A/N: So, no school for me today. It's our first 'snow day', though it's the icy roads that really got us called off. WHERE'S THE FREAKING SNOW? D: I did NOT endure this terrible cold weather for nothing. D: Ahh, Georgia let me down immensely this year. Just like it does every year. Until I decide to take a vacation somewhere, then it's all like, "Hey! It hasn't snowed in awhile! Why don't I give them like, 3 inches or something? Wolf isn't here either, so it's the perfect time to throw a good storm their way."

Blegh. So, yeah, no school today. I am also physically incapable of moving for the next hour (it's a very long story that involves a Honeywell heater, water bottles, Tums anticid mint chewables and a lot of vitamin E), therefore, I am bored. Hence the addition of another chapter.

One more thing before we begin! My favorite song ever is Your Guardian Angel by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, as it has been for the past 3 years. I know you wouldn't care, but I'm saying this because it's a very Dramione-like song. I found an absolutely GORGEOUS cover; I often imagine it as Draco playing the piano and Hermione singing- the girl has a very Hermione-like singing voice, IMO. I love how quiet her voice is compared to piano music...so symbolic for Dramione. She's the quiet calm, he's the thunderstorm. Cheesy analogy, but whatever. The song's a great inspiration to write this FanFic, and I wanted to share it with my lovely readers.

Here's the link: www . youtube . c o m (slash) watch?v=3MZhSnnG2qQ&list=FLujwnUucQxppeQY1FWAsqkQ (Remove spaces, replace (slash) with an actual slash, skip to :33 to begin the song)

On with Chapter 12! Lots of time skipping. Lots of drama. Longer chapter. I almost separated it into two chapters to add more detail... But I was too lazy. Goes by kinda rushed, sorry about that, just tryna speed things up. Also, if you haven't gone back and read my editing to Chapter 4, I suggest you do so. It explains Draco's change in opinion on Pansy.

The song that is sung in Hermione's memory is A Drop In The Ocean by Ron Pope. It is also a gorgeous Dramione-like song that I suggest you listen to.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I went back and changed something in the last chapter, but I'm not sure if it's showed up yet on FanFiction. When Blaise mentioned the Hogsmeade trip, I'd meant to write that it was NEXT weekend, not this weekend.

They hold tight their coin and pray no one has to see the fall
I'm there, yeah I serve them, the one with the empty looking eyes
Come closer, you'll see me: the face that is used to telling lies
Saturday nights in neon lights, Sunday in the cell
Pills enough to make me feel ill, cash enough to make me well
Take me, take me to the riot
~Take Me To The Riot by Stars

The next week passed swiftly for Hermione as she began to fall into her routine. Mornings were always her favorite part of the day: she would awaken early, feeling rejuvenated, take a bath or a shower, and take her time dressing and doing her hair. After checking to be sure Malfoy had returned from his patrol so that she wouldn't have to encounter him and his insults (he was particularly nasty in the mornings), she would make her way to their common room. She'd then look out the window for a good fifteen minutes, absorbing the morning rays, and conjure a cup of refreshing mint tea. Afterwards, she'd meet her friends at breakfast.

Her academic schedule was difficult, but that's just what Hermione felt she needed. She was, of course, in all accelerated or advanced classes. Her first class was Muggle Studies (where she often listened to Luna want about Rabbipuffins, deadly creatures that appeared as harmless bunnies until you tried to scratch their bellies), followed by Astronomy, then Defense Against the Dark Arts, and finally Potions. Her free period was then spent helping Harry and Ron with their homework, or listening to Ginny rant about the latest gossip. She then spent dinner with the three, and finally stole to her room to study alone. Afterwards she took on patrol, and finally, she met Malfoy at the library.

She was surprised to find that she didn't see as much of Malfoy as she had expected to. He was a mercury-eyed ghost to her, found only in the off-guard melody of a bittersweet piano tune that she occasionally caught a whisper of when he was unaware of her presence. Or maybe that was just Hermione's mind forming Malfoy into who she wanted him to be- a more complex mystery than he actually was. It must be, because on the times she did encounter him outside of their library meetings, he certainly made himself loudly known with sneers and insults, with Zabini, Knott, or some girl he was certain to be sleeping with that night by his side.

The girls. That is one thing that reminded Hermione why she hated him so much. More often than not, she would walk in their common rooms to find a new bare-skinned, lipgloss-smeared girl on the couch, often regarding Hermione with cruel superiority and jealousy of the fact that Hermione lived here and she didn't. It was a different girl every day, at any given time, sometimes twice a day, and it never failed to surprise and enrage Hermione. She made a point to share her anger with Malfoy when she encountered him, to which he often replied, "Sod off, Granger. Don't be jealous of the fact that I actually have a sex life. I can invite in whoever I please."

That being said, she made a point to avoid the couch.

Their library meetings were the absolute strangest to Hermione. A word was hardly exchanged between them. The silence was almost unbearable for Hermione, so she sang beneath her breath for the 3~4 hours they studied together, and although Malfoy did not take interest in it as he had the first time, he did not seem to have a problem with it, either. It was as if they had settled upon some sort of peace treaty. An occasion snarky comment was traded, but it was more to keep their enemy relationship in check than it was to insult, and rarely was it taken as one. It was almost uncomfortable to be working on nearly friendly terms with her best friend's enemy, and someone she fought against in the war, no less! The snarky comments were all that kept her comfortable with the environment, and held her doubts in check.

And doubts, she most certainly had. Was it honestly a good idea to invade the Slytherin's personal life; was it safe? She knew for a fact that he lived a shady lifestyle. Would she find herself involved in something she couldn't get herself out of? Something illegal? Harry and Ron certainly wouldn't approve of her curiosity. But she had already gotten herself into it, and after all, she had promised Malfoy she would help him with his mother. No matter how awful of a person he had been to her, or as shady as he may be, she wasn't about to go back on a promise.

"'Hermione?" Ron tapped Hermione's shoulder, dragging her from her thoughts. She jumped.

"Oh, sorry, Ron!" she smiled, then looked around. "Where'd Harry and Ginny go?"

"They left breakfast ten minutes ago," he said. "You zoned out."

"Oh," she said. It grew quiet.

"So, um...," Ron cleared his throat. "Are you going to Hogsmeade today?"

That's right! It was Saturday, and not only was she allowed to go to Hogsmeade, but she was enforced to. "Yes, I have to do rounds," she answered, realizing with a groan that that would mean spending more time with Malfoy, as they were obliged to do these rounds together. "But I going to Honeydukes later with Ginny..."

"Oh! But, um...," Ron interrupted her, stuttering. His cheeks turned the shade of his hair. "I was wondering... Uh... Maybe... WecouldgotoMadamPuddifoot's," His words were rushed and Hermione barely caught them all. "You know, for lunch."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised and slightly giddy. She smiled at him, heart fluttering and thoughts muddling, impairing her speech and momentarily stupefying her. "Um, yeah, Ron, that'd be nice. Really nice."

"Great," Ron said, an adorable, childlike grin stretching across his face. "I'llseeyouthen!"

He hesitated, then gave a quick, awkward hug to which Hermione did not have enough time to respond to. He kissed her on the cheek before scurrying away.

Hermione smiled and gingerly touched her cheek. It still tingled from where he kissed it.

Draco strode down the hallways, Zabini and Knott at his side, aimlessly taking house points from jumpy first years out of mere boredom, while the two bickered (once again) about who was the hottest girl in the school.

"Lavender. Lavender Brown." Blaise said.

"She's a whiny bitch," Theodore argued.

"Louder in bed," Blaise winked.

"The Patil twins aren't so bad themselves," Theodore decided.

"Move over!" Draco growled at a first year. "You're clogging the hallways. Ten points from Ravenclaw."

"B-but..." The boy squeaked. Draco's glare silenced his beginning of an argument. "I-I'm sorry!"

The three shoved passed him.

"A package deal." Blaise continued. "Nice. But Luna Lovegood-"

"That crazy bitch?" Theodore laughed. "No way. Never."

A new voice entered the conversation. "Dracoooo..."

Speaking of crazy bitches...

"Pansy," Draco sighed, turning to face her.

The girl stood with her hands on her hips, and approached Draco. "I haven't seen you since you got here," she whined louding, pouting her lips. She ran a finger down his shirt, straying dangerously low. She leaned forward, her sticky lips centimeters from his ear. "I miss you, Drakey."

Draco was tired. He was overly stressed. He was too concerned about his mother, too far away from the curse's cure. Drawing too close to her final breath. He was too worried about Granger's purpose behind helping him, he had too much studying to do. He needed a distraction. Pansy was willing to offer one.

"We have plenty of time to... Reconnect," Draco replied huskily. Pansy squealed and they vanished down the hallway, leaving Zabini and Knott to wonder aimlessly by themselves.

"Pansy Parkinson?" Blaise offered.

"Definitely the hottest girl in Hogwarts." Theodore agreed.

"Malfoy," Hermione said distastefully. "You're late for patrol."

Hermione could already tell exactly what had made him late; his shirt was askew, his hair was messy, his lips were bruised. Her expression seemed to please him, for he smirked slightly. "Sorry, Mudblood. I was... Otherwise occupied."

"I can see that," she muttered. She turned and walked into Hogsmeade, not waiting to see if he was behind her or not. Maybe he would make her do the patrol alone out of his irresponsibility. Hermione wouldn't mind that at all.

To her slight disappointment, he was still there. "Jealous again, Granger? I'm so very sorry that your sex life isn't as entertaining as mine. How is the weasel, anyway?"

"Not in the slightest," she snapped. "And he has a name, you know."

"I could care less," Malfoy replied smoothly.

"You're despicable," Hermione sighed.

"Oh, I know many girls who would disagree," Malfoy smirked. "Why don't you just ask Pansy?"

"Is that who you were with?" Hermione shuddered.

Malfoy shrugged. "Perhaps if I did to you what I do to her, you'd change your mind," he winked. "Too bad I don't sleep with mudbloods."

"Sod of, Malfoy!" She yelled.

He only chuckled. "I'm sure I'd be far more entertaining than Carrothead. Or are you sleeping with Scarface now?"

"I am not sleeping with Harry!" Hermione exploded, her face bright red.

"Ooh, I struck a nerve. Are you sure about that, Mudblood? Cheating on poor Freckle-Face? Maybe the bookworm really is a slut. That'd be an interesting turn of events. Though I could hardly blame you; the weasel kid has just about as much personality as a dead cat. I don't see how Potter would really be much better, but what options do you have?"

"As surprising as it may seem," Hermione glowered, "not everybody sleeps around like you do, Ferret. Some people actually have standards."

"Oh, I have standards," Malfoy answered conversationally.

"Are you sure about that?" Hermione interjected.

"Quite," he replied. "For instance, I wouldn't sleep with you."

"Good, I wouldn't want to sleep with you, either!"

For awhile, they walked in silence. Hermione was acutely aware of the blonde git beside her, who was obviously amused at her tension. Wherever they went, there always seemed to be a giggling group of first years ready to point and goggle at Malfoy. He returned the favor with a wink, which sent them shrieking away. Often, Hermione received glares from such girls, as if targeting Hermione as a threat. Please, she thought, like I want to be around this stuck up prick. She sighed in frustration.

"Something the matter, mudblood?" Malfoy smirked.

"Yes," Hermione said in exasperation. "For starters, I have to be on patrol, with you."

"I don't quite enjoy being on patrol with a buck-toothed freak, either," Malfoy growled. "But I honestly don't see why anyone wouldn't want to be on patrol with me."

"Your little fangirls are aggravating me," Hermione continued hotly, "and you're being such a... a... a manwhore!"

That made the Slytherin laugh. "A manwhore, Granger? Is that the best you've got?" he shook his head. "Well. That's fine. I'm just too irresistible not to be."

Finally, they rounded a corner and returned to the spot from which their patrol began. Hermione could cry with relief.

"Be on time tonight, Malfoy," she said, scrambling away.

She couldn't wait for her date with Ron. Perhaps he would make her day better.

She had no idea how wrong she was.

5:00 sharp. That's what time Draco met Blaise and Theodore at the bar.

The two already had their first drinks by the time Draco had arrived. He sat down wordlessly, ordering his first firewhiskey.

"Hey, mate," Theodore said. "How was Pansy?"

Draco muttered something inaudible, but seemed to resemble an insult.

"Hey, loosen up, Drakeyyy," Blaise sang, laughing. He patted Draco on the back. "We're here to have a good time."

Draco's first firewhiskey arrived and he chugged it. His throat burned deliciously and he ordered a second, along with a shot. The last time he drank was at the Slytherin party a week ago. He desperately needed to get drunk, patrol or not. Ganger would simply have to deal with doing the patrol herself.

Ganger. The stupid Golden Trio Girl was the main reason why he was so eager to get drunk. That damned mudblood, what right did she have to make him stress so much? He didn't ask for her help, he didn't certainly didn't want it. Yet she forced her way into his most important secret. Wether or not he wanted to admit it (and he definitely did not), she may his only choice to keep his mother alive. It was scary, how they almost got along while they worked together during their secret nighttime meetings in the libraries.

Down goes the shot.

"Whoa, slow down, mate," Theodore said, obviously alarmed. Draco ignored him, or at least, didn't seem to hear him.

He remembered the first time he drank, the Christmas break of his second year.

It was meant to be a great Christmas for him; his father was at the Ministry attending to some sort of "business", leaving him to celebrate alone with his mother for the first time in ages. And at first, it went very well. He had spent the two days at the Malfoy mansion, eating heartily, spending every second with his mother, and trying hard to forget his father and the memories associated. His favorite memory of those times was playing his piano loudly and openly and without fear of being discovered while his mother sang along, filling him with an un-Malfoy amount of happiness that his father would certainly not approve of. His mother always had the most beautiful voice.

His Christmas break was wonderful. That is, of course, until his father came home early.

Lucius was not happy to see his son happy. He was furious to see the instrument he had banned, back in his home.

"Dad?" Draco said, startled. All piano-playing was ceased. His smiled immediately disappeared.

"Get up, Draco," Lucius said. His voice was eerily calm.

"Lucius..." Narcissa said, moving forward unsurely.

"I'll deal with you later," Lucius said quietly, eyes glinting. "Leave. I must teach my son a lesson."

"Come now, Lucius..." She began.

"NOW!" he snarled. She looked at Draco once more, fearfully, before shuffling out of the room.

Lucius strode to the piano, running a finger along the fine, glossy curve of its rim, running a judgmental gaze over it. His mouth with lifted in some sort of disgust. "Do you not remember what I have taught you in all these years, Draco?"

Draco knew better than to reply.

"I see. Allow me to review?" Lucius walked around to the back of the piano slowly, plucking at the delicate strings inside. "Any passion that does not reward one with wealth or power, is not a passion fit for a Malfoy." He continued around the piano, running his hand down the bridge. He grabbed ahold and shook it roughly. It held strong. "And any worthless pleasure is a waste of time: it hinders you from fulfilling your true duties and responsibilities. Therefore, it is a weakness." Having finished his inspection, he reached the other side of the piano and met Draco once more. "Surely you must remember this, Draco. What does a Malfoy do to his weaknesses?"

"Father, no," Draco whispered, aware of the Malfoy sire's intentions.

Lucius smiled cruelly, withdrawing his wand from his robe's pocket, answering what Draco did not: "We destroy them."

Draco only barely managed to roll from the piano bench when Lucius demolished his piano, his only piano, the only pleasure he got at home. The wood split with a crack that sounded worse to Draco than the cracking of bones, sending the pedals, keys, and strings in every direction. Draco was barely aware of the tears that rolled down his face because his piano, oh Merlin, his piano, and his father, who was sure to watch Draco's every move and assure that he never saw such a sweet instrument again...

"What is this, boy?" Lucius was suddenly in front of him, roaring. He grabbed his shirt and shook him roughly. "Tears? A Malfoy does have emotion! Did you forget all I have taught you?!"

Draco sobbed harder, and Lucius slapped him, again and again, until Draco was too numb to let another tear fall. He crumbled to the ground.

"Stand up, fool!" Lucius yelled. "You were raised to hold yourself high, not to fall to the dirt like a mudblood. Stand up!"

Somehow, Draco found the strength do to as his father asked. His shoulders slumped, his head hung low.

"Stand up straight! Look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you!" his father screamed, losing his patience. His wand shot out of his pocket and aimed at Draco. "You are such a failure!" A curse shot forth from his wand, forcing Draco to the ground again. "Stand up, boy!" Another curse was thrown his way and Draco was momentarily blinded with pain. "Weak, pathetic boy!" Another curse. "Disgustingly pitiful!" And another. Finally, Lucius's voice grew level and shot a final curse a Draco. "Not fit to be a Malfoy." Draco met his father's eyes then. Lucius regarded his son coldly, lowly, unsympathetically. As if he was staring down at a stranger. Not his son.

Some father.

He left Draco. It was some time later before Narcissa could steal enough time to visit her boy, whispering reassurance to him. "I'm taking you back to Hogwarts ," she said. "Your father went to ...release his anger. We have just enough time. You'll be safer there."

"What about you?" Draco whimpered, reaching out to grab his mother's arms protectively.

"I have lived with your father for years, my child," she said, stroking his face. "Don't you worry about me."

So, return to Hogwarts he did. Broken and bloody, he dragged himself to the Slytherin common rooms while his mother went to talk to Dumbledore. He chose not to go with her, simply because he knew Dumbledore would usher him to the nurse, and Draco did not want anyone else to see him in this condition. The common rooms were empty, and so he dragged himself to the couch, where he collapsed. He let the tears continue again.

"Draco Malfoy. You look bloody pathetic."

Draco hadn't expected anyone else in the Slytherin house to stay over winter break, and so he jumped with surprise. Looking up, he found himself facing a tall, muscular boy he vaguely recognized. Ah, yes, Draco remembered now: this boy's father was business parters with Lucius and visited often to discuss whatever business they dealt with. Occasionally, he liked to bring his son.

"Blaise Zabini," Draco replied, his voice waving slightly. He cleared his throat and straightened up. "I'd expect you to be with your family over the break."

"I returned this morning." As he came closer, Draco could see the bruises blooming from his neck and understood immediately. He knelt beside Draco, regarding him emotionlessly. "You look like hell, you know."

Was he trying to be superior to Draco? He stood up angrily. "I'm bloody fine, thank you very much."

Blaise laughed. "Relax. It's fine. I know just what will help you."

Draco eyed the boy suspiciously. This was the son of his father's business partner, and anything that was associated with his father was to be avoided by all costs. But the bruise on the boy's neck once again caught his attention. This kid knew what he was going through, so...Why not?

"What do you have in mind?" Draco asked.

"Well, Hogsmeade is off-limits for most second years, but I know how to get us in. There's this bar, The Hog's Head..."

"You're proposing that we drink?"

"Well, why not? You look like you need to forget a few things."

"Draco?" Blaise elbowed him, bringing him out of the past. Draco looked up. "Your drink's here, mate."

Draco realized Zabini was right. How did he not notice that? Shaking his head, he accepted his third firewhiskey from the bartender. "Go ahead and send out another one," Draco told the man. "I'll need it soon, anyway."

He downed the firewhiskey. He desperately needed to forget tonight.

It had certainly been a wonderful day for Hermione. Lunch at Madam Paddifoot was absolutely splendid. Afterwards, they walked through Zonko's Joke Shop, which didn't really interest Hermione. But she knew this had been Fred and George's favorite place in all of Hogsmeade, and she couldn't bare not to come. The happy, nostalgic, bittersweet smile which alighted her boyfriend's face was far worth it, anyhow. Once they had browsed every isle, commenting on which would entertain the twins the most and how they would have improved which prank toy, they walked to Honeyduke's. Ron bought more candy than he could possibly afford and then shyly offered her a chocolate frog, which she accepted with a blush. Hermione dragged him to the quill shop after, and carefully chose a new set of quills. Finally, they walked to The Three Broomsticks. Ron insisted on treating her to a butterbeer, and although Hermione protested, he did anyway. She and Ron walked out with interlaced fingers as the sky began to darken, their stomachs warm and content.

"Hogsmeade is about to close. It's time for my patrol," Hermione said wistfully, checking her watch. She didn't want this day to end. "And I'm afraid Malfoy will be late again." She sighed.

"Well, I'll wait for him with you," Ron said.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Hermione argued, although she smiled. How considerate of him!

"But I wan't to," Ron looked to his feet, blushing again. "I can't imagine how annoying it must be to have to wait on the little whiny git so much."

"Thank, Ron," Hermione beamed at him which deepened the color on his cheeks. "And believe me, it's unbearable."

They chatted awhile longer. The sky grew darker, the air sharper. Hermione shivered visibly. "It's so cold," she said.

"I know," Ron said, wrapping his coat tighter around his body. Hermione watched him with jealousy, wished she brought a coat.

"He's fifteen minutes late," she said. "If he doesn't show up soon, I'm going to patrol by myself..."

Just then, however, Malfoy happened to stumble in. "I'm he-ere, Granger," he sang.

"You're late again!" Hermione shot at him. Ron glared, puffing up his chest.

"My deepest apologies, MudblooDAH," Malfoy slurred as he drew closer, emphasizing the 'd' in 'mudblood'. Hermione could smell the bitter stench of firewhiskey even from this distance. "Are you drunk?" her voice rose an octave. How dare he drink, again, and in public, no less! Before patrol, too! He was throwing his Head Boy duties out the window completely carelessly!

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," Ron protested, interlacing his fingers with Hermione's again. "This is too dangerous." The foggy-headed Slytherin seemed to notice Ron for the first time, and his eyes glinted. He smirked and drew closer to Hermione. The stench was unbearable. Ron stepped forward protectively. "Not to worry, Weasel-head," Malfoy laughed at the accidental combination of his two nicknames. "Granger and I spend all sorts of time together already." He stroked the line of her jaw with a finger teasingly, and she yanked her head back.

"Get away from me, you disgusting prick!" Hermione cried.

Ron let go of her hand and looked at her uncertainly. "What does he mean, Hermione?"

"He's just trying to get to you, Ron," Hermione replied, glaring at Malfoy. "Don't listen to him."

"Whatever you say, Granger," Malfoy hiccuped. He stumbled forward and Hermione caught him reflexively, struggling beneath is weight. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered loudly enough for Ron to hear: "By the way, thanks for your...," he paused, breathing out the next word slowly and making Hermione gag, "...help." He stood up straight and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Our little secret." He chucked again.

Hermione looked at Ron, whose face was frozen with horror. She suddenly realized how Ron had interpreted the drunken interaction. "No, no Ron," she stammered, "It's not what you think it is-"

"Oh really, Hermione?" Ron said angrily. "Then please explain what the bastard is talking about!"

Hermione was ready to tell him everything: Narcissa's current state, her studying the woman's curse. She was ready to reassure him with her still-present hatred for the Malfoy heir. But as soon as Ron had said that, completely certain in what the drunken Malfoy had said, all means to explain suddenly vanished. "Wait, you're actually doubting me? You're buying what this drunken brat is saying? You know he's just trying to get to you, right?"

"I don't know what to believe right now, Hermione," Ron said evenly. "You do spend a lot of time with Malfoy."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. "It's not exactly like I have a choice, Ron!" She argued. "I'm Head Girl, he's Head Boy. I have to spend time with him!"

"Prove you don't want to spend time with him, then," Ron replied. "Drop your position of Head Girl."

"Are you listening to yourself? You know I can't do that, Ron."

"Why not?"

"Being Head Girl has been my dream since first year!"

Malfoy interjected. "And I'm Head Boy! All the more reason to be Head Girl..." Hermione groaned internally. Perfect, Malfoy. she thought. Way to help.

"That's all the proof I need, then," Ron said quietly. He turned and walked away. Just like that.

"You're just going to leave me here?" Hermione cried. "In the dark, alone, with a drunken Malfoy?"

"Why not?" Ron replied, not bothering to turn around. "You seem to spend a lot of time alone with him anyway."

As Hermione watched him walk away, a few unwilling tears fell down her face. She wiped them away angrily. How dare he have the audacity to leave her here! How inconsiderate!

"Thank Merlin he's gone," Malfoy commented. "I can't stand gingers."

Hermione, despite her anger at the drunken boy, couldn't help but agree with him.

20 excruciating minutes later, Hermione finally managed to heave a unconscious-looking Malfoy on the couch of the Head common room. Sighing with relief, she crumpled into the chair. She took a moment to catch her breath, eyes closed. But when she looked up again, she was greeted with the mercurial eyes of a not-so-unconscious Malfoy above her. She jumped slightly, caught off guard.

"Scareeeeeed you, did I, Mudblood?" he cooed teasingly, leaning in a little bit more. "You scareeeeeeeee me too. So rude of you. Trying to find my mother's cure. So scary. How rude." He rested his weight on his hand, which was on the arm of Hermione's chair. He raised his other hand to play with a lock of her hair. Hermione was petrified with fear of the drunken Slytherin, who was so very close in proximity. "Why does a mudblood want to help me? Why do I want a mudblood to help me? Desperate. I'm oh so very desperate now, GrrrrAAAAnger. But you're not. Why does a mudblood want to help me? Potter wanna get back at me? That's okay. Daddy dearest took care of that." He let out a short, humorless laugh which was followed by a hiccup.

"Get away from me, Malfoy," Hermione whispered.

"Sssshhhhh, shh," he shoved a finger to her lips. "Such a pretty sing-song voice. Save it." He leaned back, stumbling and falling onto him bum. He laughed again and ran a hand through his hair. "My mother used to sing, you know. She was better than you." He regarded Hermione again. "Mudblood... Good enough, though. Good enough. Too bad you're amudblood."

Hermione sat very still at the mention of his mother. Hermione was learning something, here. And the information about his father, what had Malfoy said...? Despite her fear of the drunken Malfoy heir, she grew cautiously excited. Maybe something good could come out of his drunken stupor, after all. "Tell me about your father, Malfoy. How did he... take care of punishing you?"

Malfoy chucked and shook his head. He put a finger to his lips. "Sshhh, sshhh," he repeated, before leaning onto his back. He closed his eyes.

Hermione swore quietly, moving to his side. She shook his shoulders. "Malfoy!" He didn't answer. He was gone.

Hermione sighed. So much for gathering information.

She dragged herself to her room, leaving a pathetic-looking Malfoy passed out on the floor.

Draco spent most of Sunday in a half-drunken phase, drifting in and out of consciousness, dragging himself into his bed, and through the common room at random. Mostly, he slept. He didn't remember much of that day, mostly just a very angry Granger girl glaring down at him.

Monday was a different story.

He woke with a ponding headache. Oh Merlin, he thought, when was the last time I drank that much? Groaning, he sat up, and checked his clock. He had slept through all of classes; Advanced Potions was just ending. He could really use a shower right now. Maybe then, he would see how Zabini and Knott were doing and if they remembered anything of their Saturday night. He hoisted himself out of bed, his head screaming in response. He reached out, stumbling for his wand, and casted a quick hangover spell.

Much better.

A sudden pecking at his door caught his attention. Confused, Draco opened it. A large, snowy owl suddenly surged forward, screeching and flapping.

"What in Merlin...?" He stumbled backwards. The owl dropped a letter on the ground. Draco picked it up.

Draco,

Unless you are sick or dying, we expect you to attend your mandatory bonding exercises. Refuse to show up in the next ten minutes, or have a reasonable excuse delivered with a professor or nurse signature, and your Head Duties will be dropped.

Looking forward to seeing you!

Professor Saravia

Bonding exercises. Granger...

Granger.

Suddenly, bits and pieces of his drunken conversation with the ginger boy and the mudblood resurfaced. Draco wore silently. What if Granger told the annoying carrot-head about his mother? Surely he would tell Potter! He needed to see Granger. The owl circled him again, screeching a final warning before flying out through the common room. Draco took a two minute shower, dressed swiftly, and proceeded to walk to the professor's classroom, shoving aside students as he went.

When he arrived, Hermione was already seated, her arms crossed and glaring at the table. She was very obviously angry at the Slytherin, and Draco suspected that extracting Saturday night's details from her would be more difficult with her in this sort of mood. Either way, he expected this, and had already decided that threatening her enough would do the trick. He only had to wait until Saravia left them alone in the second part of the bonding exercises...

The professor smiled as he entered. "How nice of you to join us, Mister Malfoy. Please, have a seat."

Draco did so, and extracted his memory calmly. They traded pensives. Draco almost hoped that the memory he would receive was of Saturday. Or, at least, of why she wanted to help him with his mother. He groaned internally; he'd almost forgotten about that.

The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could confront Granger. Without another moment's hesitation, he plunged in.

Just Draco's luck- the memory was neither Saturday night or an explanation of Grangers willingness to help.

He was in a small, almost cozy-looking place that seemed to be somebody's living room. A fire place was blazing, and snow fell gently out of the maroon-curtaned windows. There was a strange, rectangular object seated on a stand across from the couch with several odd little buttons and a black screen. Another strange object resided on the table beside the couch and beneath the lamp, which was somehow letting forth some sort of muggle-music.

This must be Ganger's muggle home, he realized suddenly.

And, yes, there she was.

This was obviously an old memory, for the girl before him couldn't be more than eight years old. Her bushy hair ran wild and her cheeky grin was stretched wide with childish joy. She danced around the room to the annoyingly loud music, circling a couple who were dancing as well, their fingers interlaced. Probably her parents.

The man picked up the squealing Hermione and lifted her high into the air, spinning. He sang along with the lyrics in a surprisingly good voice, "A drop in the oceeaaan, a change in the weatheeeerr!" He passed her to his wife, who dunked Hermione, letting the girl's frizzy hair tickle the floor. She belted back in an equally good voice, "a prayer than you and I might end up togetherrrr!"

Hermione's feet found the ground and she spun in circles around her parents, giggling. "It's like wishing for rain as I staand in the deseerrtt, but I'm holding you closer than most, 'cause you are my heaveeen!" Her voice was clear, unsteady, and high-pitched like most children, but could almost compare to her parents.

As Draco watched her family dance and sing like a group of fools, he couldn't help but wonder if this was how most mortal families acted. He would say he was almost jealous of her, but that would be preposterous because she was a mudblood and had a muggle-raised family. He was perfectly content with being a pureblood. Living in a pureblood home. He wouldn't trade his mother for any 'normal' family, no way.

He did recognize the song, however. It was the one that Granger liked to sing whilst researching the curse, for whatever odd reason she did.

He didn't ponder on it for long, because he then sucked from the memory. His last image was of the girl, looking up at her father with pure childish adoration written across her face as he held her in his arms.

Draco could not deny the pang of jealous he had felt before the image faded.

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was attend the bonding exercises.

Ron was still avoiding her, and Harry, for some reason or the other, was not allowed to talk to her whilst Ron was angry. Sometimes, Hermione believed that boys were even more dramatic than girls, which was saying something. Besides irresponsibility, the one thing Hermione could not stand were dramatic pricks. And Ron, at the moment, was nothing short of that. Fine then, she thought, I don't need you. And I'm not going to help you with your homework. Let your grades suffer.

If it weren't for Malfoy, she wouldn't be in this position right now. The fact that he was drunk when it had happened was angering in itself, but the fact that he made it look like Hermione cared for him? Why, she completely furious! He had completely upset her relationship with Ron! She shouldn't be helping him. She should expose his secret. She should at least get back at him... But Hermione did nothing of the sort. In fact, she even took over his rounds while he was hungover. The prick.

And she couldn't skip out on the bonding exercises, of course. McGonagall had personally assigned her to them.

When Malfoy finally showed up, late as per usual, Hermione made a point to glare at the table. She couldn't wait for this to be over with, so she could spend time with Ginny and try to forget what had happened in the last few days. She shoved her pensive towards him, and took his, muttering angrily before diving into his memory.

Hermione found herself in a dark room that was no doubt in the Malfoy Manor. Though she had spent only a short amount of time in the manor, the horrendous memories that she had acquired of the place made it hard for her not to recognize it. Thinking about it made her shudder. She looked around, trying to figure out the significance of this particular memory, if any. The room was completely empty.

Suddenly, she heard a crash from somewhere down the narrow hallway to her left. It was followed quickly by a cry, and an angry retort. Some sort of struggle? Forgetting her anger towards Malfoy in her curiosity, Hermione stepped forward gingerly. As she continued down the hall, the noises and flickers continued; the silence of the hallways seemed to make the conflict in the closed room the more eerier. She finally stopped at the end of the hallway, in front of the door from which the two voices were being emitted.

She hesitated, then opened the door.

The angry voice of Lucius Malfoy pounded against her eardrums, ten fold louder than it had been in the hallway. His back was to Hermione, and he was apparently talking to someone whom Hermione could not see. "Clumsy boy!" he cried, throwing a curse at the figure that laid at his feet. "That heirloom was precious!" The boy tried to protest, but the Malfoy sire cut him off with another curse. "I won't have it! Your irresponsibility is inexcusable!" Hermione flinched at the barbarity in the man's voice, completely unlike the cold, emotionless Lucius Malfoy she had come to know. Was this even Lucius? His hair was sticking up at random, his clothes wrinkled and askew, his voice high pitched and wavering with growing anger.

He grew quiet, breathing heavily, and looked to the person at his feet. He waited for a reaction of some sort, and upon receiving none, he bent down and grabbed the boy's shirt, pulling him closer. There was a brief moment of silence, followed by a harsh crack! that could be nothing but a disturbingly savage slap to the face. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes watered. To think that she was witnessing such animality! Such bestiality! Such ruthlessness! Even the countless murders she had witnessed through the war was nothing compared to this abuse; at least the war was two-sided. This was an attack on the defenseless.

Lucius stood calmly, then turned and strode through Hermione and out the door. Hermione turned to glare at him as he went, resentment building.

The figure on the ground moaned quietly. Hermione turned back, eager to find the identity of the abused boy.

Wait, her mind told her. This is Draco's memory, is it not?

That could only mean one thing.

No. No way. Draco was not... He could not... He always seemed to proud to be a Malfoy. He seemed so proud of his father.

Hesitating slightly, Hermione walked towards the tiny figure, and gasped.

Just as she suspected, before her lay a bloodied, broken, black-eyed, 11-year-old Draco Malfoy.

A/N: Dun dun duuuuunnnn! Now Hermione knows about Draco's abusive past as well as his mother's curse. How will he react? ;D

So, I was browsing images of Draco Malfoy for whatever reason, and I have come up a question for you guys. What do you think is the scene where Draco is the most hottest, out of any movie? I particularly enjoy the scene in Half-Blood Prince, where he's freaking out in the bathroom, splashing water on his face... I don't know why, he just seems so darn sexy there there. Which is a kind of cruel thing to say, since he's emotionally distraught and such...

Leave your answer in the review!