Draco did not want to kill Hermione Granger.

First of all, he was not a murderer. At least, not yet. He despised the Muggleborn witch but he didn't want her—or any—blood on his hands.

Second of all, he made far bigger issues to deal with than Hermione Granger's demise.

That aside, this nasty new attitude of hers was going to present a big problem for him. He didn't actually want her dead. But if she thought that was what he wanted, perhaps that wouldn't be the worst thing.

Draco shoved the handle of his fork down onto the wooden table, glaring across the Great Hall at the Gryffindor Table. His stomach was in furious knots, trapping his breath in his chest in a painful bind. His teeth were clenched so hard that he could practically feel them shattering from the pressure.

It had been two weeks since Draco's first grisly lesson with Hermione and he was beginning to lose out hope that she would back out of their deal. Each evening, he waited for her to arrive at the library, smugly eyeing the clock as he assured himself that she wouldn't show. Every night, she did.

Their lessons hadn't progressed much beyond a few searing comments on Draco's part and a litany of agitated sighs on Hermione's. Try as he might, it was becoming evident that no insult would take her down. This was, unfortunately, bad news for Draco.

At least he no longer required a chaperone. A week into the lessons, Snape informed Draco that he would no longer accompany the young wizard to his lessons. This also meant that Draco would no longer be charmed to a chair for an hour every night.

This was supposed to signal that Draco was trusted enough to show up to the lessons and not maim or kill Hermione. However, Draco was fairly certain that it said more about Snape wanting to go to bed early.

"For Merlin's sake, would you cut that out?" Blaise Zabini barked, drawing Draco out of his dark thoughts. Draco looked across the table to find Blaise staring him down. It took Draco a moment to realize that he was the one Blaise was yelling at. The Slytherin student narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to dig your way through to the dungeons?"

Without breaking eye contact, Draco jammed the handle even harder into the tabletop. So hard, in fact, the wood cracked beneath the pressure, leaving behind a significant dent.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "You can be such a child sometimes," he muttered beneath his breath.

"Do we have a problem, Zabini?" This was the first time Draco had spoken since sitting down for supper. The sound of his own voice sounded strange to him, almost alien-like.

"Actually, we do," Blaise responded hotly. Draco's eyebrows shot up as Blaise slammed his own utensils down on the table. "Lately, you've been such a prick. More than usual, if that's possible. I have no idea what your deal is. All you do is snap at everyone and stare down the Gryffindor table. Again, more than usual."

Draco's chest tightened, a mix of anger and apprehension building in the space between his lungs. Admittedly, he was shooting daggers at the Gryffindor table at every opportunity. But he hadn't realized anyone had noticed his preoccupation. Eager to not give anything away, Draco squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at his housemate. "Thank you so much, Zabini, for airing your grievances. Now, what exactly do you plan to do to eradicate this unpleasantness?"

By now, several Slytherins seated nearby had paused their conversations to watch the showdown between the two sixth years. Blaise fixed his gaze upon Draco, trying desperately to stand his ground. But Draco's stare was far more intimidating and they both knew it.

There was more behind Draco's eyes than fury. The Zabinis were not a powerful family, but they were a wealthy one. Ms. Zabini had an extraordinary amount of money—blood money, no doubt, as she earned it from the suspicious deaths of her ex-husbands. Although Draco's familial life had never been unsteady, it was still common knowledge that the Malfoys reigned within the wizarding community. They still had connections and power, namely from Draco's aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange who currently stood at the right hand of Voldemort.

Blaise, it seemed, was well aware of this. With a defeated grunt, he lowered his eyes. "Nothing, I suppose."

"That's what I thought."

However, Draco wasn't satiated. He was looking for a fight. The events that transpired those past two weeks had left him riled up, enraged, and in desperate need of an outlet. It wasn't as though he had a support group to which he could whine about his complaints. He did, however, have his unfiltered rage which he could happily spew at any and all who crossed his path. Blaise was simply—and frustratingly—not taking the bait.

Draco's blood boiled in his veins. He dropped his fork, letting it clatter noisily against his plate which still contained his uneaten dinner. He balled up his fists under the table, pressing them into his thighs. Why couldn't Hermione falter, just once? Perhaps if she lost control, if only for a moment, the insatiable resentment within Draco would subside. It was unlikely but he was willing to give it a shot. An immeasurable anger built up within him and he was more than ready to release it.

Meanwhile at the Gryffindor table, Hermione appeared to be faring better than Draco. In spite of everything, she sat upon her golden throne, surrounded by her subjects. Her face was illuminated and her jovial laugh echoed through the Great Hall. She animatedly interacted with her housemates, without a care in the world. As if she didn't spend each and every night making Draco's life a living hell. The thought of her being unbothered by their secret infuriated Draco even further.

Why should he have to live with this burden alone?

Perhaps if Draco revealed the truth of their secret meetings, he might be free of them. However, the likely result of that would be expulsion, thus complicating certain matters. How could he carry out the Dark Lord's master plan? He hadn't thought that far yet.

"Fucking unbelievable," Draco muttered aloud without meaning to.

"What is, Draco darling?" Pansy cooed. She gently rested a hand upon Draco's arm and peered up at him with wide, concerned eyes. It was an expression she often put on just for show. Much like her gaze, everything about Pansy was an act. In over two years of dating her, and six of knowing her, Draco wasn't sure he knew her at all.

What he did know was that her primary motive for being close to him was the hope that she could reel him in, thus making a very strategic connection through their families. This would be a big disappointment for her as Draco truly believed that he would never marry. And he certainly had no intentions of carrying on the Malfoy bloodline.

Lucky for him, it was unlikely that things would ever come to that. He'd be long dead before his classmates started considering marriage and children.

Draco averted his eyes from the Gryffindor table before Pansy could follow his gaze and make the connection. The last thing he needed was to implicate himself further. Regardless, Pansy was staring at him, waiting for an answer. Draco thought quick on his feet.

"It's just this school," he lied. "It's unbelievable to me how everyone eats up this bullshit about community, and unity, and togetherness. To me, it's… underwhelming."

"Agreed." Pansy nodded fervently before diverting her attention to her plate.

Draco was certain that he could have professed his love for earwax-flavoured Bertie Bott's and Pansy would have concurred.

Suddenly, with a boisterous entrance, Draco's owl soared into the Great Hall. It sailed magnificently through the room and landed before Draco with a proud, graceful landing. Clenched between the bird's teeth was a beige envelope, fastened by a familiar wax seal. Give that his father was currently imprisoned at Azkaban and Draco had no siblings nor inquiring relatives, he could only deduce that the Malfoy seal meant a letter from his mother.

Draco snatched the letter from the owl's jaw before anyone else could determine the source. He ran his knuckles over the bird's head in a show of appreciation and it responded by smacking its jaw shut and flying away. Draco slipped the letter into his robe pocket, acting as though the whole scene had not occurred.

Deny, deny, deny. Isn't that what daddy always taught him?

Blaise eyed him suspiciously. "What've you got there, Malfoy? A love letter?"

The question caused Pansy to whip her head around. She watched Blaise and Draco intently, the jealousy burning in her eyes.

Draco yawned, a calculated show of boredom. "Blaise, does it not exhaust you to concern yourself with my every waking move? If you want to join a fan club, Harry Potter and his groupies are at the Gryffindor table."

Blaise clucked his tongue in annoyance and returned his attention to his supper. Draco made a mental note to keep an eye on Blaise. His Slytherin housemate had far too great an interest in Draco's life for his liking. He needed to crush Zabini's interest before he began to investigate and ruined all of Draco's carefully orchestrated plans. Not that he had any yet. But when he did, Draco couldn't risk being caught. Otherwise, all of this torture would be for naught.

Pansy, on the other hand, wasn't ready yet to pry her curiosity away from Draco. Luckily, she was far less of a challenge to Draco. "You're being very secretive, Draco."

"And?" He responded, refusing to confirm nor deny her allegation.

Pansy's eyes widened. "I'm only saying… You're acting strange. That's all."

Draco exhaled loudly. The muscles in his shoulders ached from the tension he carried in them. "Fuck's sake. What has gotten into the pair of you? I'm not quite sure what gave either of you the impression that my private life is any of your business. But I advise you to correct yourselves immediately."

Pansy's jaw slackened as though he had slapped her across the face. Quickly, she recovered and snapped it shut. With a humph, she raised her nose in the air and crossed her arms over her chest. Pansy adored making a display whenever she was peeved. Draco, however, did not care for her indignation. Not now, not ever.

Unable to spend another insufferable moment with his so-called friends, Draco stood from his seat, banging his hands loudly against the table. After a sharp look at Blaise, he turned away and stormed out of the Great Hall. He made sure to make a show out of it, just as Pansy would have.

Draco was certain that he was going to bunk off from his lesson with Hermione that night. Consequences be damned. He couldn't stomach the thought of an endless hour with her. Not tonight. Besides, she would be grateful for the break.

That being said, as he departed the Great Hall, Draco could have sworn that he saw Hermione's eyes follow him, watching his every move.

Making a right turn out of the hall, he made his way through the corridors, stopping only once he was certain that he was alone. He leaned his back up against the rigid stone wall and pulled out the letter from his pocket. In a swift motion, he tore open the envelope and removed the folded parchment from inside.

My dearest son,

I hope this year is going well. I don't have to wonder if you are successful in your classes, for I know you are destined to succeed at most anything you attempt.

Unfortunately, this letter isn't only to inquire after, and praise, my only son—though, selfishly, I wish that it were. I am writing to ask about the status of the special extracurricular activity you signed up for. The situation at home is uneasy. There is a lot of pressure on you, to protect our family name. Our legacy.

I hate to place this burden upon you. I urge you to remember the precarious situation we are… and the urgency of your assignment. I wish I had given you a better life, my darling boy.

Sincerely, Your Mother

Draco carefully folded the letter back up, placing it in the envelope. He dropped his head, allowing a trembling sigh to escape his lips.

It was hard not to notice the fact that his mother refrained from putting either of their names in writing. She played a risky game by sending the letter in the first place, let alone by adding in that final line. If the letter were ever to fall into the wrong hands, she would be risking everything. You cannot be a loyal servant to the Dark Lord and also question if you've made the right choice to stand behind him.

Draco knew how to handle this. He knew how to write so that the contents of the letter would not be traced back to him if it were to be intercepted. He knew never to read a letter from home around anyone else, even his most trusted companions. And he knew to burn the letter the moment he returned to the Slytherin common room.

It was what Lucius trained him to do. Don't be foolish and don't get caught. Draco wasn't a student at Hogwarts anymore. He was an employee of Lord Voldemort, a spy stationed in the castle. He knew the rules of the game, for it was one he played his whole life.

Regardless, the letter haunted him. He couldn't ignore that behind the careful language his mother chose was a strong sense of fear.

I wish I had given you a better life.

Draco cursed his father for bringing his mother into this whole mess. Lucius had one job, one that he signed himself up for long before Draco was born. He fucked it up, ruined it, just like he did with everything else he touched. Now, the world would burn for his mistakes.

The sound of nearby footsteps echoed through the corridor, then suddenly came to a screeching halt. Draco turned his head, heart pounding in his ears. There, at the end of the corridor, stood Hermione Granger, still as though she had been petrified. It was as though she had seen a ghost. Maybe she had. Maybe he was.

Hermione stared at him and in turn, he stared back. His first instinct was to yell at her, to tell her to fuck off, to berate her for stalking him. But the longer they stood there, the more the angry voice in his head quieted, first to a murmur before finally and completely disappearing. So, he just stared. Hermione seemed to relax. Silence permeated the corridor.

"Hermione!" A voice called out. It disrupted Draco's trance. From what he could tell, it did the same to Hermione. "Hermione? There you are." A figure came around the corner. The youngest male Weasley.

Suddenly, reality washed over Draco. Fuck. He shook his head as though that might help him to regain his senses. Standing up straight, he brushed the invisible dust off his school uniform and strode towards the end of the corridor, away from the two Gryffindors.

His feet moved him away as fast as they could. What did it matter if Ron saw him? It wasn't as though there was any incriminating evidence to be found in what had just happened. Him and Hermione were in the same corridor, at the same time. They were bound to cross paths every now and then. Then again, for some reason, Draco couldn't shake the feeling that their encounter was far from accidental.

As he made his way towards the Slytherin dormitory, with the metaphoric mass of his mother's letter weighing down his pocket, Draco resolved that he would, in fact, go to his lesson that night after all.