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Draco hadn't realized that he'd fallen asleep on the couch. This was getting annoying – falling asleep on the couch, that is. How many times had he done that this year? His legs were aching, and he felt sore. His neck felt stiff, and his back hurt. In the darkness of his mind, he tried to figure out if he'd done anything labour intensive, but nothing popped into mind. He opened his eyes, and automatically looked down at his body, trying to figure out the problem. He was momentarily startled when he found half of the Granger-girl's body curled up on him.

His mouth curled down in disgust. His instant reaction was to recoil, and shove her off him. Her head was resting upon his lap. She had bunched up a clump of his jeans in her hand, and her other arm was draped across his leg.

Draco felt incredibly awkward. How had they ended up in this position? He racked his brain, but couldn't come up with anything. He shook out one of his hands and, holding his breath, he used his thumb and index finger to lift her arm off him. He tried dropping it over the couch, but this only caused the girl to move the opposite way. She rolled over in her sleep, and was now facing him.

Only then did Draco notice her swollen eyes, and her tear-tracked face. The unwelcome events of last night leaked into his mind, and Draco tried to force them out but they were stronger than him. You poor girl, Draco thought, looking down at Granger. She looked so broken, even in the vulnerable state of sleep.

He held his breath again, and placed his two arms under her, supporting her. With surprisingly no difficulty he lifted her, being absolutely careful not to wake her. He stood up, swaying slightly. He closed his eyes briefly, waiting for the giddiness to pass. It did, and he opened his eyes again. He turned around slowly, and bent down, gently placing the girl back onto the couch. He let out a whoosh of a breath.

For Granger's sake, he hoped that she'd stay in her harmless state of sleep. Once she woke up, the world would continue to claw at her, tearing away her strength.

He stretched, rolling his head this way and that, trying to un-kink it. He rubbed the signs of sleep from his eyes, and walked towards the mini-kitchen. He poured himself a cup of juice, and sipped it thoughtfully. He had a theory about Granger. He hoped it wasn't correct – for everyone's sake.

Because he had finally read Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, and he knew how it ended.

He finished off the last drop off juice, and licked his lips. That was tasty, he thought. Perhaps it was new juice.

"Malfoy?"

Draco turned around. Granger was sitting upright on the couch, looking deflated. She looked weirdly different though. But Draco couldn't put his finger on what made her look different. He disregarded the thoughts.

"How are you feeling?" he asked sincerely.

"Awful," Granger mumbled. A tear dropped from her eye.

Draco fidgeted with his empty glass. He decided to not say anything. He Summoned another glass, and poured another glass of juice. He carried it across the room. He stood before her, offering the glass. She shook her head mutely. He shrugged, and placed the glass of juice on the coffee table before her. He sat on one of the other couches, looking at her.

Granger was staring at a point behind Draco. Draco didn't turn around to see what she was looking at; he knew that she was looking at nothing. Suddenly, he knew what was different about her.

"Your hair," he said. "Did you do something to it?"

Granger looked at him then, and then reached up to touch her hair. "No," she said softly. "Why?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, thinking. "I don't know," he said hesitantly. "There's just something different about it..." he trailed off, analyzing her.

Granger didn't seem to mind him looking at her. She resorted to staring at a point behind him.

Suddenly, Draco stood up. "Granger, your hair is black and... not ...bushy," he said in shock.

"I beg your pardon, Malfoy?" she said in a dejected voice.

Draco walked closed to her. "Granger, you used to have brown hair, correct?"

Granger looked at him through her red-rimmed eyes. "I still do, Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. "Granger...you hair is black."

The girl sighed. "Malfoy, please I don't have the energy to argue with you." Another tear.

Draco shook his head again. He came to a stop a few feet before her. "Granger, there's no doubt about it. Your hair – it's as black as ebony. "

Granger merely sighed.

Draco looked around him. He spotted the glass full of juice that he had poured for her. He took out his wand and pointed it at the glass. He flicked it. The glass turned into a mirror, and fell forward to the floor. Draco bent down to pick it up, and handed it to the girl. "Take a look," he said quietly.

Granger held up the mirror to look at her reflection, and gasped. Her hand went up to touch her hair. "It's black," she said softly.

"That's what I've been saying," Draco told her impatiently, briefly forgetting that Granger had just been through a terrible ordeal.

"And it's not wild," she remarked peacefully. "It's wavy." She tilted her head to the side. She looked up at him. "It's black though," she said.

"I know that," he said. "Did you put a spell on it?"

Granger shook her head slowly. "The last time I did that to my hair was for Bill and Fleur's wedding. I haven't done it since."

Draco had no idea whose names she had just mentioned. Though the second one sounded familiar. "Strange," he commented.

Granger was about to put the mirror down, when she noticed something. She let out a small whimper.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, trying to etch concern into his voice. He was finding it difficult to express sincere emotion.

"My lips," murmured Granger.

Draco blinked, his gaze automatically dropping to her lips. He didn't find anything strange about them. Very bright in colour, he supposed. He returned his gaze to her eyes. "I'm sorry, your what?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"My lips," Granger repeated. "They're...red."

Draco chose not to react. He forgot how to. What did one do in a situation like this? "And what's wrong with that?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "I never had red lips, Malfoy," she said slowly.

Draco looked away. Now that she was looking at him, the only thing he could see was her lips. "Perhaps you applied...make-up or something, and forgot to remove it," he suggested to the dormant fireplace.

"I don't wear make-up, though," she said.

Something triggered in Draco's memory. He walked away slowly. "We should start getting ready. For school. Unless you want to go home?" he added as an afterthought.

Granger nodded. "I want to see my father," she said quietly, but in a determined voice.

"Will you be staying there long?"

"Just for two days. The...f-funeral should be tomorrow."

Draco nodded uncomfortably. Remembering what the Headmistress told him the night before, he added, "Would you like me to...help you with your packing?" He hoped she would say no.

Granger shook her head – much to Draco's gratitude. He was not ready for doing this much for a single person outside his family. "Very well," he said shortly. He stepped forward to offer an embrace, thinking she would want the comfort. She looked up at him, briefly startled, and he quickly turned his gesture into a handshake. He opened his mouth to say something comforting, but when nothing came to mind, he closed it. She looked at him, her eyebrows turned down, confused. Her red lips quivered, and to Draco's intense discomfort, tears started oozing out of her eyes.

Granger hobbled forward a few steps and threw her arms around him. Draco stiffened, but he didn't think that Granger noticed. She cried into his shirt. Draco's arms were at his sides, and he wanted them to stay there. He wished the girl would let go of him. He understood she was in gut-wrenching emotional pain, but he couldn't be her pillar of strength. He couldn't.

But then again, who else did she really have? She had Potter, of course, and she had that red Weasel. But they were in a tower far away from here. Who did she have right now?

He sighed. Only him. His arms lifted of their own accord, and he wrapped her in an awkward embrace. She cried harder, and her hot breaths tickled Draco's neck, but he didn't pull away. He forced himself to not pull away until she did. He tried his hardest not to breathe in the scent of her hair. It was difficult though – he could only hold his breath for so long. It smelt fruity. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to mentally block the scent from entering his system. It was to no use.

After a few moments of (heavenly) torture, Draco said tightly, "Granger, we're going to be late..."

She released him then, and Draco wanted to swallow the cool air that breezed in between them. "I'm terribly sorry about that," she said through a cracked voice.

Draco straightened his crumpled shirt. "It's quite alright, Granger. Completely understandable." He conjured a tissue and handed it to her. She gently wiped her tears away, with a soft smile. "She taught me how to sing, you know," she said.

Draco paused mid-step. He was just about to turn around to go to his room. There was something he had to find out. "You have a voice on you," Draco said, attempting to compliment Granger.

Granger smiled weakly. "My mother..." she started. She straightened, but after a few seconds her body returned to its slumped position. "I should be getting ready. If you could please tell Professor McGonagall—"

"She already knows," Draco said.

Granger nodded, her black, shiny hair swaying.

"Goodbye, Granger," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Malfoy. For everything," Granger said, a small smile gracing her red lips.

Draco nodded, and quickly hurried to his room. He closed the door behind him, and Summoned the fairytale book. He turned to the first page. He read through the first few lines, and then closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer Heavenwards.

For, in the very first two paragraphs, it read,

Once upon a time there was a queen who wished for a daughter, with lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow and hair as black as ebony. Soon she had a little daughter and saw that her wish had been answered,

The daughter's skin was as white as snow, her lips as red as blood and her hair as black as ebony. The queen named her Snow White and lover her very much.

He closed the book. Granger was already as pale as anything. Not as pale as snow, but now that he thought of it, the death of her mother seemed to leave her looking very pale. Her lips ... blood red. Her hair ... ebony black. What were the other signs? When would they arrive?

*

He heard a soft knock on his door. He crossed his room, buttoning the last few buttons on his school shirt. He opened the door, and saw Granger there. She had a small blue rucksack thrown over her back, and she was holding a white piece of parchment in her hand. She held it out to him. "This is for you," she said quietly, offering it to him. "Our Head duties. Just so you know what I have to do – perhaps you could allocate them to one of the prefects."

Draco nodded, taking the parchment from her small hand. He looked at her before looking at the parchment. The girl looked so fragile; he feared that one more tear would break her. But she tried to hold her head up high, and somewhere deep inside Draco he felt a sense of respect for her. The girl hadn't smiled in the past twelve hours or so, and for her, that was extraordinarily strange. She needed to smile. It was important. Smiles barred the tears.

Draco felt his mind freeze. Did he just wish for the girl to smile? Since when did he care so much for her wellbeing? It must have been that juice, he thought wistfully.

"Also," Granger said in a small voice, "can you please give Professor Pinkle this?" She held out another sheet of parchment, and Draco took it. Draco wasn't really taught the definition of privacy, so he popped the letter open and read the subject line.

His eyes widened. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked quietly, shaking the letter to illustrate his point.

Granger's eyes narrowed slightly. "It is very rude to open someone else's mail, Malfoy. In fact, in Muggle society, it's considered a crime," she said in what she probably thought was a threatening voice.

It wasn't even close. It bordered on a swing trying to swing without chains attached to it.

Draco shook his head. He didn't care about Muggle society. "Granger, you cannot hand in a resignation for the school musical. It's simply not done," he said, staring into her eyes intently, trying to convey the importance of his message.

Granger returned his stare. "And why not?" she asked, sniffing.

"Because you already accepted! There's no going back. There is nobody else who can replace you. You fit the role perfectly which is why the ball chose you. If they choose someone else, it would probably be a disaster."

Granger tilted her head to one side. "You're being a bit dramatic, Malfoy. Could you just give that to her?"

Draco mentally counted to ten, and then released his frustration through one breath. He nodded stiffly.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I'm not too sure why you care so much anyway."

"I don't," Draco found himself saying quickly. "It just doesn't feel quite right...what you're doing."

The girl switched the weight of the bag from her left shoulder to her right shoulder. "Malfoy, I have been through so much in the past day. I don't think that I'll be able to cope with the added stress of a musical."

Draco shook his head again. "Granger, that's the best part about the musical. We don't even have to learn for it. All the words and actions come naturally."

He could sense her wavering. "I don't know, Malfoy..." she said quietly, glancing at her shoes.

"Try not to be too hasty, alright?" he said.

Granger looked up from her feet, then. Draco wasn't too sure why she had a confused look in her eyes. Was it something he had said? Was it the way in which he said something?

"Malfoy, why are you being so nice?" she asked bluntly, yet there was genuine confusion on her face.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco asked, taking a step backwards.

"I asked why are you being so nice?"

Draco's mouth felt dry. He couldn't answer her question. He glanced at his watch. "Look, Granger, I'm running a bit late for school. But you have a safe trip, and ..." he almost said 'take care', but stopped himself just in time. "Yes, well, goodbye." He nodded once at her, and walked passed her, but not before noticing how sadness clouded her eyes further. He refused to feel guilty. He refused. The girl knew he wasn't a softy. Understandable, her mother had just passed away, but that didn't mean that he had to change his whole self to fit her needs. He would do what was required of him, and he had played his part well last night. He had taken care of her. But now, she was returning home, where she had people who genuinely loved her to take care of her and support her.

That was not his job. He was her colleague.

Just before he reached the portrait door though, he wasn't able to hear a crisp voice on the other side announce the password. The door swung open, banging into him. The force of the door swinging backwards really should have knocked him to the floor. Instead, he just stumbled backwards, and caught himself from falling. He straightened, adjusting his cloak. Thank Merlin he hadn't fallen. There would have been awful creases on his clothing.

He looked up at the proud woman standing before him. "Professor McGonagall," he said unsmilingly, nodding at her.

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy," she said crisply, breezing passed him. "I came to speak to the both of you."

Draco glanced at his watch subtly. "Professor, with all due respect, classes start in five minutes and I really should be go—"

"Have a seat, Mr Malfoy," the professor said, motioning towards the couches. Draco reluctantly followed her instruction. Then in a kinder tone, "You, too, Miss Granger."

Hermione hobbled forward, and took a seat on one of the couches. She looked up fearfully at the professor, and Draco briefly wondered why. "Professor, there surely cannot be more terrible news?" the girl asked.

Ah, that explains the fear. Draco looked at the professor, waiting for her reply. "No, of course not, Miss Granger. What I have to say is with regards to a few formalities."

Draco leaned forward. "On whose part, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall looked at him. "Yours, Mr Malfoy."

Draco hesitated, and then nodded. What was required of him?

As if reading his mind, the professor said, "You will be accompanying Miss Granger to her home, and will be returning with her when she chooses to come back."

Draco refrained from standing up, and yelling profanities. He ignored Granger's sharp intake of breath, and he breathed in deeply. He said in a smooth tone, "Professor, I do not think that it is wise having both Heads leave the school premises. Surely you would need at least one of us to be here? Why is it necessary for me to go? Is it not possible for either Harry Potter or Ron Weasley to accompany her? I'm sure they would be more obliging to do so."

The professor raised her eyebrows. "Mr Malfoy, are you calling me unwise?"

Draco was about to assure her of quite the opposite when she continued, "I have thought of each thing you have mentioned and more. The first thing you mentioned – the Heads matter, was it? – We have eight prefects in this school, Mr Malfoy, and I'm quite sure that the school will be able to manage perfectly well without the two of you. You would just have to divide your duties amongst the prefects." In his pocket, Draco's fist curled tightly around the parchment that Granger had given him. There was no need for it now.

"Then I think you mentioned the matter of one of Miss Granger's friends to accompany her," the professor continued in her dry tone. "There have been some ... complications regarding Mr Weasley's physical state –"

She was cut off as a small whimper escaped Granger's lips. Professor McGonagall turned her gaze towards the girl. "Don't worry, Miss Granger. Mr Weasley is perfectly healthy." She turned her gaze back towards Draco, "Mr Potter has to leave the school to write a very important test at the Ministry of Magic. This test will determine his acceptance into Auror Training. Ginny Weasley cannot go either as she is a prefect, and she will be handling a few of Miss Granger's duties as it is. This is why you have to go with Miss Granger. I need someone who is both responsible and is able to carry our school's name well. Anymore questions?"

Draco shook his head numbly. His day was not looking good.

Granger held up a hand. Draco would have laughed, but he couldn't find any humour int he current situation.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Is it possible for me to withdraw from the musical, Professor?" Hope coloured her voice.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid that is impossible, Miss Granger. You did accept the ball. The ball chose you. No one else would fit the part except you."

Draco felt like saying 'I told you so' but bit his tongue. Granger frowned and looked down at her lap.

"Very well, then," the professor said, getting up.

"Professor, can I please see Harry and Ron before I leave?" Granger asked sadly. Draco noticed that she had hardly reacted throughout the Headmistress's speech.

"I think I saw them coming up, Miss Granger," the austere woman replied. And sure enough, there was a banging on the portrait door.

"HERMIONE!"

Draco rolled his eyes, and sat back in the couch.

"Merlin's beard," the professor commented.

He watched as Granger got up from her seat, and walked towards the door. She opened it, and two boys toppled in. Well, it looked like two boys. There was one ordinarily sized bespectacled boy. But the other boy ... he looked more like an infant with a – was that a beard?

He heard Granger's sharp intake of breath. She bent forwards, "Ronald?"

Draco squinted. Sure enough, the infant-looking boy was actually Weasel. He had a full red beard, and was dwarf-sized. He had a very ... sour expression upon his face. The wheels were spinning in Draco's head.

While Potter and Weasel sympathized with Granger, and while Granger sobbed into Harry's chest, and Weasel sort of patted her knee reassuringly, Draco stood up and walked over to the professor. The professor was looking over at the trio by the portrait with a half-amused, half-saddened expression on her face.

"Professor, may I please have a word?" he asked her quietly.

"Of course, Mr Malfoy," the professor replied. He took a seat next to her on the couch.

He turned to look at her seriously, but before he could start, the professor said, "Mr Malfoy, I hope this isn't about the arrangements with Granger."

Draco shook his head, albeit reluctantly. "No, Professor, but there's something that's been troubling me—"

He was cut off as Weasel's bellow of, "MALFOY'S COMING WITH YOU?!" was heard. He heard Granger hastily explain to the dwarf-sized Weasley.

"Professor, there have been strange things that have been happening," Draco started by saying.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Please elaborate, Mr Malfoy," she said, regarding him.

And then it all came out in a rush. "Ever since we all accepted those roles for the school musical of Snow White, strange things have been happening." The professor's eyebrows furrowed. Draco carried on in a hurried whisper, "I think that whatever happens to the characters in the book is actually happening to the people who play those characters in reality."

There. His theory was out. He sincerely hoped the professor didn't laugh at him.

"Do you have any...proof of this, Mr Malfoy?" the professor said hesitantly.

Draco nodded. He began to draw up a list of similarities, "It started when Granger's mother died. Snow White's mother also died. And then—"

"But Mr Malfoy, Snow White's mother died just after giving birth," the professor interjected.

"There's more," Draco said impatiently. He shot a look over his shoulder at the trio. The three were sitting on the floor – probably so that they could all be at the same height. He returned his gaze to the professor. "Her appearance has changed, too. Her hair – it was never black. Her lips weren't as red, either." The professor looked slightly shocked at his observation. "She commented on the last part. I only noticed the hair part," he said, defending his honour.

"I don't know, Mr Malfoy..." she started off unsure, looking at him.

Draco took out his wand, and Summoned the fairytale book. Once he had it in his lap, he pointed at the picture of the girl on the front. "Look at her, Professor. Then look at Granger," he instructed. The professor obliged, and when she looked at Granger she narrowed her eyes. She looked at the cover of the book again.

"Why, they look almost identical, yet completely different," she remarked, astounded.

Draco nodded. "And I'm presuming that Weasel – Weasley, was given the part of the dwarf, Grumpy?" he theorized.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, then closed it. She opened it again, and said softly, "Madam Pomfrey thought that he inhaled the scent of the Wilting Mellow flower. Its scent is rumoured to have effects on one's height and physical age appearance."

Draco leaned in closer. "Professor, have you noticed any of the other students who have been cast the role of dwarves?"

"No, I have not," she said.

Draco looked at Potter. Even though he was sitting down, his presence oozed authority. His posture was upright and oozed with confidence. He always knew that Potter was an over-confident git, but Potter had never been one to pay attention to posture.

"Professor, what role did Potter get?" he asked, still looking at Potter.

"The King," she said. She looked at Potter, and Draco felt her acknowledging the exact same thing he just did.

Suddenly, she stood up. Draco stood up too. "Mr Malfoy, it could be a coincidence—"

Draco let out an incredulous noise. "All of it?"

The professor shook her head sadly. "Mr Malfoy, I don't think that something as insignificant as a musical can alter a person's being. It cannot issue death upon pure innocents."

Draco shook his head. "Part of what you are saying is true – the musical is insignificant. Therefore, shouldn't everything be able to be reversed?"

Grief clouded the woman's eyes momentarily. "Death cannot be reversed, Mr Malfoy."

"Granger's mother wasn't directly involved though. There must be a way—" he started, his eyes beseeching. His theory was right, he knew it. And he knew that the professor was believing his theory, too. He didn't want the story to go further. He couldn't allow for that to happen.

He knew how it ended.

The ending... he couldn't allow it.

Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe he was immune to the fairytale's charm. Maybe it had no power over him. Perhaps he was too strong for the magic of the fairytale to override him. Because, so far, nothing had happened to him. And it was day two, already.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

The professor looked at him. "Have a good trip, Mr Malfoy," she said, bringing him back to the present.

"Trip to where?" he asked, not thinking. Then he remembered, and he felt a heavy rock fall into the pit of his stomach. "Oh, yes. Of course, Professor."

"Please take care of her," she said quietly, motioning towards Granger. Draco looked over. The girl was smiling softly at something Potter had said. The professor continued, still looking at Granger, "She may look strong, but it only takes this much to break through a strong person."

Draco nodded stiffly. Now he was a caretaker. People should not give them their hearts and minds to take care of. His were already half-broken. It was like asking a doctor with a damaged heart to perform open-heart surgery. How would the doctor feel?

"Very well. I'll take your leave now," the professor said. She walked passed him, and then stopped. She turned around, and looked at him.

"Mr Malfoy, did you by any chance get the part of Prince Charming?"

Draco felt confused. "I – yes, Professor. How did you know?"

"It shows," she said simply. Did that mean she believed in his theory? And with that, she hurried away, ushering the boys – Potter and the dwarf, Weasel – to get to class.

Draco hurried to his room. He looked into his mirror and almost cried out. His hair looked more golden now. His hair had never been golden. It also looked softer. He reached up to touch it, and cringed. It was softer. He leaned in closer to the mirror. His eyes were silver. They were silver. They had returned to their original colour. His lips weren't chapped anymore. They were smooth – a pale pink. Draco numbly traced his jaw line. He still looked like Draco Malfoy, even though he was already changing.

This could not happen.

His theory about his own "non-transformation" was wrong after all.

He would not let this happen.

He stripped down to his boxers. He had to change out of his school clothes. Today he wouldn't be at school. Just as he pulled his jeans on, he chanced another glance at the mirror. He gasped.

He had muscles. From Merlin knows where, he had no idea. His body did not look scrawny anymore. It looked lean but muscular at the same time. Not too muscular. He turned this way and that, analyzing each part of his body. He was undergoing a transformation.

Instead of feeling happy that he didn't look so disgraceful anymore (because he looked bloody handsome), he felt overwhelmed by grief. He was doomed.

The ending of the fairytale was sure to come, but how could he prevent it? Just to be sure he hadn't imagined the ending, he paged through the book again, until he got to one of the last pages.

The prince was silent when he saw her skin as white as snow, her lips as red as blood and her hair as black as ebony. He said,

"Let me have her as my wife."

The dwarfs told him, "The princess is dead."

"I will bring her back to life with my love," answered the prince.

....

He was doomed. Handsome and all, he was seriously doomed.

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

A/N: Hope you people liked that! It was kinda fun writing it I didn't want to concentrate too much on Hermione's mum death. But your questions – wow, so many! – will be answered in the chapters to come.

Thanks to everybody for reviewing! You all really make my day! Seriously...you do.