Before I begin, I want to clear the air about something very very briefly.

My characterization of Malfoy is not to be taken so literally, and in my opinion, the HP books are not black and white and left to interpretation on many levels. The story isn't meant to be interpreted, but the characters on a psychological level can most definitely be up to your own opinion.

Malfoy is in a time of absolute desperation in which his life is changing and he realizes everything he thought was completely wrong, what his father taught him was wrong, and his mother was the only person who ever taught him a single moral- and now it's too late to take her words to heart.

None of the characters completely trust him, they wouldn't entrust their lives in his hands to be brief. And none of them are his "best bud" by any means. They pity the situation he's in and are TRYING to trust him. Forgiveness isn't black and white, it's complicated. Like the characters. So no, they don't 100% forgive him, neither do they 100% hate him. Life isn't like that. Am I right?

In my opinion, none of the characters (Ron, Harry, Hermione) could ever be best friends with Malfoy like the way they are together, but they can be civilized humans as long as he is being civilized as well. They can help a guy out can't they? Why leave him to suffer so terribly? What did he do pre-HBP that was so deserving of it?

These are simply my own thoughts, my own characterizations. If you don't like it-...Sorry?

That's all I can do. My description isn't deceitful to the story's plot, so don't read if you don't like.

Thank you. I do appreciate critiques, but please don't say something so irrational such as : rewrite the entire thing. I wouldn't possibly waste my time doing that on something that's merely meant for fun.

(Also: Harry nor Hermione nor Ron are obsessed or in love with Malfoy in ANY way. Harry's never been the bad guy, has he? He's always done what's been expected of him; he's been the hero. So why is this situation any different? He's conflicted but willing to try. Hermione has far more confidence now than she's ever had, so why should the fact that Draco bullied her when they were younger still make her hard hearted towards a pitiful soul? At times, she hurts from it like any bully-victim does, but it doesn't consume her life. It shouldn't. Ron has the most right to be angry, and it's obvious that he is. He's also very stubborn. But through it, is seeing Draco's slow transformation and slowly is lowering his guard. Why is that unbelievable? To me, it's not. So if you think it's crazy...DON'T READ THIS.)

Thank you for reading, now let's read some more.

His scream was what woke her. At first, she was in a sort of daze, looking around to find the source of the noise. A weak whimper sounded somewhere in the darkness as her eyes adjusted and fear took over.

Another scream came.

It wasn't ear piercing, but full of pain and urgent.

She stood, a blanket that had been wrapped around her by a mysterious good soul sometime during the night when she'd drifted to sleep fell to the floor unceremoniously and she ran to the bedside, turning a lamp on with deft but shaking hands.

She looked at the face, strained with labored breath, limbs shaking and sheets soaked with cold sweat.

"Draco.." She whispered, "Draco, wake up."

"...No..." He whispered in distress, "..Liar.."

She shook him gently, on his shoulders where the only injury was bruising, and pushed his hair back from his greying skin.

"Draco, wake up."

He took a sharp intake of breath, his expression calming momentarily and then worsening.

"Oh God.." He whispered, his hand beginning to search his torso with flaming curiosity.

Molly looked down at the injuries, red and inflamed, bruised and irritated.

"Draco, don't touch them, you're okay n-"

"God, it hurts.." He said in a suppressed and shaking voice, "...it's hurting."

"What is?"

"All of it." He said, drifting back into a fevered dream, "...all of it..."

Song Bird Sacrifice

Chapter 10

"Harry." Hermione said it firmly, "You're human, you know that, don't you?" The question was softer but remained solid, her voice never faltering, never trailing.

Her eyes searched for his answer in his own, but he turned from her, eyebrows tightening and knitted, face taut against bone, his jaw clenching then releasing. His answer was a shaky intake of breath and an angry shrug.

"...But the plan should've been better. If I can't protect one person, how am I supposed to protect two, three, four, a whole population? Today it's Malfoy, tomorrow it's you, the next day it's Ron and his family, and the before you know it, it's the world." Harry's hand landed against his sides, on his jeans, then set on pushing a hand through his hair nervously before folding his arms across his chest.

"That's what you think, isn't it?" Hermione said, her voice rising, "That we need your protection. Harry, we're your friends but we're capable, not incompetent diots, not..." She trailed this time, for lack of words coming to her mouth, "You're taking the world on your shoulders but it's not going to just be you in this fight. We'll all be there."

She paused, wrapping her arms around herself and turning from his empty stare, "You're worried. I understand. You've always been so...heroic. But, you have to believe in us too."

"But, Hermione. I do believe in you, it's just-"

"It's just you think I'm helpless? I'm another responsibility? A liability in this fight?"

"No!"

"Then stop acting that way, Harry James Potter."

His mouth became tight lipped again, sealed with frustration and anger, his hands turned to fists.

"What happened to Malfoy's not your fault, Harry..." Ron murmured from the door, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "...He insisted...I mean..."

"I know what he said." Harry whispered sharply, like razors spit from his tongue, "But I should've put some sense in him. I should've formed a better plan than what he had. We should've talked about it more, it's just-..."

"You spent days pacing in the library, Harry. We all did." Hermione replied, "What more could you've done?"

"I could've forgotten how much of an ass Malfoy is and had treated him like I do anyone else. I should've corrected him but-...I didn't want to start an argument. You've seen how those go. He's arrogant and hot-headed and...some things don't change. I was trying to avoid a petty fight and it was dumb reasoning as a leader and..." He gave a grunt of frustration, "I should've been more responsible, more mature. He could've died."

"He's not going to die." Ron said quietly, "He's gonna be alright, Harry."

"But what about next time? Can I really trust myself to protect Hermione or you? Or anyone?"

The room became quiet at this.

Harry turned away from the window in the lonely little library, looking at the dust in the streaming light and looked at the two people before him. Ron had come off the door, now standing beside Hermione with a hand on her back. Hermione's eyebrows were folded in defeat, expression deflated and eyes full of unexpressed emotion.

"I'm not ready for this." Harry whispered in a pained voice, shaking his head, "I'm not prepared to... to lose you guys." He swallowed, if he continued, his voice would've cracked beneath the weight of the lump in his throat, "If my life was the only one at stake, there'd be no hesitation to kill Voldemort."

He didn't cry, he didn't even feel the onslaught of tears, just the brief sensation of hollow emptiness in his chest, and the absence of his heart beat at the very thought of a world void of those he loved.

"This isn't going to happen again. Not to us. Not to anyone." Hermione supplied quickly, vengeance within her tone, something new and unearthed beneath the usual witty tenor.

"Right." Ron replied readily, it was but one word, but a word that sufficed as a blood promise.

Harry's nerves lessened, but never vanished.

Even when Mr. Weasley had called them to breakfast, he didn't budge from his spot at the library window, satisfying them with an 'in a minute' and took to staring out at the blackened fields of Malfoy Manor, watching a single stand of green grass lightly sway in the infrequent winds.

Wondering if he could take on the duty of the world's protector.

Wondering if he'd fail again.

He knew in his heart, in his soul, in the deepest realms of his mind, it was imminent.

His eyes opened to a thick film, everything blurred and distorted. He blinked a few times in an attempt to find a source of the light, of the noises, of the pain spreading across his body.

He gave a soft groan, closing his eyes again. The pain came on slow but quickly, with every moment of consciousness he became increasingly aware of the injuries his body had sustained.

"God." He seethed, "Bloody..."

"Draco, how're you feeling?"

"Wha'?" He re-opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the grime layer from his eyes and squinted against the bright light surrounding the woman like an angelic aura, "I'm in pain." He replied monotonously as if annoyed by the question.

"I know. I whipped up a little Murtlap Essence cream, an anti-inflammatory, and put it on. It helps."

Draco looked down on his body, stitched like a quilt and oiled with ointment, his eyes jumped over the word 'murderer' on his body.

"Did you do this?" Draco asked quietly, "The stitching?"

"Yes. It's a little crude, but it turned out just fine. Being a mother in my position, I had to learn to stitch a thing or two. Couldn't run down to St. Mungo's every week, could I?"

Draco gave a phantom of a smile, then closed his eyes again against the familiar burning ache rising that would soon turn into agony, "Fuck..."

"Language, Draco Malfoy." She warned and released her following words in an uneasy breath, looking over his stiff features with a contemplative eye, "...I..whipped up a little something else as well. You could take this, if you need to..."

She grabbed a large phial off the side table, extending her arms calmly towards him. He opened his eyes in little slits to view the amber colored liquid in the glass container.

"If the pains intolerable, it'll surely do the job. Just a little though, Dear. It's rather strong." She uncapped it and hesitantly lifted his head.

He resisted slightly, looking to her as though his pride had been stricken from him, and then fell into submission. No one else was there. He could let his guard down for just a moment. He reached for the phial, to hold it himself, but found his arms were too weak and let her bring it to his lips. He felt the humility, it burned inside of him like alcohol down his throat. But it only left him colder. If his wounds hadn't burned worse than his own pride eating away at him inside, he would've demanded independence.

But for the moment, he trusted her- she'd patched him up after all when it would've (could've) been the most opportune time to kill him if she so desired. If she wanted him dead, she wouldn't be the kind of murderer to feed off his fear.

"A sip at best." She whispered in instruction as she tipped it slowly into his mouth, watching his eyes close in exhaustion as he swallowed the small sip she'd poured into his mouth.

The relief was almost immediate, "Thank God.." He said in a hush, his head beginning to turn to the side as the world faded to grey, "...thank God..."

She liked it better when he fell asleep in that position, the word branded to his skin became almost invisible this way. The word became nothing more than mere marking-like scratches, becoming illegible cuts on his face that reminded her of cat scratches.

She capped the phial and looked down at the liquid sparkling inside with disdain.

Cat scratches didn't require pure Morquin.

Ginny's conversation was cut in half by a knock at the door.

She'd been talking quietly with Hermione about the obvious concern over Harry and the stress on him. Hermione and her both knew the source, it wasn't a difficult riddle to solve. He was taking responsibility for everyone as per usual, forgetting those who were equally capable of protecting themselves and lost in a delusion that everyone was incompetent and that he'd have to act as the only wizard.

It was sort of deluded in a way- not realistic. Although, Harry tended to think of the worst scenario first and make it true in his mind- so true that he'd become surprised when anything positive turned out in a situation.

It didn't help that Malfoy, someone he was trying to pull away from his main enemy by request was now lying injured in a bed unconscious with creams and stitches and golden fluids forced down his throat to ease the pain and stop the nightmares that came in the night.

He was on the edge more than ever and it was in the middle of discussing how they could possibly pull him from the brink he'd set himself on that a knock came at the door that made them even more worrisome than before.

Their faces portrayed shock, as could be expected, and looked from the door to the other. No one else was in the foyer, no one was even in the living room which was situation to the right of them, or in the connecting kitchen.

They were all either upstairs, in the garden, out to fetch groceries, reading in the library, or checking on the still sleeping Malfoy who hadn't opened his eyes since three am that morning for Mrs. Weasley, but was steadily improving in condition.

And currently, no one was apparently within ear shot of the knocking at the door.

"I'll get it." Hermione replied quietly, "But you be right behind me with your wand ready."

"If they're an enemy...I'll use stupefy?"

"Only on my signal." Hermione replied with an approving nod, standing and fixing her button up-shirt with a tug that was situated beneath a soft periwinkle sweater.

Ginny folded her arms across her own green long sleeved shirt, feeling the slight chill in the air pass through the thin cotton material and chastised herself mentally for not deciding to layer and put on her brown pullover or her blue jacket.

Another impatient knock sounded and Ginny swallowed a little nervously.

"Impatient isn't he?" Ginny remarked quietly.

She pulled out her wand from the waistband of her jeans and took position behind Hermione auspiciously as she neared the door and opened it with polite eagerness.

Standing on the porch with widened eyes and uplifted brows, dark hair falling in a thick mass of mess about her face, was Pansy Parkinson whose expression suddenly contorted to confused anger.

"Granger? What're you-"

"Pansy."

Pansy's eyes snapped from the two girls who looked at her in sudden understanding to Harry who became the new main attraction. Hermione and Ginny turned quickly, Hermione looking back to Pansy periodically to ensure she wasn't about to try anything on them.

"Potter." She said, but without the venom her usual serpent-like tongue dripped, she was concerned and her innocence suddenly came back, "Where's Draco?"

"Come in." He said, "Hermione. Ginny. It's okay."

"Right." Hermione said quickly, "Yeah, right." She took a side step beside Ginny who closed the door behind Pansy who came in somewhat unwilling, looking around her strangely for a moment before folding her arms across herself.

"I..." She begun but then bit her tongue, deciding it was best not to speak so freely to people she considered to be her enemy, "What's happened?" It was a demand, but weak like Draco's threats anymore.

She seemed lost and out of the loop, so Harry assumed her parents weren't deatheaters and her being a deatheater was out of the question, her forearms were both exposed as she rolled up her sleeves and no markings could be made out, not even a faint scar.

"You don't know?" Harry asked blankly, almost monotonous.

"No, I don't. Does it make you happy?" She bit her tongue again, she wanted to yell and scream, 'He didn't tell me his parent's died, he didn't even tell me he was under the Weasley's care. I don't even understand why you'd be here, Potter. He left me totally in the dark when I'm the only one whose ever cared, and another thing, why are you here and not me? You know what? He never even said goodbye. So no, Potter, I don't know what the fuck is going on.'

But she didn't.

She kept her teeth against the tip of her tongue, biting harder every time she came close to puking out the words from her throat in fiery angry bursts, or every time hot tears of frustration balled up beneath her eyes and left her eyeballs bobbing in her sockets like buoys, burning as the salty tears flooded her head and senses.

But she kept her composure.

She took a shaky breath and held herself tighter in her dark green sweater, placing her pea coat onto the coat stand along with her black and grey floral scarf.

"Harry." She said it plainly, the word was shocking like a five year old saying a curse word in public to Hermione and Ginny's ears, even Harry stopped breathing for a moment, "Please..." She whispered the plea simply, she'd lost everything in herself by this point, "...is he dead?"

She dropped the ball with a heavy heart, every syllable shaking on trembling cold lips.

"No." Harry said quickly, understanding the idea of fear- even if it was for Malfoy, "No, he's not."

She felt herself relax, attempting to catch her breath without being obvious she'd lost it.

"It's a lot to tell though." Harry said offhandedly, "I think Malfoy should be the one to tell you. When he's a little more..conscious..."

"He's unconscious?"

"Yes. He's been out since three am. Hasn't woke since."

"I have to see him." She replied, it wasn't a question, but a demand of absolution, as though it were impossible to deny her the rights.

"We should really warn you, "Ginny begun quietly, stepping forward, "Pansy, it's bad and I-."

Pansy shook inside, but was too strong to ask how bad, too strong to let a tear slip from her eye and show her humanity, but too weak of a woman to accept it.

"What would you know?" She said, "About bad? Worst injury you've ever had is from quidditch. Bludger to the arm. Am I right?" Her voice shook with misery, purpose, her hands clenched together, Ginny couldn't bring herself to respond, "Am I right?...Right. Where is he?"

Ginny pointed towards the hall next to the stairs, "In his parent's room."

Pansy looked down the long narrow hallway full of doors, and looked back to the three before her. She could hear footsteps from somewhere, getting louder, getting closer.

"You act like I've been here before." She said in a hopeless humor, which garnered her the confused expression of the three in the room, "You think I'm his girlfriend? You probably think we were betrothed with what stereotypes linger in your small minds."

"I'm...sorry, Pansy, it seemed like you..." Harry trailed awkwardly then gave up when he noticed Pansy was uninterested in the apology, "Anyway. Not important. I can take you to him."

"It'd be the sensible thing to do, I'm not the whore he fetches in the night. I'm not his...his...bitch." Her words sliced through them, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an insecure fashion despite her bowed stance and perfect posture which should demand respect, but demanded the opposite from the three, "Now, take me to him."

"This way.." Harry whispered, beginning to walk down the hall, Pansy following with vengeful eyes and determination in every step she took.

Hermione was floored, but after taking a moment to bring herself back together, followed after the two alongside Ginny who'd been urging her to follow.

"Pansy, we never-...It just...It certainly seemed like you had a liking to him the way you two have been behaving this year." Hermione replied sternly, "We never said you were anything like you suggested."

"No, but you've thought about it, haven't you?" Pansy turned with fire in her venomous gaze, "You've gossiped about us and I hear what people say, I'm not deaf you know."

Harry stopped at a door at the end of the hallway, pressing his hand onto the knob, "He's in here."

Pansy prepared herself physically, mentally she could be crushed as long as no one around her saw her distasteful breakdown.

He opened it for her and Pansy pushed the door open herself. Footsteps came down the hall quietly, but she didn't even take the time to see who else was possibly in Malfoy Manor and didn't even entertain the possibility of this being a ruse to capture her.

Something in her told her that Potter was far too noble to do anything so sneaky and cunning, it was something she would do. Not him. Not a Gryffindor.

Her eyes took just a moment to adjust, but after a few seconds, saw the figure beneath the blankets, the rise and fall of his breath sending her into a calmer state of mind- knowing that he was indeed alive.

There was a deep musk in the air, like blood and something very distinct- it smelled the medical closet Lawrence snuck into in the medical wing. Lawrence Bigsby was a hopeless drug addict and snuck out small phials from a specific pantry every month or so as to go unnoticed by the scatterbrained Pomfrey. That smell hung in the air like a cloud, choking her nostrils at first, but with time, she got used to the scent and it faded away to the back of her mind like background noise.

She moved closer to the green silk bed, draped with similar material as the bed was dressed in. All around her was dark furniture- dark wardrobes and chairs, a vanity and bookcase. All oak with green trimmings and accents.

His face, when she got close enough to see it in the dim light of the lamp on the end table beside him, was exceptionally pale against the bruises and cuts. She saw the word written across what was once perfectly untouched skin and pushed a hand against her mouth, in case she should gasp and wake him.

She rounded the side of the bed, pulling away the blankets slowly, cautiously, with a certain degree of care only someone with love in their heart could do and looked at his blackened body, a ragged design of stitches decorating his skin like a war veteran, the word 'murderer' etched into him more than four times, she was sure of it. She dropped the blankets, hands shaking and legs weak beneath her.

She strengthened herself at the creaking sound behind her.

She looked to the door to see Ginny shutting it behind herself, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. It's...a lot to take in."

Pansy didn't reply, but looked down to Draco's peaceful expression and then swallowed her own pride, something she'd held onto for a very long time.

She released a breath, then looked back to the innocent expression on the girl a year junior to herself. She released her anger and felt the fear overtake her. What sort of monster could've done this?

She held his limp wrist in her own, shaking. She wondered if she should turn it over, if the dark mark would look back at her? She'd denied it to herself for so long when she knew logically, this was the reason for his weird behavior- it was the only theory that made sense. If he'd refused the mark...he would've been dead or at least disowned.

But a deatheater at sixteen? Could it be true? But...Voldemort was desperate.

She turned the hand over with hesitation, eyeing his battered skin slowly then let her eyes hit the black ink stain. She dropped his wrist instantly.

"My hate for you isn't personal, you know." She said quietly, stifling her sob with these words, but they were something so sudden, Ginny was in shock the moment the words had left her mouth, "I just love him." She said this as though it were an extension of her previous sentence, like an explanation.

Ginny looked at her confused and took a step forward, awaiting anything more.

"I thought he hated you, and all I wanted...I only wanted to impress him and get his attention. It just ended up repulsing him. Don't misinterpret me, I was taught to hate your kind, but I just find myself...unfazed by all you most of the time. If you weren't so concerned with being perfect, I think we could be tolerant of each other...maybe in other circumstances we would've been..." She couldn't bring herself to say anymore.

"I'm far from perfect."

"But far from imperfect just as well." She replied quickly, looking up to her with a razor gaze, "You can't understand what it means to be told your perfect but wonder if you're everything but. You couldn't." She paused momentarily, then looked back to Draco, "He doesn't love me you know, and I pretended to stop caring if he reciprocated my feelings last summer." Her eyes flashed pain in them somewhere deep inside, behind a rocky wall of rough callous anger, "Don't think I'm being friendly, I'm telling you this out of necessity."

"It hurt didn't it?" Ginny's mind flashed back to a time she'd seen Harry eyeing Cho Chang, before he'd become wise to her feelings towards him and before he'd felt the same way. It was painful, soul wrenching, like a deatheater taking all the happiness and joy and color from your world.

Pansy appeared dumbfounded, her eyes lost control of the situation and panic fled through her as she searched, mentally, for a comeback. "At first." She replied dryly, devoid of anything more than truth, "But the first week of school this year, he spoke to me personally- something I didn't think he'd ever do. It was late at night and I was the only one up in the common room. He sat down beside me and we were silent for a while. Then he just started talking and instead of worrying what he thought of me for once, I spoke to him like I would anyone."

"That's a good start." Ginny said somewhat awkwardly, though if this was what it took to remain at peace within the house, then it was what it took. As much as she disliked the Slytherin, she'd felt the same way about Draco not too long ago. Being a truly good person extended beyond a set comfort zone, she knew this from her mother and the times she'd deflected the harsh words of regal families in Diagon Alley as they went school shopping.

"No. He won't ever have romantic feelings towards me. I'm his friend. Nothing much else."

"Why're you telling me all this?" It was an innocent question, one purely out of curiosity and utter defeat for anything more to say, "You said it was necessity, but..."

Pansy turned her head towards Draco then back to her and released a breath.

"As much as I'd love to live the lie people are telling, it is what it is: a lie. And though I'd rather self-immolate than explain this to you, it hurts every damn time people ask if we're together and I have to tell them 'no'. It get's tiring when all I'd like to do is tell them 'yes'."

"Why don't you tell him how you feel then?"

"Because." Pansy said plainly, looping a piece of brown hair around a finger absentmindedly, she wanted to say, 'killing what we have now would kill me.' But instead chose brief silence. "Leave me alone with him."

Ginny was familiar with Pansy's directness and turned away, opening the door and entering the group outside the door with a plain expression, one opposite of the many questions circling in her head.

Pansy looked down to Draco for a moment and moved the cover slightly from his arm, taking his hand into her own with careful consideration, bringing it to her cheek and letting the tears flow freely down like a slithering snake, trailing its way down his hand, his arm, and finally died on the bed sheets.

Outside, Ginny faced the questioning whispers of the others and when they asked how she took it, Ginny said she was strong.

A very strong woman.

Pansy turned out to be what was expected, an extremely cold and unsociable person. At least, that's what she came off as and no one could truly blame her with what the circumstances were- in fact, Harry had expected much worse. They all had.

Pansy's cynical personality never went under an extreme change, it only became darker and more personal. As a younger girl, she'd been boy crazy, ignorant and snobby. Now before them was a more grown woman, mature in speech and coal black in soul. Her humor had become coarser, her words dryer, her sarcasm stronger, her defenses fortified to steel.

Questions were more or less deflected, otherwise, if she chose to answer, they were answered with little detail and bitter honesty.

She sat in the living room adjacent to the foyer with her head propped on a single hand, looking longingly at the bedroom she'd just retreated from with half the composure she'd walked in with.

She was regaining it quickly, forming an even thicker wall than before and cooling her emotions to a subtle anger that could be sensed in the air, so they left her mostly to herself.

"You know." Pansy begun quietly in the middle of a conversation the Weasley's were having, her voice suggesting something dark, "There was this time I came here, to Malfoy Manor. It was the first time I came and the only other time. I was fourteen. My parents were meeting with the Crabbe's, Goyle's, and Malfoy's and a few other families. When we got here, Draco refused to speak to anyone and I couldn't figure out if it was just because he hated me or if he was in one of his moods. But it turned out he was obsessing. Do you know he obsesses? Oh, he's awful..." Pansy mumbled into her hand, trailing off, and then came back around, "Well. He was obsessing about something. It was quidditch this time- he was obsessing about a loss between himself and you, Harry. He was so violently obsessed with this one game you two played, he wouldn't come off it."

"Which game?" Harry furthered, slightly curious as to what could be so controversial that Draco would obsess over such a thing on a holiday.

Pansy looked at him with the corner of her eye in both surprise and suspicion.

" I thought you would know. He's never told me about that game...never will I suspect."

Harry became silent, mulling over the quidditch game's they'd played at fourteen and couldn't think of one wrong move he'd done, one rule he'd broken. But then again, this came from the boy who was furious over embarrassing himself by provoking a magical creature- he was never good with dealing with humiliation. He could've easily done something to set him off and send him into a rage, especially at fourteen. It could've been something as simple as snatching the snitch from him in front of his team.

It would've been easy.

"I don't have any idea." Harry replied thoughtfully, then after another second, shrugged "I dunno."

"Hmph." Pansy looked back again to the hallway, the length furthering and furthering in her eyesight every few seconds.

Mrs. Weasley entered the room with a platter of cookies, setting them onto the table, steam rising from their gooey dough matrix, "Cookies?"

"Thanks, Mum!" Fred and George yelled simultaneously, reaching quickly for the same chocolate-loaded cookie.

In the background, Pansy could hear quiet bickering about who'd touched the cookie first and some laughing but all she could hear in her own mind was Draco's voice, the first time he'd spoke to her like a human.

Sitting there at the fire place, staring distantly into the red fire. He sat beside her making a ghostly presence beside her. He didn't even look at her. She didn't look at him. They were both tired of feeling the things they felt, so it was gone and they were just two humans sitting in a room on a couch beside each other. Tired and confused- but too tired to continue wondering and questioning and...

"I'm to be a Death Eater...and if I refuse, He will kill them."

He spoke in a dark tone, one that trembled beneath the crack of fire and was air-like in the winds that entered through the chimney.

"Who?"

"My parents."

"Are you scared?"

"...Malfoy's aren't scared."

"What if you're last name wasn't Malfoy?"

"Then I'd be scared."

"What happens then?"

"I don't know."

"Hm. Will you do it?"

"If I don't...they die."

"Then you will."

"I...don't know."

"...Why're you talking to me about to this?"

"...Crabbe and Goyle are cretins."

"I thought I was too."

You're different now."

"You are just as much different as I am. Are you cold?"

"Why?"

"You're shivering."

"I didn't notice. I must be."

"Are you...? You're crying, Draco."

"Malfoy's don't cry."

"Well, pretend you're not a Malfoy."

"...Impossible."

She embraced him suddenly in a quick and gentle manner, it was spur of the moment and just an impulse she reacted to. She held him in this way for a second before she felt his cold hands slowly slide up her legs.

She pulled herself away from him, she gave him a blank look and shook her head.

"Don't. You don't love me. You want control over something."

"Last year you begged for this."

"I want your love. Not your lust."

"What if I do love you?"

"You don't."

He pulled his hands back slowly.

"I..." He begun.

"Malfoy's don't apologize." She ended.

Pansy remembered that night vividly. They'd sat together in silence for most of the night after that. The world was changing and they were both scared of the changes. After that, they'd never discussed that night again. He'd been out of wits in panic, in fear, and on the brink of insanity, so what was there to discuss? That wasn't Draco Malfoy. That was another entity that made the rarest of appearances to her.

Pansy surfaced from the memory at the sudden movement in the hallway. She looked back to the Weasley family that had more than halved since the last time she'd paid any mind to the current residents of the home. Harry and Ron were left sitting beside each other talking about something quietly.

Pansy looked back to the hallway and stood at the sight of him, barely clothed, stitched and bruised, standing in the hall and taking slow deliberate steps.

"Draco.." She murmured, fingers brushing down her lips as she pulled her head out from her hand.

The two boys ceased speaking and looked towards the boy coming down the hall slowly.

"Pansy?" Draco looked to the couch opposite of where she was sitting.

"Malfoy, you shouldn't be up." Harry said standing up and putting his hands into his pockets , "You're feeling alright, then?"

"Mrs...Weasley's potion is very effective." Draco murmured, moving his shivering hand across his sweaty forehead, "Thank you...for getting Pansy..."

"Right." Harry cleared his throat, "Well. You're Welcome." Harry replied, giving a single nod, "But...why don't you come have a seat or something?"

"Draco..." Pansy whispered, turning from him just as he opened his mouth to speak, "...look what they've done to you." She stood now, moving towards Draco, swallowing, "Who did it?"

She held him by the arm gently, careful not to touch a single stitching.

"Potter, get Granger." Draco replied quickly, blinking back the hazy confusion that fought to overtake him a few times between every word, "She was right. About the passages."

Harry gave him a look, "What?"

What, was the word that had come from Harry's mouth, but all Draco could make out was a static-like noise and a sudden dizziness that overthrew any other sense. His nerves tingled and his head felt as if it were full of fluid.

"Juh..juh-just...Gret..Ganger..." Draco murmured before the world slipped from his view and everything went black.