Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter Fifty-one

"I feel it deep within,
It's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I feel like a monster"
'Monster', Skillet

Hermione spared another awkward glance in Harry's direction who sat by the loveseat, his knees bunched up to his chest as he stared aimlessly out the window; his facial expression as blank as though he were still asleep.

They'd only received their O.W.L.S scores the day before. Hermione had of course received all Outstandings, though she had to admit, she'd been a bit worried about the Defence Against the Dark Arts one. But as she and Draco had studied together often as their dates in the past year, he'd been tutoring her in some of the finer points of the subject so it hadn't been so bad. She couldn't imagine what score she would have gotten had he not assisted her — probably a dreaded Exceeds Expectations. She shuddered.

But while she and Ron were still reeling and chatting on and off about their results, the new school term and the upcoming wedding between the Beauxbaton's Triwizard champion, Fleur, and Ron's older brother, Bill Weasley, Harry never participated in those conversations. Even when he'd first arrived after being brought in by Dumbledore, he had said barely a word and she was getting increasingly worried about him.

They'd reported that Sirius Black had been killed in the attack on the ministry, so Hermione had expected to see some grief and mourning in Harry's demeanour but this… quietness wasn't like him. Harry was the type to scream and get angry when grief hit him, or wallow in teenage angst. Maybe he'd even go moody and quiet, but not this deathly corpse-like silence. She had half a mind to use a reanimating spell on him and see if that worked.

He was listless, empty, and she didn't know why but she wished on all the souls in the enchanted Urns of the Ying Dynasty, that there was something she could do for one of her best friends.

"Hermione," she turned to Ron who'd come to sit beside her, a bowl of some kind of soup or broth from the kitchen in his hand. He was chewing on the spoon, also something unusual from Ron. "So, it's not just me who thinks Harry's lost his rocker?"

"Ron," Hermione hissed, though she tried not to smile. Sometimes Ron's bluntness was annoying, other times it was endearing; it really depended on the mood. "He's not off his rocker, he's depressed. He still isn't over his godfather's death. Sirius was the only real family Harry had left, and now he's alone."

"He's not alone," Ron said fiercely. "He's got us."

Hermione smiled at Ron's loyalty. "Yes he has, but I get the feeling he's going to need more than us this year. I know it's mostly because he's grieving, but it's something else. Something about that night with Sirius did something to him. Harry looks like he's lost his faith in everything. Every time someone leaves the room, he looks at them like they're not going to come back… Even when they do, he just stares like he expects them to say 'Haha, fooled you. I really am dead.' It's not natural."

"I dunno," Ron shrugged. "But whatever it is, I think we need to get Harry concentrated on something else," Ron said. "He got the Quidditch Captain badge you know, maybe that'll help."

"Do you think he'll have the presence of mind for Quidditch?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Ron questioned. "But anyway, I came over here to ask. What are we doing about the Dumbledore's army thing then? Is it still going on this year?"

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione sighed. "Personally, I think Harry did very well teaching last year; he's got a real knack for it. I wouldn't be surprised if he goes into it one day. But as for if the defence club stays, I just don't know. One or two students, maybe, but not as many as before, all scrutinising him like that; it might be a bit much a bit too soon. Such a shame as well, since we finally made some actual contacts with people from Slytherin."

Ron snorted and Hermione huffed. "Oh honestly Ronald, you're not still going on about letting Slytherin into defence?"

"They're a lot of stuck up tossers. Especially that Haim girl and the twin that's always angry. I don't like the way he looks at me, Hermione, like I'm a pawn in a game of wizard's chess and he's thinking of the best way to shatter me."

"I'll admit, Dulcibella can be a bit…proud, and Gilsifrid is a little…odd but I'm almost certain neither of them are a danger. Don't you think it's a bit harsh putting your rivalry with Dulcibella on all the others? What about Patrick? I thought you two were getting on? Chariovalda, he's one of the most fair and honest person I know; he keeps the whole group together, and Livia? Now I don't know about you, but she's one of the last people I'd associate the term 'stuck-up tosser' with."

"Yeah," Ron grunted reluctantly after a minute. "I guess she's alright, and Patrick and the other twin. But we won't have much contact with them anymore anyway, cause there's no defence club."

"That's why I said it was a shame. We were achieving real inter-house unity in that club; the whole school could stand to be that understanding."

"Cho hated Livia. She wasn't very understanding," Ron said.

"That's because Cho was jealous that Harry paid more attention to Livia in the club than to her, and he always defended her the most. She was so small, so impressionable. I guess Harry's protective saving-people thing went into overdrive a bit."

"What went into overdrive?"

Both Hermione and Ron looked up to see Harry had broken out of whatever trance he'd put himself in and come over to them, hearing only fragments of the last bits of their conversation.

"Hermione's panic mode when she got those O.W.L results," Ron said with surprising quick thinking. "Remember? She was bloody mental."

"I was not!" Hermione exclaimed and Harry smiled.

For now, they'd just have to keep doing this; cheering him up and picking him back up when he fell until Harry was ready to talk to someone about what was going on in his head.

XX-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-OoO-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-XX

Jonah exited Madam Malkin's with a new set of robes. Boys grew quickly, especially himself, which was why he had to keep on replacing his clothes so they wouldn't look too tight or short and reveal anything that would blow his cover.

Opening the bag and taking another peek, bright fuchsia and orange robes winking back at him, he couldn't wait to visit Snape or Theo in this get up. Snape would glare with disgust and Theo would just stare with a what-the-fuck look in his blank eyes.

He was due to meet Theo here since he needed new supplies and his father always neglected to come. He just thought the kid would like company from another older male figure…Even if he was only a year and a half older. And although Theo would never say it, Jonah knew he was happy when he did.

He pulled out his wand and cast a quick tempus spell, since his seventeenth birthday had been a while ago and he was of age, the thought made him scowl.

He'd thought dressing like a girl for seven years would finally put an end to his trouble, but apparently upon coming of age, his troubles only increased. They just wouldn't give up.

Oh well, Jonah had time. He could wait, wait longer then they could. Eventually…They had to give up, and he'd be free.

It was not yet the time he'd agreed to meet Theo, so Jonah decided to take a detour. He was just about to make a turn towards Florean Fortescue for some rum raisin ice-cream when a flash of dark hair in a familiar short bob caught his eye.

To be perfectly honest, that dark hair could have belonged to anyone, could have been any brunette, but something told him it was her, and he cursed that 'something' bitterly. This was getting out of hand.

He sidestepped an old man with a wheelbarrow full of shrunken heads and forced his way out of a crowd of witches haggling about second-hand hats till he was at the book shop. This in itself was strange. "Pansy doesn't read," he said questioningly as he made his way forward, trying to ignore the slight tingle on his skin at seeing his favourite pug after months of summer vacation.

In the shop, she was standing still, facing away from him. Jonah looked around, saw no one was watching and decided to go for it.

"Psst," he hissed. "Pssst, Pansy, Pup, over here," he whispered loudly.

Pansy didn't react; she just kept staring into the distance, clutching one arm in a daydream. It was then that Jonah paused to really take in the distant look in her eye.

Alone, thinking no one was watching her, she had an odd look in her eye. Something that made Jonah feel very uncomfortable. She looked lost, like she was in a syrupy, endless abyss and just wanted nothing more than to sink. It was not a look he'd ever associate with smug, over-confident Pansy Parkinson.

"Pansy," he said a little louder and almost unconsciously in a whisper. "Pup?"

This time she heard, and startled, turned in his direction. In an instant, that look was gone and she released her arm to place it on her hip as the haughty stance and expression he usually linked to her appeared. It was like she was a completely different person, like a ghost had momentarily possessed her a second ago. He didn't know what to think and was about to question her as he raised his hand in a wave, when suddenly she turned her back to him, ignoring him completely.

This stopped him short and his wave froze in mid-air, his expression shocked. This wasn't like her. Even when they accidently met in a school hallway or when their eyes met across the great hall or when he'd seek her out and find her with acquaintances, she'd just usually glare, toss a scalding remark and play the disdainful Slytherin princess to a T, and he'd always play along. She had never…ignored him.

What's worse, she was walking away.

"What the—Pansy?" he said, making to follow her as she turned at a bookshelf and went towards another shelf.

When he got to the end though, he froze for the third time and unconsciously backed tracked till he was hidden by a book case but could still see the down the aisle.

Pansy was walking to a boy, a tall one with dark spiky brown hair and dark green eyes, his face was so pointed and cold, it was scary. She sidled up to him and began to speak in a low, whispery, seductive tone to get his attention. When that didn't work, an even more seductive expression was fixed on and her hand slid up the boy's arm tentatively to rest on his shoulder, the other doing the same till she was gently leaning over the boy's shoulder, body pressed to his and whispering into his ear.

As Jonah watched this, a strange warmth filled his belly, but not the good kind, kind of like when you skip meals and the bile in the stomach begins to burn at your insides in protest.

He felt betrayed. Wasn't Pansy supposed to be in love with Draco? Wasn't that the plan? They were the Save Draco Club for crying out loud, it was the only thing connecting them; and what the hell was she doing anyway, whispering in this bloke's ear like that.

This wasn't his Pansy. The Pup he knew was a proud Ice Queen. She didn't beg; she made people beg. She was regal and pushy and not a free tart like she was acting like now. It was so unnatural too. Jonah knew seduction, and what she was doing was about as sexy as a hippogriff in mating season.

Jonah ignored the annoying nudge at the back of his head that was mad that Pansy was cosying up to another guy, period. The really annoying fact was that this guy looked about Jonah's age and height — probably a fellow seventh year.

Finally, the boy began to respond as he turned and moved Pansy so she was pinned between his arms against the wall, kinda like how Jonah always jokingly pinned her at Hogwarts when they'd first met and flirting had been harmless as a fellow girl.

She stiffened when the boy put his hand on her hip and flinched, but quickly caught herself and reached up and stroked the boy's chin with one finger.

Jonah didn't know what made him do it; it was as if someone else had taken over his body for an instant, but something made his arm reach up, and knock off half the books off the shelf he was hiding behind. The loud sound startled the couple and they sprang apart. Jonah hid behind the shelves, and then decided he didn't want to be here anymore and fled the shop.

He did not notice how the boy shrugged and put his hand on Pansy's arm, the one she'd been cradling earlier, tightly as he guided her out the shop, as well as her flinch when he did so. Neither did he see the last apologetic glare she'd allowed herself, in the direction she'd seen Jonah before.

XX-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-OoO-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-XX

Draco was reminiscing about the first time he'd started having these weird feelings and realised to his surprise that it started way before fourth, third or even second year. It had even been before the train. It began here, right here, in Madam Malkin's shop where he stood bored out of his mind to get measured for new robes.

As he stood with his arms out, he reminisced about how it began, with him raising his arms up a little higher, with him unknowingly meeting the saviour of the magical world, being unable to say the word Mudblood even in his own mind and that strange inexplicable crying. How the tears had dribbled down his cheeks for no apparent reason, how horribly empty he'd felt, like a Dementor had stolen every good thing he had in the world. Draco could still remember the sadness, though he still couldn't quite explain it.

The only time he'd come that close to that sadness again, was when Hermione got petrified in second year and then when she got cursed last year.

"Draco, darling, you're staring into space again," his mother chimed. "Raise your arm, dear, before she pricks you again." Though to most her face appeared neutral and uninterested, there was a small subtle smile playing on the corner of her lips that only he could see, that let him know she was joking. Even father couldn't see her smile the way he could.

For the past few years, he'd all but forgotten about his mother. It seemed like father was always the one causing him one bit of trouble or another, whether it was to petrify his best friend or to aid in the resurrection of the Dark Lord, never mind how he'd been treating him over this summer. And as much as he loved her, he couldn't deny that through it all, his mother was the ever faithful, submissive, pureblood wife. She never intervened. For all his life, not once had she rebelled for his sake. Even this summer, through all the beatings and missions and…other things, she never spoke out against it. Sure, she would wipe the sweat away from his forehead when he tossed and turned from nightmares, or stitch him up when his body was falling apart, but not once had she ever said, 'Not my son you arsehole', and truly defended him.

Till now.

Even as he glanced at her now, he couldn't imagine her doing anything like sneaking away to Uncle Severus's to beg for his life, not with bloody Bellatrix alongside her to boot. It was crazy.

The shop doorbell tinkled to let the people there know that there were new customers at the door.

As he was looking in the door's direction, he noticed his mother complaining quietly to Madam Malkin's about the colour of the robes, a colour he found fine.

"I am not a child, in case you haven't noticed, mother," he said, rolling his eyes. "I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."

His mother blinked, unused to Draco's rudeness. "I beg your pardon, Draco," she snapped quietly.

Draco shook his head, as if coming out of a dream. "Hmm, Mother?"

"What did you just say?"

He blinked and frowned in genuine confusion. "I don't know what…" he began, wondering if perhaps he'd muttered an unconscious thought by accident or something, because he couldn't remember saying anything. What had he said? Had it to do with the secrets he'd been keeping? He began to panic.

Madam Malkin began to cluck disapprovingly. "Now, dear, your mother's quite right. None of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child —" she said, but in her rambling, she'd accidentally stuck a pin too close to his groin area and he jumped.

"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!"

She removed the pin and Draco took a moment to survey his form in the mirror. They really were a fine colour, his favourite shade of green.

Then he saw something reflected in the mirror that both filled him with such excitement and trepidation, Hermione…and her two unfortunate choices of friends.

She looked good; perhaps she'd been working out over the summer or maybe she'd just grown into her long limbs. Instead of being leggy, she looked tall, regal almost, in a sexy way. Her usually wild, curly hair was tamed into a ponytail which almost disappointed him, since he was of the small minority that actually liked the wildness to Hermione's hair.

She noticed him too, and though her face was neutral, he could see the excitement and happiness in her eyes. Her mouth curled into one of her own secret smiles, a smile that made him want to rip out all the infernal pins and swoop her into a hug worthy of all the summer months that he wasn't able to send one bleeding letter to her.

"Draco?" His mother chimed again, and he realised without noticing it that his mouth had formed a wide smile.

Quickly, expertly, he manoeuvred it into a smirk before his mother could be suspicious; cursing himself for letting his true feelings slip even for a moment. Even if Madam Makin was or wasn't to be trusted, his mother certainly was still suspicious. Despite what she'd done for him, she was still loyal to his father and he couldn't trust her with her shrewd, quick mind to even have the slightest inclination of his real feelings towards the girl who'd just walked in.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, mother, a Mudblood just walked in," he said sneering.

As Potter and Weasley raised their wands in fury, Madam Malkin squeaked. "I don't think there's any need for language like that!" She said, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!" She added hastily.

Hermione, who was standing slightly behind them, whispered. "No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it."

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," he scoffed. Then he took another look at her in the mirror and realised that she had a black eye and immediately, a feeling of absolute fury and worry filled him as he began to concoct murder plans and resist the urge to cradle her face to check it properly.

"Who blacked your eye, Granger?!" He said, a little too quickly, judging from the strange looks from his mother and the two nitwits. "I, er… I want to send them flowers," he added quickly.

Hermione blinked and a crease in her brow told him that she'd understood the true worry behind his insult and she wasn't offended. "It so happens, Malfoy," she said in a self-asserting tone. "That no one blackened my eye, so you can put you galleons away for now. It was a magical punching telescope. And though I'm not one for violence, I've always liked flowers. Harry, if I blacken Malfoy's eye, will you send me flowers?"

She was teasing him for his quick cover-up, he knew, especially with that glint in her eye. He wanted to grin, it was very hard not to. Draco was glad to see that despite so many months being completely out of contact with his girlfriend, they hadn't forgotten how to flirt.

"That's quite enough!" Said Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. "Madam — please —"

His mother stepped out from behind the cloth rack and he inwardly sighed. Great, Potter versus Narcissa Malfoy, this was going to go great, he just knew it, Draco thought with much sarcasm.

"I've always known Mudbloods were a brutish species, but it's my first time seeing one so…vicious," she said sarcastically as she looked down her nose at Hermione. Draco resisted the urge to growl. Then she turned to Potter and Weasley and said coldly. "Put those away. If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" Said Potter, stupidly taking a step forward. He was as tall as she was now. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

Draco inwardly face-palmed. Potter really didn't know the meaning of the world subtle, did he?

Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart. "Really, you shouldn't accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!"

But Potter did not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiled unpleasantly.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Potter looked mockingly all around the shop. "Wow. . . look at that. . . he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

Draco frowned angrily.

He may not trust her, and he may resent her a little for allowing him to hurt for the majority of the summer, but she was still his mother and Potter had no right to speak to her like that in front of her own son. He made to step forward, but forgot about the long dress-robes and stumbled a bit, Weasley snorted but he ignored him.

"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" He snarled.

"It's all right, Draco," said Narcissa, restraining him with her thin white fingers upon his shoulder. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius." '

Potter raised his wand higher.

"Harry, no!" moaned Hermione, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. "Think. . .You mustn't'…" He could see she was struggling to come up with a good excuse that would stop the fight without revealing how much seeing her best friend and boyfriend's mother fighting bothered her. "You'll…You'll be in such trouble ..."

Classic Hermione.

Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hopes that it wouldn't. She bent toward Draco, who was still glaring at Potter.

"I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just —" she poked a needle into the tender skin by his Dark Mark, which still hurt like hell even though it'd been three months since he received it.

"Ouch!" bellowed Malfoy, slapping her hand away. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman!" That was when he decided he'd had enough. There was no way on earth this was going to continue as a peaceful measuring with this lot glaring daggers at each other. As much as he wanted to be with Hermione a little longer, this was not the time and they'd have plenty of time at school without watching eyes to be a proper couple this time. "Mother — I don't think I want these anymore —"

He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.

"You're right, Draco," said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione. "Now I know the kind of scum that shops here. . . . We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

They left the shop, but not before he barged into Hermione's shoulder and using the opportunity to caress her hand tenderly, slid his finger across the back of her hand, hinting at the gap of her fingers in a touch so gentle, though it lasted only a second and was hidden by the voluminous wealth of their robe's sleeves.

As he left, he overheard Ron telling Hermione to calm her 'anger' down, because she was red in the face, and smiled as his fingers tingled. He couldn't wait till Hogwarts.

XX-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-OoO-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-XX

After a while, he was bored again. They'd decided not to get robes today since Twilfitt and Tatting's was closed, and instead he slipped away from his mother's side while she'd been admiring some of their shop displays.

He could have told her where he was going, but after realising she didn't quite approve of his mission from the Dark Lord, he didn't know if he could trust her to trust him and not interfere. Interference was the last thing he needed.

He made his way to Borgin and Burkes, taking a minute to ease his curiosity and pass by the new joke shop the Weasley's brothers had set up.

It really was a shame that they probably hated his guts. He'd heard legends of the brothers' pranks from his housemates. He was more than a little curious about the goods inside. Maybe he'd pay a Hufflepuff or something to buy something for himself later, or mail an order under a false name. Even polyjuice was an option.

Anyway, right now he didn't have time for this, and continued on his way to Knockturn Alley.

He ignored the more dangerous peddlers and made straight for the shop, the door groaned like a tortured grandparent as he shoved it open.

A portly man with greying skin turned to him, rubbing his palms together and looking at Draco like he'd like to dismantle and sell him as a commodity.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy, how nice to see you again," he said, referring to the visits Draco had made previously during the summer.

"Yeah, yeah," Draco waved him off. "Now that we've sent you the information, do you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," said Draco. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

Borgin licked his lips nervously. "Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" said Draco sneering, he knew Borgin's type. Next he was going to say that the job was too difficult, but wouldn't be that difficult with a little more reimbursement a.k.a. money.

Draco rolled his eye., "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He took a step forward and quickly pulled up his sleeve to reveal a hissing Dark Mark. Borgin pulled back, a look of mixed revulsion, fear and awe on his face.

"Tell anyone," said Draco, pulling his sleeve down quickly, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention." He actually hated Fenrir, ever since the time he'd kicked him in the mouth and Draco had lost two teeth three months ago. He'd grown them back, but the memory stung. Still, Fenrir had a reputation, and if using it got what Draco wanted, he saw it as an almost good pay off for those two missing teeth, almost.

"There will be no need for —"

"I'll decide that," he said. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

Draco rolled his eyes in frustration at the man's stupidity. "No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man. How would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not. . . sir."

Borgin made a deep bow, almost as deep as the ones he often gave his father.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing again.

With a sneer, he left the shop, not noticing the extra three pairs of eyes watching him go.

XX-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-OoO-xx-XX-xx-XX-xx-XX

He didn't get to ride with Theo or Jonah on the way to Hogwarts, nor did he get a chance to even see his best friends. Jonah was invited by Professor Slughorn to a private party in a selected cabin and Theo didn't seem to be on the train. Draco wasn't worried; it wasn't unusual for him and Theo to get separated on the train, and they always met at the feast anyway.

As it were, today, he was entertaining the company of Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe and to his distaste, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

Ever since he'd had that vision of an older Zabini killing an older Hermione at her wedding, Draco had finally come to understand exactly why he had hated Zabini on sight. Why wouldn't he when a version of him was responsible for the death of the love of his life? Never mind that it was in an alternate dimension/the future. It changed nothing. He still hated Zabini, but he still had to be courteous and polite or blow his cover. It stung worse than a billyweed sting, but what else was new?

Thankfully, Zabini left after a while to join Slughorn's party too.

Strangely, Pansy was being a little less…grabby than normal. She still sat rather close, and every so often she'd touch his arm or lean against him or flutter her eyelashes, but it seemed…reluctant somehow. Draco had thought Pansy was over him when she'd stopped trailing after him sometime in the middle of last year for reasons he still didn't know, but it seemed she bounced back quick because she was all over him again.

Draco ignored them all; in his mind, none of it mattered. He was stressed; the mindless chatter of his classmates was slowly driving him insane.

These idiots were like him, Death Eater children, but none of them had gone through what he'd been through this summer. None of them had been given an impossible mission like he had with only expectations of his own death, and the worse part was they probably envied him for it.

He had no idea how he was going to get the vanishing cabinet working and Draco felt his face get warmer as one of his anger attacks began to build like it always did when he'd get so stressed, so overwhelmed, that it'd all just spill out of him in a violent rage.

Usually, he dealt with it by going to Jonah's place and smashing anything in sight, or by spending time with Theo who had a calming effect on him. Other times, he'd take out some of Hermione's old letters to feel like she was there — anything to reconnect with the people who cared about him and remind him that he wasn't a monster.

But in this stuffy compartment, full of people he couldn't trust, he could do none of his go-to comforting tricks, and the stress was building till all their voices were becoming white noise.

Then Zabini returned and broke the trance for a moment when he couldn't get the door closed. He just keep pulling at it as it jammed as if someone had caught their foot in it, then it flung open on its own.

Everyone was focused on Zabini falling into Crabbe's lap, but Draco was a seeker and he was trained to spot the unseen. He noticed the cushion on Zabini's seat dip as if someone was standing on it, and he could have sworn he spotted the flash of a trainer.

Wait…didn't Hermione say Potter owned an invisibility cloak?

Draco groaned. The stress was multiplying. Great, great, great, JUST GREAT!

How the hell was he going to get Potter out of this, because Draco knew he was going to have to; Hermione would have his head if he didn't.

Not that he didn't already know Potter was a nutter that suspected him to be nothing but a Death Eater spawn, even so, why now? There had always been occasions to sneak into the Slytherin carriages, but why this year all of a sudden? Was it because his father had been outed as a Death Eater, but still, why pick now to spy on them if he'd always had his suspicions? Unless he believed he had some evidence that confirmed his suspicions?

Somehow the idea made Draco scowl. Wasn't his life difficult enough without Potter putting his dumb foot in it and making it all worse? Most of this was his damn fault anyways. Because he'd gotten his stupid father in trouble last year, the stupid Dark Lord was isolating him for punishment.

The conversation went on, Draco occasionally contributed but mostly he remained quiet, his eyes occasionally flitting upwards to the luggage rack where he was sure Potter was hiding. He felt himself grow angrier and angrier with no outlet and no one to calm his down. He craved Theo's calming presence, Jo's amusing distractions, or Hermione's soothing touch. But instead, he had nothing.

Eventually, to Draco's immense relief, he began to spy the tall spires of the castle in the distance from his window. "I can see Hogwarts," he said. "We'd better get our robes on."

Goyle reached up to get his trunk and supposedly accidently caught Potter on the head, since he heard a muffled groan. Draco was surprised by how satisfied that groan made him feel. He didn't really hate Potter, though he totally disliked him, and he'd never truly wished to throttle him. But at this moment, he was fuming with pent up stress and angry energy and either it had to go, or someone had to hurt.

When they were dressed and had arrived at the station, Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini exited the carriage. Pansy paused at the door, with her hand held out as if she were hoping he'd hold it.

"You go on," he told her. "I just want to check something."

Pansy left. Now it was just him and Potter alone in the compartment. People were filing past, descending onto the dark platform. Draco moved over to the compartment door and let down the blinds, so that people in the corridor beyond could not peer in. He then bent down over his trunk and opened it again; knowing Potter wouldn't be able to resist peering over.

When he heard the slighted creak from above, he struck.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Without warning, he pointed his wand towards the luggage rack. With that, Potter was instantly paralysed and fell as if in slow motion, like a broken wizarding photograph, to the ground at Draco's feet, his invisibility cloak trapped beneath him, his legs frozen in a stupid looking crawling position, like a turtle paralysed on its back.

"I thought so," he said calmly. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back. . . ."

His eyes lingered for a moment upon Harry's trainers, in deep thought. Originally, Draco had intended to leave quietly after stunning him, making sure all the other Slytherins had cleared out first then leave a door open for Potter to escape. He hadn't meant to paralyse him, it was an accidental spell, but now…

Now, looking at Potter at his feet, frozen and at his mercy, his tightly held stress leaked out from his control for a minute, and he felt his usual fury at this situation. A part of him knew that none of this, his situation, his stress, his torments over the summer, was Potter's fault any more than it was his. But still, he was angry, and angry people didn't often think straight.

"You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here . . ."

Draco stamped, hard, on his face, as if his nose were one of the things at Jonah's apartment that he usually smashed. He felt Potter's nose break beneath his boot; blood spurting everywhere.

"That's for my mother. Now, let's see. . . ."

It was over in an instant, and after that, the realisation at what he had done, settled in.

He'd just broken Potter's nose, for no reason, out of fury. Potter…as in Hermione's best friend. He'd only just patched things up with her, how the hell was he going to get out of this one? Sure he'd humiliated Potter and taken the micky a dozen times out of him in the past and Hermione forgave him for that. But he'd never done anything like this.

He couldn't lose her, not now. Not now when he needed her the most.

In a strange mindless panic, he dragged the cloak out from under Potter's immobilized body and threw it over him.

"I don't reckon they'll find you till the train is back in London," he said quietly. "See you around, Potter ... or not."

And taking care to avoid treading on Potter's fingers, lest he make things even worse, Draco left the compartment.

A/N: Please review.