How dare she…. There she danced, with Draco, and he had to look on… he had to do nothing…. Stand by, and let her laugh in his face.

He was angry, angry because he actually felt something for her… had always felt something for her.

His feelings for Hermione had began somewhere at the end of fifth year. She'd known Voldemort's plan, she'd told him and he'd brushed her off. When it was painfully clear she had been right, however, he'd felt something twist inside him. Something filled with admiration, respect and bitter regret that he hadn't listened to her.

He'd thought about her a lot that summer. What began as admiration for her brains, soon advanced into something more. He'd thought a lot about her ideas, her temper and her many facts that she had. He'd thought a lot about the power she actually had and, if she had the determination to use it, how brilliant she could actually be. He started to dwell on it quite a bit, and her image was welcome in his mind. He started to think about her smile, her laugh, her shouting, her uninteresting but endearing babble about House Elves…

Her letters, frequent and long, had been the only things that had kept him going. For the first year ever, he'd actually always wrote back but could never really find the words to express what he wanted to say. He'd wanted to say how he was sorry he'd dragged her to the Ministry. He was sorry he hadn't listened to her. He was sorry he had shouted at her. He was sorry that she had gotten injured and he knew, he knew, it was all his fault. But he had never said that in any of his letters. He'd known that he was too weak.

A lot of things happened over that summer. Uncle Vernon had bet him and, no matter how hard he'd tried to fight back, Harry couldn't do anything. Maybe this was the start of the darkness' victory inside him. It was definitely a memory imprinted in his mind, him bloody, bruised, and so hurt inside and out, looking up at his uncle from the ground, looking up with eyes full of anger and disgust and pure, pure hate. Eyes that had flashed red for just one brief second…No longer his Mother's eyes, but Voldemort's…

Then he'd ran from the house. It was only three days before Hogwarts. He'd ran for a long time, then power walked around the streets. He had no where to go. He couldn't use magic, because then Dumbledore would find him or he'd be expelled. He couldn't do anything, he had nothing to do. He'd never felt so lonely or angry in his life.

He'd had to go back to the Dursleys' house, of course. He'd stood outside for a long time in the lashing rain, glaring at the house, hating it. But he wasn't strong; he didn't have the power he craved, so he had to return.

It was strange, how much he changed over that summer, perhaps he'd changed the most as he'd stepped over that threshold and into his Uncle's fury. He learned then that he was weak, that he couldn't fight back, that he had to return, and that he just couldn't do it anymore.

Finally he'd been allowed to return to Hogwarts. Finally. He saw Ron first thing at the train station and they both advanced to the station, Harry oddly excited at the prospect of seeing Hermione.

And then he'd seen her. Looking so pretty. Her hair completely different, her skin clear, smiling not scowling, and walking differently, confidently, happily. To him, she seemed like she was glowing. He remembered her being pretty but not to this extreme. It shouldn't have mattered to him, after all he'd been through, but it did, it did very much.

And then the Death Eaters had gotten him… and he hadn't cared. He'd welcomed seeing Voldemort once again. He'd wanted to see that face of the person who took Sirius away from him. He'd welcomed the finality of it all. The only thing that he had regretted was not having told Hermione how he'd felt… he'd hoped, someday, he'd see her face one more time…that had been all he cared about now, goodbye Ron…

She turned to face Draco, having just returned to the mansion. He was standing still, back to her. She stared at his back, confusion etching inside her. Just what had happened tonight? How had she reacted to both Harry and, in a slightly gentler way, Draco?

Was she absolutely losing her mind?

She was too tired to think about it tonight, anyway. With a small shrug to herself, she stepped away from him and muttered, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replied.

As she walked up the stairs to her prison, she could feel his eyes upon her and only felt safe, once she had turned the corner.

Blaise Zabini was not in his best mood. His face had broken out and, although he thought he still looked rather well, he was not looking his best.

It's all this bloody stress, he thought, frustrated. What was Draco thinking becoming a Dark lord? And with Potter? What exactly was going on? And why Draco had felt the need to elect him the person in charge of Hogwarts was beyond him?

Blaise was not a boy that endured responsibility! If anything, he avoided it like the plague. It was not as if he was to become Head Boy or prefect, and especially not Headmaster of the bloody place.

Man, Blaise hated Hogwarts. All he wanted was to get out of this place and now he was stuck here until his new, dear Dark Lord decided otherwise.

The only reason Blaise had bothered stick around was to get better at flying. He had been the Keeper in Slytherin's team and not a bad one. All he wanted to do was improve. And yes, classes were bearable. Potions was amusing, if to serve no other purpose then to observe which Gryffindor could pull the biggest red face and entertaining expression.

The place was simply crawling with Gryffindors. Not that Blaise minded. They more amused him, rather then disgusted him. Ad for blood, it mattered not for him, except for having something to gloat over the less fortunate and, of course, to ensure his parent's inheritance.

Gryffindors. Such strange species. They were interesting to observe, they had very strange behavioural patterns, so unlike the cool, calm attitude of Slytherin.

Right now, he was in the kitchen. Gryffindors and the other houses, excluding Slytherin, couldn't run around the castle, of course. They were limited to the kitchen, their own tower and a couple of hallways. Draco and Potter seemingly hadn't decided what to do with Hogwarts, just yet.

Blaise scowled, but otherwise was in an okay mood. The food he was eating was not bad and the looks some of his former classmates were throwing him were quite encouraging.

An orange head among the crowd caught his attention and he saw the youngest Weasley. Not a pretty thing, at all. Lots of orange hair, freckles and very scrawny, no meat on her like that pretty, fit Cho Chang or that toned, tanned Fleur girl.

Just now, she walked towards him. Smiled at him and said, "Hello, Zabini." Passed him. No scowl, no threat of death, no disgust etched on her face. How interesting – Weasley would have to be observed closer. She obviously had some ulterior motive in mind and he wished to be prepared for it, when she attacked.

He might as well watch her anyway. He had nothing better to do. He was so bloody bored! When he saw Draco, he was going to kill him!

Hermione woke in the morning, to find her makeup and former ball clothes still on. She must have crashed into her bed and not noticed or cared. Her eyes ran over the room and, with a terribly tired sigh, she heaved herself out of the bed.

Her eyes were on the scrap of paper Harry had given her last night. She sighed as she remembered the words, the words that would be imprinted upon her mind for a long time.

It read:

You've been a bad girl, Hermione, and bad girls have to be punished.

She supposed he was referring to her dance with Draco, she didn't really know. She didn't understand him anymore. She dropped the paper to the ground where it fell, without a sound. For a minute she was completely still, standing in the centre of the room, wondering what did she do now, where did she go from here? She felt so lost and small.

Then she snapped out of it. She sat down in front of the mirror and slowly wiped the makeup from her face, with the facilities provided. She looked into her own eyes and found something there. Looking into her own face, she remembered who she was and she found strength in that.

She was Hermione Granger. She'd been through worse than this and she would cope. She had to, she had no other choice.

Ignoring the two tears that had rolled down her face, she went to her wardrobe to pick out a new outfit to wear, a new outfit for a new day.

Draco Malfoy was pacing in his study. He should have been more preoccupied by his new position as Dark lord, but instead, he was analysing Hermione Granger and her relationship with him and with Harry Potter.

They had gotten close. There was something between them. And he would not leave it happen. Because he didn't like the way it made him feel. Something inside him had dulled and he hadn't liked the fluttering.

Potter – Harry, Harry, he amended – could have anything he wanted now, but not Hermione.

But Draco Malfoy wasn't quite sure he wanted her, either, though.

"Love is a funny thing, isn't it, Ron? I mean, I'm only sixteen, I shouldn't really know that much about love. But I know too much about love or, actually, lack of love. The lack of love that I've had my whole life. It's not fair, Ron, and I won't, I can't, except it anymore."

He stepped forward out of the shadows.

"Do you understand?"

It seemed important to Harry. It was strange to Ron because it was the first time Harry had ever really spoken to him, ever referred to him as if he was a human being and not just another insignificant shadow in the room. Harry had hurt him, he'd laughed at him, he'd spat in his face, but he'd never spoken him, not until now.

And now Harry was in his face, with green eyes beseeching Ron's, glinting with barely suppressed emotion, emotion that had always been there but now quite so uncontrolled.

"You don't understand. I get that. I mean, you've had the Weasleys, haven't you? Your family. The two protective older brothers, the one odd ball, the two comedians, and the darling, little sister, and of course, the doting mother and gentle, bemused father. You've never known, what it has been like, to be so… unwanted. And not just by the Dursleys, Ron, but of my whole Muggle life. They bet me up, they all hated me. I was so unwanted, all my life, and I was a kid. I tried to press it all down but it bloody well bugged me. I could never understand why they didn't like me."

"I understand, Harry," Ron said and he looked away from his old friend's burning eyes. "But this… this darkness. I don't understand that."

"I'm trying to explain. You see, Ron, it all started with the Dursleys. Because that was where it all started. This hate inside of me. In first and second year it was okay, Ron, because I thought things would get better. And then I found Sirius and it did. I wouldn't be stuck with the Dursleys as my only family forever. But Dumbledore kept sending me back there, didn't he? He never realised just how much Uncle Vernon actually did to me, did he, or if he did, he must have just pretended that it didn't happen. Dumbledore played us all, Ron, like we were all little puppets, for his master plan."

"What are you talking about, Harry?"

"Dumbledore told me about a prophecy, Ron, one that said that either Voldemort or I had to die in order to live. But… there was no prophecy, Ron. It was all a trick… He saw me after Sirius' death, he saw that burning hate and love inside me, saw that they were battling, saw that I was, in fact, becoming… Tom Riddle."

Not really too much going on in this chapter but a couple of key points. I Know, I KNOW! It's been ages since I last updated! I'm sorry, I really do try! I'll try harder. Be expecting an ending soonish, I'd like to finish up before this story becomes way too long.

Thanks to all reviewers and I hope some people still remember what's going on in this. I sure as hell didn't! :- Check out my other stories! Varieties of Life (I have to change that, it's supposed to be Vulgarities of Life) and Satisfaction. VOL is sort of like this one, a little, exploring the dark side of Harry and Satisfaction is about Hermione growing up, in an awkward urge-filled way.

Thanks to all and I hope you all had a good holiday and doesn't going back to school suck, big time?