Hermione stares at the arm in front of her in fear. He's holding it forearm facing down, his fist clenched tightly. She takes his hand gently in hers, brushing her fingers up and down his arm in a comforting gesture. When she finally looks up at him, she sees that his glistening eyes are trained on a point in the corner of the owlery, his mouth is set in a straight line as he tells himself this isn't happening. With one hand on his and the other on his wrist, she lightly turns his arm so that his forearm is facing upwards, never taking her eyes off his face. She watches as silent tears spill down his cheeks, and despite his attempts to keep his breathing steady, she feels the slight hitch in speed.

Still without looking, she covers his forearm with her left hand, her right taking his face by the chin and forcing him to look at her. "It's okay…" Her voice is like honey, and he shakes his head softly in reply.

"It's really not," he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, before blinking the remaining tears away. "If you're going to… do it. Please."

She looks down at her hand pressing into his pale flesh of his arm and hesitates. She wants to know – well not know, his reaction has pretty much confirmed her worst fears – she wants to see it with her own two eyes. But she also doesn't want to lose this version of Malfoy that had formed over the past few days. Yes, he may have been a prat, and a bully, and a blood purist, but the Malfoy she's known in their last couple of meetings is something else. He's changed, that much is true, and she would like to keep the belief in her mind that that change was for the better, not for the worse.

She should just rip the plaster off now.

She closes her eyes as she slowly removes her hand from his arm, and when she opens her eyes she looks at his face. His eyes quickly flicker to his arm and he lets out a noise that almost resembles a hiss, before he averts his eyes once more. She finally looks down.

The jet black of the Dark Mark stands out against his pale skin.

She stares at it in horror and disgust – she knew it was coming but she couldn't stop the feelings from bubbling up inside her – her hand lifting to her mouth. It seems to squirm against his skin, the snake wriggling and writhing as she struggles to pull her eyes away from it. When she looks up at him, she doesn't see the glorious triumph of a blood supremacist. She sees a child – a scared boy, only following in his father's footsteps. She sees a teenager, barely an adult, forced to leave his childhood all too soon. She brushes her thumb across the brand, and Malfoy shivers in her grasp.

He watches her with sorrowful eyes, and he knows that from this moment, everything will go back to the way it was. Or it will become something worse. He knows she won't let him explain (he doesn't even know what he would say). He knows that she will run back to the Gryffindor common room and – in an attempt to get her friends to stop ignoring her – will tell them how he bears the Mark. He knows that Potty and the Weasel will chase him tomorrow afternoon and try to hex him, or they will go to Professor Dumbledore and get him expelled.

He knows exactly how this is going to play out.

They sit on the stone floor for a few moments, her thumb lightly rubbing back and forth across the Mark, which is constantly leering up at him, reminding him this is who you are. After what feels like an eternity, she finally drops his arm and picks his jacket up from beside him. She lingers, holding it for just a second too long as she stares at the green fabric, the colour blurring as tears (how could she still have more tears?) begin to full her eyes. She drapes the jacket around his shoulders, and he just sits there, his head down, hair fallen in front of his eyes. When she leans away from him, he slips his arms back into the jacket, slightly calmer now that he can feel the softness against his arm. He stands, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and counting to ten, before striding across the owlery and picking his bag up. It is only when he starts down the stairs she speaks up.

"Where are you going?"

"Back," his voice is hoarse. He doesn't want to speak.

"Why?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I think we should talk."

He shakes his head, tipping it backwards slightly as he makes a noise of rejection in the back of his throat. "No, Granger, I can't… I don't think we should."

"You're really going to show me that and then leave? Without so much as an explanation?"

"I didn't show you it!" He snaps, spinning towards her. She can see the fire in his eyes. "You pulled my arm out! You made me! I didn't want to show you!" A lump forms in his throat as he presses his lips together. "We've known each other less than three days, Granger… You don't know-"

"You're wrong." She interrupts him, pushing to her feet so she is now stood opposite him, challenging him. "We've known each other for six years. Even if that wasn't as…" Acquaintances? Friends? Crushes? "Even if we weren't close, that doesn't mean I don't know you."

"You don't know a thing about me," he hisses, taking a step closer. She holds her ground, the stupid bravery of Gryffindor house.

"I know you, Malfoy. I know you didn't participate in the boggart lesson because you didn't want everyone to see your father step out. I know that you're incredibly smart. I know that you're a phenomenal quidditch player, and you're more dedicated than Harry. I know you don't want this!" Her hands are clenched beside her as she pleads with him.

"You don't know anything!" His voice reverberates around the owlery, making the owls rustle their feathers in warning. "Even if I don't want it, it doesn't matter now."

"So talk to me!" She's shouting back at him, anger and fear and a tiny glint of hope bubbling inside her chest. "Tell me! I'm here! I thought I made that clear!"

"That was before you saw what I am!"

"Don't say that." Her voice drops to a whisper as she looks at him with pity. He loathes pity. "That's not who you are."

"Oh, yeah. Like you know, don't you? How do you know this isn't a trick?" He moves towards her, and she becomes aware that he's now holding his wand in his right hand. "How do you know that our past few encounters weren't a scheme to get close to you?"

She eyes the wand nervously. "Because why would it be?" She makes sure her voice is measured. She doesn't shout. She keeps her tone calm as he looks at her with disdain etched across his face.

He scoffs, yanking his sleeve up to his elbow, and the Dark Mark burns into her mind. "With this? You really think I'm nice, Granger? After you've seen this? Maybe I noticed Potty and Weasel ignoring you. Maybe I saw how vulnerable and alone you are. Maybe I saw how you believe anyone can change." He puts on a falsetto voice as he mocks her and her brows furrow.

"You can't have done." Her tone is matter of fact.

"How do you know?" He's stood in front of her with their toes almost touching. She can feel the heat of his breath as he sneers down at her, and she looks up into his eyes and sees… nothing. Behind the stormy grey, Draco Malfoy's eyes are dead. There is no emotion, or if there is it is not anger.

"You weren't at breakfast this morning. You never saw the argument. You didn't know about the argument until after you'd decided to wait for me anyway." She hopes her face doesn't betray her fear of him. His hand twitches by his side and her eyes dart to the wand. "You don't mean any of this. You're saying it to get rid of me. The threat of your wand is so that I don't tell anyone about your… You don't believe a word of it."

He takes a step back and regards her, the bravest, smartest witch in the year, staring him down in only a purple t-shirt and pink shorts. He knows she does not have her wand, and so levels his at her. Like she said, it's just to keep her quiet; it's just to save himself. "And what if I did?"

"Then I'd do this." She suddenly grabs his shoulders and sweeps her foot around his leg, knocking him off balance. His back hits the stone floor with a thud and he groans, looking up as she stands over him. She places her foot on his right wrist and applies pressure, making him let go of the wand. She kicks it further away, and it rolls into a corner. She crouches down next to him, resting her elbow on her knee as she watches him groan, bringing his hand to his chest.

He smirks up at her. "You are…tougher than you look." She smacks him on the chest once, twice, three times.

"Prat, prat, prat, Malfoy!" He sees now that she's shaking, and her face is flushed of colour.

"Hey, hey…" He sits up and grabs her hands as she begins to hyperventilate. "Hey – I'm sorry… I didn't mean…"

"Why would you do that?" Her voice breaks as he rubs his thumb in circles on the soft skin on the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry, Granger, I- I don't really have an excuse." He continues rubbing her hands until her breathing becomes more regular. "I shouldn't have threatened you, I shouldn't have taken it that far, I'm so sorry."

She nods meekly, her bushy hair blocking her face from his view. Her eyes are on his forearm – though he doesn't know it – on the despicable Mark that seems to breathe. He forgot to pull his sleeve back down, and now she can't take her eyes off of it, or keep her mind away from its meaning. He moves his hands to her cheeks, lifting her face and brushing her hair out of the way. Regret and panic fill his eyes as he tucks her hair behind her ears. This is the real Draco Malfoy. Even knowing he isn't the sadistic monster the Mark promises he is, she can't help but continue staring at it, thinking of every possible reason he would have allowed it to happen.

As he takes his hands from her face, she reaches forward and gently tugs his sleeve down to his wrist. "Tell me." He opens his mouth to protest, that he can't. "I think you owe me." She looks at him with wide brown eyes and he sighs, running his hand through his own pale hair.

"Okay," he inhales deeply, eyes closed. He shuffles backwards to the wall near the stairs and sits against it. "Come here." He pats the stone next to him and she tentatively steps forward, taking a seat beside him, turned towards him with her legs crossed. She drags her bag across the stone and pulls her blanket out, spreading it fondly across her lap.

"Well, as you're probably aware, my father is a Death Eater. He's very high up, one of the inner circle." He puts quotes around the words and laughs coldly to himself. "The inner circle are the only ones who get those," he nods down to his arm, aware of how intently Hermione is watching him. "When my father was sent to Azkaban, after what happened in the Ministry, He turned to me. He told me I had to do…something, and if I didn't then he'd kill my family. He'd kill my mother." He looks at her with hooded eyes. "I only took the Mark to protect my mother. I can't… I can't lose her."

She sits silently for a few moments, turning it over in her head. He knew she was looking for a flaw, something to poke a hole in. "What does he want you to do?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What does he want you to do?" She repeats it in a firmer tone. He sighs and tips his head back so that its resting on the wall behind him. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I think I have a right to know after your little stunt."

"He wants me to… Merlin, you're going to hate me," he rubs his cheeks with his hands as he thinks of how he's going to word it. "He wants me to kill Dumbledore."

Hermione gasps beside him, her hand covering her mouth. "But… You can't…"

He shakes his head with a sad smile. "I can't let Him destroy my family. I know that he won't kill them straight away. I can't watch my mother get tortured. I can't watch my father get ripped apart."

"There has to be something we can do-"

"Don't you see, Granger? There is no we. There is only me, and him, and Dumbledore." A tear drips down his cheek as he thinks of his task. "I wish there was another way, but there's not. Believe me, I know."

She nods, before turning and leaning her back against the wall beside him. Her hands fiddle with the corner of the blanket in her lap.

"Granger, I really am sorry… For scaring you. I – I don't know – I thought you were going to run to those two, and tell them everything. I didn't handle it in the best way, but it's the first thing that came to my head and I know that's stupid and, boy, do I hate myself for doing it now… But I-I don't want to lose…this." He makes a motion between them with his hands. "This friendship, I mean. I don't want Potty to hex me tomorrow at breakfast. I don't want Weaselby to beat me up on the way to Quidditch practice. I'm sorry for doing that to you, I overreacted. I'm sorry. Again."

Her mouth begins to quirk upwards at the corners, and soon she's laughing into her hand. "You're not one for apologies are you, Mister Malfoy?" He looks at her with a confused expression and she laughs again. "The amount of times you say sorry – I mean I think I deserve every single sorry your little, wrinkled heart can find to give – the amount of times is just comical."

"At least I apologised," he grumbles, watching her from the corner of his eyes. "I thought that the more times I said it, the more you'd believe me. But because of your reaction I'm never going to say sorry to you again."

"Hopefully you won't do anything that requires you to say sorry." Leaning her head onto his shoulder, she reaches out and takes his hand in hers, tracing the lines on his palm with her thumb. "From what I've seen the past few days, you have a very unique defence mechanism – which consists of if I frighten them or make them angry enough then they'll leave me alone." He watches as she bends his fingers one by one, then straightening them. "And so far, it hasn't really worked, has it?"

"It worked with you lot for a few years; normally if I got those two riled up enough you'd drag them away." He rests his cheek on top of her head, that rose shampoo infiltrating his senses and making his mind dance in a haze of red. "It only ended with a slap once, I believe. In third year." He smirks against her hair as he remembers the frizzy haired witch backhanding him when he had mocked Hagrid.

"You were being a prat, like always. Sometimes you deserve a good smack." Her finger gently draws circles on the palm of his hand, and it takes everything in him to keep himself from squirming at the sensation. He tries to discretely pull his hand away from her, but she has his wrist in a grip of iron as she spins around, forgetting his head was resting on top of hers and knocking it into the wall. He groans rubbing the back of his head with his other hand. She's looking at him with mania in her eyes, her fingers tightening on his wrist.

"Okay, one: ow," he points to his head. "And two: ow, again!" This time he's focused on her hand. He's amazed by how her fingers don't connect as the keeps her hold on his wrist. She really was tiny.

"Draco Malfoy, are you ticklish?"

His eyes flash and he coughs. "What? No, absolutely not." He tries to pull his wrist from her grasp once more.

"Oh so, say if I did this…" She reaches forward with her other hand and starts lightly tickling his side. He bites his tongue trying not to react as the itchy sensation traveling from his side all the way down his side. His leg kicks out involuntarily, and her attention is drawn to his foot. Trying to be sly, she moves to his legs and he realises what she's going to do.

"Granger, don't you dare!" He tries to yank his leg away from her, but she gently kneels on top of his shin to keep him in place.

"Or what?" Her hands hover over his green slippers, a smirk etched on her face as they stare at each other, a battle of wills.

"If you so much as touch my foot, I will kick you in the head."

"Consider it revenge." She rips his slipper off and attacks the sole of his foot. He can't help it, and begins writhing under her, laughing hysterically and trying to pull his foot away from her to no avail.

"Gr-Granger! Get o-off!" His laughter echoes around the owlery as he struggles beneath her, clutching his stomach as it begins to ache.

She finally releases him when he begins hiccupping, sitting back on her heels and watching him try to swallow the little noises. He looks at her with annoyance – or at least he tries to, when she's smiling, he can't help but smile back.

"You're evil." He says between hiccups and she laughs.

"I must have picked it up from you over the years."

"Oh, ha ha." He pushes himself to his feet, still holding his side where the stitch had developed from all of his laughing (or tortured screams, he tells himself). Her eyes follow his movements from where she's kneeling on the floor and she watches as he goes to the owl that had approached Ginny with the note. He coos fondly at Malfoy as he brushes the owl's feathers with the tip of his finger. Malfoy looks past the glassless windows and into the darkness of the grounds. "It's getting late," he once again retrieves his bag from the floor and turns to the stairs. Hermione bundles her blanket in her arms, following him quietly down the stairway. The torches are alight in their sconces, and Malfoy knows that it's past curfew.

They make their way through the corridors as silent as they can, the occasional slapping of their slippers on the stone floor being the only indication that they are even there. Malfoy hears Filch around a corner and shoots his arm out, pressing Hermione against the wall as he listens for Filch's retreating footsteps. When he is certain Filch is gone, they continue through the castle, stopping every now and again to keep out of sight.

Just before they reach the portrait of the Fat Lady (who is asleep and snoring; they can hear her down the corridor), he stops. "You were wrong, in the owlery." Her forehead creases. "You said I refused to take part in Lupin's lesson because I didn't want everyone to see my father step out. You were wrong."

"So why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to see my mother die," his eyes are far away as she listens to him. "I knew that as soon as I stepped forward it would change into my mother, either in the middle of being tortured, or dead on the floor. She's my best friend, I can't imagine losing her." He pauses, reaching out and taking her hand in his. He gives her a small smile. "Now you know everything about me."

She reaches up with her free hand and brushes his blond hair out of his face, and his grey eyes seem to brighten just a tiny bit.

"Until tomorrow, Miss Hermione Granger." It's the same parting as before dinner, and Hermione likes that – the uniqueness of their own farewell for each other. He brings the hand he's holding to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. His lips linger just a moment too long before he pulls away, dropping her hand. He does a twirl for her and another exaggerated bow which makes her laugh.

"Until tomorrow, Mister Draco Malfoy." She gives him a slight curtsy, and for a second they both just stand there and smile at each other. They are both completely enraptured by each other, and yet both of them continue to refuse to accept it. He finally turns and leaves her stood alone, and she stands there for a few minutes before going to the portrait of the Fat Lady. It takes her a few attempts at screaming the password (Dilligrout) to wake up the Fat Lady, who grumbles at her that she shouldn't let her in at all, with that attitude.

Hermione doesn't care, and when she is finally allowed to enter the common room, she breezes up the stairs to her dorm and flops lightly onto the bed with a sigh. She curls up under the red bedcovers, looking dreamily out towards the owlery. Malfoy's candle still flickers in the window.

"Goodnight, Draco Malfoy."