Hermione didn't know what to do with herself. She could hear Draco thrashing around in his sleep. She felt weird, like something wasn't settling in her chest, when she heard him thrashing about. Maybe it was because she was used to him being a coward, but had never seen him as particularly weak or vulnerable.

Vulnerability never made a difference in her eyes, on whether or not she cared what they thought of her, or the way that she acted towards them. She punched him right on the arch of his nose in third year, for Merlin's sake. He certainly wasn't vulnerable then, when he was making fun of the fact that an innocent life was going to be taken.

Hearing him suffer from the same things as she did felt weird. Because they had never seen each other as equals at anything before. He thought he was mightier because of his bloodline, and she thought she was more superior because of the wits she bared. Though, she had fought hard for her spot as the best, him coming a close second or third.

"Draco?" She knocked softly on his door, scared to intrude. She pushed open the door easily, casting a silent alohomora right before she did. He was twisted up in his green sheets, his pale skin contrasting easily. His forehead was creased as he cried out, writhing in the sheets as though he were in pain.

"Draco," She repeated more forcefully, moving closer to the boy. "Draco, wake up."

He groaned, turning onto his back, but his eyes not opening.

Hermione sighed, and pushed his shoulder. "Draco, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

This time, his eyes flew wide open, and his hand flung over to hers, gripping it tightly. He was clinging onto her wrist so tightly that she could feel the circulation slowing. His neck was tensed up, along with his shoulders and chest, the muscles sticking out painfully. His eyes were red and alert, looking at her with such a scared intensity that she felt wrong staring into them.

Recognising her face, he relaxed.

"What are you doing in here?" He shoved her hand off him forcefully. Hermione stumbled.

"I heard you moving around a lot in your sleep. It looked like you were having a nightmare." Hermione tried to sound innocent in her acts. She knew she was, but she could never be too sure of what Draco was going to accuse her of next, so she thought it'd be best if she played it safe.

"But why did you come into my room and wake me? I never said you could come in here."

"Sorry," Hermione bit out. "I was just trying to help you."

"I don't need your help." Draco looked away from her, bringing the blankets further up his body and rolling to the side. His back faced her. "Leave."

So she did, a scowl set on her face.

Ungrateful little ferret.

Draco knew she was only trying to help him.

He didn't want to seem like the weak coward he once was, and especially not to her. He didn't want to make it look like he had daddy issues, or that he was still struggling underneath someone else. He didn't want the strong, free, and incredibly intelligent Gryffindor sleeping in the room across from him to know about his struggle. Because unlike hers, it was his to fight.

He rolled onto his back again. He could hear her moving around in the room across from his. Shuffling papers, moving things. He didn't like the way that he had treated her. But he couldn't help himself. It became second nature after a while.

Feelings made him weak. If being a death eater taught him anything, it was that. He had seen more death than he had ever felt ready for. Though, he supposed, no one is really ready to see death. But seeing a teacher of your high school killed on your dining room table, and then a pet snake eat her remains. Now that is what some people might call scarring. And Hermione Granger didn't need to know that.

His mother had tried to teach him other things were possible, before his father got to his head. Little did she know, he already had. It had been brought up in him from a young age that anyone that wasn't of pure blood and from a wealthy family wasn't worth your time.

Draco, no matter how determined he was to get rid of everything his father was trying to teach him, kept resorting back to the old, cowardly him.

I am not a good person, he thought to himself, and I can't let her mistake me for one.

Because if she mistakes him for a good person, she might think that he'll be at her aide again and again. And he knew that he never could be.

Hermione Granger didn't know what to think when Draco came up to her the next day in the middle of lunch.

She was minding her own business, eating her sandwich with her friends. Neville was laughing about Dean's ranting about how bloody rude Seamus was for sending a howler in the middle of the night, about how Dean never owls him back. Needless to say, Dean was sending an owl or two back about that.

Hermione laughed with Dean.

Hermione didn't think anything could be the matter, until Neville sobered up from his laughing fit quicker than a tick. His eyes narrowed on a figure coming up behind Hermione.

"What's Malfoy doing, coming over 'ere?" He questioned to Hermione. Before she could answer, or even turn around, she felt his lips press against her ear.

"Hogsmeade, midnight. McGonagall knows." And then he walked away as quickly as he came, as though he didn't just practically make out with her ear.

Midnight rolled around, and Hermione Granger strolled through the abandoned, dark streets of Hogsmeade alone. The warmth from the summer was beginning to fade, and the cold of the autumn was setting in. Hermione was bundled in a warm jumper and jeans. Brown leaves rolled around the floor, rustling with the wind. The shops were all closed, no light being leaked into the street.

She'd been there since half to, wondering where the heck Malfoy was.

It had been fairly easy for her to slip into the outer town, McGonagall and Filch being somewhere else in the castle.

"Granger! What are you doing outside!" Draco Malfoy's white blond head poked out of the Hogs Head, his cheeks flushed a bit. "We've been waiting for you! Get a move on. We don't have all night."

Hermione was slightly suspicious of the we he was talking about.

She followed him into the warm room of the Hogs Head. People were drinking at the bar, cramming into the small tables. She could feel eyes following her in as she followed the ex-death eater into another room, away from prying eyes.

A man sat on a chair by the hearth, which was cracking away in the background. Hermione recognised him as soon as she stepped foot in the door. Greying hair sat atop the man's head, sparsely growing amongst the black strands. His face resembled that of his late child's did. Crabbe Senior sneered at her as she walked in.

"Crabbe, this is Her-" Draco began, walking confidently in front of Hermione, who's feet were glued to the spot in front of the now closed door.

"I know who she is." The whisper of words was almost too fast for Hermione to comprehend. "I know why you asked me here, boy."

"Then you'll know why we need your help." Draco said, glancing back at Hermione. He seemed almost… comforting. She didn't think she'd seen it right.

"I can't help you, Draco. You know this." Crabbe Senior said, standing up. He shook a little with the effort. How long had he been staying here?

Hermione had seen the wanted ads in the Daily Prophet. She knew he had escaped Azkaban, and he was wanted back.

"I know."

"Well then why are we here, Draco?" Hermione snapped at him, causing him to turn his head and look at her warningly, as though she needed to be silent for anything to happen to their benefit.

"Because you know where someone that can help us is. Don't you Crabbe?"

The man looked down to the floor in shame. It was clear to see that he didn't want to help them, but something was keeping him here.

"Yes." The man whispered, his demeanour changing entirely. He seemed frail, and weak. Things that were unlikely of a death eater.

"Where is she?" Draco seemed almost tender when talking to the man. Hermione found it strange. She had almost never seen him like this. Almost.

"You'll find her in the most obvious place."

The vaguest sentence seemed to make all the sense to Draco, and none to Hermione.

"Thank you." Draco grabbed onto Hermione's forearm as he turned towards the door, and away from Crabbe Senior.

"Boy!" Draco's head snapped back towards the other death eater, who was looking at him maliciously. "Your father will not be pleased about what you're doing."

"My father deserves to be in Azkaban, along with you."

Their mood swings were confusing to Hermione. They knew each other well, of course. She knew that Crabbe Junior was Draco's friend, and it hurt him when he died in the battle of Hogwarts. She knew that they probably bonded over that. But the fact that they kept going back and forth with each other was tiring to Hermione to keep up with.

Crabbe Senior's eyes widened at what Draco had said to him, but before he could say anything more, Draco was dragging Hermione out of the room.

"What the hell was that about?" Hermione snapped, as they walked their way back to school. Draco's grip on her forearm never ceased. He dragged her along behind him, her feet struggling to keep up.

"I know who we need to talk to next," Draco said to her, stopping abruptly and grabbing her other forearm.

"Yeah, I got that!" Hermione exclaimed. "Who is it?"

Draco looked at her sceptically, his grey eyes sweeping over her, assessing her of sorts.

"My mother."