Hermione took off, running out of Gryffindor Tower and into the dark night. Footsteps echoing in the corridor behind her told her that Harry was following.

"Wait," he said catching up to her. "We should split up. We'll find them faster that way."

She came to a halt looking around the darkened corridors. Pointing to the left she said, "You go that way and I'll go right."

Harry gave a quick nod. She grabbed onto his arm as he tried to leave. "You won't hurt him, will you?"

He jerked out of her grip. "Your concern for someone who broke my nose and left me on the Hogwarts train is really touching."

She cringed at Harry's acidic tone and murmured, "I'm sorry. He should never have done that but—"

"Save it!" he snapped. "I've been trying to tell you, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater— wait," he paused and his eyes widened. "Have you seen his arm? You-you spend time with him, surely you'd have seen it—"

Hermione paled under Harry's gaze. This was what she'd been dreading, it was the reason she hadn't trusted Ginny with the full truth even after she'd found out. Because the answer to Harry's question was a resounding yes and she couldn't bear the thought of them judging her. But she couldn't lie anymore.

"Harry…"

Nothing more was needed to be said. A somber expression drew over his face.

"How long?" he simply asked. "How long have you known?"

"Since before Christmas," she confessed, her own face crumpling.

"The necklace, Katie Bell—?"

Hermione nodded.

Harry looked heartbroken.

"How could you have been so selfish?"

Her voice was small and meek. "I wanted to protect him. I was scared."

"Protect him?" scoffed Harry. "Is that what you're running off to do?"

"Yes."

He shook his head in disbelief. "I'm trying to protect my best friend from a Death Eater. Don't think I'm running off to save Malfoy for you."

Pursing her lips, she watched as Harry started off in the opposite direction. There was nothing she could say to him that would justify what she'd done. She only knew she hadn't planned it.

Without another moment to spare, she began making her way through the castle, calling out Draco's name— Filch and his cat be damned. But she couldn't find him anywhere and only began to become more and more anxious, worried that Harry would find them first and join Ron in whatever he was planning to do. Then something occurred to her.

Honestly, she was the stupidest witch ever!

With fumbling fingers, she grasped the coin attached to her bracelet and wrote a message.

Draco's hands were shaking, the parchment clutched tightly between his fingers. He paced the Astronomy Tower summoning enough courage to actually deliver it. He'd planned to send it by owl to the manor, for his mother to give to his father the next time she visited him in Azkaban, but there was no telling who could intercept it. Sure, he'd placed a charm so only he would be able to read it—to anyone else it'd look like a bunch of random drivel— but he didn't want to risk it falling into the wrong hands. He'd decided to give the letter to Nix instead and now that the moment had come to call the elf, he was considering destroying it altogether, so afraid was he, of its consequences.

It was a letter of confession and it was probably the most difficult thing he'd ever had to write.

Just one last time, he told himself, and then he'd send it.

He unfolded the creased parchment and began to read.

Father,

I'm sorry for not writing sooner. I know it is difficult for you in there, which is why I haven't written… because I don't want to cause you any more distress and I know that what I tell you in this letter will grieve you.

Remember when I was eight, and we spent the summer traveling across Europe. It was during that phase when mother had a strange fondness for visiting muggle art museums. That's when you found the painting, the one of the muggle girl wearing an earring—a pearl I think. Well, you saw it and wanted it. It wasn't for sale, of course, but you insisted you have it. You even got into a row with mother when she said it'd be outrageous to hang a painting by a muggle artist in the manor. But you stole it and switched it with a duplicate. I thought it was very clever of you, father. I think I told you so, I can't recall exactly. But I do know that when we returned home after the holidays you hung that painting in your bedroom and it's been there ever since. Not even Voldemort's return has compelled you to take it down.

I will never forget what you told me, the strange way you spoke when I caught you staring at it one day. I said it looked boring—and it did, I thought it was quite pointless to have a painting that doesn't speak or move. But you said that you could swear she was looking at you, in a way, no one else ever had— "like she is some exquisite beauty, captured in a single moment, staring out at me as if there is nothing else worthy of her gaze."

That's the way she looks at me.

You know of course, of whom I speak of, father.

If I could, I'd burn the Mark. I wish I never took it, but I understand now I never really had a choice.

If it means anything, I promise I have tried to hate her. I have tried for years but she is relentlessly remarkable.

Disinherit me, disown me, do what you must, but let me have her.

It is you, after all, from whom I learnt what beauty is and Hermione Granger is, if anything, the most beautiful girl I've ever known. I don't care about her blood, or her magic, or her muggle parents.

I am desperately in love with her.

Do not deny me this happiness.

Please father, please.

This girl has reduced me to begging, and I am not ashamed to do so, because I cannot live without her.

I will simply die.

Draco inhaled and exhaled deeply. The letter was so disgustingly honest and he couldn't bear to think of how hopeless and pitiful he sounded, but it was the closest thing to the truth. His words conveyed how utterly consumed he was by Hermione Granger and he could not escape them. He hadn't signed it, didn't dare to. Couldn't find the strength to write, your son, Draco Malfoy.

He was unworthy of the name. He wasn't even sure he wanted it anymore, or at least the conditions that came with it. He would find a way to be with her, if not now, then later. But still, his parents deserved the truth. It was the least he could do since he had failed so miserably to live up to their expectations. He'd disappointed his father in too many ways to count and his mother, well, she'd always wanted him to marry Pansy. He'd known that for many years, had even heard her discuss floral arrangements for the wedding with Mrs. Parkinson. This letter would change everything. He hadn't even told them about his breakup with—

He swiveled around, his wand drawn from his robes, as he was certain he'd heard footsteps. There was no one there and he thought that maybe it was just a student out past curfew.

Suddenly he felt a warm sensation against his chest. He'd put the coin on a long thin chain and started wearing it under his clothes.

Hermione.

"Expelliarmus!" a voice rang out. And Draco's wand flew out of his hand. He stared wide-eyed into the empty expanse but there was no one there. A second later he felt the crack of his jaw as something hard hit him, sending him staggering back. A curse escaped his mouth.

Potter and his bloody invisibility cloak.

But before he could recover he was restrained by a full body-bind curse and fell to the floor.

He was surprised when it was Weasley and not Potter who appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and was standing above him with a furious look on his face.

"Weasley, what the hell are you—?"

It was too late, he had already snatched the letter from his hand.

"Give that back!" yelled Draco, a stream of curses following as he watched in rage as the other boy looked at the parchment, his eyes greedy, his nostrils flaring and his face flush the color of his hair.

"That's a private letter, you have no right—!"

"It's for Hermione, isn't it?" he bit back.

Draco clenched his jaw.

Weasley knew.

He glared at the red-head, struggling against the ropes as his eyes skimmed the letter which he knew was indecipherable gibberish in his hands.

"You've charmed it so only she can read it," he commented after a moment.

Draco sneered. "Not as dimwitted as I thought you were Weasley."

He raised his wand and pointed it squarely at Draco's forehead. "What does it say?"

"None of your fucking business!"

Another blow was delivered, a kick to the side of his stomach.

Draco grimaced.

"What did you do to her?" he yelled. "Tell me!"

Wincing, his teeth clenched, Draco decided that since the cat was out of the bag, he may as well have some fun with it. Plus he needed a distraction. He smiled, as well as he could, considering the pain. "What haven't I done to her?" he laughed.

Weasley kicked him in the face, breaking his nose. A crack followed by blinding pain. He figured this was some karmic payback for getting Potter on the train.

"You sick bastard—"

"FINE!" he bellowed, blood gushing from his nose and into his mouth. "You want to know what happened?"

"TELL ME!"

He raised his head, his eyes watering, and looked him straight in the eye. "You had your chance and you blew it. That's what happened, you stupid fucking wanker!"

"It was the imperius wasn't it?" he demanded, ignoring Draco completely.

He grinned, baring his teeth. "No one performs that well under a curse," he chuckled. "And let me tell you, that girl can—"

He coughed, winded by another heavy blow.

"Shut up!" he heard. "Shut your fucking mouth!"

He was sure one of his ribs was cracked. Turning to his side, he wheezed, pretending to be in more pain than he actually was. Baiting Weasley had been easy, but managing to escape the ropes binding him had been difficult. Concentrating clearly on his intention he cried out, "Accio!"

The hawthorn wand flew into his hand and he immediately hit Weasley with a stunning curse. Weasley fell back hitting the wall as Draco stood, holding his side. It hurt, but pain had become relative to him. Voldemort's reminders were far more effective than any physical beating.

They held their wands pointed at each other.

"You had it so fucking easy," he spat with disgust. "All you had to do was wake up and she was there, but no, what did you do? Nothing. You chose to snog Lavender-fucking-brown instead. You're pathetic—"

An angry burst of light hurled toward him and he deflected it with a twist of his wand.

"Draco! Ron!"

Their heads snapped toward the stairwell where Hermione's voice could be heard.

"Stop it, both of you—oh my God!" she gasped running toward him. "You're bleeding."

He winced as she raised her hand and touched his face.

"Hermione, get away from him!"

Standing in between them she turned toward Weasley.

"Put your wands down!"

"I will," said Draco warily; reluctant to take his eyes off Weasley for even a second. "As soon as he hands me back my letter."

Weasley grit his teeth, panting, his chest rising in waves of rage. "He's been tricking you, Hermione, probably written you a bunch of lies."

Draco moved around her and raised his wand to level it at Weasley.

"It's not for her, you idiot!"

"Oh," he chortled. "It's for your Death Eater father—you remember him, don't you Hermione— the one who tried to kill us at the Ministry?"

Hermione cringed. "Ron, just give it back."

"Or maybe it's for your mother."

Draco's arm was shaking trying to contain his rage. "Don't talk about my mother," he warned.

"You know her too Hermione, the one who always looks like she has something stuck up her—"

Many things happened at once. Draco cast a stunning spell at Weasley and as he did, he heard movement behind him. He turned and saw Potter with his wand raised, a spell leaving his lips.

"Sectumsempra!"

He fell backward gasping, his eyes squeezing tight as his face twisted in pain. His hand went to hold his side where Weasley had kicked him. And then he opened his eyes. He watched Hermione stagger backward and fall against the wall. Her eyes met his, they were round and white in shock.

Then blood began to flow from her like red ribbon.

He blinked.

"Hermione?"

She slumped to the floor.

There was ringing in his ears.

He winced as he crawled forward on his hands and knees, still holding his side.

She was gasping.

"Hermione?"

Someone was yelling.

Her lips trembled.

"Dra-co."

He looked down and his hands were covered in blood. It was everywhere pooling on the floor.

There were footsteps sounding up the stairs.

Voices.

He held her face in between his hands. Bloody handprints on her cheeks.

"Hermione?"

He tried to shake her awake.

There were hands on him; many hands. Pulling him away.

"HERMIONE!"

His vision was blurring, he couldn't see through the tears.

The air was thinning...

And then everything became dark.