Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine…

She opened her eyes... She was exhausted! What's with the tired thing lately? She kept going to bed earlier and earlier and kept waking up even more tired! It was getting ridiculous! It was an early Sunday morning. Exactly one month after the incident in Snape's class. Snape had kept his word and failed her in the next essay, and he returned their wands noticing nothing special. It made no sense. She spent ages in the library trying to make any sense out of it. Ron and Harry told her she was obsessing and that Malfoy probably had used the cruciatus and Snape had covered him. But that just didn't fit. He was in pain. I mean, he was the ugliest toad ever to see the light of day but Hermione had to admit he was a capable wizard. He would never let a cruciatus curse backfire. She got up and dressed. It was too early for breakfast and like a typical English morning it was still dark… That probably had to do with the fact that it was half past five, as well as late autumn, you know, -the whole sun-earth distance thing. She walked towards the lake. She loved the lake. It made her feel so peaceful, so in control. She sat down on the wet grass. Who was Hecate? Shakespeare had her as the queen of witches. The ancients had quite a similar point of view, but for wizards Hecate was just a powerful witch. A destructive and powerful witch. For such a powerful witch however the information in literature was shockingly poor. Hecate was a witch, Hecate was pure evil, and Hecate lived in the Middle Ages. C'est tout. Rubbish. And then those odd robberies. Snape was missing a dagger. Professor Sprout some sort of herb… odd things were happening. These were strange times.

He woke up sweating. The cold sweat of nightmares. He didn't mind nightmares. They couldn't hurt him. Real life was scarier. And more painful. One month since he had this odd pain on his chest for the first time. Like he had lost something. Like someone had died. What did he care if someone had died? As long as he was fine. He is a Malfoy. Malfoys just don't care. And that's how he learned to live with it. It wasn't getting worse so he learned to ignore it and carry on with his life. What he couldn't stand was the whole dream thing. The dreams he was having were quite disturbing. And he could only remember parts of them. Like in one there was a woman screaming in pain. In another there was a figure dressed in white falling in the lake. Also the muggles begging for their lives. No hang on. That was reality. Reality in all its glory. He despised muggles. He really did. But the last deatheater attacks had shocked him. It's as if he couldn't do it. He couldn't. One girl especially. His first murder. His only murder actually. Brown hair, brown eyes, rather pretty. She looked at him in the eyes and said: Do it quickly at least. She had just seen her family and friends die. She screamed. He will never forget her scream. And her eyes, That muggle... He really was losing his mind.

His legs took him to the lake. Why was it that he felt so peaceful out there? As he was getting closer he saw her figure sitting by the lake. Granger… He just couldn't stand her! He turned on his heel and started moving towards the castle.

"Where are you going Malfoy?"

He stopped and gave her a sharp look over his shoulder. Then he decided to carry on his way.

"Why is it that murderers are never talkative?" she continued.

"What?" he snapped.

"You heard me. Don't you feel like talking? Why is that? Too tired from killing innocent victims? And it seems that you are not getting your beauty sleep neither…Up so early? Is it possible that a dirty murderer like you might have a conscience? "

"What are you talking about mudblood?"

"I'm talking about the attacks. You were one of them weren't you? You killed people."

"You must confuse me with someone else. I would never kill people. I killed muggles."

She stood up and looked at him speechless.

"Why are you looking at me like an idiot Granger?"

"You think that muggles are not human? Is that what you believe?"

"Muggles are dirt. And mudbloods are even worse than them. They try to poison magic by putting their filth hands on it. I will not be satisfied until I kill every last one of them." Strangely enough his voice was very calm, as if he was talking about the weather.

For a minute there, she was shocked, but she quickly recovered.

"I bet it tortures you"

"Oh yeah, boo-hoo a bunch of muggles died." He replied sarcastically

"Well… There have been three attacks in the last month. The morning after the first one you blew up your potion, then…"

"I was tired, so what?"

"Like I said you blew up your potion, which like you correctly stated is showing you were tired and this proves you were in the attack. After the second attack you fell asleep in transfiguration. Again, proof of your participation. But by the morning after the third attack, there, you were distracted all day. And since then you are often distracted. And sometimes you freeze in the great hall, as if a whole event is passing through your eyes. And then, for a split second there is pain. And then after that you turn back to whatever brainless conversation you Slytherins might have."

"And you are trying to prove what exactly?"

"That you feel guilty."

"I do not feel guilty for anything, you hear me?" His voice was getting quiet and menacing as he moved closer.

"Oh you do. You like it or not, you feel guilt."

"I do not" He hissed.

"Ok, tell me about the people you killed then."

"What?"

"Well tell me about those you killed. If you don't feel any guilt then you must be fine talking about it."

"I don't even remember them"

"Oh, is that so? Not even how many you killed? Was it ten? Twenty? 300?"

"One."

"Excuse me?"

"I said one. I've only killed once."

"I thought you said "them". Surely you were taught that "them" is used for plural. Anyway, how old was he?"

"He?"

"Your victim, how old was he?"

"She was 15-16."

"And what did she look like?"

"Small, brunette."

"And was she awake when you were murdering her?"

"Yes."

"Oh, and what did she say? Did she beg you to spare her? Did she ask after her family?"

"I don't remember. Plus her family was already dead."

"You don't remember? Fancy that… Not even a word?"

"She asked me to be quick."

--------And suddenly he was seeing it again. The girl in her empty room. Sitting her floor, sobbing. She looked up at him; she knew he came to kill her. And, she didn't beg. She didn't ask him to save her. She just asked him to be quick. -----------------

"Did she scream? Did she cry when you were killing her, murderer?"

-----------She stood up and he raised his wand against her. She knew she was dying. Her scream, seconds before his curse hit her, pierced his ears. -------------------------

"You just saw it again, didn't you? You saw how you killed her."

"Why are you doing this?" He asked her, his voice for the first time in years was trembling.

She came closer to him and whispered in his ear:

"Because I hate you that much. And because you don't deserve any peace. You are a murderer."

And with these words she left him standing in the dark lake- hearing that girl's scream, again and again in his head.

She sat down, shaking. The common room was warm, dark and empty. It was still too early for the Gryffindors to be up on a Sunday. She was shocked. Did she actually hate him so much? Well, she wanted him to realise his crimes. She wanted him to suffer for the path he has chosen. Why did she even care? Well, he can't go on killing like that. No, it wasn't that. It was a feeling. As if she had seen him take that path before, as if she could remember the pain this would cause. It felt as if she had to stop him.

"Nonsense" She muttered. She picked up a book that had been abandoned on the sofa: Myths and legends. She opened it at a random page and started reading:

"Furies, the Latin name of the Greek Erinyes, personifications of vengeance. They would drive their victims insane by…"

She lifted her eyes and looked outside the window. He was still standing in front of the lake. Could she actually drive him insane?