1THECONDUCTORSLEASTFAVORITE - Did you like it? I couldn't really tell from the review...lol. I'll read your story.

CONQUER THE WORLD USING BUNNIE - Hermione and Harry were dating and in love when Harry was killed. I don't really know how else to explain it...lol.

DIFFERENTVISIONS - I started it yesterday, and I just like updating. It lets me be creative, you know? lol. At this rate, the story will probably be done within a few weeks. Keep reading!

ZAN189 - That's just one twist that will surprise even you...:-D. The fic can't lose all it's fun! Lol

Back to the story!

Chapter 8: The Dark Mark

Their footsteps echoed down the hall as they walked in silence. Neither had a word to say to each other. Hermione's heart beat faster with every step she took towards her new destiny. The only hope she had left was the child in her belly. She had to do this so that a part of Harry could live. It was the only choice.

-x-

Draco gave the Mudblood a good look. She really did look stunning in silver and green. Almost as though the colors were made for her. But how could that be? She's a Mudblood. He gave in almost unnoticeable shudder. Unluckily for him, Granger didn't miss a damned thing.

-x-

"Something wrong, Malfoy?" She asked.

"Only shuddering that I have too look at such a dirty, ugly face."

"Is it really that bad? I mean, you make out with Pansy every day. I don't see how my face could possibly be worse than hers." She smirked.

Draco was taken aback by her audacity. He did, however, have to hand it to her. She certainly knew how to form a comeback. He smirked, as well.

That was the only conversation that carried between them as they walked to the ball, now in almost full swing. As soon as they swung open the doors, the music stopped. All the dancing and chattering stopped, as though somebody had sucked the air from the room. The all tilted their heads towards Hermione, acknowledging that she was almost one of them. Almost. It seemed that they all knew she could never be truly one of them. She was a Mudblood, for Merlin's sake.

Then, the music started again. All the chattering and dancing continued as though nothing had ever happened. And Hermione couldn't help but notice that Voldemort was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's-" But she was cut off by a tap on the shoulder she turned around and there was a tall, black teenager, who was rather handsome.

"My name is Blaise Zabini. Would you care to dance?" Thinking that it couldn't possibly kill her to dance just once with a Slytherin, Hermione accepted. He led her into a perfect waltz, and Hermione had no trouble keeping up.

"You know," Zabini said, "You look beautiful in Slytherin colors."

"Thank you. Should I call you Zabini or Blaise?"

"Blaise will do just fine." He said in a charming voice. Hermione was hoping that, perhaps, just one Slytherin could be a decent person. "I mean, really, you're rack looks superb in green and silver."

'So much for that hope.' Hermione thought bitterly. Then she noticed that he was joking. The sparkle in his eyes couldn't possibly mean that he was being serious. She hadn't seen a youthful sparkle like that since Dumbledore. Suddenly feeling very fond towards Blaise, she struck up a conversation with them. He liked books, and even hid the fact that he thought muggle clothing could sometimes be cool. Hermione laughed at how much they had in common. Perhaps she could find a friend within Death Eater ranks, after all.

"For what it matters, I think you made the right decision. Really, it was instant death if you refused." Blaise said, suddenly serious. Hermione sighed.

"I suppose that I know. It just feels so...wrong." Suddenly, the song ended.

"Do you want to go get a drink?" Blaise asked. "All that dancing with a hot girl has made me thirsty." He fanned jokingly himself. Hermione laughed and lightly hit him on the shoulder.

"Zabini, what are we going to do with you?" She jokingly inquired. It seemed as though they had been friends for a year, not 5 minutes.

They made their way over to the refreshment table. Against the wall, there were two people going at it as though there were no tomorrow. The girl giggled.

"Drakie, we have company. It's Blaise and...oh." She said, becoming unnaturally quiet for a girl with such a high-pitched voice. "Hello, Mudblood."

"Don't bother, Malfoy, I was merely getting a drink and I'll be on my way to let you continue your...previous engagement." She sneered. She grabbed a bottle of butterbeer and Blaise did the same. Hermione walked off to a table underneath a magically enchanted ceiling and wall, which resembled a rose garden. Blaise saluted Malfoy and followed Hermione.

"You know, it might not kill you to become friends with Draco."

"Kill me? You're right, it wouldn't kill me. It would just destroy me. He hates me and I hate him. You can't become friends with someone you hate. He has spent seven years of his life trying to make Harry, Ron, and I's lives a living..."She trailed off. She hadn't really spoken about the loss of her two best friends to anybody. Blaise noticed that she turned away from him, brushing a nearly imperceptible tear from her cheek.

"Listen, Hermione...I know it hurts to lose someone. But you can't shut yourself off from the world just because it's not the way you want it to be." Hermione shot him a glare that might as well have been a laser. "I know, I seem like an asshole to say it, but you're alive, Hermione. They aren't, and you are, and there has to be a reason that you are."

"Yes, I'm alive because these sick bastards wanted a slave." She spat.

"And also because you're special, Hermione. There is a reason that you're here and they're not. Don't you want to find it out?"

"I suppose. But would you really like living a lie, Blaise? Because that's all I'll be doing." She said softly.

"Listen to me. No, listen," He cupped her chin in his hand, "You're going to be fine."

Suddenly, the lights went out.

'Fine, huh? You call this FINE?' She thought frantically. A glowing red light appeared from the doors, which had been swung open. There stood Lord Voldemort, bathed in a light like fire. Slowly, he walked to Hermione.

"Miss Granger," He began, "Would you care to dance with your master?"

"I would care greatly." She said, but it was not meant in the way she had sounded. She had meant she would care not to. Voldemort smiled his leer.

"Let us begin." He swept her across the ballroom floor. He was a very good dancer, light in his feet, and even though Hermione was rather talented herself, she had trouble keeping up with him. When they had finally stopped, they were in the middle of the room. Suddenly, the black throne she had seen at her first ball rose out of the floors. Voldemort, surprisingly enough, steered her toward it and sat her down. In front of her, he started an emerald fire. It grew larger, and it's tips suddenly became black. Cloaked figures came out of what seemed like nowhere and placed all sorts of powders and liquids into the fire, making it turn a strange blue color in the middle, green, and then black tips.

Then, they brought out the brand. They put it in the fire, and the cloaked figures receded back into darkness. The brand, instead of glowing red like a normal brand would've, glowed black. Voldemort began to speak.

"Do you, Hermione Granger, swear your life and services me, Lord Voldemort?"

"I...I do."

The flames spat green sparks into the air.

"And do you swear to never betray your Lord, and realize that if you do, it is punishable by death?

"I do."

More green sparks shot into the air. Voldemort suddenly pointed his wand at Hermione's left arm. It suddenly seemed as though it were glued to the chair, with her palm facing up. Voldemort looked Hermione straight in her eyes. As scarlet met brown, she felt a sickly chill run down her spine. But she would never let him know.

He picked up the brand by it's silver handle. He came close to her.

"This will be very painful."

Hermione braced herself. Suddenly, he pressed the brand into her skin. A million sparks of white hot pain shot through Hermione. She could feel the burn being forever put into her skin, and the pain it caused. Thoughts of Harry's scar passed through her mind. Was this what it always felt like? She couldn't imagine.

The pain was too great. It was as though her skin was being pulled in different directions by very small forces while others pressed cigarettes into it. If she had to feel just one more second of this, she was sure she would explode. Her eyes felt as though they would soon fly from her head. And then, as suddenly as it came, the pain was gone. But not because the brand had been taken away from her skin.

It was because she had passed out.