So it was that the next few weeks passed for Draco and Hermione in a state of sheer bliss. The weather grew warmer, the Easter holidays approached, and two less dedicated students would surely have found their studies suffering, so wrapped up were they in each other and the newfound sensual aspect of their relationship. But they were not head boy and girl, and the top students in the school, for nothing; they remained dedicated to their schoolwork and other responsibilities, and somehow found time to get all their homework done, study for their upcoming NEWT exams, and fulfill their obligations as role models to the student body, in addition to partaking, at every opportunity, of pleasures of the flesh.

Though they found themselves needing to get by with significantly less sleep than they had previously been used to.

Life was good, and as they looked forward to the Easter holidays, during which the school would be all but deserted, and planned happily for daily lunches in Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron followed by golden afternoons secluded in Hermione's bedroom, they never guessed that events would soon take a disasterous turn.

For Lucius Malfoy's carefully formulated plan for capturing his errant son was finally ready to be put into action. Stage One would go into effect over the Easter break, when the school was nearly empty, with the assistance of some of Draco's former housemates, who had been specially hand-picked by the elder Malfoy for the job, and had remained at school over the holiday for just this purpose. He had given them explicit instructions on exactly what to do and how to do it; now all that remained was for them to carry those instructions out and Lucius was confident that a chain of events would be set into motion that would ultimately result in his son being home- and shortly thereafter dead- before the school year was out.

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It happened on the last day of Easter break.

It was sunset as the "Gryffindor Four" approached the castle. They had just spent the entire afternoon in Hogsmeade; an idyllic end to what had been an idyllic holiday for all of them. The following day the student body would be returning to Hogwarts, the final term would begin, and for the seventh-years, their studies and preparations for the NEWTS would reach a fever pitch. There would be no more visits to the wizarding village until the exams were over, so Harry, Ron, Draco and Hermione had made the most of their time in the charming little town over the past several days.

Now, however, that their last visit was over with and they faced the prospect of classes resuming, Hermione was, true to her nature, beginning to fret about her studies, and decided that a visit to the library was in order. The three males, however, declined to accompany her, wishing instead to put their last evening of freedom to good use playing wizard chess in the common room. Harry and Ron had easily come to include Draco in their frequent chess marathons, and Draco, for his part, with his highly competitive, and not a little mischievous, nature, thoroughly enjoyed first watching the two old friends play each other (while giving them both intentionally disastrous advice), and then playing the winner. It was all the better for him if it was Harry who won against Ron and then played him; he enjoyed playing Harry because, just as when they had been opposing seekers in the game of Quidditch, they were evenly matched and tended to have similar strategies. This made for extremely interesting and challenging chess games. Then there was the fact that when Draco played Harry, it meant that Harry had beaten Ron, who, in Draco's opinion, sulked on these occasions like a spoilt child, giving Draco immense pleasure in further taunting and goading him. He still got a thrill out of causing Ron's face to turn a brighter shade of red than his hair. Yes, all in all, Draco was anticipating a very pleasant evening.

So it was that the four of them parted ways at the top of the marble stairs; Harry, Ron and Draco heading up to Gryffindor Tower, and Hermione turning off toward the library.

And it was then that things went terribly wrong.

Or, as far as Lucius Malfoy would have been concerned, perfectly right.

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Mere seconds after Hermione had disappeared from sight, just as Draco was opening his mouth to begin his traditional pre-game taunting of Ron, the three boys were brought up short by a startled cry, followed immediately by sounds of a struggle, from around a bend in the corridor, in the direction of the library.

Harry, Ron and Draco stopped in their tracks, frozen for just a fraction of a second in absolute horror. For Ron and Harry, there was a cold, sick sense of déjà vu as the three boys whirled and began to race toward the sounds. For Draco there was no conscious thought at all; just a driving desire to hurt, maim, kill, as they rounded the corner and an awful sight met their eyes.

Blaise Zabini, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle (who had taken to following him around after Draco's resorting into Gryfindor), was holding a stuggling Hermione pinned to the wall by her throat. It appeared, at first glance, to be a ghastly reenactment of the attack by Voldemort a year before (though that was impossible; Blaise didn't know about the nature of that attack- how could he?), with the only major difference being that Blaise was using both hands to hold her and still having trouble; he lacked Voldemort's almost superhuman strength, and Hermione was fighting like a wildcat. Even as the three enraged Gryffindors tore toward her, though, her struggles were weakening due to lack of breath.

Still, she managed to land a pretty good kick to a rather sensitive part of Blaise's anatomy, as "her boys" closed the distance that separated them from her at a dead run.

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"GET YOUR BLOODY HANDS OFF HER, ZABINI!"

Draco was a silver-haired blur as he launched himself at his former dorm-mate. He moved far too fast for the dimwitted Crabbe and Goyle to react in time; even Blaise had only just begun to turn and reach for his wand when Draco crashed into him full force, slamming him against the wall, fists beginning to fly.

Hermione, released at last, sucked in a great, ragged breath and slid down the wall, coughing weakly, hands at her throat. Hitting the floor, she pulled her knees tightly up to her body and dropped her face onto them, seemingly oblivious to Draco and Blaise battling inches from her.

Chaos ensued.

Ron and Harry, quite as beside themselves as Draco, attacked Crabbe and Goyle viciously without pausing to consider the consequences- which, as it turned out, were considerably worse for the Slytherins, who had been caught completely off guard by the suddenness and severity of the attack. Though Harry and Ron were smaller, they were quicker and were both possessed of a fierce, wiry strength that more than compensated for Crabbe and Goyle's slow, heavy swings. Besides which, they, like Draco, were currently in the throes of a complete berserker rage. The big, dull Slytherin thugs hardly knew what hit them.

Altogether, the fracas lasted a good seven or eight minutes, and ended with all three Slytherins flat on the floor. Draco might quite possibly have beaten Blaise to death, had not Harry and Ron, once they had dispatched of Crabbe and Goyle, dragged him away, still swinging madly.

"LEAVE HIM!" Harry shouted, yanking him backwards off Blaise, whom he had been straddling and punching repeatedly in the face. "Malfoy- for God's sake- we gotta get outta here! MALFOY!" he shook him hard as Draco continued to strain toward the groaning Zabini. "Do you wanna get expelled? Is that what you're after? I don't think Hermione could take that right now!" Draco went abruptly still at Hermione's name. His eyes leaving Blaise's huddled form for the first time, he looked first at Harry, whose nose was bleeding profusely, then over to where Ron, sporting the beginnings of a spectacular black eye, was handing Hermione back her wand (which had been tossed aside by Blaise as she had reached for it when he had first ambushed her) and gathering her into his arms, preparing to flee with her back to Gryffindor Tower before Filch or any teacher should arrive on the scene.

Hermione appeared to be in a state of deep shock. Her eyes were open, but glazed and unseeing. When Ron murmured to her to put her arms around his neck, she obeyed silently and mechanically. Ron glanced over at Harry and Draco, where they knelt on the floor. "I'm getting her the hell out of here," he said. "You coming?" Without waiting for a reply, he sprinted off down the corridor, Hermione clasped firmly to his chest.

Harry stood and pulled Draco up after him. Both boys wiped blood from their faces- Draco had a bloody nose to rival Harry's, and a split lip besides. Still, he was loathe to go; staring down at Blaise, his rage and hatred were burning nearly out of control. Harry gripped him hard by the arm and attempted to pull him away. Finally, after settling for one more vicious parting kick, he turned, spat a mouthful of blood on the floor, and followed Harry at a fast jog toward Gryffindor Tower, leaving the Slytherins to lick their wounds.

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Crabbe and Goyle clambered slowly to their feet, then helped the wincing, bloodied Blaise up as well. As soon as Blaise had steadied himself, using the wall for support, they both began talking at once, cracking their knuckles and glowering about threateningly, now that the danger was gone.

"Next time things will be different-"

"When we tell professor Snape what they did, he'll-"

"SHUT UP!" Blaise snapped. As the two oafs stared at him in open-mouthed surprise, he continued in a low, dangerous voice; "you listen to me and you listen good. There's not going to be a next time, and we tell no one about this- NO ONE, except for the one that hired us, you understand?"

Crabbe and Goyle nodded dumbly.

"He said that we would be generously compensated for any injuries we sustained as a result of putting his plan into action," Blaise continued, "so as far as I'm concerned-" he paused and spat out a tooth- "this setup was a complete success. We'll get hefty bonuses, and it looks like Lucius Malfoy will get exactly the information he was hoping for." He nodded grimly and added, more to himself than the others, "yes, I believe Mr. Malfoy was hoping Draco would react just like that- why, I don't know, and it's not our business to know, as long as we get our galleons."

He turned and started heading slowly, limping, back toward the dungeons. A moment later he looked back over his shoulder to see Crabbe and Goyle still standing immobile, staring at him stupidly. "Well, are you two idiots coming?" he barked in irritation. "We have to floo Mr. Malfoy and tell him what happened, or don't you want to get paid?"

Their piggy little eyes brightening at the words "get paid", Crabbe and Goyle broke into a trot, following Blaise toward the Slytherin common room, its fireplace, and a floo conference with Lucius Malfoy.

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When Harry and Draco stumbled through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, it was to find that Ron had deposited Hermione in one of the overstuffed armchairs and was now pacing tightly back and forth before the fireplace, both fists clenched in his hair, which appeared molten in the light of the flames. He was muttering furiously to himself, and just as Harry and Draco entered, he kicked over an unoccupied chair with a cry of rage.

If anything about the situation could be considered fortunate, it was that the room was otherwise completely empty, owing to its being the last day of the Easter holidays.

Harry crossed to Ron, and Draco to Hermione. Kneeling in front of the chair where she sat huddled, staring blankly into the fire, Draco took her gently but firmly by the upper arms, turning her fully toward him. Her eyes remained distant, her face expressionless. She was trembling from head to toe. Without a word, he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head this way and that, inspecting the bruises that were beginning to show on her throat. Then, with a rare tenderness, he placed the tip of his wand against them and murmured a healing spell, causing the barely formed marks to fade away again. Still without speaking, he folded her into his arms and settled himself in the chair, with her crosswise in his lap. With a deep, shuddery sigh, she let her head fall onto his shoulder, and he commenced stroking her hair.

Harry, meanwhile, placed himself directly in front of Ron in order to stop his increasingly agitated pacing. Being forced to halt abruptly, Ron looked for a moment as though he was actually considering taking a swing at Harry, but then apparently thought better of it and simply stood there, staring at his best friend, panting, jaw clenched, his hands now fisted at his sides and his blue-black eyes sparkling with unshed tears of anger.

Pulling out his wand, Harry healed Ron's eye the same way Draco had healed Hermione's bruises, then, clasping the redhead's shoulder, said simply, "let's fly." Ron hesitated a moment, shot a glance over at Draco cradling Hermione in the armchair, then gave a single, terse nod. Without further discussion, the two boys retrieved their broomsticks from their dorm and headed down to the quidditch field to give Draco and Hermione some privacy, and attempt to calm themselves through flight.

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"So you mean to tell me that my son did all that to you?" asked Lucius Malfoy's head dryly from its place in the flames.

"Yes," Blaise answered, with as much dignity as he could muster.

Lucius was silent for a moment, looking Blaise over appraisingly. Draco had clearly done a number on him. "Did you even try to defend yourself?"

"Yes," said Blaise resentfully; "he was like a maniac."

"I see," said Lucius, looking suddenly very smug. "So you would say he truly does appear to- er-" his face twisted into an expression of intense distaste- "love the mudblood?"

"He's crazy in love," said Blaise flatly; "he'd do anything for her, like I tried to tell you before this whole pointless exercise-"

"Silence," snapped Lucius; "I will decide what's pointless and what's not. You will be a good boy and do as you're told, and get paid accordingly. That's how this little arrangement works." Blaise glowered, but said nothing. The smug expression returned to Lucius' face. "So," he mused, "he would do anything for her. I had suspected as much, but I wanted absolute proof before proceeding any further, and now I have it." He lapsed into thought for a long moment as Blaise fidgeted. When next Lucius spoke, his voice was brisk. "An owl will be arriving within twenty-four hours, bearing payment for you and your- er- assistants. I trust that you will dispense the funds fairly amongst the three of you?"

"Oh yes," said Blaise, with a sneer that made Lucius nod his head appreciatively.

"Good. Then it's time to discuss stage two of our little plan. I believe your two friends have served their purpose; your next assignment is a one-man job." Lucius paused as Blaise dismissed Crabbe and Goyle with an imperious flick of his hand. "This stage will require stealth and cunning; I will need you to infiltrate Gryffindor Tower. You see, I must have the exact coordinates within the castle of the mudblood's bedroom; coordinates precise enough to allow me to arrive there by portkey. A second owl will be dispatched to you, bearing an invisibility cloak. If you succeed at this mission, you will be allowed to keep the cloak, in addition to a generous monetary payment."

Blaise's eyes lit up. "Tell me exactly what to do."

00000

Though they started at the quidditch pitch, Ron and Harry were soon ranging all over the Hogwarts grounds on their broomsticks. Harry had never seen Ron fly like this before. He flew silently and with furious speed and recklessness; spirals and barrel-rolls and near-vertical dives. He flew like a person who cares nothing for the consequences of his actions. He flew, Harry thought, as a sick, gnawing fear for his friend was born in the pit of his stomach, almost like someone with a death wish.

00000

For well over an hour Draco sat in front of the fire with Hermione cradled in his arms, before standing and carrying her, still silent and unresisting, to her bed. He had intended to tuck her in and return to his own room, because he had some heavy thinking to do, but when he attempted to disengage himself from her, she caught hold of his sweater and wouldn't let go. Still not looking directly at him, still not saying a word, she clung to him for dear life. Feeling as though his heart would break, especially considering the topic which was currently occupying his thoughts, Draco settled himself beside her, nestling her head in the crook of his arm.

Her fingers still caught in the folds of his sweater, she finally drifted into a restless sleep, but Draco lay awake all night, contemplating the action he knew he would have to take, and take soon. From the moment he had come upon Blaise pinning her to the wall, he had known what he must do. Clearly Hermione was in danger because of her association with him; the Slytherins had apparently decided to give up on trying to hurt him directly and had found, instead, a new target for their anger and hatred; her. And it ripped him apart; seeing her in harm's way just killed him. He would rather be beaten to a bloody pulp by every overgrown thug in Slytherin House- beaten to within an inch of his life- than see them touch one single precious hair on Hermione's head.

But it wouldn't stop here. Having found his weakness, having discovered how to wound him to the core, they were sure to continue exploiting it by hurting her every chance they got. He couldn't let that happen. There was no way in hell he was going to let that happen. No way.

Nor was that all- an even deeper fear was nagging at him. The WAY in which Blaise had pinned her against the wall- the position he had been in when Draco, Harry and Ron had rounded the corner and first set eyes on him- could it possibly be coincidence that it was an almost perfect reenactment of Voldemort's attack on her last year? If so, then it was a pretty fucking big coincidence. Draco hadn't witnessed that first attack himself, but he had heard it described and besides, one glance at Harry and Ron's faces in that instant- the sheer horror in their expressions- had been all the proof he needed; they had been looking into the past, all right; looking at Voldemort about to rape Hermione before their eyes.

Except that this time there had been no invisible barrier to hold them back.

Draco allowed himself the fleeting luxury of a grim smile. Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle had paid, all right. But that was beside the point. He couldn't allow himself to get sidetracked; no matter how painful it was, he had to think this situation all the way through. And it WAS painful, because he already knew what conclusion his thoughts would inevitably lead him to. His decision had already been made, and sticking to it would be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do. But returning to the coincidence issue-

Draco had never been a big believer in coincidence. He was one of those who adhered to the philosophy that if it looks like shit and smells like shit, it's probably shit. And this looked and smelled to him like a setup. Like Zabini had been deliberately trying to push his buttons by recreating the exact circumstances of the rape. There was only one problem with this theory; Zabini didn't- couldn't- know about the rape. Could he? No one at Hogwarts knew about it except for Draco, Harry, Ron and the faculty- certainly no one who would wish to use the information to hurt Hermione. But there was one person Draco knew of who was aware of the rape and WAS cruel enough to use that knowledge against Hermione- against them all. His father.

Draco could only assume that Voldemort had told Lucius, his right-hand man, about it during the week or so that had elapsed between the time of the attack and the fateful day on which he and Hermione, Harry and Ron had surprised the Dark Lord in his lair and worked together, for the first time, to overcome him. To kill him. The day on which he, Draco, had nearly died as well. When Lucius had made an unwelcome appearance in Draco's hospital room the following night, he had taunted them all by referring to Hermione as Voldemort's "little fuck toy", causing Draco to drop his wand and attack him physically.

So Lucius knew the true nature of Voldemort's attack on Hermione, and was one of only a handful of people who did. The only one out of that handful who would use the knowledge in a malicious way. Oh hell yes, he would. Absolutely.

But the thing Draco couldn't figure out was, to what purpose? He certainly would not put it past his father to hire one of his former housemates to stage the rape (and Blaise would be the ideal choice; he was intelligent, cunning, ruthlessly ambitious, and his absolute loyalty could be bought for the right price), but Lucius did nothing without good reason. Especially now that he seemed to be in the early stages of rising to power as a new Dark Lord, he was treading very, very carefully. If he were to go to this much trouble and expense (for Blaise's loyalty wouldn't come cheap; Draco was sure of that), it would have to be for a damn good reason; a reason even more compelling than simply causing torment for his now-hated son and the girl who had, in Lucius' opinion, "corrupted" him. So if he was in fact behind this, then the question was, simply put, why?

Draco could not, try as he might, come up with a suitable answer to this question. He shook his head in frustration. The sky outside was lightening- his thoughts had been chasing themselves in circles all night and he still hadn't come up with a satisfactory explanation for his father's motive- if indeed Lucius were responsible for this at all. He supposed that there remained the possibility, however remote, that Zabini had been acting independently and that any resemblance to last year's attack HAD just been coincidental. He would almost rather believe that- it would be the lesser of two evils.

Because if Lucius WAS behind this, it meant that something bad was afoot. Something very, very bad.

Draco sighed as Hermione stirred in her sleep, throwing a leg over him. In the end, the motive behind the attack was a moot point, really. Even the party ultimately responsible for it was a moot point; whether Zabini had been acting on his own or under someone else's orders, the end result was the same. The fact that the attack had occurred at all meant that Draco had to take action to protect Hermione, and there was only one thing he could think of doing that he was certain would convince the Slytherins to leave her alone.

Ah God, he didn't want to do it.

But he had to.

Her safety was more important than his own happiness. As long as he knew she was out of harm's way, he could stand anything. Even a life without her in it.

Maybe if he told himself that enough times, it would make it true.

I can't do it today, he thought, his eyes going to the bay window beside the bed, through which beautiful, rosy dawn light was now streaming. Not this soon, I- I'm just not ready. Not today.

He pulled Hermione closer to him. One week, he thought with grim resolve; I'll give myself one week- seven days- then I'm going through with it.

He would do what he had to do to ensure that she could live her life free of this kind of fear and harassment. Even though it would mean destroying his own life in the process.

Because what he had to do was remove himself from her life so suddenly, completely and violently that the Slytherins would be left with the impression that harming her would have no effect whatsoever on him. He had to make it look as though he hated her.

And he had to make her genuinely hate him.

Then they would leave her alone.

It was the only way.