Author's Note: I've been ordered to continue with the chapter winks at Hustler

Previously on Shadows of Light:

It was too late to turn back. The Mudblood would go to Lord Voldemort and meet her fate just as Potter would foolishly jump in to rescue her and Lucius Malfoy's unfair imprisonment would be rectified. Ever since his father had been taken to Azkaban, which were the sole faults of those meddlesome Gryffindors, Draco had dreamed of being the one to rescue him, or at least make up for it. He wanted his father to be proud of him.

Draco pulled open the chest door with a slight squeak, grabbed a quill, piece of parchment, and bottle of black ink, and then closed it with a sharp snap.

"Dear Madame Pomfrey," he narrated quietly as he wrote. The quill scratched the parchment in a loopy cursive that did not belong to Draco's hand. A half an hour later, he signed "Narcissa Malfoy," elegantly at the bottom. He read over the letter, making sure there were no mistakes.

Dear Madame Pomfrey,

My son has recently suffered an injury involving a Quidditch match where he received an aneurysm from a bludger. I was shocked and dismayed that there was nothing in the school to remedy the unfortunate situation, so I decided it was upon me to heal my son. I have made some contacts with a few highly-ranked wizards and managed to grasp the very elixir that could restore Draco's arm to perfect working condition. He has been sent the Escensio and is now able to go about with his schoolwork, I thank you for your efforts on my son, but a mother's touch is always best.

Yours, Narcissa Malfoy

Draco tied the letter to his owl's leg with strict instructions to send it directly to Madame Pomfrey sitting at the teachers table and not to visit him at all when delivering the letter. The owl hooted in obedient understanding; then took off back to his perch to wait mail time.

Hermione Granger sat across the hall from him, her face uncharacteristically impassive. Draco fought the impulsive urge to run across the tables and prying students and rip the band off her wrist just so he could see her eyes looking at him with recognition, even if such acknowledgment was the look of loathing she always reserved especially for him.

It was in this instant, that he realized the Great Hall had silenced and all eyes were on him as if reading his thoughts.

"WHAT?!?" the weasel shouted throwing his paper into the marmalade. The hall turned its head in unison to glare at the offending redhead. Ron seemed not to notice the attention he was drawing. "I can't believe it!"

"You had something to do with this, Malfoy! I know you did!" All eyes were once again on Draco. The Weasel was positively fuming at him from across the hall. Draco just stared back, not knowing what he was yelling about. This lack of response seemed only to fuel Weasley's anger, however, and he dramatically marched out of the Great Hall, slamming the oak doors and leaving stunned onlookers in his wake. Potter trailed pathetically after him.

Hermione was as quiet as ever. Not saying a word, not making a sound, oblivious to the events that had just taken place around her. In front of her on the polished wood table lay Ron's copy of this morning's paper. In large bold letters, its headline read,

Lucius Malfoy released from Azkaban on orders from Minister of Magic.

Beta Reader's Note: Don't be mad at lovely author- It's my fault this chappie is so late! I suck major ballz... but it's okay cuz they belong to Daniel Radcliffe. sigh now read on, and you had better review or else we will take even !longer! to update. Meat Puppets!

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: If I said I owned this, would you believe me? If so, then Joanne Kathleen Rowling is just a 16 year old girl who likes Eminem and writes fanfictions based on my work. Idiot.

Summary: Draco Malfoy had always hated that Harry Potter and his two best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and the hatred had magnified since they had landed his once highly-esteemed father in the wizard prison Azkaban. That was why nobody would put it past him to feign injury in order to torture Hermione Granger into doing his work for him in the name of vengeance on Potter. But what happens when an emotion much stronger than revenge begins to take hold? Could it be that fate has other plans?

Shadows of Light

Chapter 12

But my dreams,

They aren't as empty,

As my conscience seems to be.

I have hours, only lonely.

My love is vengeance!

That's never free.

No one knows what it's like,

To feel these feelings,

Like I do,

And I blame you!

No one bites back as hard,

On their anger.

None of my pain and woe,

Can show through…

--The Who "Behind Blue Eyes"

The entrance hole to the Slytherin common room had no sooner closed behind Draco, who threw himself onto a hard, leather sofa by the fire, than it was opening once more to admit an ill-tempered Professor Snape.

"Professor," Draco said, trying to contain his surprise as he sat up upon the arrival of his Head of House. Snape looked quite menacing standing in the open threshold that connected the Slytherin quarters to the rest of the school. "What are you doing…?"

"Spare the courtesies Mr. Malfoy you know why I'm here," Snape spat unpleasantly, stepping into the room completely.

Draco looked down at The Daily Prophet which had become extremely crumpled in his pale, clenched fist. "This?" He brandished the creased paper in Snape's face; it was more of a statement than a question.

Snape grabbed the tattered newspaper swiftly, his face set in a grim line of determination. He said nothing as he plunged his hand into the folds of his black robes, pulling out a crisp-looking letter in stark parchment addressed to Draco. He put out his hand expectant of whatever his Head of House was delivering. Snape, however, did not directly hand the envelope over to his student. He waited with the air of one who had considered the situation thoroughly and was deciding against his better judgment to deliver the message.

"I received this last night from Lucius," firelight flickered perilously on the surface of the parchment, "he entrusted me to give it to you," Snape replied tersely.

"Thank you Professor, I'll take that now," Draco replied in as strong a voice as he could muster. Malfoy's never showed emotion, and he did not show any anxiety as he reached his hand out further to claim his mail.

Still, Snape held it out of Draco's grasp. "I do hope that Lucius's release will put a stop to… certain things."

Snape's sharp gaze gave Draco the horrible feeling that his highly-esteemed professor knew exactly what was going on and his stomach lurched. Draco was suddenly given the unnerving impression that Snape was seeing into his mind and sifting through his thoughts as though Draco's innermost, secret ambitions were in front of him, displayed as plainly as the bold black letters of the headline on The Prophet…

"Ah, you're here, sit down." Lucius Malfoy sat in a high-backed, black chair behind an impressive desk. Only a single silver box, locked with a clasp that resembled a snake twisting itself into a knot, marred the perfection of the immaculate wooden surface. A window to Draco's left revealed the darkening winter sky outside of Malfoy Manor, and Draco watched as the snow fell down in painful droves upon the grounds before turning his attention to his waiting father.

Draco sent his father a guarded look as he took the lavish chair opposite the desk. "Was there something you needed father?" he asked quietly.

"I need an assurance from you, Draco." Lucius looked lazily but piercingly into his son's wary gray eyes, the slightest trace of a smirk on his pale face.

"What do you ask of me?" Draco's voice was hardly audible, but Lucius caught his every trembling word; his lips curled.

"It has come to me to tell you this: the Dark Lord has, indeed, risen."

Something unnervingly like panic quavered in Draco's stomach. It was so much easier to believe that Potter was a dirty, stinking liar starved for attention than it was to believe that Lord Voldemort, the creature who could send his own fearless father to his knees, was returned to full strength. But Harry Potter, Draco had to begrudgingly admit to himself, though a blind, dim-witted twit when it came to choosing his company was anything but a liar. Draco was aware that Lord Voldemort had returned long before Lucius Malfoy confirmed the fact, but had been trying to ignore the truth that he knew would change his fate forever. Before Draco was given the opportunity to respond, Lucius was speaking once more.

"You realize, naturally, that no one can realize that you are aware of the return of Lord Voldemort, you are to act to the contrary. You must deny all knowledge you may possess of the subject and must act in accordance to guidelines soon to be in place for you and your fellow students. Your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor will be starting up an Inquisitorial Squad at Hogwarts this semester. This is a group of students who are very… supportive of the Ministry of Magic and it would be quite prudent of you to join."

"Yes, father," Draco muttered habitually. Believing the conference to be over, he shifted as if to rise from his seat.

"There is one more thing." Draco grew still; he was becoming restless, however he looked unwaveringly into the cold eyes of his father with practiced, insincere interest.

"You know that I am in service of the dark lord, son. I want it understood that should something happen to me…" he took a moment to sneer in a manner that suggested that the idea of anything bad happening to Lucius Malfoy was laughable before continuing, "The Dark Lord wants you to finish my work."

Draco had no idea what his father had meant, Lucius was making less and less sense. What could Draco possibly do? He wasn't a Death Eater. Draco did not dare express his confusion, with his words nor with his gray unaffected gaze, when his father continued.

"I have just been assigned to a task in which I know you will be interested in. I am to bring Potter and his Mudblood friend to Lord Voldemort. Needless to say, I will succeed marvelously. Still, my lord wishes me to give this to you as a precaution. He knows more than I will ever dare question, and I need not ask you to show the same reverence to your own superiors."

Lucius pushed the silver box towards his son. "Inside this box contains the Bands of Bovioria. The dark lord wants Harry Potter to approach their final duel of his own freewill. Therefore, using it on the Mudblood as bait will fit his wishes nicely."

Draco nodded to his father with a slight smirk, and took the silver box. Lucius picked up a quill and removed a roll of parchment from behind his desk. Without looking up he dismissed Draco. "Go to your room and get ready for supper, I want you to have a good meal before you go back to school tomorrow."

Draco had nearly reached the door of the office when he heard his father's voice for what would be the last time in a long time.

"Oh, and I would put that on my wrist now, Draco, just in case…"

Before Draco could stir from his reverie, Snape thrust the letter gruffly into his still outstretched arms and left the common room in a quiet rage. Had he seen...?

It was true; Lucius Malfoy had given Draco the Bands of Bovioria that day. Draco had attached it to his wrist that night, said the incantation, taken the Drought of Ditoritius and proclaimed himself master of the bands. He had slipped the Elixir of Escensio that would cure the aneurysm he was to create for himself and the second Drought of Ditoritius into his trunk the following morning, before boarding the Hogwarts Express back to Hogwarts to finish out the remainder of his 5th year term.

He had not been aware of his Head of Houses departure until he felt the hard parchment of the letter poking into the arm of his robes. He looked down at the letter in his grasp. Draco's own name stared back at him inscribed in his father's strict print. It made sense that Lucius had sent the letter to Snape instead of directly to his son. It would be more likely than not that a letter from Lucius Malfoy to his son would be intercepted by the Ministry. Although, clearly Lucius had more ties at the Ministry than Draco had ever thought possible, if Cornelius Fudge had been the one to release him. At least by sending the letter to Snape, he knew that it would safely get to his son unread by prying eyes.

Draco tore open the envelope and unfolded the parchment inside. The message was clipped and concise:

Draco,

By the time this will have reached you, I will be out of Azkaban. Cornelius has just had his rounds of the prisoners and I think I have convinced him that I am guiltless and should be released immediately. The dementors whisper of revolt, it will not be long before they join their rightful master. Your mother has informed me that you have taken the proceedings of my own plan into action. I will be at Hogs Head in Hogsmeade this coming Saturday, if I'm not mistaken; you have a Hogsmeade trip scheduled for that day? I want you to be there at seven o'clock sharp to further discuss the plan. Do not disappoint me son.

Lucius

This had been Lucius's task originally, regardless of how Draco had grown somewhat attached to the power he had over Granger. It would be Lucius who completed the final stages of the task, or at least he who took the credit for it. It was true, Lucius had failed once when delivering Potter to the dark lord, but would he fail again? Draco knew his father and such ambition could not be thwarted twice. Lucius Malfoy would not fail to take prisoner Hermione Granger, or Potter for that matter. Draco hurled the letter into the fire and watched the morose flames lick it to ashes.

Draco thought vaguely of the short, clipped words smoldering in the hearth. There had been no words of pride at Draco's success in controlling Hermione, no happiness in being able to contact his only son after spending six consecutive months in prison. No warmth was to be expected from Lucius Malfoy, not even to his son. Draco's anger flared, how could he have ever expected anything but cruel indifference from his father? He was a fool! A damned fool!

And Hermione… he let her slip away because of this. Was it really worth it? This nagging pain in the pit of his stomach… this sad… lonely feeling… was all of this worth making his father happy?

A frown marred the pleasant features of Draco Malfoy's face. "OH Draco!" Pansy Parkinson had just entered the common room and, upon seeing him, sauntered over, hiking up her grey skirt slightly to expose more of her pudgy thighs. "I simply knew your father was innocent. I can't believe that horrible Dumbledore was- Where are you going?" But, Draco was already descending the cold, stone stairs to the boy's dormitory, leaving a confused Pansy Parkinson in his frosty wake.

The proceeding week seemed to pass in a blurry haze of pumpkins and pastries. Draco seemed to neither notice nor care that Halloween had slipped by him this year as all of his thought was bent on the single outcome of this pending meeting with his father.

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Draco being too wrapped up in his own dismal thoughts, did not notice the prolonged absence of Hermione or the worried and enraged expressions Potter and Weasley were throwing him. He did not acknowledge how Pansy Parkinson had avoided him all week in resentment. He realized the thriving world around him only when he stepped onto the wintry grounds of Hogwarts and was hit full in the face with a stinging, icy wind.

Hogsmeade filled instantly with students from Hogwarts; some running into the Three Broomsticks for a familiar butter beer, others dashing into their favorite shops. Crabbe and Goyle moved surprisingly swiftly, for their stature, into Honeydukes without a backward glance. Draco slunk away from the cheerful chattering students to the outskirts of the small town, where his favorite place lay. The Shrieking Shack no longer held its luster for the other students, with heads too full of the fast-approaching holidays, but Draco made a point to go up that hill to that lonely shack and look upon it. Some days he wondered why it was still feared by the students and townsfolk when it had long ago quieted. Other times, he reflected upon his own lonely life. It was a place where he could think undisturbed.

Draco looked around at his surroundings. The wood was moldy and cracked with age and moisture. The smell of mildew overpowered his nostrils as he stepped under the overhanging roof of the front doorway. Through the boarded window, a sliver of light escaped into the dilapidated hut's hollow entryway and Draco could just make out a dusty staircase leading up into foreboding darkness. Draco wondered what his father would have to say about his son choosing to spend his free time hanging around a decrepit place like this. It was probably even worse than Azkaban, and Lucius would undoubtedly wretch at the idea of Draco actually being there on his own free will. But what's another disappointment? It seemed nothing he did could ever spark the least bit of pride or gratitude from his father... but perhaps...

Perhaps, Lucius Malfoy was proud of his son and he just didn't show it in the letter. Perhaps when he met his father later that day, he would be awarded with praise and kinder words. Perhaps Draco was being silly for wishing for something his father could never give. One thing was certain, Draco would never know until he faced his father and saw for himself.

All too quickly, it was half past six in the evening and Draco was trudging down the slope that led back to the city. He walked past bustling students who were hurrying to finish their shopping and ducked out of the line of vision of his dimwitted cronies who were stuffing their faces with cauldron cakes and custard creams as they shoved their way through the crowd. The last thing Draco needed at this moment was those two trailing him when he had such important business to attend to. He could always just tell them to go away, but he really just did not want to be bothered.

The wind was picking up and when he arrived at his destination, the sign was swinging overhead with a rather grotesque image of the severed head of a boar. Draco opened the door and before he could have much of a look around, the bartender, a dingy sort of man, hurried over to Draco in the doorway. "Are you Mr. Malfoy?" he inquired.

"That depends," Draco replied looking skeptically at the dirty man.

"He said you'd say that, follow me." And before Draco could protest, he was being led across the grimy floor and into the darkest corner of the pub. It wasn't until Draco was right at the table, that he saw another figure sitting there. A feeling of dread was settling itself in his stomach as if he had done something horribly wrong and was about to be reprimanded for his actions.

He nodded politely to the filthy bartender and took the seat opposite the cloaked figure. For a moment, they sat in silence. Draco could feel anger and fear wrestling each other in the pit of his stomach. The cloaked man leaned in towards Draco removing the hood that obscured his pale face. Draco felt the lump swell in his throat, but he suppressed it, and with an expression as guarded as stone, he regarded the man who was his father.

Lucius's once handsome features were now thin. His skin seemed stretch over his high cheekbones. Large black bags had accumulated under his eyes, which no longer held the gleam of supremacy they once bestowed.

The silence was deafening. "Hello, father," Draco muttered in as strong a voice as he could muster.

"Who are you?" For a moment Draco simply stared at the contemptible excuse of a father in astonishment, not fully understanding the question, "for my son would never address me in such a quivering voice."

For a moment, words seemed to fail the young Slytherin. He opened his mouth to defend his pride against this man who dare refer to Draco as anything less than perfectly capable and strong. Draco was the one who sat there in full form after successfully completing all tasks assigned. Draco's features glowed handsomely in the flickering light of the flaming lamps that scarcely adorned the walls of the pub, and this man was nothing in comparison. His skin was sallow and he looked malnourished. His posture was not exactly admirable, and his hair, once smooth and combed to perfection, was now broken and fell unkemptly around his stubbly face. Only his voice held the same luster of superiority, and even that sounded hoarse and scratchy from lack of use. Draco could not find the words to defend himself; he could only gape in shock and building rage. Sitting before Draco was the man for whom he'd sacrificed the only thing he loved. Before him, he could see his future. Dark, sallow circles shadowed this man's lifeless, but no less malevolent eyes as he indulged in the only pleasure of his pathetic life; making the life of his son a miserable one. If Draco continued down the path of Darkness that had been laid out for him, this was where he was headed. Looking again into the cold, seething eyes of his father, he decided that now was the time for him to find a different path, his own path.

"Well?" Lucius snapped sounding more the part of the arrogant aristocrat than he looked.

Draco cleared his throat and looked unflinchingly into the cold, steely eyes of his father. "The filthy air in this deplorable hut was suffocating me when I greeted you, father."

Lucius stared at his son for a moment longer as if contemplating the validity of his statement. "That's much better. Now my son, tell me, what have you done in accordance to the plan I was assigned?"

The plan he was assigned? But it was Draco who had then been instructed to carry it out. Draco was right, he would never get any of the credit for his work. Draco did not hasten to reply but instead studied the man before him. How was it that Draco Malfoy, highly prestigious, well-respected Draco Malfoy, had suffered so long at the hands of such a loathsome person? Lucius Malfoy was no longer the immaculate lord that commanded respect from those around him, but the very cowardly, dilapidated person who still had the audacity to sneer at his only son.

Draco's eyes began to sting, as if the sight of Lucius in less than his grandest splendor hurt them, and he realized he had to look away. He rested his gaze instead on the dusty window that overlooked the small town. Snow had started falling and was circling mystically outside the smoke-stained window pane. For a moment Draco watched the swirling snow in distraction. He was just about to tear his eyes from the flurry of snow when providence cast a shadow upon the reunion of father and son. Hermione Granger was standing outside the window looking in at Draco with an almost sad expression on her blank, vacant face.

Her eyes seemed to plead with him as he stared into her face through the streaked window. He didn't want to blink in case she disappeared when his eyes reopened. The snow landed on her bushy hair and long black eyelashes. Her soft brown eyes looked at him with an almost urgent intensity… almost. Her face still held a disturbing vacancy that Draco couldn't seem to shake out of his conscience.

"Ah, she knows her master. I trust the Bands of Bovioria have been administered…" Lucius had followed his son's rapt gaze to Hermione standing outside the window then turned to face Draco once more. Not long after, a hand appeared on Hermione's shoulder and she vanished from Draco's sight followed by a swish of billowing black robes and a flash of red hair against the soft white snow. Draco continued to gaze longingly at the spot upon which she had stood.

"What's this I see?" Lucius drawled in a dangerously quiet voice. "Is my only son in love with a Mudblood?"

Draco snapped back to attention mentally kicking himself for lowering his guard. "What do you mean father? Malfoy's are incapable of love," he replied suavely.

"Are you lying to me?" Draco didn't want to think about the answer to that question.

"No, father."

"Yes you are," he hissed. Suddenly, Lucius seemed every bit as intimidating and powerful as he was before. Draco could feel resentment begin to rise once more with a vehement intensity.

"No I'm not! I'm not in love with Hermione!" Perhaps if he denied it fervently enough, it wouldn't be true.

"Ah, Hermione now, is it?" Lucius peered threateningly at Draco lowering his voice to a threatening whisper, speaking slowly so that Draco caught his every menacing word. "No son of mine is going to love a Mudblood, I will make sure of it, do you understand me?"

Draco could feel an anger such as never he had felt before simmering underneath his cool demeanor. "Don't you lecture me about love, father, when you never loved me like a father should!"

"Love is for the weak."

"Then I am weak!" Draco's voice had risen and several people were looking at him in curiosity.

"Lower your voice!" Lucius snarled, making to grab his son's arm.

"No! All I have ever been to you is a link in the perfection of the Malfoy Pureblood legacy, a pawn that would help you capture and torture Mudbloods for your own sick pleasure. I have never defied you, and have done always what you asked, and have gotten nothing in return. I have done everything to make you proud of me, but you have never shown me such pride. I have sacrificed what little happiness I could have had to carry out your plan! And what for? So you can take the credit and I can be left to wish I never had a father? I'm not your minion, I'm your son."

"Be silent!" Lucius was standing too; his face was very pink.

Draco felt a tremor of fear rip through him, but quickly stifled it. When he spoke, it was in a much calmer, but no less strong voice, "I see now, that I made a terrible mistake."

Before Lucius could speak another word, Draco said nothing more but turned and left the Hog's Head passing by the carriages which would take him back up to school. Instead he moved quickly on foot and he was holding back the tears which once again burned his eyes, threatening to fall, as he made his way to the wrought iron gates of Hogwarts in the dark, snow-laden night.

By the time Draco had reached the grounds, he was bathed in luminescent moonlight and it was well after hours. Had Draco been less preoccupied with his rebellious thoughts, he might have noticed that he was not alone on the eerily lit lawns. The crunch of footsteps on the snow alerted him to another presence. Instinctively, Draco stepped back into the welcoming shadows of the Forbidden Forrest concealing himself from view.

The lighting was just enough for Draco to decipher two shadowy outlines on the edge of the lake. One figure seemed to be guiding the other much smaller figure into the ghastly light of the full moon. The falling snow made it impossible for Draco to recognize the two figures on the lawn, but not even the twirling snow around him could hide the fact that the larger person was forcing the smaller person to drink something in a moonlit clearing near the lake.

A chill shot down Draco's spine as he was reminded forcibly of the time he had led Hermione Granger, kicking and screaming, into the full moon and made her drink the Draught of Ditoritius forcing her into unwilling, mindless servitude. The moonlight illuminated the bright blue contents of the vial which was behind tipped upward and down the small person's throat. They, however, did not seem to protest. His heart began to pound in his chest; perhaps it was someone else attempting follow Draco's dreadful example!

Before he could stop himself, he was sprinting across the resplendent frost-covered lawns. He had to stop whatever evil was about to take place. Lucius would likely have already arranged plans to overcome his son's decision not to participate in the evil doings of Lord Voldemort, and sending in another, more obedient, Slytherin to do his dirty work would not be hard. He could not sit idly by and watch the plan further unfold even after his abandonment of it. Lucius had to be stopped. It all had to be stopped, and it was up to him to stop it.

The outlines of the two became clearer as Draco neared. The taller seemed to have noticed Draco's fast approaching. The person swiveled on their heel and stalked towards the castle. Draco saw the other, which looked more like a female; begin to sway on unsteady feet. His pace quickened.

A stitch was smarting in his side, but his feet kept moving, one in front of the other, in rapid succession. It was definitely a girl and she was definitely about to fall. Her hand held her head as if she had a splitting headache and her slender form seemed to be shaking, trying to draw in as much breath as it could. The girl was leaning dangerously close to the lake, her mind seeming not to register the icy peril that eagerly waited to welcome her.

With a jolt, Draco recognized the mysterious swaying girl. There was no mistaking that bushy hair or that frail stature! Draco arrived just in time to push Hermione unceremoniously to the frost-bitten ground, collapsing over top of her.

Hermione screamed. Draco's ears welcomed the unfamiliar sound. "Malfoy!" Hermione pushed against his firm torso squirming underneath the weight of his body. It was then that Draco noticed the compromising position he had placed her in. Her conservative black robes were splayed open revealing the scarlet sweater she was wearing underneath and the plaid skirt that dropped just above her knees was hitched up around her thighs revealing light pink knickers. Draco's knee had stopped between her legs forcing them open and his hands came down on either side of her shoulders. A sudden, almost painful urge engulfed him.

He wanted to kiss her softly and hold her close to him. He wanted to explain to her that he was somehow changed from the Malfoy who had done this to her. He wanted to apologize for everything that Malfoy had done to hurt her. He wanted to make it up to her. But most of all, he wanted to love her with the heart his Malfoy heritage had deprived him of.

Hermione's heart hammered against her ribs. She did not realize that she had stopped struggling or that she was pinned to an ice-laden lawn in the dead of winter. Her mind was racing, registering only one thing. "Draco!" Time seemed to have stopped as they stared in each other's eyes. Hermione realized with a thrill that there was much more in Draco's eyes, sadness, regret, and something she couldn't quite place. Their robes were drenched and the icy wind beat at their faces.

Slowly and respectfully, Draco lifted himself out of her proximity and began to wipe the snow and dirt off of his robes. He held his hand to help her up and Hermione took it closing her robes against the bitter breeze. She shivered and took in her surroundings. This night was different. She was not tired from running, but numb from lack of it. The grounds were not crisp and clear but white and mystic. "Oh my god." She sat down in the powdery snow, forgetting the biting cold.

Draco felt a strange happiness overcome him. He wanted to touch her, to comfort her, to explain to her what had happened. "Hermione… I…I want you to understand that I…" Draco grabbed her arm to help her up.

"Don't touch me, Malfoy!" Hermione screamed suddenly jerking her arm out of Draco's grasp and scrambling to her feet.

"Hermione, please!"

"I suppose my task is complete!" she shrieked.

"That's not…"

"I'm surprised you didn't just kill me when you were finished with me, but I guess that would just be too messy, wouldn't it? Lord Voldemort wouldn't want his secret Death Eaters to be discovered now, would he?"

"I'm not a Death Eater, Hermione, hear me out—"

"I understand now." She spoke softly, in a slow, sad voice. "I was nothing to you, nothing but a pawn."

Draco shook his head, unnerved at the sound of his own words coming out of her mouth. He reached out to her in a futile attempt to make her understand.

"Get away from me!" Hermione spat furiously, hot tears streaming down her red cheeks. I knew it; all along I knew there was nothing between us. You know, I tried so hard not to fall in love with you, because I knew that you could never love me!"

"Hermione, please…"

"No! I won't be a part of this! Just leave me alone, Malfoy!"

Before Draco could respond, she was sprinting up the lawns her robes swishing along behind her.

"I wish you knew," he whispered, how much I care about you." Resigned to the bitter cold, he slowly trudged up after her wishing she would give him a chance to explain.

Author's Note: Okay, I know that took forever and a day to post, but I did it. I was getting my revenge on those of you who didn't review wink wink