A/N: So, I noticed a lot of people reading this story, but there are no reviews. While reviews are not necessary, they are greatly appreciated, so If you would please leave one that would be great. Now, this chapter swaps to Draco's point of view. I'll be swapping back and forth between POV each chapter from here on out. So, without further ado, on with the chapter.

Apologize

He watched as she stormed up the staircase to her room, chuckling softly at her rage. He had always enjoyed riling her up. It was one of the reasons he teased her for as long as he did. Bloodlines no longer meant anything to him. In fact, they ceased to be much more than an idea forced upon him since birth around his fifth year. But she was just so…amusing when she was angry at him. So, he kept it up partly just to witness the determined set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes.

In truth, though, the other reason he continued to be a cruel, heartless bastard to not only her but everyone, was that he was scared. He had to keep up pretenses, lest word get back to his parents through his so called friends in Slytherin.

He knew what his father would do if he was seen befriending 'mudbloods.' He shuddered as he thought of the word. How many times had he called her that hateful word? How many years had he teased and tortured…Unwillingly, his mind recalled Hermione talking about torture. He started to get a vision, a memory, of her lying on the floor of his house. He pushed the thought away as he pushed himself from his seat.

Why was he doing this?

Because, he thought to himself, for once you're not going to be a bloody coward. You're going to do what you know is right, even if it means losing your idiot of a father. You're going to be better than him.

As he thought more of his father, his started to pace in anger. His father, who had beaten into him all his life that he was better, they were better, and all because of their superiority of blood. His father, who had trapped him and his mother for years into his own political and social beliefs, bringing them down with him as he fell into the Dark Lord's world. His father, the most cowardly and pathetic excuse for a human being he'd ever met in his life.

How, for so long, had he looked up to that man? How had he, for any amount of time, believed his lies of their superiority? How had he managed to get himself into the same predicament, working under the Dark Lord out of fear?

He knew now how wrong he was, how blind he'd been. He'd been in battle and seen the fallen from both sides. Blood superiority, he thought disgustedly. There's no superiority in blood. I've seen the blood of hundreds, pureblood and muggleborn alike, and both bleed just as red. Both smell of rust and salt. Both victims stare longingly to the heavens as the light leaves their eyes.

And then he knew. He knew the true reason behind his recent actions. For all those he'd seen suffer and die because of an idiotic idea he himself had once believed. He wanted to save that many from a terrible fate, and more. He wanted to make up for not only his mistake, but the mistake of hundreds before him.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard a light thump and a muffled curse. Once he could hear her moving around her room again, clearly uninjured, he smiled to himself.

Perhaps, he thought with a wry grin, there could be another reason.

There was a girl, with long, brown curls. She was lying down, her back against a cold black floor he knew all too well. And above her was a woman, black hair sticking out at all angles. The woman was perched over the girl like a predator would its prey.

He watched as the woman leaned down to whisper into the girl's ear. Her only response was a whimper of fear, and his gut clenched. He tried to move toward her, not wanting to see the terror that was about to befall upon this poor girl. However, he found he was rooted to the spot.

The woman pulled out a knife, and he tried to turn away, knowing what was coming next. But he could still see them. The woman, now laughing maniacally, pulled out the girl's left arm and started carving into it with satisfied eyes.

He felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he watched not his aunt's actions, but the girl's face. The girl he had known and tormented for years, who had more bravery than any other he had known, now reduced to a screaming mess on his sitting room floor. He looked into her eyes and saw her pain and fear. He wanted so badly to take it all away, to save her.

He tried to yell for her, to tell his aunt to stop. But his screams fell upon deaf ears as Bellatrix continued carving that hateful word into Hermione's arm.

He was sobbing now. He commended her bravery once again as he noticed she wasn't crying. She never did. Not until the very end, when the last letter had been completed, did she allow a single tear to slip across her cheekbone and down to the floor. As he saw it, he knew the nightmare was over. It always ended there, right after he had seen her spirit break.

He awoke with a start the next morning. It was that bloody nightmare. He'd been having it every night for the past six months, and each time he never failed to bolt awake, breathing hard, drenched in his own sweat and tears.

It was like this every night. He tried, over and over, to reach her in time, to save her. But every night, he was forced to watch her be tortured again, as he had that night all those months ago when his own fear for himself was what kept him still. Every night he was forced to replay his biggest mistake, his deepest regret.

He strode into the common room, still uneasy from his nightmare. Sure, he had it every night. But he had seen Hermione only hours before, making it ten times worse. It brought her to life so much more in the dream, making it feel so real again.

"Good morning," said a clipped voice from behind him. He spun around to see the girl of his dreams, literally, sitting in a squashy red armchair, a textbook open in her lap.

"Same to you," he responded politely. "Studying already, I see. You know, you can't get too much ahead on your homework when classes haven't even started yet." He chuckled slightly.

She blushed slightly as she slammed the book shut. The color on her cheeks intrigued him more than he would've liked. She stood swiftly, reached for her book bag that was resting at her feet, and stalked toward to portrait hole. He quickly grabbed his own bag and rushed after her.

"Oh, come on, Granger. I was kidding," he huffed, running to catch up with her. She halted suddenly and turned on him, causing him to nearly run into her still form.

"You're the one who wanted us to be civil. So, you can start by not being such a bloody ass all the time!" she all but growled, shoving a finger at his chest as she spoke.

Her breath was coming fast from both her anger and her attempt to evade him. She still had a pinkish tint to her cheeks, gloriously contrasting with the rest of her creamy, smooth skin. He could see a fire dancing in her chocolate brown eyes and it excited him to no end. She was so close right now, so wonderfully close. All he had to do was lean in a little further…

What the bloody hell, Malfoy? This is fucking Granger we're talking about here. Get your mind out of the gutter and apologize before she hexes your ass into next week!

"Right," he mumbled, shifting nervously as he gained control of his thought again. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. But honestly, Granger, you need to learn to take a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

He had regained his usual confidence, glad he had control of the situation. She huffed once more, then her defensive posture fell as she looked down to the floor.

"You're right. I guess I'm just a little tense is all. I shouldn't have reacted so dramatically," she whispered apologetically. Suddenly, she looked up into his eyes from underneath her eyelashes, and his breath caught in his throat. She was so incredibly enticing, and she didn't even know it.

Why, why, WHY is this happening?

Draco pushed his thoughts aside and gave her a stiff nod. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Talk? You're actually asking her to tell you about her problems? What the hell? Who is this pansy-ass prat and where is Draco Malfoy?

Hermione appeared as shocked as he felt. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she started stumbling through her words. "Uh…Look, just-just because I apologized and I said we can be civil…well, that doesn't mean I want to go being your bloody friend. Got it?" Her words were harsh but their tone lacked any necessary venom to hold any semblance of a threat.

With that, she turned on her hell and bolted the rest of the way to the Great Hall, leaving Draco standing in her wake felling like a complete fool.

Upon arriving in the Great Hall, several confused minutes later, Draco inconspicuously made his way to the nearly vacant Slytherin table.

"Blaise," he started as he sat next to his best friend. "Where is everyone?"

"What do you mean, mate?" Blaise looked around suddenly, not realizing who he was supposed to be looking for.

"Why are there only twenty or so Slytherins at the table?"

Draco was feeling extremely out of place, used to being surrounded by swarms of people. Blaise looked at him incredulously.

"Where were you last night?" he said suddenly. Draco's eyes darted back to Zabini's face, not sure what he meant.

"I was here, then I went to the Heads Common Room. Why?"

Blaise shook his head. "You couldn't have been paying much attention during the sorting then. Only a handful of Slytherins came back after everything that's happened. I think only…what was…maybe three first years got sorted into Slytherin. How could you not notice that?"

Draco suddenly flushed, a habit very unlike him that he was not liking, as he remembered that he, indeed, had not been paying any attention during sorting or supper last night. In fact, his thoughts had been focused on the very girl he had nightmares about and her harsh words on the train. He had been formulating exactly how he was going to apologize to her.

"Draco, did you just blush? What's going on with you?" Blaise inquired, both shocked and amused. Draco's teeth snapped together. You've got to pull yourself together, man. You can't let them think your weak. And most of all, you can't let bloody Granger get to your head!

"Of course I didn't blush, Zabini. Why don't you get your bloody eyes checked? And nothing's wrong with me. I just had more pressing matters on mind last night, not that I'd expect you to understand," he fumed viciously before standing abruptly and rushed out of the Hall, forfeiting breakfast for his dignity. Blaise, who was used to Draco's frequent moodswings, took no offense and merely sat back and watched his friend run off, a highly amused expression lighting his Italian features.

Draco continued his rush straight into the Potions classroom, muttering under his breath the entire time. He noticed a variety of sixth and seventh year students. He was confused until he remembered that they weren't sixth year students. This was their seventh year as well. He picked an empty desk toward the front of the class. This year he would have to be attentive. After all, he had to make up for so much time lost during his sixth year. He winced as he thought of that dreadful period in his life.

"Careful there, Malfoy. They say talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity. Though I'm guessing you discovered the first sign ages ago."

Draco's head popped up to see Ginny Weasley sitting at the table directly to his right. He took her words in stride. It was fairly mild, considering what he really deserved from her. He knew that her brother, one of the twins, had died during the final battle. Though he didn't deal the blow, and he had in fact changed sides at that time, he still imagined she blamed him, and rightfully so. Everyone blamed him.

She gave him a questioning glance when he didn't retaliate. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was stopped when her partner, in the form of the one and only Hermione Granger, bounced into the classroom and took her seat next to the red-headed Weaslette.

"Good morning, Ginny," she said brightly. He noticed the carefree tone of her voice and longed to hear it directed toward him. He shook his head roughly, affectively shaking the thought away. This, however caught her attention.

"Malfoy," she said, giving him a brief nod. Her tone was much icier than it had been with Ginny, but not nearly as cold as it had been earlier that morning. He grinned slightly. He was improving.

"Granger," he replied, his tone even. Ginny looked flabbergasted at their exchange. He didn't blame her. They were supposed enemies. However, as he became more and more aware of Hermione Granger, he realized there was nothing he wanted more than to change that. She was…different, and it intrigued him.