AN: I'M BACK! I know, it feels like I've been gone forever but my exams are over so I'm back to writing again. Fear not, this story will never be abandoned. I have it all planned out. Thank you all for commenting and sending so much love, it genuinely keeps me motivated. I can't tell you how much you all mean to me. I took some liberties here regarding the Dark Mark because, despite my googling, it looks as though the books don't actually specify whether Draco even had the Mark, even though the films suggest he had one before Sixth Year and definitely the night Dumbledore died. Hence, this is my interpretation. I hope this was worth the wait.

Chapter Twenty Seven- Where Did It All Go Wrong?

April

The room was quiet when she entered; the fire was out, a shadow draped across the settees. Hermione dropped her bag on the floor, eyes searching for any sign that he might be here. He'd been avoiding her for some reason. Though she wasn't sure if it was her specifically, or the ongoing mundanity of life that reminded him of how fragile and fleeting his mother was in comparison.

"Draco?"

There was a scuffle from the back of the room, and as Hermione made her way towards it, she caught the light dancing on the ceiling, pooling under the bookshelves. She turned the corner and found him sitting on the floor, wand alight beside him. He'd shoved his robes off, and rolled his sleeves up; the buttons of his shirt were haphazardly done. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin was waxy and pale. He didn't look like he'd slept. Books were piled around him, some open, some placed down, spines stretched to save the page. Hermione cringed but didn't say anything. She tried to get a look at the titles without making it conspicuous, sinking to sit opposite him.

"Have you eaten today?"

Draco licked his lips, eyes darting to her and back to the book in his lap. Hermione sighed.

"You have to eat," she said. "You're no use to anyone if you're starved and exhausted."

"Hermione-" His voice was strained and the sound of her name on his lips was such a rare thing that she stopped. Draco looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot. Hermione opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head.

"It's that place," he murmured. "It's that place that's killing her. If I can- if I can get her out. If I can prove-"

"If you can prove what?" asked Hermione, leaning forward. His entire body seized up. "You're the only one who knows what happened, what she did, or didn't do. Draco, you need to tell me. That's the only way I can help."

He shook his head again, pressing his fists into his eyes. His chest heaved.

Hermione chewed her lip and glanced away. She took one of the books from the unopened pile and placed it on her knees, ignoring his warm gaze when he looked at her. The book was on Wizarding Law and she traced her finger down the contents to try and determine which chapter she should start on, stuttering when she came to War.

"Draco," she started. She forced herself to look at him. "What did your mother do in the war?"

Again, he shook his head, more vigorously this time. "She's in for accessory. She never killed anyone but- but she was there for a lot of it. It was her house. She couldn't escape it. I wasn't allowed at the trial so I don't know what other legal specifics they got her on but the Wizengamot were divided until the end."

"Why?"

He sent her a bitter smile. "She doesn't have the Mark. She never did. It's hard to convict someone of being a Death Eater if they don't have the membership stamp to show for it."

Hermione pressed her lips thin. "When did you get yours?"

Draco shifted, his throat visibly convulsing and Hermione wanted to take the question back. She said quickly, "The summer before our sixth year, we followed you into Knockturn Alley. Harry thought you were up to something-"

He scoffed, shoulders relaxing.

Hermione allowed herself a small smile and added bashfully, "Harry always thought you were up to something. You went to Borgin and Burkes, I think to look at the cabinet. Harry was convinced you had the Dark Mark. I told him he was being ridiculous. I thought you were bluffing."

"More fool you, Granger," said Draco in a low voice. Hermione's eyes shot to him.

"So you had one then?"

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he looked away. He shook his head once. "No."

She frowned, gaze flicking to his arm. It was empty and a distant part of her felt a sliver of relief. Her relief was soon swallowed up by hot shame, pooling in her stomach. You have scars too. What right do you have to judge?

"Don't worry, Granger. It won't break your streak of being right." Draco cracked a small smile, but it died quickly. The light from his wand seemed to flicker, casting his face in deeper shadow. Hermione non-verbally lit hers, placing it on the shelf above her head. He leaned his head back, watching her through hooded, grey eyes. "He never expected me to actually kill Dumbledore. Or fix the cabinet, for that matter."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak then closed it. She frowned. "Then why-?"

"After my father's failure in securing the prophecy, he needed to make sure my family paid," said Draco, eyes latched on hers. She couldn't escape them. "Azkaban wasn't bad enough. He had to punish him. He had to make an example of what happened to those who failed him."

Hermione's lips parted in realisation. "So he gave his son the impossible mission. If you failed, as he expected, it would suffice as punishment for your father. If you succeeded, his greatest threat, the only wizard powerful enough to beat him, would be dead and he'd gain a new soldier as a result of it. It was never about glory," she closed her eyes, shaking her head. "It was a suicide mission."

Draco cleared his throat and shrugged. "I knew what it was, Granger."

There was no anger in his voice. No upset or frustration. Just resignation. Once again, it hit her quite suddenly how resigned Draco Malfoy was to his death.

"You know," she said, placing the book on the floor beside her and tucking her knees up to her chest. Draco raised an eyebrow. "I used to think you were the most powerful boy in the world."

His other eyebrow shot up and he stared at her for a moment before blinking once and bursting into raucous laughter. Hermione huffed, but she couldn't help the smile curling her lips. His laugh always sounded like a bird song, like freedom and euphoria. It was too rare she heard it. It seemed to choke him, scrape his throat, almost like it had been too long and he was out of practise, like he had forgotten what it was to laugh.

"Or privileged… But I suppose they're often synonymous."

Draco dragged a hand down his face. "Do continue, Granger. I'm intrigued to know where you pulled this assessment from."

"You were always in control," said Hermione, shrugging, though her cheeks were flushed. "It was clear you came from money and power and your name spoke for itself. I was Muggleborn and yet even I knew the weight of your name within the week. Everything always worked out so well for you, everything always in your favour. You were eleven and you walked around like you owned the place! I guess with your father's position both on the board of governors and in the Ministry, you did. Indirectly, at least. You must have felt like you were on top of the world."

Draco had sobered. He was watching her keenly now, with a strange glint in his eye, head tilted ever so slightly to one side. "And yet, you always put me in my place."

Hermione blinked.

"That's how I wanted it to be," said Draco. "That's how I'd always envisioned it. Riding the coattails of my father's name. I turned up to Hogwarts expecting to own the place, as you say, and what did I get? A swotty Muggleborn with hair like an uprooted birds' nest knocking me down every peg on the ladder. I was never in control when you were there, Granger."

Hermione stared at him. Draco let out a small laugh, rubbing his chin. She realised there was a bit of blond scruff clinging to his skin.

"Yeah, Granger. You always reminded me how small I was. You can be quite cutting."

She swallowed. "You deserved it."

"I'm not saying I didn't." He paused and then said, "The punch was a bit much though-"

"The punch was absolutely not-"

"You broke my nose!"

"You deserved a lot worse!"

"The damned bird deserved worse-"

Hermione slapped his leg and he jumped away, shooting her a glare. Her face broke into a grin.

"You're telling me you had the world at your feet and I made you feel small?" Her smile widened. "If I'd have known the effect I had on you, I'd have put you in your place more often."

He huffed. Hermione watched him, smile fading fast from her lips, eyes catching the shadows of his face. He looked so much older, much more tired than the pristine, powerful boy she'd met in First Year. She found, strangely, though she'd never admit it, that she mourned the boy he used to be, the one whose biggest battle was a headstrong eleven year old girl with bushy hair.

"Where did it all go wrong?" she asked quietly.

"I used to ask myself that," replied Draco. His voice was hoarse. He tried to clear it. "I used to blame my father. During sixth year, when I was trying to fix the cabinet and wondering how the fuck I was meant to kill the greatest wizard that ever lived, I blamed him. His failures. I knew I was his punishment. I knew I was dead the moment I failed, if I even lived to fail. I knew my parents were dead too.

"I never even thought I'd get as far as I did," he admitted. "I thought the Dark Lord would change his mind and kill me outright."

"Is that why he didn't give you the Mark then?" Hermione licked her lips and forced herself to finish, even though the thought hurt to even utter. "Because he thought you were disposable?"

Draco shrugged one shoulder. "I think it was the shock of his life when I got the cabinet working and Dumbledore was dead. In the end, it didn't matter who did it."

"No," she murmured, tracing the lines of his face. "No, of course it didn't. He never cared about you. He wanted the Wand."

Draco frowned. "What wand?"

"The Elder Wand. It didn't matter who killed Dumbledore, Voldemort was always going to kill you. Two birds, one stone."

Draco recoiled. "Am I a bird?"

"Muggle saying," she offered him a wry smile. A quiet settled over them. Hermione flicked through the book on her right.

"He marked me that night," said Draco suddenly. Her hand froze. "After Dumbledore died, we got out pretty quick before the Ministry could arrive. He was waiting for us at the Manor." His tongue darted out to wet his lips and every breath trickled harshly from his body as though he was trying to control himself, even as his chest convulsed with panic. "I can't tell if he did it to reward me, in some sick, twisted show, or if it was just another nail in my parents' coffin. I remember almost passing out from the pain… Part of me thought he was killing me.

"I don't remember anything afterwards. I just remember the agony, like he was burning me alive, from the inside out. I don't think I screamed, but I bit my lip and tongue and cheek that my mouth was full of blood and I thought I might choke on that instead. Part of me hoped I would. But I woke up the next morning in my bed with my mother sitting next to me, holding my hand, and that- that fucking- that thing on my arm-"

He broke off, closing his eyes tightly and looking away.

"Is that where it went wrong?" she asked.

Draco dragged a hand down his face and muttered, "I think it went wrong the moment I was fucking born." He laughed, but the sound was more scornful than amused. "What did you say? Privilege is power? It didn't feel that way at times, Granger. I felt like I was suffocating, like everyone was suffocating me-"

His head dropped back against the shelf with a dull thud.

"Everyone has always wanted something from me, Granger."

Hermione let out a shaky breath and whispered, "I just want you to be happy, Draco."

His eyes caught hers. There was a second where all that could be heard was their breathing.

"You know, I wanted to die, Granger. I tried very hard to die. It felt like some sick joke that I came out of it alive." He took a deep breath and his admission felt like the most important thing in the world, heavy and poignant as it hung in the silent air between them. "But I think I'm remembering how to live again."

She felt more tears fall from her eyes but made no move to wipe at them. Instead, Hermione moved the books to one side, shuffling across the floor to sit beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and feeling the warmth of his body. His chest shuddered.

"I'm glad you're alive, Draco," she said.

oOoOoOo

Harry,

I need your help. I know you have a lot on at the moment (when do you not?) but this is very important, and you know I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

Narcissa Malfoy has taken ill. She's currently at St Mungo's. I went to visit her with Draco and it's not looking good. Draco is working himself into the ground trying to find a way to exonerate her but we're coming up blank.

You mentioned that Narcissa helped you in the war. I know you don't like to talk about it and you know I'd never ask otherwise but is what she did significant? Is it enough to save her?

Please reply as quickly as you can. Time is of the essence.

Hermione

oOoOoOo

Hermione,

I can get time off work this week. I'll sort it.

She saved my life.

Harry