A/N: I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story, and i am going to start working on it again, as i do intend to finish it. This is just a short chapter i know but, better than nothing i hope.

Please review and tell me your thoughts.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

What's a girl to think when everything she was once sure of, crumbles before her eyes? What's she to do when the person she hates the most, is the one who holds her life in his hands? And what is she supposed to think, when told her ghost is watching over her, awaiting her death a second time?

When Hermione was confused, she would turn to books, for she knew the answer she was looking for would be hidden within the pages before her, waiting to be found, but now, she knew no book could answer the questions she had, for no book spoke of her life and no book could tell her the future.

Draco was hiding something and she knew it. She had asked him over and over who was going to kill her, and every time he would insist he did not know. He was a liar. And yet, every time she asked, somewhere deep down inside of her was a flicker of hope that he would not share this secret with her. It was as though she knew it was better not to know.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Lucius Malfoy sat at his large mahogany desk, a lone sheet of parchment sat in front of him whilst he stroked the quill in his hand, considering his words carefully. Eventually, he leaned over and dipped the tip of the extravagant pen into a small pot of black ink and in his perfect handwriting he began to construct a letter. He addressed it to his only son, and signed it neither with love nor with kind words, instead he left his signature, as if her were writing to a colleague not to his child.

He turned to the owl who had been waiting quietly by the window and handed it the letter, "take this to Draco," he muttered and opened the window, allowing it to leave the manor for its trip to Hogwarts.

The blonde man hoped Draco would not put up too much of a fight for he knew the consequences. The Dark Lord was not a tolerant man and if Draco failed to do as he was told, both their lives would be at risk; to say the least.

Draco lay on his bed and watched her as she floated around his bedroom, her expression unreadable and her silence defiant. She had been like this all day. As though she were thinking something through, and every time coming to the same conclusion.

"Care to tell me what's wrong?" he asked finally, unable to stand the silence any longer.

The ghost form of Hermione floated down beside him, "I can't remember my mothers name," she mumbled, a silver tear running down her ghostly face, "I just can't remember it."

Draco looked at her confused, "I could just ask Hermione for you," he offered, much to his horror, the ghost girl cried harder.

"You… don't… understand," she managed to choke out between sobs, "I'm… forgetting things!" Draco moved closer to the ghost, "I don't remember my cat's name, and I don't remember what shape scar that boy had on his forehead."

"Crookshanks, and a lightening scar," Draco reminded, wiping away a silver tear, trying not to shiver as he touched her ghostly skin.

"I'm scared," she admitted.

"Don't be," he replied, "I won't let the past repeat itself. I promise."

The ghost girl nodded.

As he watched her, something occurred to him, and the more he tried to push the thought out of his mind, the more he needed to know, "did it hurt?" he asked. He could tell she was taken aback by his question, "Dying," he explained, "did it hurt… did I hurt you?"

She shut her eyes, remembering back,

Flashback:

He looked at her, as though considering his options. His hands trembled as he held the knife tightly. "KILL HER YOU FOOL!" came a voice from behind them, "do not be weak Draco, she's a just a mudblood. A filthy mudblood!"

The girl's eyes stung with tears as he approached her, "please," she cried, trying to crawl away despite the binds holding her arms and legs.

He crouched down beside her, lifting the knife slightly, "I'm sorry," he whispered and before he could change his mind, he pressed the knife into the soft flesh of her belly.

End of flashback.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered as he regarded her pained expression as she remembered back.

She looked at him darkly, "that's what you said… when you did it," she floated away from him, "you said you were sorry… but you did it anyway!"

"I…" he began but she cut him off.

"It didn't hurt though," she said in answer to his question; tears were once again pouring out of her ghostly eyes, "I just remember feeling cold… really cold," and with these words she floated out of his room, flying out into the night sky, a silver shadow in the darkness.

The boy was left alone in his room, the feeling of guilt settling in his stomach, guilt over something he had not yet done. It felt as though the walls were closing in on him and his air was running out, he was trapped between fate and chance with only the slightest glimmer of escape.

"Draco…" he looked up expecting to see the ghost girl again, but instead met two very alive cinnamon coloured eyes. He raised a brow, looking at the girl questioningly. She shrugged, trying to keep her eyes from watering, "I'm scared".