The students who came pouring back into the school after the holiday noticed a change in the dynamic of the foursome, but it wasn't so drastic a difference as to cause much comment- at least, not at first. All four seemed quieter than usual; Hermione in particular barely said a word either in class or out of it, which was somewhat surprising after she had seemed to be coming out of her shell shortly before Easter, but which was, on the other hand, perfectly typical of her behavior for months beforehand, and so caused a few raised eyebrows, but no real concern.

Harry and Ron never let her out of their sight from the time they left Gryffindor Tower for breakfast in the mornings until they returned to it after dinner; no matter where she was in the school or on the grounds, they could be seen on either side of her; a pair of grim-eyed guardians with their hands always hovering close to their wands. Again, it was just the sort of super-protective behavior that they had displayed for months; it had been easing off before the holiday, but was now back in full force.

Draco's actions, however, caused the most amount of puzzlement to those Gryffindors who were observant enough to notice the difference in his behavior toward Hermione when inside Gryffindor Tower as opposed to when he was out in the school at large. Inside the Tower, he was never more than arm's length away from her; he was like a silver-haired shadow that seemed unable to bear being parted from her even for a moment.

He maintained near-constant physical contact with her. Sometimes it was an arm slung about her shoulders or lightly circling her waist; at other times, his hands lost in her thick, unruly hair, idly twirling dark curls about his fingers; or their legs pressed together as they sat smushed into a single armchair near the fire, doing their homework side-by-side on a small table they had drawn over to themselves with a summoning charm; Hermione writing right-handed, Draco left, in perfect harmony.

During these times, he was, in fact, desperately drinking in everything about her; each expression and gesture; the feel of her soft skin against his; her cloud of dark hair; her ink-stained fingers entwined with his own when they weren't engaged in turning out yard-long scrolls of homework in her small, tidy handwriting; her brow furrowed and lips pursed in concentration as she sat before the fire with a venerable old book spread open on her lap, Crookshanks curled contentedly at her feet.

And oh, at night- they spent every single night together, making love until they exhausted themselves and fell into oblivion, wrapped in one another's arms, and Draco noticed that not once did Hermione take her dreamless sleep potion- but nor did she have a single nightmare. His presence in her bed every night, all night, seemed enough to keep the bad dreams at bay.

He was experiencing her to the fullest extent possible, and was mentally filing the experiences away to be his sustenance once he had gone through with his plan of removing her from his life forever.

All within the safe, sheltered confines of Gryffindor Tower.

Outside the Tower, though, in the rest of the school- he was like a different person. Under the gaze of the other houses, he was already beginning to distance himself from Hermione; already practicing for the day he knew was coming soon, even if no one else did; the day when he and Hermione would no longer be a couple.

He rarely walked through the halls with her anymore, content that she was safe under Harry and Ron's constant vigilance. He no longer sat next to her in class or at meals, nor could the two of them be seen sitting side by side in the library, heads close together, poring over a single book, as had been so common in months gone by. He barely spoke to her and when he did, his tone was curt and businesslike.

As for Hermione, she appeared more or less oblivious to the coolness he displayed towards her when out and about in the school, as she spent most of her time outside Gryffindor Tower silent and apparently preoccupied, with her head bowed and eyes downcast, being shepherded from class to class by Ron and Harry. She didn't look up often enough, it seemed, to take much note of Draco's absence from her side.

It was, overall, a very disconcerting situation for the rest of the Hogwarts population to witness. The Gryffindors, who knew how affectionate Draco remained in private, were increasingly perplexed as more of them began to notice his aloofness towards Hermione when in the school's public areas. The members of the three other houses, who of course were unaware of what went on in Gryffindor Tower in the evenings, began to buzz with rumors that all was not well with the school's most celebrated couple. Many of them maintained that something horrible must have happened over the holiday that was slowly poisoning the relationship. This was, of course, absolutely true- but most of the rumor-mongers were envisioning a horrific lovers' spat; no one knew the truth, or came anywhere close to guessing, except for the Gryffindor Four themselves and three smug and well-paid Slytherins who weren't talking.

Thus, the week Draco had appointed himself passed in an odd sort of duality.

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Draco awoke on the dreaded morning tangled together with Hermione in a jumble of limbs and blankets, with the feeling that his insides had been ripped out and replaced by hot lead. A dull sense of horror at what he knew he must do was beating behind his temples, but his resolve had not faltered over the past week; if anything it had strengthened.

He had to protect Hermione; he would not let the Slytherins hurt her again. By the end of the day, considering how quickly gossip traveled through Hogwarts, the Slytherins would be under the very strong impression that hurting Hermione to get at Draco would be a waste of time and effort. Because the entire school- Hermione included- would be under the impression that he wouldn't care in the least.

By the end of the day, his life would be, essentially, over; everything that had come to matter to him over the past year- not only Hermione's love, but also Harry and Ron's friendship and the close-knit camaraderie of the Gryffindors in general- would be lost to him. They would all hate him for what he was about to do. He would be a pariah once more. But Hermione would be safe, and that was all that mattered.

He would endure whatever he needed to endure in order to ensure her safety. It never occurred to him, even for a second, that what he was planning to do to her might be far more cruel than any torment the Slytherins could devise; he wasn't thinking that way. He was only thinking in terms of saving Hermione from physical harm. Being, as he was, the product of a loveless upbringing, he didn't- he couldn't- even after dating her for a year- fathom the fact that Hermione might actually love him as wholly and fiercely as he loved her, and that she would therefore suffer as much as he would for his actions that day- more, in fact, because at least he had given himself time to come to terms with what he was about to do, whereas she would be completely blindsided.

No, all he possessed was a vague notion that she was going to be upset for a while, and an understanding that her initial reaction would likely take one of two forms; anger or depression.

He had already worked out exactly what to say and do in order to, hopefully, achieve his desired effect; he didn't want Hermione to end this day beaten-down, miserable and depressed; that could potentially make her even more of a target to the Slytherins- they preyed on just that sort of weakness. No, he wanted her to end this day royally pissed off. He wanted her to hate him as much as he was going to make her believe he hated her. He had seen her in a rage before, and she was formidable. If he could get her good and mad, she would be nobody's victim. Now all that remained was to watch and wait for the perfect time to do it; in order for his plan to be effective, after all, there would need to be plenty of witnesses so that word of mouth would reach the Slytherins quickly.

Hermione was still sleeping peacefully in his arms; her breathing deep and even. He snuggled closer to her, burying his face in her soft, sweet-scented hair. "I love you so much, bookworm," he whispered, "and I always will. No matter what I say or do, I always will."

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He stood outside the library door, preparing himself. It was nearly showtime. Hermione was inside, studying over lunch, and so were half the seventh year students at Hogwarts; now that Easter Break was over, the NEWTs were fast approaching, after all. It was the perfect time to put his plan into action; the perfect time to violently and irreversibly push the only person he truly loved out of his life forever.

It has to be done. Better to have her hate me than to have her hurt or… or dead.

That thought steeled him. Game face, he told himself; time to put your game face on. That cold Slytherin sneer- you wore it for six years; surely it shouldn't be too hard to conjure up again now. You'd better, and quick, because you're on in five…four…three…

With a flick of his wand, he turned a portion of the blank stone wall outside the library into a mirror, checked his appearance- cool as ice, even his eyes, belying no hint of the fact that he knew damn well when he exited the library some ten minutes later it would be as a broken man- ran a hand through his pale hair, then vanished the mirror and-

Strode purposefully through the door.

He spotted her almost at once, nearly hidden behind a stack of massive old books, but easily within sight and earshot of at least two dozen other seventh years of all Houses.

Good.

Plastering the sneer that had been his trademark for so long onto his face, he advanced on her. "Granger," he drawled, reaching her- too late for second thoughts now; he was past the point of no return- "we need to talk."

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Slamming his bedroom door shut behind him, Draco collapsed back against it, pausing just long enough to mutter an advanced locking spell- a spell that no simple "Alohomora" would be able to remove- before dropping his wand to the floor and raising his hands to cover his face, stifling an agonized groan.

His pain was at least partly physical- he DID hurt; Hermione had seen to that- but the physical ache in his groin, where she had kneed him, hard, paled in comparison to the ache in his heart. He had done it, and done it well. She would hate him passionately now, and that would ensure her safety, from the Slytherins, from his father- from anyone who might think to hurt her as a means of hurting him. But that thought provided scant comfort for him right now when he had just lost- through his own decision, his own actions- the one person who had made his life truly worth living.

With his back to the door, he slid slowly down to a sitting position on the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest as he went over in his mind what had just transpired in the library. The things- the God-awful things he had said to her, the emotions that had run across her face; shock, incredulity, hurt, betrayal, and finally, rage- the emotion he had set about to create in her.

He could hear the whole thing begin to replay in his head.

"Granger," he had drawled, "we need to talk."

She had glanced up from her book then, a welcoming smile beginning to curve her lips- she did not, as yet, realize that anything was amiss; they often called each other by their last names, after all, in a gentle, teasing manner. Little did she imagine then that this conversation would be anything but gentle.

"Draco," she said, "I've been hoping you'd turn up. There's a difficult problem on page 542 that I thought you could…help…" her brow furrowed at the cold, smirking expression on his face. "Draco- is something wrong?"

And then- oh God, and then-

No. He shook his head, just one time, back and forth, hard. He couldn't relive the confrontation just now. He couldn't stand to.

Groping beside him on the floor, he picked up his wand and pointed it at his nightstand. "Accio," he said, and the little drawer opened, allowing a small object to shoot out and fly across the room into his outstretched hand.

It was the item he had secretly bought in Hogsmeade the afternoon before his and Hermione's last visit to the unicorns; the afternoon before the night when they had first made love.

It was, he had thought at the time, the most important gift he would ever buy her, and he had planned to present it to her on their graduation day.

It was a tiny, black velvet jewelry box.

He popped it open with his thumb and stared at the sparkling object nestled within, watching it double, then triple before his blurring eyes. He blinked hard against the impending tears, but to no avail. First one, and then another streaked down his face.

"Hermione," he said hoarsely.

Then he snapped the box shut, hurled it savagely against the opposite wall, dropped his head onto his knees, and sobbed.

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In the library, shocked silence reigned.

After Draco had exited, the seventh year students from the other Houses had quickly made themselves scarce, most of them feeling an intense discomfort at being confronted by this purely Gryffindor drama, coupled with an equally intense desire to find their friends and housemates and begin spreading the tale of how the Head Boy had just dumped the Head Girl in the most unimaginably cruel way possible. While the majority of them left the library feeling outraged or incredulous at Draco's behavior, Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherins who had witnessed the scene were hard put to contain their glee.

In a matter of moments, only Hermione and the other seventh-year Gryffindors were left. Hermione, who had been standing tall when first Draco, then the other students, had filed out, abruptly sat down hard on the floor, leaning back against one of the legs of the table she had been working on. This spurred the other Gryffindors present, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, and Neville Longbottom, who had all been frozen in disbelieving shock, into immediate action

Neville reached her first, scrambling around the table and dropping into a squat beside her. He looked angrier than anyone at Hogwarts had ever seen him look in seven years, but Hermione was past noticing at this point. She was staring straight ahead, into the middle distance; her eyes were dry but she wore an expression of deep, uncomprehending shock which was far more alarming than tears would have been.

"He's not going to get away with this," Neville was saying, his fists clenched, color high. "There's just no way we're gonna let this go- no bloody way! You just say the word Hermione- I know I speak for Dean and Seamus too- we'll rip that bastard a new-"

"Neville!" It was Lavender. Following him around the table, she and Parvati had arrived to kneel at Hermione's side. "Hush. She doesn't need this right now. There's a time and place for everything- and Malfoy WILL get his- but right now- right now…" she trailed off, looking at Hermione, who was still staring fixedly at nothing, seeming completely oblivious to anything that was going on around her.

"Hermione," Lavender said quietly, gently grasping the unresponsive girl's shoulders in an attempt to provoke a reaction. Hermione turned her head slowly toward Lavender, but her eyes remained unfocused. This was really worrying; Lavender had survived her share of heartbreaks, and had helped both of the Patil twins, plus Hanna Abbot and Susan Bones, recover from some fairly nasty breakups as well- on one very odd occasion, she had even offered comfort to a crying Millicent Bulstrode, who'd been devastated by a split with Gregory Goyle- but she had never seen anything like this before; never seen anything like Draco's abhorrent behavior OR Hermione's resultant state of near catatonia.

"Hermione," she said again, falteringly. Then, "are you okay?"

Very slowly, without making a sound, Hermione shook her head.

"Do you want Harry and Ron?"

Hermione nodded. Barely, but she nodded.

"Do you know where they are?"

Another nod.

"You have to tell me, love. I don't know."

A single word, which Lavender had to lean in close in order to catch; "Hagrid."

"Neville," said Lavender, her eyes never leaving Hermione's face, "go and get Harry and Ron from Hagrid's house, please. Right now."

Neville didn't need telling twice. When he was gone, Lavender settled down next to Hermione, folding herself gracefully into a sitting position, leaning her back against the same thick table leg that Hermione was using as a support and throwing an arm over the silent girl's shoulder, giving her a sisterly squeeze. Parvati sat down on Hermione's other side, the pair of friends sandwiching the bereft girl securely between them.

"You will get over this, you know," Lavender said after a long silence. No reply. "I know you probably don't believe me right now but- you will. We may not be the best of friends, but I was your roommate for six years, and I know what a strong person you are. You've weathered other storms. You'll weather this one." She gave Hermione another squeeze.

"Men can be such scum, can't they?" she added after a moment's thought.

Hermione continued to stare into space.

After that, the three girls sat in silence until pounding footsteps in the hall heralded the return of Neville, with Harry and Ron in tow.

As Neville hovered uncertainly in the background, Ron and Harry dropped to their knees beside Hermione. Neither of them spoke at all; they had been briefed by Neville on the way, and their anger seemed beyond words. Ron first studied her intently, as if checking for signs of physical injury, then, slipping a hand under her chin, tilted her face toward his; her eyes dark with despair, his with rage.

After a long moment, her far away eyes appeared to focus on him. "Ron," she said, in a dazed voice. That was all.

In a very quiet, very clear voice, Ron said, "I am going to kill him."

Then he got up and stalked out of the library, punching the wall beside the door as he went.

Without a word, Harry gathered Hermione into his arms, holding her to him fiercely, rocking her.

Neville, Parvati and Lavender took this as their cue to leave.

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About half an hour later, Harry and Hermione could be seen returning to Gryffindor Tower, walking slowly, Harry's arm slung protectively about her shoulders. Hermione had the blank look of a sleepwalker about her.

Ron spent the entire afternoon and evening railing at Draco through his locked door, trying every combination he could think of, of magic and brute force, to gain entrance into the head boy's room. Fortunately for Draco, the advanced locking spell he had placed on his door had been very competently performed, and Ron was unsuccessful. Had the volatile redhead managed to get into the room in his present state of mind- well, it would have been bad. He kept hearing over and over in his mind Neville's voice reporting, horrified, the things Draco had said loud enough for the whole library to hear- you were nothing but a good fuck, Granger! That Draco should have stolen from him the girl he had loved since first year, and then treated her like this- it was maddening. It kept him in a state of constant frenzy until Harry came and dragged him away, struggling and cursing, near ten at night.

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Dean, Neville and Seamus did not complain when Hermione spent that night, and indeed the next several nights, in the seventh year boys' dorm. She took Harry's bed, and Harry in turn bunked with Ron. (Harry had thought this prudent, anyway, to keep Ron from sneaking out in the middle of the night and resuming his siege on Draco's room.) She simply couldn't face her suddenly too-large room, the now cold and empty bed that she had shared with Draco for just a few golden weeks, the bed in which he had told her she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, that she was his forever; his brown-eyed girl. And she had believed him; God, she had believed him with all her heart. She had thought they were making love in that bed when really- really-

"…Nothing but a good fuck, Granger-"she heard again that cold, sneering voice in her mind- "you were a challenge and I love a challenge, but now the novelty's worn off, what can I say? I promised you that when I got sick of you you'd be the first to know, and I'm keeping my promise. Never let it be said that I'm not a man of my word."

And then, when she had protested, deep in shock, before the anger had had a chance to set in, asking how he could say that, how he could do this, when she knew he loved her, she KNEW it- then had come the worst part; the expression on his face as he had shaken his head, tutting her condescendingly. "And you're the brightest girl in this school," he had drawled; "THINK, mudblood; just think back a minute. Have I ever actually told you I loved you? Even once? 'Hermione, I love you'- have I ever once said those words to you? HAVE I?" And as her mind had raced, frantically, back over all the months of their relationship, she had been forced to concede that he never had- he had said some things that she had taken (erroneously, as was now obvious) to be declarations of love, but he had never said those four words together- Hermione, I love you- not once.

"No," she had been forced to whisper, stricken.

And he had smiled. No, not smiled; smirked. "No," he had echoed, mockingly; "that's right, Granger; no. Because it would have been a lie, and whatever else I may be, I am not a liar and you know it. So I would strongly suggest-" his smirk had broadened- "that the next time around, you wait until you hear those three all-important little words before you go and spread your l- OOPH!"

He had broken off, doubled over in pain, for at that moment her anger had risen suddenly and swiftly; a crimson wave, overpowering her, and she had driven her knee with all the force she could muster into his groin. But by the time he had straightened up, glaring daggers at her out of his pale eyes, and then made his exit from the library, the wave of rage had passed, leaving her drained and despairing in its wake.

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During the day, now, Hermione took great care to maintain her composure; in the Great Hall at mealtimes, in the corridors, in the classrooms, flanked at all times by Harry and Ron and surrounded by loyal Gryffindors who had rallied to her side in her time of need, she kept an air of aloof calm about her. When she and Draco crossed paths, she looked through him as though he wasn't there. She appeared strong, resilient, and poised, giving no satisfaction to the Slytherins who watched her so eagerly for signs of weakness that could be exploited, refusing to rise to the bait of their taunts. In the dungeons one day as the Gryffindors and Slytherins waited together for admittance to the potions lab, when Pansy asked Hermione how it felt to be cast off by her boyfriend like so much mudblood trash, it was, surprisingly enough, Parvati who stepped forward and slapped the smirking Slytherenne right across the face. Then, to the further astonishment of everyone present, Snape, who had stepped out of his classroom just in time to witness the confrontation, docked ten points from Gryffindor for Parvati's actions- and ten points from Slytherin for Pansy's remark!

That Snape should have deducted points evenly from Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses was a first. That was enough to knock the wind out of the Slytherins' sails for a good long time, once their total, uncomprehending shock wore off.

Hermione even single-handedly prevented the seventh-year Gryffindor boys from forming a posse and going after Draco to administer their own brand of justice for his treatment of her, telling them firmly that she did not want violence and that he wasn't worth the effort. She made Harry and Ron, in particular, promise that they would defer to her wishes in this matter and leave Draco alone. Every time they saw Draco in the corridors, she laid a restraining hand on Ron's arm.

Yes, in front of the school- even in front of her friends- she seemed entirely calm and collected. It was only late at night, in Harry's bed, with the curtains drawn closed for privacy, that she allowed herself to give in to her despair.

Every night, with the covers pulled up over her head and her face buried in a pillow to stifle the sound, she sobbed.

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As for Draco, he kept himself to himself, being, as he was, currently the most despised person in the school. The Gryffindors, of course, who had once welcomed him with such friendly ease into their midst, now hated him with a fiery passion; more than one of them (chiefly Ron) would have dearly liked to rip him apart bare handed.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs loathed him; their hatred was not of the personal nature that the Gryffindors' was, but rather stemmed from a bitter disillusionment, and disgust that they had actually bought into the fairytale romance and had believed wholeheartedly that the one-time Slytherin bad boy had turned good.

The Slytherins, though they absolutely reveled in the breakup, and more specifically, the manner in which it had occurred, still considered Draco a filthy traitor both for having been instrumental in the death of Voldemort and for his defection, shortly thereafter, to Gryffindor House, and would never accept him back into their fold.

Even the teachers were hard-pressed not to let their anger at his treatment of the school's star student show. In fact, some of them did let it show very clearly indeed. Though most of the faculty had simply turned somewhat cool and aloof toward the head boy, Hagrid and Professor McGonagall were downright hostile. Snape alone reserved judgment, studying Draco with puzzled, dark eyes, suspecting that there was more- much more- to the situation than met the eye. Knowing the boy as well as he did, Snape was sure of two things; first, that Draco absolutely had loved Hermione, with a burning love that couldn't just be switched off, and so therefore he most likely loved her still; and second, that he must have reasons, and very compelling ones, for acting in this manner. He did not broach the subject with Draco, however, knowing that if the boy ever wanted to talk about it he would seek him out, and that no amount of effort on his part, short of administering veritaserum, would compel Draco to confide in him unless and until he felt ready to do so.

Snape sincerely hoped that Draco would decide to do so, and soon, for it was clear to him, though to no one else, that the boy was suffering. No one else was able to- or particularly even wanted to – look past his cold, sneering façade- but Snape, who knew and loved Draco as if he were his own son, could see the pain in those ice blue eyes.

So Draco was shunned by one and all, but if the truth were to be known, this fact really barely registered with him, so deeply was he sunk into his own personal hell- for it was not the loss of his popularity that had mired him in this pit of despair, but rather the loss of the only person whose opinion of him he had actually valued, and who now had far more personal and compelling reasons to hate him than did the rest of the school, due to his atrocious treatment of her.

Every time their paths crossed in class, in the halls, or the common room, he drank in the sight of her with the desperate thirst of a man lost in a desert who spies a beautiful, yet unattainable, mirage. Even so, he watched her surreptitiously, only out of the corners of his pale eyes, never letting on, to her or anyone else- never allowing the faintest crack to appear in his icy façade.

To all outward appearances, Draco Malfoy showed no remorse whatsoever for having wronged Hermione Granger so grievously, nor did he show even the faintest interest in her any longer. No one knew, or even guessed, the extent of the agonies he suffered. For he suffered in silence, as was his way.

If he had any small consolation, it was only that Hermione had reacted to his attack just as he had hoped she would; she held her head high and on the rare occasions when their eyes met, hers were just as guardedly cool as his own. The Slytherins soon gave up taunting her about the breakup, because she did not present herself as an easy target. Her calm aloofness and absolute refusal to be baited by them caused them to quickly lose interest.

And his father (if indeed he had been behind Blaise's attack on Hermione, as Draco suspected he had been) would lose interest as well, as soon as word reached him, as Draco was confident it would, about the breakup and the fact that he and Hermione no longer shared any feelings for each other whatsoever save a deep and mutual loathing. Oh yes, his father would hear, all right; there was not a doubt in Draco's mind that at least one of his former housemates was on his father's payroll as an informant; probably Blaise, but if not him, someone else. Some Slytherin or other would be, even now, preparing to make a very interesting report indeed to Lucius Malfoy concerning the abrupt and violent termination of his son's relationship with Hermione Granger.

And Lucius, after his initial disappointment, would have to give up on Hermione and set his mind to finding new ways of tormenting his son.

Draco would endure any pain he had to, just so long as he could sleep at night knowing she was safe- safe from the Slytherins, safe from his father. And now he could. His actions had seen to that.

Or so he thought.

How terribly, terribly wrong he was.

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(A/N: A quick thank you to all my reviewers. Even though I rarely thank people by name, I want all of you to know how very much your reviews mean to me! They really brighten my day; both the ones from my faithful reviewers whose names I can count on to pop up again and again like old friends, and all the recent ones from people who've come out of the woodwork to say, yeah, we've been with you all along; just now letting you know! That's awesome, as one tends to forget that more people actually do read than review. A really nice feeling to be reminded. So- thanks, one and all!

Anyway, as for next chapter- will Draco's protective measures work? Well, I think the last line of this one pretty much answers that question.)