You Are You, Always
POV: Ron

"Ron, thank Merlin you're here!"

Hermione bursts into the common room, plopping herself across from me at the wizarding chess set I'd set up to play with Harry. He hasn't come back down from the dorm room yet to join me and that was more than a half hour ago. I'd been keeping my eye on the doorway and hadn't even noticed Hermione's entrance until she called out to me. I watch her cast a spell that sounds like Imperturbatum!, a new one we've learned. Like the Muffliato, it serves to keep our conversation away from curious ears. It's just without the annoying buzzing sound.

"Malfoy showed me something that I need to tell you about!"

She's nearly bursting with excitement and pride. I haven't seen her this animated all year.

"Gods, Hermione," I groan, smiling inwardly, "I've agreed to help you and him. I can even accept you two fancying each other, but honestly, I really don't want to know what you two do—" I further my teasing of her by scrunching my facial features to show outright disgust.

Her fists clench and land on her hips in almost perfect imitation of my mum when she's angry and indignant.

"Ronald Weasley! It's nothing like what you're thinking! What is it with you boys? Always thinking about sex?"

"It's mostly because we're in our sexual prime, but can't figure out how to get any," I laugh, absently moving one of my white pawns. I slide a glance at her and am encouraged to see she's smiling, a good indication that I've helped restore her good mood. "So, what are you so excited about?"

I am still trying to wrap my head around the idea that Malfoy is a good guy now. Since I'm not yet entirely convinced Snape's on our side, this poses complications concerning my acceptance of Malfoy, being that Snape is the ferret's primary advocate. I look to my friend and am reminded that Malfoy also has Dumbledore and Hermione vouching for him. Considering this, I suppose their support for him should be enough to placate my remaining fears.

"Malfoy's shown me a new prophecy that is about me, Ron, the female Slytherin heir!"

"So, you've finally clued him in, have you?"

"What?! Telling Malfoy about being adopted, you mean? Gods, no, Ron! Malfoy thinks the prophecy is about my parents' birth daughter, Emmanuelle," she says, annoyed I'd even thought she'd reveal the truth to the ferret. "Malfoy still has no idea of my ancestry."

"Hermione, why don't you just tell him?" I sigh. "Wouldn't being around him be so much easier without all the secrecy and lies? It seems to me, he's pretty much come clean to you."

"Ron! Haven't you been listening?! I don't want Malfoy to know!"

"Why not?" I ask, suddenly weary at having to continue keeping so much of this under wraps and away from Harry, and now, Malfoy.

"It's complicated, Ron."

"That's code for you being too stubborn to see reason, Hermione," I mutter.

She huffs and moves one of the black pawns on the board, almost like she's serious about starting up a game with me.

"Is it because you don't want to admit to him that blood really might matter?" I ask, stoking her anger, poking at an obvious sore spot. "Are you afraid to tell him because you know you're a Slytherin, just like him, and you have been one all along?"

I watch her eyes flash, then, to my surprise, her head bows.

Seems I've struck a nerve.

"I can see, Hermione, how you wouldn't want Malfoy to think that his frustration with not being able to best you has been misplaced all these years," I gentle my voice, attempting to tease a smile from her. "But, Hermione, has it occurred to you that you're Salazar Slytherin's heir? And because of that, you're destined to be greater than any Malfoy, or any other Slytherin for that matter? Come to think of it, Hermione, this secret of yours, it's rather... fantastic... isn't it?"

She frowns at me as I reverently whisper my little epiphany. Seems she's thought of it a lot, too, and has come to an altogether different conclusion.

"I rather liked being known as the smartest witch of my age, and a Muggleborn one at that," she retorts proudly. "I've worked so hard all these years here at school, Ron. This sudden revelation makes me question whether Malfoy's had it right all along."

"Do you mean to tell me, Hermione," I say, keeping my eyes on my chess piece, "that your refusal to tell Malfoy the truth is because you don't want to allow him the satisfaction of saying, 'I told you so?'"

I dart a glance at her face, which is flushed red with embarrassment.

"Silly isn't it?" she manages after a bit of throat clearing. I nod and wait.

"Ron, do you think that blood actually might matter? I wonder..."

"What, Hermione?" I prod gently. "What do you wonder?"

"I wonder, if I'd be just as smart as I am even if I weren't Slytherin's heir. I wonder..."

She sighs and the look on her face makes it crystal clear to me now. I remember her initial worry of which she'd spoke when I'd been in the hospital wing. Finally, I know what's been keeping her up at night.

"Do you wonder if you're destined to become a dark wizard, Hermione?"

Her brown eyes go round at my speaking the words she can not. She nods, then, ashamed.

"Ron, there's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin," she sucks in a breath after speaking the well-worn words all us Gryffindors can recite like a mantra.

"You've lost your identity, then?" I ask softly, trying to joke, reaching for her hand and gripping it tightly in mine. "Can't figure out who you are anymore, Hermione? Worried you'll be the next Voldemort?"

She looks at me horrified. Then, her gaze softens and in her eyes I see some gratitude for my voicing of the fear that's been tormenting her. My inappropriate teasing lifts her lips in a reluctant, yet relieved smile.

"You will always be Hermione. Daughter of dentists. Muggle raised. The most clever witch I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the best friend, the most caring friend, a bloke could ask for," I say forcefully, squeezing her fingers in emphasis. With my other hand, I stroke her hair, cup her face and move it to view mine.

"You are good, Hermione. Everything you touch turns into something good. Look at me! Look at Malfoy! He's the worst of those repulsive snakes and he's actually somewhat decent, now that he's spent time with you. It doesn't matter a damn bit what sort of blood runs through your veins, Hermione! You are you, and you will always be wonderful. I mean it! Always. Hermione... never doubt that."

She sends me a dubious glance under the shelter of her half-lidded eyes. I tug on her hand again.

"Look at me, Hermione! All of this stuff about Slytherin being all bad is House rivalry trash talk. It doesn't matter a whit. It's the person you are inside that determines how you answer the call of dark magic."

She blinks at me owlishly. Then, she sends me the widest smile I'd seen her make ever, well, except for the one she'd made over Malfoy's blasted flower. She releases my hand, gets up and launches herself at me. I catch her in my arms.

"You're the best friend a girl could ever have, Ronald Weasley!" she says breathlessly, her face radiant as she pulls me into a tight hug. Abashed, I grab her up by the waist and sit her down next to me, my arm still slung around her shoulder.

"So, what's this thing Malfoy showed you? And, please, tell me it doesn't include disrobing."

She elbows me in the side with an uncharacteristic feminine giggle.

"No, it's a prophecy. It was in the form on one of those glowing orbs. You know, the sort that came crashing down on us at the Ministry last year?"

"Yeah," I say, trying not to think about what had flashed through my mind when I thought I saw her lifeless body lying on the ground that day. I'll never forget how Harry nearly lost all focus, nearly fell to the Dark Lord himself when he'd seen her fall.

"Dra- ah... Malfoy had the orb in his pocket. It's a secret prophecy. Lucius gave it to him before getting carted off to Azkaban. It's Malfoy's ticket out of the hell his father's put him in. He can use this knowledge to get out of the tasks he's been given. If I help him, he also won't have to work alone as a double-agent, which will surly be a debacle if you and I aren't somehow involved. If we help him, Ron, we can help Harry, too!"

"So, what's your role in this, Hermione?" I brace myself for the worst.

"The prophecy talked about how, as the Slytherin heir, Voldemort could use me as a weapon against Harry, weakening his power and bringing about his end."

"Merlin, Hermione! No wonder you're so worried!" I exclaim, alarmed. "Voldemort will want to use you to kill Harry?!"

"I know, right?!" she says excitedly, nearly jumping up and down in her seat. "You know what this means, don't you, Ron?"

I am at a complete loss and can't begin to fathom why she is so happy. I want to retract everything I said before. I didn't realize she was thinking of learning some dark magic to duel Harry or whatever madness was going on in her head!

Stupid Harry, why'd he make her so mad at him? Is she really so mad about his behavior that she'd try to hurt our friend?!

"It means I can fight, Ron! I don't have to do Harry's bidding in this. He can't make me stay home and be safe, claiming the fighting is too dangerous and all that, leaving me to the books and scholarly work! I can make a true difference by allowing Voldemort to think that I am on his side, when all the while, right under his nose, I'll be working to protect Harry! Think about the possibilities, Ron!"

"Wait a minute, Hermione," I say with caution, "Are you telling me that somehow you're going to convince Malfoy, without telling him the whole truth, that you're are the one he'll be taking to Voldemort?"

She pecks me on the cheek and hugs me again.

"You understand! I knew you would!" she beams proudly at how well I'd been keeping up with her exuberant explanation. "In fact, Ron, I've already convinced him that bringing me to Voldemort is the only way he can get what he wants and you and I know Malfoy always does what is to his best advantage."

Selfish git.

"He didn't put up a fight then, I take it," I seethe through clenched teeth.

"Oh! But, he did!" she replies with a frown at the memory of it. "We fought for at least a half an hour! He finally saw sense, though, as soon as I mentioned you might be willing to help us pull it off."

I sigh and rub my temples.

Not as selfish as I thought, then. Smart, though, I've got to give Malfoy that. By pretending to agree with her, he'd relieve himself of what was sure to be hours of Hermione trying to convince him to see it all her way.

"Hermione," I say with both relief and warning, "Malfoy hasn't given in to you. It's just his way of gathering troops. He knows I won't agree to putting you in that sort of danger any more than he can. You'll see." She frowns at the possibility of being outwitted.

"He didn't mention telling Harry, did he?" I ask lightly.

She pouts at my last question, not answering, which, of course, means the ferret had done the right thing and asked to include Harry.

"Malfoy did agree with me, though!" she insists. "At least, I think he did. It is the most sensible thing to do! He'll get what he wants out of it, and Harry will be protected in the bargain!"

She shrugs, still sitting beside me. She turns to face me, sending me a silent, So there!

As she lifts the Imperturbatum, I see Harry's shadow darken the doorway. He's clutching something in his hand and I recognize it immediately as the Marauder's Map. I look at his face to quickly gauge his mood.

Not good.

"Hermione," I turn to her before she catches sight of Harry. I quickly think of a way to get her to leave the room without turning around to see him. "Don't you have some studying to do, upstairs? Or in the library?"

"What? No, Ron," she says smiling up at me, her back still to Harry. "I've finally caught up. I'm off the project and everything's all sorted out. So, I can finally just sit and be with you!"

Harry clears his throat to announce his presence. The sound has her freezing in place.

"What about me, Hermione?" Harry's tone is dark and dangerous, putting Hermione instantly on guard. I watch her further stiffen as he approaches her. I come to standing, ready to pull her or push him away, whichever is speedier should they start to fight again.

"What about you, Harry?"

I wince at her sharp tone, too.

"Why were you with Malfoy in an empty classroom for nearly forty-five minutes, Hermione? I thought your project and tutoring sessions with him were over."

The stubborn lift of her chin has me interjecting before she can start on her tirade.

"She had prefect duty with Malfoy!" I shout. Both turn to stare at me, surprised at my overzealous attempt to ward off another fight between my two best friends.

"In an empty classroom for forty-five minutes," Harry's tone is sarcastic at best. "Right, Ron. I'm sure that's exactly all they were doing."

POV: Hermione

"Are we starting this again, Harry?" I reply wearily, too tired of this argument to be exasperated. "Stop spying on me. I don't have to answer to you!"

He strides toward me, shoving the now unfurled map in my face, pointing at the outline of the classroom I'd been in with Malfoy. We are toe-to-toe and I am breathing so hard in my anger that the map sways to and fro in front of my nose.

"This is getting old, Harry," I seethe, pushing his hand and the map away. I can't imagine why my being with this now-changed Malfoy raises such ire with Harry. I figure this is not exactly the best time to ask him. If i were thinking clearly, I'd realize Malfoy hasn't exactly done anything to cause Harry to change his opinion of him.

I lift my eyes so I'm staring into Harry's unrelenting gaze. I see Ron behind him, ready to pounce if Harry so much as lifts a finger or crosses the line with any forthcoming insults. We both know that our friend isn't cautious with others' feelings, particularly mine, when he's this worked up.

"You're behaving like a jealous boyfriend, Harry," I state simply. "This is not how a best friend behaves."

I look at Ron for some support. He pulls it together just in time to come through for me.

"She's right, Harry. It's just the ferret. It's not like he's Voldemort! Hermione's said herself that there's nothing going on between the two of them. Why don't you believe her?"

"Then, tell me what you and Malfoy were talking about in the classroom for nearly an hour," he demands.

My eyebrow rises at Harry's liberal interpretation of time.

He still hasn't moved himself out of my personal space and when I try to ease out of the circle, his hand shoots out to grab onto my shoulder.

I swat at Harry's hand, but he tightens his grip. I let out a sound of protest and watch Ron start to launch himself forward. Ron stops himself as soon as he sees that I've latched my fingers around Harry's pinky finger and am wrenching it backwards toward his wrist. He lets out an agonized yelp and releases me.

"Hands off, Harry!" I scream. "You lost the right to touch me as soon as you decided I was untrustworthy! My conversation with Malfoy is none of your damn business, and if you'd just calm down for a moment, you'll see how barking mad you're behaving!"

"Really, mate," Ron says softly. "You've seriously got to calm down." I don't know why Ron's gentle tone further infuriates me.

"It's not always about you, Harry!" I shout, at last releasing my annoyance at his overprotective, overbearing lunacy. "Malfoy's my friend! Get over it!"

I know I can't be a pretty sight as I screech at him. The truth is his mouth curled up in a snarl isn't all that attractive either.

"I would get over it, Hermione," Harry shouts, inching ominously closer, "if I could just get over you!""

Ron and I still.

What? What was Harry saying?

"I kissed you! Or don't your remember?" Harry proclaims to all and sundry, drawing closer to my livid, quivering self. His roughened breath ruffles the hair at the top of my head. Fortunately the common room is empty, save for us. "I thought I made myself fairly clear about my intentions toward you, Hermione."

I watch Ron shift uncomfortably. I straighten and launch my argument denying the truth of his sudden proclamation.

"That might be true, Harry, but at Slughorn's party you dumped me onto McLaggen as soon as you saw Malfoy leave with Snape," I reply hotly, poking a finger into his chest, pushing him back a little. "I thought you were using me to get closer to Malfoy! You've been stalking him since we got on the Hogwarts Express, Harry! And, your sudden interest in me picked up only when you saw Malfoy and me spending more time together."

My fury seems to have shaken Ron out of his silence.

"It's not a leap to believe you'd use whatever means possible to further your own cause, Harry," Ron says, picking up where I leave off. "It hadn't been a stretch to believe that you'd even walked around with mistletoe in your pocket for an opportune time to corner Hermione and snog her senseless as a ploy to get Malfoy, who at the time seemed joined at the hip to her, out of whatever hole you'd thought he'd crawled into."

"You come up with that theory all on your own, then, Weasley?"

I startle at Harry's sneering tone, completely unbecoming of the future savior of the wizarding world.

"Harry! Stop it," I shout, now protective of Ron. "It's not like our assumptions were made without your bizarre behavior fashioning most of our conclusions!"

Harry moves backwards to keep both Ron and I in his sights.

"Let me lay it out as plainly as possible, then, Ron and Hermione. I fancy you, Hermione, like a boyfriend fancies his girl. I can't accept that you've decided to be friends with my foresworn enemy who would turn you over to Voldemort in a heartbeat if he had the balls to," Harry's tone is noticeably chilled.

Not quite the tone you want to hear when someone is telling you they want you to be their girlfriend, I think wryly. I shake my head.

"You have no idea what Malfoy has had to do..." but my protest peters out as I catch Ron's shaking his head vigorously, shooting me a warning look.

"What, Hermione? Malfoy's had to do what?!" There's a dare and frustration embedded in Harry's inquiry.

I turn my gaze to my toes. "Nothing, Harry," I mumble, remembering my promise to keep Malfoy's situation confidential.

Ron's been noticeably silent through this part of Harry's and my heated exchange. Even so, Ron appears just as frustrated by our inability to tell Harry everything.

"So, now what, Hermione?" Harry asks, suddenly less confrontational.

"What do you mean, Harry?" I ask, confused by his swiftly changing moods.

"Will you stop seeing Malfoy?"

"For you? Just because you've asked me to?" My voice holds the incredulity I feel toward his request which actually seems more like a command.

Unmistakable hope gleams in Harry's eye despite the note in my tone.

"Yes, for me," he calmly replies. "Yes, Hermione, stop seeing Malfoy because I'm asking you to."

I steel myself for what's sure to be Harry's violent response to my inevitable answer. Ron knows what my answer will be, too, and he prepares himself. I can see the muscles in his biceps bunching.

"No, Harry," I whisper. "I can't do that for you. I'm sorry. Malfoy needs me."

I watch Harry's mouth fall open in utter shock. "Herm—"

As the meaning of my words hit him, Harry's glazed look hardens into an icy stare. He glares at me as he tries to close the space between us again. With the speed of a practiced athlete, Ron places himself between Harry and me before he can come any closer.

"You, too, Ron?"

With Ron's imperceptible nod, a dark savage look crosses Harry's face.

"HE'S DONE SOMETHING TO THE BOTH OF YOU!!" Harry roars. "Some potion, or some hex! You two are my best friends. You would never betray me like this! Never! I told you, Hermione, hanging around Malfoy is dangerous and now that Slytherin git has done something to you! To BOTH of you!"

Ron and I exchange concerned glances as Harry starts to move erratically around the room, his voice quavering as he dissolves into some sort of hysterical madness.

"Accio Marauder's Map!" He shouts suddenly. Before we can move to grab at him, Harry slams out of the common room, obviously on a murderous hunt for one blonde Slytherin.

"We've got to find Malfoy before Harry does!" I shout, pleading and pulling at Ron.

"OK, Hermione! I'm coming!"

More Upset
POV: Draco

"Draco! Where have you been?"

"Professor?"

"I've a message from Voldemort, Draco."

I brace myself for the worst as Snape leads me to a lesser used part of the dungeons, far away from the Slytherin common room.

"You will receive the Dark Mark in a matter of days, during the Yuletide. It is His command."

The shocking reality of this sends what feels like ice water coursing through my veins. I thought I had until the spring before this unwanted coming-of-age ceremony.

Internally, I hurl curse after curse at my father for making such poor choices. I try not to allow the venemous anger to rise in me as I bitterly think of how I now have to live with the consequences of my father's misinformed beliefs.

I take a deep breath before speaking.

"Professor Snape," I say, pleased that my voice is not shaking despite the fear that makes me want to quake. "Should I be afraid?"

His fathomless black eyes grab hold of mine, reflecting the faint licks of fire from the torches that light the outside hall. Snape's frown deepens before his lips firm into a thin line.

"Yes, Draco."

"If I refuse it, Professor?" I whisper, fearful of the answer.

"The Dark Lord has sworn he'll take your mother as his own," comes Snape's swift and cutting reply, "and your father will feel the dementor's kiss in Azkaban."

I stifle a horrified cry. The expression on Snape's face, pitying, fearful, protective, yet helpless stops my very breath.

There is nothing left to say, so he turns to sweep down the dank corridor. He rounds the corner and is out of sight.

I listen to the constant drip of water hitting a shallow puddle where wall meets floor. With a sob caught in my throat, I turn on my heel, discovering that my feet know how to make their own way to a very familiar part of the castle.

For Enemies
POV: Draco

a/n: though this has been following the book, this subchapter uses Harry's quote in the motion picture's rendition of the Sectumsempra scene, starting in the bathroom. (HP: HBP, 2009) All else conforms to the book plot line.

Potter's deathly glare meets my bleary-eyed gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

"I know what you did, Malfoy. You hexed her, didn't you?"

I immediately reach for my wand, not bothering to wipe my eyes, instead blinking back the tears that had begun to form before my nemesis' rude intrusion.

I don't really know who Potter is on about, nor frankly do I much care. His pettiness over Granger has grown tiresome these last few weeks, especially with the other, immensely life-changing decisions I now have to consider. What I manage to concentrate on is his wand aimed threateningly at my chest. I want to maim him badly but know that a Crucio placed on The Chosen One is something my new allies, particularly Granger, will not forgive. I suspect even Voldemort would punish me for throwing an Unforgivable at his prized catch. I aim lower on Potter's body to shout out a Castreo, thinking it easier to bring him to his knees and render him useless while I make my way out of the loo for a more private spot to nurse my fragile mental state.

In retrospect, I suppose I should have chosen a hex that did not start with the same letter as an Unforgiveable.

I can only get out a "C-!" before Potter sends a non-verbal my way. There is something amiss about him. He seems out of control with his wandwork and the number of hexes he's throwing at me is more than excessive.

He is angry, enraged even.

It's difficult for me to concentrate on this duel. My mind is still reeling at the news Snape unceremoniously dropped on me just minutes earlier. My current emotional turmoil keeps me from thinking clearly, unable to fathom why Potter's trying to curse me into the next century.

All I know is that I am afraid.

Terrified is actually a better word.

I fire off a random hex that pops into my mind.

"Ablattero!" I shout. As soon as it rolls off my tongue I have to mentally slap myself.

That's right, Malfoy, make The Chosen One blabber himself to death.

After a summer of training with the most practiced Death Eaters, I already know that this ridiculous reaction is how fear, combined with an onslaught of emotion, affects me. I groan at my idiocy and my inability to keep a straight head in battle when I am like this.

Meanwhile, I hear Potter fire off an Affligo and a Dimentica. The latter probably wouldn't do much to me since very little happiness exists in my life, but his use of such a dark spell has me scuttling for cover.

So, this is how fear affects Potter.

Swift to anger.

Hot-headed.

Quick to violence, at least lately, when the fight is about Granger.

I have been where Potter is. I know that place well. But unlike me, it seems this is one of the few times Potter's forayed into all-encompassing fury. He hasn't been taught how to reign it in, that there are other ways to show no mercy than to fire off dark curses willy-nilly.

His rage has claimed him.

It is finally Potter's use of Dolohov's nasty curse, the Imprecari, that has me understanding that this is no ordinary Potter versus Malfoy duel. My enemy means to hurt me and hurt me badly.

The additional shock of this further addles my brain with paralyzing fear. I can barely think of useful curses to send at Potter, much less summon up the taunts, which are my fortè, to engage him in a verbal sparring match that might make The Boy Wonder reveal his hiding place to me. The splashing of his footsteps in the water that is now pooled all around the bathroom floor sends my heartbeat skittering.

What did I do to deserve this outrageous attack?

A feeling of abject helplessness washes over me. It calls to mind the heart-pounding, dreaded panic that claimed me during most of this past summer. Despite it all, I withstood the hated lessons that eventually taught me to fight off Unforgiveables aimed at me by Aunt Bella and the Carrows.

As outrage against this rush of unwanted memories of the worst summer of my life wells up within me, I itch to send a Crucio toward Potter. Even shouting out the Avada doesn't seem so bad right now as I dodge yet another one of his curses that leaves a gaping hole in the wall next to my head.

Water is pouring out of it. I'm drenched.

My heart slams against my chest. These emotions--fear, sadness, confusion, and fury--swirl together, threatening to consume me. I can't operate properly like this, so I step back into a protected, darkened corner to take a calming breath. I push aside the feeling of being Potter's prey and fight ruthlessly to turn inward, groping around inside myself to at last clutch to the stillness I had been taught to seek out when practicing Occlumency. This calm at last surrounds me.

For the life of me, I can't believe my exhausted brain decides to focus on an image of a delighted Granger surrounded by blossoms in the Room of Requirement. Amazingly, the image settles my overwrought mind and I regain my focus.

Now, I am ready to search out my adversary.

In front of me, down the row of partitioned toilets, Potter breathes loudly from his efforts to maim me. He hunts me, laying waste to the marble and plumbing as he searches me out using curses I had not imagined he'd know. His energy is draining the magic in him. He will be easy to stalk now. But even so, no matter what he has tried to do to me or how weak he has made himself, I forcefully remind myself that I must not hurt him, this friend of hers.

In this fragile space of peace that I have carved out for myself in the midst of battle, I recognize that I do not have it in me to harm him if I cast an Unforgiveable. In fact, to do something so cowardly as to attack him with such a dark curse while he is so weakened would more likely do incredible harm to myself than to him. With this realization, I lower my wand.

Maybe I can talk myself out of this, after all.

"POTTER!" I bellow from behind one of the loo partitions. I've thrown both of my hands up in the air in the universal sign of surrender. Hearing only silence, I pull myself out from behind my hiding place.

I hear a rushed splash of footsteps approach me, and he is in front of me.

Bugger!

The look in Potter's eyes is as wild as his hair.

"Sectumsempra!" he roars. The eerie light that shoots out of his wand toward my chest has me gaping in wonder.

Hadn't the imbecile seen I didn't want to fight any longer? I bother to think this in that split second before the spell hits me. What the bloody hell was that he said?

Invisible swords, their sharp edges colder than any metal lash into the skin at my chest. I have no time to cry out, yet I hear a high-pitched feminine scream.

Granger?!

Surprised at the real pain that has me staggering on my feet, I bring my shaky hand to my chest. I touch my fingers to the place where I'd felt the icy blades cutting into me. The heat of my own blood covers my fingertips. Hoping I am wrong, I draw my hand back up to my face. To my horror, all I see is red.

"MALFOY!" I hear Potter's panicked shout as the edges of my vision go black.

Damn it to all to bloody hell! That bastard Potter! He's gone and killed me!