

That cycle continued for several weeks, until the first Saturday of November. He'd already told Myrtle he wasn't going to come that day, because it was the date of the first Quidditch match of the year, and the one that was always the most anticipated. Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Draco's team wasn't exactly the fiercest Slytherin had ever had, and he hadn't exactly been practicing them like he should have. The team had been meeting once a week, and every other Sunday, and they never did much. Draco, who'd gotten into the habit of letting a snitch loose and flying after it whenever he was bored, was probably the only one on the team that was ready for the match. The rest of them had their skills down pat, and of course, they had the desire to win, but Draco hadn't taught them a single strategy, and they were more or less planning to wing it.

Draco sat in the Slytherin locker room, his top-notch broomstick clutched tightly in his hands, and his thoughts everywhere but on the match. He loved Quidditch, he always had, but the events from the previous summer had made it a lot less important in his eyes. Now, with his two tasks to carry out, and the halfway point in the year approaching so quickly, as well as the way his brain was fumbling around with Granger, he was not ready to play.

It showed, too, the second that the match started. He kicked off, and like always, soared high above the pitch to find the snitch, but his eyes were glazed over, and he found himself wondering if he'd be dead for the first Quidditch game the next year, and was almost positive of it, because he'd more or less given up on the whole killing Dumbledore thing. He gave Hogwarts castle a quick look, imagining what the students would do if he wasn't there, then shuddering when he thought of how happy every single one of them would be. Then, he started riding his broom leisurely around the sky, checking for the snitch every once in a while.

The other players zipped around below him, Harry searching furiously for the little gold ball, as opposed to Draco's half-hearted glances around the pitch. He heard Looney Lovegood announce the score several times, but he quit listening after Gryffindor had gotten up by eighty.

"Malfoy, the snitch," Carrow shouted at him. He looked towards her, then managed to catch a glimpse of the snitch floating not ten feet away from him. In his hurry to catch it, he happened to ignore Potter, who was barreling towards it too. Draco extended his arm to catch it, enjoying the benefit of longer arms than Potter, and his fingers closed around the snitch just as the other seeker rammed into him, and both of them were sent spiraling to the ground, over a hundred feet below. Draco didn't care, however, as the collision had rattled his brain, causing the edges of his vision to go black.

Thankfully, Carrow caught him at the last second, and landed him gently on the ground just as he was losing sense of everything.

Then, a panicked thought ran through his head, and right as he was blacking out, he firmly kept his grip on consciousness. If he blacked out, he'd be taken to the hospital wing, where, no doubt they would change him out of his Quidditch robes if he lost consciousness. Then, they would see his arm.

"I got the snitch," he muttered to Hestia, holding it out in his hand. When the Slytherin's saw it, they started cheering, while the rest of the houses booed. As an afterthought, Draco dazedly looked around him, and saw Harry being supported by Ginny Weasley, who must have caught him.

Crap, he thought, my life would be so much easier if he'd just died in the fall.

Then another thought ran through his head, about how that would hurt Granger, and then she would blame him, and her eyes would never smile at him again. So really, he was glad that Potter hadn't died.

"Wow, I'm stupid," he muttered.

"What?" Carrow asked.

"Nothing. I just hit my head harder than I thought," said Draco bitterly. She didn't seem to care. In fact, she addressed him rather coldly.

"Just sleep it off." Then she walked over to where the rest of the team was, leaving Draco dazed and not completely aware of what he was doing. He ended up just stumbling out of the pitch and blindly making his way into the school and down to the dungeons before he collapsed on his bed. Then, actually listening to Hestia Carrow, he fell asleep.

...

The next day at Quidditch practice, he had a killer headache and his stomach had been churning unpleasantly the entire morning. He told all of his teammates to report to the center of the pitch, and proceeded to lecture them in a very Draconian matter.

"So," he concluded, after telling them everything that they did wrong. "Carrow was competent enough to point out the snitch and catch me after Scarface slammed into me, so she is free to go. I caught the snitch, so I am exempt from this crap, but the rest of you were pathetic. So, just stay, and practice not sucking. If I hear that you skip out as soon as I'm gone, my father will get word of it."

Then he left the Slytherins to practice before hurrying to the second floor girl's restroom to talk to Myrtle again, most likely about Granger, because that had become a habit of his. Only, to his shock, Myrtle met him before he entered the room.

"I tried to get them out," she said. "But they won't leave."

"Who?" Draco asked tiredly. He was annoyed that someone was in his bathroom, but it was the middle of the day, and there was no doubt that much of the school knew that no one ever used it. He'd just have to kick them out.

"Ronald Weasley and…," the girl said, then she paused dramatically before finished, "Hermione Granger." Suddenly, Draco's headache reached the point where he wondered if someone wasn't hammering a nail into his skull.

"And what," he asked through gritted teeth, "are they doing?"

"Well," Myrtle said nervously, twiddling her chubby fingers. "They started out talking. Apparently Harry was hurt really badly in that match, and she was crying. I guess that people weren't leaving them alone, so they came here."

"And now?" he asked.

"I don't like that Weasley boy, he's always been so mean to me. And you won't believe what he just said to me, he said, 'get back in your toilet and stay there', yes, he did. So, if you kill him, and he ends up haunting my bathroom, I will be very angry-"

"Myrtle," he said shortly.

"They're snogging," she said, then, in that voice that all girls use to impart gossip. Draco, despite having seen this before, couldn't help but feel something, something he couldn't identify, winding through his heart like a tiny little snake. His stomach, which had been uneasy all morning, suddenly felt dangerously weak. In that moment, he very much wanted to hex Ron Weasley.

"So?" he said, trying to stay reasonable. "I got them together. I knew that they'd be snogging. It's annoying that they're using your bathroom, but it doesn't affect me in any way. It'll stop in another five weeks or so, anyway, after Weasley finds himself in love with someone else."

"Can you make them stop?" Myrtle pleaded. "It's quite disturbing."

Draco's famous smirk spread across his face. At least he wasn't the only one that found there was something horribly wrong with Ron's kissing technique. Well, and with Granger snogging someone. That just wasn't right. She was books and intelligence, beautiful eyes and sweet smiles. None of that translated into locking lips with Ron Weasley in a girl's lavatory. Even just thinking about that made the snake in his chest grow.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure that they stop," he said, then pushed the door open. When he walked in, they'd apparently already heard him coming, because they were scurrying apart pretty darn quickly. When he looked at Weasley, he saw that his red hair was messed up and tousled, and the bush growing out of Granger's scalp appeared to have been run through by a rabid squirrel. Her lips were slightly swollen, and once again, her cheeks were unmistakably red. Draco had to take a shaky breath to prevent himself from killing Weasley right there.

"Are you stalking us?" Ron snapped when Draco walked into view.

"I was returning to the dungeons after Quidditch practice, when a poor ghost informed me that Weasley and his whore were getting to know each other a little better in her bathroom."

"What did you call her?" shouted Ron, fumbling for his wand. Hermione's eyes hardened in pure anger for the first time that year. Suddenly, he felt like he was going to drop dead right there. His headache had gone from a nail to a jackhammer, his stomach threatened to treat them to the delightful sight of his half digested breakfast, and fresh guilt decided to keep that snake in his chest company.

"I said," Draco spat, doing everything in his power not to show how weak he was truly feeling. "That Granger was- was-" He couldn't repeat it. The first time, the words had tumbled from his lips in his anger. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't bring himself to repeat the words. "I didn't mean that," he amended weakly, trying to keep his face impassive. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd clear out of here. Myrtle doesn't like you, Weasley, and I don't want her to be blind as well as dead."

"What do you care?" Ron snapped at him. Draco took a step forward.

"I'm a prefect. It's part of my job to make sure that my fellow students don't terrorize the ghosts of the school, and after seeing you try to kiss Granger last time, I'd say putting up with the sight for very long would be considered 'terrorizing'." Then he looked at Hermione, who still appeared as though she were trying to get him to keel over just by looking at him. "I don't know how you can stand him."

Draco turned to the ghost who was hovering behind him, a very smug look on her face.

"If they don't leave, come and get me, and I'll make sure that Snape does get them out."

"Thank you Draco," she said sweetly, smiling at the Slytherin as he hurried away.

When Draco was back in the hallway, everything felt so much better. His headache dulled again, and his stomach settled. Even just the sight of those two together made him so horribly sick. It was disgusting, just not right. Granger was too smart for such a thick dimwit. And how could someone so innocent let themselves be manhandled like that? It was bloody disgusting.

He didn't blame Granger. With Draco's help, Weasley had become disgustingly romantic. No, he put everything on the redhead's shoulders, internally cursing him and calling every name he could think of. Granger deserved so much better, and Draco felt truly bad for baiting her to stoop that low. He felt even worse for calling her Weasley's whore, which was so inaccurate, because she was just too sweet and innocent to be called anything like that.

He even felt bad for humiliating her like he so obviously did. He should have just told Myrtle to hide in her toilet or something. It would have been better than doing that to Granger, who out of pity or personality or some other shallow reason, was nice to him. At that moment, as he was lying in his bed and looking up at the smooth emerald ceiling, he realized that he didn't care why she was nice. She was, and that put her just a tiny bit ahead of the rest of the school. So he vowed to apologize. Apologize and nothing more. Because she deserved it, after listening to him, after helping him, and following him. Well, and because that angry look she'd given him the night before just about killed him, and he'd go to extreme measures to erase it from his mind. Even apologizing. Which Malfoys never, ever did.

...

The next day in DADA, Draco got there early to make sure that he'd have time to tell her what he had to say. For once, luck was on his side, and she walked in just seconds after he did.

"Granger," he said, acknowledging her curtly. She didn't even look at him. "Wow, did I finally manage to make Saint Granger mad?" he asked, working as hard as he could to sound like a total jackass when he said it. Just because he was going to apologize didn't mean that he had to do it nicely. He couldn't have her thinking that he actually cared that he hurt her. Which he didn't. At all. He was just being fair.

"Yes, you did," she spat at him. "Would you like an award?" Draco sighed. Who was he kidding? He couldn't stand it when she was actually mad at him, and he couldn't stand thinking of the reason that she was so mad.

"I don't like pissing you off," Draco told her slowly.

"Of course you don't. You just do it accidentally," Hermione spat sarcastically.

"I didn't mean to say that, okay Granger? Sometimes things just come out of my mouth, even if they aren't true. I admit it. I was wrong. I messed up. You aren't a whore. You're a sickeningly good person, and I was just disgusted because really, when Weasley kisses you, it looks more like he's eating you."

Her jaw hit the floor, and her eyes were about the size of Draco's fist. She even opened her mouth to argue, but nothing could come out. Finally, she took a deep breath to compose herself.

"Did you just apologize?" He tried to sneer at her, but it wasn't exactly convincing.

"You're supposed to be the super genius."

"I- I- Why do you even care?" Because, I must have been poisoned sometime this year, and now I feel sick whenever I hurt you.

"I don't. I just wanted you to know that you aren't a whore."

"Just tell me," she said. Draco, who'd been so worried about the whole apologizing thing, forgot not to let himself see those eyes, and he saw how they'd softened since his apology, and he couldn't help but tell her. Well, not tell her exactly, but he didn't tell her to sod off like he'd wanted to.

"You aren't a stupid, unfeeling arse like the rest of this school is," he said. "And because of that, I have decided that you deserve more respect than they do, and calling you a whore was not respectful."

Again, there was that shock, joined by a smug happiness that both annoyed Draco and made his heart start beating a little more quickly.

"Don't look like you won something," he growled. She shot him an innocent look.

"I would never."

"Silence!" bellowed Snape. Looking around, Draco noticed that the classroom was now full. When he glanced over at Weasley and Potter's table, he noticed that they were looking at him as though they'd enjoying cutting him open and feeding his entrails to their owls. That made him feel slightly better. Just because he'd gone mental and couldn't get himself to hate Granger didn't mean that he had lost his touch with everyone else.

In fact, his anger towards Weasley seemed to have grown.

He had no idea why, of course. It just had.

...

As the next weeks progressed, Draco and Hermione didn't start getting along so much as they gained the ability to have civil conversations. Almost every day, they got to Snape's classroom ten minutes early. From there, the first two minutes would be spent in awkward silence, before one of them broke it with an even more awkward statement. Like a week after Draco had apologized, they'd been sitting there, looking everywhere except at each other, when Hermione had opened her mouth and very quietly wondered, "Why does Myrtle always ask you for help?"

"None of your business, Mudblood," was his reply. She was silent for a second, then continued pestering him as if he hadn't snapped at her. She'd started ignoring the way that he almost constantly called her Mudblood, probably because she'd seen how little meaning Draco put behind it. Since the night he'd rescued her, he'd started caring less and less about that, until sometime Muggleborns blended in with the other witches and wizards.

"She called you Draco," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, it's somewhat derogatory, in my opinion, but if I told her that, she'd probably flood her bathroom." She'd never had an episode in front of Draco, and somehow he doubted that she'd have one if he told her not to use his first name, but for some reason he just couldn't imagine the pudgy little ghost calling him Malfoy. It was one of those things that didn't work. It was like Granger cussing, or Snape in a tutu. It would never happen.

"If she knows your name, and she gets you whenever she needs help, you must know her."

"Why would I associate with the ghost of a Muggleborn when I don't even associate with ones that are alive?"

"You didn't say Mudblood," she commented.

"That term," Draco told her with a smirk, "is reserved especially for you." Hermione snorted.

"Oh, thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it," said Draco back, daring to hope that she'd forgotten about the Myrtle thing. Of course, she hadn't.

"So, how do you know Myrtle?"

"She helped me once," Draco said coldly, making sure to keep his face in its usual apathetic mask, "and now she follows me around. She annoys the hell out of me, but I don't want the bathroom to flood."

Granger bit her lip, as if she were trying to figure out a difficult problem. She'd never done that before. Usually, their conversations were so stiff that no one made a single gesture without thinking it through first. Apparently, she was relaxing. That pleased Draco because, well, it was nice for someone to treat him like he wasn't going to lose his mind and kill them at any moment. It also scared him because she wasn't supposed to be relaxing around him. He was a Death Eater, she was a Muggle-born. She should have been terrified.

But the only terrified one in that situation was Draco, because when he'd seen her bite her lip like that, this insane, rabid thought flew through his head that she was really cute when she did that. That little thought scared the hell out of him. As punishment, he went over his plans in his head while she was thinking.

He spent a lot of time on the part where he was going to make Weasley cheat on her, and how she was going to be heart-broken. Before, he'd thought it was genius. Now, the thought made him sick. It was a very, very good punishment for him.

"You're lying to me," Hermione finally said, just as the classroom was filling up. "I think that you actually like Myrtle, otherwise you'd tell her to bug off and she wouldn't talk to you." Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Snape had already started class. Instead, he sent her a glare. And she smiled at him.

That was basically the way that most of their conversations went. Bickering, maybe some name calling, and lazy insults. Well, and then Draco constantly having to remind himself not to think horrible, forbidden things, like that her hair actually looked really soft, or how smooth her skin was, or the way her eyes would sparkle whenever she smiled.

It got to the point where he was constantly surrounded by dread. He told Myrtle that he'd gotten somewhat attached to the stupid Gryffindor, and the ghost just smiled sadly.

"You could always think of something else to keep her and Ronald away from Harry," she said.

"I have to get her away from Weasley anyway," Draco growled. "Seeing them together is disgusting."

So he continued on with the plan. It was actually nearly perfect, the more he thought about it. Already, Harry was spending more time with Ginny Weasley than either Ron or Hermione, which meant that they were growing more distant. In addition, he couldn't help but take joy in the knowledge that Ron would be devastated. He truly did hate the red haired boy, and since their confrontation in the bathroom, he'd been going out of his way to make him angry.

Several times, Granger had commented on that, but Draco just said that she had the ability to treat him like a human being, whereas Potter and Weasley tended to enjoy making him as angry as possible, by doing things such as calling him names, getting him in trouble, or in one case, throwing dung bombs at him. Granger grudgingly conceded to his point.

Taking that into account, the part of the plan where Ron would turn into a sniveling wreck wasn't that bad. He was just scared senseless about what he'd do when he hurt Granger. She was head over heels for the stupid Weasley, and he knew that when she caught him with his tongue in Lavender Brown's mouth, she was going to fall apart. Draco laid awake night after night, thinking about that, wondering if hurting such a good person was worth it.

Then, one night, he realized that it wasn't. He didn't want to hurt Hermione. He couldn't.

He let his head flood with thoughts of her snogging Weasley.

That's what convinced him to do it. Not the thought of imminent death if the trio was still friends by the end of the year. Oh no, of course it wasn't that. Instead, it was remembering her and the Weasel together, and how wrong it was in the first place. He was just putting the world back where it should be. If it wasn't for him, they may not have gotten together, so he was just erasing what he'd done.

...

The last day before break, Slughorn was having a Christmas party which all of his Slug Club was invited to, and they could each bring a date. Draco had never gotten the invite, seeing as his influential father was now seen as an influential Death Eater, but he didn't want it anyway. He was going to be busy putting the first step of his plan into place.

He hid outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, waiting for Ron Weasley to return to Gryffindor tower. Even though it took a half hour, Draco never moved, and he was still ready when the boy rounded the corner, smiling himself stupid. He was alone, which made Draco's job much simpler.

"Imperio," he hissed, waving his wand at Weasley. During their lessons that summer, his aunt Bellatrix had consistently told him that to perform an unforgivable curse, he had to mean it. At that moment, with thoughts of Weasley and Granger in his head, he more than meant it.

Feeling the control that flooded through his body, he mentally gave Weasley his orders.

"Take Granger to the party, then find Potter as soon as possible and tell him you're heading back to your dorm because you're sick. Sneak away from Granger, and head directly back to the Gryffindor Commons Room, where you will confess your love to Lavender Brown. Tell her that you're through with Granger, and give her a snog to remember."

Then Ron Weasley, looking just as he always did, nodded at where Draco was standing invisibly. Draco smiled sadly, then walked away. He was sure that once Granger heard Ron had left, she'd follow him. Hopefully, she wouldn't buy any excuses. Why would she? Draco had decided on the Imperius curse simply because so few, if any, students at the school knew how to cast it. If it would have been a love potion, the effects would've been too obvious. But Draco's modified method was, if not darker, more quick than his original would have been.

Draco retreated to the dungeons after cursing Weasley and didn't bother returning to the surface that entire night. He knew that he should watch to make sure his plan worked, but he didn't have the heart too. The second that he'd started walking away from Weasley, he'd gotten that strange sick feeling again, and the part of his head that always paid attention to things like Hermione's eyes and how sweet she was, started beating him up quite badly, begging and pleading with him to stop Ron so that he didn't hurt her.

Then the other part, the part he'd been trying harder and harder to listen to, kept reminding him of his mother, and what would happen if he didn't accomplish his tasks. He already knew the Dumbledore one was more or less hopeless, but maybe if he successfully destroyed the Three Musketeers, that would be enough.

Or at least he hoped so.