A/n: Here's something for you to read: let's find out the history behind the Evans! Enjoy chapter 25, it's one very informative, sweet, suspenseful chapter! Leave a review at the end so I know if the explanation made enough sense! XD Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story and every one of you that keeps reviewing. We broke 600!

The facebook link is at the top of my profile! Thanks to my beta, JDeppIsMyLovely, and enjoy!

You're Face it Haunts

December 21 came too soon for Hermione. She should've been at home with her family, decorating the tree too close to the actual holiday and flooing Harry and the Weasley's each night to talk before going to bed. Instead she was living in a cold, dark Manor with only Malfoy for company and as far as she could tell- these people did not believe in festive decorations. Yesterday she had been walking up from breakfast with Malfoy and had passed the ballroom; a mixture of silver, green and black had greeted her as she peered in. Seriously, these Pureblood's were way too happy with their house colors from Hogwarts. Didn't people ever just stick with traditional red and green anymore? Before she had really gotten the chance to contemplate things further, Malfoy had said his mother was coming and the pair had hurried off before she lectured them again about Hermione being scarce when the Ball took place.

As if she wanted to attend. Currently, she was seated on the ground, presents around her. She had just sent the presents for Harry and the Weasley's off, having never gotten the chance to give them to them before the holidays began. It had taken quite a bit of energy to send, but in return she had gotten her own presents. She was currently collecting them into a nice little pile to set on her bedside table, the best things she had with her.

Back in October, just before her cancer became too severe to tolerate, she had gone out and bought her parent's presents, not even thinking about them no longer being around. It wasn't until she got back to the Head's common room that she realized they would never get to open them. The thought had made her sob back then, and now it brought tears to her eyes as she turned and looked at the two gifts sitting on the maple desk, a third keeping them company. She had purchased the silver wrapped gift on the last Hogsmeade trip before the holidays, and now wasn't so sure it was a good idea. The present was for Malfoy, but she wasn't sure he deserved it. It had just been a spur of the moment purchase after all, something that had been bought days after he bothered to let her cry on his shoulder, and spill her secrets. She doubted now that any of those presents would reach their owners.

Slightly upset by her own thoughts, she flopped onto the bed. On the other side of the Manor's thick walls she knew Malfoy was wasting time as well, and although she would've enjoyed going to go see the prick, despite how awkward things had been since her slight kiss to his cheek. He tried to ignore the entire ordeal, but she knew the sign of affection bothered him. Malfoy seemed to know no more about affection than a child did, and he had only his cold parents to blame. But hey, like father like son, and Draco had learned from the best how to shut up emotions and always have a stoic expression.

She yawned. Thoughts of Malfoy could always wait until later. For now, she needed to sleep. It wasn't that late in the day, but she was getting worn out from visiting Lucius. The most recent time had gone a bit better- for at least neither of them had left the space bleeding- but they had been up there for only a few minutes, so it wasn't much to judge. Malfoy got snippy with her when they stayed too long, and he never allowed her to get too close to him. It basically killed her entire purpose of being there.

Hopefully he would stop acting so strange and they could get something done soon.

In the room next door, Draco sat scanning the contents of a letter for a second time. It seemed that his cousin Tonks had finally gotten around to informing him about something with Theodore Nott, and he didn't really like where it was headed.

For one thing, he had also been under an imperius curse just like Annabelle Day had been, and it was suspected that the two were placed under the curse by the same person. That tidbit of information set his mind ill at ease, as he remembered the violent tendencies Nott had exhibited, especially towards Granger. He was damn certain the culprit was none other than his uncle, but Tonks did not go into that in her letter and he wasn't about to bring up an issue he still did not fully understand.

He did wonder though, about some of the things Nott had said to him, and Blaise. The pair may have not been the closest since Malfoy decided to go ahead with the cure for Hermione, but they still talked enough for the blond to know that Theo had sought his Italian friend out, and had been a bit odd around Pansy. The fact that Nott had spoken about things that sounded very close to 'recruiting' was unsettling to say the least, and knowing now that it wasn't just Nott talking but Rodolphus as well made him wonder just how often he had been talking to a real person. Theo was cursed, and Welsh had been fake half the time. Who's to say others were not just imposters as well.

He shook his head at that thought. He may not trust everyone now, but it was a long stretch to say that people like Potter or Blaise had not truly been themselves. Weasley came to mind as an odd character, for though his behavior had been worse than normal, he wasn't all that different. He usually had an awful temper, but if Rodolphus had any hold over the ginger he would never have needed Theo; it would've been enough to have someone like Ron to intrude on her, and he would never have caught the signs. Draco may not have been the best of friends with Theo, but he knew how he usually acted. Ron Weasley was someone he only ever saw during school hours- and the occasional after school detention- but he would never have known what made him tick. Unusual behavior from the ginger's standpoint would've been harder to acknowledge, especially if he went into her room and shut the door like he usually did. No, Weasel would never have been another one of Lestrange's victims, simply because he was too much like himself.

That did nothing to answer his questions though. What incentive did Rodolphus really have? He understood that something happened with Martha and Andrew Evans that apparently angered him, and thus he set out to kill Hermione's parents then torture and kill her, but his plan had been interrupted somehow. So what had to happen to make someone as twisted and racist as Rodolphus snap, over the mere deaths of muggles? He could simply not wrap his head around that. He knew he needed to go and confront Granger about it again, but after her chaste kiss on his cheek a few days prior he wasn't sure he wanted to. It stirred up emotions in him that he sometimes forgot existed.

But that was a bit off topic, wasn't it? Clearing his head, he tried to refocus on the letter at hand. Tonks had asked about any strange behavior and he was going to owl her everything he knew, mentioning Blaise and he could inform her if he so chose to. He thought it may be a good idea, since the prick had some odd behavior towards Pansy that would be hard to identify between Nott's real feelings and what the spell caused him to do.

Draco sighed, getting up from his bed and tossing the letter onto the nearby bedside table. Theo was a problem, but his letter was already sent and so long as he was under the custody of the Ministry, he could do no further damage. It was Rodolphus that was the dangerous one, and anyone else that he placed under the imperius spell. That was what he needed to be worrying about. Anything that had happened with Pansy could wait until the Ball, which was just three days away; an event he was still dreading. Just yesterday his mother had tried to set him up at the last minute with a pretty hazel- eyed Pureblood visiting from Russia. He thought it was the most ridiculous thing.

Walking to his window, he rested his head on the cool glass. Winter had set in finally, and the ground was now sleeked in snow. The glass was colder than it had been since their arrival, and the entire castle had cooled quite a bit. There were fires in every room now. Staring out at the landscape, he couldn't help but think how nice it would be to step outside and let the falling snow swallow him, taking away all the damn stress. But no, he couldn't do that, for he still had too many things to deal with that involved too many other people. But mostly, they included Hermione.

He groaned and turned so his back hit the window, and he slid down the wall until he was sitting. It was bad enough that Granger stirred emotions in him from her simple little kiss, but now he accidently referred to her as Hermione in his mind on occasion? That wasn't good, for he would never allow himself to be with her in any way. It wasn't about the blood status anymore, it was about whom they were as people; he was cold and troubled, she was lost and troubled. Troubled people never really fit together all that well, or at least they never did in his mind.

He resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. They were at the Manor, the deal was nearly over. Things should be drawing to a close, right? Not heating up and becoming more complicated!

But since when has anything been easy?

"Do you think it's too much," she asked, twirling for what had to be the ninth time. They had been in the same gown store for nearly three hours, and she had tried on perhaps eighty dresses, only coming to rest on this particular one because Blaise had thrown it at her out of irritation.

"It's the prettiest," Blaise assured his girlfriend, hoping his words would prompt her to buy the stupid gown so they could be on their way. Really, why was this so important to her?

Pansy beamed. "I agree; I want this one."

"Splendid," he replied, standing to take the gown as she shimmied out of it. They were in a private room, and he was ready to run to the cash register and get the thing before she changed her mind. As soon as the garment touched his fingers, he was out of there, leaving behind an eye-rolling Pansy.

He had just finished paying when she appeared at his side, her coat pulled tight around her. Diagon Alley was frigid today, and they were both ready to hurry three shops down to the Floo and return to his Manor with the purchase. Offering her his arm, they stepped out onto the cold streets, late holiday shoppers slipping this way and that on the icy ground. They stepped carefully, attempting to avoid the same fate.

The couple was nearly there when a short, slightly rounded man bumped hard enough into Pansy to send her sprawling. Blaise failed to catch her while trying to keep himself upright, and glared at the man as he attempted to move pass, obviously not giving a damn if she had fallen or not.

"Watch it," he snapped giving the man a hard shove. He stumbled, and the Italian used that moment to offer his girlfriend his hand and help her stand up. She glared at the man through a line of thick fringe.

The man saved himself from falling, and in the process the wind caught his hood and ripped it back slightly. The face below caused Blaise to pale on sight, but Pansy hardly noticed. "Could you possibly be any ruder," she spit, attempting to grab Blaise's hand, but he would not move. She glanced between him and the man, wondering just what was going on.

"It's quite a pleasure to see you again Mr. Zabini," the man said, smiling the same, wicked smile he had often given to Hermione in secret, before shutting the door to her bedroom and blocking off her help. "Who is this lovely lady?"

Pansy opened her mouth to chirp a reply, but Blaise pulled her back, drawing his wand. She raised her eyebrows.

"The pleasure is all mine," the Italian said, leaning against the building beside him. He pulled Pansy further behind him, and it was then that she decided something was truly wrong and drew her wand as well. "I must say, this is a surprise. Do tell me Welsh, exactly how did you return from the dead?"

It was nearly eleven when the door to Draco's room opened, and he looked up to see a tired Hermione entering from their adjoining door. He raised an eyebrow as she shut it, ignoring his curious expression, and walked over to a chair near where he was sitting. His expression didn't change the entire time.

"Hello."

His eyebrows drew together. "Really Granger? You bothered to walk all the way in here- ignoring me- to say hello? I'm certain you could've managed that from the doorway."

"Probably," she said with an indifferent shrug, pulling mindlessly at a loose thread on her pajama shirt- which was littered with ugly kittens, much to Draco's disgust. "So what are you doing?"

He raised his eyebrow this time, placing the quill he had been using on the desk and leant back in his chair, giving her one of those unreadable expressions. "Granger, what do you think you are doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Cute and stupid just doesn't work for you Granger. What is it you want?"

She rolled her eyes. "I got lonely."

"You got lonely?"

"Yes," she snapped, crossing her arms. "This place is big and barren; there's nothing to do. It's too cold to go walking outside, and although there are plenty of books here even I need to take a break. Sue me for wanting a bit of company."

"And you think I'll be good company," he asked, unable to refrain a smirk. The uneasiness he had been feeling around her was gone, but those damn new emotions were back again. He would have to do something to make those go away at some point.

The brunette shrugged. "You offer more company than my bedpost, so I suppose that can be considered good."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine then Granger, if you are looking for company, you can have it, but you must provide the entertainment."

She frowned. "I don't have anything to entertain you with."

Oh how wrong you are. He shrugged. "I have wizards' chess."

She made a face. "I can't stand that game; too many bad memories."

"Over wizard's chess?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Then tell me about it," he said, leaning forwards in his chair and raising an eyebrow. She smiled, thinking he looked nicer when the cold exterior was dropped. That taken into consideration, she decided divulging into the secrets of her years at Hogwarts couldn't be that awful.

They proceeded to spend the next four hours talking about the silly things they did in their earlier years of schooling that got them into trouble with the teachers. Some were funny, some were scary.

It wasn't until Hermione yawned that the blond even bothered to check the time. "Granger, you know it's just past three."

Her eyes widened. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

He smirked. "Neither did I?" They had moved to sit on his bed some time ago, and he now took advantage of the situation and fell back on the covers stretching. She watched for a moment, before realizing what she was doing and looked away, cheeks red.

Draco chuckled. "Don't look so embarrassed Granger, it's just a stretch. Far naughtier things can happen on beds."

She scoffed. "Thanks for the mental picture Malfoy."

"Anytime," he said smirking as he changed positions so he could slide beneath the covers. "Now either continue with the story telling Granger or go to sleep.

Her eyebrows drew together, much like his had some time ago. Did he mean here? She decided to jump over the awkward topic entirely and chose the other option. "I'm not sure I have any more stories to tell."

He shifted positions, so he was lying lazily on his side looking at her. "Tell me about the Evans then," he challenged, hoping to not scare her off. He watched her eyes widen and she shifted her legs as though to get up, but he moved and caught her hand. "That is if you want to," he muttered, hoping he didn't sound like the sappy git he was beginning to feel like. Merlin, something was wrong with him tonight.

She smiled softly, then let go of his hand to lean back against the bedpost. "Why are you so curious about them?"

He shrugged, suppressing a yawn. "You mentioned them once upon a time. Something bad happened involving them, and it landed you with… cancer? Dead parents? I'm not sure which, but I wouldn't mind understanding more of this."

She flinched at his word choice, but chose to say nothing about it. Instead, she moved her eyes down to stare at the bed sheets. Martha and Andrew Evans had never been close to her- she had barely known them- and it no longer had to do with her not being ready to explain things, simply that she wasn't sure who to trust anymore with her secrets. Was it smarter to tell Malfoy or her friends, who were all currently unhappy with her?

"I didn't kill them," she said softly, and he lifted his head a bit to stare at her, surprised she had said anything at all.

"I didn't kill them," she said, a bit louder now. He sat up in bed, watching her closely. There were no tears trying to drip down her face like he was used to; rather, there was only an expression of pain. Her arms came to push her hair away from her face, and she shifted, practically falling off the bed when the bedpost was no longer directly behind her.

"Granger come up here before you fall," he said, meaning to snap out his words, but they came out gently and he inwardly hit himself for it. This girl was very possibly going to turn him into some giant teddy-bear loving flower giving bloke.

She didn't meet his eyes, didn't even respond, just crawled up the bed and sat beside him on top of the blankets, her back against the headboard just like his. They didn't speak for several moments.

"It was a misunderstanding."

"What was?"

She looked up at him. "How they died."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Go on."

"I was driving," she said, twiddling her thumbs nervously. "I always take this back road home. They used to live right by me, on that back road that was really only a street away. If I opened my window in my room and looked out I could see their house among the others, and sometimes we would wave good morning. I didn't know the Evans very well; we were just pleasant to each other."

"As Martha's son- Andrew- grew up they found he had this muggle disability called dyslexia; it makes it harder for people who have it to read and write, because they confuse letters like 'b' and 'd', and 'q' and 'p'. I would go down sometimes and tutor him in the summer when I had time."

She was quiet then for a moment, and he wondered if that was all that she was going to say. "It was just after the war, barely a month after when I went down to do my next tutoring session with him. He had gotten into some children shows, and they had good guys and bad guys. They were always fighting; he thought it was the best." He heard her breath hitch, and glanced over to see if she was crying. There was perhaps one tear, and he wondered if more would come. "I brought him something muggles call comic books, one I had gotten in America when I was little. Oh, I don't even remember what it was about. But it had the good guys and the bad, just like he loved. I don't think Martha liked it very much, but it made him smile."

The next thing that happened caught him completely off guard; she reached over and grasped his hand- possibly for comfort. This girl had more affection in her hand than he seemed to in his entire body. "That was the last time I saw them alive. When I went over the next morning to tutor him, they were dead." She said the statement bluntly, but he felt her shudder as she spoke.

"I didn't know what to do," she whispered. "I had just gotten home, gotten away from all of the death, and I walked into another house full of it. I didn't even scream Malfoy; I just stumbled out. And then I believe I was sick. I ran to the house and called the police- they are like muggle Auror's." She sniffled, finally turning to look at him. "But I didn't kill them; I don't know how they died."

He frowned, unconsciously rubbing circles on the back of her hand. "But then, how does my uncle fit in?"

She laughed bitterly. "That's where this whole problem starts, isn't it? Like I said Malfoy, it was a misunderstanding. I reported the murders, but I also had to go into questioning. Obviously, I was proven innocent. But my name was the only one to ever appear alongside theirs in muggle papers; maybe the Daily Prophet as well, I don't know if they ran an article or not, but I was the only person seemingly associated with them. He could've read anything to come to the conclusion that I had covered my tracks Malfoy- and I know he read something, because he mentioned reading it someplace- but the man's right out of Azkaban. He's a fugitive, and he's been in one of the worst prisons in the world for how long?" She was shaking her head. "He came to my house one night, and he didn't listen. I was upstairs asleep when he arrived; how he got through the wards, I don't know. He must've spent time breaking them down or something. But he got in, and he murdered my parents before he ever bothered making enough noise to tell me he was there."

It wasn't until he felt moisture attack one of his fingers that he realized she was crying as she talked. Deciding he had already ruined her perspective of him being heartless- and that just then he didn't honestly care- he removed his hand from hers and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. He wasn't sure if she would enlighten him on anymore or not, but he didn't think he could keep standing by and watching her cry.

"It was all misunderstood," she muttered. "He killed my parents because he was misinformed, and he didn't spare me a moment to listen and let me explain. He was rash, cruel, and he tore me apart. He was certain he knew the explanation, and that was enough for him. I killed the woman he had an affair with, and his half-blood son, and whether he cared about them or not didn't matter anymore. A Mudblood killed his family and he couldn't stand that. But I didn't do anything!"

"I know," he said softly, resting his head on top of hers, as she finally caved and buried her face into his chest. "I can see that now."

She mumbled something into his chest that he didn't understand, but he didn't move her to get an answer. He just left his head where it was, his hand rubbing her back softly as she cried.

It really was sick after all, that the man could kill so brutally without even understanding. The question in the back of his mind did stick though, as to who did really kill them, but he didn't voice it. He was still too busy pondering that inwardly, and the cancer, which he would ask about as soon as she calmed down. He wasn't sure where it fit in yet, just that it became more of a puzzle every time she opened her mouth. If the cancer had never existed, it was very possible that he would've never even known about the circumstances she was faced with; taking care of her had really been the reason he got so involved, because he was constantly with her and small things slipped by. It occurred to him that he still had a bundle of letters residing in his desk drawer- something he had brought home with him for the holidays for no apparent reason- and as he sat there rubbing Granger's back, he decided he should burn them. They were her secrets, her horrors, and she would tell him only what she was comfortable with. Who was he to invade her privacy?

At length, she detached herself from him and whipped at her eyes, slightly ashamed at her outburst. She had cried on him more than enough, and he had to be getting sick of it. "Sorry," she muttered.

"You don't have to apologize; I wasn't going to be cruel about anything."

She looked up and gave him a soft smile, thankful that for once the prick Malfoy was nowhere to be found; he could actually be nice when he tried to be. "Well, thanks for listening I suppose." She moved to get off the bed, but he caught her wrist lightly.

"I have a question actually."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, feeling rather tired after her story to Malfoy- or at least, everything she knew. "Oh?"

"Sit back down," he said, and she obeyed, if only because she was tired and cold and his bed had become oh so warm in the chilly Manor. He seemed to notice her snuggling against the bed sheets, and decided to not freak her out by offering her to come beneath the covers with him, but instead accio-d a blanket from the other side of his room and draped it over her, not meeting her yes. Thankfully, she did not make any comments about the action.

Once thoroughly warm, she looked at him. "So what was your question then?"

He cocked his head to the side, his nice, clean shirt now wet and wrinkled. "How does the cancer fit in? Sarcoma usually arises from a jump in growth, but you still seem to pretty small."

She sighed, having expected this question for a long time. "You know there are theories about Sarcoma, right?"

"Of course," he said, as though it should be obvious, and she could only roll her eyes at the blond.

"Some aren't proven, but they are possible. In all honesty, I'm not sure if this is the reason I got cancer, and I may never really understand why I developed it, for I doubt your uncle will do much explaining as to what happened when I ended up unconscious-"

"Unconscious," he cut in, sounding rather unhappy about that bit of information. She couldn't fathom why he would care about that detail, but didn't wait for him to ask questions and overlooked his interruption.

"-but the cancer is 'supposedly' able to be developed through high levels of stress, trauma, and other such things. Obviously, I experienced both, and although they fit in with what happened to me, I'm not at all sure that's really what it was. I'm not sure if I even believe those explanations, just that they are some that I was able to dig up. But he cursed me multiple times, so I'm not sure. It could have been a reaction from the combination of the spells; you've seen the scars, you should know how dense some patches were."

"So I have," he said, glancing away from her. The topic seemed to be bothering him a bit, although she couldn't place why.

"It's just a possibility, and truly I don't understand it all, but it started bothering me not long after I got away from him, so I just figure it's something he did."

"It makes sense," he replied, running his fingers through his hair. "What do you mean escape?"

She pursed her lips, and looked away. "He kept me locked in the basement for four days without my wand before I stole it back and escaped. My parents… their bodies were upstairs. So I got out and ran. I just ran until I found somewhere to hide and cleaned myself up. From there I called the muggle police."

He reached over and squeezed her hand; a gesture that he had realized was becoming too familiar. She seemed to take comfort from it however, and squeezed back, sinking down on the mattress a bit as she laid her head on the headboard, eyes closed.

"Granger, this isn't your room you know."

"Mhmm," she muttered, and he wondered if she were truly that exhausted from letting everything off her shoulders or if she were simply delaying moving.

"Well then, you best move before you fall asleep," he muttered, thankful he had donned his own sleep bottoms earlier, having opted to keep his shirt on while he studied Tonks note for a third time, until the brunette had decided to open his door and start this whole ordeal. He hoped his notion to sleep beside her would propel her to move.

"Mhmm," she muttered again, sagging further onto the sheets. He scoffed, and undid his shirt before removing it completely. He would not be sleeping in that, whether Granger was sleeping beside him or not.

When he was finished, he looked back and realized she was completely out, sleeping only under the semi-thick blanket he had chucked at her. Muttering a swear word or two, he grabbed the sheets lodged under her and pulled them out, throwing them over her body. He would not wake in the middle of a night to a freezing, irritated Granger; this was crazy enough. He barely recognized himself as he climbed in beside her and shared the same sheets, not at all propelled to shove her off the mattress.

Closing his eyes, he sighed; something was certainly changing.

The following morning Hermione woke slowly, comfortable in the pleasantly warm bed she was currently lying in. This was the most comfortable that she had been since arriving at Malfoy Manor. Snuggling further into the covers, she hoped for a bit more sleep.

The moment she felt the bed shift, her eyes flew open and she whipped around, coming face to chest with a very naked, very pale, toned chest. Her eyes widened, and traveled up the defined torso to lock onto Malfoy's face; the prick was still asleep.

Her temper flared. What had he done to her? What had she let him do? A splurge of memories invaded her mind, and the events from last night spilled out before her eyes. It seemed that nothing had happened, save her divulging a lot of information and trust into him, and the series of events ended with her eyes drifting shut, Malfoy giving her an irritated look.

She quickly noted that she still had on just as much as the previous night, and with the sheets pulled out his body as they were, she could also see that he had bottoms on as well. Good; that was one less thing to yell at him for. But whatever had given Malfoy of all people the idea to let her sleep there? Half the time they spoke he was insulting her- although the amount of insults had dropped quite a bit. Still though, it seemed odd for his behavior to change so much. Deciding she was too tired to read into it, she slowly laid back down. Sleeping in the same bed as Malfoy was quite odd, and now that she was fully awake she could truly process just how strange it was, but it was comfortable and warm and she was still physically tired. He had allowed her to stay through the night, so lying down and catching a bit more sleep couldn't hurt, right?

It had barely been five minutes when the floo roared to life, and Hermione squeaked, shoving her head under the covers. Unfortunately, she had yet to fall asleep. The quick action and noise startled Malfoy, who rolled over to peer past the lump that was Granger right at the surprised face of Blaise Zabini.

He groaned. "Don't you ever come at a decent time?"

"This is a decent time, its nearly noon," the Italian replied, barely repressing a smirk. "Although, if I had known I would catch you in bed at this hour with Granger, I would've come later."

"Zabini," he cautioned, feeling her stiffen beneath the sheets at his friends words. It obviously bothered her, although he wasn't sure just why it did. "Come back later, will you?"

His expression darkened. "I can't Draco; this is important."

"How important," he grumbled, wishing the dolt would go away. He needed to talk to the brunette hiding under his covers before she hexed him for keeping her there. It was unnerving enough to slowly feel her inching closer until she was resting beside him. Now that was odd.

"Quite," he replied, staring at the hidden lump. "Granger you can come out now; I've already seen you. Besides, this may spike your interest as well."

She pulled the covers off enough to reveal her face. "It's not what you think."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, looking between the pair. "Sure it's not- but Granger? Honestly, I don't need to know, but you need to know this."

"Well what is it then," Draco snapped, sitting up completely and crossing his arms as he leaned against the headboard.

The Italian wet his lips, glancing between the two supposed enemies. "I was out with Pansy yesterday, and we ran into a peculiar character."

"Get to the point Zabini," Draco griped. His friend only rolled his eyes in return.

Instead of addressing Draco however, he turned to Hermione. "I was under the impression your Healer died Granger."

Her face paled and Draco sat up a bit straighter. "Yes," she said tentatively.

"Funny," the Italian mused, looking as far from amused as possible, "because we ran into him yesterday, and he tried to kill us."

A/n: Thoughts people?