He knew there would be hell to pay. He actually expected his common room door to be burst down by Potter and Weasley, never mind the entire Hogwarts staff. He was, understandably, scared shitless.

But it never came.

He waited the entire weekend, hiding out in the sixth years' dormitory, but there was nothing.

No Potter, no Weasley, no Dumbledore.

What was Granger thinking?

Had she even told anyone yet?

Was she just curled up under the covers of her room?

Or was she still in that classroom…

Lost…

What had he done?

By lunchtime, Draco was famished, and he couldn't face her in the dining hall, so he sent Goyle to grab him the best of everything, and snuck off to his favourite secluded spot by the lake to think.

Okay, he told himself, munching on a lightly browned piece of toast, Granger either hasn't told them yet, or she's stopping them from coming here and murdering me. They may be just a blood traitor and a kid with a saving people thing, but… two against one isn't exactly in my favour… but what if she hasn't told anyone yet?

Another voice popped into his head just then. Why wouldn't she tell? It's not like she's not helpless, and her Gryffindor buddies would definitely support her.

Well… he told the voice, maybe she's ashamed?

Of what?

Being helpless?

But what if she feels sorry for you? The voice told him.

I don't need some know it all mudblood to pity me. He told the voice angrily, tossing his leftovers into the lake.

The voice was silent then. Looking out to the lake, Draco saw the giant squid reach up above the water and scoop his leftovers below the surface.

Or… do I?

Draco, having sat outside until the crisp autumn was threatening to cause mild hypothermia, shuffled through the doors just as dinner was being let out. As misfortune would have it, who was stepping out of the hall just as Draco was stepping in?

Hermione. He stopped, stunned, ashamed. Even the use of her first name didn't register as he watched her slowly trail beside Potter and the two redheaded Weasleys. He stood, stock still, watching her walk. The odd thing was, he didn't see any sort of pain on her person… and he knew pain. Of course he knew pain with a father like his. A father who…

No, said a voice in his head, don't think about it.

It seemed to take an eternity for her and the rest of the school to cross the foyer.

That little voice in his head had always been there, ever since he had been aware of the things around him. He recognized it as a mix between a continence and repressor of memories. He acknowledged that it wasn't what you would call healthy, but damned if he wanted to deal with the pain. He knew little bits of what had happened to him, but it was like it was a memory of a book he had read.

Terrible, yes, but not personal.

Nothing was personal, anymore.

Nothing, until he acknowledged Hermione Granger.

As he grew and matured, he had acknowledged her as more of a person… not that he would tell his father, or anyone, of this change of heart. Sometimes, late at night, he would stay awake and just think. Think so deep that he couldn't even remember what he thought about. The only thing he did remember was that the next day, if he had to bash Granger, or anyone like her, he could barely get the same spite in his voice.

In the beginning, he felt as if he was betraying his father, his heritage. Now, however, it was like all those years of being a Malfoy were just a betrayal of himself. Where were these thoughts coming from, anyways? Shouldn't he be trying to imitate his father, and forget all this foolishness of morality?

What had she done to him?

A/N aaaand after a long bout, I'm back. I'm warning you, this chapter and then next have been done for awhile, and I have another two chapters going, but I figured I'd continue this one... so if I don't update quite so quickly, please don't hate me... Ciao, Js... oh, and would you pretty please review?