Title: Atonement

Author: Edie

Part: 4? (technically Chapter Three, but I realized that the prologue is a part too and shouldn't be excluded. lol)

Rating: R

Chapter Summary: Hermione and Draco adjust to living together; Draco cannot escape his past. Please note that this chapter mentions rape, although it does not directly involve either Draco or Hermione.

Summary: Hermione has turned her back on the wizarding world but one person has not turned his back on her.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Title chapter stolen blatantly from Richard Crashaw's "But Men Loved Darkness Rather Than Light."

Author's Notes: Warning you all as well, this chapter is long. Even longer than this, actually, but I decided to split it into two parts. This chapter is over 6000 words. 15 pages on Word. Go me!

Chapter Three: Rather Than Light

"The world's light shines, shine as it will

The world will love its darkness still

I doubt though when the world's in hell,

It will not love its darkness half so well."

- Richard Crashaw's "But Men Loved Darkness Rather Than Light"

When Hermione's alarm clock woke her at 1:45 in the afternoon, she wasted no time in scrambling out of bed. Pushing her mother's blanket to the end of the bed and causing Crookshanks no little amount of disruption, she donned her housecoat and rushed out of her bedroom.

Her flat was empty; she had known it would be. Malfoy had awoken her earlier that morning through no fault of his own. He had tried to be quiet, Hermione was well aware of that, but she was so unused to having anybody else home with her that she had been especially sensitive to noise. She had lain in her bed, ears strained for any magical type of sounds, but Malfoy strangely seemed to respect her insistence that he should not use his wand. He had cursed his way through his morning routine, damning everything from the faucets to the shower to the fridge. He had left at 8:15, Apparating from the hallway outside of the door with a fantastic pop that she had heard all the way from her bedroom. The idea of Malfoy actually working had kept her awake until almost nine but eventually she had found sleep again.

Now, however, she was up and curious.

Stealthily, although she knew not why she might use it alone as she was, she crept down the hallway and peaked at the closed door to her spare room- Malfoy's new bedroom, she reminded herself with a cringe. And how strange a thought that was! Pausing before the door, she wondered for the millionth time why he was there, so far from everything he knew. Awkward times in his world, indeed. Sounded like a bunch of drivel to her. Holding her breath, she reached out and cautiously pushed the door open. It swung inwards, hinges screaming in protest, and Hermione found herself staring into something she never thought she'd have reason to see.

Malfoy's bedroom.

Sniffing, she supposed it looked rather ridiculous. She didn't know how he had managed to move everything in over the course of one of her measly shifts- house elves probably, the bloody prat- but that was beside the point. The point was that Malfoy simply had a lot of belongings- too many entirely to shove into a room the size of this. His bed alone (king sized, she thought, and covered with an expensive looking forest green duvet) took up most of the available space. The rest he'd used up by cramming a desk so ornate as to almost be ostentatious into the corner. That was what caught Hermione's interest.

Skirting around his bed (and ew! Bed of Malfoy!), Hermione padded over to it and gazed with something unsettlingly close to excitement at its contents. Books, so many beautiful books, were neatly stacked on top of it and her fingers itched to peruse them. Most of them were leather bound and expensive; the one she picked up revealed itself as a first edition. She was careful to put it back as everything in his room seemed to be rather insanely neat- might have been even more careful if she wasn't certain that Malfoy would be in her room snooping around as soon as he returned home.

Sighing to herself, she pulled open the desk drawer and found a stack of neatly arranged notes on… Arithmancy? It had been so long since she'd seen anything to do with the subject that she had to lean closer but… well. Looked like Arithmancy to her. Was Malfoy some sort of curse-breaker then? The idea made her chuckle a little, at least until she was hit by such an unexpected pang of envy that she slammed the drawer hastily shut. If Malfoy had an O.W.L. in it, what did it matter to her?

Arithmancy was her subject. Bloody hell.

Hermione was frowning when she stepped away from his desk and was frowning still when she peaked under his bed. She thought that maybe she was being unreasonable- if Malfoy had meant to kill her, he certainly could have done it already- but it was better to be safe than sorry. Underneath his bed revealed nothing, save for the ashtray from her living room that he seemed to have pilfered and hidden away, and Hermione gave up her search with a huff.

Returning to the doorway, she gave his room one last glance over. Malfoy was up to something. She could sense it.

Living with Malfoy turned out not to be such a bad experience at all, largely because Hermione quite simply did not see him. He was gone by the time she rose for work and in bed when she came home. On the rare occasions when she thought he still might be awake, his door was always closed and, despite the light shining from underneath it, he never gave her any other indication of being up- and she most certainly wasn't going to go looking for any.

However, out of sight out of mind wasn't exactly the case as Draco Malfoy's presence there was more than apparent. It had been nothing but little things at first: he had taken over all of the best shelves in the linen closet and had shoved all of her bathing things under the sink so that he could line up his various collections of shampoo and conditioner along the rim of her tub. She had rectified that by accidentally bleaching four of his prized black hand towels and knocking his favourite shampoo bottle into the toilet repeatedly each afternoon until her things made an unannounced appearance back in their proper places.

That had been it for the first week but, as Malfoy grew more comfortable, his changes to her flat became bigger. He rearranged her cups in the cupboard (by size and colour), moved the plates without telling her, and hauled the television set to the opposite wall. Not to be outdone by Malfoy's neatness, Hermione had reorganized the cutlery (by brand and ornamental design), lined up the boxes in her pantry, and wasted entirely too much of her pay cheque on a nicer coffee table.

The results of their competitive… organization meant two things. Firstly, Hermione's flat was cleaner than it had ever been. Secondly, somehow without her noticing it, her flat ceased to simply be her own. Little bits of Malfoy were simply all over the place.

That might have been a harder pill to swallow if Malfoy had had an easier time adjusting to life in a Muggle flat. He had never given any real indication that he was having trouble but Hermione was quick and evidence of that was everywhere.

The oven seemed to be giving him particular problems. The first time he had tried to use it, he had left the burner on all day and had practically given her a heart attack when she had arrived home from work to see it glowing red in the darkness of her kitchen. The garbage can under the sink needed emptying more than usual, largely due to his failed attempts at cooking. She wasn't sure what he'd been eating but she did know that he was wasting a large amount of her food, a fact that both angered her and caused her a great deal of stress- until an envelope of money had turned up on top of the counter. Once, he had forgotten a copy of A Guide to Muggle Inventions near the fridge; after that she had taken pity on him and had begun to leave out the leftovers of her lunches.

Malfoy seemed to take that as a sign of some sort of truce and that had started what Hermione irritably thought of as Napkin Communication. He had left her the first note, a hastily scrawled, "What are all the strange boxes in the living room? Tell me immediately or I cannot be held responsible for smashing them" and had stuck it to the fridge with a magnet. Fearing for the safety of her computer and television, Hermione had written back exactly what they were… four times and with diagrams. Malfoy seemed to be able to understand the television set but the idea of a computer escaped him entirely and he had dismissed it in another note as "a typical Muggle waste of time".

Most of their letters contained threats ("Stop eating my food, Malfoy, or I'll poison it" to, "If you use my brush one more time, Muddy, I'll ram the hairball down your throat while you're sleeping.") but others were more idle and inquiring ("Must work you like a slave down at that diner, Granger. I would never let them work me like that. Malfoys simply do not do labour- that is what peasants are for. Are you always going to be on nights?" to "If it's not beneath you to do so, do you think you could possibly feed Crookshanks tonight? I don't know what you've done to worm your way into the heart of my cat but you better have the best of intentions because the silly beast actually cried all morning after you left- perish the thought!").

Hermione would never admit to checking the fridge each night. Nor would she admit to sneaking into his room and devouring his pile of books (half done A History of the Malfoy Line of all ridiculous things). She half thought he was doing the same, as she was quite certain that she had not left Jane Urquhart's The Stone Carver anywhere near her bedside table. She would never say that any of their indirect interaction made her feel any less hostile towards him… but…

But she was woman enough to admit that when she finally did see him that it might have dulled her reaction time a little. Might have stopped her from tugging off her shoe and whipping it at his obnoxiously blond head.

As far as interactions went, it hadn't been much. It had been especially late as Hermione had stopped for cigarettes on the way home from work and had probably been approaching four o'clock in the morning. She had run up the stairs like usual and had been more than startled to see Malfoy in the hallway outside of her- their- flat, wand in one hand and a distracted look on his face. He hadn't seen her initially and probably wouldn't have at all, but she had said, "Malfoy!" and he had turned. She had been shocked at his appearance: all jagged lines and too pale skin; a look of such desperation in his eyes. He had looked at her for sometime- had looked through her, maybe even- until she had grown uncomfortable and moved towards him. One step was all she got, however. Before she could come any closer, he had Apparated away from her, gone to God only knew where.

She had been upset by it for reasons she couldn't understand; had even waited up until nearly six for him to return. Before going to bed, she had written, "Malfoy, what the hell?") on a napkin, sticking it on the fridge in their normal fashion. The next morning, the note had been removed and there hadn't been an answer.

Hermione told herself she wasn't curious. She told herself it didn't matter where strange sons of Death Eaters went in the middle of the night. Actually managed to convince herself that she had imagined his haggard appearance. She only wished she could be so easily swayed on how she felt about the upcoming week, of which she had four days off in order to adjust her sleeping schedule so that she could waitress mornings.

Four days of Malfoy. Four days of hell.

The man thought his job was entirely pointless.

Idly swirling the straw around in his glass of pop, he watched the girl flit around the grimy interior of the diner, dropping off plates here and removing used ones there. He couldn't figure Master out, and not from any lack of trying. Wouldn't ask Master, of course, especially now that Master had seen fit to cut back the amount of time he had to spend watching the boring chit. He had thought to maybe suggest that there was no real point in watching her at all. Girl had no friends, no lovers, no anything as far as he could determine and surely he would be more than useful in his old position…?

But surely Master had a reason. He had eluded once that it was integral for someone to always be there… just in case. Hadn't asked what just in case meant. Master was too unpredictable.

Sighing, the man leaned back in the booth and had to repress a smile as the girl glanced up at the clock. She was almost off and he could tell by the way her steps were slowing that she was tired. Master had said he needn't watch her for the next four days. Had said to go spend time with his wife and to leave the girl bloody well alone. It surprised him a little bit, but he found himself feeling sorry for her. Reminded him a little of what he'd always imagined the daughter he'd never had to be like. Only too sad by half.

Master had said he thought the girl was crazy but the man did not think so. Master had seemed distracted, muttering on about some strange contraption called a dishwasher.

The man had thought it wise not to point out that there were some who thought Master was crazy as well.

Hermione spent the majority of her first day off avoiding her flat. She'd gotten up at 9:30 am (an ungodly time that left her feeling extremely tired and a little irritable but a safe time as Malfoy had already gone) and had spent the morning at the library, doing nothing but browsing the shelves and perusing books she'd already read. She'd met her father for lunch and had sat in the park for over an hour afterwards, despite the chill in the air that signaled the arrival of fall. By the time 4:00 had rolled around, she figured she had dawdled enough. She was going to have to face Malfoy sometime.

Doughnuts had seemed like an appropriate ice breaker (she was craving a bagel anyway) so she stopped for that on the way home. It was a very vague memory but she thought she recalled Narcissa Malfoy sending her son boxes of sweets at Hogwarts; she had selected him chocolate ones because of that. When she realized what she was doing (picking out sweets for Malfoy! For fuck's sake!), she almost tossed the box of them in the nearest trash bin but… well, everybody liked doughnuts and maybe if she got him on some sort of sugar high he'd tell her what the bloody hell he was really doing in her flat.

Armed with her plan and her box of doughnuts, Hermione felt more than prepared when she stomped up the stairs and flung open the door to her flat. She was ready to do battle with charming words and sweet Gryffindor tactics. She was not ready to almost smack into Draco Malfoy, who was standing at the end table near the door and barking orders to her answering machine.

"You will answer me when I speak to you!" he was saying, prodding at the machine threateningly with his finger, "Your precious little mistress isn't home right now and I will torture you if you don't. I'll throw you right out the bloody window, you great big piece of junk, and-"

He stopped abruptly when he heard Hermione; frowned when he saw her clutching a box to her chest and looking like she might flee. Trying to save face, Draco puffed out his chest and stood a little taller. Tried to sound surly when he said, "This… thing is insufferably rude."

Hermione blinked and glanced from Malfoy to the machine and back. "Err… it's a machine, Malfoy. Machines can't emote."

Malfoy looked unsure, which was a look she wasn't used to seeing on him. Sighing, she skirted around him, took a steadying breath, and removed her coat.

"What makes you think it's insufferably rude?" she asked, trying to humour him.

"The bloody thing babbles at will, that's what, but it won't reply when spoken to. I have told it repeatedly that I do not wish to dine with it and that I am not particularly fond of oatmeal cookies. Also, it seems to believe it has more than one personality. Just this morning it was referring to itself as Marnie but right before you came into the door it sounded like a man. Wouldn't tell me his name, though. I even threatened it."

Hermione tried and failed not to chortle. Hanging up her coat, she made a big show of moving to the coffee table to drop her box and not looking at a very put out Malfoy. So far she thought everything was going well. Malfoy seemed churlish but that was nothing new. Her doughnuts would win him over, he could explain what he was doing here, and then she could kick him out. Nice and easy.

Carefully, she tried to figure out the best approach to her current situation. If she laughed, Malfoy would get huffy and then she would never get to the truth, not to mention the massive insult exchange that would ensue. She was tired; it was her day off and she didn't particularly feel like going there. However, if she was patient…

"It isn't alive, Malfoy," she said as reasonably as possible, "It's an answering machine. When someone calls on my telephone, which is that machine over-"

"I know what a telephone is, Granger," he snapped, sitting down on the couch on the cushion farthest from her, "I wasn't born yesterday."

"As I was saying," she continued, trying not to feel irritated by his tone, "when someone calls me on the telephone and I'm not home, the call is put through to the machine. That way, they can record a message and I can get back to them. It's not alive. What you're hearing is a recording. That's why they don't talk back. They can't actually hear you."

Malfoy scowled at her but at least seemed to consider what she said. Scooting as far away from him as she could, Hermione stared at him from the corner of her eye. He looked tough; almost as bad as he had the other night. She wondered when the last time he'd slept was. She wondered a lot of things.

Forcing herself to keep quiet on that, she grabbed the box off the table and extended it to him with a cordiality that made her want to vomit.

"Doughnut, Malfoy?" Complete with a sweet smile. Make her puke.

He looked at the box like it contained the poisoned food she'd threatened him with earlier. Looked also like he didn't want to ask what he said next.

"What's a doughnut, Granger?"

"Sweets. A pastry with icing."

Flipping open the box, she brandished one with vanilla icing and sprinkles. Took a big bite of it just to prove it was good to eat. Malfoy watched her for a moment or two, probably waiting to see if she'd drop dead, and then grabbed up a chocolate one quick as lightning. His first bite was little more than a nibble and she watched him with something akin to dread. After his initial swallow, he shot her something that was almost a smile before turning back to the television and ignoring her completely.

Alright, thought Hermione, so far so good. At this rate, they'd be bosom buddies in no time.

Except for the fact that after their brief doughnut exchange things got awkward and fast. Malfoy was watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Hermione couldn't bring herself to concentrate on it. Every single part of her was too aware of the young man beside her; was waiting for him to hex her or… something. And even that aside, even if she hadn't known he was there, did he have to wear so much cologne? It made it impossible to entirely ignore his presence.

Malfoy, however, was not one to leave a situation awkward and out of his control for long. Around a mouthful of doughnut, he snapped, "Stay the hell out of my room, Granger."

Hermione thought her eyelid twitched. "You stay the hell out of mine. I know you were in there reading my books. You could at least put them back."

"Like I'd read your stupid Muggle books."

"Like I'd read A History of the Malfoy Line." And… crap. Obviously she was a little rusty when it came to sparring.

Malfoy immediately looked smug. Smashed his face all up and everything. It occurred to her out of nowhere that if he just tried looking normal once in awhile, he might not be unattractive.

"A History of the Malfoy Line, eh? Wouldn't have pegged you for a fan of that one," he said a little maliciously and oh but wasn't he having fun with this, "How did you like the chapter on my great grandfather? Now there was one malevolent fucker."

She ignored that and passed him another doughnut, hoping that food would shut him up. Actually tried harder to pay attention to the show.

"Buffy, Malfoy?"

He shrugged. "Not a bad show, once you watch a little of it. Better than the other drivel you people watch. I like Spike. Poor git is really having a hard time of it, what with the Scoobies and their constant exclusion of him. I don't know what he ever did wrong, anyway. Has saved Buffy hundreds of times and from some nasty looking beasties too."

Hermione did laugh at that. "Typical! He's killed how many people and you think he's cool!"

Something in that line seemed to bother Malfoy. She knew it the second it slipped out of her mouth. He scowled at her and really seemed to mean it, before turning up the volume, finishing his doughnut, and going for a cigarette. Sighing, Hermione followed suit. It didn't occur to her for a good couple of inhales how odd everything was, she and her supposed nemesis sitting side by side on the couch bickering about a television show like a couple of old friends. She must have been lonelier than she thought.

Quick to ruin it all, the next thing out of her mouth was, "Why are you really here, Malfoy? Spare me all that rubbish about the Ministry and how awkward the wizarding world is for you these days."

"That isn't rubbish," he told her, ostentatiously blowing smoke from his cigarette in her face, "That's the truth." Or at least a damn good part of it.

"And why should it be awkward for you? Obviously you got out of being a Death Eater. Survived the Malfoy Manor Massacre."

"Doesn't that just roll of your tongue." And he sneered. "And I didn't just get out of anything, Granger, so don't talk about things you can't understand."

But Hermione was on a roll. "And where were you going the other night at four in the morning?"

Draco seemed surprised by that. She thought for a second he was going to choke on his inhale. A look of pure panic flashed across his face, only to disappear so fast that Hermione thought she might have imagined it.

"You saw me?" Slowly and carefully.

She was puzzled. "Yeah… I called out to you and you looked and then poof! Off you went!"

Malfoy broke eye contact and began to fiddle with the filter of his cigarette. It seemed to be a nervous habit, pushing at it with his thumbnail, and it seemed so out of character for him that Hermione immediately took notice.

"How did I look?" he asked eventually, still not looking at her.

"What do you mean?" she shot back, confused and frustrated, "How should you have looked? Tired. You looked tired and… panicked. Have you been sleeping at all, Malfoy?"

That flash again. Just a quick tightening of his features. Hermione blinked and almost burnt herself ashing her cigarette. Malfoy was silent for so long that she almost repeated herself. But then he was on his feet, glaring down at her.

"It's none of your business if I've been sleeping. It's none of your business where I go at night. And it most certainly isn't your business why I 'got out' of things."

That said, Malfoy turned around and stalked to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Draco was angry at himself. Furious even. He was bollixing everything up, had quite possibly ruined everything he had ever tried. But this was too important; this was his very sanity. And Granger, Mudblood though she might be, was the only one who had caught on even a little. The only one who had seen him… seen it.

Groaning, he clutched his head in his hands and flopped back dramatically onto his bed. He didn't know how long he had hidden in his room like a great big coward but he figured it might have been quite awhile. He had surely missed the end of his Buffy episode, which was irritating enough, but he had also missed supper if the alluring smells wafting under his door were any indication.

He knew what he had to do, however, and the thought made him want to Avada Kedavra himself post haste. He was going to have to suck up his almighty pride, go out there, and apologize for his little hissy fit. Go out there and make nice with Granger. Otherwise the weeks he had spent in self induced Muggle hell would all be for naught. She'd kick him out in a heartbeat and then where would he be? Back in that empty Manor going crazy, no doubt. She was already doing her job quite nicely, being the only one who had caught him in the act. So. The fault was his own. He could admit that.

Really, he could.

Grumbling to himself, he got up off the bed and exited his bedroom. He'd faced Voldemort, for Merlin's sake. Surely he could face an angry Gryffindor.

Draco found Hermione on the couch where he'd left her, only she had changed into her ridiculous pajamas and had wrapped herself up in the quilt she kept in her bedroom while she was at work. She was watching a show he did not recognize and did little more than send him a supercilious glance to acknowledge his presence. He found himself glaring at her merely for existing and had to remind himself firmly of his original purpose for going out there in the first place.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," he muttered, glaring instead at a stain on the carpet. Disgusting. The whole bloody flat.

Hermione looked at him full on then, surprise etched on her face. Her mouth even fell open. Draco had to bite his lip so as not to make derogatory fish jokes.

"Did you just… apologize?" she spluttered.

He shrugged and sat down next to her. So far so good. And the box of doughnuts was still on the coffee table, which was even better.

Snagging one, he explained, "I don't talk about a lot of things, Granger."

Obviously she had done some thinking while he had been… not hiding because she said, "I don't think it matters, Malfoy. You owe it to me. Otherwise I might think you're here simply to get me to shag you so you can brag about how far I've fallen to all of your stupid wizard friends."

Draco almost choked on his doughnut. Shag her! He could admit to himself that she had improved in appearance over the last six years; had filled out at the very least. But shag she of the bushy hair? Unlikely.

"Shag you!" Apparently his tone was insulting because she was glowering at him again. Right. He was trying to not brass her off. "I've never shagged a Muggle before."

Sharing. All girls liked sharing and Hermione apparently was no different. She lit up at that, curiosity even making her smile a little.

"Never, Malfoy?" she asked, leaning forward, "I don't believe it! Everybody always used to say that-"

"I was a sex god? Yeah, yeah, I've heard all of it. But never a Muggle."

"Why?"

"Why? For starters, all good pureblood boys are taught that Muggle girls have teeth down there specifically designed to bite off every single unfortunate prick that might stop by for a poke."

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then, "You do know that that is an old Muggle myth from the Victorian era used to prevent premarital sex, don't you?"

Draco shrugged. "It's obviously balderdash anyway but that aside what if I were to father a child on one of them? It would be a complete abomination."

He thought she made an effort not to be annoyed by that comment. Sighing, she tightened the blanket around herself and shook her head.

"You haven't changed one bit."

"You don't know me," he pointed out. Promising himself he wouldn't add it, he promptly added, "Have you ever washed that blanket? It looks positively filthy."

She definitely bristled at that. "It was my mother's. I can't wash it. Then it'll be…"

Draco found himself thinking of his father and nodded simply because he got that. Sighing himself, he decided to let her win this round. Decided that maybe he did owe it to her. And Malfoys were indebted to no one.

"There are some people who think I was involved in the massacre," he conceded, "That I leaked information."

"Did you?" Eyes gently inquiring.

"Let's just say it didn't go as planned."

"Why did you do it?" she asked softly.

He shook his head at that and resolutely vowed not to think of it himself. There were some things not worth remembering; some things that were too hard to dwell on. Instead of answering, he grabbed the remote from her and turned up the volume.

"So what are we watching?" he asked.

"The news," she replied.

Draco nodded and settled back into the couch. Strange, he thought, but he had just spent awhile… visiting with Granger and, well…

Well, he wasn't going to think of that either.

"Have at her, boy." An encouraging shove in the direction of an open cell. "Take your turn with her. I think you'll find this one particularly luscious."

The air in the dungeons was dank; his skin felt clammy. His hair, where it brushed against his neck, felt moist and sticky. His palms were damp and he didn't want to go in there.

"What's the matter, boy?" The voice was mocking, always mocking. Another shove in the direction of the cell. "Not man enough for this?"

He stiffened and let himself be pushed. Couldn't disappoint. Not this time. Not after the other day. He was a humiliation to his father and he couldn't turn him down now. Head held high, he shook off his father's hand and marched into the cell. The door slammed shut behind him and he saw his father's retreating figure out of the corner of his eye.

Just the two of them now. Alone. The young woman was in the corner, back to him. Just get it over with. She had curly blonde hair, hanging dirty down her back. He thought in passing that it was rather bushy and just like-

He was the farthest away from having an erection he'd ever been.

Make it quick. Get it done. Leave.

Heaving a shaky sigh, he took a step towards her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She spun around at the contact, eyes huge and wild. Stifled a cry on the palm of one filthy hand.

"Have you come with my baby?" her voice was high pitched and hopeful. He realized abruptly that if he used the child to his advantage she would do anything but… but…

But the baby was dead. Fuck, the baby. Black spots clouded his vision and his grip on her shoulder lessened. He thought for a perilous moment that he might be sick.

"Your baby's dead." His voice was harsh but he didn't care. The woman knew about the baby anyway. The woman had seen it.

Beneath his hand the woman shuddered. Turned her face away. He noticed the look in her eyes and thought to himself that she was so far gone… so dead herself. Without looking at him, she stood up and moved to the tiny cot shoved in the corner of her cell. Laid down and stared at the ceiling. Waited for the inevitable.

He panicked. Absolutely panicked. The moment was upon him. It was his turn. Everybody else had done it. He couldn't afford to be soft, not after everything, and his father would be so disappointed in him. Gulping, he moved to the cot and sat beside her. The blankets were soiled and he didn't want to touch them. Almost experimentally, he reached out and palmed her breast. She wasn't as far gone as he thought and sobbed at the contact. He pulled his hand away as if burned.

"I have to do this," he told her guiltily, "This is a test. All of this is a test for me. They'll kill me if I fail."

She shook her head in denial and sobbed again.

"I don't want to. I don't want to anymore than you do. But…" He trailed off and looked at her. The woman had seen her child killed the evening before; had seen her husband fall a week before that. He didn't want to feel anything towards her and her situation. She was nothing but a fucking Mudblood but it had been a baby and… "We don't normally take prisoners, you know. I'm… sorry that you got to be our first."

"My baby," she moaned.

Fucking hell, he couldn't do it. Hair like Granger's and used already by so many fucking men. Couldn't force himself on her. He might have been a malicious bastard but he could not-

Swearing, he leapt off of the bed and away from her. In the process, his robes fell open and… she saw it. Tucked into the inner pocket, his wand caught a shaft of moonlight from the barred window. How long had she been there, in the dungeons? Long enough to have come to believe in magic anyway. She was off the bed in a shot and kneeling at his feet, grabbing at his legs and clutching at his waist with grimy hands. Eyes wide with a sane sort of insanity.

"Do it," she cried, voice rough for purpose, "Please, God, just do it."

Clawing at him. At his robes. He was confused and tried to stumble backwards. Thought she meant for him to free her, to Side Along Apparate her right out of there and he couldn't do that either.

"Let you go?" Now he was the one who sounded high pitched.

But the woman was shaking her head, unwashed blonde curls bouncing. She was crying in earnest, tears streaking clean patches down her face. He thought she was mad and tried once again to move out of her reach but her fingers locked onto his leg and she was begging.

"End it," she groaned, resting her face against his shoe, "Please please end it. Don't want to go back. Want my baby."

He was in denial. He was not a murderer. "I can't let you go. Don't you see? They'll kill me."

Her fingers pushed inside his robes and then her hands were on his wand. He snatched it away from her out of pure reflex and then she was nodding, eyes alight with hope.

"Please," she whispered, "You can end it. You can tell them I fought you. Please, don't make me face them anymore. Please don't make me…"

She trailed off and looked down, still kneeling at his feet. And Draco Malfoy stared at her and thought of Harry Potter. Thought of the other side of the war. Thought of his father with this woman; thought of his mother. Thought of that baby, of its horrible screams, and something inside of him snapped. If he had been a better person, perhaps, because this wasn't a Harry Potter thing to do at all. But Draco Malfoy wasn't Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy's mercy was made of entirely different stuff.

And he was sorry but he was already plotting. I'm sorry, Father, but she attacked me... No choice, really, and they wouldn't care. A pat on the back for Draco Malfoy, finally a murderer. Cleared from the whole Dumbledore fiasco. And my son killed his first Mudblood...

Killed his first weak defenseless woman because she begged and he was too much of a coward to simply free her.

Pointing his wand at her and feeling sick at the relief in her eyes, he whispered, "Avada Kedavra."

Draco Malfoy came awake with a start. Heart pounding, he shot up on the couch and looked around in a panic. Felt a hand grasp his arm and lashed out at it; heard as if from somewhere far away a woman gasp. Did nothing but choke on air for a good couple of minutes.

Then, the lingering smell of Hermione's supper hit him. He realized blurrily that the television was still on but the room was dark and she was sitting beside him, still clad in her quilt. Huffing a little, he shut his eyes and told himself it was over. It was not here.

"Draco?"

Must have really given her a fright if Hermione Granger was calling him by his given name.

"Draco?" Poked him this time. "Are you okay?"

He shook her hand away from him and reached for his cigarettes. She passed him the lighter.

"Just fine, Granger. Peachy. Must have dozed off, you making me watch that horrible Muggle news. Just a dream. That's all."

She was silent, regarding him in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable. Then she stood and went to the kitchen. After a moment or two, he could smell the beginnings of a pot of coffee which was good because he had no intention of sleeping again for as long as he could help it.

Sighing, he reminded himself firmly that some things just should not be thought about. Inhaled deeply from his cigarette and tried not to think of curly haired Muggles with pleading blue eyes and dead babies. Told himself for the last time that some things were too horrible to ever contemplate.

Even if those things would never go away.

TBC...

Thank you once again for all the feedback! I live for it. lol. Pretty please? With Draco on top?