Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, they were tres excellente! They made me all warm and fuzzy inside. Keep 'em coming, and remember, I don't have an editor, so if you find anything that doesn't make sense, even if it's just awkward, tell me, and I'll fix it pronto!
Oh, yeah, and the language in this chapter is... not the best for small eyes... so just be careful, kay?
Much love to all who read or review, or both!
Scribs

"May God have mercy on my soul for the deaths on my name and for the treachery I committed. Betrayal of God and country, what a horrible thing it is." E. Howard Hunt

Chapter Two

Draco Malfoy was not used to feeling guilty, so he didn't.

He was supposed to be, he knew, and at one point or another he had been. After all, he'd helped kill a man. No one did that without feeling anything. But after a while, he found he didn't like the feeling of regret, and did away with it all together. It never helped anybody anyway. What he was focusing on now was revenge.

After he had escaped Hogwarts at the end of the year with Snape and the other Death Eaters, he was not greeted by the Dark Lord with any reverence at all. He would have been stupid to think that he would be welcomed back with open arms, but he had in no way expected what he got. A cold, hard voice, whispering from the shadow of a throne, "Crucio!"

And he had never expected the pain. Like his body was sliced up and they pored lemon juice in the wounds and then set him on fire. Like every bone in his body was breaking, every muscle was spasming, every blood vessel was exploding. He almost went insane in just the first few minutes, unaware of anything but the horrible, awful, indescribable pain.

Sometimes pain goes away once you get used to it, but this never relented, never stopped, never dulled, never gave him the tiniest bit of relief. He thought that he would die there, cringing in pain in front of the Dark Lord, screaming for his father, his mother, his bloody second cousin, anyone who would save him. He sort of wished they would just kill him.

Then the pain stopped suddenly, and Draco was able to sense other things besides the torture. He still tingled with the memory of the agony, but it was gone, and that was all that mattered.

"You failed me," said the cruel voice. It sounded almost happy.

There was a titter of speech behind Draco, but he couldn't turn his head to see who was speaking. He didn't particularly care. Whoever it was had just watched him as he was tortured, and they didn't deserve his attention.

"Nothing to say, boy?" teased the voice, so close to laughing it made Draco's eyes water. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have anything to say."

"Nothing you would want to hear, my Lord," Draco said, his voice almost a whimper. It pained him to sound so weak, especially when his words were not. It sort of ruined the whole effect. "I refuse to give excuses. They mean nothing anymore."

"I must say I admire that, boy," the Dark Lord replied. Draco looked up at him, surprised. He was twirling his wand absently in his long, willowly fingers. "Most of my other protegé's would be quick to put blame on some other factor besides themselves."

Draco winced at the words. Some other factor. So that was all he was. A factor.

"But then again," the Dark Lord continued, "you're probably just doing that to impress me. It wouldn't be the first time. Not scapegoating does not make you stronger than I, boy. After all, if you were strong, well... you'd be able to resist me, wouldn't you? Imperio!"

Draco felt no more pain, not even its memory. He felt calm and blissfully free. He felt as if he'd just closed his eyes and laid outside in the sun. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't mind it.

Turn around, a small, silky voice said inside his head. Go ahead. Just turn around.

And so he did. And as he did, he realized what was happening. And he tried to fight back, he did, but he wasn't strong enough. It was so easy, just to release himself to that tiny, wonderful voice...

When he turned, he saw the Death Eaters, complete in mask and robes. They did not seem to be enjoying his pain very much, but they weren't helping either. He would have been upset, had it not been for this wonderful feeling that this so called "curse" brought him.

But then he saw the unmistakable long, blond hair spilling down from the hood of the robes, the all too familiar grimace of displeasure on the mouth of his father.

His bloody father.

It snapped him out of his reverie. His father was just standing there, had been standing there watching his son being Crucio'd half to death. He'd heard his screams for help, how could he not? He'd seen him writhing, and he must have smelt his fear. And he had done nothing.

His fucking father.

Voldemort had probably thought that the knowledge that his father was looking on as he was tortured would break him. It did the exact opposite. It made him stronger. He must survive this. He mustn't give in, because if he did, his father would never know the pain that he had known. So much worse than that of the Cruciatus curse - the pain of betrayal.

His escape had been so foggy for him. He remembered Snape in his cell, torturing him with another Death Eater, MacNair, whom he had never liked at all. He remembered trying to concentrate on his father's face as he had last seen it, masked and grimacing, as he always did when being Crucio'd. It didn't help much, but it did keep him sane. He remembered everything going black. He remembered waking up just outside of Hogsmeade, in a small cave in the mountains. He remembered looking at his bruises and cuts (Sometimes, when the Death Eaters were particularly frusterated with something, the Dark Lord would allow them to beat him, instead of using magic against him. Apparently flogging someone was a lot more stress relieving than waving your wand at them.) and thinking that, as long as nothing was broken in his legs, he would be able to make it to Hogwarts. He had also been pleased to see that he somehow had his wand back.

He remembered wondering if he should even go to Hogwarts at all. Would they even want him after what he'd done?

The guilt then began to settle into his stomach, making him slightly nauseous. He had helped kill Dumbledore. Even though he had barely ever spoken to Dumbledore, he had never hated the man as his father had. In fact, he was almost always comforted by his presence.

But, hesighed to himself, there was no point in feeling guilty now. It never helped anybody out of anything.

It all turned out okay anyway. Professor McGonagall had taken a lot of convincing, but after telling his story and explaining that there was no way in hell he would ever go back to those... those maniacs, McGonagall had sent him to the Hospital Wing to be cared for by Madame Pomfrey, who was under strict orders to treat him as "any other student."

Meaning, of course, that in their eyes, he wasn't just any other student.

After a week or so of lying in bed alone, he became bored with the whole affair. He took to leaving the Hospital Wing at night, when he was sure that Madame Pomfrey was asleep. Most of the teachers were on vacation or at home during the holidays, so at night there was no one to tell him where to be. He wandered the dark, cold hallways alone, enjoying the anonymity of the torchless corridors, and felt at home with nothing to prove to anyone.

Then one night, as he was rounding a corner in silent contemplation, he nearly ran right into three oddly familiar figures. For a moment the four of them blinked at each other, until one of the tall, redheaded boys came to his senses. Well... sort of.

"Bloody hell," he said, almost non-chalantly. "Is that Malfoy?"

Hermione knew they weren't supposed to leave Grimmauld Place. That had been made very clear to them by Mrs. Weasley at the beginning of the summer. No leaving the property, especially not alone, and especially not at night.

But this was important. Important and it must be done discreetly. Which meant it had to be done both alone and under the cover of night.

When Hermione Apparated as close to Hogwarts as she could get herself, it was nearly midnight. She wished she had thought to bring a cloak with her - it was freezing around the Forbidden Forest at night. As it was, all she had on was an old pair of sneakers, a T-shirt and faded jeans. Her hair was up in a rather messy ponytail, and she knew she didn't look terribly professional, but she didn't particularly care. She wasn't looking for permission, just advice.

In her arms she held all of her information in a sleek, black, leather portfolio that her father had gotten her some years earlier, before she had gotten into Hogwarts. Back when he and Mum thought she'd be going to Muggle schools all her life. After all, back then there really hadn't been any alternative.

She stood in front of the path through the Forbidden Forest that lead to Hogwarts and tried desperately to remember what she was doing here, and then what she was going to say. As she went through it all in her mind, the distinct popping sound of someone Apparating beside her made her jump nearly out of her skin.

Strike that. Two someones. Two redheaded and identical someones.

"Fred! George! What on Earth are you doing here?" she demanded in a lecturing tone, clutching her portfolio to her chest. Fred stepped away from the trees and grinned mischeviously at her.

"We could ask you the same thing, Miss Granger," he said, seeming very proud of himself. George still stood slightly in the shadows, looking almost uncomfortable, but he managed to smirk along with his brother.

"Yes. But I wouldn't answer you."

"Then neither will we," George replied, winking at her. She glared at the both of them.

"How did you know I was here, anyway?" she asked them after a moment of angry silence.

"Ah, that is the genius part, isn't it, George?"

"Quite so, Fred," George replied, finally walking into the moonlight. It wasn't quite full yet, but it was big enough to help them see each other. "Would you like to explain, dear brother?"

"Not at all. This was your brilliance, you go ahead and tell the lady."

"Right," agreed George. He cleared his throat dramatically. "Have you ever heard of a device called a Shadowing Stone?"

Hermione shook her head. It was a new term to her. George looked pleased.

"Of course you haven't," he said, "as Fred and I just invented them, and they aren't on the market yet. How it works is by putting a series of Protean-like Charms on two stones of about the same appearance and weight, and then giving one stone to someone, the other stone will tell us where that person goes. All we had to do was slip one stone into the pocket of your jeans and wait for ours to glow and tell us where you were Apparating to. It's quite impressive, no?"

"No," Hermione spat, "it's sneaky and downright loathesome."

George and Fred bowed. "Thank you," Fred answered. "We do try."

"You two are despicable," she said. "Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around?"

They looked at each other, puzzled, then looked back at her.

"No."

"Not really."

"Can't think of a thing."

"You're pathetic then," Hermione decided, pushing past them and starting down the path. "And you might as well go home," she called back to them, "because I'm not going to tell you what I'm here for."

"Ah, but dear Hermione," Fred said, quickly catching up to her, "you might need to be protected."

"Protected?" she repeated, disgusted with the two of them.

"Exactly," George said. "What kind of friends would we be if we were to let you wander about the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night all by yourself?"

"It's rather dangerous, you know."

"And spooky."

"And did we mention dangerous?"

"I think we did, but I'm sure the emphasis was necessary."

"Naturally, it's a very important point."

"Do you two ever shut up?" Hermione demanded. Although she would much rather be by herself, she had to admit, the Forest was a bit... menacing, and it was kind of nice to have two rather strong boys next to her.

"As you wish," George said, bowing again. Hermione just rolled her eyes.

By the time they entered the castle, it was nearly one o'clock and Fred and George hadn't said anything to her, obnoxiously true to their word. Even when she asked them direct questions, they just winked at her knowingly and continued on their way. Even when Hermione had heard a terrifying howling sound off in the distance and jumped back into George, nearly toppling him over, he had merely patted her shoulder comfortingly and set her back straight on the path, eye twinkling.

Damn them both, stupid prats, she thought, and she wasn't normally one to swear, even in the confines of her mind.

The castle doors were unlocked, as they always were. It was to make everyone in need feel welcome, Hermione had read in Hogwarts: A History. Helga Hufflepuff had insisted on it back when the castles was being founded, and had herself put a charm on the doors that made them impossible to lock.

Hermione and the twins stepped into the Entrance Hall, which seemed so much more vast when there weren't any torches to light it. Hermione took out her wand and whispered, "Lumos." The twins followed suit.

They followed Hermione without hesitation up the stairs. In silence they walked through the empty corridors that seemed to filled with the echoes of their footsteps. At one point, Hermione thought she heard someone else's footsteps along with theirs, but resigned it to imagination.

And then they turned the corner and nearly fell on top of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's first instinct was to tell him to go bother someone who cared about his opinion, but then she realized that he hadn't said anything to her yet. Her next instinct was to wonder what in the world he was doing at Hogwarts after his attempted assassination on Professor Dumbledore.

After that thought, her next instinct was to strangle him, but she was too shocked to move. What was he doing here?

"Bloody hell," said Fred to her left. "Is that Malfoy?"

That seemed to wake George up as he pointed his wand directly at Malfoy's throat and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!" as loud as was humanly possible. The force of the spell was so strong that Malfoy was thrown to the opposite wall and seemed to stick there a foot or so above the ground before falling to the floor.

"George!" Hermione shrieked.

"Git deserved it," George muttered. Fred looked as though he agreed.

"He was probably sneaking in anyway, Hermione," Fred said. "Why else would he be here?"

"I wasn't arguing," she replied heavily. "I was just disappointed that the Body-Binding Curse was the worst thing you could think of."

"Oh, I thought of worse, but I'm pretty sure they'd land me in Azkaban for a stint," George replied as the three of them walked calmly over to Malfoy.

"I think you bruised him, George," Fred observed, noting the lacerations that seemed to be all over the vile creature in front of them. George shrugged absentmindedly.

"Oops?"

"I don't think you did that," Hermione said, leaning her portfolio against the wall and kneeling down next to him. Malfoy's eyes were pleading at her. She rolled her own at him. "They look like they're healed. Or almost anyway."

"Miss Granger! Mr. Weasleys!" said a shrill, scandalized voice. They turned to see Madame Pomfrey rushing at them with her night dress pulled up from her ankles, showing off fluffy, pink slippers. "What are you doing to this poor child?"

"We caught him sneaking around the corridors, Madame," Fred said, sounding official. Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue as she drew closer.

"Poor thing... could have been killed..."

"No, we're fine, Madame," Hermione explained. "George petrified him before he could-"

Madame Pomfrey brushed past them as roughly as someone that inherently gentle could. "Not you! Him. He's only just begun to heal and you're putting him through so much trauma."

Hermione and the twins had no idea what to say.

She muttered the counter-curse at Malfoy and he instantly jumped to his feet. He pulled his wand out of his robes. Hermione was the closest to him, so he pointed it directly at her throat. Fred and George jumped in the way. George hid her behind his arm protectively.

"You'll pay for that, Weasley," Draco hissed. Fred and George just glared.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you please," Madame Pomfrey said, ignoring the fight that seemed about to start and grabbing the boy by the back of his hood and starting to frog march him back in the direction of the Infirmary. "You should be in bed. No wonder you've been sleeping all day. I really shall have to report this to the Headmistress. Which reminds me, she's in her office, Hermione, she's been expecting you for at least half an hour now, I think. The password is Aurora. And try not to attack anymore students under my care on your way there. Honestly."

Malfoy sneered back at them, looking diginified even as a woman half his size forced him down the corridor. George still stood in front of Hermione, apparently not wanting to give the prat a free shot.

"What the bloody hell does she mean, 'under her care?'" Fred raged almost as soon as they were out of earshot and George finally dropped his arm from in front of Hermione. "When did that sodding bastard come to be protected by the Hogwarts nurse? After what he did? They should have thrown him off the fucking North Tower for what he tried to do, and he's being pampered and protected in the bloody infirmary! The world's gone completely fucking mad!"

"I'll ask McGonagall when we get up there," Hermione said, trying not to show how much the encounter had flustered her. She picked up her portfolio and clutched it to her chest. "Let's go, shall we?"

They began again to walk towards the gargoyle statue that guarded Professor McGonagall's office, and George asked, "What did Madame Pomfrey mean when she said that McGonagall was expecting you?"

"Well I did make an appointment, you know," Hermione said. It sounded a bit like a lecture was coming on. "I'm not about to show up in the middle of the night without telling the Headmistress that I'm coming. How rude do you think I am?"

Fred opened his mouth, thought better of speaking, and closed it again. George stifled a laugh.

"Aurora," Hermione said authoritatively. The gargoyle spun out of the way, and they walked up the stairs. When they reached the top, Hermione knocked on the door politely. After a few moments, Professor McGonagall answered.

"Hello, Miss Granger, I see you've brought an entourage," she said, though not disapprovingly. "It is nice to see you again, Fred, George."

"They sort of brought themselves, actually, Professor," Hermione said, glaring at the two of them. Before she could say anything else though, Fred had pushed his way in front of her.

"If you'll pardon the interruption, Headmistress, I have a very important question-"

"Fred!" Hermione cried.

"What is Malfoy doing here?" George continued for his brother. Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrow and persed her lips.

"I do not see how that is any of your business," she said, "but if you must know, he fell on hard times and came to me for protection from those whom he once followed. He is of no threat to you or anyone else for that matter, and until he proves otherwise to me, I am going to trust him. He is my student for now. I am going to give him a second chance. That is all I'm going to say on the matter."

"He doesn't deserve a second chance!" Fred said. Hermione thought his voice was a little louder than he had probably intended it to be.

"I do not see how it is your decision, Mr. Weasley." She looked down at Hermione. "I hope they're not involved in the meeting you wanted to hold with me."

"No, Professor," Hermione said. "In fact, they're not allowed to hear it."

"What?" Fred and George said at the same time, mouths open.

"We came all the way for nothing?"

"Protected you from the Forbidden Forest-"

"-not to mention Malfoy-"

"-used all our resources-"

"-all our assets-"

"- and it was all for nothing?" They somehow managed to finish together. Hermione just looked at them sternly.

"It was your own fault for following me and you're hearing none of this until I talk to Professor McGonagall about it. Now, if you'll excuse me." The two women walked into the office and the Headmistress closed the door behind them.

Fred stared at it with no expression on his face. George watched his brother, to make sure he wouldn't explode or something.

"You know," Fred sighed, "sometimes I absolutely hate that girl."

George laughed. "She's not so bad. You have to admit she's got moxie."

"There is such a thing as too much moxie, brother," Fred said.

"I dunno," George replied, resigning himself to sit on the top step. "I think it's kind of fun."

Fred looked at him as if he had just said necrophilia was not such a bad practice. "Sometimes I hate you too."