Bleed

Disclaimer: Not mine. J.K.Rowling's.

Thanks for 854 reviews go to: Red Magic Marker, kei-chan, Dragonsbane, The Elfin Child, Hgluv (x2), BritishBeauty, HP1fan, willowwiccantara, KrystyWroth, ~* paper star *~, hyper_shark, Akida Lupin, aku-neko, MoonDancerCat, willowfairy, Zubie, xxmidnightkissesxx, Katt (x2), draconas, Angel: da Newsies fan, Saotoshi, Courtney (x2), CrysMaul, saj aneri, Yousei Kaijou, WormmonABC, JoeBob1379 (x2), mya14 (x2), AznGurl, Mutsumi, Ash (x2), KAOS, SunLight, glittergirl, The Fire Goddess (x2), leepy took, QuOtAtA, Lucent Dusk (x2), SolaStar, Aerin Brown (x2), Krissy (x2), Gabie, Dragon Bad Faith, Chrissy, Flexi Lexi, pupulupk, *karly*

Questions: Draco couldn't 'feel' that Hermione was in danger because it only works when she is actually physically harmed. As she was still walking down the Hogwarts drive at that point, she wasn't actually in physical danger. Fred and George are one year above the others (I think!) so it would be their seventh year. I don't know of any online translators of Latin, but I'll translate for anyone that needs it – my e-mail's on my profile.

A/N: Alright! I got home after my I.T. mock and realised that apart from revising for the real thing or working on coursework that's due in a few weeks from now, I had absolutely nothing to do. So I got down to some really serious chapter finishing for all you lovely, wonderful people out there…

And its actually one I'm fairly pleased with!

The 'Character's Note' is gone, but not forever! Due to popular request, I'm going to upload it as a separate story… and probably extend it slightly as well.

Read and enjoy…

~*~

The sun was setting as Hermione slipped outside into the fresh air, carefully closing the main front doors behind her. No one noticed her leave. Anyone who had would have taken no notice. It was common enough for a student to take an evening walk through the grounds, after all.

Pulling her winter cloak closer around her in an attempt to stay warm, Hermione set off down the driveway. It was strangely silent. No birds sang. No people shouted. There was just the wind, blowing a death shriek through the trees, and the hollow sound of her footsteps. She shivered.

I am certain there will be no danger waiting on the way tonight. That was what Draco had said in his letter, wasn't it? And she trusted that. If he said there wasn't danger, there wouldn't be… He wouldn't put her into danger. Would he? No, no, she knew him better than that.

So why did she feel afraid?

It had to be the eerie atmosphere. It was like something out of a movie: the sun glowing blood red as it sank, the screaming wind, the strange, unnatural silence… Also, she was probably worried about Draco's letter.

All I can say is that you are in grave danger. But what was the danger, and how had it worsened? Why did he want to talk to her immediately, so far outside the school building?

The school is too dangerous until we know exactly who our enemies are. His words sounded ominous and urgent, and while she didn't know what the trouble was, she did trust him. He… loved her, as strange an idea as that once had been, and he wouldn't lead her into danger.

His letter had been irritatingly secretive and lacked any kind of information, but then again… it would be too dangerous if this owl were intercepted. He'd tell her everything when she reached him, and she would only have to wait a little more…

The gates loomed ahead, towering as though they possessed a malevolent sapience. They seemed to radiate coldness, sending goosebumps racing across Hermione's skin. As she reached them, she saw that one stood slightly ajar, the gap just wide enough to let her slip through.

Even the wind fell suddenly silent, and she looked around, realising there was no one there.

'Draco?' she asked, puzzled.

And then everything went black.

~*~

'What?' Ron asked, frowning.

Draco looked up at them, his throat going dry. He swallowed. 'I didn't write this.'

The two Gryffindors frowned. 'What do you mean?' Harry asked. 'If you didn't write it, who did?'

'Oh come on, it's not hard.' Draco replied, the sudden icy fear making him sarcastic. 'Who do we know who wants to kill Hermione? Who's tried to get her out of Hogwarts before?'

'Your father.' Harry replied, frowning and rubbing his scar. 'But we don't know it's him…'

'Who else could it be?' Draco snapped, surprising even himself with his vehemence. 'Think about it!'

He slammed the letter down on the nearest table, glaring balefully at it and reading it through again. It was his handwriting, his manner of letter writing… The words seemed to mock him, laugh at him, as they sat innocently on the paper. Just ink on parchment and a simple spell to make it look like his handwriting. A tool. A tool, designed to lure Hermione away from the safety of the school.

To lure her to her death.

'I'm going after her.' he said quietly, straightening. He folded the letter twice and shoved it roughly into his pocket.

'So are we.' said Ron bravely, in a typical Gryffindor moment, and Harry nodded his agreement.

'No, you're not.' Draco said, turning to face them, his silver eyes blazing. 'This is between me and my father.'

'Hermione's our friend too…' Harry began.

'I've got to do this alone.' Draco interrupted him. He didn't know why he didn't want their help. If he was rescuing Hermione from his father he could use all the help he could get. But… he was angry. 'I'm sick of this. I'm sick of him trying to control my life, trying to force me to be something I'm not. Telling me who my friends should be, what my future should be, what I should think…' he trailed off bitterly.

There was momentary silence.

'We're still coming.' Ron said adamantly.

'Whatever you say.' Harry added a little more gently. 'We want to save Hermione as much as you do.'

'You're not coming.' Draco repeated. 'And we don't have time to argue this out. Hermione… doesn't have time.'

'You can't stop us.' Ron pointed out.

'Can't I?' Draco asked. Without a backwards glance, he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

When Harry and Ron raced to the door a second later, he had vanished.

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, Draco slammed the heavy front door of Hogwarts behind him and ran out into the falling twilight. The sky was an ominous colour – not black, but the darkest shade of purple imaginable. The moon was a thin crescent, a sliver of light in the sky, but the stars as always shone in their familiar constellations.

Two silhouettes cut their path through the heavens, easily recognisable: two boys on broomsticks, heading approximately in the direction of Malfoy Manor. He hadn't really expected them to stay behind, but then again it somehow didn't matter.  He'd be there long before them anyway. And, he added grudgingly, he'd probably be grateful for their help before the night was over.

Most of this reasoning was going on in a tiny proportion of his mind where sanity, common sense and the part of him that made him Slytherin had retreated. The rest of him was an incomprehensible storm of emotion – anger, fear, worry, panic, dread, and a thousand others.

The race across the grounds seemed to take forever. Minutes stretched into eternities, and every second the chaos of thoughts and feelings inside him swirled faster, screamed louder, growing from a storm to a whirlwind to a ceaseless indefinable thing. The multitude of shouts and screams and fears and hopes and panic and anger and hate and love were slowly crashing together, mixing and blending and becoming one. So many were there that they merged into a single entity, like a crowd of people who shout with one voice, move in one action, united in one purpose.

Driven by this intoxicating cocktail, the Slytherin raced across the grounds, a streak of silver hair atop death-black robes. He didn't pause until he reached the towering gate, stopping a fumbling instant to open it and racing through.

There was no one there.

But there, on the ground, in the dirt: the faint signs of recent footprints. And here the dust was scattered, scuffed, as though… as though someone had fallen, knocked unconscious with a Stupefy. And then more footprints, two pairs, leading from the bushes to the fallen body. And nothing more.

It took him perhaps a second to process this information in the tiny bubble of sanity left of him, and when he realised what had happened – he had been too late to stop them taking her – it was but fuel for the fires of madness. Why? demanded the insane voices as one emotion. Why her? Why me? Why is he doing this? Why did I fall in love? If I hadn't, she'd have been safe and happy and I wouldn't be going through this, I'd still be following my father's orders and for years that was enough, it worked…

But, replied the tiny bubble of calm and sanity, I wouldn't have been happy.

Overpowered for the moment, the insane swirl receded to a dull roar, ready to return at an instant's notice. Outwardly calm, composed, Draco reached into his pocket. In which, minutes earlier, he'd carefully placed his father's letter. The one, that, an eternity ago, he'd used as a lure for his son. The one that had also lured Hermione to follow him to the Manor. The one that had resulted in Hermione's loss of memory.

The one that was enchanted as a Portkey to Malfoy Manor.

He placed his hand in his pocket and vanished.

~*~

Hermione awoke in a rich and vibrant room. The walls were painted a deep forest green, covered with paintings in gaudy golden frames and, displayed above the fireplace of a delicate green marble, a crossed pair of wickedly sharp swords. The windows were full length, surrounded by dark green velvet drapes. The room was almost empty of furniture save for a few chairs and tables of exquisite quality.

However, the first thing she saw was the floor she was lying on: a decadently thick Persian rug. Dazed, her eyes followed its colours, trying to work out the logic behind the pattern of the border.

And landed on a pair of feet.

The feet were wearing black leather shoes, elegantly styled and top-quality, but with no excesses of any kind. No patterning where none was necessary, nothing there that hadn't been carefully considered. They screamed wealth, but at the same time they were cold, impeccably clean but without personality.

As if drawn by magnets, Hermione's eyes travelled upwards, upwards to the face looking down at her with the same expression with which one would look at a slug before smothering it with salt. Disgust, mingled with a cold and scientific interest.

Lucius Malfoy.

'Hermione Granger, the Mudblood.' he said with contempt. 'We meet again.'

She blinked up at him, adjusting with shock to her immediate environment, the memory of what had happened returning.

'You kidnapped me.' she spat. 'You'll never get away with this.'

'That statement was a little clichéd, don't you think?' he asked, holding his wand up to his eye line and examining the wood. 'I can assure you that I will. And as to kidnapping you, what a ridiculous notion. You wandered into the Forbidden Forest late one night and were torn to pieces by the animals within. You were so deep within the forest – how long did it take to find your body, I wonder? Weeks, months, years?' He smiled, a cruel half smile, and his eyes glittered malevolently. 'Such a tragedy.'

She shook her head. 'Draco will know what you've done, Harry and Ron too. I left the letter on my pillow for them to find. They'll know it was you. They can put spells on it, find out who wrote it…'

'Of course, the letter.' He began to twirl the wand slowly in his fingers. 'Such an incriminating piece of evidence. Which even now, our little operative at Hogwarts is burning into dust.' He paused, turning his gaze from the wand back to Hermione. 'The Genitive potion, I believe you were making? A clever idea, I must admit. Such a shame you'll never find out what the potion would have revealed…'

So this was it. She was going to die. Strangely, she didn't feel upset or angry, just… regretful. She'd never take her NEWTs now. She'd never get a job, or get married. She'd never see her parents or her friends again… not Harry, not Ron. And Draco. She'd never… well, there were a lot of nevers there. She'd never fall in love with him again. Never, never, never.

'If you're going to kill me, do it now.' she said dully. 'Avada Kedavra, I'd be dead in an instant…'

'But why let it span an instant, when it could so easily take longer?' he asked, his smile cruel, cold. His eyes flashed, his wand flicked.

'Sanguinem Funde!'

~*~

Draco's feet hit the cold stone floor of the corridor. He straightened, tense, his nerves jangling. This part of the Manor must be Lucius' private wing: he didn't recognise it, and the only other time he'd been in here was when Hermione lost her memory…

With a jerk sudden as an electric shock, he could feel the tingle and burn of Hermione's pain, the desperate urging tug towards her. But before his foot even hit the ground there was a scream, a soul-wrenching, heart-stopping shriek. He span, the emotions within him flaring, each vying for their place in his fear-fuelled panic. He ran without thinking, ran in the direction of the scream, a jolt running straight through him as he heard the scream cut off suddenly, the echo of her pain increasing until he winced in sympathy…

He burst through a door, coming face to face with the hideous sight before him. His father stood, smiling smugly, cruelly, maliciously, his wand raised. And on the floor, crumpled at his feet, a smaller figure, white skin, brown hair, red blood… The eyes were closed, the body unmoving…

Hermione. Dead.

~*~

A/N: The cliffhangers keep getting worse don't they? What happened? Is Hermione really dead, or is Draco jumping to conclusions… Shall I reveal a piece of information? Alright: Someone will die in the next chapter. Who? Not telling!

Latin translations: 'Sanguinem Funde!' literally means 'Shed Blood!' and is the nearest equivalent to saying 'Bleed!'

What more can I say but: Review!