Hermione leaned against the marble tiles of the shower walls. She'd been under the water for so long her skin was beginning to wrinkle.

She thought she could scrub the memory away but she could still feel Draco everywhere... his hands prying her legs apart, his lips, his tongue, his hot breath and the reverberations of his moans as he licked her.

He'd marked her, his fingerprints on her thighs. She found herself touching them, wondering if this is what he had meant all those times he'd called her filthy. If he imagined leaving blemishes all over her, staining her skin with his presence.

Her fingers trailed up in between her thighs and she shuddered.

Hermione had never even touched herself there before, let alone...

Was it normal… did Dean do that to Ginny, did Ron do that to Lavender?... Had Draco done that to Pansy, and if so, how many times? Was it exactly like that or different? Had she felt the same thing when he touched her there… had she… reciprocated… given him the feeling Draco had just given her, the feeling of coming apart, had they done more?

Had they slept together?

Thinking of him with Pansy left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

And she was afraid. Terrified of that feeling. That's why she'd told him not to, practically begged him not to cross that line because after this she couldn't pretend. If she thought the bracelet felt heavier than it weighed, well this was crushing, a devastating secret.

He just shouldn't have.

She'd tried to warn him, tell him, but he had made it so hard for her to care. She knew at a point she just gave in, let go and it had felt deliriously good. She'd never felt anything like it and it had exhausted her the way he did.

With trembling hands, she stepped out, dried herself with a plush towel, changed quickly and crawled into bed, careful not to wake the others. Closing her eyes, she thought about how mortified she was after. She couldn't even look at him and she'd see him tomorrow in class and only be able to see him between her legs. On his knees.

The irony of it all, she thought, is that it wasn't too long ago when I'd imagined it would be the perfect revenge.

Except it felt more like they'd both lost something.

Maybe their minds.

He felt nauseous. An inescapable dread weighed him. He'd be dead by noon, by Potter's hand or Weasley's. It was a toss-up. At least he hoped he would. That would be the easiest way out of the Dark Lord's mission. And he certainly didn't want to live after what he had done to her. He was drowning in guilt and shame, but then there was a part of him that could still smell gardenias, that swallowed down the phantom taste of her wet. It was the same twisted gut-wrenching feeling that swayed him onto his knees last night—the part of him that would've done it all over again.

He pulled the blanket over his face, unable to stop reliving it. He had been angry, so angry and he'd screamed out his hatred for her until there was nothing left except the longing again. She shouldn't have said he was a disappointment or a coward. That had been his breaking point, much too close to the truth. He'd kissed her if he could call it a kiss and then…

"Come on," grumbled Blaise pulling the blanket off him. "You're not missing breakfast. It's a new year, new start."

Draco was about to object but didn't see the point in delaying his execution. He only prayed that his parents would never find out why. He could imagine their reaction to finding out that his son was murdered by Harry Potter for sexually violating his Mudblood friend.

Merlin... was that what I did?

Was there no part of her that felt the same way, that wanted the same thing? Sometimes when they were alone together, the way she looked at him made him believe it was there, floating between them, and he only had to acknowledge it, lay it out in front of her... but then she'd kissed someone else.

He hated that. Hated McLaggen. Couldn't stand the thought of it, even now.

So he'd wanted to punish her, claim her and he couldn't stop.

Hadn't he admitted this, hadn't he told Theo he didn't know how?

Clearly, she hadn't known because she told him to stop, and he almost wanted to laugh at the idea that she had expected him to listen.

He'd cast a sticking charm on her instead… Merlin, he'd restrained her—

Blaise, came back to find him still in bed. "What the fuck," he groused. "Get ready, everyone's almost left. Pansy and I are waiting for you."

Draco dragged himself to the bathroom. He removed his jumper, standing at the sink to wash his face. He didn't have time to shower but didn't need one to be Avada-ed anyway. He made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror, repulsed by his own reflection.

He hunched over, his hands clutching either side of the white marble. He watched the water running down the drain wishing he could disappear just as easily.

He closed his eyes.

It had felt right at the time like they'd both wanted each other, but the further he stepped away from the feeling and remembered the sequence of events, the more he realized how wrong he'd been. She hadn't wanted it at all, hadn't wanted him, never would. She only desperately wanted to get away. And maybe that's what cut the deepest—not that he'd lowered himself to wanting a Mudblood, not that Potter and Weasley would probably kill him for it, not even that he'd hurt her, possibly traumatized her—no, what devastated him was the complete and utter rejection of Hermione Granger, the knowledge that she didn't feel the same way, that she never had and never would.

And wasn't that just so fantastically fucking selfish of him? A tear fell into the sink. He really hadn't meant to, he had thought… or is that just what he wanted to think, because how could she feel anything for him, knowing what she knew? After everything, he'd ever said to her and done… He looked at his bare left forearm. Hidden beneath a glamor charm there was the truth of the kind of person he really was. He slid his wand out and removed the spell. He stared at the curling snake with disgust. He didn't want this anymore. He didn't want to die with it on his arm.

Blaise Zabini was not a morning person but if there was anything he had learned from his mother it was that appearances meant everything and he took particular pride in his. So, he forced himself to wake early without fail, groom himself appropriately and be one of the first Slytherins at the Great hall for breakfast looking nothing but immaculate. The only other person he knew to be as vain as he was, was Malfoy, but recently his friend had been slipping.

Pansy was sitting next to him, or more like she was almost on him.

"What's taking him so long?" she whined. He didn't blame her, he wanted to whine too, but he figured that if he badgered Malfoy enough, he'd start eating properly again. His patience lasted all of two minutes.

"Let me go see what his Highness is doing," he muttered under his breath.

Blaise went to the bathroom door and banged on it, "Draco, come on we're going to miss breakfast!"

There was no response. He kicked it in annoyance. He waited. He banged on the door again and called Draco's name. He frowned. Maybe something was wrong.

"I'm coming in," he warned because the last time he'd barged in on Theo, he got a lot more than he bargained for. Drawing his wand, he unlocked the door and opened it a crack.

"Draco?"

FUCK!

Blaise burst in. Draco was sprawled out on the floor and there was blood everywhere. He fell kneeling, his hands shaking. There was blood on one side of his face, all over his left arm, on the floor, in the sink, on his wand.

Merlin, what the fuck did you do? For a split-second Blaise thought he'd tried cutting himself, but then he looked at it his forearm again and under the blood was a tattoo. He recoiled recognizing it as the Dark Mark. It was strange to see it because if he'd been honest he hadn't truly believed Malfoy on the train or maybe he just hadn't wanted to.

He heard footsteps.

"Seriously, what's taking so—" Pansy clamped a hand over her mouth, gasping in horror.

He yelled at her to get help. Blaise was panicking. He had to hide the Dark Mark. He used his wand to clean the blood. Then he realized that Pansy was still standing there, paralyzed, her eyes wide open.

"PANSY!" He bellowed. "GET POMFREY!"

It was loud enough to startle her and she ran out.

The flesh around the mark was marred and his arm was already beginning to bleed again. He ran to his trunk, taking out a bottle of dittany he'd packed for Quidditch injuries. He had a fear of scarring and it was odd that his vanity was proving to be potentially life-saving. He applied it to the wound and in a matter of seconds, the flesh began to knit together. There was something wrong though; the skin around the mark had somewhat healed but the mark itself was swollen and dark, and red veins spread-out as if the snake tattooed on his arm was excreting venom. Blaise couldn't think. He only knew he had to hide it. He had just cast a disillusionment charm when he heard footsteps again.

Pansy appeared in the doorway and behind her was Professor Snape. For once the wizard's stony exterior wavered and he looked afraid. Pushing Pansy aside, he knelt over Draco, opposite Blaise. He drew his wand and muttered something while tracing it over the gash on his head.

"What happened here?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

"I don't know," Blaise explained quickly. "I found him like this."

"Is he going to be ok?" asked Pansy. Her cheeks were wet as if she'd been crying.

Snape ran his wand over Draco, his forehead creased in thought. Blaise watched him quietly knowing there was nothing he could do.

"He's burning up. I have to take him to Pomfrey. Zabini, you come with me. Parkinson, go to class."

"No," Pansy said calmly as Snape levitated Draco. "I'm coming."

"Ms. Parkinson—"

"I'm not leaving him!" she snapped.

Snape scowled but didn't argue because there was something in her voice that left no room for discussion. The three hurried out of the dungeons and headed to the hospital wing with his unconscious friend in tow. Classes for the day had already begun, so the castle was fairly empty. Blaise prayed that no one would see them.

Judging by the look on Professor Snape's face, Draco's condition was bad. When they arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey looked equally as worried. He was still unconscious, deathly pale and a sheen of perspiration covered him. The nurse returned within seconds, her hands clasping numerous vials.

"Professor Snape, I need to know exactly what happened," she said in a grave tone.

"I do not know. Mr. Malfoy was found lying, bloodied, on the bathroom floor. There was a deep gash on his head, which I healed. I'm assuming from a fall."

"That doesn't explain his high fever," she said uncorking a vial and mixing it with another.

"No," he replied evenly. "It doesn't."

"If that's all you can tell me you may leave now. I have a patient to take care of."

Snape turned to go, the two students followed hesitantly, Blaise because he feared that Madam Pomfrey would discover the Dark Mark and Pansy because she seemed not to want to leave Draco's side.

When they were outside, the Professor rounded on them.

"There is something you two aren't telling me," he said carefully eyeing them both. "What. Is. It?"

"Nothing sir," Blaise replied flatly caught in Snape's chilling stare. Then he thought he felt a sort of uncomfortable tugging sensation which made him glance away.

The Professor pursed his lips, looking at Pansy. She was looking at the floor.

"Go to class. I will be there shortly," he said in a terse voice. "Tell no one what you have seen."

Then he left, his robes billowing behind him.

Blaise looked to Pansy.

She was crying again.

Hermione walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts with her head bowed and took a seat in between Harry and Ernie Macmillan. Ron was seated at the table too. They still weren't speaking to each other but she gave him a small smile when she caught him looking at her. She didn't have time to think about anything else because there was a knot in her stomach tightening with every glance at the door. She was on pins and needles, wavering between wanting very much to see Draco, and wanting to never see him again.

To be honest, she'd considered feigning sick just to avoid having any kind of confrontation about last night but then she imagined all the work she'd miss and couldn't bring herself to do it. Plus, she'd reasoned, she'd have to face him eventually.

Hermione peered at the door for the fifth time, it was twenty minutes past and he still hadn't shown up. What was bizarre was that Professor Snape was late as well… and so was Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask where the Slytherins were when Harry beat her to it.

"Where's Malfoy?" he asked, his brows furrowing. "And Snape?"

Hermione shrugged. She glimpsed the Slytherin table and the vacant seat beside Theodore Nott. She realized that the black-haired boy was looking at the door too, a frown on his face.

A few minutes later Ron made a subtle nod toward the door, "Parkinson and Zabini just got here."

Hermione's pulse started to race, she expected Draco to appear behind them but after a few seconds, crestfallen she realized that they'd come alone. She cocked her head to their table. Nott and Zabini were speaking, their heads bent close as Pansy sat alone staring blankly ahead, her eyes red and swollen. Hermione could tell immediately that she'd been crying.

Just then Harry nudged her and asked, "What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know."

Hermione bit her lip still staring at Pansy when suddenly the Slytherin girl raised her head. Her heart skipped a beat as their eyes met because Hermione understood in that moment that something awful had happened to Draco.

Snape entered the classroom fifteen minutes later with no apology or explanation to where he'd been. When Potions was over and they'd stepped into the corridor Harry tapped her on the shoulder lightly.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

She found she couldn't answer except for a smile and nod. Harry seemed to believe nothing was amiss and they all trudged on.

When lunchtime came around Hermione hoped to find Draco in the Great Hall but he wasn't there at lunch either. While she'd been distracted by his absence in class, now she was frantic with worry. An internal dialogue was playing on a loop in her head, one voice insisting that it was nothing—perhaps he was trying to avoid her—but the other voice argued that by the stark look on Pansy Parkinson's face, something was terribly wrong.

Excusing herself Hermione decided she needed to be alone, needed to find him. She was walking in the direction of the girl's bathroom, about to turn the corner when she heard a girl's voice, one she immediately recognized as Pansy Parkinson's.

"You're overreacting," she said sounding a little flustered.

"It's a simple question Pans."

"He looked like he was dead," she said in a softer tone. "I was just worried."

"Yes or no," he deadpanned. "Do you still have feelings for him?"

Pansy was silent and when she finally spoke it was so low that Hermione almost missed it.

"I don't know."

Blaise didn't respond. Then she heard him walk away. Pansy was crying softly.

Hermione leaned against the stone wall paralyzed as she could only process one sentence from the conversation she had overheard—he looked like he was dead.

Had something happened to Draco? But they didn't say his name so they could've been speaking about someone else. They could've been talking about... about...

No.

Who else would Blaise accuse Pansy of still having feelings for? It was Draco. It was Draco and she'd said he looked like he was dead.

He looked like he was dead.

He looked like he was—

"Eavesdropping Mudblood?" spat Pansy rounding the corner and startling Hermione. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were puffy.

"No," Hermione responded sharply, pushing past her. "I was just going to use the bathroom."

"Wait," she called. Despite Hermione's better judgment, she stopped. Why? Well, partly because she desperately wanted to ask Pansy where Draco was and partly because the last time the two of them had spoken it had been very revealing.

"I get why he gave it to you," she sniffed, wiping the tears off her cheek, her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "But... why are you wearing it?"

Hermione blinked. "It's pretty," she shrugged.

Her face twisted into a snarl. "Trying to make Weasley jealous?"

Hermione clenched her fist willing herself not to react to that outrageous statement. She tried commenting nonchalantly, "So, he wasn't in class today."

Pansy's face fell. "He's… ill."

Hermione didn't believe that. How could he be ill, she was with him just last night. Looking back up at Pansy she noticed the girl was looking at her peculiarly.

"Oh," Pansy said softly sounding like she'd just figured out something important.

Hermione adjusted her book strap on her shoulder nervously and turned to leave realizing it had been a bad idea to mention Draco.

"After everything he's done!" Pansy yelled at her back as she walked away. "You're not smart Granger, you're an idiot!... You both are!"