A/N: Listen people, I have 1716 hits on this story, and yet only 70 reviews for a total of 13 chapters. The last chapter was hit 53 times, and I have zero reviews. If I don't know what people think of my story, I won't write anymore.

Recap:

"Brilliant."

"Shut up."

He smiled and gave a little chuckle. "Not on your life."

Chapter 14: The Ghost In Our Hearts

"Malfoy told you to come, didn't he?"

Hermione's hand slipped from the doorknob to hang slack and useless at her side. Bile rising in her tightening throat, she came all the way into the room, closing the door behind her. What had really gone on outside between him and Draco, who had been so eager to get her out of the room? She hadn't found out a thing, and there was no way she'd ask Ron.

She wanted to scream so badly, she actually let out a muted, "Uh!"

"What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Ron, are you—Why are you staring at me like that?" She'd been about to ask him if he was alright, when she caught sight of the look on his face.

But he didn't answer, and for the first time since she'd broken up with him, he was within inches of her. Slowly, almost clumsily, he reached up, softly brushing a loose strand of now short, bouncy hair from her forehead.

In her newfound honesty, Hermione found herself not wanting to turn away as he leaned in to kiss her. It was wrong and she knew that, and that was exactly the appeal it had. She'd been so right, so good all her life and where had it taken her? It almost—almost—made her see the argument for the dark side.

"Ron," she breathed, the tingle from his warm lips still pulsing through her. How she missed that, when everything had been simple.

"What made you cut your hair?" he asked and kissed her cheek. "I love it."

Why was she turning into a puddle of goo in every man's arms? Six months ago she had no one, and now two guys were in love with her! It was more than a little unnerving.

"Love," she answered, only seeing it was true when she'd spoken.

Ron's face dropped appropriately and he all but stumbled back.

The first thought that popped into Hermione's head was to grab him and kiss him, erase what she'd just said and start over. He'd taken in the wrong way! But for the life of her, she could not make her tongue cooperate.

"I don't love anyone," she blurted out, biting her bottom lip in frustration. Why couldn't what she felt be explained in words!

She then gasped so loud Ron's narrowed brows unknit. Of course! She couldn't express herself because she didn't know how she felt.

"What I mean," she continued, her confidence returning, "was you and Draco, what's been going on. Uh, I was—I still am—so confused. I guess…what I'm trying to say is…I don't know what's happening, but I'm willing to try anything to fix it.

"If you ever fall in love again," he said slowly, his eyes seeing through her, "I hope he loves you back. Do you know how rare that is?" His voice had turned to an acidic laugh. "You loved me, but I didn't make a move. Then we're together, but you don't love me anymore. Malfoy loves you, but you barely want to be his friend. Not that I care, he can rot. The there's Harry and Gin, and Snape and Celeste, and—I just hope it happens for you." But his tone seriously suggested otherwise. In fact, she wondered how close he'd been to doing something other than kiss her before.

"I don't know what else to say. There's no quick answer, Ron."

"That's not what I want." He was so close to yelling. He was mad at her for not loving him, and she was mad at Draco for loving her. The universe was shifting and she was powerless to stop it. "If it took a lifetime for the answer to be that you loved me I would wait! Can you ever understand that?" This last question came out in a defeated huff and he collapsed on the bed. "Sleep with me tonight."

Hermione was too shocked to even look shocked. He couldn't have just said—

"Not like that," he laughed, and he reminded her so much of Draco. She wanted to run. "Sleep next to me. I miss you."

"It won't help you get over me," but what she was really thinking was that Draco still expected her. What mattered more? Comforting Ron or—What was waiting for her with Draco? Another fight? More pain? Most definitely.

"I don't want to get over you."

Hermione didn't know what to do, and she did nothing. She closed her eyes and willed all her problems to devour themselves and disappear.

"Hermione?"

She had to make a decision. There had to be a right answer. She was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake! She could do this!

"Will you stay?"

The night air was deep-winter cold, and yet it was the middle of August, two weeks before the start of Draco's sixth year at Hogwarts. Not that any of that mattered anymore. His mother had been called before the Dark Lord; Voldemort had plans for Draco. She did her best to keep herself under control before leaving the Manor. How long had it been? Two hours? Three?

"Draco." His mother's voice filtered through his thoughts and he turned to see her standing in the doorway of his balcony. Was this going to be the last time he saw her? Did he care?

He grunted in response, but then immediately straightened up as her sister Bellatrix, haggard and proud, came into view.

"You're very lucky, you know that?" Bellatrix began, then stepped out onto the balcony and joined him at the railing. She didn't look at him, but Draco wouldn't have noticed either way. He was staring at the woods beyond, wondering how easy it was to get lost among the trees. He wasn't scared, just…unsure. Could he really pull off what Voldemort wanted from him? "To be so young and on the Dark Lord's radar. You should be honored."

"I am." He unconsciously puffed up his chest ever so slightly. Who else in Slytherin could say the same as him? He was one in a million.

"Narcissa." Draco didn't need to look behind him to know that his mother had left. Undoubtedly it was due to her concern; Bellatrix was more suited for these types of things. And if his father hadn't been holed up in Azkaban, then he would be here and not his aunt. "You have two assignments, Draco."

"Care you elaborate?" He'd never really liked his mother's sister; she didn't care. She didn't much like her nephew either. In fact, she rather hoped he failed his mission.

"Kill Dumbledore. Kill Potter's mudblood friend."

"What about Weasley?" He would just love to get his hands on the filthy rat.

"The Dark Lord has no interest in him. Dumbledore's death is essential. The mudblood, well," she yawned, as if very bored at the prospect of the deaths two people opposing her Lord, when everyone knew she might as well drink blood for breakfast. "She's not dumb, magic-wise. It's because of her that Potter has survived this long. Kill them both and you might just be worthy of that Mark on your arm."

Draco's hand instinctively went to his left forearm, where he'd been branded with the Dark Mark not two nights ago. It had been painful, but worth it.

"I suggest you take one at a time," she added, her hand lashing out to squeeze his face. "Mess up and I don't have to tell you it's your life, Draco." Her hand dropped before he had a chance to bat her away; his cheeks were raw, but there was no way he'd let her know that. He did his best to ignore the sting. "Now for the other assignment."

His face paled.

"But I thought—"

"Killing them is one," she bit, annoyed. "Pay attention. The second is far more difficult, and no where near as fun." Her lips twitched up into a smirk and she proceeded to explain about the twin Vanishing cabinets; one in Hogwarts and the other conveniently in Borgin and Burkes. Fix the cabinet at Hogwarts, let the Death Eaters in, job done. She said it like it was so simple. "Think your tiny brain can handle it?"

"If you weren't a favorite—"

"Dearest Draco," she sighed, and this time she wrapped her gnarled fingers around his throat, jerking him forward so her breath was hot on his face. "Your mother is the only thing keeping you alive as it is. But she has no where near the leverage I have, so I'd suggest you nod in agreement and keep that ugly trap of yours shut."

"I'll kill them," he wheezed out. "I'll—" Cough. "—fix the damn cabinet. Then what?"

She let go and he stumbled back, having to grab the railing not to fall.

"Then maybe you can have a real assignment," she laughed, tossing her head back. "Let me give you a word of advice, little nephew. When you kill the girl, look her in the eye, feel her death. It's indescribable. If you're truly a Death Eater, truly one of us, you'll love it."

"Are we done?" He was unimpressed. Surely killing them wouldn't be that difficult, but he couldn't be as great as she was suggesting. It all sounded rather cumbersome to him. Take a life, fix a cabinet, take a life. Was he a soldier or a repair man?

The sharp pain registered before anything else. Before he realized Bellatrix had slapped him across the face. Before he realized she was gone and his mother was back again.

"Draco?" his mother whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Get off me," he hissed, and stormed away. He needed a drink. And then six more.

Draco sat up, a shiver running through him. Why was he having that dream now? Of all the times? And what an obscure thing to relive. Surely any one of the moments when he'd stalked Hermione through the halls was more significant than that. If he was guessing right, and the dream had been his subconscious reminding him of his past, then why Bellatrix? Why that night?

He had his feet on the floor, his robe halfway on, when he became conscious it was morning and he'd been asleep. His robe still not fully on, he flew out the door, rounding the corner to Hermione's room. But he wasn't the only one eager for her presence this morning. Ron was standing in his slippers, no robe, outside her door and beating on it as if it had caused him personal distress.

Draco had a flash of his still-lingering dream, when he'd asked if he could kill Ron too. How drastically things had changed since then. He had no desire now to even so much as poke him. Well, maybe not at the moment. Things change. But right now Hermione was his only concern.

I could have killed her.

"Have you seen Hermione?" Ron demanded, finally noticing Draco's presence.

"Got me." He shrugged as if it weren't the only reason he was out here. "Last I knew she went to your room and was supposed to come back, and finish with me." He allowed his lip to curl suggestively. Who said he couldn't have fun with this? After all, he wasn't going to get what he wanted.

"You fucking arrogant—"

"Ron?"

They both turned at the sound of Harry's voice, the next door over.

"Malfoy? What are you two doing? It's six in the morning. Go back to bed."

Harry was about to close his door and do just that, when Ron and Draco both erupted into fiery explanations and accusations. So much for the would-be truce they silently made last night.

"Wait, one at a time," Harry hissed, and stepped into the hall. "And be quiet. There are people sleeping in there." He shut his door and motioned for Ron to continue.

"Big surprise," Draco muttered to himself.

Only Ron didn't repeat himself or explain further.

"Who's in your room, Harry?"

"Gin and Hermione. And they're asleep, like I said before."

"That's what we're doing!" Ron stammered. "Last night Hermione came to talk to me. I asked her to stay with me." A heavy blush crept onto his cheeks. "She didn't really answer, then said she had to use the bathroom. Next thing I know I'd fallen asleep and it was morning."

"Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but told his story nonetheless.

"Well that explains a few things then," Harry said to himself, his brain working.

"Like what, Potter? Hermione was apparently supposed to be in two places last night. She was at neither, and now she's in your room?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy. Hermione came to my room last night, crying and asked if she could sleep in here. She and Ginny slept in the bed, I slept on the floor." He straightened up, his glare hot and piercing. "And if you ever suggest something like that again you can forget about staying under this roof," he ground through his teeth. "Understand?" He opened the door to go back inside.

"Oh, perfectly. Let's discuss it more over tea."

An all out brawl could have erupted right then and there.

"Harry, what's going on?" came Hermione's voice from within the dark room. Both Ron and Draco strained their necks to see inside, but Harry slipped in, blocking their view.

"Go back to bed," he ordered them. Even Ron, his best friend. "You can talk to her at breakfast."

Needless to say, none of them got very much sleep after that.

At breakfast, some four hours later, Ron and Draco waited eagerly for Hermione to finish her miniscule two pieces of toast and tea. She hadn't said so much as good morning to either of them, instead talking only to Tonks. When she was finally done, they both rushed from their chairs, but it was Snape who won her attention and they left the kitchen together.

"Bloody hell," Ron sneered.

"Stupid git," Draco agreed, though he could have very well been talking about Ron.

"Don't be sour boys," Tonks said, startling them as she walked over. "He's just making sure she'll be able to take the potion tonight. If she's allergic to any of the ingredients, he'll have to start over."

Neither of them seemed to appreciate this answer, however, and stalked off.

"Did I miss something?"

Harry sighed loudly and shook his head.

"They're being idiots."

"Actually, I meant Hermione. I thought she liked Draco."

Harry's expression fell flat.

"Excuse me? Why the hell would you think that?" He didn't mean to sound so rude or demanding, but what she'd said was so…so—Harry moaned, putting his head in his hands. Who was he kidding? He'd thought the same thing for some time now. Only suppressing the thought and hearing it from someone else's lips were two different things. "Sorry," he sighed.

"I understand," and Harry felt she did in a very real way.

"I don't think she knows it yet."

"Yet."

"I could literally kill Malfoy for this."

"He's just a boy in love, Harry."

"He's a Death Eater, Tonks. A killer. He doesn't deserve to—"

"Technically," drifted in a drawling voice, "I haven't killed anyone." Draco stepped into the room, having overheard them from the living room, where he'd been stewing and waiting for Hermione. "And I'm not a Death Eater anymore, Potter."

"That Mark on your arm sings a different tune," Harry spat.

"Have you even seen it?"

Harry sneered, looking much like an angry wolf. But his face froze not a second later when Draco hiked up his sleeve and held out his arm, the black skull and snake looking more like singed flesh than a magical tattoo. But then neither Harry nor Tonks knew what was involved in getting the Dark Mark.

"Well look," Draco spat, brandishing his arm in Harry's face. "You think this stupid thing makes me evil? A Death Eater? One of Voldemort's supporters?"

Harry would have been glad to answer, to agree, but Draco wasn't finished.

"No, Potter. All it means is my father fucked up and I had to pay for it. I didn't ask for it."

"But that doesn't mean you didn't want it."

Everyone turned so sharply on their heels, it was a wonder they didn't get dizzy. Hermione stood, arms crossed rigidly over her chest, her eyes zeroed in on Draco. Outwardly she appeared almost tranquil, if not slightly annoyed. But inside they all knew she was seething.

"I've trusted you," she began, taking deliberately slow steps towards them. "I accepted you when no one else would. I believed that you switched sides. And I have put up with you, because I do believe all those things." She stopped six inches in front of Draco, belittling him with the simple act of looking into his eyes. "I believe you've changed, and for the better, and everything else. But not once have you even tried to tell me what happened. Yes, you love me. Ok. I can understand that. But before that? What were you doing? When did you get that hideous scar on your arm?" Subconsciously Draco pulled his sleeve back down. "And how the hell could you live with yourself when you were trying to kill the kindest, gentlest man in this world?"

"Do you really want to know?" He was the picture of calm. But that's all he ever was. A picture. An illusion. A fake.

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he said, and straightened himself up. He wanted to go some place private, but he was beyond asking for such a thing. So he started talking, his voice low and as steady as possible. "When I was given the assignment, I would have killed the old man in a heartbeat."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't care about anyone else one way or another. Not Dumbledore. Not you." He closed his eyes for an instant. "I lived for myself. But that's not even the worst of it." He could kill himself for what he was about to say. "I wouldn't deny you a thing now, Hermione. You said everything, and you're right, you should know. The truth is, Dumbledore wasn't the only one I was supposed to kill and didn't. There was someone else."

"Me." It wasn't a question.

"How—"

"I figured that out a long time ago, Draco. Why else would you have been so civil with me all this time? And don't say it's because you love me; you can love someone and still want to tear their head off. No. You were being nice, because you felt guilty. You were actually going to go through with it."

"You're right." He looked at the floor, then at Harry, of all people, then back at Hermione. "If not for one thing."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's not what you think."

"What then?"

"Once, when I was following you, a first year Slytherin dropped his books. Everyone else just walked by, some stepping on his things, but no one paid any attention to him. Except you. You told Potter and Weasley to stop laughing and helped the kid. He yelled at you, calling you a mudblood, but you just smiled and walked away. You didn't care that he was insulting you and hated you for the dumbest reason; he was a person who needed help and that's all you saw, that's all that mattered to you."

"You didn't kill me because I helped some snot-nosed Slytherin pick up his books?"

"If, when I was trying to…kill you, I somehow hurt myself, you wouldn't bat an eyelash and help me. Tell me I'm wrong."

Hermione did no such thing and frowned.

"What are you saying, Malfoy? Any moron could have seen I was a good person."

"I'm not just any moron." And despite her raging anger, Hermione let out a partial chuckle. "Of course I knew you were good, Hermione. But to help a Slytherin? An enemy? Someone who was hurting you as you helped them? That kind of goodness is not something that can be ignored."

"So you just decided right then and there to denounce Voldemort and not kill me?"

"No," he sighed, aggravated that she wasn't really listening. "I thought about it, for a long time. I wondered how it was possible for someone to be that good. Or why they would even want to. It took me a month to realize it was because you're so much stronger than me, because I would have killed you, without thinking, and it would have been weak."

"I—" But Hermione had no idea what to say. And now she realized Harry and Tonks were staring at them, as if watching a Soap Opera. "Drop. Dead. Malfoy."

In a rush of robes, she was gone.

"Don't even think about saying a word, Potter. She might be angry, but she'll calm down, so I don't think your and Tonks' theory is completely out the window. I might actually have a chance with her." Did he really believe that? Or was he all talk because he'd just been so exposed?

"You'd be the first to know," Harry spat, "when hell froze over."

I rule :) You people are lucky, I've been staying up into the wee hours of the morning typing these last few chapters. So be considerate:

REVIEW!

P.S. I know it seems out in left field that the reason Draco didn't go through with killing Hermione was b/c she was nice to a Slytherin. But, if you think about it, it makes sense. He'd been trailing her, which means he was actually paying attention to what she did and why she did it.

A/N: As always, be weary of typos. They haunt me.