Disclaimer: Who am I even kidding with this anymore? If you don't know that I don't own the Harry Potter universe by now, than I seriously doubt that you possess the mental capacity to pose any real legal threat to me.

Wow! For what I still insist is a crappy piece of writing on my part, Chapter 8 received a lot of reviews--almost 40! It absolutely made my night when I got home last night and found I had 26 new reviews to read and that the hits on this story had jumped by 1500 since that afternoon! Also, THIS STORY HAS NOW PASSED THE 100 REVIEWS MARK! YAY! A special thanks to secretspells311, my 100th reviewer!

A/N: I was really surprised by the response I got to Chapter 8. I still don't like it, but I got a lot of praise for it. I'm not complaining; quite the contrary! It just goes to show that I'm my own worst critic, I guess. This chapter is much more similar to the pre-witch-memory chapters, just so you know, and if it seems short, it's because 1) it is, 2) it's building up to Chapter 10, which will feature another very revealing memory, and 3) you just had a very long and difficult-to-write chapter yesterday! Don't be greedy! Just kidding, I love you guys! Here is Chapter 9, next day, as promised! Enjoy!

Chapter 9: What Makes a Person Evil

They didn't return to the Great Hall, where the Ravenclaw boy appeared to be regaling a small group of early-risers with what was undoubtedly a highly exaggerated version of the odd interaction between the most infamous enemies in recent Hogwarts memory. Malfoy knew that, by lunch, the story would not only have spread to the entire student population, but would probably include a session of passionate snogging, a screaming, wall-rattling row, and/or a proposal of marriage.

Predictably, Hermione led them to the library. At this early hour, Madam Pince had not yet arrived to preside over her domain, and all sensible students were either sleeping in (lazy, insufferable gits, he thought derisively) or enjoying their Saturday morning by being anywhere but the library. The cavernous space was empty but for them and countless rows of books.

Despite the fact that they were obviously alone, Hermione led him to a distant and secluded corner. When they reached it, her sense of comfort and peacefulness told him that this tiny table was her sanctuary, her personal space, probably the only one she had. He had seen the way the Gryffindors lived: always loud, always invading each other's space, always hugging and touching and talking and never alone. No wonder they were all mad as hatters; all that togetherness would be enough to drive anyone completely insane.

Hermione seated herself at the table, and Malfoy sat across from her. They still hadn't spoken a word, and he could feel her gathering her courage to say whatever it was that had bothered her enough to make her track him down.

"I'm sorry." He blinked at her, utterly shocked. Of all the things he expected to hear her say, that had not been among them.

"What?" He was sure he must have heard her wrong.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "What happened . . . I know it's painful for you." He scowled at her half-heartedly, but she ignored him. "I didn't have a right to invade on it. I'd take it back if I could."

He opened his mouth to respond, and then snapped it shut again. He had been about to thank her, he realized. That was just unacceptable. Malfoy didn't thank anyone, let alone interfering, annoyingly sincere Muggle-borns

"Is that all you have to say?" he asked harshly. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt her flash of annoyance. It felt good, actually. It felt normal.

"No, as a matter of fact, that isn't all I have to say," she said primly, smoothing a wrinkle out of her skirt to avoid eye contact with him. When she looked back up, he wished she hadn't. Her face was so serious, her eyes so concerned. It made him uncomfortable. People were never concerned about him.

"Are you a Death Eater?" she asked suddenly. The bluntness of her inquiry temporarily robbed him of the ability to respond. He realized he had been struck speechless more in the last three days than in all the rest of his life put together. It was rather disconcerting.

"No, I'm not," he said through gritted teeth.

"Are you going to be?" she pressed.

"No," he growled. She accepted his responses calmly, with a nod of her serious head, almost as if she had been expecting those answers. If the possibility of his membership among the Dark Lord's followers was not the question on her mind, what could it possibly be?

"Do you really believe all that Mudblood rubbish?" she said suddenly and very quickly. He considered seriously before answering.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she said emphatically. It was terribly important to her, he realized. He felt an odd grimness in his heart as he thought of the outburst his answer would undoubtedly provoke, but he spoke quickly before he could change his mind.

"Then, yes, I do." The hurt in her eyes was nothing compared to the hurt that washed over the table from her and coursed through Draco's veins. Damn, he wished he hadn't said anything. She looked so . . . disappointed.

"How can you?" she asked in a disbelieving whisper. "That girl . . . You knew it was wrong. I could feel it."

"It was wrong," he said, unsure why it was so important to make her understand. "It was wrong to kill her. She was innocent, and her life was taken unfairly." Granger looked at him uncomprehendingly, her mind still clouded by confusion and shocked disappointment.

"But you just said --" she began, but he cut her off with an impatient wave of his hand.

"I said I believed that Muggle-borns should be kept out of the world of magic. I didn't say they deserved to be killed or tortured or made into sport. They have every right to a life free of fear, but not here." He gestured vaguely at the books of spells and magical history that surrounded them. "This is my world. It is mine because my ancestors fought for it, died to keep it secret and safe." She scowled at him and opened her mouth to interrupt, but he shook his head. "Let me talk, Granger. You said you wanted the truth. This is it. Magic is my birthright, not yours. Muggle-borns have their own world, which is theirs because millions of people lived and died to make it theirs. That's where they belong." She stared at him silently for a moment.

"You really believe all that, don't you?" she asked.

"You know I do." And she did. He was just beginning to feel pleased with himself for getting through to her, for making her see his side of things, when an alarming anger flared up inside her like a fire doused in gasoline and vodka. Before he could react, she was out of her chair, leaning across the table with her eyes blazing, and he had to draw on ever Seeker reflex he possessed to dodge the finger she was jabbing in his face to punctuate every insulting adjective she shrieked at him.

"You are undoubtedly the most arrogant, narrow-minded, self-important, intolerant, absolutely insufferable jackass that I've ever met in my life!" The finger-jab that emphasized the last word of her tirade was so violent that Malfoy toppled backward out of his chair in his attempt to avoid it. He stared up at her from the floor with an open mouth.

"Granger! What the hell?" He scrambled backward as she rounded the table with a murderous look in her flashing eyes.

"You think that just because you don't want to go about slaughtering innocent people, that makes you noble and righteous? Guess what? Being a prejudiced, small-minded, elitist prick is just fractionally better than being a prejudiced, small-minded, elitist murderer! So before you start spouting off all your fine, upstanding ideals again, you might consider that maybe it isn't killing the people you hate that makes a person evil; maybe it's hating them in the first place." With that, she stepped over him and stormed out of the library, her fury stinging the air painfully in her wake.

For a moment, Draco remained sprawled on the floor, staring at the spot Hermione had so recently occupied. Then he stood up, picked up his overturned chair, and began to follow the lingering trail of Hermione's anger.

If there was one thing Draco was going to make sure of in this strange, new, upside-down world that was his life, it was that Hermione Granger was not going to get the last word.

A/N: I'll have Chapter 10 out by the end of the week. In the meantime, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!