HOGWARTS, YEAR 6: FALL

"I think Draco Malfoy has taken the Dark Mark," Harry said, as they rode through mile after mile of rugged moorland on their way to Hogwarts.

Ron snorted.

"But Harry – he's only 16, do you really think Voldemort would allow someone so young in his inner circle?" Hermione asked.

"It all makes sense!" Harry continued. "His father's in Azkaban, and he was acting strangely in Diagon Alley!"

"But we didn't actually see anything…" Ron started.

"We saw enough," Harry said.

"Well, if he is a Death Eater, it's not by choice," Hermione said.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked incredulously. "Of course it'd be by choice."

"No it wouldn't," Hermione insisted. "Look, I'm not denying that Malfoy is a git, but he isn't evil. If he has taken the Dark Mark it's because Voldemort is punishing his family for Lucius's failure to retrieve the prophecy." A twinge of guilt twisted in her stomach. If only I had been able to stop Harry from going to the Ministry. She sighed. "Look, I don't like the Malfoys, but quite honestly, they're the reason I'm still alive."

"Because Lucius saved you just before our First Year?" Ron grimaced. "I still think he was Imperiused or something. The Malfoys hate Muggleborns, always have. Goes back centuries, dad says."

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione sighed. "Like I said, I met them before First Year, maybe he just…"

"…took a liking to you, somehow," Harry finished. "It's strange," he mused, "but not impossible."

"Well, the Malfoys do admire intelligence and power," Ron said. "Lucius must have seen potential in you or something."

"Honestly, I think it was more that he didn't want to see a little girl kidnapped by a disgusting warlock," Hermione said. "Like I said, the Malfoys are bigoted Pureblood gits, but they aren't entirely evil."

"What about Riddle's diary though?" Ron demanded.

"Lucius didn't know what it was going to do," Hermione said. "I'm not excusing his behavior…" she added hastily.

Ron glared. "He knew it was full of Dark Magic, Hermione. That's why he got rid of it. Trying to discredit my dad, no less."

"I know Ron. He does deserve to be in Azkaban, but part of me wishes he wasn't condemned to such a terrible fate."

Ron grunted noncommittally. "Well, it's almost time to change into our robes," he said.

"I'll be right back," Harry said, slipping his Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk.

"Where are you going?" Ron and Hermione asked.

But he was already gone.

Later That Evening

"Will. You. Stop. Eating," Hermione hissed at Ron. "Your friend is missing."

"Oy, calm down, will you?" Ron said. "He's right behind you!"

She turned and saw Harry walking between the tables, blood dripping from his nose. She grimaced.

Ginny leaned over. "He's covered in blood again," she whispered. "Why is it he's always covered in blood?"

"Harry! There you are. What in Merlin's name happened?"

"Malfoy," he spat angrily.

Hermione did a quick cleansing spell on his face, glaring at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was staring stonily back at her. He does look different this year, she decided. Harder somehow. Older. Darker.

But all of that could be attributed to the incarceration of his father. The Malfoys were an extremely close-knit family; it was no wonder he should be changed from such a loss.

She shuddered. If Malfoy really had taken the Dark Mark, she needed to stay far, far away from him.

Draco POV

Draco shoved his food around his plate while Dumbledore gave his customary beginning-of-the-year speech, one hand cradling his chin.

He hadn't even wanted to come back to school this year. He felt lost in every possible way. His father was in Azkaban. His mother was barely holding it together. Voldemort and the Death Eaters had all but moved into his ancestral home. And he himself was now a Death Eater. At first he'd felt a strange sort of pride: of all the Purebloods vying for a spot in the inner circle, he – 16-year-old Draco Malfoy – had been chosen. But then the Dark Lord had given him his task. I have to murder Dumbledore. By Salazar, he could barely look at the man, let alone contemplate killing him. His stomach turned. He gave a cursory glance around the Great Hall, feeling a wave of fury wash over him. All these imbeciles eating and laughing. They have no idea what's coming. How many of them would die at the hands of people to whom he was now eternally bound. The Dark Mark seemed to itch and burn under his robes, and he resisted the urge to rub at it.

His eyes fell once more on the Gryffindor table.

Granger. There was no doubt in his mind that she'd follow Potter straight into the fire when the war started in earnest. She was brilliant, but could she survive the concentrated hate and violence that was looming, as both a Mudblood and Potter's best friend? His stomach turned with more urgency this time, and he knew he had to make it to a bathroom. He shoved his plate away and stalked out of the Great Hall, ignoring the curious stares of his housemates.

LATE FALL

Hermione studied Draco as he absentmindedly stirred his potion, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way his robes were hanging off his frame. "He looks ill, doesn't he?" she whispered to Harry.

"Who?"

"Malfoy."

Harry looked up from the ingredients he was chopping. "Yeah, I guess he does. Being a Death Eater can't be great for your health."

She sighed. "You don't still think…"

"We've been over this Hermione," Harry said. "It's the only explanation."

"It's not the only explanation," she said.

"He hasn't been playing Quidditch either."

"He hasn't?" Hermione frowned.

"No, he hasn't," Harry said. "He loves Quidditch. If he isn't playing, it's because he has something more serious than games on his mind."

Hermione bit her lip as she dropped arrowroot in her cauldron, sneaking another covert glance at Malfoy. As though he felt it, Malfoy looked up, his tired eyes meeting hers in a flash of grey.

There was no smirk, no glare, no raised eyebrow of inquiry. Just a weariness laced with desperation that sent a ripple of pity through her.

She tore her eyes away and took a deep breath. Not my problem. If he really is a Death Eater he's too far gone to help.

But she couldn't stop thinking about him. She found herself searching for him at mealtimes, more often than not finding him absent (and if he was there, staring at his food rather than eating it). He was painfully thin – almost gaunt; cheekbones stretched over sallow-looking skin.

She noticed Snape watching him as well, a worried look in his impenetrably dark eyes.

WINTER

She was doing rounds for Prefect duty when she saw a shadow slinking along a deserted corridor.

"Stop!" Hermione said.

The shadow sped up and Hermione whipped her wand out. "I said STOP, or I'll hex you."

"Easy, Granger," the figure said. He held his hands up and turned around slowly.

"Malfoy," Hermione said warily. "What are you doing out this late?"

"I'm a Prefect, Granger, not some errant Third Year."

"Could have fooled me," she said. "I know you've been passing off your Prefect duties to the Hufflepuffs."

"So? That Fletchley idiot loves it – gives his inflated head a reason to swell even more."

Hermione stepped closer to him. He looked absolutely exhausted. His hair hung lank around his hollow eyes.

"Merlin Malfoy," she breathed. "Have you slept at all this year?" She eyed his too-thin frame. "Or eaten?"

"Careful. Someone might think you actually cared, Granger."

She sighed. "If you continue like this you'll literally starve yourself to death."

"It'd probably be for the best," he said softly.

Hermione gasped. "No it wouldn't! By the grace of Godric, don't say that. Don't even think it." Her expression changed from shocked to determined. "Come on," she said forcefully.

"I'm not your house elf."

"Come with me or I'll hex you."

A ghost of a smirk appeared on his face. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me," she glared.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, Granger. You win. But only because I'm too tired to fight."

She grabbed his wrist. Surprisingly, he didn't pull away, instead allowing himself to be dragged through the darkened castle until Hermione came to a stop in front of a large painting of a bowl of fruit. She let go of his wrist and looked at him expectantly. Draco noticed a faint tingle where her fingers had touched his skin.

"Is this all, Granger? I have to say, still life has never really done it for me."

She snorted and reached out to tickle the pear. The painting swung open, and Draco stepped back in surprise.

She climbed through, beckoning for him to follow. "Come on."

He stepped into it and the portrait swung closed. Draco found himself surrounded by house elves.

"Miss Hermione!" Dobby squeaked. "It is great to be seeing you again!" his excited smile fell into a frown when he noticed Draco. "M-m-master Draco! What is YOU doing here?"

Malfoy eyed the elf distastefully. "I might ask you the same thing. You're supposed to be serving my family."

Dobby puffed out his small chest. "Not anymore, I is not. Dobby is a FREE ELF."

"Ok, ok," Hermione said. "Dobby, Malfoy and I are just here for some food. He skipped dinner, you see…" (A few dinners, she thought). "I promise he will be nothing but respectful," she said, giving Malfoy a fierce glare.

He snorted.

Hermione crossed her arms and glared even more fiercely.

"Fine," Malfoy spat.

Satisfied, she turned back around and eyed Dobby hopefully. "Please?"

"Ok. I makes food for Miss Hermione and her…friend."

"We are NOT friends," Malfoy said quickly.

"Then I makes food for Miss Hermione and her whiny not-friend."

Hermione broke into peals of laughter as Malfoy glared indignantly.

"Oh shove off, Granger," he said, pushing past her to flop on the couch by the roaring fireplace.

Fifteen minutes later they each held a steaming plate of steak and potatoes, served with warm bread and butter.

Draco ate like a man who hadn't seen food in years. She watched him shovel it in, surprised that he was even bothering with knife and fork. When his plate was halfway clean, he stopped, staring at the rest of his food dejectedly.

"What's wrong?" she asked, buttering a second piece of bread.

"I'm full."

"Oh," she said, nodding in understanding. "You've been eating so little the last few months that your stomach has shrunk. We'll take it to go, and I'll cast a warming charm so it'll be ready to eat when you're hungry again."

She pushed herself off the couch.

"Is Miss Hermione leaving?" Dobby asked, the other house elves gathering to see them off.

"We are. Thank you so much. It was absolutely delicious, as always."

The house elves beamed their delight.

Hermione elbowed Malfoy.

"Oh – yeah, it was – decent," he said. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Thank you," he said stiffly, clearly not used to uttering those words to anyone, let alone house elves.

"Miss Granger is welcome anytime!" Dobby squeaked, waving goodbye as she and Malfoy slipped out of the portrait hole.

Malfoy gave a huge yawn as they wandered down the halls toward the dungeons.

"My former house elf is annoyingly fond of you," he said.

"Well, I don't treat him like a used rag," Hermione said, glaring at him. "You should try it sometime."

He snorted and yawned yet again.

"Promise me you'll sleep tonight?" she asked.

"Yes, Mother dearest," he smirked.

"I'm serious Malfoy. You're starting to look like an Inferi." She waved her wand over his plate, and it was instantly steaming.

"Ok, I'll leave you to it then," she said. "Goodnight. Whatever it is you're going through – just, let me know if I can help."

His eyes darkened. "I appreciate that Granger. More than you know," he said softly. "But I'm beyond help."

With that, he swept downstairs, swallowed by the dark of the dungeons before Hermione could say anything more.

LATE WINTER

"Malfoy did it."

"Harry…"

"I'm serious Hermione. Malfoy poisoned that mead, and he cursed Katie Bell."

She scoffed, her heart unwilling to believe that he was capable of such a thing. Her head did whisper that there was something very, very dark in him this year.

She pushed her food around her plate, no longer hungry. "I'm going to the library for a bit."

"Oy, you gonna finish that…?" Ron asked, nodding at her full plate.

"It's all yours," she said.

She was walking past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom when the door swung open and someone smacked into her. "Ow!" she yelped. "Malfoy?" she stared at him in shock. "What are you doing in the girls' loo?" Hermione took a closer look at him. His eyes were rimmed in red and his cheeks were wet.

"Have you – have you been crying?"

He swiped furiously at his face. "Of course not," he said. "I was just washing my face."

"You have been crying. There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's not like I'll tell anybody."

"You better not, Mudblood," he spat.

She recoiled. "You ARE a Death Eater, aren't you?" she said, looking him up and down disgustedly.

He stared at her in shock, his pale face going even whiter. "What did you – I am not. How – why would you…?"

"Come off it, Malfoy. You've been acting strange all year, and you twitch every time anyone so much as gets near your left arm. I didn't want to believe it, I really didn't."

She gazed at him sadly. "You nearly killed Ron and Katie."

Tears of shame and fury sprang to his eyes. "You think I wanted this Granger? That I want to hurt people? To be forever marked as a slave to a madman?" He pulled the left sleeve of his robe back, revealing the sinister black serpent writhing on the marble skin of his forearm. "He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family. Tell me, what choice do I have?!"

Hermione stared at the Dark Mark in horrified fascination. As if from a great distance, she heard steps coming down the corridor. Then she yanked the sleeve down over his arm and pushed him back into the bathroom before half running to the library.

She was in the Gryffindor common room less than 30 minutes later, being unable to concentrate on her book after the disturbing scene with Malfoy. He's a Death Eater. HE'S A DEATH EATER. She was reeling. She tried to summon some feeling of hate toward him, but found that she couldn't. She felt only pity. And deep down, if she was really honest, she felt scared. What if Voldemort kills him? She figured that his task must be to kill Dumbledore, and there was just no way he would be able to follow through. He was not a murderer – that she knew with absolute certainty. She'd been acquainted with him for 6 years now. She knew his quirks, his weaknesses, his strengths. Sure, he was a bully, but Merlin, James Potter and Sirius Black had been far crueler to Snape than Malfoy had ever been to Harry, Ron or Hermione.

She paced the floor, her mind in turmoil. Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater. She longed to tell someone, but she knew that if word got out he'd either be tossed in Azkaban with his father, or killed by Voldemort. His mother would likely die either way.

The portrait hole opened, and Harry ran in, white as a sheet and completely drenched.

"Harry! What happened? Are you alright?" Hermione ran to him, alarmed by his shell-shocked expression.

"It's Malfoy."

Her heart stilled.

"What do you mean?"

Ron and Ginny joined them, and Harry told them about the curse in halting sentences, guilt lacing each word.

"I told you there was something wrong with that book," Hermione said flatly.

"You have to get rid of it, Harry," Ginny said softly, holding her hand out and leading him out of the portrait hole.

When they were gone Hermione turned and fled to her room, ignoring Ron's calls.

Alone, she punched the pillow, tears streaking her cheeks. Why do I even care that he was hurt? But she did. The very idea of Malfoy, shaking and bleeding out on the bathroom floor, sent her stomach into spasms of terror. She thanked Merlin for Snape and his healing spells, vowing to research them herself at the earliest opportunity. It seemed like a crucial gap in their education.

The next morning Hermione looked for Malfoy at the Slytherin table, but didn't see him. Nor was he in Advanced Potions. She knew he would probably need a few days to recover, but it didn't do anything to relieve her anxiety. When Defense Against the Dark Arts ended she approached Snape's desk cautiously.

"Sir?" she asked.

Snape glared at her. "What is it, Miss Granger?"

"I was just wondering if Malfoy was alright."

Snape tilted his head, regarding her curiously. "Not that it's any of your concern, but yes, he will make a full recovery."

She let out a breath. "Ok."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you quite finished? I have essays written by incompetent students to fail."

"Of course. Thank you Professor."

SPRING

"Granger."

Hermione looked up from her book to see Malfoy leaning over her, his grey eyes agonizingly bright. The circles under his eyes were even darker, and he swayed a little before gripping the back of the chair across from her to keep himself upright.

"Malfoy, sit down before you fall down."

"I don't have time. Listen, you need to stay in Gryffindor Tower tonight."

"What? But why…"

"JUST PROMISE ME!"

"Merlin, Malfoy, calm down! What's going on?" she started to feel panicky. She'd never seen him so out of control before. He seemed almost crazed.

"I can't tell you that Granger. Only that it's absolutely imperative that you don't leave your common room. Please." He was pleading now, begging her to understand. He saw that she was about to ask more questions. "Can you just – for one night – not need all the answers?" he asked desperately.

She sighed. "Ok Malfoy. I can't promise you that I'll stay in Gryffindor Tower all night, especially if one of my friends is in danger, but I can promise that I'll try."

Draco nodded. He hadn't expected anything more. He turned to go, but Hermione caught his sleeve.

"Draco." His eyes widened at the use of his first name. "Be careful."

He hesitated, then stepped closer to her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. His lips were cold and chapped, but they sent a jolt of heat straight through her.

Draco POV

Draco couldn't stop trembling. His wand was practically vibrating in his hand.

He tried to muster the strength to say those words: Avada Kevadra, but every time he got close Hermione's face swam before him, her eyes soft and dark, like molten chocolate. How could he ever meet her gaze again if he killed a man?

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer," Dumbledore said.

"How do you know?" he flushed, realizing how childish he sounded. "I've done things that would shock you!"

"Like cursing Katie Bell and poisoning a bottle of mead that there was almost no chance I would drink? Forgive me, Draco, they were weak attempts – so weak, that I wonder whether your heart was really in them. There's another way, you know. You don't have to do this."

"I have no choice!" Draco said feverishly. "Don't you understand? I have to kill you. Or he's going to kill me. He'll kill my whole family!"

"Join me, and I'll be able to hide you and your parents completely," Dumbledore said. "Trust me, Draco. Once upon a time I knew a boy very like you, who made all the wrong choices."

Draco's wand shook harder. His eyes were wet and desperate. He thought of Hermione again, and started to lower his arm.

But there was a commotion, and Bellatrix Lestrange burst upon them, Death Eaters fanning out behind her.

"Well done, Draco," she hissed, surprised at finding Dumbledore weak and disarmed. "Now finish him!"

Sweat mingled with the tears that streaked his face as Draco lifted his arm yet again.

"He can't do it," Fenrir Greyback growled. "He doesn't have the stomach – just like his father."

"Fenrir," Dumbledore gasped. "I didn't know you were here tonight. I didn't think Draco would invite a creature like you to this castle, where his friends live…"

"I didn't!" Draco said hurriedly. "I didn't know he was going to be here!"

"Ah, but how could I resist such a – tasty – adventure?" He licked blood from his yellowed nails and Draco looked on in horror. "It was one of yours, by the way, Dumbledore. Tore clean through 'em."

Draco's heart dropped into his stomach. No.

"Who?!" he exclaimed, near frantic. "WHO WAS IT?!"

"Shhhh, Draco my dear," Bellatrix soothed. "He already said it was one of Dumbledore's. An Order member, no doubt. Worry not."

And then Snape arrived.

"Severus, please…" Dumbledore's face was pleading; body slumped in defeat.

A play of emotions crossed Snape's normally mask-like face. And then, with a twist of hatred, he struck: "AVADA KEVADRA."

Draco's eyes widened. He stood frozen to the spot where Dumbledore had fallen backwards over the railing until Snape grabbed his arm and shook him out of it. He followed him on autopilot, unable to stem the constant flow of tears. Images of Hermione, broken and bleeding, assailed him. Please don't let it be her. Please. Please. It was all he could do to stay by Snape's side and not go racing through the castle, screaming her name. I have a role to play. My parent's lives depend on it. He winced as Bellatrix flew like a tornado down the corridors, destroying paintings, suits of armor and windows as she went. Her cackling laughter would haunt him, he knew.

And then they were stumbling out onto the grounds. He heard Potter yelling for Snape, but didn't stop. He couldn't even if he wanted to – surrounded as he was by his fellow Death Eaters. Fellow Death Eaters. He was one of them now, for good. No longer a 16-year-old student straddling the line between good and evil. Forced or not, he had chosen a side. He glanced back at the castle to see the Dark Mark writhing above the Astronomy Tower and his gut wrenched. He had chosen evil.