Hermione couldn't really explain why exactly she was glad that Draco was a prefect. There were many reasons to hate it for sure—the fact that even with attempts to distance herself from him, they would still have to do prefect duties together was a prominent one, quickly followed by the fact that he was a Death Eater's son at a time when Voldemort was rising in power. And yet here she was being happy about it. Hermione had to be insane, didn't she? She kept making promises to stay away from him and breaking them every time. Wasn't that the definition of insanity?

As it turned out, however, Hermione didn't need worry about prefect duties. When she and Draco patrolled the corridors together—the only time prefects of other houses worked together—they didn't say anything, not even a greeting. Hermione felt that it was for the best. They couldn't tempt each other and they couldn't tempt themselves into getting close again.

And then Umbridge's reign had begun to anger Hermione more than anything ever had in her life. She was all for reading, but learning consisted of a mixture of reading and practical application of what has been read, especially in magic, and definitely in the OWL exams. The thought of having Harry as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—secretly, of course—would fix this problem.

And with this idea also came other ideas, including one with Draco being involved with them. If they were hiding everything from the High Inquisitor, then it would be secret from the rest of the school anyway. Anyone who would see Draco wouldn't be about to run off and tell his father, because that would give the whole thing away, essentially getting themselves in just as much trouble. Besides, Draco was an intelligent person. He knew that Umbridge's teaching would get him nowhere, and he needed to know the material. There was no way he could refuse.

"No, Granger."

Draco saw the hope in Hermione's eyes and he felt terrible crushing it, but he knew it had to be done. They were on their regular patrols and Hermione had asked him if he'd want to join a secret group of hers under Umbridge's nose.

"But Draco—"

"No, Granger, it's not happening. Firstly, groups like those get found out sooner or later because someone rats or someone is too careless, and I'd be in greater trouble than anyone else in your little group. Secondly, you were the one who made me promise to stay away from you, and like I said, I keep my promises." Draco paused, taking a breath, and said, "And thirdly, I meant what I said when I told you that you'd be in danger if you were associated with me. I still don't want you getting hurt, Granger."

"Yes, that all makes sense, but—" Hermione seemed to be getting desperate.

"No—no buts. There is no way that I could join you, and you know it. Stop trying to make excuses, Granger, and start thinking. Use that brain you're so well-known for. As much as you try, there's always going to be some way that this will fail." When Draco saw her mouth open again in protest, Draco quickly added, "Can we please go back to patrolling, instead of talking ourselves through a brick wall?"

Hermione huffed angrily, but didn't say anything. Draco felt bad, but he knew he had just prevented a disaster. The truth was, the idea had appealed to Draco much more than he'd liked. He had been trying not to convince himself as well as Hermione, though he knew his points were right. If there was even the slimmest chance that they would get caught, Draco couldn't risk it, as much for Hermione as himself.

They stayed in silence for a few minutes more, but Hermione again interrupted it. "You don't have to be like your father, you know."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Draco said, feeling himself begin to bristle.

"You don't have to follow in his footsteps—or in your mother's for that matter," Hermione explained. "You can be something other than You-Know-Who's Death Eater. You could—"

"Go against my family's beliefs?" Draco asked.

"Well, look at your aunt-Andromeda," Hermione pointed out. "She married a Muggle-born."

"Andromeda is no longer considered part of my family, much less my aunt," Draco growled. "And my parents already get enough grief about her. If I were to do the same as her, our family would practically be seen as blood-traitors."

"Draco, that's ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed, exasperated now.

"Oh, I see that you've become an expert of the Dark Lord over the years!" Draco burst out. "And an expert of my family as well! Tell me, Granger, you intelligent girl—why hasn't my father left the Dark Lord, even if he's absolutely frightened? Why did my father leave his comfortable Dark-Lord-free lifestyle if he no longer cared for his methods? Oh, that's right—because he would die otherwise!"

"No, Draco, it's because your father is a coward!" Hermione yelled back. "He's too weak to join another, stronger side, because of his fear and his ignorant ideals!"

"Don't talk about my family like that!" Draco exploded, rounding on her. "Don't pretend you know me, Granger! You don't know what it's like, living in complete fear that the Dark Lord might just try to punish my father for his disloyalty, that I might be the target of his punishment. You don't know what it's like questioning the beliefs of everyone in your life, knowing that voicing it will get you killed or shunned. You don't have problems like that with your happy little Muggle home, do you? Do you, Granger?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth many times before finally letting out a tiny, "No…"

Draco could have stopped right there—he should have stopped there—but Hermione had lit a fire in him and it wasn't about to be put out. "Do you think I want to live a life like that? I thought everything was nice and fine before I came here—before I met you—and my entire world came crashing down around me. And then it was hard enough trying to get my father to get over the fact that I didn't hate a Mudblood from the first word. And now that the Dark Lord returned I got punished for a simple dance—"

And here was where Draco's burning anger was doused in one quick move. He didn't want to tell her how his father had punished him over that summer, because he knew that it would only lower Hermione's view of his father. Like an abused puppy that didn't really know much better, Draco was loyal to his father, and wouldn't leave his family even if he could. The truth was that shunning or disownment would be nearly as painful for Draco as the abuse he received from Lucius.

"Draco?" Hermione asked. "What did your father do to punish you for—"

"It doesn't matter, Mudblood," Draco spat. He realized that they were almost nose-to-nose by now, and he stepped back, giving Hermione a disgusted look before walking briskly away. "Our parole is over."

"But we've still got half an hour left!" Hermione called after him.

"Yeah, well, have a nice half-hour without me!" Draco said over his shoulder, stalking down the hall.

Well that didn't work at all, Hermione thought as she watched Draco's form turn the corner.

She wasn't so much focused on the original plan any more as she was on the torment she saw in Draco's eyes when he mentioned his father's punishments. He was scared of his own father—really scared—and Hermione thought she knew why. Hadn't she seen the tiny hints with Draco's father in public—the way he would correct Draco by hitting him with the cane? And Draco would respond immediately as if he'd been beaten loads of times, with much more force.

Hermione knew that Draco would just shove off any attempts of hers to pry, to figure out what had made Draco stop so suddenly in his rage. From what Hermione had seen in his eyes, it had to have been terrible. But she was determined to figure it out. Call it the Gryffindor in her, but Hermione wasn't about to stop. She would use every patrol with Draco to question him

Lucky for Hermione, her next patrol with Draco was only two days away. Unlucky for Hermione, she used the wrong method. She pounced on Draco almost immediately, giving him no time to process anything but anger.

When they had turned to an empty corridor, Hermione blurted out, "So how did your father find out about our dance? And what did he do to you for it?"

Draco scowled at Hermione and snapped, "What does it matter to you? I thought we weren't supposed to care about each other anymore."

"I-I don't remember saying anything about not caring—just that we couldn't, well, be seen together," Hermione said, abandoning all thoughts of Lucius now.

"Be seen together?" Draco asked. "As if we're hiding something? As if we actually have something?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, angry at Draco's bitterness. "I just meant—oh, it doesn't matter! You're right; I liked it better when I didn't talk to you." This, of course, was a complete lie, but the force behind her words was believable.

"Good!" Draco spat.

"Fine!" Hermione growled back.

And the rest of the patrol was silent, both fuming internally.

Draco never saw Hermione again on the patrols because they weren't scheduled together until after Umbridge's new policy of the Inquisitorial Squad. Combine that with Hermione's secret club that Draco knew full well was going on, and Draco hadn't seen Hermione outside of classes. This relaxed Draco more than it should have. He hadn't wanted to tell Hermione anything, but he knew she would have been able to convince him at some point during the school year.

It wasn't as if Draco had any worse of a punishment than he expected. He had come home and his father had welcomed him as usual. And then, as the Howler threatened, Lucius told Draco to follow him to the dungeons. Draco's stomach had dropped, but again, he expected it. Once Lucius had closed the door, Draco clenched his fists in the dark until he heard his father speak and Draco felt every nerve in his body flare painfully. As much as he expected it, there was no way to make a Cruciatus Curse not hurt.

Draco had felt the pain of the curse exactly three times in his life—representing the three times he'd gotten in trouble the worst. The first was when he tried to go into the yard of the Muggles that lived at the far edge of the Malfoy property, at age seven. He had cried worse than he ever had in his life when the curse made its way through his nerves. The second had been when he had stolen Lucius's broomstick and broken it. That time, he had been crying before his father even lifted his wand, and it hadn't felt any worse. He was nine.

And finally, the third, on his eleventh birthday no less, Draco was punished because the owl had come late, and Lucius had believed that Draco wasn't a wizard. This had been the most painful and lasted the longest, because Lucius just would not accept a Squib in the family. Narcissa had put an end to it just as Draco felt he was running out of tears, bursting into the dungeon and saying that the owl had finally arrived—that it had gotten confused thanks to the barriers set up around the manor. Draco had never felt so relieved in his life. He had run to his mother, soaking her robes with his tears as he held her.

So it was that in the summer of his fourth year, Draco was twitching on the floor of the dungeons as the Crutacius Curse washed over him for a fourth time. Draco knew the curse was illegal, and he knew it wasn't normal for parents to punish their children in such a way. He knew this because Lucius had strictly forbid him of speaking of it. He nearly made an Unbreakable Vow on it but Narcissa had forbidden the whole thing, to Draco's relief. Therefore, Draco knew that if she knew about what had happened, Hermione would begin to despise his father and, being the Gryffindor that she was, she would try to be a heroine and do something to attempt to stop the punishments, which would end up causing even more problems.

Besides, Draco was happy his father had only found out about the dance and not about the kiss. He was sure that his father would curse him more severely than the last time and that his mother wouldn't be able to save him in this case.

Hermione was frustrated more than ever at Umbridge, but she was able to let out her frustration in the DA meetings. One reason for her frustration was that the Inquisitorial Squad basically diminished her regular patrols with Draco, and as she wasn't in the Squad, she couldn't talk to him there either. She knew it seemed petty compared to all other things that were wrong with Umbridge, but she couldn't get that look Draco had out of her mind. She needed to figure out a way to talk to him alone, but she was coming up blank every time she tried to come up with something. But soon an opportunity presented itself in the most bizarre way.

Late at night, Hermione, stressed for the OWLs and, angry at Umbridge as usual, Hermione decided that a bath in the prefect bathroom might relax her. She slid off her bed, grabbing her things and throwing a bathrobe over her night-clothes.

Hermione spoke the password and the door slid open, albeit a tad slower than usual, as if it were unsure. Hermione barely noticed and walked right in. From the first step, she realized that the bath was running. About a quarter of the way in Hermione realized that it shouldn't have been running. About halfway in, Hermione saw the pale figure that was in the bubbles of the bath. She emitted an odd squeak and spun around, cheeks flaming.

"Sorry, sorry!" Hermione cried. She heard a tiny splash and imagined the figure turning around.

"Merlin, Granger!" came the voice of Draco Malfoy. "You scared the wits out of me! How did you even get in here?"

"I-I'm not sure! The door doesn't normally open w-when someone's taking a bath," Hermione stammered.

Behind her, Draco sighed and said, "Well, wait a moment and I'll get a towel." Hermione could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he added, "Mind you, Granger, don't get any ideas of peeking."

"Oh, I won't-just hurry up," Hermione said impatiently. Finally, she heard the woosh of water as Draco pulled himself over the side of the bath and the slap of his wet feet hitting the floor as he got a towel.

"You can look now, Granger," Draco said. Hermione slowly pivoted and saw Draco with a towel around his waist and another in his hand as he dried his hair. Hermione tried not to stare at his well-muscled chest as she headed over to brush her hair—as she did before every bath so that her hair wasn't a complete nightmare to untangle afterwards.

"So what brings you here in this late hour?" Draco asked. Hermione looked up at the mirror to see that he was turning off the bathwater. He seemed rather confident in himself, not really minding that he was half-naked.

"I could ask you the same," Hermione said, watching Draco drain the water. Unfortunately for her, he looked up then, and caught her looking. Before she averted her eyes, Hermione spotted a dangerous grin cross his lips.

"Like what you see, Granger?" he asked.

"I see a scrawny pale boy with a terrible habit of insulting people, so...not particularly, no," Hermione retorted.

"Ah, but it so fun to insult you Granger, when you come up with those sorts of responses," Draco said with a smile. He was walking over to an empty stall now to change into his robes.

"I was actually alluding to that lovely song of yours about Ron—and while we're at it I might add that I was rather disappointed that I couldn't be there to help Harry and George after that game," Hermione called over to him. "Besides, if you want variety in your comebacks you may want to come up with more than 'Mudblood' as your daily insult."

"I'll keep that in mind, Granger," Draco said from the stall. "And for the record, I don't call you a Mudblood as much as you think."

"And does it matter how many times you say it, Draco?" Hermione asked just as Draco left the stall and headed over to the sink next to her to comb his hair. Hermione remembered why she had so desperately sought a moment alone with Draco, so before he could make another quip she added, "But it's been a long time since you saying that has affected me. All that I'm worried about with you is what your father did to you after what happened last year."

Draco froze, the comb in the air, poised for another stroke. Slowly, he said, "It really doesn't matter, Granger."

"But it does!" Hermione protested. "I'm the reason you were punished in the first pl—"

"No you weren't. You weren't the one who decided to dance with me. My father didn't even know about…about the kiss." Draco had his hands on either side of the sink.

"I can tell this is bothering you, Draco. Just let me help—"

"My father used the Cruciatus."

"What?" Hermione hadn't heard him-couldn't have heard him-correctly. Draco was looking at the sink now and seemed like he was going to be sick.

"My father used the Cruciatus. On me," Draco said slowly. He glanced up and added, "Don't look at me like that."

"Draco, that curse is—"

"Illegal, I know," Draco finished for her. "But my father isn't exactly one to follow the rules."

"But Draco, that's—"

"Stop calling me that," Draco demanded, straightening again.

"Calling you what?"

"Calling me by my given name," Draco said. He let out a breath. "And don't pity me, Granger. I don't need your pity."

"How can I not?" Hermione said, realizing that tears were in her eyes. "Your own father…"

"I knew you'd say that!" Draco yelled, his face reddening in anger. "I knew you'd hate him! For your information, Granger, I believed every word my father said about Mudbloods and Muggles up until I met you! And even though I'm doubting him, I still love him—he's still my father—so don't start telling me that my father's evil, or that he's cruel to me, because he's not! He loves me, too!"

"And he shows it my torturing you for dancing with me?"Hermione yelled back, tears still brimming in her eyes.

Draco let out an enraged growl and grabbed her shoulders. "You. Are. A. Mudblood. How hard is it to understand that my family despises you and the fact that I associate with you?"

Hermione was scared now. She'd never seen Draco so worked up before and he was absolutely terrifying. The tears began to fall now and Hermione couldn't find a way to stop them. "But you don't despise me, or my blood, do you?"

Draco gave her a disgusted look, and shoved her roughly away. "I told you as much last year, Granger. Maybe your intelligence only extends to the schoolbooks."

Draco started to turn away, but Hermione hurried forward and grabbed him around the middle. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

"I told you not to call me that," Draco said, but there was no malice behind the words. Hermione felt him put his nose in her hair and if she wasn't mistaken, she could have even sworn that he'd kissed the top of her head.

Why, why, why had Draco let Hermione convince him to tell her about his father? And why even tell her that it hadn't been the first time? Wasn't once enough? He knew it would get out of hand—he knew how she would react. Just—why?

He knew the answer, of course. Hearing his given name—spoken so softly—on her lips, the same lips that he knew for a fact were so soft and gentle, that had been why. It was his downfall, he knew, and he needed to get her to stop saying that. Better yet, he needed to stop talking to her. Yes, that would be wonderful.

And with all the Umbridge events, Draco got his wish. He barely ever saw Hermione, and when he did, she wasn't within speaking distance. He even had to focus on his ever-approaching OWLs and the homework teachers piled on due to the exams. It wasn't until almost the end of exams that Draco saw Hermione and that had ended with bats coming out of his nose and everyone escaping to the Ministry.

After the Ministry events, however, Draco knew everything was lost for his family. His father had not only failed to defeat Potter, but had let the prophecy get destroyed. Lucius had already been edging away from the Dark Lord's favor because of disloyalty, but now—now they were well past that and almost to the point of danger of death.

He had begun to hate Potter with a burning passion, as he kept ruining everything with his family. He even hated all of Potters friends, with the always-exception, Hermione. He was only mildly angry at her. But this didn't stop him from heading straight to the train compartment Harry was in. Unfortunately for Draco, this hatred made him slow and dull-witted and for a second year in a row, Draco found himself on the train floor with his face terribly distorted by multiple jinxes. On the brighter side, however, they had all worn off by the time Draco had stepped off the train.

Looking across the platform, Draco spotted Hermione's bushy hair and knew that this time things really were going to change. Even if he managed to talk to her, Draco would probably be burdened by other things—things such as a Death Eater ceremony his father had written to him about.

With morbid thoughts like these clouding his head, and hurting his heart, Draco turned to face his pair of blonde headed parents, greeting his as coldly and as formally as usual. Draco took his father's arm and glanced again at the back of Hermione's head before they all Apparated away.