Later, during dinner, Draco heard anguished howls of rage emanating from down in the basement. Looking up from his untouched soup, Draco noticed Fenrir Greyback approaching, licking blood off his fingers and chuckling in that wolfish manner he had.

"She tastes lovely….promise me that I can have a turn when you are done with her." Fenrir chuckled darkly, catching a drop from his fingernail on his tongue.

Bellatrix sighed moodily and rolled her eyes in disgust, "That is revolting. Did you tell them?"

Fenrir nodded and grinned maliciously, the blood still clinging to his teeth. "First I went and smeared her blood on my face, you know, more convincing. Then I told Potter and the redhead I torn her limb from limb, I did. Asked if they wanted a taste. Red tried to grab me through the bars, but I says to them, 'Do that and I bring the rest down here for you to see.' I say. 'I think there may be an eye and maybe part of a toe if you're hungry.' And they started in with the screaming. You can still hear them."

"Very good! Clever even. Greyback, I may have misjudged you. Perhaps you are not the brainless dog I have been led to believe. You did manage to capture them, a feat I never thought possible from your little "band". I feel I must commend you." Bellatrix went back to her soup.

Fenrir bowed out, muttering about the rest of the pool of blood and having a quick nip. Feeling no need to drag the evening on any further, Draco set his spoon down on the table and nodded curtly to the assembled family, "I'll be going to bed now. Excuse me."

"Draco? Darling?" Narcissa lowered the wine glass she was about to sip from, "You haven't even tasted your soup and we still have the main course waiting. Grafl also fixed your favorite dessert. Are you feeling alright? "

He stood, "Yes, Mother. It's been a tiring day and, frankly, I've lost my appetite."

"Would you like something sent up to your room? Cake? Something to drink? I will send Grafl up after she finishes taking food to the girl."

"Whatever you wish, Mother. Father. Aunt Bella." He inclined his head slightly at each name.

"Nighty night, Dwaco. Mwah mwah." Bellatrix popped two air kisses at Draco's general direction, refusing to look at him and guzzled the rest of the wine in her goblet. She snapped her fingers quickly and Grafl popped up near her chair to refill her glass. "Pathetic little creature. Though, it's much better than the last one you had Cissy, what was its name? Drubby? Doffly? I can't remember. Disgusting little thing."

Draco fought the urge to spit at his Aunt. He had to get away now, before he physically became ill from the smug look on her face. He walked swiftly from the dining hall. The delight she seemed to take in each and every pained scream she made spew forth from the lips of each of her victims sickened him more and more with each passing day. He was tired, suddenly very tired of all of this. And his thoughts kept flickering back to Granger, the blood flowing from her pale mouth as she begged him for death. He would go tonight. Question her now. Get the information they wanted and then do it. He couldn't stand to see her suffer. It was too much. The pain in her eyes, her beautiful sorrowful….wait…no! Draco thrust the door of his room open and slammed it behind him. What in the hell?

"Grafl was only seeing through your eyes, sir," the squeaky shrill voice of the tiny elf reverberated in his ears, echoing louder and louder each time he thought about it. He could think back to each and every day for the past few years in the Great Hall, somehow, someway, and mostly without even realizing it, he caught himself staring at her and her shiny bushy chestnut hair. Even if it was only for a few seconds. He would often mentally curse and berate himself for even letting his eyes stray in her general direction. But ever so often, he allowed himself the luxury of a lingered gaze on her face, on the swell of her hips, on the completeness of her.

"Damn!" Draco punched the wall. He was going out of his damn mind, this was too much. Anger. Anger over everything, his family, his situation, his thoughts, washed through his blood and he felt his face grow hot. He would wait until midnight. Mother and Father took relatively strong sleeping potions right after dinner, a ritual every night for the past two years. Aunt Bellatrix left every evening to return to her own manor. None of the beds were to her liking at her sister's abode.

He lay down on his bed and rubbed his face with his hands, "Through my eyes? Damnnit!" He thought back to school, first year, her bushy head poking into the train compartments looking for that stupid toad of Longbottom's.

Second year, the slightly confused look on her face when he called her a mudblood for the first time. He didn't really know how wrong it was until years later….it was how he grew up. That's how all the adults around him spoke of mixed children, they were filthy, disgusting, and not worth acknowledgement.

Third year, the rage in her face as her fist flew towards his nose. That had really stung; she had a hell of a right hook.

Fourth year, her, arm in arm with Krum, walking, no floating down the stairs, face lit up brilliantly like the moon. Pansy Parkinson had crushed his arm when Hermione passed. He didn't even realize he had been staring so intently at her, but she just looked so different. That periwinkle dress hugging every soft curve so gently and her bright white smile, devoid of those abnormally large incisors, just knowing she was there with Krum made him feel a light jealousy he couldn't fathom. It made him angry and more disdainful.

Fifth year, seeing her face glare at him as she was interrogated in Umbrage's office. The look of shear hatred glazing her eyes, her chin quivering with repressed rage, was terrifying.

Sixth year, watching her run down the hallway towards Potter and…Weasel.

She loved him. Draco could see it in her eyes when he watched them, her. This thought made him seethe, clenching his jaws together. That stupid, stupid Weasel. He didn't even realize how much Granger adored him, couldn't keep her eyes off him. Draco checked himself, why was this thought bothering him? It's not like he wanted…did he? No. No, impossible. He'd spent seven years trying to hate her. Trying? GOD! He felt like his head was trying to tear itself apart. She's dirty. She's beautiful. She's a mudblood. She's actually intelligent, so rare in your average teenage witch. She's NOT a witch, she's mixed blood. She's…everything.

Draco closed his eyes, defeated. He couldn't deny to himself what he's been trying to for years. He had watched her. Tormented her. Sought vengeance for some imagined wrongdoing because he saw in her everything he wanted, everything he couldn't have, and the thought of having to bear this knowledge crushed him. This wasn't fair. She mustn't be allowed to pervade his thoughts. Sleep. He needed a bit of sleep to clear his mind and prepare for the interrogation. He had to get in, demand the information, and get out. It would be quick and simple and then, what then? Would he kill her? Did he have the courage to? Did he have the courage not to? Just a bit of sleep.