Author's Note Ok, So far I've got pretty good response for this story (at least for me). There will be a diary entry in all of the beginning chapters. Please review!

'You've got the wrong girl.'

'Nonsense, Hermione. We wanted an intelligent, hardworking…' Hermione shouted angrily, cutting him off unexpectedly.

'You want a visual icon. You want an unnamed source. You don't want me.' She was adamant, but she knew that her sacrifice would not be in vain.

'If I do it—' This was directed at Ronald Weasley, 'Will Harry die?' She thought not of herself, choosing instead to support her friends. Ronald Weasley was uncertain as to his approach; but they needed her.

'Of course Harry won't die. We will triumph. Lux lucis Mos Evalesco.'

Hermione sighed, repeating his comforting words.

'Lux lucis Mos Evalesco. Light will prevail.'

'You say you've got information, Malfoy.' Potter stood up from his mahogany desk, running a hand through his pitch-black hair, looking the same in his eighties as he had at thirty.

'Aging potion still running strong, then Potter.' Draco hissed provocatively, enjoying privately the tightening of Potter's jaw.

'Take comfort in your insipid remarks, Mr. Malfoy, and tell me what you take for.' Potter said calmly.

'It's Hermione.' Draco said seriously. He was not surprised when Potter sighed loudly. He had previously had dreams about Hermione, nightmares, and had come complaining to Potter like the coward he was.

'If it's another one of your goddamned dreams again Malfoy, just take a draft of dreamless sleep, or the Draught of the Living Death, whichever you prefer, and call a healer.' He was agitated. 'Personally I would prefer the draught of actual death, you frightful bugger.'

It had been almost seventy years since the beginning of the war—a war still not resolved. Voldemort had been reincarnated, his body now that of a boy, kept young by Voldemort's corruption.

'You misunderstand me, Potter. I am not dreaming of her. Or perhaps I am. But whatever the circumstances, this, I am sure, is not a dream.' Draco produced a slim leather book from beneath his robes.

Hermione Jane Granger—embossed in gold on the front.

Potter was on him in a flash. 'Where did you find this? What does it mean?' He groped for the book, almost desperately, yearning to feel it in his hands. Draco's face produced a ghost of a smile, replacing the book beneath his robes.

'Irrelevant. I would assume that you were more interested in its contents, Mr. Potter.' Draco's smile became more apparent, still not reaching his cold eyes.

Potter recollected himself, straightening his glasses upon the bridge of his nose. 'Give it to me.' He said, eyes flashing before focusing on a point to the left of Draco's head.

'No. If I give it to you, you will not let me read it. I deserve to know, deserve to know what she wrote.' Draco's eyes began to fog; he began to cough uncontrollably.

'Terminus.' Potter said impatiently, waving his wand-hand in the air. 'Why did you inform me then? Surely it would have been more beneficial to you to keep it to yourself?' Potter was mocking him, Draco realized. To his own amazement, he hadn't thought about his motives in telling Potter either.

'What if there's anything concerning the war in it, Potter? I'm sure you haven't forgotten Lux lucis Mos Evalesco. I am bound to the Light, I am almost forced to tell you of anything that may be beneficial to the war. Even though I'd rather die for the side of the Dark.' Draco said, hearing the weakness of his lie.

'Nonsense. You are, were, a spy. You belong not to the prophecy, not to the divined words of the very phrase you state. Your motto is none other that Every Man for Himself. You have ulterior motives. But no matter. You wanted my permission to read her diary, if it is indeed a diary. Or—' Here Potter's face lit up, '—It is encoded. Bring it to me.'

Draco gritted his teeth before inching towards Potter, right hand grasping his wand tightly, left hand clutching Hermione's diary.

Potter outstretched his arm, palm up. "Accio." He said clearly, the book flying to his hand. Draco snarled. If Potter was going to use his oh-so-special wandless magic, then he wasn't going to play fair either.

"Engorgio." Draco removed his wand from deep within his bottomless pocket, pointing it directly at Potter's still outstretched appendage.

Potter determinedly stared at his enlarging wand-hand, watching the book slide to the floor.

'You bastard.' He said indifferently.

'Finite Incantatem.' Potter looked incredulously at Draco's wand, his hand deflating rapidly. 'Accio book.' Draco whispered, taking comfort in the cold leather of the diary.

'Alright. Most likely you've decoded the first page.' Draco gaped. How had Potter known…?

'You knew it was her diary. Obviously you knew somehow. Bring it here.' Potter snapped his fingers. Once more, Draco loathed him. Schoolboy memories of Potter's refusal of his friendship plagued him as much as they had at 12 as they did at 80. Draco began to inch slowly forward again, as Potter snapped his fingers even more rapidly.

'I haven't got all day. There is an attack being planned at The Leaky Cauldron. I haven't got all day.' Potter's hand absentmindedly travelled to his pencil-thin scar. Angrily, Draco threw the slim book at the other man, seething as Potter caught it admirably.

Draco had started to twirl locks of silver-blond hair around his finger when Potter looked up from the yellowed parchment.

'I've got another page, I think.' Potter ran a hand over a leaf of the open book. 'Specialis Revelio!' He said sharply. The page shuddered before coming to a stop, its pages surprisingly blank.

Potter drew his wand, tapping it angrily against the front page, muttering a string of curses under his breath, his profanities increasing in number and volume as the book spewed a foul-smelling ingredient onto his nose.

Potter looked dismayed for a brief moment before a smile of relief spread across his maimed face.

'Forgive me for being such a ferret Hermione—' Draco scoffed, '—Crookshanks.' The pages turned wildly, black ink scribbling across the page, blotting before clearing up. 'Dear Diary.' Potter read. Draco took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult.

'Of course I love you Ron. I wouldn't say if it I didn't.' Hermione said crossly, angered at the redhead's lack of trust in her words.

'You seem oddly distant.' The latter replied, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ears.

'It's just difficult for me; what with going through drastic measures to get the information from Malfoy, and what with Percy's abandonment of the order—I suppose I've got a lot on my mind.' Hermione sighed, taking a seat by the bay window, admiring the view of the grey lake on her right side, admiring its tranquil appearance.

'Hermione Granger. You are twenty-nine years old, and the bravest woman I've ever met. I do love you. The war causes immense pain and emotional depression in the minds of the strongest witches and wizards. I hope you can forgive me for being a mediocre one of the latter simply trying to get by. I love you.' He repeated, and Hermione was pleased by his words. She kissed his cheek; satisfied by his words.

The last words of comfort she would ever hear. She looked into the blue eyes of her lover, the eyes of that which was her sanity, and ultimately her defeat.

Dear Diary,

I think I'm on my own this time. Ron won't listen to anything I say, and Harry is unwavering in his decision. I gave in, like the fool I am. Harry says I will be returned as a pure and perfect angel after this ordeal.

He obviously is not thinking about Ginny—about what Malfoy did with her blood—her ruby-red blood. He called it virgin stains on the snow. As if she tainted the snow with her blood. The snow was pure, prefect, before her blood tainted the snow. There is no such thing as pure.

My only friend other than Harry and Ron, murdered by the very self who craves my touch. It is a cruel world we live in, filled with hate and injustice.

Hermione

Draco's face was white. He had killed the Weasel girl, and had no regrets. Hermione had hated him.

Harry's face was ashen.

'She has enforced the book with magic—the old magic. Her diary can only be decoded by those whom it concerns. This is about me—as well as you. Malfoy, we'll need to take a trip to the Weasleys.'

Draco sighed. Things just got a lot harder, and a hell of a lot more painful.

Remember to tell me what you think, this chapter is the half/betaed one, as my beta Ryan said he like the chapter, has done about two revisions, but not finished the third, so I just posted it anyway--I think you guys ahve waited long enough!

Faaiz-Yes, Draco's a good guy, if a somewhat bossy and annoying one, even at McGonagall's age!

Peaches,

Anya