A/N: I'm back.I was so happy that is actually working onmy computer(!) that I decided to post the nextchapter! Because it took me so long, I will try to getthe next chapter up before the end of the month.I think that I should really get going on this story, because I'd like to finish posting it before the 6th book is released. (I've already ordered it on Amazon! Yay, can't wait!)It's probably going to become a semi-AU fic anyway, once it comes out, but I'd rather have that happen after it's finished.

In the meantime, I would like to ask you a question. I'm not plugging my own work, really. I just want to ask the people who are reading this whether you think I should continue with Ashamed (a fic not centered around any of J.K.'s characters), or just leave it. The best part was coming up, but I kind of want to use forthat idea an original fic, and it isn't my most popular story by a long shot. So just skim it, tell me if you think it should be finished, and I will be very grateful.

Chapter time!


The Negative Side
One Last Centaur

Over the years, Draco had perfected the difference between anticipation and fear. The reactions were often similar. Heightened blood pressure, quickness of breath and heartbeat, fidgety nervousness. Some people could not tell the difference by looking. Draco could.

Most of the students at Hogwarts were experiencing these symptoms two weeks before Christmas break. Draco could detect the brightness of eye and happiness beyond the normal level that went along with anticipation for a wonderful thing.

Draco himself would know this excitement several times each day, but his was accompanied by a clenching of the jaw and a swift glance to either side to be sure no one watched him. His arose from fear, since that morning.

Draco, the letter began, You will return to the manor during the December break. There are important matters which must be discussed. During this time, you will send no owls, and you will receive none. The Floo channel will be disconnected, and the Apparition wards will be in place. There is, of course, no reason to be alarmed. I tell you this because I have always given you fair warning on the state of things. There is no need to send a return owl; I already know what you will say.

His father never signed letters to him. He always knew without a signature who wrote those messages.

Hiding his feelings was something Draco did well. Even Blaise, with whom he had always been close, had trouble reading him. It was different now that he had started to spend time with Hermione Granger. She could read people better than almost anyone he knew. She would be able to see the tightness of worry in his face.

Hermione, being a kindhearted, sympathetic person, would ask him what was wrong. Hating to lie to her, Draco would tell her about the note. Then she would worry, and he did not want her to worry. She would want to help although she could do nothing. It would become even harder for him to keep his feelings in check.

He was not in love with her. He couldn't be; he knew himself too well to think that it might be so. He was incapable, as far as he knew, of loving. He could care, feel concern, laugh with someone, but he could not love.

His feelings for Hermione, however, were probably as close as he would ever get.

"Draco," the voice of a swiftly approaching Hermione spoke. She sat down next to him in their Arithmancy class. The professor was using the class to grade their last exam, and so they had the time free. They were supposed to be doing problems from their homework, but this professor was not as strict as some.

"Hello, Hermione," he said calmly. "How was Herbology?"

"It was fine. I want to ask you something."

"Ask." It was not exactly a command, but it sounded like one. Draco wondered if Hermione thought so.

"I've seen the way you've been acting today. Is something wrong?"

Draco glanced up to where Blaise was sitting, two desks ahead. He seemed engrossed in his work. He looked back to Hermione, and the worry on her face caused him to sigh. "It's nothing," he said at first. She would get it out of him in a minute, but he had to deny to save his reputation.

It took only another look from Hermione to get him to start talking. He took out the note from Lucius and passed it to her. "This came this morning," he told her. She read it quickly, and looked up at him in alarm. "Hermione, whatever you're thinking, no."

"But, Draco, you can't just do what he tells you, you don't know what's going to happen."

"It's all right. I can handle anything that could come up."

"No one can handle dying, Draco."

"My father would not do that. He might be evil and heartless, but he would not personally endanger me."

Hermione looked confused. "Wouldn't he? I thought…" she trailed off.

"You thought what?" Draco returned scathingly, keeping his voice low. "That my cold defensiveness was a mechanism developed as the result of an abused childhood? I'm a Slytherin, Hermione. It's what we do. No, my father has never touched me."

"Oh," Hermione said quietly. "Wait - you don't mean that literally, do you? That he's never touched you - at all?"

"No physical contact that I can remember."

"How can that be?"

"You don't know my father," said Draco simply. "If you did you would not be surprised."

Hermione did not say anything to this. Though he did not look at her, Draco knew that she was studying him thoughtfully. He became increasingly uncomfortable. "Not every family is as perfectly wholesome as yours, as you should know. You must have guessed that my father has no heart. Evil and heartless, like I said. I mean that. He doesn't see any purpose in intimacy. As far as I know, he barely looks at Narcissa."

Little by little, Hermione was learning more about him than anyone else knew. He would never allow himself to be tricked or pressured into letting slip so much of his life to another. Hermione … she had ways of making him want to tell her everything. Soon enough, there would be nothing left to tell. She would have information to use against him as no one ever had before.

But she would not do that. She was Hermione. Gryffindor, kindhearted, trustworthy, loving, understanding, intelligent Hermione.

"That must be terrible," she said, her voice quiet. She glanced ahead, where Blaise was sitting. Draco knew what her next question would be.

"Blaise knows some of what I have told you, but not all."

"That wasn't fair, Draco."

The abruptness, but more so the randomness, caused a drop of confusion to muddle his normally clear head. "What?

"You know nothing about my family. No family is perfect. Mine is far from it."

Draco looked at her, intrigued. "Do you want to tell me?"

Her eyes contained a hint of a glare when they turned toward him. "Only if you tell me why you broke up with me." Her voice was low and slightly harsh. He shook his head slightly, noting with annoyance that his forehead creased. She sniffed and began to scratch out a solution.

"What if…" Draco began. Hermione did not respond. He took a breath and forced the question out. "What if I promise that I will tell you as soon as I am ready, and that I will try to make that happen before we graduate?"

Hermione's reaction was slow and disconcertingly calculating. She looked at him, then at her textbook, then at her hands. She said carefully, "A few years ago, my parents decided to have a trial separation. Things were … going badly, and they thought it was better. After a few months, they got back together, but it hasn't been quite the same since then. We all get on fine, but…"

"You didn't expect they'd stay the same forever, did you? People change all the time. It's a part of life."

"I know that," she retorted sharply. "I was happy with how we were."

Nothing more needed to be said, and they both knew it. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Don't be. It doesn't matter all that much."

"Do the Wonder Boys know?" though Draco was friends with Harry, he could not refrain from the occasional jibe.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione answered, "No, they don't. There was no reason for me to tell them."

A lull in the conversation allowed Draco to finish a few of his homework problems. He realized suddenly that he had not yet assuaged her concerns. "Anyway, don't worry about Lucius. My seventeenth birthday has just passed. It probably has something to do with my inheritance. Malfoys receive their share of the estate once they come of age. We never bothered with that business of waiting until the current owner dies. It always seemed rather dreary and morbid to me."

"It is that, I suppose," Hermione relented. Her smile caused Draco's heart to lift, if only slightly. "If you say it's nothing to be worried about, then I won't worry. Much."

Though Draco was anything but convinced, he was glad she said it. He could claim ignorance if the subject ever came up again. She could not argue that she had given him any reason to think she was overly concerned.

Blaise came to his room the night before he boarded the Hogwarts Express to face what his father had in store at the mansion. He handed him an early Christmas present - a bottle of one of Blaise's own concoctions, called Butterwhiskey. It was one part butterbeer, two parts Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, and one-half part chocolate liqueur. And, as Draco knew, it tasted much better than it sounded.

After boarding the Hogwarts Express the next morning, Draco locked his compartment before anyone could join him. He spent the trip staring out of the window, avoiding contact with anyone on the train who might talk to him. Talking was not on his to-do list that day, unless it was absolutely necessary. Even the witch with the food cart passed by when he did not open the door for her. He took a few swigs of Butterwhiskey, but he could not have made himself eat. Despite his self-assurance that he was safe in his own house, Draco was as nervous as he had ever been. To be cut off from the entire world for the entire Christmas break…

Needless to say, he was not looking forward to his stay at Malfoy Manor.


Hermione found the school to be emptier than usual with Draco gone. She hid it well, though Blaise kept giving her pointed looks. She pointedly ignored him.

After a whole lot of time spent with Harry, Ginny, and Blaise, Hermione found herself alone, at last, with the dark-haired Slytherin boy in the Great Hall. She knew he would try to force a confession out of her. She resolved not to say anything he could not already know.

"You miss him, don't you?"

Hermione looked up from Hogwarts, A History. Blaise smirked in a Dracoesque manner. She sighed. "So?" she responded.

He shrugged. "I wonder what he would say if he knew…"

"I guess you will just have to continue to wonder," Hermione said, her tone warning. Blaise nearly laughed. She glared at him and returned to her book. She was reading about the unused classrooms. Some of them had never been used, but there was a time when not a room in the whole castle went empty. Color sketches of every classroom the way they had been hundreds of years ago filled the pages. They were fascinating; Hermione could imagine herself in each and every one of them, taking notes, writing essays.

"I think he misses you as well," Blaise said abruptly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You both want the same thing. That's all I'm saying."

"What is all you're saying?" a new voice asked. Harry and Ginny had just returned from their raid of the library.

"Nothing," Blaise answered. "Just some stuff about the N.E.W.T.s that Hermione and I were discussing."

Hermione searched for the books that the two were to have brought with them. "No luck?" she asked. The pile of library books was either invisible or non-existent.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing on what you wanted. I think it must be only in books in the family's private collection." Hermione had asked them to find books with Malfoy family history in them. She frowned pensively. She wanted to know, but how could she get to the books?

"I hope you are not keeping secrets from me," Blaise said, pouting.

"Right, because as a Slytherin, you would never do that," Ginny chided him.

"Oh, come on. You're Gryffindors, you are not allowed to have secrets."

"Blaise Zabini-"

"Relax, Hermione. I'm joking. But if you tell me what you are talking about, I might be able to help."

She glanced at the others before speaking. They both nodded encouragingly, just slight movements of their heads. "All right. I was thinking of something Draco said to me earlier. I want to read something about his family - he said he had a book. I think that it must be in his personal belongings, not the library's stock. It might be very helpful for me to know, but I have no idea how I would get it."

Blaise was smiling knowingly. Before anyone could ask what was so amusing, he said, "You're right, you know. Even if you knew the password to the Slytherin common room - which you probably do as Head Girl, I realize - it would be much more difficult for you to get to Draco's things. He places wards on his room, and even leaves them there during the summer. The thing is, he allows certain individuals to pass through them. There are only three that I know are allowed. One is Draco himself, and the second is Professor Snape. If he could not get into Draco's room, he might be suspicious."

"And the third?"

His smile widened. "Me. I've been friends with Draco for years. I mean real friends, not like Crabbe and Goyle. They're nothing more than allies. They happen to be too pathetically stupid to trust with anything important."

"Back to the point, Blaise. You can get it?"

"Of course."

This led to a chain of events ending with Hermione sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, reading a book on the Malfoy family history. Her finger traveled down the pages of the index in search of information on Lucius and Darla Malfoy.

She discovered all the information on their lives and deaths, and a bit about what happened to the estate after Lucius's brother took over. She saw the picture of Darla and Lucius, noting with shock the likenesses Draco had seen. Darla looked quite a bit like her, and Lucius looked exactly like Draco's father.

As meticulous as Hermione always was, she managed to find a page that seemed to be hidden underneath the picture of the couple. She wrote it off as accidental magic that revealed the page to her, but that fact was pushed aside by what was written there.

Darla was the only Muggleborn to ever be accepted into the Malfoy family. If any Malfoy married a Muggleborn, they were typically cast out of the family, much in the way that Blacks who displeased the family were removed from the tapestry. Darla, however, hid her origins because she had (somehow) fallen in love with Lucius Malfoy. She was able to convince him that she was born of two old magical lines, both of which had lived in Eastern Asia for generations. In reality, she was born just outside of London to a teacher and a priest. By the time her family was discovered to be Muggle, it was too late to send her away without sullying the reputation of the Malfoy name. That was in late 1657...

"Her lineage was discovered only months before the ball at which she died. And Lucius, the only attendant who was careful about his drink, was the only survivor." Though enraged by the mere thought that a person would be murdered because of their blood, Hermione remained clear-headed enough to piece together what had happened.

"What have you been up to, Hermione?" Ginny asked, just entering the common room. Apparently, she had spent the better part of the day with Blaise.

"I read in the Malfoy history book that Darla Malfoy was murdered by her husband because he found out that she was Muggleborn, and was trying to save his family's reputation before that information got out." Ginny did not look any happier about this than Hermione felt. "I wonder," murmured Hermione, "whether this was the warning Draco was giving me. He has to know all this. But why would he try to keep me from such a fate? It is as likely to happen as an affair between Professor Dumbledore and Pansy Parkinson."

"Ew!" Ginny exclaimed. Hermione admitted mentally that she was exaggerating, but still she felt confused.

"Did you say something about a warning, Hermione?"

"No, it was nothing. Just regular old Draco Malfoy behavior. Nothing important." Ginny's expression was skeptical. Hermione glanced at the clock, closed the book, and rose. "I'm going to go for a walk, I think."

"But it's almost dinner."

"I won't be long. Anyway, if I get lost and miss it, I can always go to the kitchen. The house elves seem to be amiable to me if I stay off the subject of their freedom." This caused them both to smile, though Hermione could not help thinking of it as slavery. "Tell Harry not to worry about me. You should distract him or something. Do you know what he's doing?"

"He and Blaise were talking about something. They're still in the Room of Requirement. I don't really know what is going on. Possibly they are talking about private, Voldemort-related things, which they will repeat to us later on. Whatever it is, it is the reason I am here, and not making out with my boyfriend." Hermione shook her head, though she understood. Kissing Draco had been a thrilling experience, when they had been … together.

Again, she shook her head, trying to rid herself of those thoughts. It was bad enough that Draco was almost always on her mind, without reminding herself of how he kissed. "I need to go," she said, and headed out. If Ginny responded, she did not hear.

The grounds were eerily empty. The blanket of snow was depressed with a line of huge footprints from the castle to Hagrid's cabin - obviously fresh, since it had snowed the night before. Otherwise, the sheath of white remained mostly unmarked. Hermione cast a few spells for warmth and dryness before making her routine venture into the forest.

For some reason, every sound alarmed her. She held her wand in hand, deciding to be prepared for anything that came her way. Nothing did, however, and she had relaxed by the time she reached Erik's small clearing.

Her apprehension grew when she heard the voices. Erik never talked to himself. He did murmur at times, when she approached and they had not yet said hello, or during conversations when a subject came up that he was unwilling to discuss with her. But he never talked plainly to himself. Therefore, there had to be someone else in the clearing. It comforted her only a little that both voices sounded civil, even friendly.

Nervously, Hermione walked toward them. She saw Erik first, mainly because she wanted to. Next, she noticed the centaur who was his companion. She almost ran the other way, but they both turned toward her before she could move.

"Hermione Granger," the centaur spoke. "How surprising. What are you doing here?"

"Firenze?" Hermione said in answer.

"She is here for me, Firenze. She has been helping me. She knows of my predicament, and is attempting to lift the binding spell and let me leave. She brings me blood, and has also given me a potion that allows me to withstand the sun. Were it not for Hermione, I would most likely be dust by now." Erik smiled warmly, and Hermione returned a smile of her own.

"I am surprised that any student would be so amicable with a vampire, but it would be Miss Granger to do so," Firenze said. "How are you?"

"I am all right," Hermione replied, handing two containers of blood to Erik, who took them gratefully. "Of course, there will always be something going on, but I am as well as I could be."

"I am glad to hear it," the centaur said.

"As am I," Erik told her. "You have not been to see me for a while."

"I am sorry, Erik. School is quite busy just before vacation. I hope you have not gone hungry because I could not get away."

"I've been able to catch a few small animals. Enough to keep my stomach reluctantly complacent," he said wryly. "I do miss your company, though. Firenze and I knew each other about forty years ago, during a year when Couteau took up with a young lady. He killed her eventually, and found me again. I did not return here afterward until that time when that bastard sucker put this spell on me." Erik had told Hermione a while ago that "sucker" was an insult among vampires. To drink blood was to be a real vampire. To be called a sucker was theequivalent of a human calling another a whore.

"I found Erik here only two days go. I have been away from the forest until four nights back, when I knew that I must return," Firenze added.

"But why?" asked Hermione. "I would think that you would try to stay away, because of the other centaurs. I thought they were angry with you."

"No doubt they still are, but they have left the forest. Less than one moon past, they fled. I felt it, and knew that I had to come back."

"For what?" Hermione prompted.

"To guard the innocent ones, as once we did." Firenze's countenance was set in a grim determination, on top of the sad, experienced look most centaurs possessed. "The others are gone because they fear what has come, and will again. Strange men have entered this forest, killing a certain number of us. They wear dark robes and masks. I know they are searching for something. When they find it, none of us will be safe."

Hermione shivered, feeling her mind scramble to make sense of everything. There was a clue in Firenze's words somewhere, but at that moment she could not find it. She looked up at the sky, long since dark and sprinkled with stars and clouds.

"I may have missed dinner already," she commented. "I should head back in. The others will wonder where I've gone."

Erik thanked her again, warning her to be careful. Firenze offered to escort her, but she declined with a thank-you and an assurance that she would be fine. She was; she encountered nothing between the clearing and the castle, but her nerves caused her to jump when a twig broke under her own foot.

She peeked inthe Great Hall, but it was empty. Dinner had been cleared away. She decided to go directly to the kitchens, obliging her complaining stomach. She passed the Room of Requirement on the way to the painting of the fruit bowl, and Harry and Blaise came stumbling out.

"Hermineee!" Harry exclaimed, spotting her. "Where've you been?"

Something about him was not right. "Outside, taking a walk. What about you?"

"Oh, me n' Blaise were just in there," he pointed vaguely in the direction of the Room of Requirement, "discussing some… stuff. Yeah." He hiccupped, then burped, and laughed. Blaise had not said anything. Hermione turned to look at him, but discovered that he was already gone. "So where were you, Herm?" Harry asked again.

Realization hit Hermione, and her eyes widened. "You're drunk," she accused, pulling him along the corridor.

"No! I'm not drunk. A diddle tipsy, maybe…"

"What did he give you?"

"Who?"

"Blaise!"

"Oh, him. Nothing much. I had some Firewhiskey, but only a tiny cup." Harry held up two fingers, emphasizing his words. "Tiny."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Had she not felt compelled to speak, she would have gritted her teeth. "I can't believe Blaise would do that. I had no idea he could be so irresponsible! If I could get my hands on him right now, he would be sorry. He'd certainly be searching for a Time-Turner then."

She dragged Harry into the kitchen as she went. The house elves greeted them happily. Dobby came flying into Harry, and Harry wobbled and fell to the floor upon impact. "Dobby is so happy to see Harry Potter! And Hermione Granger too, of course."

"Thanks Dobby. I need some food, since I missed dinner. But Harry needs something else." She bent down and spoke quietly to him. "Harry is intoxicated. I don't know exactly what to do to take care of that, but I do not want him to be like this anymore. He'll thank you later on," she assured Dobby. Dobby said that he knew exactly what to do. He made Harry stand up and led him to a different part of the kitchen.

Hermione sat eating her dinner, a plate of steak and kidney pie, which she had never liked all that much. She thought about Blaise and what she would like to do to him, about Harry and why he would drink, and about what Firenze had told her.

Suddenly, Harry came stalking up to her, looking quite scathingly angry. "Hermione, what the bloody fuck did you do that for!"

"I don't believe I have ever heard you use such language, Harry," she said.

"Just answer the damn question, Hermione! Why did you do that?"

Of course, she knew exactly what he meant. "Think, Harry! What if you had run into a teacher? What if someone else had seen you? Drinking is not allowed! You could get into serious trouble! I would expect no less from Blaise, but you should know better!"

"You said before that trying a drink for Christmas sounded like fun," Harry pointed out.

"I was joking, Harry!" Hermione lied. She had been partially serious at the time, but for the purpose of this conversation, she had to lie. "I would never drink at school, if I was going to at all."

Harry shrugged and glared at the floor.

"It is not healthy, Harry. So many things can go wrong when you're drunk, and you could have prevented it by staying sober. You know that."

"Yes! I know all about the dangers of alcohol. But maybe you should think before you try to control everyone else's life, eh? I wanted to forget my pain for just one night. There's no other way to do it. Next time, let me have my moment's peace, and leave me the bloody hell alone!"

Harry stomped out of the kitchen. Hermione felt miserable, but maintained that she had done the right thing.

…TBC…

Heehee, a diddle tipsy. Woohoo, review!