Whooo! I'm BACK! Four days… I think that's the fastest I've ever updated. gasp LOL. Anyways. This chapter has a little about Hermione's past, which I don't like to write about because it's a bit like rewriting her character, so there will not be much of that in this fic. So… ho hum. On with the story!

Chapter 7

Draco's POV

The trek from the Hospital Wing to Dumbledore's office was a long one. Thankfully, it was exercise that made up for Quidditch as the day's practice had been canceled. Unfortunately, the long walk gave me plenty of time to think.

Why, indeed, did Dumbledore delegate the task of protecting Granger to me? He knows perfectly well that I could screw it up if I want. And probably will. Interhouse unity… pah! Any git in the hall knows a Gryffindor plus a Slytherin equals trouble, and they don't even need arithmetic to figure it out. He's so damn naive! Does he really think that a day's mishaps and perhaps a few months of misconceptions can erase an inborn hatred of mudbloods in a Slytherin's heart? What are we, morons?

Granger. How the hell could she have gotten such a trait? I've never heard of a mudblood having a pureblood ability, never! Unless she was secretly pureblood (but I don't know why she would hide that; it's nothing to be ashamed of) I'm sure there's absolutely no way she can really be a ShadowStalker! Yet, I met her in the Vortex, created a bond with her, and plan on "toying" with her for the next month.

I wonder, if Dumbledore really does agree to Granger's dormitories being moved to Slytherin dungeon, what would the other Slytherins say? That he was delusional? No one would ever know that I requested it, but what if they guess? What would they think of me? That I would stoop low enough to shag a Gryffindor?

I stopped in my tracks. I'm not going to shag her! I mentally reproved my brain. Why the hell would I do that? I have plenty of Slytherin beauties kissing my feet without needing a Gryffindor sex-buddy. There it was again. NO! NO! NO! I cried out inside my brain. I'm NOT going to do ANYTHING with her other than INFURIATE her!

I don't like thinking silently. My brain tends to over think a bit.

Without thinking (thank God), my feet had stopped themselves outside of Dumbledore's office. Looking up at the entrance, I saw two identical bronze griffins staring at me maliciously. A staircase opened between them.

I stepped onto the bottom staircase, and immediately, the griffins came to life. They seized me painfully about the shoulders and thrust me ten feet from the staircase.

"Password." They growled in unison.

No one ever gave me a password. No one ever told me that I even needed one to get into Dumbledore's office. How the fuck am I supposed to know what it is?

"Uh… Chocolate éclairs?" I asked hopefully. The griffins didn't budge.

"Booger flavored Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans?" Nothing.

"House-elves?" Nope.

"Just fucking let me in!" I yelled. That didn't work either.

I gave up. Sitting opposite the staircase, I resigned to waiting.

Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen minutes passed

My head started to droop into my chest.

"Mr. Malfoy? What are you doing here?" A cold and deep voice woke me from my drowse.

"I'm waiting for the damned door to open, Professor Snape."

"You need a password, Draco."

"I know that."

"Well, shouldn't you be inside if you knew that?"

"I don't know the password."

"It's Pink Lemonade." The griffins jumped aside.

I rolled my eyes. "Figures."

"Then you should have known." Snape began to leave.

"Hey, wait!" I called after Snape.

"What?" He turned around, annoyed. I knew that it was only because I was Slytherin that he was bothering to listen and not taking the rest of my house points away.

"Is it possible for a mudbl-er... Muggleborn to have rare pureblood qualities?" He probably knew about the ShadowStalker thing already, but it is a secret. I rolled my eyes internally. Merlin, I'm starting to sound like a pussy.

"Not very probable, but it can happen." Snape didn't seem surprised by my question. I guess he knew already, then.

"How?"

Snape looked annoyed again. "I suppose you haven't been paying much attention in lessons."

I honestly cannot remember ever having a lesson on this topic. "No," I replied, "I don't think so."

Snape muttered, "at least you're honest." Then said louder, "Dragon blood, Malfoy."

My eyes popped a bit. How in the world had Granger's parents managed to find Dragon Blood? It had a tag of a thousand Galleons an ounce. A hefty price, even for a Malfoy.

"You should pay attention in class." Snape reprimanded me, then left with an impressive swoosh of his cape-like cloak.

Still wondering, I muttered the password to the griffins and mounted the stairs. Thirty seconds later and once the staircase's automatic transport charm had terminated, I stood in front of a polished mahogany door, the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Raising my hand, I prepared to knock.

The door burst open before my knuckles touched wood. Blazing eyes glared at me fiercely before rough hands shoved me aside and Potter disappeared down the stairs. Weasley trailed after him, less angry but much paler. I scowled at being pushed, but smiled at Potty's fuming expression. Whatever news Dumbledore had for Potter, it couldn't have been good. Therefore, I should have no trouble whatsoever persuading Dumbledore to let Granger change dorms.

I strode in purposefully. Dumbledore was staring at the door sadly, holding his wand aloft. First I thought he was going to curse me, but he merely summoned a chair to his desk. Dropping his gaze, he motioned me to sit. I dropped into the overstuffed armchair.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley did not like my arrangements for Ms. Granger," He explained. As if any prat couldn't have figured it out on his own. I rolled my eyes, and my eyes landed on a shallow stone bowl on his desk. Its surface was covered in symbols, and a silvery substance- for I couldn't tell whether it was liquid, vapor, or solid- lay in its interior.

A pensieve, I realized, leaning forward with interest.

"Ahh, the pensieve." Dumbledore smiled lightly. "Much to my dismay, we will be using that today."

I quirked an eyebrow. To his dismay? He must be showing me something pretty important. I smirked and sat back. "I wanted to know what it is I'm here to talk about." I said with exaggerated politeness.

"First of all, my arrangements for Miss Granger. It is my wish that she be moved into your dormitory, into a room adjacent to the one which currently holds your own bed." Dumbledore smiled at me knowingly.

My jaw dropped open. I didn't even have to ask! Noticing my reflection (it looked a bit stupid… like Weasley) in one of the silver instruments on Dumbledore's desk, I hastily snapped my mouth closed. "Boys Dorm?" I croaked.

"Yes, the boys dorm. Unfortunately, since Miss Granger's memory is wiped and you most probably have told her that she is of Slytherin house, she will become a Slytherin temporarily. We will have new robes and class schedule assigned to her."

Gulping furiously (to ease any possibilities of maniacal laughter), I acquiesced silently with a terse nod of my head. Then, I asked, "What about the pensieve, Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore looked sad again. "Today, Mr. Malfoy, I will be showing you a memory of great importance. It was of extreme difficulty that I had extracted this memory from Mr. Granger, as he had hidden it away and pretended that it did not exist. This memory is, I believe, confidential?" He looked at me sternly.

I nodded, a bit regretfully. "But what does this have to do with Granger?"

"This has every bit to do with Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, as you shall soon see." Dumbledore reached forward and grasped the stone bowl. He gave it a soft swirl and the contents seemed to melt together. A man rose from the bowl, like a shadow. He was wearing a white uniform and silly, thin rubber gloves smeared with red. He was yelling horribly, though I couldn't discern the words.

Dumbledore looked at me (I suppose, kindly). "After you, Mr. Malfoy."

At first I didn't know what he meant. Then, I realized that he wanted me to touch the silvery… thing and be sucked into the memory. I started to complain, but he gave me no other options. Sighing, I took a huge breath and plunged my head into the bowl.

I had a vague sensation of being sucked forward and falling into darkness. Well, the falling part wasn't quite vague, as the darkness pressed on my eyes until they were popping quite a bit. Next thing I knew, I was thrust into a bright room, not unlike the Hospital Wing, all clean and white-ish. It was filled with people in white uniforms and blue half-masks on their noses and mouths. Their blue-gloved hands were smeared with blood. And in the center, on a white bed, sat a small girl, who looked as if she was sleeping, but in her rest, she twitched uncomfortably. Her messy brown curls covered the pillow and were damp with sweat, sticking against her tiny forehead. She looked about six years old.

I stared questioningly at Dumbledore, who had arrived about two seconds after me.

"Those are doctors, Draco. Muggle Healers. When Miss Granger was five, she got a disease that required her to get a blood transfusion."

"Blood transfusion? Disease?"

"A blood transfusion is when a patient receives a healthy blood from a donor. The blood is screened for diseases and then dripped into the patient."

"What kind of disease?" I asked, feeling a bit nauseated.

"Sickle cell anemia." Dumbledore stated gravely. "Its when the shape of the blood cell goes from round, which is normal, to crescent shaped. This causes her to not be able to breathe in sufficient oxygen, and it increases the risk of clogging her veins."

I didn't really get it, but I nodded anyways. What matters is that Granger is… diseased Ew.

I crept closer to the bed to look at the bag of blood swaying above Granger from a hanger. A tube connected the bag and a needle on her arm. The blood dripping into her arm was dark red, but when I cocked my head a bit to the right, it had a silvery sheen about it. I recalled what Snape had said to me while I was sitting outside of Dumbledore's office. So her parents hadn't bought it after all; it was an accidental contamination.

But who? I mused silently. Dragon blood contaminations of human blood is impossible. The only way it could possibly have happened was if someone had purposely mixed dragon blood into the human blood reservoirs. And if so, wouldn't there be a widespread pollution? Oh God. What if there is a whole multitude of muggles running around with magic

I had walked back to my original position beside Dumbledore. He was surveying the scene almost cynically.

"Alas," Dumbledore sighed, "it was a cruel trick played by an unknown wizard, as we can only assume that wizards have access to dragon blood."

"What will it do to her?" I whispered. Not that I particularly care.

"Keep watching." Dumbledore instructed.

The memory seemed to skip, as if the original carrier of the memory had a lapse. There was now a crowd of masked- doctors, did Dumbledore say-, standing around Granger. She was fidgeting noticeably, her face red. A doctor removed a stick from her mouth; little numbers on it read 104.

Suddenly, the little girl's eyes popped open, not unlike the way Granger woke today in the Hospital Wing. A piercing scream reverberated around the room.

I stared at Granger. The blankets that were pulled around her were singed away, as was her clothes. Spiral burns covered her body, her skin melting away and dark blood oozing out. I blanched. I wouldn't have wished that on anyone, not even Granger.

Two minutes later, the burns had faded away, much to the confusion of the doctors. Another took a blood sample (I stared stonily when the doctor poked Granger with the needle. Stupid muggles and their primitive medicine) and ran out of the room. Five minutes later, he ran back in, huffing and puffing, the blue mask now around his neck.

Bewildered but triumphant, he gasped, "The sickle cell disease! It's… gone!"

Looking at Dumbledore, I whispered, "The healing effects of the dragon blood?"

Dumbledore nodded. "However," he added, "There are a few adverse effects that their tests will not be able to identify. One of those is the ShadowSeeker trait that you see today."

My eyes were wide, and I nodded slowly, unbelieving. Yet, here it was, laid out right in front of me.

Granger was half dragon.

Half an hour later, I walked back to Slytherin common room, my mind buzzing. I tried as hard as I could not to believe the inevitable: that Granger, common, mudblood, blandGranger was half dragon. That I, a pureblood Malfoy, was no longer even a match for Granger. I stalked into the Sytherin common room and froze. Shit. Granger was moved into this room, and to get into the Boy's Dorm, I was going to have to pass her room. What if she was still awake?

Oh screw it. I'm just going to walk past and if she notices me, I'll make a run for it.

I passed the door of her room. There was no ambush from inside. Must resist the urge to look inside, I told myself.

I didn't resist hard enough.

Granger's hair was spread on the pillow, like a halo on her head. She was shifting around uncomfortably, not unlike her six-year-old self in the memory. Seeing her filled me with an inexplicable sadness, something I've not felt often before. How could I hate someone who had such a horrible past? The main reason I hated muggleborns was that they had no right to magic. They never fought for the right to use it.

Yet Granger had fought. She had fought harder than anyone I know. So, could I still hate her?

I left the room quickly, and rebuked myself for thinking such rebellious thoughts.

Sinking into my bed, I fell into an uneasy sleep.

Whooooo! How was that? Took me a week, but I finished!

Do you guys thing that the whole "non-hate" thing is going too fast? shrugs I don't want a really really long fic but I don't want people to get confused. Yeah. Lol

Thanks to:
bluebaby3296, greatwite2, Malfoy-jacky, alicethecatdemon, Terry Moon, HermionetheSlytherinPrincess, and Drakulya for reviewing.

Please keep reviewing.

I'll try to write more by next Friday. And then a two week lull cuz I'm going to CAMP!

Okay.

x3 you all.