Disclaimer- Don't own it. Okay!

"Failing to act Draco, when given a blatant, wieldy opportunity, tsk tsk," clucks the Dark Lord with a condescending frown on his not quite a face, "That was not fulfilling your duties as a spy."

"Memoria rubicundus!"

Draco and the others watch the ruddy bundle with bated breath, expecting it to move or to morph or become real; instead, the incantation causes the crimson mess to expand in all directions until it's engulfing them all.

Crimson mess. Murder left and right; that day was a crimson mess.

Draco doesn't know if it's time travel or if it's some involuntarily recorded pensieve because it's old, intense magic. It feels like they're being thrust down off of a cliff or something. Not down, in particular, but it doesn't feel like up either, really. His head is throbbing in such a hot, bold, terrible fashion that he know's it's dark magic seeping through his blood and licking his mind with it's flames. He's feeling nauseous now; he tries to cry out but the rushing, russet winds around him steal the sound before it even leaves his mouth. He wonders vaguely if they're really in some red, windswept continuum or if the curse was so torturous that the aftershock pain is the only thing he can see.

All he could see.

He can see vague half-people now as the ruddy fog is lifting. Maybe they're traveling with him; maybe they've already arrived.

Soon the mist has faded and he sees a scene from a few months prior with crystal clarity. He sees the Death Eaters and their master as translucent, blurred not quite people as his past becomes reality and they become ghosts of the future...mirages...a dream...a nightmare.

And his head still stings like bloody hell.

A handsome young blond waits outside of a shabby door. A plump, redheaded woman opens the door and promptly faints.

"Molly dear," says an agitated Arthur Weasley, "if no one's there come back insid-"

He stops abruptly when he sees his comatose wife and the unexpected visitor. The uninvited criminal, to be precise.

"Harry!" the man yells fervently, "Hermione! Get down here!"

"I mean no harm, sir" sighs a cautious Draco Malfoy, clearly choking down the invective racing through his ind.

Arthur sends him a goofy, suspicious, and intentionally-intimidating-but-inadvertently-laughable stare for a good three minutes before a shout resonated from behind him.

It's Harry Potter; He's angry. The hair with legs beside him doesn't look to happy either.

"What are you doing here Malfoy?" trembles Hermione furiously.

"If I could-"

It's then that Harry speaks.

"Avada Kedr-owww Hermione!"

A winded Granger hovers over the boy-who-lived-even-though-she-had-forcibly-shoved-him-down.

"We can't bloody well kill him now, Harry" she gasps for air, "You don't need a criminal record."

Potters eyes are enough to kill at this moment. He sends a galvanized, betrayed and hideously angry glare at his best friend.

"Do not, ever, do that to me again!" he bellows at her dangerously.

She flinches and Draco finds himself getting angry that Potter would verbally manhandle her. Not that it matters.

"And you," he hisses at Draco. When his eyes are shining at him Draco can't help but shrug away from their jade spotlight. They hurt him somehow. So green. Green like the curse that Potter attempts again before the silly mudblood Stupify's him.

Before Granger can think, he's holding her wand and Arthur Weasley is on the ground.

"This place is still lacking both class and manners, I see," he says coldly, "It's so terrible to have to invite oneself in."

He steps over bodies to get into the main room.

Like the battle. Stepping over so many bodies; some friends, professors, people undefined by the hot, matted crimson that had engulfed them that day.

"You need to listen to me, Granger. You need to stop calculating a way to get out of here and trust me."

"Here," he says, gesturing to the couch.

"How can I trust a murderer, Malfoy? Who can trust a back stabber?"

"You can't. No one can, you foolish girl. Unfortunately for you, I am at a point of terrible advantage here, so going with whatever I say would probably ensure you a longer life."

For a moment she's just a girl and he's just a boy and the only thing he can do is pray.

Draco Malfoy shuts his eyes for a moment before facing her once more.

"I'm here to start over."

"Malfoy," barks the Dark Lord as the rush of memories spins back into a bundle once more, "is it true that you stayed with the wandless, defenseless mudblood of Harry Potter for over an hour and did not capture her, question her, or make her more than averagely uncomfortable?"

He breaths three shallow breaths.

"Yes."

A/n– thanks to all three of my amazing reviewers. I love you all on an intimate and individual level.