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Au/N: You people are sooo nice to me after I've fussed! Thank you guys for the kind reviews. I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who thinks people who want a ROMANCE to be UNMUSHY are just plain weird. Thanks again.

Chapter Nine. You Don't Know Love

Draco Malfoy

A thousand emotions were all running through me at once. Fear and anxiety were the top two, followed closely by confusion and anger. And when anger follows fear, at least in my case, bad things are bound to happen.

What had Hermione done? What was her purpose in being here? I was the one who'd let Voldemort down. I was the one who'd attacked another Death Eater. I was the one who'd somehow let myself become attached to a "less worthy" witch. She'd taken me in, given me a home where I felt…needed…and she loved me. No one had ever loved me before, except maybe Pansy Parkinson, and you can't really count the love of a sex-crazed whore, now, can you?

But there she was, despite the fact that she had the least to do with this out of anyone. I'd attacked my father of my own free will; I would've done it regardless of whether or not he'd been threatening Hermione. Sometime during my stay at Hermione's house, something had changed in me. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that Hermione was responsible. And I would not let the one person, who'd somehow broken down the wall I'd fought to keep standing, die at his hands. Not if I had anything in the world to say about it.

"I can't," I said, expecting my voice to be strong and sure. But it wasn't. It was weak and shaky, and I knew that it was not very intimidating. I inwardly kicked myself, cleared my throat, and spoke again. "I can't."

Hermione, who'd been lying limply on the floor, slowly tilted up her head to stare at me. Voldemort, I noticed, was not in the least surprised.

"Your loyalty to this whore is greater in measure than your fear of me, Draco." Voldemort raised an eyebrow as though speculating, and he crossed his arms tightly around him. Slowly, he began to talk as he circled me and Hermione.

"This…presents me with a dilemma, Draco. Your father has served me faithfully for decades, as did his father before him. You also showed true potential…ever since your third year. But after spending only a minimal amount of time with those we're fighting to destroy, you've grown…more than attached to one. One that I simply cannot let live, you understand…" Voldemort said, stopping behind me, leaning forward, and speaking directly into my ear. His cold breath tickled my neck, and his words sounded strained, as though he regretted telling me that he'd have to kill Hermione. I knew he didn't. He didn't regret anything.

I felt him back away from me, and I saw him begin to walk again out of the corner of my eye. He slowly made his way to Hermione, still talking.

"Young love. I knew love once. Or as close to love as I'll ever know now…" he paused, staring down at Hermione, reminiscing. "She was a lot like you, you know. Long, untamable red hair. Intelligence to rival my own. Beautiful. As perfect as a woman can be without being a goddess…" Voldemort was bending down slightly, his eyes closing slowly as he spoke. He leaned down to Hermione. She sat up, a new fire burning in her eyes. She looked completely defiant—and her hand moved minimally as she searched her pocket for her wand.

I gasped as I realized that Voldemort was smelling her. He took a long, deep breath, and he half-smiled. He stayed that way for a few moments. Hermione's expression turned frantic; she must have discovered that her wand was missing.

Suddenly, Voldemort straightened up and glared down at her, disgust filling his eyes.

"But she was stolen from me. By none other than the father of your beloved Harry Potter!" Voldemort said, spitting Potter's name out as though it burned his tongue. His expression softened. "Not that it matters now…she's dead. So is he. And their son, the abomination! He won't be around much longer, either. Thanks to you, Draco. You've lead me right to him. And you didn't even realize it."

My eyes widened in shock; he was far, far ahead of me. He knew exactly where Harry was, and he probably had a couple Death Eaters flying to Hermione's house right then to capture him and present him to their master. I began to sweat as I tried to think of a possible route of escape, but the windows in the magnificent dining hall were boarded shut, and the doors were guarded by two tall, muscular Death Eaters. Hermione looked too weak to walk. There was no way I could get both of us out of there alive.

"You know, the possibilities are endless when you have servants that are willing to die for you. Especially those who are talented in the area of illusions…all it takes is a little potion…and anyone can look like you, sound like you, practically be you. Die for you…if some little boy-that-got-away decides to try and kill you." Voldemort grinned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, thin object. He came closer to me and I examined it. It was the tail of a rat. I tried to put two and two together, but he explained himself long before the realization hit me.

"Pettigrew was the epitome of a faithful servant. It distressed me that he met his untimely end at the hand of Harry Potter. But, Pettigrew provided me with the perfect solution: play dead and find Potter. If everyone thought I was dead…and people began to relax…I knew they'd forget themselves, let clues as to Potter's whereabouts slip—and it wasn't long before I discovered that pretty little Draco Malfoy was playing house with my archenemy." Voldemort glared at me and spoke my name through his teeth. Hermione's face was full of sudden understanding. I still couldn't believe that he'd fooled so many people.

"So…Pettigrew tossed back a bit of Polyjuice Potion, made himself into you, and Potter killed him?" I asked, trying to put off Hermione's and my untimely ends.

Voldemort nodded, a twisted grin on his face. He looked utterly proud of himself.

"And…you found out where Harry was…because you knew that I was working for him?"

"Yes…and I knew that if I found you, I found him. It only made sense that the Ministry would send you to work in his house—after all, who else could you hate more?"

"I was sent to work for Hermione," I corrected, knowing that I'd die anyway, and not really caring if he was a little bit pissed off.

"Yes. And the scar that Pettigrew so kindly left on Potter completely immobilized him. So, one could deduce that…since the Mudblood and Potter were such good friends…she'd be living with him, nursing him…loving him." He spoke the word 'loving' with such disdain that I began to wonder if he even knew the definition of love. Hermione could tell him. She was a walking dictionary.

"And that is something you'd know nothing about!" Hermione screamed, standing and turning scarlet. She screamed with all her soul at him. He actually looked taken aback. "Who are you to cast such a shadow on love! You know nothing! You claim to be a…a king! A mastermind! A god, even! You are nothing! You are not a man nor a wizard! You are a monster; a sick, twisted demon! You wipe out human lives as though they are nothing! If you think you know so much, then tell me, why aren't you loved?"

Voldemort was smiling, delighted at her anger. He was probably thinking of the many ways to kill her. I wanted to shake her and scream at her to stop. But a part of me told me not to move or think for once; it would all end soon, anyway. Voldemort glanced over at his loyal Death Eaters; Hermione caught his quick movement.

"Them?" she cried indignantly; tears were pouring out of her eyes. "You think they love you? They don't love you! They fear you! Only one person stayed with you when you were in need, and where is he now? Oh, I nearly forgot! You got him KILLED! Though, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, because that's what murderous bastards do!" Hermione screamed. She walked closer and closer to him, her voice becoming more strained; I imagined that her throat would be very hoarse in the morning…but I knew there wouldn't be one.

Voldemort maintained his cool. Hermione stopped screaming, but she was breathing heavily, her chest heaving up and down. She looked at him, disgusted, and turned to walk away. I don't know where she thought she was going, but she didn't get there.

His hand shot out, faster than lightning, and caught her by the throat. Hermione's choked cry caught in her throat; her hands flew up to claw at his. He grinned wider, holding her up above him. I watched in dumbstruck horror as her face turned red and her eyes began to roll back in her head. I tried so hard to think, but I couldn't move. My arms were amazingly heavy, and I felt unnaturally sick. It had never happened to me before, but I knew why it was happening now.

I loved her. I loved Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, the filthy Mudblood, the loathsome little bitch. We were complete opposites, mortal enemies, destined to end in ruins. But I'd never felt helpless when watching someone struggle for life before; I smiled as a plan formulated in my mind.

I loved her. As tears slid down the side of her face and her eyes closed, I knew that beyond a doubt. Voldemort had made one mistake, one that would prove vital in escaping him.

I was the world's most feared wizard (other than himself), and he'd left me with a wand in my pocket. My fingers pulled it out without difficulty, and I screamed a curse at him before he had time to recognize his mistake.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

And he fell, immobilized, to the dining room floor.

End Chapter

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