Let me just start off by saying, there is no such thing as a sorry excuse for a review. Any constructive or positive feedback is both welcomed and needed.

Some people might think what I wrote last chapter was really out of the blue, but actually it was really planned. I planned to do this way before my exams started. And also, this makes the story more realistic.

Sometimes in life, completely random things can happen, a person can make a decision that'll throw a spanner right into life as they know it and change its whole course of direction. Not everything in life has a build-up. Also, I think the slap was necessary, because it shows that this isn't a fairy decision Draco's made to stay away from Hermione. He honestly thinks this is best. Anyone can say mean things, doing mean things is another story.

And if you're wondering about how they're still not together, would you all really be satisfied of Draco loves Hermione this much, and yet Hermione's feelings are only half as much? If she can't stick through this kind of dark part of his life with him, wisely, then it'll be a hollow love.

Chapter Twenty Five

A Mirror Image of Fear

"She's standing in the heart of darkness
Saying I know you got a soul even though you're heartless
How could any woman in their right mind be so blind,
To find something to save
Instead of walking with me she should have walked away"—Walk Away, The Script

Hermione didn't know where she'd gotten the courage to say all that to Draco, even as he was saying horrible things to her. She'd wanted to cry and hide, but at the same time she wanted to be true to the feelings she had for him. And it was true, why should she keep it a secret? The feelings she had for Draco were stronger than anything she'd ever felt before, Hermione had not known she could even feel that much.

The strange thing was, the first time Hermione confronted Draco, she was able to write off everything he said as nonsense, as not being true.

But the second time had her questioning. She saw a side to Draco she'd never seen before. There was a darkness in the depths of his eyes, and an aching sadness laced through his voice. For the first time in her life, he scared her, she felt like he could really do something. She wasn't as naive and silly as he might think, the second he slapped her, Hermione realised he was capable of hurting her, and she was scared. Because the harmless Draco who'd never harm her disappeared in an instant, she could tell straight away that not only was this not an accident, but he'd do it again.

By all logic, she should have left him then and there. She should have walked away and never looked back and only think of the first four years that she knew him as a nice memory. Hermione had always looked down on women who stayed with men who hit them, now it was like the pot calling the kettle black.

But she wasn't like them; she wasn't fooling herself that he'd change back into the sweet person she knew. Because even if she did, she knew this part of him was lying underneath. And besides, she knew she couldn't truly say she loved him unless she came to understand that part of him too.

To be quite honest, Hermione had no idea what she was doing. She was just fourteen! What did she know about love?

All she knew was that even after he slapped her, there was a tiny part of him that was horrified about it, and seeing that, in her heart she'd already forgiven him.

It was then Hermione realised just how much she'd come to love him. At the moment she made her decision to see whatever happens next right to the bitter end.

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He stalked through the bar, his most trusted blood brother by his side; they were warning one of Voldemort's squadrons of an incoming Order assault.

"This way," his companion said and they headed down another alleyway and stopped, this was as good a place as any, he supposed. He held his wand in the air and cried out the spell to summon Voldemort's mark, "Mosmordre!" The hideous skull hung in the air, a group of Muggles who thought it was some kind of early Halloween fireworks cheered. However, those who knew its true meaning ran from the premises in horror. Only those of the Order stayed.

The battle began. Spells fired from every direction. The man abandoned his comrades and went searching amongst the fray until he found her. Her dark brown hair was slipping out of its tie; caught in between the fading effects of a polyjuice potion. She didn't notice him or the pain as she disarmed several Death Eaters. For a while, he simply fought her friends, always within close range so he could see her. If any of his own got too close, he took out both them and an Order member, like hitting two balls in a game of pool.

He kept at it until someone came at her with a knife. At first he was shocked, what self-respecting Death Eater fought with such a Muggle tool? But then he saw the man had lost half a leg and was bleeding a flood, he didn't have much left to lose.

He didn't think, he just attacked her, barrelling into her and knocking her to the floor. The knife went into his side but that paled in comparison to her punching and kicking him. She hit a little too close to a particularly sensitive part and hauled her up and dragged her against the wall out of sight thinking that perhaps he could knock her unconscious. But in the fight she knocked his mask off.

For a moment, she was silent; it was her first time seeing him since that night. His heart came to a standstill as those dark brown eyes were once again looking directly at him, no mask or polyjuice potion between them.

Then those pretty brown eyes darkened into a look of pure, undiluted hatred and even thought it was completely unmanly, his heart broke again. "You!" she hissed, it didn't sound human, it sounded animalistic. "You!" she screeched.

She forgot her wand, now she was attacking him with everything her tiny body could muster, scratching until he bled, he fought her half-heartedly. He didn't want to hurt her, she wanting nothing more in the world than to kill him.

"You bastard!" she screamed. "You murdering bastard."

He caught her hand before she could blind him and forced her to the wall, fixing his best mocking smirk, he was so close her hair was just slightly touching his forehead. "We're all murderers here, aren't we, Granger?!"

She didn't back off or look ashamed. "YOU KILLED MY PARENTS!" She cried and kicked him in the shin, he cast a charm that forced her still and punched her in the stomach to force her away. But still, with blood dribbling out her mouth, completely unable to move she screeched, "THEY DIDNT KNOW ANYHTING, THEY WERE HARMLESS, NO MEMORIES, HAD NO INFORMATION AND YOU TORTURED AND KILLED THEM! I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF I HAVE TO BECOME THE DEVIL HIMSELF, I'LL KILL YOU!"

It hurt more than anything to hear her say that, but he couldn't say anything. He had killed them, it was for her own good, but she'd never see it that way. As far as he was concerned, they shared one thing in common, and that was to protect her, he was willing to become the devil himself. He would do anything for her to live.

"We're done here," his friend materialised beside him, and noticed her at his feet. He gripped the man's arm and quietly tugged, knowing very well how hard this was on him. He thought, with a grim humour at the irony, that if the situation were different, this would be perfect. Him, his best friend and her, no hiding.

But the situation wasn't different and their comrade Apparated in beside him, "We're done here," he repeated and glanced down at her, who was wisely staying quiet, seeing as she was outnumbered and in a compromising position.

"This one's still alive," he stated. "What do we do with her?"

The man gave his best drawling smirk. "Let's leave this one alive, as a message to all her comrades of what happens when they attempt to outsmart the Dark Lord."

The man shook his head. "But orders were to have 'em all killed, if we spare one then you'll be punished."

Then so be it, he thought. But as always, his friend spoke up for him. To him, the man and his brother was worth more than the girl he obsessed over. "We won't let her off." He said in his usual monotonous voice. "She wouldn't be much of a message then, would she?"

He cursed. Why did the fool have to butt in? Now he knew he'd have to be the one to do it, so their companions wouldn't tell anyone that he faltered, that he was the one who was weak. If they ever found out she was a weakness, the hunt would never stop.

So he raised his wand and whispered, "Crucio." As she screamed, he felt the pain in his own veins just as acutely. But to protect her, he would do anything, even harm her.

After twenty minutes, he could see she was nearing unconsciousness and let up. "That's enough," he stated. "We need her alive. Go back to your little saviour and tell him this, no matter what he tries or how many he sacrifices, he will never win."

As he turned to Apparate, his stubborn brilliant girl found the energy to call, "You bastard, free me and duel me you coward!"

He called back. "Your Mudblood magic wouldn't be able to handle me."

"I'll kill you, I swear it!" she screamed. "As long as I'm alive to do it, I'll hunt you to the ends of the world and when 'our little saviour' defeats you, I'll kill you like you killed everyone ever important to me you hear me, D**** M*****!"

"Loud and clear," he whispered as he Disapparated, alive was exactly how he wanted her. And when this war was over and if he was still alive to see it, he'll gladly give her, her right to his life. As long as she remains alive.

For once, Draco didn't wake up in a cold sweat, but quietly, as if coming out from a dream instead of a nightmare. He dragged a hand through white blond tresses and sighed. He was getting better at not being surprised or at least pretending not to be. But inwardly his mind was reeling, completely unfocused and wild. He needed to hold on to something, but too many things buzzed at once till he was reeling and had to sit up.

She looked like her. Draco could never see the face of the woman in his dreams clearly, but he knew on a subconscious level that she looked a spitting image of Hermione. He'd always seen the resemblance, but it was only recently that he realised that there may be more than a resemblance between him and the man in his dreams, and so why not more than a resemblance between Hermione and that woman, who hated the figure of his nightmares so desperately.

She said his name; the man's. Draco didn't hear it, or he couldn't remember it. Perhaps he was choosing not to remember it, as Theo had put it.

She hated him so much, and that she looked like Hermione terrified Draco. The first time he saw the slight likeness between her and Hermione, Draco had ignored it. But now just looking at her was too much. Because he felt if she only knew what he dreamt, she'd hate him as much as the woman did. And he hated that, but to deal with that hatred he had to make her hate him herself. How did that make any sense?

It didn't, and he was aware of that, he just didn't want to hurt her, to be bad for her, but she had to go and throw something else into his bubbling pot of problems.

She loved him? She loved him?!

He didn't know what to do about it. Since first year he had liked her. All those years of jealousy and hurt, feeling pathetic and humiliated, terrified that his father would find out yet unable to stop.

He was just fourteen; he shouldn't be feeling like this. His biggest worry should be next year's Quidditch team try-outs, not memories of murders that may or may not be by his own hand and whether or not he should be allowed to love a girl.

Shaking his head, he turned on his side. There was no point thinking about it. He'd already promised himself he was going to give up on Hermione, let her find someone better, more suitable. He wanted her to be happy and knew he wasn't capable of doing that.

There was a knock on the window, Draco sat up drowsily and lit his wand to see his owl tapping at the window. With fumbling movements, he unlatched the window where it swooped in and settled on his bed post with a letter caught in its beak.

He wrestled it away and shot up awake as he recognised the waxy red seal of the Malfoy crest.

Draco,

I will be attending the final task as a parent supporter. Before the tournament, it is imperative you speak with me first.

That was all the note said and Draco didn't need a signature to know who it was from. "Shit," he cursed, just what he needed.

"Whosit?" Theo mumbled incoherently, it was the first he'd spoken to Draco in days.

"A letter from my father," Draco said angrily, tearing it up and tossing it out the window. "He decided to grace me with his presence and allow me an audience to partake me some delightful advice before the competition."

Theo scratched his long ebony hair from his eyes. "You sound pissed," he remarked. "Normally, you're a little happier to hear from your father…" ever the observant Theo, he sat up. "Unless something has happened in the last few days to make you suddenly dislike him?"

Draco ignored him and shut the window, but Theo wasn't ready to give up. "Did you have another dream, does it have something to do…"

"Shut up, alright," Draco snapped, pissed as he sat up. "I don't need your help anymore, I've decided to stop trying to find out anymore of this shit."

Theo sat up, an angry expression on his usually passive face. "You are being a coward. These dreams need to be understood, they need…"

"They need!" Draco yelled, jumping out of bed. It was a very good thing they were in the dungeons with soundproof walls. "They need! What the hell? What about what I need? This isn't a potions project, this is my life!"

He sounded like a whiny two year old to his ears but Draco didn't care. All the pain, the fear, the stress, the sadness over Hermione and the anger over himself just washed out. "Don't fuck with me, Nott! You think this is fun? Just go to sleep, wake up, and record all the stuff I see like one of Trelawney's bogus Dream Journals! Are you fucking serious!"

Theo also stood, his hands held out passively. "Draco, mate, calm down."

"Calm down! Fuck, I wish to bloody hell I could calm down. You have no idea what it's like to be so terrified of going to sleep, scared of what you'll see. To be someone else, and when I say be, I mean be. As in I'm not a third observer, I am him and I'm killing people. I'm brutally murdering them, torturing them. And when I'm not torturing others, I'm being tortured, every night. Sometimes I can still feel the Cruciatus curse even when I'm awake. Every time someone touches me, every time someone I care about touches me, do you know how sick I feel?! How completely disgusted? Like I'm some infected worm not worth the skin on their hands, like I'll corrode them."

Especially Hermione, he couldn't bear it, every time she touched him. He felt like he was going to ruin her.

"It's like living in hell, only I have to pretend it's not. I go to Madam Pomfrey and she gives me a pepper-up potion, or a dreamless sleep potion. I want to smash it against the wall and tell her I became a fucking Animagus to escape these dreams and that didn't even work! You don't know what it's like to actually recognise people in your dream to see yourself in the mirror in your dreams and wonder how the fuck it's even possible. To lie awake at night and wonder if you're a murderer. So don't you fucking call me a coward, Nott, just because I don't choose to partake this information to you daily over a nice cup of tea."

He huffed and puffed, completely exhausted from his outburst. Theo's face had gone completely white. Draco knew none of this was Theo's fault, but it felt wonderfully good to get angry at someone over his plight for once instead of blaming himself.

Draco glanced at his bed, knowing no sleep would come to him here; he grabbed his cloak and marched to the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to wander around and contemplate jumping off the Astronomy tower a few times before being forced into a maze of Merlin-know-what for the third task in a short two days' time. As if I didn't already have enough problems."

He slammed the door behind him.

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Hermione picked at the toast and bacon at breakfast. She knew Draco was sat behind her. Usually, they would always sit opposite, their eyes would meet and they would share a look, their secret. How could so much change so quickly? Hermione had never been truly satisfied with their secret friendship, but it still beat having no relationship at all. She missed him so much.

Why did she always miss him? Every time. When he called her Mudblood in second year, she'd been so furious with him. But at the same time she'd missed him so desperately that she literally had no choice but to forgive him, lest she hurt herself. It had her thinking that perhaps she had loved him back then too, but she'd just been too blind to see it.

She couldn't understand why Draco was acting like this, but she knew him well enough to know it wasn't completely an act. That alone should be an indicator to back off. And yet…and yet she felt there was more. She knew there was more - Draco was in pain. She wanted to help him, but didn't know how, or if she should.

She sounded like a silly love-struck girl trying to play hero, but it didn't change how she felt.

"Hermione, you really should eat something," Harry urged quietly. "You haven't eaten anything properly in days."

Hermione blinked in surprise, Harry wasn't usually this observant. Meanwhile, Ron was stuffing his face as usual. She forced a smile. "It's nothing, Harry, anyway, I'm just not very hungry, and besides, you have more important things to worry about, like the tournament and Crouch's disappearance. Have you been practicing the spells I taught you?"

She expected Harry to become distracted and follow her obvious change in topic, but surprisingly the worried look in his eyes didn't waver.

Hermione couldn't stand to see his pointed green eyes stare at her while her heart was already in so much turmoil. So she smiled forcefully. "You both eat, I'm going to do some last minute research. If you need me, I'll be in the library"

She didn't go to the library though. She bypassed it completely and went to sit outside the library on a patch of green. She and Draco used to meet up here in the first half of second year, till some new first years started hanging around the spot, then they had changed their meeting place to somewhere else.

In the beginning, Hermione had hated being Draco's secret friend, but as time went by, it became fun. They were always thinking up new inventive means to meet up and places to meet up, sharing the hidden glances, the secret smiles, the mocking winks, going behind everyone's back, especially when none would even think for a moment, that sweet, stick-to-the-rules, prudish Hermione was even capable of secrets. They didn't know the half of it. Especially Harry and Ron, who thought they knew her secrets, knew what she was capable of. To them, her biggest secret was her Time Turner in third year, her secrets made her feel empowered. Draco gave her that.

Hermione sometimes felt she might have been a completely different person if she hadn't met Draco.

Why couldn't things go back to how it used to be? She loved him, and she was extremely sure that he loved her, but wouldn't say so for some reason or another. And she didn't know what to do to make him see sense. How could she reason with him if she didn't have even the slightest clue what his reasons were?

Perhaps she should give up? But her chest protested.

Hermione was a realist most of the time, but just once, she wanted to believe in a fantasy and complain about how unfair it all was.

Hermione heard a sound. For a moment she thought it was Draco, coming to find her and she sat up. "Dr…" she trailed off when she immediately realised the person who had come to find her didn't have ice white hair and cloudy grey eyes.

"This doesn't look like the library," Harry said.

Hermione gestured above her. "It's near the library," she countered.

Harry's brow rose as he flopped down beside her. "Mind if I sit?"

"I don't see what the point is in even asking since you've already invited yourself." she laughed.

"I guess so," he admitted and watched as she sorted herself out again. "Hermione, you look horrible," he said plainly. "You haven't been eating and you don't seem to have been sleeping properly these days."

"What are you talking about Harry, I'm perfectly fine," she lied and even to her ears it sounded pathetic. Harry nodded and went to get up before shaking his head and sitting back down. "Look, Hermione, I know you don't really like to talk to us about…stuff…going on in your life, and I don't really blame you, me and Ron aren't always there for you, and I really don't understand most of what goes on in your head. But Hermione, you look terrible, I mean, you know, not terrible ugly terrible but…well what I'm trying to get at is I haven't always been there for you and I want to try…being there. So I can listen…if you have anything you want me to listen to," he blushed, and Hermione had a feeling heart to heart discussions weren't exactly his thing. Nonetheless, she was touched.

Smiling she leaned back and stared up at the clouds. "Harry, if I told you I hated you and wanted nothing to do with you, would you believe me?"

Harry looked flabbergasted. "Uh…do you?"

"No!" she gasped. "I mean hypothetically, would you really think I was telling the truth. Or if you said that to me, would you believe that I believe it?"

Harry thought about it for a minute. "Honestly, I don't think you'd ever say anything like the first thing. And you're way too nosy to believe me if I said the second thing. Uh, any reason for this?"

"No reason," Hermione said sadly.

See, even Harry understood. Why couldn't Draco understand that she loved him, was that not enough to stay by his side?

Harry looked at Hermione looking so dejected and asked, "Is there something more to this?"

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe I should I just give up. He certainly wants me to," she sighed heavily. "He's cruel, conniving and sly. So why can't I leave him alone?"

By now, Harry was completely lost and reaffirmed that he would never understand Hermione. But he understood one thing. "If you don't want to give up, then don't."

She looked up, a hopeful look in her eyes and he knew he had said something right. "I mean, you've always done whatever you wanted no matter what anyone thought. So if it bothers you so much, why should this be any different?"

Hermione was quiet then suddenly she grabbed Harry, who yelped, and pulled him into a hug, a huge smile on her face. "Thank you, Harry," she said warmly. "You may have something there," and she stood up and left.

Hermione smiled because she knew he was right. She'd always done what she wanted all her life. And Draco was no exception. "I'm hungry," she said to no one in particular and headed for the breakfast hall, she'd need her strength for what was to come ahead.

Harry watched her go and sighed heavily. He'd done it; he'd actually managed to cheer Hermione up. Good, Harry was fed up with her zombie-like state. He hadn't realised how much he actually liked the usual Hermione and realised perhaps he'd better start taking her more seriously.

But right now, he just wanted to find Ron and do something he understood. Like Quidditch, yeah, Quidditch worked.

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The days leading up to the Tournament went by too quickly for Draco's taste; he'd prefer a bit more time to brood before being forced to risk his life. But as no one else agreed with him, when it was time he (reluctantly) followed McGonagall down to the Tournament tent where Potter was being greeted by a herd of Weasleys. Wait, did weasels gather in herds? Or was it infestations? Either way, it was way too much red at once for the poor eyes.

When no one was looking, he quietly slipped out of the tent and wandered a little off. "Accio Rita Skeeter," he said quietly, just in case the old bat was in her animagus form and when no beetle came flying into his face he waited. His father hadn't specified where to meet, but he knew he would find him.

Sure enough, Draco felt a hand tightly grasp his shoulder and went completely stiff. As he turned to look at his father, one thought came to mind. 'I killed a man who looked like you in my dream last night, only I wasn't me, I was someone else', not exactly a conversation starter, so he smiled, "Father." Last year, Draco had sworn to be nothing like him, now he was realising they were both already the same.

Lucius Malfoy didn't return his smile, instead he nodded. "Hello Draco, I must admit, I didn't expect to see you again so soon, at least not until the end of the school year, but here we are. So I'll get right to the point, did you somehow find a way to put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Draco shook his head. "No, I didn't, I swear it, father."

His father waved it off. "Good because if you did, the legalities would be tremendous."

Well, that was nice. Was his father always so curt or was he only noticing this now?

"Now my dear boy," he continued. "About what we discussed in our previous correspondence?"

The last time he wrote to Draco was when he told him of his entering the Tournament. His father had told him to keep an eye on Potter.

"Potter's been with the Mudblood and Weasley all week preparing for the task. They disappear together for hours on end, but other than that he seems unprepared for the task ahead," he lied. He was very sure that Potter was prepared with an entire arsenal of spells what with Hermione on his side. But Draco had a bad feeling about giving his father too much information, and if Draco had learnt one thing from his three years of 'bad feelings', it was to trust his instincts.

His father looked irritated at the lack of information for a moment, but quickly replaced it with a look of indifference. "Very well," he said. "You may return to your tent, I will follow in a while."

His father left him and Draco scowled in irritancy. Was that it? His father sends him a message in the middle of the night to tell him this rubbish. Draco decided not to care anymore. It was truly pathetic. On a side note, he realised how alike Theo he was becoming.

As he entered the tent he saw Potter still surrounded by Weasleys. Draco refused to feel a little jealous that he had so much support behind him. Draco was feeling just as terrified about what the third task would throw at him, but all he had in his corner was his father. Theo still wasn't talking to him.

His father materialised beside him and spared a disgusted glance at the Weasleys before settling on him with an approving expression. "You've done well to get this far Draco," he said.

Draco said nothing; across the hall the other two champions were being congratulated. Draco didn't know where Hermione was, but he was glad that she wasn't here to congratulate Potter.

They were hustled out of the great hall and the rest of the morning was spent taking his father around the school while he boasted about Quidditch and his scores, playing the part of the spoilt Slytherin prince as best as he could to fight the nerves of the upcoming challenge. It felt like months before it was lunch, but still that went by too fast. Draco had a bad feeling so strong he was surprised he wasn't shaking like he'd had too much coffee already.

His father joined him at the Slytherin table. Draco mostly ignored his existence as he ate. Somewhere during the meal he noticed Hermione, as he always did, approach the Weasleys and vaguely wondered if Mrs Weasley still thought she was a two-timing hussy. Apparently, she did.

Draco told himself he didn't care and resisted the temptation to look at her. He'd promised to give up didn't he? Even so, every fibre of his being protested as he forced those thoughts away by thinking furiously on the task again.

When that didn't work, he stood and excused himself. Perhaps some fresh air would clear his thoughts.

As he walked, he turned a corner and came to a standstill. "Hermione?"

She turned when she saw him and smiled. "Hi, Draco," his heart leapt at that smile. After several days not seeing her, he wanted to hold her as he kept remembering what she told him, only years of self-control stopped him as he fixed her with a cold glare. "Granger, what do you want?"

She walked towards him, Draco was rooted to the ground. "I just wanted to wish you luck before the competition," she smiled and took his hand.

He pulled free. "Are you crazy?! My father is here!"

She blinked. "Oh, yeah, forgot."

Hermione Granger, forget? What was happening? "You really don't take a hint, do you? What part of stay away from me didn't you understand?"

"You didn't say to stay away from you; you said liking me was a lie. And I told you that I still like you."

How could she still say that? What did he have to do to get her to give up on him? Publically humiliate her? No, he did that on a daily basis, nothing short of revealing their relationship would ruin her. But he couldn't do that; he couldn't break her that way. Could he?

He heard some Ravenclaw first years approach, maybe he could, maybe…maybe this would be enough.

He slapped her hand away and said loudly, "Granger, you're pathetic, I told you, I only pretended to like you to unnerve Potter, since the tournament's almost over, can you stop sticking to me? Just leave me alone, I'm not interested, so stop telling me how much you love me!"

The girls gasped and ran off; both Draco and Hermione watched them go. There, tomorrow those rumours will be all over the school. What would she have to say about that?

But when he looked at Hermione, she looked a little fed up but still she had on a smile. "Really, that's all you got, news flash, Draco, Rita Skeeter already had the whole wizarding world thinking I'm a slut. You just added wood to the fire," she said fearlessly.

Draco wanted to kiss her right then and there. But he didn't. He smirked and turned to go. But she took his sleeve, "Draco, have you been sleeping alright?"

Before he could retort, she shook her head. "Wait, you don't have to say anything, just, know that I care. Ok?"

It was way too much for him, his self-control broke.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her, crushing her to his chest so tightly, he wanted to mould her to him forever. He loved her so much.

"Draco?" she said tightly, unable to breath, and that snapped his attention back. He needed to let her go, now. Right now. Because if he didn't, he'd never let her go. His obsession, his so called 'love' was already that strong. And he loved her too much to be detrimental to her. So he shoved her away with his coldest smile. "There, I gave you what you wanted. Dream about that for a while and pretend it's whatever you want it to be. So leave me alone."

As he walked away, he could hear her sniffle. His heart broke, but he forced himself to walk away.

Hermione cried. She knew it was stupid, what was she expecting, that he'd go back to the nice happy Draco she knew? But when he held her, she'd felt so happy, so right, everything for her was as it should be. Then he pushed her away and said those things.

She sniffed again and wiped away the fledgling tears. She couldn't be like this anymore. Things were going to be more painful in the future. If she wanted to stay with Draco, she was going to have to get stronger.

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"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied for first place with eighty-five points each - Mr. Draco Malfoy and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. "In second place, with eighty points - Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy !" More applause. "And in third place - Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!"

Draco heard nothing, suddenly there was a sound and he found himself walking into the maze. He and Potter walked until there was a fork in the road.

They were about to go their separate ways when suddenly a weird two-headed creature dropped down from above. It fell on Potter, snapping at his throat and clawing at his uniform. Draco reacted on instinct and transfigured it into a teapot. As Potter sat gasping, Draco smirked. "See you on the winning side," he said sardonically and went right, leaving Potter for the left.

As he walked, he noticed the air was colder; there was a sound behind him. He whirled round, "Bombarda!" he cried and suddenly a giant spider was blasted backwards several feet and exploded, Draco ran for cover before spider guts could fall on him.

He kept going. Draco didn't care if he found the Cup or not. While getting one on Potter sounded good, it wasn't his main concern. He twisted and turned down winding pathways. At one point, he came across blast-ended-skrewts. That hadn't been fun. They're almost impervious to magic - nothing short of a killing curse would put them away. Draco paused in the middle of running.

Why not?

In the maze, any spell he used wouldn't be picked up. It was technically possible to cast a killing curse and not be found out.

He did it all the time in his dreams.

The skrewts showed up. They were bloody hideous, having grown to the size of three great Danes. Draco really wanted to capture one and torture Theo with it.

One little spell, two little words and a flash of green light. Why not?

But at the last minute, his arm faltered and he leapt to the left to avoid the giant suckers.

He kept running, until he reached a bush, luckily it closed up behind him, trapping him, but also cutting off the pesky worm.

Draco sighed heavily and slumped. What the hell was he doing?

The maze area he ended up in was a bit different from the rest; there was only one path to it. As he made his way he saw something glowing at the end.

A chest. The Cup?

Draco gasped in excitement; did he really find the Cup that easily?

Suddenly his head burst, he didn't like that chest. But at the same time, if he won…

Slowly, Draco opened the chest.

There was a whooshing sound and the force of it threw Draco off his feet. Dust and smoke blew everywhere, Draco coughed, "Well, that was pointless," he coughed.

Suddenly there was dark laughter. Draco looked up, but there was too much smoke. His head was screaming, every ounce of his body was telling him to run.

Suddenly, as if someone else had control of his body, he jumped up just as someone cried out Avada Kedavra and a flash of green light hit where he'd been sitting.

Draco went completely silent. What the hell?

The curse was cried again and the light flashed, Draco barely dodged it. Suddenly he was running for his life, avoiding killing curses, was there an obstacle like this?! His head and body screaming in pain should have hindered him, but it felt like he was being taking over by something…no, for once it felt like he was working with the strange force he often felt at times like this.

He kept running until he couldn't run anymore, his path was blocked.

"Why are you running?" the person casting the curses said deadly soft. Draco froze, because he knew that voice.

"No, no…no," he whispered, it wasn't possible.

A figure stepped from the smoke and Draco almost fell to his knees.

It was the figure from his dreams.

No, it was more than that.

It was him.

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