A/N: Hello Everyone,

I am pleased to say that after countless time off from updating my stories on this site, I am finally back for good.

I am also pleased to inform everyone that I have finally completed my first fantasy novel. I am currently in the process of having it published (although I am having some difficulties, as literary agents are quite difficult to find).

If any of you happen to know a good literary agent currently taking new clients, I would love to hear from you. This novel is a cross-over fantasy of about 175 thousand words.

Thank you for everything!

Chapter Twelve

Alone

An eerie and odd feeling had come over the body of Hermione Granger that day. Her skin was cold and her arms quivered as she searched through the library. Not even the sight of all of those books was enough to make her smile.

She realized now what she had just done.

She had trusted her deepest and most darkened secret to the soul of one Draco Malfoy, and in doing so had put her life on the line. If he decided that he was finished with her, or did not want her around, one utter of her undesired troubles and her life would be once more plunged into a darkness she could not run from.

She could try to run from her fears, and she could try to hide from the memories which haunted her dreams. She could smile and laugh and act as though nothing was wrong, but nothing would change the fact that she was now a traumatized and helpless girl.

Honestly, she was surprised that she was functioning as it is. Her body ached and her soul was crushed. Any feeling of happiness she once had was now swallowed in an endless sea of black hatred. Even her hatred, however, was swallowed ever so deeply that now all she felt was numbness. She knew that she should be angry, she should be furious for the way she had been treated.

All that was left of Hermione Granger was an empty and bottomless shell, incapable of love. The unconditional and endless love she had once felt for the ones she held most dear was gone. In the far reaches of the outskirts of her mind, she knew what love had once felt like, she knew that it had been there. The pain and suffering when she heard Ronald's screams from the cell next to hers, and the endless cries.

The pain she had felt when she watched Voldemort kill her parents, smothering her in their own hot red blood. The frightened and pale looks on their faces when they breathed their final breaths, and Hermione begged to join them. She, however, was not given the pleasure. Three years of torture and unwanted visits to her cell, and somehow she was still a sane human being.

Now she was living under the very roof of one of the reasons she had ended up in that terrible place, and she was no longer bitter. She had lost her abrupt and stubborn personality. Her entire life had been a lie.

The mark throbbed. It throbbed and ached against her clammy skin. Hiding it all of that time had been nothing other then a challenge of insanity. Casting spells every morning to conceal the evil eyes which stared up at her and pulsed every night, wearing long sleeves and non revealing clothing just to be sure. Muggle make-up and enchantments, anything to keep them from seeing. From seeing what she really was.

Her throat felt acidic, as though vomit was coming from her very insides. That terrible taste of iron against her lips and the feeling of every hair over her body standing erect, was enough to make her faint. Her hands shook as she ran her fingers along the spines of the large and dusty books.

It was dark and gloomy there, as though no one had been there for years. Cob webs and dust covered every inch of every object, and the air was stale. It was thick, making her feel trapped and as though she couldn't breathe. Damp and hot.

She suddenly felt as though she was not alone.

Hermione turned swiftly on one heel, her hair whipping her face as she did so. She scanned the room carefully, squinting through the darkness. She couldn't see anything, but she felt a presence. Then there was a cold breeze against her face, and her breath seized against the walls of her lungs and made her choke.

She continued staring forwards into the darkness, eyes darting this way and that in a panic.

"No." She whispered very quietly, her lungs colliding and then stopping completely. She knew what it was staring back at her from the black depths ahead of her.

"You stay away from me, you understand!" She hissed, forcing herself to swallow and continued to stare at the blankness. "I will not come with you!"

A hiss was the only response she received. She turned away from the hissing sound back towards the book shelf, trying her best to ignore the ever-so-familiar lurker behind her. Then she felt a cold, wet feeling against her neck, as though a rough tongue was trailing her collarbone. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend that she was somewhere else.

Hermione knew if she let it get to her then it would capture her. She had been experiencing this curse since the day she refused to serve the Dark Lord. Another hiss sounded against her earlobes, sending waves of shivers down her spine. Hot breath passed over her chest, making her feel sick. She stood her ground, not moving an inch.

It seemed to go on forever, and then the creature was gone.

The cold went away, and the warmth flowed back into her blood. She let out a harsh breath of relief, going back to the books without even a flinch.

She had never known what they creature was, but it visited her far too often for her own comfort. She did not know what it wanted, or where it was from, all that she knew was that she did not wanted to follow it into whatever hole it had slithered from.

She had never felt so alone in her entire life. She had no one to run to, no one who would listen to her. Everyone had always thought her to be this amazing person. The truth was that she was more afraid then anyone else, that she was more dangerous. She knew what she was capable of, and she knew what she could do if she were let loose on the wrong side.

The truth was that she was coward, running from everything, as she had been her entire life. She had run from telling her friends the truth, and she had betrayed herself. She had never been able to allow herself to be attached to a man, not in the way that most people had. She feared the fact that when the day came, he would cower just as she did, and no one would be there to protect her.

Hermione stepped up onto the small stool ahead of her, looking through the hundreds of book covers and sighing softly to herself. She felt as though she was never going to find it.

Then, there it was. It had a deep red cover and golden writing.

Manifest.

The twenty year old Draco Malfoy paced in his room. Rain hammered against the windowpane like shards of never-ending glass. The sky was dark. It was always dark. He could not recall the last time he had seen the sunshine, or a hint of blue sky. He could not remember the smell of hot pavement, or the lilies his mother used to grow.

Oh Mother, how could you leave me? How could you leave me here with him... with them? How am I supposed to be the man you wish me to be, when I don't even know what goodness is left in my pathetic soul?

There was a sudden and instant overcoming of rage in the Death Eater, as he let out a tremendous roar and kicked over a nearby stool. It shot across the room like an angry wooden bullet, splintering in shards and falling to the stone floor.

Draco stood for a moment, chest caving inwards and out, breath heavy and eyes enraged as a hell-dog. Fists clenched and body stiff, he slowly made his may over to the window, and stared out in silently. His hands opened, reveling his rough and brutal palms. So much blood had been spilled with those hands, so much death. It was then that he thought of Pansy, her lifeless body dangling from the banister.

What was he thinking? Bringing the Granger girl here. Surely the Dark Lord would put the pieces together.

It was then that the burning began all over again. This time was far stronger then the last. This time was enough to make Draco give out a soft holler of agony. Instead of worrying about his own outcome, he suddenly found himself worrying about Granger. He knew his father was away on business, but what if he came home early and Draco wasn't there? What if he found her?

Some plan you had Mother. Way to leave me here with nothing and no one. No, Draco, you did this to yourself. You had a choice, there was always a choice.

Then, the tall and pale man pulled on a blackened cloak with a overly large hood once more, face half hidden in shadow. If one were watching from afar, he would have looked nothing more then a hooded bandit, with gold and silver shining from the bands around his thin fingers. They would see his cloak swoop in the flickering torch light, right before vanishing into thin air, leaving only the trail of smoke.

There was no sound but the lapping of his robes as he landed once more in the Dark Lord's chambers. Draco felt weakened with the fear, which was now burning it's way through his ribcage. So much so, that he nearly collapsed to his knees, rather then voluntarily knelt. His hands once more pressed against the cold hard stone, and his forehead the same, as she spoke:

"You summoned me, Great Lord." He only prayed that Voldemort could not sense his fear.

There was very long pause, an unexpected pause, in which Draco found his body quivering.

"Draco, yes, so good of you to come." Spoke a voice in a very low hiss. Once this sentence was completed, Draco raised his forehead from the floor, just enough to see his lords feet, but not enough to look him in the eyes. He found himself relieved that his hood was hiding so much of his face. He took a deep breath, forcing the words from his lips.

"What is it you wish of me, My Lord?"

"The rebels, Draco." Voldemort exhaled while speaking, as though the words were poison. "I recently sent your father on an errand to stop them, to end their hopeless plotting. They know just as well as I, that I cannot be killed by anyone other then Harry Potter. All the same, it makes me uneasy to know that they are so close to my quarters, up to something."

Draco cringed at the thought. He knew what was coming next.

"Draco, I wish for you to travel to the Dark Forest, and assist your father in the capture of the rebels. He is outnumbered, and I do not trust my other Death Eaters quite enough to send them on this task." There was a slight pause, in which Draco neither nodded nor spoke. He felt his face growing hot. "That is, of course, if your loyalty puts you in the right mind to complete this task asked of you."

"O-of course, M-my Lord." Draco forced the words from his lips like the poison that they were.

"Excellent." Voldemort replied, Draco felt his blood run cold. "I would hate to think that after all these years of the Malfoy's being such loyal servants, that one of you would go rotten."

He knows. He has to know.

"Oh little Drakie, mommies boy is all grown up." Draco turned his head to the side, at the sound of her shrill and putrid voice. There she was, standing in the corner, her wand teasing against her lips. His dark, cruel, and crazed aunt Bellatrix. Over the last three years she had grown even more corrupt, there was no humanity left in her blackened mind. "Sorry to hear about mommy Draco, give my regards to father won't you? That is, after we head to the Dark Forest. Wouldn't want you wandering in there alone, now would we?"

Draco did not reply to this, he merely returned her stare. Only, there was excitement in his eyes, no enjoyment. Only hate and anger.

"Oh, and Draco," Draco pulled his face up, just enough to look into Voldemort's dark eyes. "If they continue to resist being captured, kill them. All of them."

A/N: Well, the first chapter I have done in many moons, and the first of many. I know that the darkness and awfulness is coming wave by wave, however, there is nothing more satisfying then love being found in the most darkest of times... is there?

I personally think that you cannot have a good story, without suffering. The romance will come, and it will be intoxicating, however, as I said before, I want this realistic. I want this believed and the love they have to be cherished, not just instant and meaningless. Draco has to be the angry, corrupt person that he truly would be if Voldemort had never lost power. Hermione has to be the damaged and broken individual she would be, if all her loved ones died.

I feel I moved too fast in my other fics, and this time I think I might be on the right track to getting it right.

I hope that you are enjoying it... and I would love some reviews. Your feedback is always taken into consideration!

xxxxxxxxxxx

DS