Disclaimer: Rowling is a goddess and created and owns Harry Potter.

Hitting 110k with this chapter... It makes me feel almost sad to think it's almost over! (I'm probably exaggerating. Still about 15 chapters to go!)

I think you'll like this chapter.

Chapter 35

You Had a Choice

21st January, 1999

When she strode into the library before breakfast that morning, he was already there, reading. His hair was messy, his robes slightly wrinkled, and there were slight circles under his eyes. She had never seen him this untidy; when he looked up at her and smiled, she decided it suited him.

"Draco!" she said, wondering if she sounded as surprised as she felt. "Did you – did you sleep in here?"

He shook his head. "I didn't do much sleeping."

"Merlin, Draco," she said, walking over to him. "Madam Pince would kill you if she knew. Aren't the Slytherin dorms comfortable enough?"

"It depends," he said evasively. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"I stopped by to give a book back before class," she said. "I'm not very hungry, so I thought I might as well stay here until it's time for class. I suppose you haven't eaten, either?"

He shook his head.

"What have you been doing?"

"I had some research to do," he said simply, then yawned widely and stretched his arms out over his head.

"What kind of research could warrant –"

She froze, the words dying in her throat as she stared at him in horror. The wide sleeves of his school robes had slipped down a little when he raised his arms, and she could see the flesh on the inside of his left wrist.

Pale flesh. Bony wrist. Dark ink. The Dark Mark was branded onto Draco's forearm.

She recoiled in shock and horror – a reflex, she would tell herself later –, backing up into the bookshelf behind her. Draco looked confused for a moment. He followed her gaze and blanched.

"Shit," he said, hastily lowering his arms. "I'm sorry. The Concealment Charm – I just woke up and forgot to re-activate it. I –"

"It's all right," she said, hearing her voice shake and knowing it wasn't all right. "I – Harry always said you wore the Dark Mark. So I suppose I already knew."

"You didn't," he said. "I can tell." Then: "It isn't something I'm proud of, you know."

She looked away, suddenly wishing to be far away, wanting to be anywhere but here, with anyone but him. "Malfoy –"

"So it's 'Malfoy' again all of a sudden, is it?"

"I'm sor –"

"Damn it, Hermione, do you think I wanted to be born with that name? Because I didn't have a choice!"

"You had a choice," she said, looking pointedly at his arm, "and you made it."

He looked shocked for a moment, and she instantly regretted it.

"Draco –"

The shock turned to hurt, then anger, and he slapped her outstretched hand away. "So it's come to that, has it?"

"Draco –" she tried again.

"I should have known," he interrupted her furiously. "I should have known that no matter what I did, it wouldn't be enough. Damn you, Granger! Here – look."

He roughly pulled his sleeve up, baring his left arm, where the Dark Mark still lay, lighter maybe than it had once been, and unmoving, but unmistakably branded into his flesh forever. She stepped back from it again, her back knocking against the bookshelf, suddenly afraid.

"You can't stop thinking about this," he said, stepping closer to her until he was in her face, trapping her against the bookshelf. "You were so – so nice. Like you couldn't remember what had happened. I thought you'd decided it didn't matter. But the truth is you've just been avoiding the truth because you were too scared of it, haven't you?" He was so close she could see the small flecks of blue in his grey eyes, a second ago so lifeless and now filled with barely controlled rage. His voice shook with anger. "You were trying to forget, but you couldn't. And now... you're scared of me, aren't you?" He looked at her, searching her face for something. "You are," he said. "You're scared of me. So much for Gryffindor courage."

"Malfoy," she said calmly, though inside, she was terrified. "Step back."

"Malfoy," he repeated, like the name tasted foul.

"Draco –"

"Shut up, Granger."

The words escaped her almost before she could think them. "So that's what Theo meant," she murmured.

She saw Draco stiffen, saw his eyes darken and his mouth close into a tight, firm line. And then he was out of her face and out of the library and gone, gone, gone.

And maybe it was wrong, but before the guilt came a wave of relief.

Draco was a ball of fury when he entered the Slytherin seventh-year dorms that night, and it was headed straight for him. He closed his book, set it down on the table, and braced himself. He hadn't felt the brunt of Draco's anger in some time.

"What did you tell her, Nott?" Draco asked, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "What did you tell Hermione?"

Ah. So that was what this was about. Well, that was fine, then. He'd done nothing wrong.

"Granger? I haven't spoken to her –"

"Liar," Draco said, disdain dripping from the word like poison from a lance. "You lie, Nott."

Draco had always been able to see through him like glass. There had been a time when he liked this, thought it was a proof of their closeness. Now it was just plain annoying.

"What am I supposed to have said?"

"Something that might make her think I was a Death Eater."

"Oh, you mean the truth."

Draco's jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened. "If that's what you want to call it."

"I usually call things by their proper name. So what's the problem?"

"I didn't think you were the type to denigrate your friends behind their back, Theo." Draco paused. "You have spoken to her. She called you Theo."

This was news.

"She did?"

He concealed his smile, but Draco, Slytherin as he was, noticed it.

"Funny, is it?"

"She probably heard it from you, though. You were the first one to come up with the nickname."

Draco would not be fooled. "What did you say?" he asked."The exact words?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters," Draco snarled. "She's afraid of me now. She never used to be scared of me!"

"That has more to do with your Dark Mark than anything I might have said," Theo shot back, and Draco backed off, looking shocked. "Draco, I'm sorry –"

"How do you know?"

Puzzlement. "How do I know what?"

"That she saw..."

Theo looked into his friend's eyes, at his shocked, haunted expression. "I didn't," he said, feeling his heart sink. "I just said it to... spite you. It didn't mean anything. I didn't think..." He trailed off. "She saw?"

"She saw."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. It's not your fault."

That was true enough.

"Theo... What did you tell her?"

He hesitated. "I showed her... I showed her..."

Draco looked confused, and Theo bit his lip. He'd been hiding this from his – his friend? – from Draco for almost a year now. He had forgiven Draco. But if he knew, Draco wouldn't forgive himself.

"Theo, just tell me."

"I told her about that night with the Carrows," Theo finally snapped. "I told her you weren't yourself anymore. There. Are you happy now? Honestly, Draco – what did you think I'd told her?"

"You told her I couldn't be trusted," Draco said flatly.

"Yes." But I do trust you, Draco. "I'm sorry."

"Why do you care?" Draco looked puzzled. "You care nothing for Granger."

"I care about you," he snapped.

"I wouldn't hurt her in a million years." He seemed so confident of this, so sure of himself. Then something seemed to hit him. "Showed her?"

"What?"

"You said something about showing her."

Draco's eyes glinted with suspicion. He had never been an idiot. Theo was the one who could read people as easily as he read books, but Draco had always been able to see through him. Before Theo could react, Draco had reached out, grabbed a handful of his robes, and dragged him forward until their faces almost touched.

"You showed her," Draco said, his voice tight, "What happened then. How? A pensieve? Or..."

Theo felt an uncontrollable panic rising in him at Draco's proximity and he brutally shoved his friend off of him. "Get off me," he spat.

Something flickered in Draco's expression, and he backed away, raising his hands. "Theo, I'm sorry."

He had noticed, of course. How could he not? For a week after the incident, Theo had flinched at the sight of him. It was something he'd been dealing with ever since it happened. A cold fear that overcame him whenever Draco was standing too close, speaking too loudly. An illogical, irrational fear that he thought he had got over.

"I'm sorry," Draco repeated. "I for –"

"You'd forgotten, then? Well, I haven't. And I won't." He pulled at the collar of his robes and bared his neck, revealing the scar than ran down his chest. "Did you really think the Carrows would let me get away with a scratch that could be healed in seconds? This is lasting, Draco. This is for forever."

Draco reached out to touch the scar gently; Theo flinched.

"I could have healed this..." Draco murmured. "I did it for Astoria. I could have healed it, and you... Theo..."

And there's no need to apologise," Theo said before Draco could say anything else. "I've already forgiven you."

"You have? Because that's a heck of a scar," a voice said coolly, and both Draco and Theo jumped and turned to look at the door. Blaise stared them down, impassive.

Theo immediately released his robes, letting them cover the scar again. He looked at Draco, and Draco looked at him. Something like understanding passed between them, and Draco gave the slightest of nods.

"It's not like you don't have your own scars," Theo said bitingly, and instantly regretted it when Blaise's cool façade dropped to reveal a flash of hurt. Then the mask was back up.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Nott" he said, his voice dripping venom. "I don't forgive as easily as you do."

He left the dorm, closing the door quietly behind him.

Theo glanced back at Draco, who was avoiding his gaze now, looking... vulnerable. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking, because he had wanted him to admit his vulnerability since their sixth year. Theo genuinely liked Draco, but the blond pure-blood had never opened up to him. Actually, Theo had no idea why he cared what happened to Draco. They didn't even hang in the same social circles; far from it, really, because Theo disapproved of almost everything Draco represented. But Draco had to grudgingly respect him because he had just as much magical blood as he did. He was as good as him in most lessons and was clever enough not to follow Draco blindly. Besides, he was a much better liar and could smooth-talk his way out of any situation, so Draco knew better than to alienate him.

He had alienated Blaise from day one, though. Blaise, who was cool and distant and secretive in the same way an assassin would be. You couldn't trust Blaise, ever. He was a lot like Theo, actually, a smooth talker and naturally cunning, but he had a bit of a sadistic streak that had endeared him to Draco, and at the same time he was too proud to call anyone a friend. He hid in the shadows, unnoticed, only to come out when you got a little too cocky. He was cruel and smart enough to find just the words that cut to the quick. Theo got out of his way to avoid Blaise, and he really, really avoided talking to him. Blaise had a way of worming your most heavily guarded secrets out in minutes.

"Draco," Theo said. "I told you – I don't blame you for what happened."

"Of course you blame me," Draco snapped. "I'm the one who did it."

"You did a lot of things."

"Do you think I've forgotten?"

"Do you think I have? Sometimes it's not about forgetting, Draco. Sometimes it's about forgiveness."

Draco smiled softly, a look Theo hadn't seen on his face in months. "You sound like Hermione."

She should have known. She should have, because she knew Draco had definitely served Voldemort. It was something he couldn't even try to deny. And Harry had always said – but then, neither she nor Ron had believed Harry in their sixth year. They had thought his rivalry with Draco was what caused his accusations and his obsession with the Marauder's Map. And no-one had ever actually verified that Draco did not, actually, have the Dark Mark. It had seemed to stupid to her, so impossible – Voldemort's highest gift, of a sort, given to a kid who had never killed? A pure-blood, yes, nephew of Bellatrix and son of a loyal follower, maybe, but...

It had seemed ridiculous to Hermione that Draco could have been a member of Voldemort's inner circle. And now that she knew it to be truth... A wave of revulsion hit her, and she saw her knuckles turn white as she gripped the edge of the table. What had he done? To earn it – maybe Voldemort had given it to him as a sign of trust that he could kill Dumbledore. But later, after his failure – inner circle. What had he had to do? As a Death Eater, he couldn't not have blood on his hands, he couldn't not have caused pain and destruction, he couldn't not have seen death and known it was his fault.

He couldn't not have killed.

There are some things about each other that Draco and Hermione had to forget to form a friendship... but they couldn't ignore these things forever. I very much like this chapter.

Drop a review if you want to!

Wish me luck for my exams! Tomorrow: History-Geography, the day after: French. Ugh!

Next update is Friday: a return to the messed-up Black sisters.