I wish I could be the one, the one who won't care at all.
But being the one on the stand, I know the way to go, no one's guiding me.
When time soaked with blood turns its back, I know it's hard to fall.
Confined in me was your heart.
I know it's hurting you, but it's killing me.
- Chapter Four, Avenged Sevenfold

-Knock Knock!-

We hear a shuffling and many muffled voices in the interior of the office as we rap on Slughorn's door. There's a momentary silence within and then a small fist year girl opens it. Inside are all the Slytherin students, all miniscule 23 of them.

Nott, Millicent and I glance each other's way. This is potentially a bigger matter than first thought.

We saunter inside the crowded room, as Slughorn notices us: "Ah, yes, you three; come join us," he mutters in hushed tones.

He's sitting behind his large maple desk, students sprawled and fidgety in the chairs in front of him. Graham is seated in the place where the Professor interrogated me about my 'fight', his friend Heathcliff next to him.

I notice to the left that there are leather couches set up beside an ornate fireplace. Some little kids are taking up the space on them; I walk over to them and give them the trademark glare, the superiority glare.

A small boy cowers slightly and then jumps off his seat so I can sit down. Nott follows my example;
Slughorn seems to take no notice.

Ah, the perks of seniority.

"Now as you are all very aware, we are very scarce this year in Slytherin," Slughorn begins to murmurs of agreement and resentment. "In order for our House to play in the Quidditch Cup this year, we need a solid team. And as you can see, we only have a few members of our Quidditch team from 2 years ago, as last year it was, ahem, banned." He nods his head at me and then Eldon Harper, who's a year younger than me. He took my place in 6th year as seeker when I was busy elsewhere.

I didn't even consider Eldon a part of our team…he was awful at trials, and we lost every game as I recall.

"Professor McGonagall has informed me that if we can scrounge up a team by tomorrow we're in, so what I think we should do is-"

"Excuse me?" I interrupt, outraged. Slughorn's eyes widen and he looks at me with a nervous smile. "Tomorrow? You're joking, right? How in Merlin's saggy tits are we supposed to come up with a reasonable team in a day! Why didn't we have any forewarning? !" I cross my arms in a defiant manner, livid at this man's never-ending growth of stupidity.

"W-well, you see, there was a meeting with the Captains last week about this very matter," he stutters. "But since our last Captain graduated and last year there was no playing permitted, I – I, didn't send one to the conference." A few whispers of annoyance descend throughout the room. How could he do that?

I want to find a sharp blade and pierce his brain till it falls out of his fat head.

I feel my face grow red with rage, and blurt out uncontrollably; "You bumbling buffoon! Don't you realize that every other house hates us? And especially our Quidditch team, since we almost always make it to the finals! I'm sure they'd be more than happy to have us not play, let alone try to convince McGonagall all the perfectly good reasons why we're unfit to even have a line-up!"

Slughorn looks at me sharply, although an edge of fear is etched in his face; he knows we're mad. I can see Millicent's fists balled together as she sits on the arm of the couch beside me.

But being the one in charge, he tries to pull himself together. "Well, my boy, if you can find 7 willing people to play on a team plus replacements, you're more than welcome to train all of them, and be the captain," he says bitterly. "I just didn't think that we could find 7 suitable players out of 15, first years are never fit to play such a rough game, most of them are just learning to fly! We can't allow them to."

"Except 'Golden' Potter is allowed, of course," I grumble.

"Enough of your tongue mister Malfoy!" he says harshly. "Don't think that I don't want to have a team as well, this is rather embarrassing for me too…"

I can see right through him. He didn't tell us about the meeting because he figured that we wouldn't be able to pull ourselves together in time; if he doesn't have a good team , he'd rather us not play in case we embarrass ourselves and by a degree, him.

But I want to play! I'm sure someone here wants to fly; who cares anymore about winning anyways? We are obviously going to be awful, but believe it or not I was just starting to enjoy Quidditch and not just the 'I'm a better flyer than you' aspect of the game. I miss it.
I crave an activity where I can escape my terrible thoughts.

"Don't you think," Astoria pipes up timidly, standing beside a friend, "That it would be a lot more humiliating to give up? To admit that we would be awful, instead of at least trying to prove that we aren't quitters?"

"Diginity I feel, is far more important than courageousness at this point, my dear. Yes, we have a small supply of it in our stocks, but why dampen our pride when we have a generally valid excuse? We simply do not have enough students!"

What a bastard. Obsessed with good presentation, isn't he?

You're just bitter because you weren't in the Slug Club, a voice in my head dithers. And don't talk, so are you.

Yeah, I am. But it doesn't mean he isn't a self-righteous prick.

"But if you all insist on this, let's take it to a vote: those who want to play, and actually be a part of it, raise your hand." Slughorn says sighing.

I immediately raise mine firmly, as does Harper. After seeing me show my eagerness, Graham puts his hand up; his friend Heathcliff doing the same, albeit slightly more enthusiastic than I had.

To my surprise, Nott and Millicents hands remain on their laps. As us 4 hand-raises look around at the rest of our housemates, we see shame and reluctance imprinted into their expressions, and I get more agitated if that's humanly possible. All the first years look too scared to defy Slughorn's words.

Astoria tentatively raises her arm at last, but it's still not enough.

After a long tense moment, Slughorn exhales. "Well there you have it. Slytherin will, kindly, decline."

A groan echoes throughout the room; Slughorn's started to get angry at all this refutation of his words: "Do not place your blame upon me! I gave you a vote! Only 5 people are willing to play. This decision is final."

At his concluding sentence, I pull myself furiously off of the couch and exit the classroom, shutting the door behind me, 'kindly'.

Luckily, nobody comes out to follow me.

I shove my hands down my pockets, and moodily ball them into angry fists. I feel a giant urge to punch walls but I refrain.

I might as well not pile on the addition of being late to my first music class only to lose more 'Slytherin pride' by McGonagall taking away 10 points and bruising my body as well as my ego. I storm down the hallways, aiming to get to the designated practice room, cursing the school for changing the room participants from Houses to years at the last minute.

I'm getting sick of this nonsense. Next chance I get, I'm stocking up on Firewhiskey. This year will go far better if I'm constantly absent of my soberness.

"Wow, that was brilliant!" I raise my head suddenly and notice Dean sitting across from me on a blue vinyl couch, eyes incredulous. I just finished practicing a short Haydn piece before class.

I blush at his appraising gaze. I hadn't noticed him come in; I was alone before he was here. But then, I'm always mesmerized by the notes free flowing on the pages of composition books. They are books after all.

"Thank you, Dean," I try modestly. I don't even know how he can complement me, he is so amazing! He played Pachelbel's Canon (among many others) during the audition, on his steel silver guitar. However, he did it all on his own and had changed the arrangement entirely. I feel like he values music as much as I do, and I could be prejudiced because he's Muggle-born as well but, he just – gets it.

Like Malfoy.

No! Not like Malfoy, I curse my brain. That cockroach. No matter how talented he is at playing, he will never truly understand what it is to be a good musician. All the greatest composers in the world were Muggles, and he thinks he's too far above them to appreciate them the way I and Dean do. His mind is far too warped for that.

"Hermione," Dean pops my bubble of thoughts and I look up at him and smile, glad for a distraction. "I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"Of course," I say, more keen than I feel. This is the second time today I have a heart-to-heart with someone.

He beckons me over to sit next to him. I carefully put my bow down, set my violin in its case, and nervously walk over to my allocated spot.

"What is it?" I ask, looking him up and down. I can't help but rate him on his physicality, being in such close proximity.

Ever since last year, though I try to hide the memories, I feel like we have a sort of bond. Dean was captured with Harry, Ron and I when we were brought to the Malfoy's. We were treated and perceived much the same during the war; we come from the same background. It's a little comforting.

I've always known that Dean was a genuinely nice person, and very smart, but I've been so obsessed with Ron for the past couple years, I never stopped to examine other boys. Which I find myself doing to Dean presently.

He's got gorgeous golden eyes surrounded by smooth, unblemished dark skin. Super tall, even more so than Ron I think, and I like that. He smells clean, and the lingering stench of food that Ron always seems to have is replaced by simple soap. Nice.

"I know you and Ron had a thing last year," he starts carefully, bringing me to attention, and knowing he's treading on deep water. I wince, hating that I've been so blatant about my affections. "But, I've always really admired you, Hermione. And I realized when you were on stage last week that I find you attractive."

What! ?

"W-what do you mean?" I utter stupidly.

"Well, you're so brave and smart, and really a lovely person. And I'm sorry, but girls who play anything are a real turn on for me." He looks down at his lap and smiles, embarrassed. I should feel awkward at how brazen he's being towards me, but I actually quite like his straightforwardness. He's telling me how it is to him, and apparently what it is, is that I'm a good musician!

"Not to mention you're gorgeous." I look away immediately, self-conscious. Okay, smart and brave I can see, but gorgeous? Definitely not.

"No, but thank you," I say chuckling uncomfortably.

"Oh, but you are," he says now concerned about proving his point, and he brushes a stray hair from my face, making me look at him. "You have a carelessness about you that's endearing. You don't wear tons of make-up and make a hundred outfit changes because your mind is always on something else more important. But you have naturally beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile." I blush harder at that sentiment, feeling grateful my teeth are no longer beaver-like. "And I like your hair. It's mad that these girls spend hours trying to straighten it, yours looks so healthy."

My hair? My hair? God, it's strange getting all these compliments in one go.

"So anyways" he says now turning slightly red. "Back to the point; would you like to –"

But he doesn't get to finish his sentence; the door to the room slams open and inside comes who else, but Draco Malfoy.

I jump at the sudden chunk of loud noise, and Dean glares at him, but doesn't say anything.

As Malfoy notices us sitting together, his face contorts into a grimace. "Having a fun time are we?" he says sarcastically.

He then strides over to his exquisite piano in its shrunken state, and grabs it gently. He swivels dramatically around and before exiting spits, "Better get a move on, shouldn't you? Don't want to be late for class. Probably would get your knickers in a knot if that happened eh, Granger?"

What is with his mood swings? First he holds the door for me, actually being decent for whatever reason, and now he's being a total troll. Ugh. It seems like something's wrong, but why should I care when he's being so rude?

After I fail to grace him with a response, he shakes his blond head and shuts the door hard.

He has a point, I think bitterly, about being late, but I'm far more interested in knowing what the boy beside me is going to ask me.

A silence ensues before anyone speaks again; "I really hate him," Dean says, a frown etched on his face.

My usual response would be, me too, yet this time I find myself retorting his statement. What comes tumbling from my mouth surprises even me. Because I find it to be true.

"I think he's changed," is what comes from my mouth, and Dean looks momentarily stunned. "Well, I mean, he's still a git, but he hasn't called me horrible names or really acted out so far this year."

Dean lolls his head to the side and gives a non-committal shrug; and then I remember it was he who helped beat up Malfoy. I lose a bit of respect in the back of my mind for him….but only a bit.

"I just think….he really doesn't want to be a bad guy, but the only way he knows how to work is to bargain or bully people. I mean, he was afraid last year when we were….you know. At his house. But he could've ratted us all out and he didn't, he could've done worse, and for that I am grateful, even if it was from cowardice. If he had said something, Voldemort would've gotten to us for sure."

I expect Dean to become hostile towards me, but instead he's grinning when I look up at him.

"You're so….great. You find the good in people, Hermione. You'd think after years of hate you`d feel the same way back, but you are neverendingly kind. Last year, when we were in that wretched basement of his, I was so scared that you were going to not make it….when. You know…?"

Oh god, do I know.

An image of Bellatrix Lestrange and her devilish grin flashes in my mind but I shake it away; she's dead, the foul creature, and she`ll never again hurt me.

"But," Dean says trying to recover his mistake, catching my torn expression "It wasn't until recently I thought that maybe it could be more of a friendship that we had. I just never dared ask before now because Ginny is your friend. She has Harry now, and I apologized for being rude to her. So anyways, that leaves me free to ask you…..to go on a date maybe? With me.
A date? With Dean?

"When?" is what I rudely reply. He looks slightly crestfallen but regains his composure by saying, "Hogsmeade maybe? In 2 weekends?"

I struggle slightly; we were supposed to go out for lunch, Harry, Ron, Ginny and I, for Ron`s birthday. It was on the audition day but Ginny and I were too busy to celebrate it properly, so we decided to do it more extravagantly then.

I explain all this to Dean, whose smile fades. We would have to wait a long while to go on a proper date if I say no, but being the softie I am, I stupidly chime, "But, I'm sure it would be fine if you came….you could just accompany me while I buy Ron a magnificent birthday gift?" I ask lightly, and raise my eyebrows.

He laughs, and grabs a hold of my hand.

"And maybe a stop for tea?" he asks, and I know he's speaking of Madam Puddifoot`s.

"Why not?" I say almost coyly, winking once. Me? Coy?

"Sounds delightful," he responds, and with that he gets up. "Walk you to class?"

"Sounds delightful," I mimic and he gives me a little playful shove.

I think I like this testing the waters idea.

He looks at me and smiles, standing up. Then he reaches out a hand to help me off the couch, saying "Shall we?".

I really do think I like it.

Stupid Granger and Thomas. Acting all googly and disgusting when I wanted to get in one quick practice, bah.

I'm sitting all by my lonesome waiting for class to begin, way in the corner as the rest of the Advanced kids all bunch together over there. McGonagall appears to have rearranged the room to be smaller; now only a few seats plus her desk are evenly spread out along the carpet. I grew my piano back to size and placed it out of the way to the left, where I currently reside, so no grimy hands can touch it.

There are only 8 of us altogether: Granger, Thomas, Finnigan, Cho Chang, Ernie MacMillan, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott and I.

This is going to be fun….

I hear the door lurch open and a few stray giggles; oh goody, the lovebirds are here.

Granger and Thomas waltz into the room, grinning like idiots at each other, and continue on to sit next to their fellow Gryffindor Seamus. Everyone looks surprised at this sudden manifestation; even pompous MacMillan, who thinks he knows everything.

Granger flickers her gaze towards where I am, and when she spots me her smile fades slowly as she sits down. Hmm, now why is that?

Maybe because I was such a prick to her back in the room yet held the door open for her this morning?

Pssh, I don't care anyways. I'm still in a foul mood from the Quidditch results.

"Good afternoon students!"
McGonagall marches into the room quickly and confidently to the front, and everyone comes to attention and follows her to their seats.

"I apologize for my tardiness, I was having a conversation with Professor Slughorn."

I sink into my chair, and cover my forehead with my hand. I pray nobody finds out until the first Quidditch match about the team….it's far too embarrassing for everyone to know now. Hopefully nobody lets slip the news for Slytherin. Gossip spreads fast in Hogwarts.

"Alright, I'm going to make this very clear right from the get-go; you 8 are extremely talented young individuals, and you've been placed in Advanced with the expectation that you will try your very best to improve. Should you slack off simply because you can play well, you may realize you are unfit fit for this class. It will not be easy. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt also that you will not poke fun at the other students who are in lower levels," at this she glares directly at me, and I roll my eyes.

Then I realize…everybody is watching me.

"So much for the benefit of the doubt…" I say aloud in my normal voice, and everyone except McGonagall turns pink and looks away.

"Our performances as you know," she continues as if I didn't interrupt, "will be all performed together, and I don't want the rest of the 7th years to be discouraged in their self-esteem. Any bullying or rude gestures like laughing or snide comments, and I may reconsider your position here and kick you out."

She finishes the stern part of her lecture and then changes her expression to a 'smile'; if you can call it that. "Now then, we're starting on Beethoven, the piece is Fur Elise." at this I am relieved. I'm excited to play, I realize. At least now I can prove to her that I can play, instead of just 'losing my book'….stupid Heathcliff.

"Here are your books," and with a flick of her wand a small pile of books atop her desk float then descend and place themselves to their rightful owners: Advanced Compositions for Exceptional Wizarding Musicians; Piano by Ludwig van Beethoven slides into my grip.

The books are colour-coordinated according to the instrument, I suspect as I look round. Cho's, Ernie's and mine are green (how fitting), Dean's is blue, Granger & Susan's are maroon, Seamus's is black, and Hannah's is purple (for the cello). Curiously, I flip through the pages, relishing in all the wonderful complexity of the notes.

"Do not lose these," McGonagall says importantly. "Especially you, Finnigan, it is extremely difficult to track down fiddle translations of classical pieces." I look up from my book and see the great lummox nod. He's awful with magic, probably will lose it within the week.

There's a small clearing of a throat, and I avert my gaze to Granger, whose hand is up eagerly as always.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" McGonagall says fondly. Ew.

"The book says it was written by Ludwig van Beethoven, …surely you can't mean that…?"

McGonagall smiles, no doubt at Granger's 'immense knowledge' and perception. "Yes. But it was not Ludwig, it was Beethoven's father, Johann, that was indeed a wizard."

Granger's jaw drops. "But does that mean, he – Ludwig – cheated?" Her face is so priceless I can't help but give a smug smile. It would be just like her to assume that just because one is a wizard, he will try to improve everything.

For once, I know something that she doesn't. I for one, know all the wizard composers just as well as the Muggle ones. God, I sound like Ernie…

"No, no, no, my dear. He didn't 'cheat', it's impossible. You can concoct potions to make you extremely talented at music, but it cannot stimulate your mind to be able to create pieces out of thin air; no doubt Beethoven's father wanted him to be successful as he was, and pushed his talent at a young age. Even if Ludwig's talents were somehow fake he still managed to compose like a genius. And in any case, if anyone had found out about any witchcraft powers, he no doubt would've been hung. I think Beethoven knew his life was coming to an end and he made an anthology of his favourite pieces. Only he knew of his father's secret, and donated this book to the wizard world before he died. Many people have added compositions to the book; but they feel that in light of the situation it would be fair to leave Beethoven's mark upon it forever in appreciation of his contribution."

Granger looks absolutely astounded and I can't help but laugh. She jerks her head toward me sneering, almost as good as I can. Thomas glares at me as half-heartedly as well and then looks away; probably still scared I'll rat him out about the fight.

"Enough history lessons for now, we can discuss this further in 2 days' time for the next class. You are now free to spend time practicing as you wish; in a few minutes we'll get in groups for positive critique. If you need help call me for aid." And with that she sits at her desk, and starts to grade papers for Transfiguration.

Greaaaat, getting into groups. I feel as if I'm in in pre-wizard education class when we used to have to make inane presentations together. Ugh.

For now, I ignore all the other chumps and get in front of my beautiful piano and prop the book up on the music rack and get to work.

These are some of the moments I cherish the most; where my mind fades to such a simple, mechanical state and yet my fingers are just moving endlessly, gliding along simple keys to produce such wonderful creations. Nothing complicated, and nobody can put me down; I know I'm marvellous.

I only wish father could have cared enough to see it…

I ignore my thoughts, crack my knuckles and rap my first note on the E key.

After Merlin knows how long, it only seemed like 5 minutes, McGonagall interrupts me, well, us.

"Alright, you've all been playing tremendously from what I've heard, now get into 2 groups of 4 and give your peers helpful, not callous, tips on what they can improve on." As I swivel around on my seat to look at the others I notice they too have the same bubble-popped look on their faces, the kind you get after being enthralled for a long time and then suddenly are interrupted.

We all just stare at each other, not wanting to move and join each other; it's different when you're in a large group, there's more room for error and better chance to be better than others. Here, we're all somewhat equal in skill, so we don't want anyone to play in case they beat our talents.

Suspecting that we're not budging, Madam Prof decides she'll place us ourselves.

"Alright then, if you're going to be difficult; Hannah, Ernie – you go with Dean annnnnd, Susan. Hermione and Seamus you can practice with Draco and Cho. Now off you go."

My face drops, not with her.

I hear groans coming from my group, not to my surprise. Sometimes the insensitivity towards me all the time gets under my skin, but now it's just laughable. Honestly, this is a piece of cake for me. Giving constructive criticism is easy since I hand out snide comments all the time. A few snippings of harsh words from my regular vocabulary and I should be fine.

I stroll over with my hands in my pockets to Cho and Hermione who have decided to stand next to each other. Seamus is reluctant to move. The other group seems to have hit it off nicely, chatting and laughing at something Dean said. How sweet.

McGonagall sends a scowl in our general direction and finally Seamus stands up, sighing.

"So –" Granger stammers, trying to clear the mood…or trying not to piss of McGonagall, either or. "Sh-shall we um, start?"

Silence.

"Might as well," I cut in, trying to gain control. If everyone is going to be a whiny nitwit, I guess I can have it my way. "I suggest we all play it first so we can compare each other better and then hand out corrections."

"…Or praise," Granger breathes.

"Yes, that too," I call her on it, and she blushes frowning.

"Who said we wanted to do it your way, Malfoy?" Seamus starts bitingly. But I tilt my head, step forwards and raise my eyebrows scowling: Really, you want to do this now?

"I think it's a good idea," Granger says, placing her hands out wide and marching in between us. What?

I drop my arms that were crossed, thoroughly surprised. Cho looks at her like she has 3 heads.

"Anyone have a better plan?" Nobody says a thing. "Well, come on; let's just get on with it, shall we? No point in wasting time arguing. I'll go first if I must." Then she walks over to her seat, waits for us to all sit down politely, and grabs her violin. Then she begins to play.

He first note sounds and I hear the familiar tune send out delicately from the instrument.

God, she's good. I watch her hands and gentle fingers as they strum and pluck and move the bow so smoothly. Her eyes are closed and she has a pleasant look about her face. It's quite mesmerizing.

Suddenly, she opens her eyes and she's staring at me, burning a hole in my soul, it feels like. I'm left feeling drained for some reason.

Except...now I realize she's finished and that's why she is looking at us, not me. Obviously…

But I still feel a little odd, I'm not sure why…..a little strained and…no. Oh, no.

Oh no, no, no, no.

I'm hard.

I'm actually fucking hard. From…her.

My dick is bulging into the seams of my pants like frog eyes, to be more vulgar about it.

No, it can't be – it's from the music, obviously. Right? And she's talented, so she made it engrossing.

This can't be happening. I shiftily move my hand into my lap and cover the (thankfully) not to large erm, bump.

Luckily, Seamus decides to go next. As he beings to play he immediately turns me off with all his overdramatic breathing, and stupid superfast trills and fancy. When he's finished I've, thankfully, shrunk back to size.

He sits back down, and I levitate my piano over to where we are, deciding reluctantly to go; Cho being far too timid. I know I do a good job as I play by the sour look on Seamus's face - but don't make a big deal about it because I'm suddenly not in the mood to be Malfoy-ish today. Stupid hormones.

I sit down after I'm finished, next to Granger, blah. Well I don't want to sit next to Seamus….her shoulder brushes mine lightly and I flinch – this is too much.

Cho finally gets up and shyly goes up to the piano. Wait… my piano! The little witch!

She sits down and stretches her fingers, while I seethe. I feel a yearning want to blow her into owl droppings, but I can't because – because….why can't I?

Because Granger's here.

So what! Cho Chang, ex-girlfriend of Potter is setting her little ass and grimy fingers on my piano!

Oh, shove it, you know you won't do anything. You like her Draco, don't deny it.

I do not! Just because I have a certain thing for girls who can play instruments and, well, I guess she isn't that bad look at, does NOT mean I like her! I'm not that vain, you know.

Psh, says the boy who rejected Millicent because she's too ugly and Daphne Greengrass because of her blood.

That was ages ago! I'm not like that anymore; and besides, they're both bumbling idiots.

Aha, and Hermione is not.

Sod off, brain, you're just hungry.

Cho finishes, and we clap, (even though she was not very good). We all turn to stare at each other after she's rejoined us in our little circle of enemies.

"I think maybe we should just all give our input one at a time for everyone, instead of a case by case situation," Cho says, obviously not wanting us to dwell on her.

Granger nods, and I shrug. Seamus starts, without a word of warning.

"Alright, well, Hermione; you were excellent, Cho; you were really good too, and Malfoy, don't act like such a prick when you play."

I throw my hands in the air, palms towards the ceiling; what the hell?

'What! ?"
"You close your eyes sometimes and it makes you look like you think you're too good to look at the notes, which you are not!"
"Granger does that too!" I retort, and she blushes red.

"Okay, it's constructive remember?" Granger says, trying to ease tension. "I'll go. Seamus, you're really good so you don't need to try and add extra notes to show your talent off, you just do that sometimes, a bit…Cho, you're also amazing, just try to look more enthusiastic I guess? You look scared half the time."

Wow, these riff raff suck at criticism. Like any of this will actually get through to them. Of course we're 'amazing' and really good; we wouldn't be in this class if we weren't. And another thing -

"Erm, D-Draco,"

Wait, did she just call me Draco? I flash a look at her, eyebrows furrowed, and she sinks into herself, embarrassed.

"I agree with Seamus, but not that you look like a prick per se….you just sort of have a little smile when you play and it makes you look a bit er, arrogant?"

I do? A smile? Hmm…
"Do I really? Well that's so unlike me isn't it?' I bite sarcastically. She looks at me even more uncomfortable.

"Cho?" Hermione pleads.

But she's just too shy, this one. "I thought you were all good….." she whisper-murmurs.

For heaven's sake.

"Okay do you want some real criticism now?" I say.

Seamus gives us a no, but I pretend I don't hear him.

"Finnigan, you make ridiculous breathing noises when you play, and add ludicrous trills and extra fluff you don't need in an already exquisite piece of work. Obviously you're good at playing, we all are or why would we be in advanced? So you don't need to try and prove it by being a show off, it just takes away from what you do. Second," I begin when Seamus starts to protest. "Chang, you are too shy, period. You have to have confidence in your playing otherwise you look like a hack. Get on that. And Granger…maybe open your eyes once in a while…." I end almost softly.

The three look at me funny but say nothing.

The class signals to end thank Merlin, and we all depart on our separate ways, myself exiting alone as quickly as humanly possible. As I walk down the hallway to the Great Hall, I catch a glimpse of Granger with Thomas, and she….she's smiling at me.

I think, anyways. I scan around me and see nobody else.
It's not a smirk anyways. She does it and then shakes her head frowning almost immediately after, like she didn't know what she was doing – but I can't wash it from my mind.

Something is clearly not right.

First, I think she looks good multiple times this year.
Second, I enjoy teasing her rather than simply hating her with a passion.
Third, I get hard watching her play.

I didn't want to eat in the first place but now I don't even think I could if I tried. I need to do something about this…

I'm going to take a bath. Clear my head. I turn 360 degrees and walk towards the Dungeons where the common room is. I rush up to the dorms, and regret that decision as soon as I step into my dorm.

"Ahh! Malfoy!"

Nott is in here in his bed… pleasuring himself under the silver sheets. To a rather busty purple haired witch in his Seductress magazine. She hikes up her skirt higher and higher in the picture, stopping just below her, uh, area.

Disgusting.

"Honestly, can you do this someplace where I don't sleep," is all I remark, rolling my eyes.

"I-I…oh bollocs. Where are you going? Shouldn't you be eating?" Ha.

"I'm taking a bath….maybe you should too." I say, still revolted. Yes, yes, it's a natural urge to touch yourself but personally I was never that fond of masturbation unless completely necessary – I'd much rather have a lovely witch do it than me.

As soon as I think this, Granger pops into my head, on her hands and knees naked, pumping her warm delicate hands up and down my shaft, until I….

NO.

NO.

Draco, stop it!

Imagine if mother knew you thought such things?

I shake my head and grab at my hair in frustration at these confusing thought. Reaching for my monogrammed towel from my dresser, I jet from the room quickly.

"Wait! I'll come with," Nott exclaims hastily, leaning out the door as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

'Alright, well let's go, chop chop, we haven't got all night…."

We walk in silence to the male baths moments later, a 5 minute walk from Slytherin house. We agree to meet each other on the outside in about 30 minutes; within the bathing area are individual rooms. I step inside mine, and turn on the luxurious soap and water taps. The tub is nice and big, very old fashioned, and surrounded by floating lit candles.

I strip down to nothing, and edge slowly in the water, grasping at this point how exhausted I am. The warmness of the bath makes me really relaxed and I lay my head back and try thinking about nothing. I immerse myself underwater once to get my face wet and find myself drifting off. The last thing I remember seeing is my left forearm…..

{}

"I'll ask you again, you filthy Mudblood, How did you get my sword?" Bellatrix screeches at Granger, as I stand there motionless, unsure of what I should do with myself.

Her excruciating screams fill the room as my aunt once again uses an unforgivable curse on her limp form.

"I swear – it's a copy, a copy!"

"LIAR!"

"STOP, PLEASE, NO – IT- AHHHHHHH!"

I can't take it anymore, the awful pain I can see she's feeling. The writhing and tears. It's making me ill.

I fall to my knees.

'Draco?" my mother whispers to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. But she can't help the inner turmoil I feel.

I want to save her, to help her more than I ever have wanted to help anyone in my existence.

"S-stop….Aunt Bellatrix.." I start weakly, trying to get closer to my evilest relative.
"What! ?" She screams at me, turning madly from Granger to me."Ohhh, is ickle Draco sad about the poor filthy girl dying? Make your stomach CHURN, does it? Ahahahahaha!"

She laughs like a crazy person and turns to Greyback, who has been standing watch from afar, lust and hunger clearly in his eyes.
"Fenir, my darling, why don't you finish her off for me? She clearly isn't telling the truth."
"Be my pleasure," he says with relish in his tone, his rancid teeth spreading to a grin.

The next thing I see is ripping flesh and clothing, Granger now completely naked and crying hysterically as the werewolf runs his hands all along her bare skin, violating her in the most fiendish way, and then – he bites into her neck.

Her blood sprays everywhere. He hit her jugular, and it gets onto my hands. Onto my clothes, and in my mouth.

I feel myself sink and fall to the ground, the last thing I see before my eyes close are a pair of brown eyes, completely cold and lifeless. She's dead.

"That was a great meal," Ron says as he belches. We've just finished supper, and decided to take one of the longer routes to our rooms, past the Dungeons, enjoying each other's company.

Harry laughs, "Is it ever not for you?"

I smile as I walk alongside my best friends; it feels like ages since I saw them this morning. It's been a great day. I have a date and music was brilliant, despite its awkwardness at the end. All is well.

"Hermione about what I asked you earlier…have you decided?"
And then again, maybe not.

Ron looks at me with expectant eyes, and I feel horrible that I'm going to have to make his grin fade. I completely forgot about his request in my happiness.

"Er Ron, I – well, Dean has asked me on a date and I said yes…" I blurt out as quickly as possible, not wanting to draw this out for Harry's sake.

"What! When?" Ron asks angry yet downtrodden.

"Well…today. I'm just not ready to try it again Ron; with you. I need to give it a rest for a while alright? I don't want to keep risking our friendship like this, I could never replace you if we had a falling out." I give him my sweet pleading eyes and he relents a little, relishing in my compliment.

"How long is a while? It's already been months," he replies sadly. I don't know what to say, he knows what happened and should know why I don't want this. "Why Dean! Why does Dean always have to swagger along to the women in my life and –"

"HELP!"

A loud yell resonates from directly behind us; we all freeze. It was not a regular cry for help, it was a desperate one.

Harry, Ron and I swivel around and gasp at the sight we behold.

Running towards us is that Nott boy, somebody cradled in his arms.

He sprints as he notices us. We're the only people in the corridor having left dinner slightly early plus going down a road far less travelled. Being the 'heroes' we normally are, we start to jog towards him. When I catch up with him, my stomach flips.

It's Malfoy.

His whole body is as white as sheet, even more than normal; his face almost purple. I'm guessing he's just come from a bath or something; he's covered only by a towel on his waist, his as well as Nott's hair still damp. All the anger I felt earlier about this Slytherin has melted away into fear.

I scan his face and torso in shock; he looks so helpless lying unconscious. I never realized how lithe he was. He's rock star thin!

In this dire state I can't help notice that his pale skin is nice and creamily smooth. His face looks a lot better when it's not so snarky.

Okay stop it, Hermione, focus!

"What happened?" Harry asks.

Ron and Harry, though they loathe Malfoy, look frightened. Maybe it's because they don't know what to do, but I think more likely they are starting to regret all the things they've done to Malfoy in the past (like turning him into a slug) just in case he…no, he's not going to die! Stop being so dramatic.

'We-we, we were taking baths at the, the bath house, and he was just taking such a long time, I thought maybe it was just how long he normally took, but after 20 minutes of waiting I started to get worried and I barged in, and he was – under the water," Nott sobs.

Poor boy, he must be feeling so guilty.

"Okay put him down on the floor, carefully!" I warn, unsure of where this confident voice is coming from, though I'm half scared to death. I've never had a life and death situation thrust so quickly upon me before.

Nott does as I say, shaking anxiously as he places Malfoy softly on the marble floor.

"I dunno what spell I could use, and – and, you were just here, and I'm sorry to drag you into this when it's not your fault, I just didn't know what to do- "

'It's fine!" I almost shout. His incessant jabbering isn't helping me think.

But I know what I have to do. I'm never going to hear the end of it.

I kneel onto the floor, the coldness freezing my bare calves. Inhaling deeply in preparation, I sidle up next to Malfoy and run a hand along his chest to find his solar plexus. Next I grab his wrist, noticing his Dark Mark, but I push that aside for now; he still has a faint pulse!

'What're you-" Ron begins outraged, but Harry puts a hand out and a finger to his lips to shut him up.

"I'm performing CPR – it's what Muggles do when people become fatally unconscious." I say midly, while my insides scream. Ron looks confused but Harry nods with a grimace. Nott still looks horror-struck. Thank god I took the Bronze Medallion swimming course, otherwise I wouldn't feel confident enough to do this.

"He still has a pulse, so if I can just do this properly.."

I move my fingers 2 inches up on his chest and I start pumping into his body, trying desperately to revive him. After 20 compressions, my hands shake as I realize it's not going to be that simple. Hesitantly, I open up his mouth cupping it with one hand. Taking a long breath, I put my mouth on his, and inhale air into his astonishingly still warm mouth.

I hear Ron make a strangled noise, but Nott shushes him.

When I return upright I pump again, and again, and again.

After about 3 sessions of breathing and inhaling I think it's a lost cause, he hasn't moved an inch; I sit back on my knees and put my hands on my face, the intensity of the situation getting to me. I feel tears start rolling down my cheeks in frustration and failure and Harry's hand on my shoulder, squeezing it.

"Granger?"

I open my eyes wide, hear Nott give a little yelp, and give my attention back to the form in front of me.

He's alive.

Holding out a pale hand as he awakens.
Reaching out for reassurance he's not dead.

Carefully, I move a bit towards him, worried that by touching him he'll somehow become lifeless once again and grasp his hand. He closes his feebly over mine, and I smile despite myself, relief washing over me. I give a watery chuckle in disbelief.

I look at him, and his silver eyes are full of wonder and confusion; a much better look than callousness. His hair is all mussed in front of his forehead and suddenly he shivers violently.

"Oh god, we have to get you to the Hospital!" I say, and I feel an abrupt throwback to third year saying such similar words to Hagrid when he was slashed by Buckbeak.

"Yes, yes!" Nott says, sinking to the ground in incredulity that it worked. "Yes."

Malfoy turns to move suddenly. All 4 of us are leaning in to give the cursory 'careful!', but none make it in time.

We don't finish our sentence because as the blond boy turns onto his side, his towel slips off gracefully, revealing everything he has to offer.

While all the boys do their normal reaction and squeak in terror of seeing another guys manhood then covering their faces, I am stupid enough to stare straight at it. Unable to look away.

Oh Merlin.