(This chapter has been modified)

Recap:

"Why?" He was undaunted by her negative answer.

"Because as much as I want to love you—" He gave a small, unavoidably gasp. "—I know that I'm not ready."

Chapter 18: The Dark Mark

For the next couple of weeks, they neither saw nor heard from Melantha. Hermione figured—after Ginny assured her that if there was trouble they would have at least heard about it—that it was all well and good; she didn't want to upset Draco. He'd been through enough. His woes were beginning to match Harry's. And that was saying something.

Melantha's birthday was just around the corner so she, Harry, Ron, and Ginny all decided to join Melantha at the Manor. Hermione and the boys had made up, or as much as she allowed them to make up, because she was still quite furious. They'd finally received a letter from Melantha just two days before, requesting their presence.

Draco, not surprisingly, opted to stay at Hogwarts, feigning a heavy workload. Hermione didn't question him. In fact, she was rather relieved to hear he was staying—things between them had taken an awkward turn since their date in Hogsmeade. They hadn't been on one since and neither brought it up.

"I wish I had visited Melantha with you guys," said Ron on the eve before they were leaving for the Manor. Hermione looked over her book and snorted.

"You can't always get what you want, Ronald," she said. Anyone else would have looked upon them and thought she was being playful, but the others knew full well that this was yet another jab to remind them that she still wasn't over what happened. And if they knew Hermione, then it would take much more than bleeding-heart apologies and guilty presents (the book she was reading had been a gift from Ron. Harry had given her a gorgeous silver locket that for now only held her own picture, but would soon hold that of her son, Dante as well).

A sudden and unexpected knock at the portrait turned everyone's head in the common room. Neville, who was closest to the door, crept slowly towards it and pulled it open. He was startled, to say the least.

"H-H-Hermione," he stuttered, pointing at the unseen visitor. "I think it's for you."

"Who is it?" But she already knew. She climbed to her feet, which was becoming less and less of an easy task by day, and walked leisurely towards the entrance. This was not something she'd been looking forward to. "Evening Draco," she said warmly, casting a nasty look at Ron and Harry, then stepped out into the hall to prevent any eavesdroppers from hearing what she was sure would be a private conversation.

"I have to tell you something," he said, his face hidden in the shadows. Hermione rolled her eyes as she pulled out her wand and muttered, "Lumos." But the instant she saw his gaunt, starved-looking appearance, she wished she'd been left in the dark. He had heavy bags under his eyes and his hair, which was always well-groomed, looked as though it had been hacked at with a dull blade.

"Are you feeling alright, Draco?" she asked, genuinely concerned for the wellbeing of the father of her child. She resisted the urge to touch his forehead and feel for a fever.

"Of course not," he spat, which made her jump slightly. It had been quite sometime since she'd heard him use that tone with her. And she hadn't missed it in the least. "Look, there's something I didn't tell you that night in Hogsmeade…" He trailed off, glancing uncomfortably to his right, as if there were something there that held the answer he was looking for.

"What?" she asked firmly. If he wants to play hard, then I can be just as nasty.

"The real reason I refused the Dark Mark."

"Do you suppose she could have feelings for him?" Ron gulped, his eyes darting at the back of the portrait that had just closed.

"Of course," said Ginny immediately, confirming Ron's worst fears. This was obviously not what he'd wanted to hear.

"How the hell—"

"Oh hush up," she sighed, shaking her head. "If you'd come off your high horse for one moment you'd see the big picture. Draco is already a permanent part of her life, he's fathering her child, he's in love with her and she doesn't exactly hate him anymore. He's not the bad guy we once knew, or at least not to Hermione. And if Draco happens to be the person she falls in love with then why is that so wrong?"

"Because he's Draco!" Harry snapped, accidentally knocking his rook off the chessboard. It growled angrily up at him, but was ignored in the heat of their argument.

"Why do you boys insist on holding her back from every good thing that she could have!"

"We do not!" protested Harry.

"Name one thing!" shouted Ron.

"VIKTOR KRUM!"

A hallow and immediate silence fell over the group. His name hadn't been mentioned since the fight in Hogsmeade. Ron and Harry were none too pleased to have to brought up again, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. What could they argue? That Ginny was wrong? That Hermione had not dated Krum on her own accord? Not if they wanted to tell the truth—they both knew Hermione had been right. They'd been selfish in trying to keep her all to themselves. The anger they'd received was nothing more than the repercussions of their shallow self-absorption.

A few minutes later Hermione came back into the common room, her eyes downcast. She walked right past her friends, nearly ran into Seamus ("Uh…Sorry…"), and drifted up the girls' dormitory stairs. Ginny made to follow her, but was yanked back into her seat by Ron.

"She obviously doesn't want to discuss it," he said in a low voice, surprising even himself. Normally he'd have been the one jumping to find out what was going on. "And you know you'll be the first to know."

"Fine," Ginny said hotly, snatching up the book Hermione had been reading. She became bored with it five minutes later however, and took to staring into the flames on the fireplace.

It was early morning, the sun just beginning to warm the air, when Melantha showed up at the castle, her face beaming as she embraced each of them. Draco had come down to greet his aunt, pulling her aside to discuss something that appeared rather urgent to the others. And when it came time to leave, he didn't even glance at Hermione, then disappeared around the corner without a word.

He skirted the corridors back to the Slytherin common room. Hopefully it would still be empty as it had been when he'd left ten minutes before. Unfortunately, however, it was not.

"Haven't seen much of you," came Goyle's thick voice from across the room.

"Open your eyes," Draco spat, making for the stairs. He was cut off by Crabbe's large, meaty arm and had to take a step back so he wasn't right in his face. "Move," he said through his teeth. This was not what he needed right now.

"We've been wondering about you lately, Malfoy," said Crabbe, startling him slightly. Crabbe hardly ever talked, and when he did it was because Draco—and now Goyle—told him to. What exactly had been happening these past few months? He hadn't been paying the House any attention, but he didn't think things had—or could—change that drastically in such a short time. Not that he cared what Crabbe or Goyle or any of the other Slytherins did. But, all the same, he had far too much on his plate to have to deal with them.

"I don't have the time or the patience for this," Draco sneered, shoving Crabbe aside. He was halfway up the stairs, when he was yanked back, his arms braced to his sides by both Crabbe and Goyle. He struggled unceremoniously for several long seconds, until finally he caved and allowed them to drag him to one of the big leather couches by the fire. "How long have you two idiots been planning this?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Goyle demanded, pink flaming in his cheeks for an instant. "We've let your…abnormalities slide for long enough. Our fathers put everything on the line for us, as did your father. And THIS is how you repay him!"

"And just what are you talking about?" Draco asked calmly. He couldn't help himself; he just had to play with them.

"Lord Voldemort!" he hissed, snatching up the front of Draco's robes. Draco tried not to let this affect him, but inside he was steaming—he just ironed these robes! "Our lord," he added, pulling up his sleeve to reveal the skull and serpent.

"Well if you're expecting a song and dance, you're going to be disappointed."

"How dare you refuse the Dark Lord! After all he's been through to help our kind and you—"

"All he's been through!" Draco boomed, jumping so quickly to his feet that Goyle stumbled backwards and nearly toppled over. "He has been through nothing compared to what he will go through if he doesn't keep his Muggle-born hands off my daughter!"

Both Crabbe and Goyle were noticeably taken aback by this. Not his rage, or his tone, or even his stature. But what he'd said.

"Your daughter?" Crabbe's voice was strangely small and soft, his eyes narrowed to tiny specks of black. "But—"

"Yes, my daughter," Draco said confidently, screwing up his face. "And why the bloody hell do you care?"

The two large boys were silent for a long while. And then, slowly, then took a few steps back and surveyed Draco with quiet anger and confusion.

"The information we received was that your filthy mudblood is having a son," Goyle said slowly and between his teeth, his eyes straining not to bulge.

"I suppose your information is wrong then." It took all his self-control to not snigger, even a little, at them.

"You're lying!" Goyle barked, coming forward. "She's having a son! Your son!"

"I—Oh Goyle," he sighed, shaking his head. He was enjoying this too much, but he had to keep his head about him. He had to play cool. "Was it you who told Voldemort that we're having a boy?"

"It…It doesn't matter," he said firmly. "In a few months time we'll all find out." And with that they swept from the room, leaving Draco feeling far less satisfied than he should have been. Because there was still something dark lurking at the back of his mind: How was he going to protect Hermione and Dante?

"I should probably warn you," Melantha said as they approached the front door. It had not gone unnoticed by the four students that she'd been acting off the whole way there. She gripped the door handle, but did not open the door. "Draco's cousin, Desdemona, is here."

Not one mouth was left closed as they stared fixated at her. Hermione had of course filled them all in on everything.

"Well I can't exactly give her over to Voldemort," Melantha said, pushing open the door. "I fried her brain with that spell," she sighed, shaking her head. "Poor girl doesn't even know she's a witch, much less such a powerfully evil one."

"But she was going to give you to Voldemort!" Hermione balked. "How—"

"She's only eighteen!" Melantha all but gasped. "She's so young and easily swayed. I couldn't…I couldn't let him have her, not…" But she didn't need to continue for them to know what she meant. The girl reminded her of herself; she wanted to give her a chance, the chance she'd been given.

They piled into the house and within ten minutes had their bags unloaded and were settled comfortably around the fireplace in the west den, sipping tea and nibbling idly on biscuits.

"Er," Ron said, clearing his throat. Melantha looked up and frowned.

"Desdemona!" she snapped, and hurried over to the petite yellow-eyed girl, her long brown hair now a bushy frame around her face. She'd managed to find her wand again and was entertaining herself with prodding the fire, turning it into an array of colors that shot off harmless sparks.

"Auntie!" the girl cried, scurrying behind the nearest chair, her wand clutched firmly in her hand. No one needed to ask; it was more than clear that not only had she lost her memory, but her normal human functions as well. She was little more than a child, with a knack for trouble.

"Honestly," Melantha muttered, returning to the den after taking Desdemona to her room and giving her a Sleeping Potion. "I think pity is the only thing keeping me from—"

"Mel!" Harry blurted, almost defensively. "She deserves a chance just like you had." All eyes were suddenly on Harry; he was the last person anyone expected to stick up for an ex-Death Eater.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, and by eleven they began to clear out and head for bed, thoughts of tomorrow's birthday feast full on their minds. Ron stood and stretched his arms over his head, then offered his hand to Hermione.

"I need to talk to Melantha," Hermione said, refusing his hand. He slumped and nodded, knowing that there was no sense in arguing. He was lucky that she was willing to be his friend again, so the last thing he would do was pick a fight with her.

"Night then," he said, and turned and left them alone.

It was a good five minutes before Hermione finally spoke.

"Draco confided in me last night," she said, casting her eyes at the nearly smoldered flames; they had drifted into the south den sometime earlier.

"What did he say?" Melantha asked when it became apparent that she would need some coaxing.

"He…He told me the truth…about why he refused the Dark Mark…"

"You mean he lied to you before?"

"No, not really," she sighed, shrugging her shoulders, as if had he lied it wouldn't have mattered much. "He just failed to leave this rather major fact out." There was a cold, cynical laugh under her voice that sent chills through the older woman.

"Why did he refuse it?" Melantha pressed, hiding her anticipation with expertise.

"He…uh…he said he refused because…because…" But her words died on her lips and she burst into tears, seizing her legs up as far as she could.

"Hermione." Melantha came to her side on the floor, wrapping her motherly arms around her shoulders. "What did he say?"

"He refused because his father offered him over to Voldemort!" she cried, her voice hoarse and raspy, her eyes swollen with emotion. "Lucius made a mistake...He angered him and to correct his mistake he…he offered Draco to him! But Voldemort didn't want to sacrifice Draco, he wanted him to join the Death Eaters…"

For a long while the only sounds heard were Hermione's stunted gasps and sobs. She calmed herself down well enough to sit up and pull away from Melantha, clearly needing her space.

"And what did you say to him?"

At this Hermione threatened to erupt into tears again, but Melantha was prepared for that and pressed two fingers to her lips.

"Please, you must tell me," she said, pain in her eyes. The thought of knowing she could have lost Draco for good without ever knowing him, without him knowing the truth, was more than she could comprehend. What she needed right now was to know what happened next, to focus on something other than her heartache.

"He said the only reason he told me was…because he thought…the only thing keeping me from…loving him and…being with him was…was trust. He said if he told me then I would…know him completely, that there would be no secrets…"

"Hermione. What did you say to Draco?"

"I told him…I told him—" But at that instant her heart leapt, as did she, her back colliding with the nearest wall.

"She told me that secrets didn't matter to her, that I could have a thousand secrets for all she cared," came Draco's angry—but far more hurt—voice from the fireplace where his head had just appeared. "Nothing I could ever do will be good enough for her, mother," he sneered. "Maybe I made a big mistake. Maybe I should have accepted the Dark Mark and become Voldemort's puppet. Maybe—"

"Draco, don't!" Hermione cried, reaching for his intangible head. "Please, just—"

But as quickly as he's appeared, he vanished, leaving the room cold and empty despite the fire and Melantha at her side.

"He didn't give me time to explain last night!" The tears were coming so big and fast now that she couldn't see a thing. "I told him his secrets didn't matter, but I didn't mean what he thought! He got so angry that he stormed off!"

"What did you mean then?" It was hard to keep her voice steady with the rush of emotions.

"I don't care what made him refuse Voldemort! All that matters is that he did! And I don't care if he has secrets and skeletons in his closet because…because…" She took a deep, shaky breath. "Because I think I love him…"

AHHHHHH! FINALLY she sees what we all saw! Sheesh Hermione! And here everyone thought she was a genius :P Hope the wait wasn't too hard on you. But I have good news—I have a two week or so break from work so I'll have plenty of time to update. Weee!

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