A/N: hey peeps, tis I, the author (hah author lol) I am thinking about trying to write from Hermione and Draco's point of view. I'm undecided, though, as this is my first foray into writing, and describing a guy's POV makes me nervous in regards to accuracy (having never been a guy, I wouldn't really know how they tick). Let me know if you think I should risk it, or, as they say, just write what I know. Good news, got a vacay coming up, (aforementioned bff katie survived her shift so she will be there so yay) so more writing! Anyway, back to the story. OH, I almost forgot, the past few chapters I forgot to put a copyright thing so here it is: I do not own Harry Potter.

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A dangerously bright, orange spell flew over Hermione's head and she dropped to the ground. The spell missed her by inches, ruffling her hair as it went on to explode into the wall behind her, coating it with a neon substance she didn't have time to worry about. She jumped back up and risked a glance to either side, reassuring herself that her friends were still fighting and not...She absolutely refused that train of thought as another close call with with a curse forced her to concentrate on the duel at hand.

Strengthening her grip on her wand, Hermione threw herself into releasing powerful spells with renewed vigor. She began sweating and panting slightly at the rigor of the fight. Her opponent, however, appeared to be unfazed. He cackled behind a grotesque mask, and pushed her backwards with the sheer intensity of his spell-work. Hermione gritted her teeth. Against her will, she found herself giving up ground. Finally backed up against the wall, the strange liquid from the earlier curse burning through her robes, she let loose a strangled scream as she desperately attempted to keep her adversary at bay. He slowly advanced until he struck her point-blank with a powerful disarming charm and pinned her against the wall, defenseless. That ugly mask came closer and closer to her face, and she turned her head away, refusing to look in its dark eyes. Canting his head, her foe whispered something in her ear.

"You can't stop me, Granger."

Hermione whipped her head around and her eyes widened as she looked into those of her enemy.

They were cold, unfeeling grey.

Malfoy raised his wand to her face. A blast of light erupted from the tip.

Hermione woke up.

Drawing deep, shuddering breaths, she buried her face in her pillow, letting it absorb her tears. Broken sobs escaped from her chest, and she gasped and clutched at her sheets. Hermione could not find the strength within herself to move for a long time.

When she finally did, the clock on her bedside table read nearly three o'clock in the morning.

Hermione flopped over and sighed. She was alone with her thoughts, and lately that was a combination for disaster. She thought about her episode on the stairs, and how embarrassed she'd been before she met Jasper. She had enjoyed talking with him, showing him that not everyone would perceive him a certain way before they even knew him. And then she remembered seeing Malfoy.

She huffed and rolled her eyes as she recalled his smug countenance and tall, domineering manner. He had some nerve to strut those halls as if they were his when he was only there to fulfill his disciplinary sentence.

As the rush of anger faded, Hermione felt only blank numbness. Before she could stop herself, had she even had the wherewithal to do so, she felt herself slip into her dark memories from the past year. She lay deadly still as she felt anew the gnawing hunger from their days as fugitives in the wilderness; she felt the anxiety that not knowing where their next meal would come from accompanied; she felt the crushing responsibility that came with knowing that she would be the one who had to figure it out; she felt the helplessness at not being able to fix Harry's scar-pain and depression and Ron's injury and moodiness; and finally, she felt the suffocating anger that burned inside her with the injustice of being the one constantly relied upon for everything. Their next meal, next plan, next place to camp, she had to do it all, know it all. She was tired of being the one who had to know everything. She longed for her early school days when she could learn for the sake of learning, not because her best friends' and her life depended on it.

The dark cloud these feelings brought descended lower and lower until Hermione could hardly breathe. Puffs of air came rapid and shallow from her chest. Throwing off her covers, Hermione staggered out of bed. She tried to calm herself in the little nook of her new teacher's compartments, but the walls seemed to shrink in on her and she shuddered and trembled like a cornered animal. Even though she knew, in the back of her mind, that the room was the same size it had been last night when she got there, she couldn't bear the irrational, confining feeling anymore. Hermione burst through the door and ran through the deserted halls of the castle.