A/n- I dare say that I'm back into the mood of this fic. Yay! I am so excited about this story, especially when we get into the double-digit chapters. I can't wait to write those!!

Disclaimer: Should I even write these any more?

Summary: It's the end of summer, almost. Two days- including this one- until that Hogwarts train!

The Other Side of Fate

Draco had fallen asleep, fully clothed, out on the second story balcony of his room. He hadn't intended to, but it was so late when he had rested there, back against the glass doors, face tilted towards the night sky.

With the persistent chirping of birds did he twitch awake under the morning sunlight, the late August sunlight, and he raised his eyes to the cloudless sky.

He had been reading Hermione's single letter over again, for perhaps the hundredth time, tracing her words with his pale finger, grimacing at the weight he felt in his chest.

He hadn't been upset when he first got the letter, not the day of nor the day after, his mother's foul words buffeting all other emotions- besides extremely calculated rage- away from his mind. But then, a little way into July, it had officially 'sunk in'.

Late one night, after yet another row with his mother, after yet another unsuccessful attempt of her trying to figure out if Draco had owled McNair yet, Malfoy had sat down at his desk and pulled a piece of parchment toward him, hell bent on writing Hermione.

He stopping half way through the heading.

On into nearly two in the morning did he sit there, at that desk, staring at the ripped and ink stained parchment, trying to figure out a way to get to her, any way at all. He was clever enough, he could figure it out if he tried. But every time his eagle owl dipped out over the horizon, it would reappear the following night with the letter still attached, haggard looking.

If he could only persevere… just wait it out.

Draco had thought one evening, had rashly hoped, spread out on his bed, that he would take his father's offer, damn the one he loved, and give up on the heartache he felt and the ever present fear he was cloaked in.

But then, lesson learned. He had tried to protect Hermione in this way before, and look where it had gotten him…

Near death.

He couldn't do that. His heart was hers.

Now, all Malfoy had to do was choose between outright telling his father to drop dead or to agree to the Dark Lord's wishes and become, for lack of a better word- a mole.

That was what kept him up at night. That and the question of if he should tell Potter and Dumbledor his parent's and the Dark Lord's plans. Draco's feelings aside, if he was to forsake himself, become what he had told Hermione so many months ago- a blood traitor- he would need even the slightest amount of help; perhaps Wonder Boy and the old coot fit that description…

Groaning at the chill in his muscles, Draco rose to his feet, hand flying to his eyes to rub out the sleep. It had been a dreamless night yet again.

Yawning, he swung open the doors to his bathroom, his bare feet aching under the cold of the stone beneath.

Draco moved, slowly, to the washbasin, a pale red glass bowl fixated to the counter top. As his hands moved to the empty bowl, it filled, magically, with a hot hiss of steam. Disregarding his cloths, Malfoy cupped a handful of water and splashed it over his face and neck, the water running in rivulets down under his cotton shirt.

Pursing his lips, he pulled the collar up and over his head.

A maid had opened the windows facing Draco's bedroom, had packed his suitcases and trunks at the foot of his bed. It annoyed Draco that, with magic, his mother could have flicked her wand and it would have been done in half the time.

Did it please his parents that much to watch a muggle toile for a good thirty minutes trying to stuff socks between dress robes and his school tie?

A sneer curled his lip a fraction.

This place was disintegrating.

.o.o.o.o.

The morning sun was settled into noon when Draco had finally managed to get away from the manor and down to The Leaky Cauldron. He had refused to use the Floo network and flatly rejected the offer his mother made, when suggesting he and his things ride tag-along on a quick apparition.

Draco would rather walk. In the end, he hailed a Wizard Taxi to take him.

Instead of Draco taking his things, Narsissa would magic his belongings to his room at the inn a little while later in the day.

Upon entering the pub, Draco could clearly see that Hermione and her faithful companions had not arrived as of yet. He would just have to wait.

Tom looked up from his place behind the counter, where he had been chatting animatedly with another patron. The man looked slightly uneasy, seeing the shock of blond hair- certainly knowing who it attributed to.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy…"

Draco inwardly cringed.

"What can I see yu' for?"

"Ah-," Malfoy pulled out a few shiny coins, their glint reflecting upon the varnished bar. "Something cold?" He dropped the change onto the counter and the man across from him smiled with what Draco could only assume was relief.

What, did he think Draco was going to curse him or something? Like everywhere the Malfoys went there was death and the dark mark…

Draco didn't finish that thought- better to just leave it alone.

Skirting the long oak table situated mid-tavern, Malfoy squeezed into a doublet, shoved back against one of the outer walls, facing the stairway but shielded from the sunlight by a huge crossbeam. There was only one chair.

Many of the patrons glanced up as he walked by, heading towards the smallest seat. They puzzled for a moment. Perhaps it was because he wasn't flanking his father, or that he neither donned wizards robes nor held that usual smirk- he looked plainly out of place.

After a moments nervous picking of the wood varnish with his finger nails, Draco's drink appeared, tall and frothing in front of him, the magicked glass ever frozen.

Draco's brows creased in mere skepticism as he lifted the drink to his lips; but he smiled a fraction as the cup's contents flowed smoothly past his lips.

Ah, something cold, caffeinated, and coffee oriented. Draco's pale eyes squinted in satisfaction and a lopsided smile crossed his lips.

Twice did Tom refill the glass, three more times did Malfoy refuse after that, the glass empty in front of him, still cold by the time the noon hour had ticked by.

Draco's foot tapped incessantly, either out of nerves or caffeinated twitch, against the floor and rung of the table, a crisp clicking sound issuing ever time his heel struck metal and wood. The motion traveled up from his foot as his knee bounced, then his fingers as they strummed the wood.

A nagging sensation made Draco shiver. Turning round in his seat, he scanned the rest of the pub.

Why did the have the intense feeling of eyes on him?

He glared around, lips pursing lightly before he brought the near empty glass to his lips again. Suspicion of every witch and wizard seemed ludicrous but, with the Deatheaters, it was completely plausible.

Malfoy felt under the microscope. He didn't like it.

Where were they?

A thrill of coffee laced panic shot up from Malfoy's chest and leapt into his throat.

Perhaps his father… oh god…

As Draco slid back his chair and stood in haste, he cracked his head upon the wooden girder, just as the door to the inn swung open. In a gritting pain, Draco's hands leapt to the back of his head and, sitting again, he pitched his brow forward, staring teary eyed at the table top.

A whirl of boyish laughter and giggles pierced Malfoy's threatening headache. The blond peered up at the door of The Leaky Cauldron, now open on its hinges, spilling forth six redheads a two other figures. Blinking rapidly, Draco's vision unblurred.

"Now, your father's got the rooms, boys! Here, Harry dear, take this for me." A plump woman with a bag under each arm ushered in the group and handed the figure next to her one of the bags. After her, two girls and a taller man followed.

Stunned into silence, hands still on the back of his head, Draco stared, lips parted in a silent noise.

There they were… late, but still…

Hermione, arms laded with Crookshanks, standing along side the Weasley girl, laughed at something the redhead had mentioned. Draco's heart, on the mend since his less-then-perfect summer, gave an uncharacteristic thump into his throat.

She looked the same. Same bushy hair, same frame under new muggle cloths and a maroon wizard's robe.

Oh he could run, go back to the manor, fall upon his knees in front of his father and the Dark Lord, save that pretty smile…

Draco silently chastised himself. He had to make up his mind. Either side with Dumbledor or not. Don't keep fantasizing about the 'what ifs'.

Banishing that thought, Draco stood sharply, for the group couldn't see him half hidden in the shadowy back of the large room. In his haste, his knee hit the edge of the table, rattling the cold bottle around till it tipped over and clattered against the grain.

Draco's hands shot out instinctively to silence and righten the upturned glass.

Everyone's attention turned at the noise; Malfoy's head shot up, his fingers clasping the cold bottle. At the same time, a small noise escaped the group now dragging their belongings into the inn. Draco saw Harry Potter twist around to glance at Hermione, a shocked look on his face.

It was as if he had come back from the dead.

Malfoy smirked, trying to recover the situation, feeling slightly off balance and embarrassed.

"Potter, brought your entourage?" But Draco's smile slipped as Hermione started towards him. "Herm-" As she practically fell into his chest, the breath was knocked out of him.

She was crying.

Draco gave a small smile and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the girl. He held her close and her breaths slowed and matched his gradually, as if she had been in disbelief that he was real.

"You all right?" He whispered into the top of her head. She nodded but didn't let go of his shirt. Malfoy chuckled softly.

Slowly, Hermione pulled away and Draco got a good look at her, raising his palm to cup the sides of her face. She smiled.

"I thought you wouldn't come." She let out one of those relieved laughs, eyes squinting.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I thought… I thought something would happen and we wouldn't know…"

Draco ran his thumb over her cheekbone and looked up at the group standing awkwardly off to the side. His gaze fell first on Ron, who was looking away, then on Potter, who was staring at him. At Hermione's words he blinked and looked at the ground.

Obviously that thought had been shared between the group.

"Well," He whispered, looking back at Hermione. "I'm obviously here." Hermione nodded.

Draco smirked, looking up. The Weasley parents had moved off to the counter to talk with Tom, the twins pulling the Weasley girl- who was very interested in what was going on- out the back door to Diagon Ally.

"Are your things here already?"

Draco nodded, catching Potter's eye as he looked down, the slight frown on Malfoy's face replaced by a smile when he looked back at Hermione.

"Good, we have to talk," She meant the four of them, obviously. "About this summer. Why I wasn't able to…" Hermione trailed off. "What room are you in?"

"Twenty six."

.o.o.o.o.

The door to room twenty four clicked shut as Tom hobbled out of Ginny and Hermione's designated room, their trunks situated under each of the twin beds respectively.

Draco ran a hand along the fringe of one of the beds, flopping himself down upon the mattress, he slung an arm over the headboard. A slight sigh escaped his lips and his eyes closed momentarily, soaking up the feeling of not being on his feet. Silently, Hermione sat down next to him.

Harry had moved to sit upon Ginny's bed, his arms on his knees, bent forward with his chin on his hands.

Ron hadn't budged from the doorway. He looked stricken, nearly green, but he didn't speak. He had followed with the most reluctance and had not, as Harry had, shaken Draco's hand in greeting. In fact, Draco hadn't even offered Ron any kind of visual nor auditory confirmation of him being present- he was, in effect, part of the furniture.

Malfoy still didn't forgive him for the choice words he had used in Dumbledor's office at the end of last term.

"So…" Draco started, a hand over his brow. "I tried to owl you several times…" Hermione nodded.

"I was not at home, I was somewhere unplottable."

Draco looked a slight confused.

"For the Order, we were away at the Order's headquarters." Harry murmured from Draco's right. The blond turned his head sharply in his direction.

"The Order. So the Dark Lord was right… he had mentioned it." Draco scratched his chin absently, a wicked smile on his lips.

The three in the room fell deathly quiet.

"You… your in contact with Voldemort?" Harry murmured. Malfoy shook his head.

"Not since after my father was locked up in Azkaban."

Ron shifted uncomfortably by the door and Harry shot him a look. Draco, noticing this, smiled.

"You." He pointed at Ron. "You don't think I'm trustworthy, do you? You think Potter here's a nutter for telling me anything."

Ron scoffed.

"Draco…" Hermione whispered. "Dumbledor knows your trustworthy, we all do."

Draco's lips curled a fraction. "Dumbledor…"

Harry ran a hand over the bed quilt. "He was there, he knew Hermione had owled you. Some of the other teachers-"

At this, Draco give a little start.

"Other teachers. How many other teachers?" He didn't like the idea of the whole staff knowing he'd converted… knowing he was thinking of converting… thought he was thinking of- whatever.

"McGonagall, Dumbledor naturally-"

"Snape?"

At this Harry stopped and squinted his eyes at the ceiling, thinking. Draco felt as if ice water had been forcibly poured down his throat.

"He wasn't there this summer, was he?"

Hermione shook her head. At this, Ron gave a growl and looked at Harry, seething, arms at his sides and hands in fists.

"I don't see why we're divulging any information to this… dark wizard." The red head hissed, pointing at Draco.

"Dumbledor said-" Hermione started.

"I don't care!" Ron cut her off and Draco sat up a little straighter. "I don't care what anyone says, he's his daddy's little Deatheater!"

"Don't you talk about me." Malfoy's voice was cool but with a sharp edge to it, dangerous. His gray eyes bore into Ron with malice. Ron took one look at Harry and wrenched open the door in disgust, striding out, the door banging shut after him.

Hermione shook her head and the three left in the room went silent.

Draco let out a eventual sigh.

"Snape is a Deatheater."

Harry nodded but looked concerned. "Dumbledor believes otherwise. He trusts Snape."

"That doesn't say much, he trusts me, apparently." Draco smirked, sitting up to run a finger through Hermione's hair.

"Is his trust misplaced?" Harry whispered.

Draco paused and dropped his hand onto Hermiones'.

"No." He said simply.

"Right." Harry stood up, seeing the need for the couple to do a little private catching up. "Well, dinners in a few hours…" It was actually in about five hours, but Harry assumed that even that amount of time would be little to the pair sitting across from him.

Harry shut the door with a soft click behind him.

.o.o.o.o.

It was after six, the sun had nearly sunk behind the buildings outside the window, but Draco and Hermione were still deep in conversation, her head on his shirt as they lay staring up at the ceiling.

Hermione grinned to herself as her head bobbed up and down, Draco's chest heaving as he let out a string of low toned giggles.

"I can't believe you were away for so long."

Hermione licked her lips as she felt Draco's hand in her hair, creating long rungs through it. As she moved her weight over to her side, she felt the too small bed creak dangerously. Draco's eyes went wide and they both laughed.

Draco watched Hermione as she got up and moved to the trunk at the bottom of the bed. Sighing, he tried to smooth out his shirt where her weight had wrinkled it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to owl you." Hermione said finally. Draco scowled.

"I didn't mean to guilt you-"

"No, it's nothing you said, I've been feeling guilty all summer. I barely had my wits about me, my head was in the clouds." Hermione dipped into her trunk, pulling out her hairbrush.

Silently, Malfoy recalled the sleepless nights where he had cursed his love and wished for an end to the wait, the want.

"It matters little now, I'm just glad you're here."

Hermione laughed softly, bitterly. "So am I, even if I am the only one." The allusion to Ron's comments were heavily weighted. Draco slid onto the ground, bringing his arms back over his head, stretching.

"Weasel can get jinxed for all I care."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That would be a problem, seeing as you and he are mostly on the same team."

"I never said I switched teams." The pain in his voice made Hermione look sharply up at him. Her eyes narrowed and, letting her brush fall back into her trunk, she stood. Draco blinked at her, then looked away.

"Did something happen over the summer you're not telling me?" Hermione ran a finger over Draco's jaw.

"No, nothing."

"Look at me."

Draco turned to look into Hermione's soft brown eyes with his molten silver gaze. Her concern was touching, but he couldn't tell her about what his father had said. Not yet.

"Nothing." He said again, smiling and taking her hands, kissing her fingers.

Hermione blushed and Draco tilted her head up, brushing her lips with his.

Moments later, Malfoy clicked the door to room twenty four shut, Hermione ahead of him, already walking down towards the center of The Leaky Cauldron.

Almost as if Draco had to bottle up his frivolity, the boy stood outside the closed door a moment, letting a bit of the calm he felt with Hermione sink in. A noise to his left made him jump.

"Malfoy." Harry Potter closed the door to his room a few feet away.

"Potter…" Draco smirked, letting his hand slide of the door handle.

"Going to dinner?"

Draco nodded and followed the slight shorter boy a few paces before he stopped.

A strange look on his face, Draco turned to stare back down the corridor from where they came. His eyes darted from the door he had just shut, to the ceiling, then to the stout window at the end of the hallway, its white linen certain fluttering in the hot sunset wind.

"Malfoy?"

Draco's gaze darted back. Harry stood at the stairwell, a hand on the railing.

"You all right?"

Malfoy sneered. "Fine." Briskly, he strode down the rest of the hallway and past Potter, sliding out of the way so not to elbow the other boy.

He dare not look back, for whatever reason, he didn't want to.

A chill creeped down Draco's neck.

.o.o.o.o.

"All right all, so, dig in!" Mr. Weasley clasped and rubbed his hands together eagerly at the table before his family. They had arranged a dinner at the inn, everyone seated around the center table, food hot and steaming around the center.

Draco stared at his filled plate.

Hermione at his left hand, nudged him with her knee. Malfoy glanced up at the table.

He was sitting between Hermione and Winny- or Ninny- or whatever the mini-Weasel's name was. The younger girl's mother was next to her right and Mr. Weasley was at the head of the able. Draco look past the potatoes and caught one of the twin's eyes. The boy grinned and Draco smiled weakly- very weakly- back.

Ron, Harry, and the two twins sat opposite the girls and Malfoy.

"So, how was your summer?"

It took a moment for Draco to realize Mr. Weasley was talking to him. Staring, Draco forced himself to nod, trying desperately not to hear his father's dreadful voice in his head.

Blood traitors, all of those muggle loving Weasleys. Especially that father of theirs, what a-

"Fine." He choked out, quickly reaching for his water goblet.

"Ah, that's good. That's very good." The man smiled good-naturedly and for a moment Malfoy actually felt as if he cared about the question, as if he had truly wanted to know instead of it being a meaningless gesture. Malfoy felt ashamed that he had not answered the question with as much respect as it as given.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley smiled at the table. "It is very nice to have everyone together. We can finally do some catching up."

What she meant to say, Malfoy thought despairingly, was that they could finally catch up with him. Everyone had been together around summer except for him.

Even Mr. Weasley looked skeptical; he was still trying to digest that the son of his worse enemy- a term used very loosely, yet quite effectively- was now eating with his family…. next to his daughter. Yes, he was still trying to grasp that.

The water glass was cool against Malfoy's tongue and, even if he drank nothing, it was comforting to feel the glass between his lips, his teeth. Draco bit the rim delicately.

A few more moments passed in silence.

"Are you not hungry?" Hermione whispered soothingly after Draco pushed another forkful of stew around his plate.

"I've never really had this before." He admitted, trying to sound stuck up rather then abashed, yet at the stares, he felt heat rise into his cheeks.

"You've never had Cornish stew?" The girl to his right wondered aloud.

"Ginny!"

Ahha! It was 'Ginny' then.

"Well," The girl shrugged. "Seems a little sheltered to me-" She raised an eyebrow at him. "For a Malfoy I'd think you'd had to have stew before."

Silently, eyes raised towards the ceiling, Draco wondered why him being a Malfoy had anything to do with the conversation. He took a deep breath.

"We usually have something smaller, well, when my father was at the manor." Again, the stuck up attitude didn't fly. He sounded like a poor street rat recalling his finer days. "I'm not used to such a big… er- family."

At this, and much to Draco's surprise, Mrs. Weasley beamed.

"We hope you can see us as family." The woman beamed; Ron dropped his fork onto his plate- his action hardly noticed- and looked as if he had choked on something. "If not now, soon enough Mal-" she paused. "Do you prefer Malfoy or Draco dear?"

"Oh god, Mum." One of the twins rolled his eyes, speaking though a mouthful of food.

"Not Malfoy, Mum." The other twin drawled.

"Sounds too much like his father." They said in unison.

"Draco's fine." Malfoy hid a smile with another swig of his drink.

The look on Ron's face was absolutely priceless.

A/n- okay, sorry about the lateness, school is in the home stretch and finals are a'brewen. (that sounds so calm despite what's really going on!). Thank you Mika, for an awesome betta!!

Someone asked me wither or not this fic is going to pertain to Deathly Hallows. This will not be finished by the publication of HP number 7. The plot of this fic is completely written out and set in stone, so no matter what happens in HP 7 (if it has some similarities or extreme differences), I won't be taking any ideas from it!

Review! It gives me joy!