-----------------------------------------------------------FAIRYTALE------------------------------------------------------------

"Mr Malfoy, we need you to make up your mind soon please," Professor Pinkle's sparkly voice called out to him.

Draco didn't look up. He closed his eyes, thinking. What would happen if he accepted the role? His life would get back to normal, that's what. People would get to know that he wasn't living in a closet, that he really knew how to sing and act. He didn't know who the hell Prince Charming even was – he hadn't read the book yet – but that didn't matter.

Where was the harm in accepting the role? What was the worst that could happen? He thought and thought, feeling the full weight of the thoughts swirling around in his head.

Nothing, that's what.

Without opening his eyes, his fingers crawled across his lap, until the tip of his index finger grazed the surface of the ball. He opened his eyes a sliver to watch the fireworks. Excited whispers rushed through the classroom, and Draco dipped his head to avoid the stares. He rested his forehead on his arm, and stared at the ball that was sitting in the palm of his hand.

At the front of the classroom, Hermione fidgeted nervously with her robes. Malfoy had been cast the role of Prince Charming...she had been cast the role of Snow White. You didn't have to be a Muggle to do the math on that one. Almost everyone knew what happened between Prince Charming and Snow White at the end of the story. She wondered if Malfoy knew. She turned around in her seat. Where did he sit? Her eyes ran across the dozens of faces before her, some people trying to catch her eye, some chatting animatedly with each other. They were all eager to hear the names of the rest of the cast.

Ah, there he was. Hermione sat up straighter in her seat, but all she could see was Malfoy's head resting on the counter, his face hidden. Strange reaction.

Professor Pinkle stared in amusement at the girl in front of her. "Miss Granger, might I ask what you are doing?"

Hermione jumped in her seat, and spun around to face the front. She brushed a piece of hair off her face, and replied, "Um, a bit of yoga, Professor."

Professor Pinkle tilted her head in confusion. "Yoga? What is this yoga?" Before Hermione could reply, the professor shook her head. "Never mind. Ahem!" For the first time in the history of the Muggle Studies classroom this year, the class was silenced. Professor Pinkle smiled brightly. "Right, thank you! I'll be calling out the rest of the names on the list now." She plonked her glasses back on her nose, pointed her wand at the giant ball, and called out, "The evil step-mother!"

"It's certain to be someone from Slytherin!" someone – Lavender, by the sound of it – whispered loudly.

A ball shot out and raced towards the professor's hands. The professor looked at the name, and laughed. "Oh, I heard some entertaining stories about this young lady!" She let the ball go, and each member in the class was braced for the ball to come flying at them. Instead, it flew out the door, and down the corridor.

"I told you it was open to all learners in the school," Professor Pinkle sighed out merrily.

"Who got the part?" Dean asked.

The professor said, "A certain Romilda Vane."

Dean let out a low appreciative whistle under his breath, along with several other boys in the class. Hermione glared at Dean.

"What? She's hot," he said defensively, squaring his shoulders.

Hermione shook her head disapprovingly. How many love potions did Romilda make? She returned her gaze to Professor Pinkle, who had her wand pointed at the ball.

"Dopey!" And the same procedure of the ball shooting out, landing in Professor Pinkle's outstretched hand, her exclaiming in wonder, and the ball finding its owner was followed. The boy who was to play turned out to be in their very own class.

Hermione grinned. "Congratulations, Dean!" Just after the fireworks subsided, she reached over to hug him.

"Wicked! I'm Dopey!" Dean yelled. Hermione laughed.

The names of the other dwarfs – Doc, Grumpy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy and Bashful – were also called out. All balls except the 'Happy' ball had zoomed out of the classroom. The part of Happy went to Lavender.

Lavender gaped in shock at the ball sitting on her desk. The people around her erupted into fits of giggles and only stopped laughing when Lavender shot them death stares. She raised her hand. "Um, Professor Pinkle?"

Professor Pinkle paused in the act of calling out another name, and turned to look at Lavender. She smiled. "Yes, my dear?"

Lavender dropped her eyes to look fearfully at the ball on her desk, and then she looked back at the professor. "Professor Pinkle, there has definitely been a mistake. I am certain of it." Her voice quivered. A few brave souls were still giggling over the situation.

"And why do you think that?" The professor's teeth glimmered.

Lavender looked outraged. "Because all the dwarfs in the book are boys!"

Professor Pinkle let out a tinkling laugh. "Now that's not true, Miss Brown."

Lavender slammed her fist down on the table. "It is!"

"It's not," the professor insisted. "They're really dwarf-sized men."

Lavender let out a whimper. "With all due respect Professor, this is not funny at all! I do not accept the role!"

The professor shook her head, smiling. "My dear, you already did. Look."

Lavender looked down at the ball, and was astonished to find that she had unknowingly gripped the ball during her fit of rage. She let the ball go as if it were on fire, but the fireworks had already started. "Oh no..." Lavender whimpered.

"Oh yes!" the professor exclaimed. "As the Muggles say, 'welcome aboard'!"

Lavender buried her face in her hands. "I don't even know how to act, let alone sing!"

Parvati tried to comfort her. She patted her best friend's back, rubbing soothing patterns. "Well, you clearly must be able to, and like a dwarf-sized man, too!" This didn't seem to help, and resulted in more people laughing.

Hermione shook her head slightly, amused. She turned around in her seat to face the front again, and raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, won't you tell us who received the other roles?"

Professor Pinkle sighed. "Well, Miss Granger dear," she said in a tone suitable for addressing a five-year-old. "If I do that, it will ruin the fun! I shall put a list up later today."

Hermione sat back in her seat, irritated. So, basically, they were all supposed to watch the professor dramatically call out names of characters, and watch the balls zoom out of the classroom to Merlin knows where? Or if they were lucky the chosen actors would be in their class? How mind-numbing would that be?

The lesson passed by, the seconds dragging into minutes, and when the sixtieth minute had come, the bell sounded.

"Thank Merlin!" Hermione muttered.

"I'll be putting up the list later today! Don't you forget!" called out the professor's irritating voice.

Hermione saw Malfoy packing away his things silently, and went up to him. "Congratulations!"

Malfoy looked up at her from his chair. He nodded. "Thank you. And to you, too," he added.

Hermione smiled, and then she realized that he was not smiling. "You never smile, you know that?" He looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I mean, aren't you excited?"

By now, the class had left for lunch. Malfoy zipped his bag shut. "It's a musical, Granger. Do you want me to start skipping now?"

Hermione pondered the idea. "That would be awfully hilarious," she said seriously.

Malfoy only nodded, and stood up. Merlin, he was tall. Hermione took a few steps backward so that she didn't have to look up at him. "Well, considering the parts we got, we're going to be working together more so than ever, so..."

Malfoy nodded again, and made to walk passed her. How rude. Hermione let it slide, realizing that there was only so much she could do to get through to him. She moved aside to let him pass.

She watched as he left the classroom. Professor Pinkle had also left. It was just Hermione. It was just Hermione and her thoughts, and right now Hermione was wondering, How on earth is he Prince Charming?

Hermione dropped onto the bench, taking her place between Ron and Harry. Ron had a stormy look brewing on his face. Hermione glanced at his empty plate, and then back at his face. Ron hadn't acknowledged her yet. She looked at Harry who was chatting with Ginny.

"Do you know what happened to him? He isn't even eating," she told them both, interrupting their animated conversation. She jerked her head in Ron's direction.

Ginny laughed, her laugh almost sounding like a cackle. "Did he not tell you yet?" She picked up a piece of her roll and flung it at her brother. "Oy," she said in a louder voice, "tell Hermione your good news."

"What good news?" Hermione asked. She elbowed Ron. "Ronald, please tell me," she said.

Ron slowly rotated his head. He looked at her, his expression stony. "I received a ... I received a certain ball today."

Hermione's eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent her laughter from bubbling out. She lowered her hand, trying her hardest to keep from laughing. "Oh, Ronald! Which part did you get?" She placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, and he shrugged it off.

"You're laughing at me!" he complained.

"I'm not! Honestly, I'm not!" Hermione insisted.

"Go on all of you. Have your laughs at Ron Weasley," he said irritably.

"I don't even know which part you got!" Hermione said.

Ron mumbled something. Hermione leaned in closer. "Sorry, I didn't hear that."

"I said 'Grumpy'!" he yelled.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Hmm, I'm not too sure how they arrived at that decision. I mean, grumpy? You?" she said teasingly. Harry and Ginny laughed.

Ron got up from the table and stalked out of the Great Hall. Hermione smiled. "He's not taking it so well, huh?" she asked Harry.

"Not at all," Ginny replied happily. "Best part is that he didn't know he had a choice. So when the ball landed on the grass before him – because, you know, we all had a free period before lunch – he just picked it up." Ginny grinned.

Hermione shook her head. "Poor Ronald." She dug into her food, then. Midway through her fifth or sixth bite of her toasted cheese sandwich, Harry asked, "So who got the part of the evil step-mother?"

Hermione swallowed, and said, "Romilda Vane."

"Romilda Vane?" Ginny snapped. "That idiot from Ravenclaw?"

Hermione nodded. "The very same, Ginny. Why did you ask, Harry?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Because I'm playing the King," he said awkwardly.

Hermione squealed. "But that's brilliant, Harry!"

Harry scratched his nose self-consciously. "Yes, well, I'm not too sure which version your Professor Pinkle's thinking of using. There's the one where the King dies somewhere in the beginning, and then there's the one where he doesn't die at all. Personally, I don't want too much of stage time."

Ginny stabbed her drumstick with her knife. "I hope the King dies in the beginning," she muttered.

Hermione's excitement faded and she looked at Ginny sadly. The poor girl didn't want Harry to spend too much of his time with Romilda Vane. Even worse, Harry didn't even notice that Ginny cared.

"By the way, Ginny also has a part in the musical," Harry said.

"Wow, Ginny! The four of us are acting in the musical! Which character are you playing?" Hermione asked, while mentally running through a list of the characters.

"The hunter," Ginny muttered darkly. "The person who does the killing."

Harry looked at her surprised, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "Aha," was all she said.

This was sure to be one interesting play.

That evening found Hermione sitting cross-legged on the floor, with her back leaning against the couch, diligently studying. She was summarizing her Potions textbook chapters. She heard the portrait door swing open, but didn't look up. She knew it could only be Malfoy. Instead of heading straight for his room like he usually did, he walked briskly towards the couch, and dropped his satchel onto it.

"Granger," he stated, standing next to her.

"Just a second," she said, finishing off the last sentence. Full stop. "There, I'm done. Now what do you want?" As she asked her question, she raised her head to look at him. She sighed, shaking her head. "Malfoy, you're hurting my neck. Please sit down," she said, massaging her neck with two fingers.

Malfoy sighed, too. He sat down on the floor as well, opposite her, keeping his distance. "Why are you sitting on the floor anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "No idea. What do you want, Malfoy? I have work, so please make it brief."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. He reached forward to lift one of her summaries up. He glanced through it briefly. "Granger, you're summarizing a section that we haven't even covered yet in class. And exams are about four months away."

"And you're already biting into that time," she snapped, grabbing her notes back. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy bit his lip, and looked down. He looked back at her. "I need clarification about something."

"What?"

"Something I don't quite understand –"

"Well, clearly, Malfoy, or else you wouldn't be needing clarification. Please. Just get to the point," she said, placing her quill on the floor. She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

Malfoy leaned forward slightly, and folded his hands into each other. "It's this...fairytale thing. I don't quite understand it."

"The musical or the actual book?"

"Both. Aren't they one in the same?"

Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "No. In the book, the only singing is done by the dwarfs. In the musical, everyone sings."

Malfoy was shaking his head. "No, I meant the storyline."

Hermione pulled up her knees, and she rested her head against them. "Malfoy, I'm begging you. Be specific. I'm tired, and I cannot afford for you to beat about the bush."

When Malfoy spoke, it came out rushed, "I think that the story is too rushed, too unbelievable. A mirror that speaks of one's beauty? Ridiculous. And the love between Snow White and the Prince is not love at all. I mean, it is impossible to expect a dead person to reawaken just by kissing that person. Impossible." Scorn had coloured the last few words of his little speech.

Hermione dropped her knees, sighing. Her legs were now adjacent to his, but not touching. They avoided any form of human contact.

She looked at him, tying to convey her message properly. "Malfoy, it's a fairytale. It's supposed to be rushed. Parents tell their children these stories before they go to bed. It needs to be short, and to the point. And I cannot believe you just said it's unbelievable! You're a bloody wizard!" Malfoy looked ready to interject, but Hermione held up a hand. "I'm not finished. There is love between the Prince and Snow White. And it wasn't his kiss that brought her back to life. It was his love. They are two completely different things. He kissed her because it was the best way he could express his love for her. He wanted to feed love and, therefore, life into her. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Malfoy's eyes had taken on a strange look. To Hermione, they looked less opaque than before. Was it a trick of the light, or did his eyes seem to have some depth to them? "I understand, I think," he said quietly.

"Good, because I need to go to bed now. I don't think I can concentrate on this work." She yawned and got up. But just before she turned, the portrait door swung open.

Malfoy jumped up from the floor, his wand before him. He stood slightly in front of Hermione. Hermione had to step around him to see who had trespassed onto their territory. The cloaked figure stepped into the Common Room. "Please lower your wand, Mr Malfoy," said the voice, briskly.

Malfoy lowered his wand, and murmured, "My apologies, Professor McGonagall."

"Good evening, Professor," Hermione said respectfully. "You could have owled us, and we would have come to your office."

Professor McGonagall crossed the room in a few short steps. "I'm afraid that the matter at hand is very delicate, Miss Granger. It was...important that I personally came to see you." The professor glanced at the big window. Hermione followed her gaze, but didn't see anything special except a picture of the full moon sitting on a dark blue blanket.

"Professor, is something wrong?" Hermione enquired. What had she done wrong?

The professor waved her wand so that the curtains snapped shut. She turned to face Hermione, and she smiled kindly. "I'm afraid so, Miss Granger." She turned to Malfoy. "Mr Malfoy, if you could please excuse us."

Hermione stared confusedly between Professor McGonagall and Malfoy. Why couldn't Malfoy be present? "Professor, I'm sure that whatever you have to say can be said in front of Malfoy. He is Head Boy, after all."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "This is not about Head duties, Miss Granger. Please sit down." Professor McGonagall nodded at Draco to leave the room. Draco shared a look with the Headmistress. In the professor's eyes he noticed much grief. Draco glanced quickly at the girl – Granger – and suddenly felt pity for her course through his veins. What news was she going to get told?

He nodded at the Headmistress, and retreated to his room. He shut the door, yet it wasn't necessary. He could still hear the voices on the other side perfectly well. He knew he shouldn't, but he sat on his floor, with his ear resting against his door.

Hermione watched as the Headmistress took a seat next to her on the couch. "Miss Granger, I have some terrible news for you."

Hermione felt her blood run cold. She gripped the edge of the couch tightly. "Is it Harry? Or Ron? Are they okay?"

Professor McGonagall looked at her sadly. "Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are both perfectly alright, Miss Granger."

"Then who is it? What is it?"

The professor took one of Hermione's hands into her own. "Miss Granger, we just received word that your mother has died."

Hermione froze. She blinked. "I beg your pardon. What?" she asked in a coarse whisper. Her hands started to feel clammy. She let go of the professor's hand suddenly and stood up, facing her. "What did you say?"

"I'm so sorry, Miss Granger. It was an unexpected, sudden death," the professor said softly.

Hermione felt something wet fall from her eye. Tears. She wiped them away. "Are you sure? Who told you?"

Professor McGonagall stood up. "Your father contacted the school now, Miss Granger."

Hermione crumpled to the floor, and lay there sobbing quietly, and slowly hysteria began to invade her system. Her sobbing became more high-pitched, and her body began to shake violently. Professor McGonagall knelt down beside Hermione, gathering her in her arms. Hermione continued to shake, as her cries rocked her body harder. She was making loud, sharp, piercing noises that cut through the air. Professor McGonagall found it difficult to support the weight of the young girl.

"Mr Malfoy," she called out. She knew he would hear her. The door opened immediately, and the young Malfoy boy hurried forward. Miss Granger had not the faintest idea of what was happening around her.

Draco sank to his knees next to the Headmistress. He looked at Granger on the floor. She had rolled out of Professor McGonagall's grip, and was now thrashing about on the floor. "Mr Malfoy, I need your help, please," the professor begged him. She motioned towards Granger. Draco crawled forward, and reached out to lift her up. He didn't even notice the fact that he was carrying Granger, physically touching her. His heart ached for her. He didn't know what it felt like to lose a parent to God. He didn't ever want to know what it felt like.

Once he had her safely in his arms, he stood up. She wasn't that heavy, really. "Mr Malfoy, if she wants to pack a few bags to go home, she's more than welcome to do so. Please help her." The sincerity in the Headmistress's voice touched Draco, and he nodded. "Very well. I'll take your leave now." She passed a hand over Granger's hair, and then left.

Granger's sobs were slowing down, and as if she were a small child in his arms, he rocked her gently, attempting to soothe her. He could feel the wetness of her tears soak straight through his shirt, but he didn't mind. He walked over to one of the couches, and sat down on it, with Granger on his lap. She probably wasn't even aware of what was happening to her, around her. She was only aware of what was happening within her.

He lifted a hand to stroke her hair, but then dropped it. That would be too awkward, and what he was doing now was hard enough. She had her hand gripped tightly onto the fabric of his shirt, so that even if he tried to put her next to him, she wouldn't let go.

Her sobs began to die down. Her body was now only mildly trembling. Draco clenched his teeth and forced himself to lift his hand. Once he had full control of his hand, he brought it to rest on top of her head. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to stroke her hair, just like how his mother used to do for him whenever he got hurt. His movement was too rigid, his fingers couldn't loosen. What he did didn't feel natural. It didn't feel right to him, but he forced himself to do it. He knew that when a person is undergoing extreme emotional pain, they needed physical touch. They needed to know that there was somebody who could catch them when they were already falling.

And then it started to feel almost normal. Down. Up. Down. Up. Sometimes he'd let go of his hand to let it trail freely through her hair. It must have helped, because her sobs soon stopped.

Hiccups.

He settled back into the couch, resting his head on the back of it. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think.

It was very hard.

"Malfoy?" came her cracked question. She sounded so lost. Draco knew that it was wrong, but he thought that at last he had met with his inner self. He saw his inner self on her outer self. He felt comforted. It was a morbid feeling, but nonetheless, he felt comforted.

"Yes?"

"Why?"

He didn't have to ask her what she meant. He knew perfectly well what she meant. "Sometimes, life likes to throw a quaffle our way, and when we have no beaters to protect us, we recieve some serious injuries." He was using a Quidditch analogy, but he really hoped she understood.

"Life isn't a—" hiccup "—game, though. Why me, Malfoy?" More tears.

He didn't answer, but chose to hold her tighter, thinking that if he held her tighter, he would squeeze all her excess tears out. She didn't need to cry anymore. It was hurtful to cry. He knew.

He looked down at her, curled in his lap. Was this how the King felt when his wife had died? Draco wondered, thinking about the so-called fairytale. Snow White had been left all alone in the care of her father. Her mother had just died ... In the silence, something clicked in his mind, and he almost threw Hermione off him. If the connection he had just made was actually correct, then things had only just started to get worse.

But fairytales are impossible.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Yes, I know, extremely sad, but I had to do it! If you haven't already caught on, you'll catch on pretty soon. Please don't hate me! And thanks to all those amazing people for reviewing. Love you all xx.