Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the oh so wonderful world of J.K. Rowling. It all is strictly hers.

Thanks for the reviews!!! I'm just going to remind people that this is going to be a short fic. Thanks again for the reviews.

R&R!

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That mudblood... I will get her... I'll drain that soiled blood of hers upon the feet of that scar head and pauper Weasel. Draco Malfoy hastily walked the dim corridors of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, his fists clenching and un-clenching. The laughter of the great hall still rung in his ears causing a flush to meet his unusually pale cheeks. No one laughed at him. No one laughed at Draco Malfoy. But they did. They had won. The trio had won a bitter victory over him that evening in the great hall. How could I have run away, he thought to himself with shame. He could only imagine the expression of sheer disappointment and disgrace that would slither its serpent like way onto his fathers face. He was never to run from the enemy. Especially after letting a Weasley get the last insult. Then her. Granger... This was all her fault. Just because she got scolded by their transfiguration teacher she had started to weep. Weep like the filthy creature she was. It was the pain he saw in her chocolate eyes that replayed the distant memory in his head.

Pain was something so utterly inhumane to him. Where would a wizard be when feeling pain? Nothing, that's what. Pain was something for the weak. The weak ones who couldn't handle power. But that's what being a wizard meant. It was what Voldemort was trying to teach people like him. There was no room in the world for good and evil. Only Power... He wanted that power. Even then, he could almost feel the seed of power growing in the palm of his hand. It was that prospering energy that would let him be the victor over mudbloods and muggles. Draco pulled the collars of his cloak tighter around his neck, his fingers tense as he walked quickly down the stairs into the dungeons. His momentarily thawed eyes were now freezing over again like a molding ice cube. Throwing back his head defiantly, his slick blond hair flashing like the mane of a unicorn in the dim light, the boy of Slytherin came up to the portrait hole of his common room. What was he to say to his classmates whence they return from dinner? Everyone who was everyone had seen him cowardly walk out of the great hall. He couldn't very well say "Well, I happened to remember something from my childhood that had a bloody great effect on me so I decided to leave." Yes, that would certainly be classic and priceless.

"Werewolves..." Draco muttered the password, the portrait swinging open. With a sigh he entered the large common room, not expecting a warm merry fire to be waiting for him along with a homely great couch to lie on. The Slytherin common room was like that. It reminded him distinctly of his own living room back at Malfoy manor. Dark rugs with hard lumpy couches. The light was so dim that it reminded him of the potions dungeon. A negative energy wavered in the room, making all the green dreary and dull. He could not help but wonder what the Gryffindor common room looked like. He could only imagine that it was everything that the Slytherin common room was not. There was probably silently roaring fires, the flames dancing happily under the mantelpiece. No doubt was there probably comfy couches that could make anyone fall asleep in. It was a room filled with laughter and chatter among friends, the brilliantly flashing colors of red and gold dazzling in banners and tapestries. There was none of that here. The people that talked amongst themselves more or less whispered to one another like slithering snakes hissing in parseltongue. Everything was cold, hard, diminishing. But it was knowing that, that made Draco feel reassured.

Climbing the stairs up to his dormitory, he opened the door wondering when his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle would return from the great hall. No doubt were they probably still sitting right at the table stuffing themselves like starved pigs on a farm. Snorting to himself, Draco locked the door behind him and flopped down quite unceremoniously onto his bed. Tomorrow was the Quiditch match. Thoughts of perhaps not showing up on the field tomorrow came wandering back to his mind. Should he really return to the field to once again become the disgraceful seeker that could no longer bring victory to his house team? No, the captain of the team would have him kicked off by morning if he did not show up. Images of Potter being heft up on the shoulders of his teammates clutching the winged snitch rolled darkly into the fresh top of his brain. Fire wreathed its smoldering tendrils around his eyes, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He hated him. He hated the boy who lived so much that he could only imagine with glee what it would be like to see the jet-black haired boy writhing on the ground screaming while he deliver that oh so beautiful cruciatus curse.

"Crucio..." Draco murmured under his breath, mentally pointing his wand at an image of Harry in his mind. Oh, but the exotic, glorious and definitely bewitching euphoria would not end there. No, after he would be through with Potter, the mudblood and the Weasley would be next. Screams. He wanted to hear them scream. Scream for mercy, scream for death. And he would hear it. He would, by his death eater cloak; he would hear them scream to hear the words 'Avada kedavra' to end the pain. His ringing laughter would be the last thing they would hear before he wasted them like the scum they were. Smiling rather menacingly to himself, he tucked his knees under his chin, his fingers groping for his sheets to clutch. But, today had been close. Never had he ever shown weakness to the trio. That gave them an advantage over him. Draco cursed himself yet again, wondering why he couldn't have just said something witty with his charm and walk away. The Malfoy charm was usually successful.

But tomorrow was a new day. A new day to not only prove himself but too make the lives of his enemies a living hell. It was his job too. With a grunt, Draco pulled the curtains of his bed around as he heard his dormitory door open. Squeezing his eyes shut in utter frustration, he waited to see who it was. He did not want to face anyone now. But tomorrow he would be ready. Tomorrow he would strut down the stone steps into the common room, his head held high. He would ice anyone who dare questioned him. Fear me, he would say. They would fear him. That's how it always was. The people of his house looked up to the dragon with awe and fear, all mixed together in a haze in their staring eyes. I reckon if anyone did make fun of me then I would hex them so bad that they would be running out of Hogwarts screaming for their mummy, he thought to himself.

"Oi! I need to use the toilet! Out of my way!" Bellowed Goyle. Rolling his eyes, Draco glared in the dimness of the curtains. At least it was only them two. They really weren't much of mates but they were like his personal dogs. They never hesitated when given an order.

"But so do I! You should have used the lavatory near the great hall, you thick git!" Crabbe huffed. Stupid oafs, Draco thought to himself in annoyance. Did they even think about the possibility that he might have been sleeping? No wait. Thinking was not something Crabbe or Goyle ever did. They'd no doubt hurt themselves trying to do so, he thought to himself with a small sneer. From inside the curtains he could hear grunts and yelps as his two cronies were probably wrestling. Sitting up onto his bed, his back rigid with anger, he pushed open the curtains in a swift movement. Getting up, he marched past the large blobs thrashing about and arched an eyebrow. He was to be dodgy if he was to get what he wanted.

"Crabbe, Goyle!"

Draco barked their names, his brows high. At once they rolled off the floor and stood up. Like two wizards in Auror training they straightened their backs and looked to the wall. He was the one giving orders. He was the one they served. Like a sergeant, Draco took out his wand and hit the both of them over the head with it. A flurry of red sparks scorched the tips of their hair but they did not make a move to notice. Daring them to say even one word, he stood and looked expectantly at them both. The boy of Slytherin looked to their eyes and was positively both pleasured and satisfied to see fear in their glassy eyes. That was what everyone should have had reflecting in their orbs while staring upon him.

"You blundering fools! Did you even think that I might have been sleeping? Well did you?!" He roared, waiting for an answer. But he already knew the answer to that question. Obvious wasn't it? The two bulky students bowed their heads. A smirk curled at the corners of Draco lips as if he had just bested Harry Potter in a duel. Looking pointedly at them for another moment, he then turned and entered the bathroom and slammed the door in their faces. Crabbe and Goyle both looked at each other, their brows meeting with confused confessions.

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Draco raised a stiff hand over his tightly shut eyes, sunlight seeping through his pale fingers and eyelashes. His other hand clutched at his dark green bed comforter, his knuckles turning white. Light from the window kissed his icy cheeks, a stray lock of hair falling in front of his squeezed shut eyes. Morning... Why did it have to be morning, he thought to himself grumpily as he pulled the sheets over his head. The boy of Slytherin hid there locked beneath the sweet assuring security of the massive sheets like a vampire shielding himself from the fiery strokes of sunlight. Muttering a frustrated groan from under the blankets, he opened his eyes and was met with the dim darkness. From behind the shady curtains around his bed he could hear Crabbe and Goyle still sleeping. If that's what you could call it. Their horrific snores rung out through the dormitory, if not the whole common room like the roars of a miffed Dragon. Sitting up with a heavy sigh, Draco chucked one of his pillows at the closer bed. Would he ever get a moment's peace, moment's silence? How was it possible that anyone in both the wizarding and the muggle world could snore like that and not permanently deafen someone in the process, he wondered to himself idly. He could only snort indignantly as Crabbe gave a great snort after being hit with the pillow.

"Crabbe, Goyle! Shut it!" Draco bellowed, slamming both of his fists onto his bed. Not much to his surprise, they did not take heed to his words and continued to snore like bears. A ruddy avalanche wouldn't wake those dolts, he thought to himself.

Today would be difficult, he knew that already. It was in that afternoon at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry that he would fly out onto the familiar Quiditch field, clothed in the colors of green and silver, the pride of Slytherin. His Nimbus two thousand and one would flash in the light and his silver blond hair would glow like an ethereal torch. There would be no fear, no doubts. At least not on the outside. But there was no inside of his shell. Only A distinct hollowness that swarmed with stabs of coldness that were buried deeply within the sheer universes that made him a Malfoy. He would zoom through the air; his head held high while his hand was thrust out before him in a long sought for the golden snitch. But it fingers most likely would not even come close to being fluttered by its wing. No, once again Potter would steal the spotlight he deserved. He would be left into the darkness once more, his shoulders hunched in a defeat that would last like a bitter taste in his mouth. Victory would be snatched away from him; pride would be wrenched away from him, his dignity... Gone... But, one day all of that would be his. He swore upon it.

Swinging the curtains away from his bed, Draco got up from his bed and stretched his stiff, tense limbs. Even his body could feel the failure it would have to face that day. Throwing a disgruntled snort of disgust at his two snoring cronies, he pulled out his school robes and his Quiditch robes from the closet. The green robes seemed to glare at him which made him glare right back. Well today was the day. Just get it over with, he told himself. Stripping himself of his pajamas, he got dressed for his morning classes. He was in no mood to go down to the great hall for breakfast. He was in no mood to see Pansy. He was in no mood to see Potter and the Weasley. And he was certainly not in the mood to see that no good mudblood Granger. None too gently, Draco stuffed his Quiditch robes into his school bag, not caring at the moment they would get wrinkled. What is the point of looking the winner when you are not the winner? By then, Crabbe and Goyle had finally sat up in their beds. Not bothering to wait for them, he slammed the door of their dormitory closed behind him as he swaggered down the stairs, his balled fists moving back and forth.

Entering the Slytherin common room, he could see that most of his house was still running about getting ready for the day.

He walked past them all, his eyes landing on each and every one of them pointedly, as if daring them to make a comment about the evening last night. No one even let their eyes fall on the seventh year as he struts by. Not an eye would act on their curiosity and give in to scrutiny. Feeling satisfied, the portrait door opened and he stepped out into the dark corridors. Well the morning had officially begun as he made his way to the great hall. He would only serve potions before having to meet the house team onto the pitch. Was he ready? More ready then I'll ever be he reminded to himself with only the faintest glimmers of hope. It twinkled like a dying star in the velvet darkness of his being within. Adjusting the leather strap of his school bag onto his other shoulder, he walked down the many hallways, his lips pursed in a vex frown.

Excessive, excited chatter met his ears as he neared the great hall. He snarled in disgust at his school mates. How can they get so excited about a damn quiditch match was beyond anything. What exactly made them have that sickening fleeting moments of game spirit? To him there was to be no such thing called spirit. It was just about winning. Winning and beating the opposite team as bas as you could. There was nothing to be gained in a person like him from defeat. Failure was not another opportunity to try it again in a more intelligent way. Once you lost, you lost. At least, that is what he had been brought up to believe while growing up in Malfoy Manor.

"I didn't get you that new broomstick for nothing, dear boy! You are to win. Lose and you are the failure that I'm starting to believe that you have become..." Those words of his father run out through his mind making Draco growl under his breath and squeeze his fist together repetitively. He was no failure! He was a winner! Entering the great hall with a long, powerful stride, he continued to the Slytherin table. He could swear that the eyes of three Gryffindor's cornered him, but ignored their stares. I won't be coming to you this time... Come to me, make my day he silently told them, challenging, coaxing. The words he uttered to them mentally seemed to seize the air around his thinking space like daggers being ripped through human flesh. Sitting himself down, he grabbed several things from the plates around him and loaded it onto his shining plate. He was not hungry, he knew that. But it was best that he did not show his lack of confidence. Any pity or scorn would surely make him chunder. The seventh year boy moved him eggs around on the plate, creating pictures like a tapestry as he did so.

A few minutes later his two cronies and Pansy entered the great hall and took their seats beside him. Just peachy, he said to himself thoughtfully. The last thing he needed were the two wankers he called body guards and the scarlet-woman that unabashedly never kept her fancying for him a secret. He wanted the soft serenity of solitude. But that was definitely not given to him as Crabbe and Goyle savagely ate their breakfasts. Snorting in disgust he looked to his opposite side to see Pansy studying him closely, her chin supported by one hand while the other was slowly spooning food into her lax lips. He could tell that she wanted to tell him something. She was acting like a dog wining at someone's door to go for a walk.

"On with it, woman. It's obvious that you want to tell me something." Draco snapped quite suddenly. Even the pug-like Pansy jumped in surprise. Her fork fell onto her metal plate with a loud clatter and she looked up into his fierce ice eyes. Such a fire in his eyes, yet it was also harsh ice orbs. Cold fire... An icy fire that licked at his iris's like Christmas wreaths.

"Well? If you are going to continue staring at me like some lost puppy then you should at least speak your mind while you do so." He said, impatience in his tone. Pansy looked up at him again, a blush filling in his cheeks much to his dismay. If there was one thing he hated about the species of woman, it was the fact that they blushed barking mad. But Pansy was the type of girl his father pushed him toward. She was a pureblood for one, and her family also had close ties with his. But yet, he did not want her. He wanted his own woman. Not some sad dosser that followed him around. Awakened from his thoughts by her sudden stuttering, he turned to look at Pansy again. Her fingers were wringing impossibly with her robes, as if her very fingers were caught in them like a net. Her tongue seemed to not be her own because she kept getting tongue-tied. Oh for Merlin's sake, Draco thought to himself.

"Oi! I don't have all day, Pansy! I do have classes and Quiditch. The last thing I need is for you to start getting bloody scared on me." He said all of this in one quick breath, his eyes falling shut as he smugly breathed on his fingernails and brushed them along the front of his robes. Yes, not all people had the Malfoy charm to have woman constantly biting at his catch like a fish on a fishing hook. Reeling them in was what annoyed. It was all too easy. Most of the girls of his house were more then willing to go to bed with him, but he found that a challenge was what he truly desired. He wanted someone who did not submit. He wanted someone who ran from him, daring him to chase her like some stag on a doe. He wanted difficultly. It was complications like that that would make him actually gallop in pursuit. But now Pansy was practically handing herself to him, he felt that he was not so oddly turned off.

"Er... I have to go..." She said at last. Snorting derisively, he could only dismiss her with a wave of his hand. Coward, he thought to himself as he watched her go. Turning back to his plate, he was about to pick up his fork again and play with his food when he felt a strong pair of eyes settle on him. Looking up, his head turned both way and he scanned the great hall for the damn culprit that continued to stare at him like some specimen under a microscope. Snarling, he could only try ignoring it while he picked at his food. The boy of Slytherin could still feel whoever's eyes it was and this bothered him to know that someone was so obviously gazing at him and he did not know who it was. These eyes... They were large and observant; he could only guess what color they were as they gazed unnerving at him. They seemed to be studying him like some sort of school project, stripping him of his courage and left him with uncertainty. Who is ruddy staring at me?, he wondered to himself.

Looking down at his watch, it told him it was time for class. One step closer to having to go onto the Quiditch field, he reminded himself dazedly. Feeling the set of eyes suddenly leave him, Draco could only breathe gratefully. He did not scrutiny. He found it somewhat frightening. His father used to do it to him all the time. He would sit in a chair as a little boy, his father would stand before him, towering like a phantom as his ice-like eyes ripped through him, tearing him piece from piece. One day he would do the same to his child. It was his destiny to continue the teachings of the making of a Malfoy. Pushing his plate in his cronies' direction, they accepted it with elation. They stuffed themselves, slurping loudly and wiping their mouths on the back of their hands.

"You two are positively disgusting. You know that? It continues to amaze me how you got accepted into this school. They must have been truly barmy." Draco retorted, looking down at them. The two bulky idiots only stared at each other with confused expressions, no doubt not getting what he was talking about. Heaving a rather heavy sigh, he turned and walked out of the great hall. But he stopped in his tracks as he felt those eyes again. Looking at the stone ground for a moment, he closed his eyes and concentrated where it was coming from. In a swift motion, he whipped around to see the culprit. A dark smirk passed onto his lips as Hermione quickly averted his eyes. Ah, yes... The Mudblood... He must have been quite interesting for her to have gazed at him like that. But there was something about her steely stare that nerved him. She was studying him, observing as if trying to read who he was. Well she would never be able to read that, no one would.

Throwing her one last glance over his shoulder, he turned and left the great hall, strutting as if his birthday had come early.

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"Smug Bastard..." Hermione whispered to herself as she watched Draco Malfoy swagger out of the great hall, his shoulders moving back and forth proudly, his head erect. But alas, she had indeed been caught in the act. She had awoken early that morning still thinking about the flash of pain she saw in the Slytherin's eyes. While it did not bother her much to know that for once he was being hurt, but the fact that it caused him shame? It was just strange and somewhat unnerving. Something about the way he stared at her before fleeing the great hall the night before left her with nightmares. Nightmares of small little boys with silver blond hair sobbing. In all the while she had never seen Malfoy shed a single tear, nor any form of depression. If he was ever sad, he certainly had one hell of a stone wall blocking anyone from seeing it. But the prefect of Gryffindor had actually cut through the line he had drawn around himself. She had walked into his inner circle if not for only a moment. It was that feelings that made her observe him that morning during breakfast. It both startled and disturbed her how the pain was lost and was replaced with that solid ice. There were no signs of it ever once being thawed.

"Hey' 'Mione, what's wrong?" Came Ron's voice. Realizing she must have been sitting their dazed she looked to her best friends. Ron was eating and looking at her curiously and Harry was quietly eating his eggs, his eyes on her as well. She could only shake her head with a dismissive way, her hang groping around for her fork again. She would just have to forget about it and quit trying to suddenly become a philosopher and study the secrets behind Malfoy. She had more important things to think about anyway. N.E.W.T.S for that matter. Both her friends had a Quiditch match that afternoon. No doubt, it was against Slytherin. Getting up from her seat to wish them good luck, Hermione grinned at her best friends. She had Arithmacy and they had Divination with the game right after. She would not get to see them until after the game was over. She studied the both of her best friends for a moment. Over the years, all three of them had grown quite a lot. She was now nearly a woman. Harry had grown tall, his hair still black as ever as it was always untidy. He had a more a lithe body now after years of Quiditch. Looking to the fiery red head next to Harry, she studied him as well. Ron had to be the tallest boy in the Gryffindor house. He stood well over six feet, yet he still had that Lopsided Weasley grin that she adored. While Harry was wiry and Lithe, Ron had more a stockier, strong form.

"Good luck, Harry." Hermione said, wrapping her arms around her best friend. He squeezed back, smiling softly. Turning to Ron who was looking to the ground, like a child who was denied candy while everyone else got it. Chuckling to herself, she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. With a smile, she could feel the heat rise from his freckled face. She found that she was rather fond of his reaction every time she found the Gryffindor courage to kiss him before a match. Especially when it was against their houses' sworn enemies. Banners of Red and Green would be waved around in the air, like flags being held by soldiers going to war while showing the honor of their country.

"Good luck, Ron." She told him, looking him in the eye. His large blue eyes and her brown ones met in a soft communion, silent words being exchanged. He smiled and nodded before being led away by Harry, still looking back at her and waving slowly. Hermione could not help but blush softly and giggle to herself as she watched them leave the great hall. She really did love the both of them. They would always be there for her, no matter what happened. Not even Voldemort could part the three of them. Picking up her school bag, she swung it over her shoulder and made for Arithmacy. And for one of the few times since she had come to Hogwarts, she was really looking forward to the Quiditch match.

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Namaarie!